#without him ever getting it professionally treated

[trh0d3s]

Manager in the making!

Saja boys x human manager reader

chap 5! (Beta read and edited by Moonie)

I want a fucking nap right now. I’m back at my apartment after escaping crazy fans for the last three blocks—never thought I could be so athletic...

I managed to lose them by diving behind a food stand selling fried treats. Ended up walking away paying for something because I scared the owner. Might be the only thing I eat until later, but it was good, so no regrets!

I stretch, popping something in my shoulder, and close the door with a kick, taking in the blessed air conditioning. My phone’s been blowing up—the feed is all about the Saja boys. The dancing, the music, even the clothes—they’re taking over the media by storm. Everything I see is just... them.

I giggle, looking at the charts. The song’s gaining traction—meaning more money for me! Plus, I’m rising the ranks in social networking as a manager. Now I just have to wait for my agency to call me, begging me to come back.

Nope. These boys are all mine now—can’t escape me no matter how far they run. Doesn’t matter if they do things without running it by me first, I’ll find out whether they like it or not.

I called up a cleanup crew while escaping, so they should be returning the camera soon. I trudge into the kitchen, grabbing my computer sitting on the counter. I have to clip together, edit the feed, and upload it to their accounts before the variety show. People will flock to a professional take on the entire performance—more traction for the accounts.

I’m clicking away at my computer, different tabs open for different accounts, also checking in on the crew. It was a last-minute call, but a good one at that. Can’t go back in case those girls start chasing me again.

A peppy knock comes from my door, followed by the click of a key turning. I didn’t give anyone a key. I shoot up from my seat, grabbing a knife from the holder beside me, ready to throw it at the intruder. Better to throw first than ask later in these types of situations.

“Honey, I’m homeee!”

Thunk.

The knife embeds itself in the wall right next to Romance’s head, his heart-shaped bangs moving with the force.

I stand there at the dining room table, hand outstretched from my chair, face frozen in shock. I lower my arm, the shock fading from my face.

“When did you get a key, you lunatic?!”

“Me, the lunatic?! You threw a knife at me!”

Romance yells, pointing at the knife stuck in the wall, inches from giving him a new haircut.

“I thought you were the crazy fans chasing me?!”

“Why would you throw a knife at a fan?!”

Yelling back and forth with him, I dig in my pockets for my keys, checking the ring to see if the extra was gone. Those fucking losers. Stealing my keys—to what?!

Baby pushes Romance out of the way, laughing at the chaos, eyes fixed on the knife on the wall. This is amazing. He’s laughing so hard he has to go back outside and drag Abby in to see.

“They threw a knife at Romance!”

Abby’s mad as he’s dragged up from the hall, but the anger fades when he sees the scene. He points at Romance, who’s yelling at me, then to me yelling back. He looks at Baby, who just nods, giggling his ass off.

“This is the funniest shit I’ve ever seen!”

If he’d run to my door first, that would’ve been him! He wipes away a stray tear from laughing so hard. The knife wouldn’t have killed him, but it would be hard to explain. His laughter fades as he shakes his head with a happy sigh. He’s starting to like me.

Jinu walks up the steps, laughter echoing down the hall. Mystery is ahead of him, speed-walking, wanting to run but holding back in front of Jinu. As he gets closer, he sees his bandmates sprawled on the floor—well, two of the three annoying ones—because Romance is still yelling at me.

Jinu leans into the doorframe, curious, before catching sight of metal glinting near the door. Oh—OH.

He looks away, snorting into his fist. He shouldn’t be laughing. He wants to stop, but he can’t. This shit is too funny.

Turning away, he fans his face before stepping into the apartment and yanking the knife out of the wall. It was embedded in there. He peers through the small slit I made in the door frame, showing how cheap this apartment building is—not even his home broke down this easily. He chuckles, comparing the two before freezing. Did he just compare this to so long ago…

He turns around with an unreadable expression before forcing a smile and setting the discarded knife on the counter. He was originally here to mess with me, finding it fun too. His thoughts are cut off by my laugh, tired of arguing with Romance.

“Okay, your face, though,” I chuckle, walking past Jinu to grab the knife and put it back in the holder. I don’t pay any attention to his inner turmoil—I wanted to be mad at him earlier. But right now, I don’t want to ruin the moment. Maybe that’s why I never got so far. Is it better to take it than do anything?

I hum to myself, but the buzzing of my phone keeps going off. My face brightens, and I run to the table, grabbing my phone to show them.

“You guys blew up so fast! I’m actually shocked.”

The boys laughing outside filter in, standing next to a ticked-off Romance. Abby slaps his back a little too hard. I shove my phone in their faces, showing the feed. It looks like my smile is contagious. They lean in to see as well, but for a whole other reason than me.

Pulling it back, I run back to my computer, pulling up the web pages.

“I already had your accounts made—just need some photos to start and direct the flow to them.”

Mystery leans in behind you, confused at what he’s looking at, tilting his head. You look up—you could almost see under his bangs at this angle if you could just…

Your fingers twitch. Just a little. Maybe you’re curious—just want a better look, that’s all. Your arm lifts slowly, almost without thinking.

Mystery pokes at your computer, head still tilted. One more inch and you’d see—

A loud, dry cough cuts through the air.

You flinch. Jinu’s standing just behind you both, coughing into his hand like he’s hacking up a lung. It sounds forced. Way too forced.

You drop your hand and shift in your seat like nothing happened. Definitely not about to peek behind Mystery’s hair. Nope. Not at all.

Jinu says nothing. Just watches for a second too long before looking away, face unreadable.

“You said you needed something for this… account.” He says it like it’s the first time in this context, voice wavering with uncertainty.

I drop my hand and get up with a smile, phone already in camera mode.

“Yes, I do, thank you!” I giggle to myself, running around the boys, taking various photos. Moving them into poses as I wish, going for group photos first. I can get to the individual later with different clothing. I move Abby’s arms, touch Mystery’s waist to turn him in one direction, fix Baby’s hair, move Romance’s feet, and adjust Jinu’s clothes. I don’t pay attention to how close I get to some, trying to put my vision into reality. But they do.

Satisfied, I step back, looking at my phone, scrolling through them, leaving them to their thoughts.

“Are you staying?” I hum mid-swipe, expecting a yes with how they are, and I think I hear the beginning of it from Abby.

“No. We need to prepare for tonight.”

Jinu cuts in, his thoughts elsewhere, but his tone is firm. Well, it’s reasonable—he wants to prepare. But have they eaten yet?

“I could order some food, and you all could prepare here?”

I go online, swiping through menus, about to turn my phone around to show the closest option to Baby.

“Any preferences—”

“Thank you, Manager, but we have to go prepare.”

There’s that feeling again. The feeling of being inferior.

I set down my phone, staring up at him, eyebrow quirked—wondering what’s up his ass.

“As your manager, I have to know what you’re doing exactly.” He’s probably hungry—that must be why he’s grumpy.

He steps forward, leaning down only slightly. Was the room always this silent? I can feel myself tense, remembering how cornered I am.

“No. I pay you, don’t I? It’s none of your concern.”

I look up at him, lips pressing into a thin line. He’s right—but details can be crucial. Doesn’t he know that? I open my mouth, trying to say something, but I’m left a gaping fish. I know I can’t control him—only do my best and work around.

He steps back, satisfied with my silence, turning to open the front door. Beckoning the others to follow him, leaving no room to argue. Not even Abby has something to say. As they file out the door, he says something to them—I can’t help but catch.

“Don’t forget why you’re here.”

Baby has to pull Mystery along, dragging his feet, trying to stay a little longer. He looks back at my rigid form, standing there watching him go. He can’t forget why he was here. Turning away, letting Baby push him outside with those words running like a mantra in his mind.

Jinu has his hand on the knob, ready to close the door.

“See you, Manager.”

He closes the door without another word.

I stare at the door for a moment, flexing my fingers in and out. Holding them into fists until indents of crescents kiss my palms. I should be mad. I should be furious. How dare he talk to me like that!

I grab the nearest thing to me and throw it at the door, letting out an angry cry. The banana falls to the floor with a soft thud, only bruising the outside—but it’s enough for now.

I press my hands against my face, hoping the pressure will ease the growing headache.

“This is what you worked for.”

I leave the banana on the welcome mat, sitting back down at my dining room table. Head still in my hands before I pull my fingers away to set them on my keyboard.

I’m just the manager.

The photos were edited and uploaded to their social media platforms, which, of course, I manage. God forbid one of them posts something stupid.

I dive into work after getting the camera back from the hired hand, plugging the footage into my computer, and scrubbing through every second to snip and clip it together. I try to catch the spot where I saw the body glitter, but no matter how much I tweak the footage, nothing shows up. Maybe the camera couldn’t pick it up. Maybe the lighting was off. Or maybe I imagined it—but if that glitter caught, it could’ve been gold for their aesthetic.

I lean back in my chair as a new thought hits me. I still don’t have the boys’ numbers—just that one damn email. Never once have I seen a phone come out of their pockets. Ever. It could be polite behavior, not using their phones around me… but I wouldn’t give them that much credit. Well, most of them.

I snap my laptop shut. I’ve got to get to the site a few hours early, but first? A shower. I desperately need one. After all that running, I’m basically marinating in my own dried sweat. Gross.

My hand hovers over my phone, debating whether to email Jinu and let him know I’ll be arriving early. I really need to get his damn number, but at this rate, I’m doomed to be stuck with email forever.

I shuffle past the walkway, kicking off my shoes without a care. Phone on silent for fifteen minutes—that’s all I need. Fifteen minutes for a dramatic inner monologue in the shower. And to actually wash myself. Can’t forget that.

I nudge the bathroom door open and toss my accessories and phone onto the counter. I consider putting on music, but I know I’d waste five whole minutes picking a song. No time for that. This has to be quick. Under an hour. No sulking.

I turn the faucet and stare at the water as it hits the tile, waiting for it to warm. It swirls down the drain, and my brain immediately checks out, drifting into a fog until the steam snaps me back. I strip down and get in. Maybe this is what sleep deprivation feels like—finally catching up to me in the most annoying way possible.

I scrub every bit of sweat and grime off while humming some random tune. My hair sticks to my face as I close my eyes, letting the water pelt me. It’s… kind of therapeutic. Right up until I remember I have to get out and deal with their nonsense again.

I don’t hear my phone vibrating over the rush of water. Unknown number. Voicemail gets it.

I step out and towel-dry my hair, making a quick trip to my room. I throw on something semi-professional—still manager-chic—but this time with sneakers. Just in case I need to run again. Preferably with unblistered feet and dignity intact.

I type the studio’s address into my phone while hopping to the door, trying to shove my feet into my shoes as I move. Timing is everything. I need to show up early, sharp, and composed. No screw-ups.

I step outside, work bag in hand. Deep breath.

Inhale. Pause. Exhale.

I’m going to kick fucking ass.

The metro’s the move—faster than walking, less sweat involved. I power-walk toward the station, triple-checking my route and hyping myself up the entire way.

Card tapped. I step into an empty car and immediately sit as far away from everyone as possible. I pop in one earbud and pull out my laptop, trying to radiate “productive commuter” vibes.

I hear people enter, talking loud enough to cut through my music, but I ignore it—until everything suddenly goes quiet.

I glance left and freeze.

Three of the most famous people in Korea. HUNTRIX. Head to toe in leather. Staring at me like I just slapped their grandma.

Why is HUNTRIX on the same metro as me?

I slowly look away—breaking eye contact first—and return to my computer. Not my circus. Not my monkeys. I turn up my music. They could be doing their own thing. No need to freak out.

…Zoey’s pointing at me.

She looks to her trio. Then back at me.

Mira’s glaring, trying and failing to look normal. Chill. Unbothered.

“Demon…”

“DEMON!”

Zoey’s full-on pointing now—and all three stand like they’re ready to pounce.

I don’t even fully look up before a sword swings down at me. I roll sideways, clutching my laptop.

“WHAT THE FREAK—?!”

The sword embeds itself in the seat where I just was.

I stare, horrified. That was way too close.

“WHAT DID I DO?! I JUST LOOKED AT YOU!”

Rumi is now struggling to yank her sword out of the upholstery. The other two saunter up—also armed. From where?! Who knows!

Is this some weird, magical sacrifice? Is HUNTRIX a cult? Or—God help me—the cult?

I slam my laptop shut and back away, shielding it with my body. My baby will not die today.

“Demon, you will tell us why you’re here.”

There’s a glowing spear inches from my face. I blink. That’s definitely magic. There are cameras in here, right? Or am I actually about to be New Yorker metro’d in real time?

Mira inches the spear closer. I lean away. Zoey flashes glowing daggers. Rumi finally yanks out her sword, also glowing.

“I’m just a lowly manager! I don’t want to be in your cult!”

That actually makes them pause. They look at each other, confused. Mira lowers her spear.

I don’t wait. I roll onto the floor, laptop clutched to my chest. Next stop’s only one away—I thank the heavens I wore my sneakers.

I land hard, using one hand to break the fall, then spring up and sprint toward the doors. The moment jars them out of their confusion—they’re on my heels.

“We are not a cult!” Rumi yells behind me.

“Not very believable right now!”

I run, hurdling over stray luggage and dodging seats. Glittering daggers whiz past, stabbing into the wall beside me. I scream and stumble back, only to get nearly impaled by a spear.

The intercom calmly asks me to exit.

I am not calm.

THIS IS NOT CALM.

The doors creak open—I don’t wait. I squeeze through, tripping over the gap and catching myself before I faceplant. No time to look back.

More daggers clatter to the floor behind me. Zoey’s yelling at me to stop. I glance back—mistake—and see all three of them comically jammed in the door, trying to push through at once.

Looney Tunes-level chaos. I’d laugh if I weren’t sprinting for my life.

I turn the corner, hearing them unstick and hit the ground. I don’t look back. I bolt into the streets. I may be running from a magical girl group cult, but I am not missing my job.

I get to the studio, breath heaving, legs burning. I might’ve dunked my head in a fountain five minutes away to cool off—jury’s still out.

By the time I reach the doors marked “employees only,” my hair’s dry and I look semi-put-together. People bustle past with mics, clipboards, and caffeine-fueled urgency.

I glance down at my phone, pulling up the documents I’ll need. This is big. I cannot fuck this up.

I walk up to the security guy posted at the side entrance. He zeroes in on me—no lanyard in sight—and shifts like he’s about to block my way.

“Ah, excuse me, I’m the manager for the Saja Boys,” I say with a smile. The broad shoulders should intimidate me, but after Abby, this guy’s tame. I hand him my phone, screen already pulled up.

I see my reflection in his sunglasses—exhausted, wild-eyed, but here.

He looks down at the phone, back up at me, then pulls a lanyard out of his back pocket. Hands it over without a word. Nod of approval.

Respect.

I clip on the lanyard and step inside. Cool air hits me instantly.

Here we go again, Manager in the making.

—————————loser ave——————————

I just got a beta reader and editor and their work is amazing <3😭😭😭

I’m going to go back and update the rest of my chapters on tumblr it will take a second cause my phone hates me.

Thank you so much jay!

[woozisprincess]

Looking In Pt2: Night Away

Jihoon hates sleeping alone, so when you and Seungcheol inevitably leave his home to exchange your clothes, you just take him with you.

Looking In Pt2! @nononbon it is here!

Scoups x Fem Reader x Woozi

4k

Fluffy, silly, suggestive, making out, very Jihoon centric today, lots of open healthy conversations about the relationship, high Vernon

“This… is annoying,” Jihoon mumbled as he watched you and Seungcheol pack away the clothes you had brought to his place, now time to take them home and exchange them for new ones.

You and Seungcheol always stay at Jihoon's place. There wasn't really a reason other than him having the most spacious bed out of the three of you. That being said, his closet was half the size of yours or Seungcheol's, Jihoon being much more minimalist compared to the two of you. Meaning that at least once a week, you two had to swap out your clothes for new ones. And that meant that all three of you would likely be spending the night apart. None of you were fond of this. Especially not Jihoon.

Anyone on the outside would likely assume Seuncheol was the clingiest, but you know that Seungcheol's antics can't even come close to when Jihoon gets in one of his moods. You think that having such a large bed all to himself must feel a bit lonely.

You glanced up from your overnight bag, taking in how pouty your boyfriend was being. The sight made you giggle. “It's just one night baby, it'll be alright.” You tried to cheer him up but he remained perturbed.

“I just don't know why y'all need so much stuff.” His brows furrowed and his arms crossed in defiance. He stood in front of where you were folding on the floor. You chuckled at the wide stance his pasty legs had taken up. So dramatic.

“Well, unlike you, Cupcake and I can't get through the week strictly wearing black T-shirts and shorts.” Seungcheol mused from his spot on the bed.

His teasing only served to upset Jihoon further. Jihoon's feline eyes turned to thin slits as he glared at your shared boyfriend. “Well I'm not an attention whore who needs to constantly show off how hot I am.”

Jihoon pulled at the blanket Seungcheol was sitting on, causing the elder to jerk forward and knock over his overnight bag. A few shirts fell to the floor in front of you as you took in Seungcheol's bewildered expression. Since Seungcheol was always dishing out the princess treatment, it was really easy to forget that Jihoon wasn't the porcelain doll the two of you always treated him as.

“Baby!” Seungcheol whined, “My clothes!” He slumped over with a pout.

“Oops.” Jihoon mocked. Such a fucking brat.

“Okay-” You grabbed Seungcheol's clothes, tossing them back up onto the bed. “Let's chill out.” The smile on your face betrayed you.

Neither you nor Seungcheol would be able to return that night due to you both having work in the morning. However, Jihoon mostly worked from home, only leaving to his professional studio when he had clients.

“Let's compromise.” You suggest, zipping up your bag. Jihoon takes it from you without you needing to ask, helping you up from the floor in the process. “Why don't you come with one of us?”

Jihoon's arm wrapped around your waist, and you leaned into him to balance yourself. He looked surprised, like the thought had genuinely never occurred to him. You wondered if he ever stayed at Seungcheol's place before you actually joined the relationship, but then you recalled several nights where it was just the two of you watching anime and eating ramen. Maybe he genuinely never thought to leave his abode.

Jihoon's brows furrowed in thought. “Won't one of you be upset?”

You were going to reassure him with an ‘of course not,’ but then you glanced at Seungcheol who was already pouting.

“Just go with Cheol!” You patted him on the chest and began to pull away, satisfied with your solution.

“But-” Jihoon pulled you back “-that’s not fair.” The frown on his face was adorable.

“No-” you begin to argue but Seungcheol cuts you off.

“I agree.”

You look at the Leo man, baffled. You were sure he'd be on board. “What-” you maneuvered in Jihoon's hold to face him fully “-are you talking about?”

“Baby should go with you.” Seungcheol asserted.

You heard Jihoon hum in agreement from behind you. Your eyes widened in confusion.

“That's not any better!?”

“No, it's perfect,” Seungcheol stated. “He's going with you.”

Jihoon smiled knowingly at your noises of confusion as he pressed his face to the back of your neck. And his smile only grew when he locked eyes with Seungcheol. As obvious as the two men had been about wanting you prior to you being the long awaited new edition to their relationship, you were still very much a third wheel. And now that you were actually with them, they'd hate for you to feel like you were third wheeling in your own relationship. So Jihoon and Seungcheol agreed to put extra attention on you while you were still new to the arrangement, ensuring that you knew that you would always be wanted by them.

You continued to sputter in disbelief as Jihoon moved to pack his own overnight bag. “Are you sure? Cause I really don't mind-”

“Do you not want me to stay with you?” Jihoon rolled his eyes playfully, but you could see the sincerity in them.

“Well, duh, I want you to stay with me! But Cheol's been known to covet.” You joke, raising your brow.

Seungcheol and Jihoon share a look.

“Does that make any sense?” Seungcheol looks to the ceiling in thought.

“Not a bit!” Jihoon shouted from his closet.

“Why would I covet my boyfriend… from my girlfriend?��

“Sounds like a bad boyfriend!”

“Am I a bad boyfriend?” Seungcheol finally looked at you.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What- No!” You shook your head violently. “Why would you say that!?” You squinted at the man.

“You basically just accused me of it.” Seungcheol raised his hands in surrender.

“I was joking.” You let out a sigh. “Stop saying stupid things.”

“Uhuh.” Seungcheol patted the spot next to him. “Come here.”

You obliged, sitting down next to him.

Seungcheol reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I love you.” He said with a slight smile.

“I love you too.” Your brows furrowed at the sudden confession, but you reciprocated no less.

“Jihoon loves you.”

“I love Jihoon too.” You nod trying to follow along.

“We all love each other!”

“I agree!” You glance at Jihoon who was peeking from the closet. “What are you-”

Seungcheol's hand cupped your face, bringing your attention back to him. He looked at you, his eyes gentle, but stern. “That means no jealousy, no envy, and especially no coveting. Okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed.

“If I ever start acting weird, feel free to hit me upside the head.” Seungcheol asserted with a nod.

“I can't do that!” You gasp in shock, placing a hand over your chest.

“I can.” Jihoon chimed in, dropping his bag to the floor before laying across the bed. He was smiling.

“See, baby can do it.” Seungcheol offered.

“Baby has an affinity for violence.” You deadpan.

“I don't see how that's relevant.” Jihoon scoffs.

“Listen-” your free hand reaches for Jihoon who's already moved to lay on your thigh. “-I trust you guys! You don't have to go out of your way to make me feel included.” Your fingers mindlessly combed through Jihoon's short hair.

“But it's important that we do.” Seungcheol looks at you sincerely. “We don't know what the future holds, and we can't read each other's minds. So if doing all this now, brings you comfort in maybe a year when you aren't feeling too sure about everything, then we're gonna lay it on thick.”

Your heart must be made of butter the way it just melted. How could you ever feel unsure when your boyfriends were always so considerate?

-

“I'll miss you guysssss,” Seungcheol whined as he pulled both you and Jihoon into a tight hug.

You stood by Seungcheol's red truck that was parked in front of your apartment building. It was about that time for you and Jihoon to bid your eldest lover goodnight.

“I'll miss you.” You kissed him on the cheek.

“It's just one night,” Jihoon mumbled.

You looked at the smaller man bewildered. “Were you not the one having a fit about being left alone earlier?” You raised your brow at him and crossed your arms.

Seungcheol mirrored your actions.

Jihoon's cheeks went red at your reminder. “Y'all seriously don't need that many clothes…” he grumbled.

Seungcheol smiled, pulling Jihoon by his waist and pressing a kiss to his nose, then his lips. Jihoon reciprocated with a hum. Just a few months ago you would've never admitted to this, but this might just be your favorite view in the world. It's moments like this that are a great reminder that you're no longer just looking in. You are a part of this, and that means that you can intervene as you like. You place a hand on Seungcheol's biceps, grabbing his attention. You go for the kiss with no hesitation. His lips were always so soft and sweet, and the way they moved against yours made you weak in the knees.

Jihoon lets out a low whistle as you pull away. “At least we know our girl has no problem taking what she wants.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Cmon.” You grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the building. “Goodnight, Cheolie-pop!”

“Night, my loves!” Seungcheol shouted back.

“Night, Cheol!” Jihoon said.

When you and Jihoon finally made it inside your apartment, you were very unsurprised to find one Hansol Vernon Chwe, lounging in your living room with a blunt in hand. Jihoon on the other hand, seemed startled.

“What the fuck-”

You let out a sigh. “Non, fuck I tell you about smoking in here.”

Vernon's tired eyes flitted between you and your boyfriend. “Oh shit.” He let out a chuckle as he reached to put his blunt out in the ashtray. “Sorry.”

“Why…” Jihoon started.

“I told you, this mother fucker never leaves.” you dragged a hand down your face.

“You were being serious?”

“Sorry hyung,” Vernon interjects. “____, ain't tell me she was bringing company.” He squinted at you as if it were your fault.

“If you ever went home I wouldn't have to tell you!” You marched further into your home grabbing a can of air freshener from under the kitchen sink. “I know Seungkwan misses you!”

“I see Kwan all the time.” Vernon furrowed his brows.

“That's great, because you're gonna call him to pick you up now.” You aim the air freshener at your ascended friend.

Jihoon, who was still standing at the door, started laughing at the scene before him. So this was what you dealt with when you returned home.

“Okay, okay.” Vernon picked up his phone and began to dial his roommate. “But you know Kwan doesn't like when I smoke,” He grumbled.

“I don't like when you smoke!” You began spraying the surrounding area with pineapple breeze.

“Yeah, but I live with him.”

“Not really! I should be charging you rent!”

“Yeah but…” He was not going to finish that sentence. You knew it was useless trying to argue with Vernon when he was high.

When Seungkwan answered, you explained that you were evicting his roommate for the time being and he was more than happy to come get him.

“Sorry about that.” You mumble to Jihoon as you fall onto your bed.

Jihoon laughed, following suit. “It's okay. I didn't think you were being literal when you said he was always here, though.” He laid on his side to face you.

“Yeah… he never fucking leaves.” You chuckled. “I don't know why either. When I ask he always just replies ‘vibes,” whatever the fuck that means. But he washes dishes so…”

“And you're at mine most of the time anyways.”

“That too.” You let out a sigh, smiling at the man next to you. “It's still so odd to me.” You roll onto your back, your eyes drawing patterns in the bumps of your popcorn ceiling.

“What's odd?” Jihoon's brows furrowed. He observed your movements, the way you shift to fix how your shirt rolled up, how your nose scrunched when you caught a whiff of Vernon's favorite lazy day activity. Things so little that you'd think he was crazy if you knew he kept track of them. And if you knew for how long? Jihoon didn't even want to know. He didn't care to remember all those horrid years of pining anyway.

Jihoon watched as you hummed in thought, trying to find your words.

“Being your girlfriend.” You turn your head to the side, looking back at him. “Being Cheol's girlfriend. It's like… something that was so obviously falling into place, but I didn't put it together until it was actually happening.”

“And now-” You roll onto your stomach hoping to find a comfortable position to lay in. “-I’m in a relationship with like, my best friends. And it feels normal, like it was always meant to be this way. But it still comes to mind just how much has actually changed.” You finally decide to sit up straight, crossing your legs in front of you.

Jihoon is quick to sit up as well, scooching closer to you and letting his legs brush against yours. “I see what you mean.” Jihoon nods in agreement. He actually hadn't thought that much about it. He was just so fucking happy that you wanted to be with him and Seungcheol that it never really crossed his mind. Or maybe he was just thinking about it differently than you were.

“We've always been really close, probably too close.” Jihoon joked. “But actually being together like this is a completely different thing. I think I've been more focused on holding on than anything.” A shade of pink dusted over cheeks, his face going rosy from his confession.

You smile at him. “Well you don't have to worry about that, Ji, I ain't going anywhere.”

“Yeah?” It came out as more of a question than an agreement. It's not that Jihoon didn't believe you, he's known you for way to fucking long to question your sincerity. But what if you changed your mind? You decide that a life with two partners is way too overwhelming, and that this is no longer what you want. It was a thought Jihoon had been pushing away, but it's no good to keep it to himself.

“Yeah.” Your smile grew softer. You reached for your lover's hand, locking yours with his. His spaced out gaze then focused on you. “I thought a lot about this before I made my decision. Yeah two partners are bound to be twice as difficult as one. Yes, the thought of dating my best friends was scary because what if it all gets fucked up and we're not even friends before it's over?”

You breathe out a sigh at the harsh thoughts. “But ultimately, I decided to take the risk. I love you guys so much. And frankly. A world where I'm not the most important person to the two of you sounded like my own personal hell.”

Jihoon huffed out a laugh at that.

“But most importantly,” you begin, “a world where the two of you weren't ingrained in my life genuinely made my heart hurt. I may have been oblivious for a while, but I know it's true when I say I want this. More than anything, I want a life with you and Seungcheol.” Your free hand slaps your thigh to add emphasis.

Jihoon was fully blushing at this point, and he was unable to meet your eyes. And his heart, oh his heart. Was it warm? Or was it on fire? It was definitely beating fast. His eyes locked onto your intertwined hands, his thumb smoothed over the back of yours. He felt your grip tighten ever so slightly, and then your free hand was gently cupping his face, making him look at you.

“I love you.” Jihoon said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really fucking love you.”

“I love you.” You beamed at the man. “So much!”

And then you were leaning in, softly pressing your lips to his. Kissing Jihoon tasted like a walk on a sunny day, except it's drizzling just a bit. Always welcome and refreshing, the cool droplets completely in contrast to the blazing sun. Jihoon's hand moved to your neck, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. You hummed in satisfaction as your lips moved together. You licked across the seam of Jihoon's lips, asking him to open for you. He obliged. And as your tongues danced together, there came an awful ringing noise. It was your phone. You ignored it, pushing Jihoon into the mattress and climbing on top of him. Oh the noises he made were so sweet. His fingers squeeze your thighs, spurring you on. Your lips move down his jaw and… more ringing. But it's not your phone, it's Jihoon's.

You pull away, now fully aware of who was making these late night calls. Jihoon seemed to have put it together as well as he sat up, his hand firm on your back to keep you in place, and reached for his phone on the other side of the bed. And lo and behold, it was none other than the third piece of your trio. Jihoon answers the call and Seungcheol's face appears on the screen.

“Hey, Cheolie.” Jihoon mumbles, his lips already forming an involuntary smile.

You shuffled around so that your back was to Jihoon and you could face the little screen that held your other boyfriend.

“Hiiii.” Seungcheol's eyes squinted as he took in the scene before him. The disheveled hair, dazed eyes, swollen red lips. “Looks like I interrupted something?” He raised a brow in question.

You smirk at his accusations. “I was just making sure baby felt at home.” You bat your lashes.

This made Seungcheol chuckle. “Yeah? That's good, take good care of our baby.” He beams at you.

You hear Jihoon scoff. “I'm a grown man. No one needs to take care of me.” He rolls his eyes.

“Oh?” You turn your head to the side to get a better look at the man behind you. Your fingers move to caress his face. “I guess I'll just leave you alone then?” You quirked your brow.

“Well… no.” Jihoon's brows furrowed.

“You better apologize, baby,” Seungcheol laughed.

Jihoon's frown only grew deeper with Seungcheol's teasing. “I will end this call right fucking now.”

“Okay, I'm sorry.” Seungcheol surrendered. “I'll just let cupcake handle you.” His eyes narrowed, the mischievous glint in them extremely evident.

“You know I got it.” You assured him. Your hand fell to Jihoon's thigh, the ‘smack’ sound muffled by the fabric of his shorts.

“Oh my god…” Jihoon whispered to himself. Normally he had more bark in him, but he was much too tired to be a brat right now. His arm wrapped around your waist and his head fell to your shoulder. “Not tonight.” He groaned.

You and Seungcheol both giggled at your partner. So fucking cute. You gave Jihoon's thigh a squeeze.

“Whatever you want, baby boy.”

Seungcheol could only smile at the two of you. His loves. He was gonna hug y'all so tight tomorrow.

You all talked for a bit longer, you and Seungcheol decided to call it quits when Jihoon had all but passed out while sitting up. You said your ‘goodnights,’ and ‘I love yous,’ and took your asses to bed.

-

Jihoon shuffled around your apartment with his camera, taking note of all your little trinkets and decorations with each photo he snapped. You watched him with a smile as he paid a great deal of attention to your shelf of cat ornaments.

‘click’

“When did you get these?” Jihoon asked, squinting at the blurry photo. “Shit,” he whispered.

“Jun brought me a bunch a few months ago” You watched Jihoon fix his camera settings before taking another photo.

‘click’

“He got em at a garage sale. This is only half of em, he has the rest.”

Jihoon hummed in acknowledgement before finding a new subject.

It really was bizarre the more you thought about it. You've known Jihoon since middle school, you remember him singing at the talent show so vividly. You were so in awe that you just had to approach him and tell him just how crazy, awesome his voice was. He was super shy, completely unable to make eye contact with you. Then when he placed 2nd, losing to a girl who tapped danced dressed like Shirley Temple, you were about ready to fight the teachers on his behalf. Jihoon, not being one to make a scene, grabbed your arm just as you were storming off. He told you that it was okay, he was just happy to have placed at all. You looked him up and down before agreeing, then you insisted on buying him ice cream with your allowance. You refused to take no for an answer.

And now, well over a decade later, he's one of your boyfriends. And that boyfriend was taking aesthetic Pinterest photos around your house. So bizarre.

You laid down on the couch, propping yourself up on your elbow. You and Jihoon were waiting for Seungcheol to be free from his day job. You had no clue what it was that a sports manager actually did, but it made a lot of money, and got you the best seats at games, so you suppose you couldn't be mad that they were keeping him a bit late.

Your eyes widened slightly when Jihoon pushed your coffee table to the side, and squated down a few inches behind where it once was, his camera aimed at you.

“Love.” You sighed.

“What?” Jihoon murmured, adjusting the zoom on his camera. His brows furrowed at your narrowed eyes. “I love you~” he sang.

Your smile was completely involuntary.

‘click’

Jihoon fiddled with his camera, zooming in on the photo he just took.

“Happy?” You questioned, still smiling.

Jihoon glanced at you, then back to the image. Your smile was soft and content. Oh his heart ached, such a beautiful smile. “Very” he hummed.

-

“My loves!” Seungcheol shouted, pushing himself off of his red truck when he saw you and Jihoon emerge from your apartment building.

“Cheolie-pop!” You shouted back.

Before you knew it, two strong arms had wrapped around you and Jihoon, the squeeze evicting all the air from your lungs. You let out a small ‘oof.’

“Cheolie!” Jihoon wheezes out. “You can't just- no air…”

Seungcheol yelped when Jihoon pinched him. Jihoon's efforts to free the two of you proved to be highly effective when Seungcheol released his viper-like hold.

“Why won't you let me love you?” Seungcheol pouted.

“If you kill us, there'll be nothing to love.” You grabbed Seungcheol's face, squishing his cheeks.

The large man only continued to pout at you, so you lean in, place a soft kiss on his lips. And like clockwork, his pout turned into a smile.

“Trueee, cupcake. You're so smart.” Seungcheol agreed as he took your's and Jihoon's bags, tossing them in the trunk.

Jihoon laughed at the interaction. “I think you're just a dumbass, Babe.”

“Well this dumbass has two partners so I think I'm doing pretty alright.” Seungcheol huffed.

“That's true, sweetness. He does have two partners.” You nodded in agreement with Seungcheol.

Jihoon's brows ticked. “I have two partners, you have two partners. Last time I checked, we were all in the same throuple!”

You held back your laughs as Jihoon ranted about the logistics of Seungcheol's very illogical argument. Seungcheol, on the other hand, was cackling like a hyena. Jihoon's eye twitched.

“Okay.” The pale man nodded. “Message received.”

Oh Lord. You do not make a fool of Lee Jihoon. You and Seungcheol were definitely in for it once you got back to his place. Safe to say, this only spurred the two of you on.

“Oh, baby.” Seungcheol cooed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You looked to the sky in faux thought. “We should finish what we started last night, sweetness. Show Cheolie what he was missing out on.”

When you looked back to your lover, he was already crawling into the backseat of Seungcheol's truck.

“Burn in hell!” Jihoon shouted before closing the door.

You and Seungcheol smiled at each other before getting into the truck yourselves.

This was going to be fun.

(⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

An: Is... The Vernon bit funny, be honest. I love these guys a lot actually. This isn't really a solid pt 2 but like I just want write about them being silly and loving each other 🙏🏽 Maybe one day I'll make em sad... I'm sad often so it's actually pretty likely 💀 Also! Maybe prequel? Yeah? Yeah? Doesn't matter, I'm doing it anyway.

Also, I'm like, going through it bc Jihoon is literally leaving. Like he's literally leaving and I'm freaking out. This is lowkey worse than when bts left bc I'm super emotionally dependent on this man 😭 I'll be fine. I'm fine.

If you loved this? Please tell me‼️ If you didn't? I don't care, you can still tell me‼️

Reblogs and comments appreciated!!! You can also come and send me an ask!!! Lots of love!

[sixeyesonathiel]

kill switch — m.list

pairing — target!satoru x assasin!reader

synopsis : a professional assassin accepts a job to eliminate an ordinary high school teacher—only to find her target is gojo satoru, a man who eats gas station sushi with religious devotion and nearly dies walking to work. as days pass, she finds herself less concerned with completing the job and more preoccupied with why someone would want this disastrous man dead. or: when your target's worst enemy is himself and your professional detachment keeps slipping every time he almost gets hit by a bus.

status : ongoing (3/? chapters, 18.5k word count) ✦ tags — no curses au, crack treated seriously, dark humor, fluff for all the wrong reasons, assassin & target dynamic, self-destructive disaster man, implied nerdjo, satoru is a great teacher, moral ambiguity, reluctant caretaking, food aggression (affectionate), chaotic neighbors, near-death hijinks, emotional constipation, eventual smut, happy ending. art by @Leimiruu.

— chapter index

01 — you're a professional killer, but this job might just take you out. the target? a white-haired mess named gojo satoru who eats expired sushi, nearly gets hit by buses daily, and microwaves aluminum foil without blinking. he's either the world's worst war criminal or just a man with a death wish—and you're not sure which is more annoying.

by day three, you're less worried about killing him and more concerned he'll beat you to it.

02 — satoru gojo doesn’t know what to make of you. one minute, you’re shoving a bento into his hands like you want to stab him, the next you’re scowling as you check the bruise on his forehead with careful fingers. you act like he’s the most irritating person alive—so why do you keep showing up everywhere? his apartment building, his bus stop, even in the school he works for.

he should be suspicious but his heart is too busy performing gymnastics in his chest, a little too delighted at having someone near.

03 — satoru gojo’s life is spiraling into chaos, and you’re at the center of it. thursday through sunday, you’re dragging him through cooking lessons that feel like boot camp, park outings where he faceplants spectacularly, and late-night dinners that blur the line between bickering and something dangerously softer. your scowls are sharper than ever, but your hands linger when you brush grass from his hair or shove a plate his way.

he’s a mess—half-convinced you’re his future, half-panicked by a secret he can’t escape. every moment with you feels like a stolen treasure, but there’s a shadow looming, and it’s closing in fast.

more to come.

tag list : @raendarkfaerie @inoluvrr @miizuzu @lolightrealm @whytfisgojosohot @bearchermer @writtenapoiogy @itsinherited @basicallyjeankirschtein @mits-vi @poopooindamouf @cosmic-har @chalametet @levimaids @uwuitzerimpact @fushiguroooozzz @scaraslover @kouyoumarryme @itsssyagurll @risagichi @luvleixo @ssetsuka @pickledsoda @igatfmwao @kkataleena @tears4angel @blueemochii @imightgoinsane @sorainoo @surgikull @ikeoksan @synapsis @saitamaswifey @tojisslxtt @iluvbeinagirl @mysuperrainbow @propan-3-ol @sakuya98 @chubbymarshies @waterfal-ling @dickktektive @sunootzrose @asimpinamillion @heyl820 @pickuptruck01 @k0z3me @lostmembrane @ffaeriee

plz comment if u want to be added on the tl xx

[illyrianshadow]

Flirting in the Dark

Summary: Cassian convinces you to help him retrieve an item from his brother’s room. It doesn't quite go as you had planned.

Warnings: none really, slightly suggestive comments and a hint of smut if you squint (the tiniest hint). Just bat boys being silly.

A/N: Just something a little bit light hearted. I wrote this in one go after waking up this morning as I needed to get it out of my head. Enjoy the silliness. Comments very welcome I love to hear your thoughts.

Edit: you ask and you shall receive, part 2 here x

————— 

Cassian looks at you with a familiar hint of mischief in his eyes. 

“Come on sweetheart. Light of my life. The most beautiful female in all of Prythian.” 

You roll your eyes at his words, a small smile on your lips. You continue making your breakfast, trying to manoeuvre around him as he’s trying to block your path. 

“Your flattery doesn’t work on me Cass. Also you forget I have known you for way too long to go along with any of your schemes.” 

And you have. Being childhood friends you have been there through all of his terribly planned out pranks and plots. 

He sighs but by the look in his eyes you can tell he isn’t going to give up anytime soon. 

“You don’t understand, I NEED that dagger. It’s technically mine anyway, Az stole it from me. I just need you to distract him for a little bit while I go into his room and grab it. I’ll be stealthy, I promise. I’ll go in through the window. No harm done.” 

You don’t mean to but you start laughing and you snort at the vision of a 200 pound Illyrian trying to stealthily push himself through a window. 

You grab your cup of tea and lean against the counter. 

“Stealthy? Cass, I love you but being stealthy is not really your vibe. You’re better off leaving that to the professional spies, like Az.” 

His eyes light up at your words, and you can see some unspoken plan forming in his head. He claps his hands together. You immediately regret everything you’ve just said. 

“Or like you! That’s it, change of plan. I’ll go distract Az, you sneak in through the window to get the dagger.“ He looks at you with pleading eyes, pouting. 

The Lord of Bloodshed, looking at you like a stroppy child that won’t stop until he gets his way. 

You groan. “I did not become a trained spy for this court to aid you in your stupid pranks, you overgrown bat.” but you’re caving, and you know Cassian can tell. 

“I’ll take you out for dinner, my treat. Anywhere you want. And I’ll wash your dishes for a whole month.” 

You roll your eyes, taking a small sip from your tea as if you need to think about it for a minute. You don’t. And Cassian knows it too. 

“Come on, I know you want to.” 

You sigh. “Fine, but I pick somewhere expensive AND you buy my outfit.” 

He looks at you with a big grin on his face. “Done.” 

————— 

This is stupid. Utterly ridiculous. You swear softly to yourself as you look from the little balcony you are standing on to the window of Azriel’s room on the left. 

Ever the gentleman he had traded rooms with you a while ago, giving you the one with the balcony and moving into the smaller one without himself. 

Which meant getting in through his window was going to be a lot more challenging than you had considered. 

Thank the mother he had left it open. 

————— 

After an embarrassing struggle with the window and a small freakout about heights, you’ve made it into Azriel's bedroom. 

Your courage in your little mission wavers as you look at the collection of daggers displayed on a big table against one of the walls. Cassian had described the one you are looking for to you in great detail but looking at the overwhelming amount of weapons, this is going to be a challenge. 

The Spymaster is a grade A hoarder. Perfect. 

You make a system in your head as you start looking, getting so wrapped up in the task at hand that you don’t notice the small shadows slipping in through the crack under the door. 

You’re a good spy, but this ridiculous search has made you leave your guard down. Also Azriel is the one that trained you. It’s a lost cause to begin with. 

Then out of nowhere the room goes dark. A soft curse leaves your lips as you try to look around for a way to escape. It’s no use. You’ve been caught. 

Well, that didn’t last long. You should’ve known, Cassian is a terrible liar.

You suddenly feel a presence behind you, lips hovering right over your ear. You shiver at the feeling. “Looking for something love?” 

Azriel moves closer, wrapping one of his arms around your waist as he presses you against him to keep you in place. There’s no making a quick escape now. 

Not that you could get away anyway with the room being as dark as it is. 

Your breath hitches at the pet name and you lean back slightly, savouring the feeling of Azriel’s strong chest pressed against your back. 

“Just admiring your collection.” you reply casually, knowing damn well that Azriel can see right through you. 

“Is that so?” he whispers back, lips touching the shell of your ear before moving down to the spot in your neck he knows drives you crazy. 

This isn’t new territory for the two of you, but there is usually a lot more alcohol involved. 

“Then why did I just get dragged out of my room by Cassian pretending to have a very important, non-existent laundry crisis he needed my help with?” 

You really should’ve given the general some pointers. A laundry crisis, really? Why did you agree to help him again?

He spins the two of you around and before you realise what is happening you are pressed against the wall on the other side of the room, Azriel hovering over you. 

The darkness has cleared slightly. 

“What is he looking for?” He asks, staring into your eyes with an intensity that makes your knees feel weak. 

“Nothing.” You squeak, voice an octave higher than it should be. 

His scent is overwhelming your senses and it’s becoming more and more difficult to not keep staring at his lips. 

He smirks. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

He moves even closer, lips hovering over your own, almost touching. “I don’t believe you.” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath while trying to block out the male in front of you. His body presses even closer to your own and his lips find their way to your ear again. “If you tell me I’ll reward you.” 

You shiver as you feel heat begin to pool in your core. 

“I’ve been trained never to reveal my secrets on a mission.” you reply, voice surprisingly steady considering your current state. 

“Since it was me that trained you I think it’s okay to make an exception.” Azriel mumbles, as his lips trace the outline of your jaw. 

One of his hands starts moving up your side, making small circles up towards your breast. He stops the movement just underneath and rests his hand there. Tease. 

He pulls his lips away from their position on your jaw to look into your eyes again. His pupils are blown and you can tell it’s taking him a lot of strength to not just devour you then and there. 

You smirk. “You okay there Shadowsinger?” 

“Never better.” his voice comes out rough. 

You can’t take this any longer. 

“He wants the dagger you stole from him.” you mumble as you move one of your hands to trace the outline of his wing. He hisses in response, pressing a knee between your legs to push them apart so he can settle in between them. 

“Does he now?” he grumbles. “I’ll have you know he lost that dagger in a bet, fair and square. I didn’t steal anything. It’s not my fault he’s such a sore loser.” 

He presses against you and the feeling of his evident arousal makes your cheeks flush. His hand starts moving again, slowly tracing the outline of your breast before softly grazing your nipple. You let out a small whine. 

Your eyes find Azriel’s again and you are about to crash your lips to his when you hear a loud knock on the outside of his door. 

“LET ME IN, I’M TAKING MY DAGGER BACK.” It seems like Cassian is getting desperate and has decided to resort to his favourite way of getting what he wants, violence. 

Azriel presses his lips to yours and slowly bites down on your bottom lip. “Don’t go anywhere, we aren’t finished.” he whispers into your mouth. Then he steps away from you and light floods the room again. 

Azriel is going to kill his brother. 

[ponderingmoonlight]

Reader falling obsessively in love with kny men after getting poisoned

Pairings: Rengoku x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader; Giyu x fem!reader; bonus Genya x fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: There's no smut going on but it's definitely a close call lol, I just thought this concept is funny so the fics itself and the whole scenarios aren't 100% serious it's getting absolutely heated in every single one though hehe, Not proofread bc I literally finished this last minute before my flight lol, I'm currently in Greece when this gets published so surprise ya girl with your support until she's back 🤍

Rengoku Kyojuro

“And you’re sure this is safe?”, you question while looking up at Shinobu with frightful eyes.

It should be fine. After all, Shinobu is the one who invented a medicine that is supposed to finally force your headache away. She’s a professional, so well-educated that even Kagaya-sama’s very own children get treated by her.

Even though she didn’t have the chance to test this medicine, you should be fine.

Right?

“As you know, I’ll never promise something I can’t keep, (y/n). But you’re here with me and if something goes wrong, I will find a way”, she tries to reassure you, only to spike your panic up even higher.

“Listen Shinobu, maybe I’ll try something e-“

Before you’re able to finish your sentence and stop her, you feel a needle poking through your arm oh so gently.

For a moment, you simply sit there and blink in confusion. Huh, not as bad as you thought. It really seems like your headache slowly but surely starts fainting away while the medicine burns every so slightly through your veins.

Not bad at all.

Until your heartbeat picks up so suddenly that your eyes dart wide open. Like in trance, you yank out of the chair you were sitting in, orbs darting around without a real aim while frantically searching for something.

Or rather someone.

What a quiet and peaceful day it is to roam around the beautiful butterfly estate. Rengoku actually didn’t even plan to come here. After all, he isn’t injured nor does he need something from Shinobu-san. To be honest, he’s only here because of you.

You told him yesterday that you’ll see Shinobu today in order to test medicine that is supposed to end your ongoing headaches. You were a little frightened when you thought about getting an injection, so it was never a question for Rengoku to be there for you. Hopefully, he made it on time.

“Kyojuro.”

He furrows his eyebrows and turns towards that unusual seductive voice.

When your eyes meet his, he forgets how to breathe. There you stand, your kimono opened just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your chest like never before. But what simply sweeps him off his feet are your eyes. As gorgeous and captivating as ever, but this time igniting an so unknown spark, inviting him to a silent dance.

“(y/n), are you feeling alright?”

Your hips swing from side to side as you draw closer to him and place your hand straight over his beating heart.

“I’m feeling better than ever before, Kyojuro.”

Kyojuro can’t help but blush deeply, eyes widening in surprise. A nervous smile plays on his lips while he stammers slightly, unable to hide his flustered state. Is this really you, the secret love of his life, discovering his body with your bare hands? The second your flat palms start wandering over his back, his hands start to fidget. Out of instinct, he avoids eye contact, his very own hands now keeping you in place.

“W-What’s going on. (y/n)?”, he stammers like he never did before.

“Take me, Kyojuro.”

His eyes grow even wider, usual confidence momentarily faltering like a house of cards.

“I-I…um, what?”

With a force he didn’t even know you have, you shove him against a nearby tree, your knee gliding between his legs.

“I want you since the first time I saw you. I won’t wait for another opportunity when you’re right here.”

“(y/n)…D-did you already meet Shinobu-san?”

Are you sick or injured? A quick scan of your body reveals nothing that could indicate a serious wound. No, to be precise, you reveal nothing but your soft curves, your gorgeous frame he has never seen like this before. With your kimono slightly opened and the cleavage that peaks at him oh so invitingly…He never felt your hands pressed against his chest like that before, never got a taste of how well you fit inside of his arms.

No. He shakes his head ever so slightly, forces his own mind back to reality. This isn’t the (y/n) he knows. You’d never sneak up on him like this, even if the words you just spoke are true.

Oh, please let them be true.

“All I care about is you”, you purr, face now only inches away from his.

If his back wasn’t pressed against a tree already, Kyojuro would lose his balance for sure. He was always captivated by that gorgeous colour your eyes have, never able to look away. But now, with that dark gleam inside of them, your hands wrapped around his neck. A little innocent kiss, a dream that comes true right here and now-

“(y/n), come back right now!”, a voice cries behind him so suddenly that he jumps up inside the cage of your comforting arms.

“We are here, Shinobu-san!”, he replies automatically.

Only to regret his words instantly. Just one second more and his lips would have touched yours, only a few moments more in your embrace before it all ends again. It takes him all his strength to let go of you when Shinobu arrives with an injection ready in her hand.

“I’m beyond sorry, Rengoku-san! (y/n)’s strange behaviour is all my fault. But don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in just a moment.”

Faster than he’s even able to comprehend the insect pillar’s words, she sticks a needle into your arm and releases the injection.

You blink a few times, head spinning uncontrollably as you stumble backwards. Where are you? What happened? Your head pounds so roughly against your skull that you feel like puking any given minute.

“How are you feeling, (y/n)?”, Shinobu’s comforting voice rings in your ears.

Slowly but surely, your foggy vision starts to get clear again.

“Since when are you so tall, Shinobu?”, you mumble absently.

“It’s me, (y/n). Kyojuro.”

Oh.

“Kyojuro!”, you mumble in utter surprise.

“But…what are you doing here?”

“Let’s not talk about it. I-I…I need to go now”, the flame hashira announces before turning on his heels and walking away.

You stare at his back in nothing but confusion. What is wrong with him? Is he not feeling well, maybe?

“Is it just me or does Kyojuro walk very strange today?”, you question, earning endless giggles from Shinobu next to you.

“He does indeed.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

“Watch out idiot, you’re gonna get hit!”, the white-haired man barks harshly at you before dashing towards again.

It happened faster than you were ready to react. A little troll through the woods at night, a deep conversation with the wind hashira. And just a few seconds later, an upper-ranked demon appeared out of nowhere.

“Don’t let it hit you, (y/n)!”

“I’m not stupid, dumbass!”, you bite back while dodging another hit with a tendril.

What a strange-looking demon that woman is. With countless pink tendrils that act as her hair and her long tongue, she really looks different from every demon you’ve seen before.

“Still fighting for your love, you fool?”, she jeers at Sanemi before trying to hit him once again.

"I will show you what love really is! It's a consuming fire that burns away your sense of self, leaving you hollow and desperate. It's an obsession that blinds you to reality, making every thought, every breath, every heartbeat revolve around the one person who becomes your entire world. In this love, you lose your freedom, your identity, and your sanity, as you sacrifice everything to feed the insatiable hunger that never goes away-“

“Can you just stop talking shit, ugly bitch? I just wanna go home”, Sanemi interrupts her dryly

You chuckle to yourself. As if a demon would know anything about love. Their only purpose on this earth is to kill innocent humans for the fun of it.

“What the hell do you know about love, huh? All you do is destroying it”, you blurt out.

Just a moment of sloppiness, a second of turning your back to the tendrils that surround you like a prison. The second you feel it, it’s already too late.

“(y/n)!”, Sanemi cries out, feet rapidly carrying him to your side in order to slice through that fucking piece of tendril that pierced itself through your leg.

He wraps his arms around you tightly, saves you from clashing onto the ground. But the second you open your eyes again, they don’t look like they did before. No, you look obsessed.

“Hey, look at me (y/n). Come back to me”, he insists, a slight tone of panic now taking over his usual so harsh voice.

What if that bitch poisoned you? Shinobu is miles away, there’s no way in hell he’d make it on time. And even now, tendrils continue to circle both of you, waiting for an opportunity to hurt him as well.

“Just see what love does to you! You’ll have to kill her!”

“What the fuck are you talking about”, he hisses under his breath.

“(y/n)?”

“Sanemi.”

Your voice sounds dark, unpromising, coated in something he’s never heard before.

“Hey, are ya alright?”

You’re moving too fast for him to react. In the split of a second, you sit on top of him, your hands holding his in place while your lips start tracing up and down his neck.

For a moment, Sanemi forgets how to exist.

You’re sitting on top of him.

With your lips pressed against his neck.

Almost instantly, blood shoots up his face and straight into his private parts, eyes widen in…horror?

No, not because of you, not because he doesn’t enjoy to finally feel you this close. But this isn’t you. This is the poison of that fucking demon.

Just before he gets hit as well, he slices through another tendril that was ready to attack both of you.

“You can’t save her and yourself!”, the demon shouts at him in sheer amusement.

“Your love will get you killed!”

“(y/n).”

His voice is as tender as never before, hands now grabbing your arms oh so gently.

“You need to come back to me, okay? This isn’t you, this isn’t…how you feel for me.”

He hates the way his heart starts aching as soon as those words leave his mouth. There’s no way in hell someone like you would ever fall for someone like him if it wasn’t for that demon. Not when you’re so gorgeous, so breathtakingly beautiful, so smart-

“But I love you, Sanemi! And I need you!”, you cry out, lips now only inches away from meeting yours.

“You don’t love me, (y/n). How could you ever love me?”

“Let me show you.”

Just before your hand gets the chance to grab his pants, he swings you around in order to lay on top of you – completely out of breath and flustered like never before.

“You need to focus. We need to kill that bitch”, he tries to remind you while dodging another wave of attacks with his free hand.

“You’ll need to kill her!”

“Shut up!”, he barks at the demon behind him.

But that thing’s right. With you writhing like a snake underneath him and those countless merciless attacks, he can concentrate on neither.

“I’m the only one who’s able to save her-“

“I said shut up!”

“(y/n), please get yourself together”, he breathes out.

God, why do you have to look so damn tempting with your legs wrapped around his waist and eyes as flustered as he’s never seen before? Countless lonely nights, he imagined what you might look like, feel like, sound like.

But this isn’t real. That sudden outburst of love isn’t real.

“Looks like you’re busy, Shinazugawa. Maybe you should do things like that somewhere other than on the battlefield”, a painfully known voice comments behind him dryly.

“Shut up at take care of that bitch. I need to look after (y/n)”, he instructs the serpent hashira sharply before picking you up and sprinting into the woods.

“I need you. Please”, you beg between his arms, the way your hands roam around his chest simply driving him insane.

“You can’t help her!”, a faint female voice cries behind both of you.

Screw that fucking demon. He needs to get the real you back, needs to finally confess his damned feelings. Even if all of this is nothing but poison, he simply can’t live like this anymore. Not when you’re so close to him every day, not when he secretly can’t get enough of that sight in front of him right now.

“Come back to me, (y/n)”, he almost begs while letting you down.

Fuck, what is he supposed to do? What if he’s not able to help you? Even if he sends after Shinobu, you might go insane until she arrives. And what if you do something stupid, what if he isn’t able to protect you? And what if this isn’t the only thing that cursed poison does?

“Don’t you love me? I thought you like me back, I thought we have a future together, I…I can’t do this without you!”, you suddenly scream on top of your lungs while bursting out in tears.

“What? I never said that-“

“I don’t wanna live without you. I…I’ll end this!”

It happens almost too fast for him to react. In the matter of milliseconds, you grab your sword and direct it towards your throat, ready to slice it open with full-force.

“You little idiot”, he hisses through gritted teeth while forcing your blade away.

“I love you so fucking much that it hurts, you’re the only thing I’m thinking about constantly! Can’t you see that you’re driving me crazy since joining the corps!? I love you, (y/n)! I always did and I definitely always will! You’ve got me trapped, goddamn!”

And then he presses his lips against yours. Longingly, passionately, as if you’re air and he cannot breathe. Never in his life, Sanemi longed for something so small yet so big. Each and every night, his mind wandered to your lips, your laugh, just you and your fucking perfect self. He can’t stand the thought of you talking about yourself so badly. Him not loving you? Are you fucking insane?

“Sanemi.”

You breathe his name against his lips oh so sweetly.

Sweetly, with that cheeky undertone he knows so well.

“Is that you, (y/n)?”

When he opens his eyes again, he gets greeted by the gleaming kindness that radiates from your orbs just inches away from his.

“I’m sorry for…throwing myself at you like that…”, you mutter with reddened cheeks.

How embarrassing. You can’t believe you were about to touch his groin without permission. Even if you were poisoned, what the hell has gotten into you? And why do you have to remember all the things you’ve said and done? That would have been the least that cursed poison could have done…

“Don’t be, it’s fine”, Sanemi replies equally awkward.

“But…are you actually into me?”, you mumble followed by a swift gaze.

“I…I mean…-“

“He totally is”, Obanai barges into the conversation from behind.

Giyu Tomioka

“Didn’t you say that-ah! This was supposed to be easy?”, you press out while fighting a bunch of demons.

You really have no idea how you ended up here. Just a few seconds ago, you were having the best sleep of the week when your crow interrupted your slumber as rude as ever and literally dragged you onto the battlefield straight on his side.

His side. Giyu Tomioka, to be exact. The mysterious yet captivating water hashira you are eyeing since the first day of joining the chosen circle of pillars. What is it that ties you onto him like a chain, that forces your mind to wander towards him each and every day without any break?

“I will take care of the right side. Stay focused”, he instructs you as absent as ever, not even sending you a single look while your heart is all over the place.

It’s ridiculous and you know it all too well. A man like Giyu would never fall for someone as clumsy and unsettled at you. He will never look at you the way you look at him, not even daring to send you a single smile. Because you’re nothing but comrades, distant known. If it wasn’t for your responsibilities as pillar, he would have never even talked to you.

And you absolutely hate the way this stinging fact bugs you every single day of your life.

“You’re not focused enough, stupid girl”, a voice way too close suddenly purrs inside your ear.

There’s no time left to react. Not even Giyu Tomioka is able to reach you in time when the demon scratches your neck oh so slightly.

Only enough to spill your blood.

Only enough to make you go absolutely insane.

Your mind gets flooded by a wave of emotions, memories, thoughts. All at once. So rapidly that you feel like fainting any given minute.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing hurts more but the truth. Did you ever wonder about what she might feel for you, even love, maybe? I will reveal her darkest secrets, her thoughts that were never said out loud. And when she finally loses her mind completely, I will force her to kill you and afterwards herself!”

Giyu’s eyes widen at those words. You, loving him? He never even dared to think about something like this, not when you are admired by everyone around you. Why would you fall for someone as quiet and boring as him?

He swallows hard. But knowing that deep inside him is definitely different from hearing those words coming out of your mouth.

“Giyu.”

Your voice sounds cold and distant, eyes completely blank.

“(y/n), I will get you out of here, I’m sure Shinobu is able to-“

“I love you.”

You hate him.

No.

You love him?

“And I’ve loved you for so long that I lost count a long time ago. I love the way you walk, the way you inspect the world around you so carefully. I love how tender you are when it comes to children. I love your kindness, your calm voice-“

“Wait, this wasn’t supposed to go like this!”, the demon cries out.

“I love the feeling of your eyes set on me even though I know I’d never stand a chance. You are so much more than a friend to me, so precious that it hurts. And I can’t help but imagine myself lying inside your arms every night. I can’t help but stare at you whenever I catch you training. I can’t stop those butterflies from invading my stomach every time you’re around. I love you with all my heart even though I know you’d never love me back.”

HIs mind goes blank, ocean blue eyes staring at you in sheer disbelief. Suddenly everything else around you goes silent. The demon, the screams from afar. All he’s able to see is you with those tears glistening in your orbs.

Giyu’s heart skips a beat when he begins to realize.

You really mean it. Every word you just said is true.

“But I do feel the same way about you”, he finally replies while cupping your hands with his.

“I just never thought someone like you would fall for someone like me.”

“I would always choose you”, you clarify in an instant.

And then your eyes roll back into your skull, your lifeless body threatens to hit the cold ground.

-later-

“Giyu? Where’s Giyu?”, you croak out before you even open your eyes, your heart hurting so bad that you feel like puking.

What happened? All you’re able to remember is Giyu’s hands intertwined with yours before everything turned black. Or was it just a dream?

“Finally, I was so worried about you, (y/n).”

But no. At this very moment, he still holds onto your hand tightly while looking down at you with his brows furrowed.

“What happened?”

“You were poisoned by a demon and lost consciousness. I carried you to the butterfly estate”, he explains as briefly as ever.

“You…carried me?”

“Of course I did. You were unconscious, like I said.”

“Did we hold hands?”, you blurt out so suddenly that you even scare yourself.

You can feel Giyu sliding back and forth on his chair, eyes avoiding yours at any cost. Oh no, did you make him feel uncomfortable? What if he’s annoyed because of your foolish mistake? You should have never asked him-

“(y/n), do you remember the conversation we’ve had on the battlefield?”, he questions with unspoken hope glimmering inside his orbs.

“I…I don’t remember anything…”, you finally admit.

What did you talk about? Did you insult him? And what about that demon? That thing definitely wasn’t a lower ranked demon.

“You told me you love me.”

Your heart leaves your body and soul behind, glossy eyes staring at him in sheer disbelief. Fuck, did you hear that correctly? You told him you love him?

“I…I said that?”, you stutter.

“I mean…M-maybe I h-hit my head a l-little too h-“

“And I love you too.”

Oh.

This is even more ridiculous.

“You love me?”, you shriek in reply.

“I never thought about the possibility that you might actually like me back. But when that demon poisoned you, when you told me that you love me…I can’t keep this lie up any longer. I love you, (y/n).”

Gently, he wraps his comforting arms around your aching body, allows you to take in his calming scent.

“It embarrasses me that it took a demon to finally say this out loud.”

“But…would you mind telling me what I said?”, you mumble against his neck.

He lifts up your head enough for you to catch a glimpse of his breath-taking smile.

“I’d rather keep these words for myself.

Bonus: Genya Shinazugawa

“Where’s (y/n)!?”, Mitsuri cries out in sheer panic while darting around the estate in a haste.

“(y/n)? I’ve seen her on her way to the hot springs just a few moments ago”, Tanjiro replies in utter confusion.

“Is there somebody else, Tanjiro-kun?”, Mitsuri continues while grabbing Tanjiro’s shoulders roughly.

“Hello, Genya”, you purr.

“(y-y/n)!? What the hell are you doing here, I’m taking a bath!”, Genya cries out with his cheeks already bright red.

But instead of getting lost like he told you to, you let your towel fall to the floor.

And stand in front of him.

Completely naked.

“What are you doing!?”, he shrieks.

In the matter of seconds, he turns himself away from you, his face burning like a thousand fires. Fuck, he’s already flustered when you’re around him in your uniform. But you, butt-naked, in the same hot spring? He’ll definitely die here.

“I needed to see you. There’s actually something I wanted to tell you in a long time, Genya.”

When the water around him starts to move due to you entering the hot spring, he feels like dying out of excitement and fright. You shouldn’t be here together, not when you’re completely naked, not alone. He never prepared himself for something like this to happen, didn’t even allow his mind to wander such places. Fuck, what is he supposed to do?

Suddenly, he finds himself whirled around in your arms, your chest pressed against his.

Your very naked chest.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“What are you doing!?”

“Come on, I saw the looks you were giving me when you thought I wasn’t watching”, you purr while drawing small circles onto his chest.

“I…no…I didn’t mean it…that way…I just think that…that you are awesome. And cute…”, Genya mumbles.

“(Y/N)!”

Another splash, another butt-naked woman that now grabs your shoulders and pulls you out of the water with impressive strength.

“I’m so sorry, Genya! I fear (y/n) mistook the love portion I made for juice!”, Mitsuri bubbles while trying to tame you down.

“CAN THE TWO OF YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE NOW!?”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt @sanemifucker

[burningembers91]

Sleeping With the Enemy - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: tasked with taking down the most ruthless gangster in Seoul, Hwang Jun-Ho didn’t know he’d fall for his target’s wife in the process.

Please note that this storyline will deal with situations depicting domestic violence.

A/N: Did I come up with this idea at 1am when I couldn’t sleep? Yes. Did I also get up at 5am to write it as it was etched into my brain? Yes. Am I very tired? Also, yes. But this storyline is gonna be juicy as heck.

It was you who called the police. You, who in your wedding vows had sworn to love and protect you husband, just has he had sworn the same. He hadn’t bothered to keep his promise though, so why should you? The man you married was a ruthless tyrant, taking whatever he wanted with little regard for the devastation his actions caused. The police had been after him for years, desperate to catch the ruthless gangster who tormented the good people of Seoul. You’d be so young when you married him, swept up in the glitz and glamour of the high life he showed you. He’d promised you the world; you just hadn’t realised it would come at a cost.

You weren’t sure you’d ever loved your husband, and you knew he’d never loved you. You were an accessory on his arm, something necessary to bring along to meetings and parties, adorning you in the highest quality clothes and shoes for his colleagues and competitors to admire. He’d started hitting you shortly after your wedding, started showing his real colours when he was confident you couldn’t escape. You’d spent years cowering in his shadow, meekly accepting the designer gifts he bestowed upon you as an apology for treating you like dirt. You weren’t living anymore; you were simply existing.

Hwang Jun-Ho was assigned to your case, tasked with keeping the beautiful wife of the city’s most dangerous gangster safe. He’d been warned that you couldn’t be trusted; that this whole thing could be nothing more than a ploy to send the police off chasing their tails. But Jun-Ho knew from the moment he met you that you weren’t doing your husband’s bidding. You were stunning, dressed in Dior, Prada and dripping in Cartier diamonds. But those high end brands couldn’t mask the fear in your eyes. Just like the makeup couldn’t mask the bruises on your face. At first, he’d been sure this case would be the one he needed to skyrocket him to greater things. But one meeting with you and the boost this would give to his career was no longer his priority; you were. He’d been in this job for long enough that not much fazed him, but your stories had kept him up at night. Tales of your husband’s beatings, his drug deals, his human trafficking, Jun-Ho wondered how you’d endured it all. How you’d kept your wits and sanity while married to the devil himself.

He tried to keep things professional, tried to keep a distance, but you pulled him in like a moth to a flame. You were so fragile and yet so strong, so beautiful, so meek yet so brimming with confidence that it floored him every time. You’d meet in secret, when your husband was out of town on business, slowly giving Jun-Ho the evidence he needed to bring down the man you’d pledged your life to.

It was after your fourth meeting that he fucked you in the back of his car, your moans like the sweetest music to his ears as his took you on the leather seats. From that moment on, Jun-Ho knew there was no going back; he was hooked on you. From that moment on, you would meet each week, exchange information and then make love in his apartment. You smelled like Chanel No.5, and it permeated his bedsheets, keeping him company on the long nights without you. Your lipstick left stains on his skin, marking its way down his chest and thighs. The sound of your breathy moans were permanently etched on his brain, going round and round his head like the most beautiful broken record.

He wasn’t sure when infatuation turned into love. All he knew is that he would do anything for you. He would die for you if it would keep you safe. You were both under no illusion that you were playing a risky game, one that you were almost certain wouldn’t end well.

But for the first time in your life, you could confidently say you knew what love was. Jun-Ho showed you affection and care you’d only ever dreamt of. He made you laugh, made you feel safe, and when his lips explored your body, he made your toes curls in the most exquisite way imaginable.

Yes, you knew this wouldn’t end well. Your husband was not a man who forgave and forgot. But Jun-Ho was determined to keep you safe. He would find a way to break you free of the chains the devil had ensnared you in. He’d find a way to protect you from the man who kept you in constant fear. He didn’t know how this would end, but he knew that he would risk it all for you.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Keep Me Warm - Dr. Robby x resident!reader

Summary: 1.2k words. Forgetting a coat in the middle of winter was far from your smartest decision. PTMC's finest day shift attending notices and decides to do something about it.

Warnings: Irresponsible and excessive use of italics, mention of vomiting, fluff

a/n: An incredibly unseasonable fic. What better way to celebrate the fourth of July, in the middle of one of the Hottest Summers Ever, than by writing and sharing a winter fic?

Master list | Divider credit!

Doctor Robinavitch prides himself on his ER.

With decades of experience in emergency medicine and dealing with bureaucratic bullshit from hospital administration, there isn’t much that can shake him professionally. What has worn down over the years is his desire to look like a Figs model.

Gloria lost the uniform battle with Doctor Robby a long time ago.

“I am damn near half a century old, Gloria. I can save lives while wearing a hoodie if I damn well please.” Per usual, the hospital administrator made an unwelcome visit to the Pitt in the middle of an already chaotic day.

“Doctor Robinavitch, you must understand that you represent Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. These students and residents look up to you.” Whether Gloria didn’t notice Robby rubbing his temples and actively developing even more temples, or simply ignored it, she pressed on.

“I’ve been practicing medicine for longer than a third of the staff here have been alive.” Robby ran to the ambulance bay when Dana announced an incoming trauma. That was the end of the conversation.

Gloria soon learned to pick and choose her battles with the attending physician.

Pittsburgh winters are always cold. The snow days can be nice, but most of what you experience is dreary, given your limited time outside.

You spend more time at the hospital than you do at your apartment. You estimated that you were averaging 60 hours a week at the Pitt—not that you’re really keeping track. When you aren’t working, you're studying for your boards. When you aren’t doing either of those, you’re sleeping.

For most of your life, you’ve been an insomniac. For better or for worse, medical school and residency ensured that no matter how active your brain insisted on being at night, you would inevitably collapse onto your bed, or at least a couch, for a handful of consecutive hours of sleep. Sometimes, you even get a semi-normal R.E.M. cycle established as a treat. It’s a wonder what working yourself to the bone can do for a girl’s sleep health.

A cold snap was passing through Pittsburgh. It wasn’t rare, especially not during this time of year, you just hadn’t paid any mind to it given your recent circumstances.

After your last shift, you were vertical for all of 30 seconds upon entering your apartment, before you promptly went horizontal in your bed. It wasn’t the most comfortable, far from any top-of-the-line mattress you fantasized about, but it did the job. There was no time to watch the news or check a weather app once you woke up the following morning. It was a damn good thing you had your alarms pre-programmed, otherwise you might’ve slept in until 4 p.m..

The water you splashed on your face was freezing, despite your efforts to turn the faucet to it’s hottest setting for a few minutes beforehand. That should’ve been your second sign that it would be a cold, cold day.

The first signs to clue you in should’ve been the freeze warning on your phone and notably colder temperatures as you walked home from last night’s shift. Instead, you were thankful the cold kept you awake during your walk without much other thought or consideration.

You shoved a toothbrush around your mouth for a couple of minutes and hopped into a fresh set of scrubs, only slightly wrinkled from their near-permanent home in the laundry bin of clothes that were washed and dried, but yet to be folded.

Brisk and bitter was an understatement. The wind bit and thrashed at your exposed skin. The looming but shockingly absent frostbite that threatened to claim your nose and fingers surprised you. You were certain that you’d be blue and frozen stiff when you ran into the employee entrance. Amidst the hustle and bustle of shift change—night shift ready to clock out and high tail it out of the Pitt before crashing into their beds at home, while day shift wandered in like zombies holding way too much caffeine—no one noticed how… off you looked.

A long walk through below-freezing temperatures will do that to a girl wearing thin, moisture-wicking scrubs without even an undershirt to bring you solace.

But Robby did. Robby always noticed you.

He noticed how your shivers had you shaking like a leaf. He noticed how your eyes couldn’t peel themselves away from the blanket warmer.

Maybe today could be the day he’d score brownie points with Gloria by wearing just a black scrub top.

“Hey, kid,” Robby called over to you. Shit. He’s probably going to get on you for the goosebumps resembling icicles covering every square inch of your exposed skin and frost dusting your hair and shoulders.

The attending shrugged his signature hoodie off before you finished crossing the distance to get to him. He wordlessly held the worn cotton hoodie out to you. His big brown eyes bore into yours. It was almost too much to bear, but you couldn’t look away.

“Looks like you need this more than I do.” Doctor Robinavitch smiled. It was small, but it was genuine. He smiled at you. When you looked like you were about to protest his offer, he cut you off. “I insist.”

You probably looked like an idiot with your jaw slightly parted, a dumbfounded and awestruck look replacing any kind of hesitance left in you.

“I- thank you, Doctor Robby,” you responded bashfully. You were still chilled to the bone, but you couldn’t help the blush that rose and warmed your cheeks.

No time was wasted wrapping yourself in the warmth of your attending’s hoodie. It was warm and cozy and smelled like him: cedarwood, antiseptic wipes, and black coffee. You could’ve melted right there, in the middle of the buzzing emergency department.

“No problem. Can’t have my best resident freeze during your shift, huh?” You were slow to respond. Best resident. Was he making fun of you? Had the wind chill managed to fry some of your brain cells? Or were you living in an alternative reality where your mentor was giving you the time of day for something that wasn’t strictly professional?

You shook your head and cleared your throat.

“I’ll make you proud,” you promised, swallowing hard around the anxiety bubbling up your throat as you waited for his reaction.

“You always do, kid. You always do.” The corner of Doctor Robby’s lips tugged up in a smile again, softer. Sweet, even. His heavy hand patted your shoulder before he turned away, getting swept up in the Pitt’s chaos and meeting with Doctor Shen to get report about the night shift.

Best resident.

That was new.

It didn’t take long for the nursing staff to notice Robby’s change in attire. The last time anyone had seen him in just a black scrub top was when he found himself in the splash zone of a drunk frat kid’s projectile vomit. Needless to say, the doctor stripped his hoodie off and considered depositing it directly into the biohazard bin.

What intrigued the nurses more was your new look. A very familiar hoodie that very clearly wasn’t yours dwarfed your frame. You had to push the sleeves almost halfway up your arms to accomplish anything, but you couldn’t shake your small subtle smile.

The Pitt was a rumor mill. The betting board was physical proof of it, and the nurses would never beat the gossip allegations. You weren’t sure what, or if, the staff might whisper about your new source of warmth, but none of it would make you regret this.

Maybe you should forget your coat at home more often.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED!

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[neopuppy]

Poison In My Mind (M)

pairing. snake hybrid jaemin x female bunny hybrid reader

genre. hybrid AU, dubcon/noncon elements(don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable. thanks.), hybrid physician/gynecology specialist jaemin, explicit smut, M/F, one shot

warnings. profanity, medical terminology and malpractice, hybrid terminology, infertility discussion, snake venom use(comparable to hallucinogenics/aphrodisiacs), manipulation, smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

wc. 9k+

now playing. poison//nct dream

smut warnings. body examination, wrongful dilator use, forced hybrid heat, mind break, fingering, vaginal oral, rimming, double penetration, slick, squirting, breeding, unprotected sex, rough sex, etc

————————————-

“There’s a small problem, nothing to panic over. But Doctor Jack’s wife has gone into labor. He will not be able to treat you today.”

“B-but! Dr. Jack has been handling my special situation from the beginning! I can’t go through this without him.”

The sheep hybrid nurse sighs, fiddling with her white curled locks. “Listen, I know it seems scary but Dr. Na is very skilled with bunny’s! He’s studied your breed during all of his time at one of the top Hybrid schools in all of the country!” 

“Dr. Na?? What? I’ve never met him before.” You fret, glancing around the office in a panic.

“He is a very close colleague of Dr. Jack’s, in fact they studied together! You see, it’s been a hectic week here at the facility and Doctor had to pull some strings to find this last minute coverage. That’s how much he cares about you as a patient!” She smiles much too large, nodding frantically. “Dr. Jack asked me to warn you ahead of time, due to Dr. Na’s subgender..”

“What? Why? Is he not a Hare? Why would Dr. Jack recommend a hybrid different from my own breed?!”

“Now now honey, he is a professional. Before hybrids, we are professionals. Look at me! I’m half sheep and you have no complaints.” She sasses, propping a hand on her hip. “Dr. Na is a lovely man, he’s a hit every time he covers for Dr. Jack!”

“What is he??” You frown, growing annoyed with how evasive she’s being.

Folding her hands over her stomach, her nose twitches. “King Cobra I believe is what he’s said before—“

“WHAT?! A SNAKE!” Getting up from the chair you’d been patiently waiting on, you reach for your overnight bag. “Absolutely not! Not even a prey breed! But a Goddamn snake!”

“Calm down!” She barks, pushing your shoulders to sit back down. “You know how hard Dr. Jack worked to squeeze an appointment in for you! Don’t be so ungrateful, he can’t control when his wife’s water breaks!”

“I can’t have a snake examining me! He’ll try to eat me!” You shout. Dragging your fingers roughly down your fluffed ears. “I—I refuse!”

“Dr. Jack has no open availability for the next 6 months. If you skip the appointment then we’ll have to keep you on fertility medication.”

“But it’s—it’s making me sick, I vomit every time I try to eat. And I feel nauseous all day, there’s nothing else I can try?” You plead, desperate to get out of this office.

“I can’t prescribe anything, only Dr. Na can.. after examining you. Now, I know you haven’t experienced a first heat yet, and at your age this is a highly unusual occurrence. Dr. Jack has never seen a case as severe as yours..” she laments, frowning to one side. “Trust me when I say that Dr. Na is an amazing man, and he’d never risk his license to eat a damn bunny hybrid.”

Tears well up in your eyes, slumping into the office chair you’ve spent many hours in before sharing your fears and worries.

What if you never find a mate? What if you’re not able to produce a kit? No Buck hybrid would ever see you as worthy of pairing with if you can’t even birth him one child, let alone multiple..

“He won’t hurt you, Dr. Na is nothing but a professional.” She rubs your shoulder. “He’s been waiting too long now.. your attitude is dragging this day on more than necessary.”

“Okay, I.. I’ll see him.”

“There there bunny, you should be proud of yourself.” Passing you a gown to change into, she nods. “Predator prejudice is such a dated mindset. I’m surprised someone in their 20s still behaves this way.”

Pft, you glare at her. Snatching the gown from her and blowing your ears away from your face. “I’ll send the Doctor in now, remember to be a nice bunny. You can put that on after the Doctor’s gone over your chart.”

Bowing out, she turns and leaves the room. The walls feel closer in the second she leaves. It had already taken you years to accept a Buck hybrid for a physician, but searching high and low for a Doe in your area had led you down empty roads. The chances of finding a female rabbit hybrid within a 50 mile radius of you seemed more impossible than finding a needle in a haystack.

And so you met with Dr. Jack when you were of age to begin experiencing your first heat. When the time never came, your mother encouraged you to seek help. Drilling into your head how important it is that you find a mate one day to grow old with, and that no respectable Buck would be interested in a barren host.

After postponing the use of medication for the past few years, you finally caved, at your wits end. The infertility meds hadn’t agreed with you, and landing this appointment had already taken months as is. None of the therapy sessions, heat inducing medication, diet changes, lifestyle changes, even the use of various tools for masturbation.. none had made a difference. Now you sit here in Dr. Jack’s office once again, hopeful and fearing.

A snake hybrid, a king cobra of all types. What in the world could Dr. Jack be thinking to associate with the likes of a ruthless predator of that caliber?! And why, why would he allow him to assist one of his most difficult patients!

The door creaks as it slowly moves open and a shiny pair of leather loafers step foot inside. The scent of him travels fast, smokey and herby, carrying traces of sage and bergamot. It’s the scent of a predator, lacking any softness, nothing similar to Dr. Jack’s warm cotton and dewy flower field aroma. 

Without lifting your head to look at him, you watch as his legs walk past you rounding the desk in front of you. The slacks he wears have not a wrinkle in sight, lined and ironed to a crisp. His lab coat cinches at his trim waist, widening up his broad upper back and shoulders, and his hair.. his full thick head of hair hides any indication of scales, tapering off into his collared shirt. From the back he seems almost.. harmless, attractive even. Exactly as a predator would love to be perceived by a prey..

Blinking, you watch from underneath your eyelashes as he sits in Dr. Jack’s chair, smiling tight-lipped to not show his teeth. He’s trying to not scare you, opening his large glossy eyes wide and full to appear less intimidating. 

“It’s so lovely to meet you! Thank you for allowing me to conduct your visit with us today.” He continues to softly smile. Gathering the folder set out for him, he begins to dive into your personal information.

“You don’t work here..” you grumble. Tugging the end of one of your ears into your mouth to suck on. An anxious habit, no matter how embarrassing it is to do at your age. The equivalent of a human sucking on their thumb, really.

“I often cover for Dr. Jack.” He corrects you, eyebrows furrowing as he reads over your file. “Would rather hear from you than read over all of this medical terminology. So, what seems to be the problem with the fertility medication you’ve been prescribed?”

“Can’t you just read my file?” You mumble, looking away. The tip of your ear now covered with drool, matting your fur down. “Dr. Jack had me log my symptoms everyday in the hybrid app portal.”

“Ah, I see I see.” Shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He turns toward the computer perched on the corner of the desk. Logging in and filling out your information to pull up your logs. “Throwing up, lack of sNap, nausea. Hmm.”

“I can’t take these pills anymore, they make me feel awful.” Alternating to your other ear, you suck at your fur more aggressively. Growing more exhausted by the second of his strong scent that sets off your fight or flight instinct. Filling your mind with urgency to leave, get yourself as far away as possible from danger.

“There is really no need for you to be so nervous.” He speaks softly without tearing his eyes away from the computer screen. Dark snake eyes obviously hidden under a pair of gray contacts to soften his appearance.

“Do you always hide your scales?” You brazenly ask. Noticing how well his button up sits against his throat leaving none of the sides or back of his neck visible. And the gloves he wears.. white gloves, obviously to conceal whatever scales may cover his hand.

Dr. Na’s cheek dimples with a smile, continuing to keep his lips sealed shut. He turns to look at you, folding his hands beneath his chin. “No. Nurse Chops was gracious enough to warn me of your concerns before I entered. I figured I could ease your anxiety if I covered up a bit.”

“W-why would you want to work with prey hybrids? Aren’t you worried that you’ll—“

“I was raised by preys, a pack of Rabbit hybrids in fact. Have never attacked or hunted any type of prey. You know, your environment really does alter the outcome of your beliefs and mindset. I’ve always wanted to help the preys, learn to coexist.” He informs you. Slowly opening his mouth up wider to reveal his set of fangs. Sharp and long, pearly white as if they’ve never been tainted with blood.

Rabbit?? How could deer possibly take in a King Cobra..

“My mother and father were hunted, human hunters from what I was told. I had been tucked away in my nest when the Rabbit hybrids stumbled upon me..” picking up on your apprehension he continues to overshare. “Perhaps if you know more about me, this will feel easier. We have a lot of tests to run today.”

“You studied prey to help us?” You question wearily, releasing your ear from your mouth. 

“To help all of us. Our kinds, hybrids, we’re constantly being exploited, hunted, killed. For the better of all of our breeds, we need to help each other.” He firmly nods, smiling with teeth. His contacts shift as he blinks, peaks of yellow iris appearing behind his glasses. His gloved hands rest on the desk, and broad shoulders stand pronounced even while sat down.

The realization that minutes have passed without being attacked begins to settle. You sit up, smoothing down your ears, reaching for the gown on your lap to clutch at. “How can you help me? What do you know about bunny infertility?”

Dr. Na’s gaze drags down your body for a flash of a second. Returning to your petrified face. “I have quite a bit of experience with rabbit and bunny hybrids. Men and women in fact, some may say your breed is my specialty.” 

Saliva drips from his teeth, sealing his mouth shut with a smile. He discreetly swallows, stealing another look at your crossed ankles. Your small hands trembling and pinching the hospital gown material in your lap. 

Of all the Doe’s he’s ever encountered, you sure are the prettiest. His tongue only salivates more as his gaze returns to your face, your pouty lips and button nose. Fluffy ears flattened against your head as you appear deep in thought.

“What do you think then Doctor? Am I a hopeless cause?” You ask in a whiny tone. Bottom lip jutting out so sadly. He has to grip his legs together to stop a rush of blood from reaching the area between his thighs too fast. You seemed much more difficult at first, a challenge, he can’t stand a challenge.

“Not at all, bunny.” He smiles again. His sharp teeth even seem less frightening beneath his sparkling eyes and overall handsome features. “From what I have read here, Dr. Jack has instructed me to thoroughly examine you today.”

“Should I change now, Dr. Na?” You ask quietly, lifting the gown to your chest. 

“Call me Jaemin, if that’s okay with you bunny. We’re going to be working very closely today, I want you to feel as comfortable with me as you can.” Adjusting his glasses, he stands up and moves around the desk. Sitting perched on the edge with his legs crossing at his ankles in front of you. “Why don’t you go behind that curtain there and get changed, we’ll get you set up on the examination chair.”

Nerves continue to skyrocket through your body even after shutting the curtain. The last view of Dr. Na.. or Jaemin as he informed you, left you gasping for air. His broad frame turned away from you, his back muscles shifting and flexing under his shirt as he removed his lab coat. 

Dr. Jack’s office always maintained a cool temperature, too cold at times even. Keeping his private sectors of work space and examination room connected added to the extra high co-pays his clinic charges. The vials, test tubes, and various medications organized in the room required light and cool temperatures. He explained once as you shivered on the examination table, eyes jumping around the room nervously.

“Knock knock?” Dr. Na calls from the other side of the drape. His expensive leather shoes tapping against the linoleum floor. 

“Yes, uhm, ready.” 

Hardly ready as the drape drags open, the rings attaching to the ceiling clink together and he smiles with no teeth. Now changed into a large cover up, he remains covered up from neck down to his hands. “Let’s check your vitals first, shall we?”

That’s normal, exactly how Dr. Jack begins. Taking a magnified look inside of your ears, your throat, checking your reflexes with a knock against your knee. 

It’s only when he begins to reach inside of the back of your hospital gown that you freak out. Breathing faster, digging your fingers into the cushion of the table beneath you. The metal of his stethoscope presses against your upper back, shivering through your skin.

“Go ahead and take a deep breath.” He whispers by your ear, listening to your rapid beating heart. “You’re very nervous, aren’t you?”

Pressing his free palm to your chest, he breathes in deep for you to follow him. Slowly dragging the air out of his nostrils, he nods and moves the stethoscope around to listen again. “Your hearts beating so fast, I must really make you uncomfortable.”

“N-no, it’s not that..” you shudder. Stomach swooping this close to him, his cheek nearly brushing against yours. 

“I understand.” Another soft and reassuring smile fails to soothe your fear. He shuts your gown, taking down notes. “Everything seems normal, I’ll have you lay back now.”

Dr. Jack’s never gotten this far in your physical exams. That’s why today was so important to you, and now a snake hybrid.. ugh. Cursing to yourself you shift to press your back against the table, staring at the stirrups with fear. “Should I put my legs here?”

“I’ll help you.” He nods, sitting down on a rolling seat. The snap of vinyl gloves jerking you to look up. Too distracted by your position to notice that he swapped them out. “According to your files, you’ve not experienced your first heat yet?”

“Yes, Doctor..” you swallow. Forced into a seated position as he adjusts the table. Grabbing one of your ankles to place in a stirrup. 

“Jaemin.” He grins, setting your other leg into place. “That’s highly unusual for a Doe of your age.”

“I’ve been told.” You mutter annoyed. Only having heard numerous times how odd it is.

“Do you produce slick?” He asks, relaxed as if this is his job. Because it is, and you have to remind yourself every 5 seconds that this attractive snake hybrid is just doing his job.

“I.. no, I don’t believe I do.” 

Without glancing at you once, he continues to scribble down notes. Turning away to open up a cabinet. “I’ll be using lubricant to open you up.”

“Open me up?! What do you mean??” You stiffen, wide-eyed. He turns back to face you, setting down a bottle of clear thick fluid on a tray next to him. 

“For the examination, you scheduled this  appointment as a gyno visit.” He states, as if it should be obvious. Once again making you realize how weird you are being.

This. is. his. job.

“Righ, uhm. That’s what Dr. Jack originally had recommended for me.”

“Are you sexually active?” Picking up his clipboard once again, he checks off different boxes.

“Not at the moment.”

“But you have been?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Have your sexual experiences been painful?”

“Wh-what?”

Jaemin raises his eyebrows, peering up at you. “Without producing slick I’d assume vaginal penetration wasn’t very pleasant?”

“Oh, uhm.” Shrugging, you nod. “Hurt a little, I guess.”

“Was your partner large?”

His question makes your head feel fuzzy, chest itchy, having to look away from him before you can muster up an answer. “Not really.”

“How big would you say? 5 inches? Was he fully hard.”

“Uhm, I don’t remember. It’s been a few months.” You whisper, reaching to play with your fingers. “We used lube.”

“And it still hurt? Was that your first time?” His head tilts, eyes squinting.

“No Doctor..”

Jaemin hums, adding extra notes. “And still no heat.. highly peculiar. I’m going to have to open you up and see if something could be blocking the passageway for your slick. It’s highly uncommon but I have read of hybrids with an extra flesh of muscle, tightens up the cervix.”

“Like.. inside?” You asked through clenched teeth. Knowing better than to ask a professional gynecologist such a stupid question. Sighing and shutting your eyes, you try to relax, nodding. “Okay.”

“Do you need to use the restroom before we get started?” The sound of antibacterial soap squishes between his gloved fingers. Drying off with a paper towel before turning back around. 

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t worry about needing to pee if you can’t control your bladder. It’s quite common to orgasm or release fluid while being examined.” He smiles too nicely. Dragging himself closer between your parted legs. His hands reach for the end of your gown, folding it up. Shooting your eyes open to stare at the brightly lit ceiling, you can only hope he can’t hear your heart beating out of your chest at a manic pace.

“Do you not grow hair?” He asks, bending in closer.

“Huh?!”

“You have no hair.” He says flatly. Gloved hands landing softly on your inner thighs. “Or did you remove the hair yourself?”

“Oh, I.. I did it.” You speak shyly, wishing you could cover your face. It’s nothing to be embarrassed of and you know that, but you can’t stop yourself from feeling overwhelmed. The Doctor’s hands feel large and warm on your inner thighs even through the material of his vinyl gloves. Knowing you’re fully exposed to him awakens a sensation of heat in your stomach, clenching your eyes shut to ignore it.

“Do you orgasm, bunny?” Dr. Na’s tone deepens, huskier. Clearing his throat as he softly pets the soft skin lining your inner thighs. 

“N-no, I’ve tried. I don’t know, I-I think I’m broken, Doctor.” You can’t stop a whimper from ending your sentence. Biting down on your lip, you try to not breathe through your nose. His smells stronger now, all around you, dizzying even.

“You’re not broken bunny..” he practically coo’s. Smiling from ear to ear, he sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “And I’m going to take care of everything for you, don’t you worry those pretty fluffy ears.”

The closer his fingers trail to your outer folds, the more you struggle to not squirm. Clutching your hands together to stop your hips from rising. His slicked fingers drag down the smooth skin covering your vulva, slowly stroking up and down to coat all of your core with lube. “Gosh, you’re really pretty everywhere bunny..”

“Doctor.. I feel..” squinting your eyes open at the lights over your head, you have to shut them closed immediately. The blur above you, spinning the texture of the wall in your line of sight. 

“Relax relax,” he hushes you, pushing your vulva spread open with his thumbs. The sounds of a hiss follows, sucking at the backs of his teeth. “My my my bunny, you are lovely. I was really hoping for a virgin, but you’re so tight.” He whistles, licking across his sharp fangs as he inspects your clenched hole. An unusually dry sight of flesh.

“My head.. I can’t keep m-my eyes open.” 

“My scents too powerful for a small little prey like you.” He smirks, pulling your labia folds apart. “I’m going to need to open you up really good before we can complete this examination.”

Powerful is an understatement, the more turned on he grows, the more his aroma weakens you. Limp and glued to the table, you struggle to keep your eyes halfway open. “W-will it hurt?”

“No baby, I’d never hurt you.” Dragging the split end of his tongue across his upper lip, he begins to smear lube between your folds. Skirting his digits across your clit, all but missing your entrance that stays locked up tight. “Dr. Na’s going to make you feel so good.” 

The burning itch in your stomach rides up to your chest, breathing out heavier and faster. He works at massaging and caressing your labia, gently stroking the flesh around your clit. “Have to get you nice and wet first, wet enough to open up this pussy.”

“I feel weird, Doctor.” You pant fearfully, shutting your eyes to relieve yourself of the bright lights. “Hot.”

“That’s good darling, that’s a great sign. You let Dr. Na handle this, I’ll have you pissing out an orgasm across this floor in no time.” Sweat lines his brow as he begins to build up speed with ease. Tracing his digits between your lubricated folds until they begin to swell with blood. A pleased click of his tongue resounds and he pinches your clit between two of his fingers. Slowly rubbing your cunt with one hand as he begins to work on your bundle of nerves, hitting each one with his soft expert motions.

“Dr. Na! T-that feels—different!” You croon, legs shaking.

Sucking at his bottom lip, he can’t break his focus away from stimulating your clit. Holding your folds apart to watch your hole for even a small sign of opening up. He pinches and massages, working your hardened nub from side to side until you finally relax. “Fuck.” He whispers, hungrily licking at his mouth. “I’m going to stretch you out now.”

“Wh-what??” You ask almost deliriously. Had he not already started?!

The tip of his finger presses to your budding entrance. Lightly applying pressure to see if you’ll give and let him in. Success shouts in his mind as he glides in up to his first knuckle, only one finger but it’s enough to make his head spin. Cocks aching inside of the confines of his snug fitted slacks. He has to bite down on his teeth to stop himself from yelling out at the way your cunt sucks around just the tip of one of his digits.

“Relax for me.” Shoving his free hand higher, he presses against your stomach just beneath your navel. Adding the weight of his thick palm to keep your lower back in place as he begins to glide the rest of his digit inside of you. There’s no way you’ll be able to take one of his cocks like this, let alone two.

Glancing over his shoulder at the tray by his side, he eyes the shiny dilator he set out. A little extra help won’t hurt. “You’re so tight, bunny.” He has to mention it again. Growing frustrated and hornier by the second. His finger fully fits inside of you, experimentally pressing against your soft warm walls. “I’m going to have to dilate you.”

“Dr. Na, please..” you sigh, head spinning. The scent of bergamot burning through each of your senses. The taste of a snake hybrid seeping down your throat. 

Freeing his finger, he picks up the tool to prepare it. Using nearly half of the bottle of lube to cover his hands and the dilator, he turns back to observe your cunt. Gleaming shiny and swelled up, perfect for taking cock.

“This won’t hurt if you just relax, bunny. Listen to what I say, alright?” The tip of the dilator eases inside of you without a problem. Thinner than the Doctor’s finger, if not the same size. He sucks in a wet breath of air, relieving his tongue of the saliva that won’t stop pooling. “Good job, so proud of you bun. You’re making Dr. Na soo happy.” A more sadistic smile stretches the bottom half of his face. Pushing the devices button to expand inside of you. 

The push against your insides has you arching up with a shout, clutching onto the sides of the table. “N-no! Pull it o-out!” You cry. Toes pointing out stiffly, unable to remove your legs from the stirrups keeping you held in place. “Jaemin!”

“Come on bunny, don’t let me down now.” He says gruffly, bending closer to look inside of you with the dilator now fully expanded. The sound of a ragged breath covered in saliva emits from beneath your gown. And the Doctor's broad shoulders shake, reaching two of his digits inside of the tool to measure how open you are. 

“Please Dr. Na! Please take it o-out!” You beg again, full on crying now. No amount of lube could have prepared you for the stretch of the dilator, not after only one finger to prep you. Jerking your hips up shoots a tinge of pain up your spine, falling back down with a wail. “Please!”

Grunting as he squeezes a third finger inside, Jaemin drags his tongue across his mouth. Pushing back and snapping off his gloves. He shoots up from the chair to grab your neck, baring his teeth. “Bunny.” He bites out, the collar of his shirt loosened and unbuttoned. Silver and black scales on display lining the sides of his throat. “What happened to my good and well behaved little prey? Have you gained confidence that I won’t eat you alive so easily?”

Ripping off his glasses, he tosses them aside, blinking away the gray contacts hiding his viscous serpent eyes. “Now, we can continue to play nice,” squeezing your neck, he drags the back of his scaled hand down your soft cheek. “Or we can play my way.”

Innate and instinctive alarm to protect yourself goes off, throwing your head back to scream. “Help!! HELP!!”

Dr. Na rolls his eyes, slapping his heavy palm over your mouth. “Fine. I gave you a choice.”

His yellow iris expands, taking over the whites of his eyes. Unleashing his sharp fangs, his long split tongue snaps and slithers before your face. Cracking akin to a whip to instill how threatening he is to your existence. Tears drip out onto his hand, screaming and shoving at his chest. The snake hybrid dominates without effort, keeping your neck held down effortlessly as he grabs your jaw and forces your mouth open.

Thick wads of what appears to be saliva dribbles and rolls off the tips of his tongue into your mouth. Incinerating your flesh the second it meets your lips and continues to pour out filling your mouth up. 

Poison. Fucking snake venom. 

The burning hits your throat, scolding hot, acidic, leaving numbness behind. The last thought you’re able to process before the venom seeps into your veins is death. Death at the hands of a predator that outsmarted you, tale as old as time. The predator trapping the stupid bunny hybrid, feeding off of you as no more than a snack.

Laving at his lips, he smiles and pats your cheeks. Panting for breath as he takes in your blissed out drugged expression. “Now, where were we, bunny?”

Quietly humming, he releases the dilator, whistling at the way your cunt gapes now. “Let’s get back to business, shall we darling?” He unties your hospital gown, throwing it aside to reveal your breast. Sucking at his teeth and cupping them, he nods to himself. “Such a shame, such a gorgeous prey, and you’ve never known the joys of cumming on a cock.” Biting on one of your nipples, he works on licking and sucking until it rubs stiffly against the roof of his mouth. Alternating to the other after some minutes. “You can trust that Dr. Na has a 100% success rate.”

Standing before you, he throws off his cover up, slowly unbuttoning his top to show off his built chest and shoulders. “I saw the way you were looking at me bunny, you prey are all the same. So helpless and pitiful, but still desperate to be loved and taken.”

“D-doctor..” you say, out of body. Floating on a cloud, reaching forward to grab his bare chest for something to hold on to, fearing now that you may fly away. 

“My sweet delicate bunny.” He grins arrogantly, lifting your hands up to his mouth. Dragging his forked tongue between your fingers, kissing at your knuckles. “Let me take care of everything.”

Pushing you to lay back again, he smooths your hair out of your face. Softly dragging his fingers through your ears. “Love how fluffy you are.”

Dr. Na’s hands travel down your shoulders, chest, pinching your breast on the way down past your waist and stomach. He smooths over your hips, cupping and squeezing, lowering his palms to your outer thighs. “Bet your bunny tails frantically twitching, so excited.”

“Nnnghh..” you drowsily groan, dropping your head to watch him move to your side and cup your cunt. His other hand returning to the bottom of your stomach. 

“Nice and relaxed, pretty.” Gliding his digits between your lubricated folds, he taps at your entrance. Teasing and circling around your hole fluttering under his fingertips. “That’s it.”

Easing three of his digits inside of you, he begins to thrust inside of your pussy with less tenacity. Less worried about any pain you could feel with his venom racing through your veins. He pumps his fingers in and out of you with no goal other than to feel your cunt clamp around him. To pour a mess of arousal out onto this hospital floor. “Come on.” Gritting his teeth, he turns to watch your awestruck face. Panting weakly, eyes rolling up and back to look at him. The silent desperation to break through that roadblock that’s been in your way. To bring down all of your fears and inhibitions, every insecurity. 

God he wants to fuck you, to ruin your pussy and mind. Leave you so damaged that no other hybrid will ever be enough.

There’s no prey in the world Jaemin’s ever come across that he can’t fuck and destroy. More determined to take you to an ultimate high given your special case, disorder, whatever the fuck it may be. “Still so tight.” He licks at his lips, thirsty for a taste. 

That same rapid fire of heat exploding from your stomach hits the surface and boils over. Tipping your head back to let out a moan, you feel blinded by the white lights above, the cold heat melting down your face. And for the first time the release you’ve seeked for years finally hits. Thick fingers jab at your cervix, pushing roughly against a spongy spot inside of you over and over again. Wetness trickles out and Jaemin’s eyes burst open wide in awe.

“D-doctor! Oh m-my God!” You cry. Dropping your mouth open in silent disbelief. His hand shoves down from your stomach, slapping at your clit. 

“Let it go baby, let it all go.” He grunts, forearm jerking madly. “Fucking dripping.”

Everything you’ve dreamt of since starting this journey dissolves, freeing your body of tension and worry. A coil breaks free from your gut, pushing up past your chest and you scream out in pleasure. Toes curling as your hips shoot up and slick flies out around the Doctor’s fingers.

“Ahh!” The pleasures too much, sucking your stomach in as you collapse. Shaking your head from side to side and Jaemin doesn’t let up. Pressing his bicep onto your stomach he lodges you in place, continuing to fuck your cunt open until every last drop of your orgasm drenches his shirt and leaves the floor freshly mopped over.

It’s as if a sprinkler has set off inside of you, and Dr. Na couldn’t be more proud. Smiling large and maniacally as he retracts his fingers and pats your cunt lovingly. “I knew my bunny could do it.”

“D-doctor, I feel.. f-feel,” you stutter, lips trembling. “Hot.”

“That’s your heat my love. You’re ready to be properly bred and mated now.” Unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, he wipes off his arms and chest of sweat and slick, throwing the soaked garment aside before turning to his seat to roll between your thighs. “You’ve opened up quite nicely.”

The venom shouldn’t numb you for too long, no longer than 15 minutes. Just enough to get you to this point of pleasure, too struck by each new sensation and feeling to fully understand how wrong this is. That no doctor should ever behave this way with a patient.

“My h-heat?” You ask, sounding hopeful. Pouty with your tear stained cheeks and wide shining eyes. Your eyebrows twist together as you look down at him, full of concern. “I’m in heat?”

Licking at his now very plump and pink lips, he eagerly nods. Laying his palms on your upper thighs to knead and squeeze at. “Highly common for bunny hybrids to experience their first heat during a prey attack. You see, fear and pleasure go hand in hand. You Doe’s love to play the victim especially, bouncing around with your little fluffed tails taunting us..”

He hoists your hips up higher suddenly, sliding one of his hands beneath your ass to tweak and ruffle the ball of fur at the top of your perky buttcheeks. “I need to taste you to make sure nothing’s wrong with your slick now.”

“T-taste?” You flinch. Shivering from your tail up your spine. Dragging your gaze across Dr. Na’s blushing cheeks, his sweat slickened skin, and his hung open mouth. The tips of his tongue slithering between his teeth as he watches you.

“It’s been too long now for you to go through your first heat, we must take every precaution.” He convinces you, chin tilted in as he gazes upon your frightened face. The thrill of the hunt and control over your mind tickles through his cock. Twitching inside of his slacks again as a reminder to hurry the hell up. “No Buck will mate a rotted Doe.”

Lifting your hands to your face to bite your nails, you nod and agree for him to do whatever examinations he needs to. Anything to ensure you’re not some defunct hybrid, that you are worthy of being mated..

“This won’t hurt one bit.” His tongue flickers out, igniting that same heat in your stomach from before. Now more intense as you really take the time to look over the scales adorning Dr. Na’s biceps, partially trailing over his collarbone and chest. His tight stomach rising and flexing with each ragged breath he takes. The way his pants cling to his thighs like a second skin in his seated position. A large bulge suffocating right in the middle between his hips.

Lowering his nose to your mound, he slowly drags the tip across while keeping his eyes directed upwards to watch you. His long tongue dragging down between your folds. Slowly slithering between as he groans against your cunt and sends vibrations through your lower half.

“H-how do I taste?” You ask curiously. Hypnotized by his thin sharp black iris. 

The sound of metal clinking distracts you for a second as he releases your legs from the stirrups. Hooking under your knees to throw them onto his shoulders, he pushes forward and thrusts the tip of his tongue at your entrance. Pulling back to lick across his glistening lips and slicked coated chin.

“Tastes like dinner.” He winks. Setting off your worry once again before diving in. Long tongue wriggling through your clamped hole, lapping at the sides as he sinks in deep.

“D-doctor!..”

The length of his tongue reaches deep inside past your inner walls. Flicking the tips against your cervix as he begins to collect venom at the back of his throat to coat the inside of your cunt with. Mimicking an aphrodisiac to heighten your sex drive, making you more than desperate for cock. Knowing your head will clear up soon, he has to take extra measures to keep you drunk for his cocks.

Slurping the slick that dollops onto his bottom lip, he pulls back to gently trace between your folds. Slowly building up to firmer licks, running right over your swollen bud. “A-ahh, Dr. N-na!” You puff breathily. The heat squeezing in your belly, tensing through your limbs.

“Come on bunny, call me Jaemin.” Slowly licking across his lips, he glances up at you. His heavy gaze full of darkness and sin. “Wanna hear you moaning and screaming my name.”

“J-Jaemin.” You nod quickly. Breathing hard enough for your breasts to rise and fall rapidly. 

“Feeling good?” Pursing his lips together, he kisses up your inner thighs. Never shifting his heated gaze away from yours. Latching his mouth back onto your clit, he keeps his intense gaze on your weakened one. Sucking one of his fingers inside of his mouth, he spits out more venom. Popping it free to circle over your wrinkled little rim.

“Jaemin!” You jolt up. Clutching onto the table's arm rests. “Th-that’s my—“

“Need to open you up here too bunny.” Kissing your swollen clit, he drags his puffy lips down. Sucking at your hole as his finger teases your rim. Lathering his venom around to relax your muscles. “Have to make sure nothings wrong down here.”

“In m-my—“

“Your pretty little asshole.” He says shamelessly. Slurping the slick mixed with his venom from your hole. Dipping his sporked tongue in and out over and over again as he teases your rim. The tip of his finger pushing down on your taut wrinkled skin, allowing himself to dip in just past his nail bed. 

Wrinkling your face together, you try to nod. Convinced that the Doctor only has your best interest in mind. The odd discomfort between your buttcheeks fades away, falling to the pleasure building inside of you. The smooth wetness of his long tongue, how it flicks and tickles inside of you. His chilling gaze, keeping you on the edge of fear and desire. The combination lifts your hips from the table, softly rutting your clit against his tongue as he returns to wrap around your bundle of nerves. 

“J-Jaem—“ moaning raggedly, you grip onto the chair's arms harder. Digging your nails in as he ruthlessly sucks, sneaking his digit inside of your asshole as pleasure takes over your face. Eyes rolled back leaving nothing but whites behind, mouth hung open panting and shaking.

“Yeah.” He blows across your wet cunt. Finger curling up inside of your extra tight hole, suctioning wet and hot around his digit. “Let go bunny, stop holding yourself back.” He soothes, returning to work on your clit as he squeezes in another finger. 

“Ah!” Reaching down to scratch your fingers through his hair, you grasp tightly. Yanking tufts between your hands through his fervent licks. Jaemin slides his tongue all the way back in, using his other hand to rub your clit as he wiggles through. Waving his tongue against your walls, he thrusts inside of your ass simultaneously. All of it too much, racing you to the brink of over sensitivity.

Let go.

Stop holding yourself back.

The replay of his raspy voice melds into the wet sounds gushing from your core. Thighs shaking around his head as you scream out and roughly pull at his scalp. He sucks and laps at all of your squirting slick, jabbing his fingers inside of your ass faster and harder. His face drenched with your release, and still dragging his tongue through your sensitive folds.

“D-doc—Jaemin! Please no! H-hurts! S’too much!” You whine, pulling at his hair with all of the energy you have left. Body drained of life from your orgasm, like a pool of jelly as you struggle to tighten your fists.

Lapping your pussy clean, he grunts, lifting his intense piercing eyes back to yours. “You’re fucking delectable, darling. I could really eat you up.”

Shining his fangs at you, his tongue drags across them, popping his fingers out of your ass to suck on. Gliding up and down each one slowly as he moans and watches your distraught overstimulated gaze. Drawn into his hypnotic scent, dangerous words, alluring aura. 

If this is the way you die, you can’t help to think it’s one hell of a way to go..

“A little more,” he mutters, shoving your thighs open to set you back on the stirrups. “Stay just like that bunny.” Cupping your hips, he aims your asshole up higher. Still so small and shyly wrinkled up beneath your swollen pussy, making him salivate as he lowers his face and drags his nose across your rim.

“Nnghh.. noo, d-don’t, not there.” You mewl, turning your face away while still watching his every move from the corner of your eye.

Adding more spit and venom, he glides three digits inside with a bit of struggle. Gritting his teeth imagining one of his cocks in place of his fingers. There’s no way any of those tiny dick useless Buck’s you’ve fucked before have ever been in here. “You’re really doing so good. Couldn’t be more proud of you right now.” He says roughly, his voice more strained. Hissing as he uses his strength to push his fingers apart inside of you. “F-fuck, bunny.”

His soft words and the sensual feeling coming from his fingers has your head spinning. This shouldn’t feel so good, right? Why does it feel so good? You can’t stop yourself from moaning, bringing your hand to your mouth to bite on your palm. You croon, lower back arching, riding on the size of his digits stretched apart inside of your ass.

“You like it deep.” He hums throatily. Eyes growing wide as he focuses on your rim opening up for him, dropping another wad of spit inside. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

Jaemin’s tongue creeps between his fingers, furrowing his eyebrows as he dips in for a taste. Your cunt couldn’t have been sweeter, but your ass, assuming you’re still untouched.. it’s damn near holy. Spurting saliva around his tongue as he drags in and out like a mad man, desperate to feel your insides one way or another. His predatory instinct screams to take a bite, sink his teeth into the meaty flesh of your ass. Lashing his tongue at the inside of your asshole, he pulls free and shouts. “Need to be inside of you right now.”

Sweat accumulates on your chest despite the cool room temperature, throttled into your first heat with the assistance of snake venom, you can’t comprehend most of what the Doctor’s been mumbling. Going on and on about how delicious your slick is, how tight you’ll squeeze his cocks.

Cocks being the keyword you should really catch onto. “Dr. Na, I feel d-dizzy.” Rubbing over your face, you brush down to your chest. Palming across your hardened nipples back and forth. “And hot, all over. Especially here.” 

Reaching between your thighs, you smooth down past your mound. Hissing as you rub over your clit, still hard and inflamed with blood. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks coyly, knowing full well you’ve lost yourself to your own primal instincts. Craving to be filled with something, even if you continue to have any doubts. “Does it hurt? My sweet bunny.” He coo’s, placing his hand over yours. The heat radiating off of your body melting his skin. “Do you need me to make you feel better?” 

“Please.. please, h-help me..” 

Jaemin can taste the venom dripping from his fangs, fighting himself to not roll his eyes every time you beg for his help. God if only you could see how helpless you are, how pathetic and easy to capture you are. Handing yourself over to your predator on a fucking silver platter, you’re the best type of hybrid, his favorite.

“I’ll do more than that.” He mumbles quietly under his breath, locking your legs back into the stirrups. 

Taking a step back, he finally unbuckles his belt, sighing as he unzips his slacks and his cocks can breathe at last. Sticky and hot inside of his boxers where precum had leaked onto every once dry inch of area. “This shouldn’t hurt too much, bunny. One last exam to make sure you’re ready to be mated..”

Dr. Na’s chest and stomach muscles flex as he works to discard his bottoms. His veiny hands moving slowly, squeezing his eyes shut and tucking in his lip as he peels away his boxers. The sight of his fully bare figure jolts something inside of your stomach. Squeezing out a wad of slick that drips onto the floor, you whimper and shake your legs to get out of the chair. “D-doctor! No!”

Dropping and kicking off his boxers with a groan, he grabs onto his shafts using both hands. The sight before you is absolutely obscene, horrifying even. Thick hands circle and stroke his cocks, dropping his head back and grunting. “One last test, then you’ll be all done with this.”

Dr. Na eyes your dripping hole, slick dribbling down past your rim onto the floor. Pouring down like rain droplets as they land in a puddle beneath your ass. He growls, reaching for your hips to haul your lower half almost off of the edge of the table, setting you into the perfect position.

“A-ah! Doctor!” The vinyl material of the examination chair burns against your skin. Sticking to you the more you sweat. Peering at his face nervously, your shaking hands reach out to grab onto something, his chest, shoulders. Anything to assure you that this is real, that a snake hybrid stands before you fully nude; tracing his eyes down your body to the heated flesh between your legs.

Tugging on his cocks a few more times, he grits his teeth. Lowering his nose to your scent gland, his nostrils drag up and down, emitting more of his smokey scent to calm you. Tempted to bite you, leave some type of mark along your delicate throat, he nips at your skin. Lapping the sore area before you can complain. “Tastes so good everywhere, don’t you bunny.” 

Lining his lengths up to your holes, he licks up your jaw to your ear. Kissing and mumbling sweet words to calm your choked staggered breaths. “Don’t forget, you’re made for this.”

Nothing could have prepared you for the first prod of his tips pushing against your holes. No amount of stretching you, licking you, fucking you with his tongue and fingers. The Doctor’s thick width burns as his cockheads press forward to penetrate past your tight holes. None of the Buck’s you’d been with in the past could compare to even half of one of his dicks, let alone two. 

A string of curses drips from his mouth, huffing against your cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. “Open up for me darling, let me in. Be a good bunny.”

Continuing to slowly push himself inside of you, he watches the tears slowly pour from your pure harmless eyes. So soft and sweet, gentle. Your fluffy ears framing your face so innocently, he can’t stop himself. Dragging his fingers through your furry ears, he pulls on them playfully. Smirking at the gasp you let out, the way your eyes roll up for a moment. Tugging again, he forces his cockhead past your rim and cunt, grinding his teeth together.

“Gonna fill you up so good, bunny.” Jaemin drags the tip of one of your ears to his lips, sucking on it the same way you had done earlier. Eyes fluttering shut as he pushes in inch by slow inch. Cradled by the sound of your cries and whimpers, how your breathing stops whenever he sucks on your fluffy ear; coating your fur with his saliva. Leaving the trail on his scent stuck on you permanently, from your blood infiltrated by his venom. To your womb soon to be filled with his cum.

The snap of taut stretched skin around his lower cock jerks his hips forward. Halting to suck deep breaths in through his nose. His hands drop down to your arms, squeezing as he maneuvers them beneath you to wrap you up in a tight hug. The size of his body crushes you in, stuffed to the brim with his dicks filling your ass and pussy. The Doctor circles his hips, savoring the way your holes clamp around him, burying his last inch into the hilt.

“Jaemin,” you pant, drowsy eyes flickering up. Reaching between your bodies, you rub over the bulge pushing out under your navel. The fat tip of his cock pressing against your insides so deep, you have to feel it to believe it. Mouth dropping in awe as you trace the shape of him, reaching lower to drag your fingers around his size probing through the flesh of your stomach. “Feel you, r-right here.”

“Fuck.” The euphoric high look on your face can only come from getting fucked. His hips twitch, sucking on the drool inside of his mouth to concentrate on anything other than how much you're squeezing around him. How he can feel your dainty fingers jerking him off through the skin lining the bottom of your stomach. 

Forcing himself to calm down with deep breaths, he tries to let you get used to the painful throbbing inside of your ass. Tries to let you get used to his fat girth filling up your cunt, slowly pushing himself side to side to accommodate your tight holes for himself. A dull ache rips throughout his pelvis, climbing up to his stomach in a coiling spiral, and he can’t stop himself anymore. Gathering your chest to press snuggly against his, he pulls your back off the chair. Thrusting out only a few inches before burying his lengths in deep. “A-agh!” 

Dr. Na can feel it, the way your asshole grips around him trying to push him out while your tight pussy sucks against him. The difference stirs heat up to his chest, pulling out a few more inches before plummeting forward again. Losing his sense with that second thrust, he savors these last fNating minutes inside of you for the first time. Eyes rolling back as he draws out to the tip and begins to ruthlessly fuck you.

The scream you let out only encourages his hips, slamming forward faster. Hurting at first to be taken so roughly, fucked in your ass for the first time, but your heat takes over after a minute more of push and pull. The resistance he was met with disappearing as he sheathes each inch inside of your holes without falter. The more he made you take it, the better it felt to be fucked with abandon. 

The beating of his heart pounded against your chest, rocking you down onto his lengths. Against the chair, ramming his hips between your trapped opened legs with free will. Reaching one of your hands around his neck, you squeeze at his nape, scratching your nails down his scales. Screaming through your gritted teeth as he somehow fucks you even faster.

“Jaemin!” Rubbing your fingers over the shape of his cock bulging through your stomach, you cry out. Dropping your face into his neck to further intoxicate yourself with his hedonistic scent. 

The build up of something hot and mind numbing spills over inside of you, clenching down on him from your ass to your pussy; you try to kick free. Squirting around his cock fucking inside of your cunt past your orgasm, slicks rains down onto his thighs, by his feet. Spraying your aroused scent all over the hospital room.

“S-stop!” You whine despairingly. Digging your nails into the back of his neck. Dragging your other arm around him to scratch down his spine as he continues to fuck through your gripping over sensitivity. “Dr. Na! H-hurts! Please!”

The only sounds entering Jaemin’s head right now are his snake, lashing at him to fuck, breed, claim. Take take and take some more. Loud moans and pained gasps play around him as he fucks into you animalistically, unsure if they’re coming from you or himself. Maybe a mixture of your combined pleasure, too drunk off of his own need to overpower you, he thrusts in deep.

Reaching back to unclasp your legs and throw your thighs up against you, he slams forward. Cock burying to the hilt, locking his biceps under the pits of your knees. Bending you in half as he chases his orgasm and more of your slick dribbles out, shooting at his stomach and balls. They clap wet and loud against the top of your ass, nearly hanging off of his cocks with how far he’s pulled you off of the table.

“Doctor!” You sob into his neck, another orgasm ripping free from your body. He locks around your back, crushing you to his chest in a full mating press. The look in his eyes near demonic as he raises up and stands straight, throwing your ass and pussy down onto his cocks. The resounding clap of wet skin on skin pounds throughout the room, bouncing off these sanitized hospital walls. And he fucks into you at a deranged pace, led by the sound of your breath growing shallow, the silent cries that struggle to exit your dried up scratchy throat.

“F-fuck!” He squeezes out through trembling lips. Laying you against the table once his thighs begin to burn. He buries inside once, twice, thrusts growing sloppy as he captures your mouth with his plump lips and lets out a howled scream. 

The swell of his knots shoots your tired eyes wide open. Irises shaking as your eyes well up with tears and the pain of being stretched to accept his knot pushing against your abused holes erupts through your body. Struggling to breath with his mouth latched to yours, tongue slithering past your tonsils. 

“There you go..” he looks down. Forehead covered with a thick gleam of sweat. His handsome features reddened, hair a mess from all of your pulling. Grinding his cocks inside of you, he shivers and twitches as cum flows out and stuffs you from both ends. “All better now, bunny.”

Dr. Na’s shoulders continue to tremble, gripping your waist so tight, nails cutting into your skin. Both of his cocks stay locked in place, knots fully expanded inside of both of your holes.

“Jaemin?”

Bright yellow eyes snap up to your face, his sharp teeth chatter, and he loudly swallows. The fear you felt before completely disintegrates, only worried now that he’ll leave.. never to be seen again. 

“Are you going to kill me now?” You ask almost pitifully. Frowning, you clutch your hands to your chest. Too ashamed to look down at the area where you’re still connected. 

“No, bunny, never.” He smiles, peeling his hands off your stomach to cup your cheeks. “I’m going to mate you.”

A new fear of the abomination growing in your stomach arises, shaking your head. “We can’t!”

“Shhh shhh.” Wiping away your tears, he kisses the tip of your nose. Gently dragging his lips lower to graze your bitten over pout. Circling his hips, he roughly digs into your waist for leverage to push his knots in deeper. “Dr. Na will take care of everything.”

————————————-

[batsandbirdbrains]

ok ok i’ve seen a bunch of different bad father Bruce and evil Talia hcs and AUs and i raise y’all: evil/bad grandparent Alfred but only with Dick. Like Alfred is a British guy who was in the SAS and has spent the better part of his time as a butler for the ultra-wealthy Wayne family. Then it’s just him and Bruce for a long time. Then Dick comes along, as Bruce’s ward, and the kid is a little gremlin. He’s constantly throwing tantrums, breaking chandeliers, he never eats the food Alfred makes, he screams a lot, and he’s not very appreciative of where he ended up. In front of Bruce, Alfred is always professional. But when it’s just Alfred and Dick? Alfred constantly tells Dick what a brat he is, threatens that Bruce will throw him out if he doesn’t behave, tells him his parents should be ashamed of how they raised him, and says a bunch of other fucked up shit. He tells Dick that if Dick were to tell Bruce how Alfred treats him, Bruce wouldn’t believe him. It completely fucks up Dick’s emotional regulation because he swings between picking fights with Bruce (to see if he’ll really throw him out) to clinging onto him for long periods of time to hiding away in his room and not talking or eating. It seems like no matter how much Bruce tries to comfort him, nothing works. And all the while, Alfred is subtly suggesting that Bruce be harsher and harsher and harsher with Dick. So Bruce starts to get harsher and meaner, thinking that this is what Dick needs. It doesn’t work, and eventually, by Alfred’s suggestion, he takes Robin away. Dick can’t it anymore and leaves, but he still doesn’t tell anyone about how Alfred treated him.

Then Jason comes along, and Dick is worried that Alfred will treat him the same way. He tries to bring it up subtly in conversation, but it seems like Dick has nothing to worry about. So Dick goes to Alfred to threaten him, but Alfred tells him that it’s not necessary because Jason is “actually a good kid” and that he and Alfred have long talks about literature. Dick leaves feeling hollowed out. Maybe it really was his fault, if Alfred hadn’t treated anyone else like that. After all, the man had raised Bruce and Bruce had never said or done anything that indicated Alfred treated him poorly.

Then Bruce just keeps getting more and more children, and with each child the idea is reinforced in Dick’s head that it’s fault for being such a bad child. He still has poor emotional regulation, and swings between isolating himself and clinging on too tightly to his family. It doesn’t help that Alfred is constantly whispering in his ear that the family is better off without him. Then Damian comes along, and he acts so much like Dick used to that Dick is terrified for him, but he knows there’s not much he can do so he just keeps an eye on the situation.

When Bruce dies, one of the first things Dick does is fire Alfred. Everyone is furious with him, especially since Dick won’t explain his reasoning. All Dick manages to say kind defense of himself is that Bruce’s will states that he’s in charge. Alfred goes back to England and dies shortly after. It splinters the family even more. But Dick doesn’t really care, because one evening after patrol, months after Alfred died, Damian begins to softly recall the harsh words that Alfred spoken to him in private. Dick knows he made the right choice, he just wishes he could’ve spared Damian the pain sooner. Dick begins to open up to Damian about the harshness Alfred bestowed upon him as well.

Then Bruce comes back, and he’s not just furious, he’s enraged. He starts screaming at Dick, about how he could ever do this, about how Alfred was nothing but kind to him, and about how maybe Alfred was right and Dick was a bad kid. Dick is shaking like a leaf, his worst fears being confirmed in front of his entire family, and he still doesn’t know how to defend himself from this. He knows Bruce is grieving and upset, but all he can hear are Alfred’s cruel words, telling him that Bruce hates him, that he’ll kick him out of the family, that he’ll beat the shit out of Dick. So when Bruce takes an angry step forward, Dick flinches back hard, falling to the floor of the cave, trembling and on the verge of hyperventilating. It’s enough to shake Bruce out of his anger and grief, fear and confusion filling him as he takes in the scene in front of him. He had never hit Dick before, though he may have been harsh with him verbally. He doesn’t understand why Dick would be so full of fear, so certain that Bruce would hit him. He doesn’t understand anything about the way Dick is behaving, really. Everyone is looking a bit incredulous at the sight in front of them, which breaks Bruce out of his stupor. He takes a small, softer step forward, reaching out to try and comfort Dick, but before he can, a small katana blocks his path.

Fuck you dude I’m crying and I have a meeting in like 10 mins (I mean this in the best way possible this prompt is absolutely deliciously angsty)

I want to see Damian admitting to Dick in the tiniest, most nervous voice Dick has ever heard from him about how, “Pennyworth said Father would never have kept me if I wasn’t his blood.” I want Dick to damn near have a nervous breakdown, because he’d hoped and prayed that Alfred never treated the other kids like how he was treated. I want him to hug Damian so tight and tell him in hushed whispers that Alfred was wrong, that Bruce loved him, that Dick loves him so so much and would never ever get rid of him no matter what.

I want Dick to be so protective of Damian after he finds out. I want Dick to reassure Damian that Alfred was the problem, that Alfred treated Dick just the same when he was younger, had still treated him the same even when Dick became an adult. I want Damian to cling to Dick because he’s the only one who understands, because the others were all wrapped around Alfred’s finger.

When Bruce comes back and Dick falls to the floor, so sure he’s about to get the shit beaten out of him, I want Damian to stand between them. I want Damian to slip up and say in a strangled, devastated voice that Pennyworth was right, that no one in this family loved him or Dick, but Damian isn’t going to let them hurt his Batman.

I want Dick to sit up so fast and tug Damian away and hug him so tight and whisper no, no, that’s not true, that’s not what was happening, Dick was just startled that’s all but please don’t you remember everything we talked about? It’s alright, Dami, everything’s alright. And everyone is so confused because what are they taking about, why are they both so upset, what’s going on?

But Damian is only 11 and he’s upset and Dick has been trying his best to let Damian know he’s allowed to show his emotions, so even though he’s not actively crying, the tears in his eyes are making Dick’s heart break. Because Damian may as well be sobbing. And he hugs him so tight and just keeps whispering reassurances to him, telling him it’s alright, smoothing back his hair.

“I’m glad he’s dead!” Damian huffs into Dick’s shoulder. And it’s muffled and Damian’s voice is thick, but everyone hears it. They all bristle, but Dick doesn’t react at all.

“I know,” Dick whispers. “I know. It’s alright.”

“Don’t leave me here!” Damian begs. “Don’t leave me with them! They don’t understand!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Dick tells him. “I’m not going anywhere. Do you want to go get ice cream? We can go get ice cream.”

“This discussion is not over!” Bruce barks, because he’s still livid, but now he’s confused on top of it.

“It is for now,” Dick says, his tone firm. “We’re leaving. We’re going to go and calm down. I suggest you all do the same.”

Dick is quick to get Damian away from all of them, but the rest of the family is still in shock.

“What do we not understand?” Tim asks slowly. When everyone turns to look at him, he raises an eyebrow at their baffled expressions. “Damian said we didn’t understand. What is it we don’t understand?”

They all know it has something to do with Alfred, but none of them can figure it out.

Maybe Dick and Damian will explain it to them. Maybe they never will. But it leaves a divide between them for a long time either way.

[notlongtolove]

the cup holds the tea

it hits you all at once and you’re out of the booth in a flash, spencer right behind you. you’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto spencer’s shoes. the world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau!reader has too much to drink and its up to bf!spencer to get her home. and brief mentions of puke... oh reader...

word count: 3k

note: well personally i don't know if i could ever love someone enough where i would lay on my bed in my 'outside clothes' but good on you spence! once i slipped and fell in someone's puke and cried all the way home.

a line: They’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this? This is something else entirely.

It is a kind of love, is it not? How the cup holds the tea, How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes Or toes. How soles of feet know Where they’re supposed to be. - pat schneider

The room hangs on your words, the perfect moment of suspense stretched like a tightrope. You let it linger, savoring the pause.

“And they ate every last drop of it!”

The punchline lands, and laughter spills out around the table, loud and easy. You beam. Spencer watches you, his gaze warm, almost reverent. He’s always known you had this gift—how you could spin a story, command a room. If he weren’t so completely in love with you, he might’ve envied it. No amount of books or degrees could teach him your knack for recounting stories with such flair, or your ability to whip up comebacks at speeds that leave even Derek speechless.

Spencer’s lucky, and he knows it. His eyes trace the curve of your smile as you sip from your glass, your third—or fourth? He’s lost count. He notices you’re not wincing at its taste anymore and well, you know what they say when the drinks start to taste like water. The fact that you’re tearing up at something Garcia’s showing you—a sloth video, from what he can tell, doesn’t ease his worries in the slightest either. He's not entirely sure what Emily has been ordering for the table but whatever it is, it’s clearly doing its job.

It’s one of those rare nights out, the kind where the team sets work aside and pretends, for a few hours, that the weight of the world isn’t on their shoulders. Rossi had insisted, his treat he said, but Spencer suspects it was just an excuse for the team to watch you two loosen up, to let your guard down. A carefully orchestrated opportunity for the team to see something they hardly ever got to see. They’ve seen you two in the field, sharp and focused, in sync like clockwork. But tonight it's the way you lean into Spencer’s side without realizing it, the way Spencer gently moves your glass out of harm’s way when you gesture too wildly. This is a glimpse of something sacred, something rare.

It’d only been about a month since you and Spencer had made it official. Everyone saw it coming long before you did, but that didn’t stop the teasing once the news broke. They could barely pick their jaws up from off the floor even tonight when Spencer had his hand resting lightly on your waist, steadying you through the crowd as you laughed yourself breathless, stumbling. At work, you both keep it professional, steering clear of anything that might make Hotch raise an eyebrow. But the dim light of the bar is ever so tempting. The bar is full of loud laughter and clinking glasses and you just can’t help but take Spencer's hand into yours, fingers laced without hesitation. 

Spencer catches the way Derek’s eyes light up at the sight, the subtle nudge he gives Emily. He knows they’re going to bring this up later, probably all week.

But he doesn’t move his hand. He doesn’t let go.

The booth is packed tight as you’re all wedged together, shoulders brushing. Everyone’s smiling, unwinding in a way you rarely allow yourselves to, laughter bouncing in overlapping bursts. Spencer sits nursing his water, content to observe. His eyes are drawn back to you over and over, catching on the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh and the animated gestures you make as you speak.

“C’mon, pretty boy, live a little,” Derek teases, “Just one drink.”

Spencer gives a sheepish smile, waving it off. “I’m fine,” he says, eyes flicking over to you once more.

He can’t keep his eyes off you tonight, it seems. You’re laughing, and It’s unmistakable, the adoration in his gaze, something so un-Spencer-like that makes Derek smile.

He knows Spencer’s not one to drink. You, on the other hand, seem a little too eager, maybe encouraged by Emily’s coaxing, and you’re already on your next drink, cheeks bright and eyes sparkling. You lean into Garcia’s cheers, your glass lifted high. Your laughter is bright and unrestrained, pulling everyone else along with it.

Spencer considers saying something when you're giggling a little more than usual, laughing too hard at a joke that doesn't warrant it. But he knows how you’d take it. You’d wave him off with that familiar insistence, the same as always. It wasn't like you couldn't hold your own, Spencer knows that. You’d held your own at Rossi’s birthday last year just fine, outlasting nearly everyone—everyone except Rossi of course. And that’s probably why he’d already taken his leave tonight, not wanting to get caught in the tail end of whatever chaos this night will inevitably bring.

But that was then and now— Well, it’s different now. Now, the role of boyfriend sits heavier on his shoulders, a title he’s all too happy to hold. And tonight, it’s a card he’s all too happy to play. It gives him leverage, an edge that makes him feel like he has a little more room to step in without you pulling the I don’t need anyone to take care of me speech. 

Spencer sees his opening as lean back into his side a little too comfortably. “Here,” he murmurs, pressing his glass into your hand. “Drink this.”

He hopes you’re just tipsy enough not to ask too many questions, as long as it’s something from the bar. For a moment, it seems like it works—you sit up, eyeing the glass cautiously, then take it from him with slow deliberation.

Almost there, he thinks.

You peer into the glass, squinting at the clear liquid, then give it a small sniff. Spencer’s heart sinks as your expression shifts.

“This is water,” you say, suspiciously.

“Yes, it is,” he admits.

Your brow furrows, the faintest pout tugging at your lips. “I’m drinking vodka.”

“And now you’re drinking water.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, and I’d rather not carry you out of here tonight,” he says softly, the faintest flush colouring his cheeks.

You look up at him, unimpressed, but he stays firm. “Just drink the water, sweetheart,” he says quietly, his voice barely cutting through the noise.

He braces himself for your resistance. Instead, you huff, give him a pointed glare, and drink it. He watches as you sip, your nose scrunching at the lack of a bite. Spencer lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

The night winds on, the team louder than usual, swept up in Derek’s overly dramatic retelling of the prank war that once took over the bullpen. But you’re quieter, Spencer notices, the drinks maybe finally settling in a little too fast. Your smile slower, your laughter softer, head resting on his shoulder now and again. 

And then, suddenly, you’re not looking so well. It hits you all at once. The queasy welling in your stomach, the cold sweat prickling your skin. You’re out of the booth in a flash, Spencer right behind you as you stumble toward the door, your hand clamped over your mouth. 

You’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto Spencer’s shoes. The world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

Of all people it had to be Spencer—germ-conscious, always-prepared Spencer—your lovely boyfriend who at this moment you’re not sure you can ever look in the eyes again Spencer. 

You don’t have to look up to see the team’s reaction as they round the corner, wide-eyed as they process what just happened. Derek’s mouth falls open in disbelief, Emily stares in shock, and Garcia whispers a dramatic, “Oh, no…”

They’re frozen. Because Spencer—Spencer, who uses hand sanitizer like it’s an extension of his arm, Spencer who’s the first to scrunch his nose at anything remotely messy—has just had his shoes christened in the worst way. You know they’re waiting for Spencer’s reaction, the tense recoil, the carefully contained grimace.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Spencer pauses, takes a measured breath, and steps closer to you, his hands steady on your shoulders. “Hey,” he asks, voice low and soothing as he crouches to meet your gaze. “Sweetheart, you okay?” He brushes your hair away from your face, his touch careful and kind.

“Spence—” you mumble, your voice cracking with embarrassment. Your hands fly to cover your face. “I’m so sorry. Your shoes—oh my God, your shoes—”

Spencer shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping as he crouches to steady you. His voice is impossibly gentle, calm in a way that eases the edges of your shame. “It’s fine. They’re just shoes,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. “Let’s get you home, okay?” 

You nod, eyes shut, clearly mortified but he doesn’t let you dwell on it. He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. For a brief moment, Spencer contemplates asking the bartender for a glass of water to rinse off the mess, but he glances at you—your slightly swaying frame, the way your head droops just a little—and decides against it.

Getting you home safely takes precedence over everything else. Shoes can wait. You can’t.

Emily’s mouth falls open slightly as she watches, “Did Reid just…?” she murmurs, half to herself, as Derek gapes beside her. “Didn’t think the kid had it in him,” Derek says, shaking his head, a grin slowly spreading. Garcia sniffs, dramatically dabbing at her eyes. “I knew he loved her, but this? This is another level.” she says letting out a dreamy sigh. 

They linger, watching as Spencer guides you steadily toward the car with careful patience. He helps you in, crouching to fasten your seatbelt. You’re still mumbling apologies, your voice thick with embarrassment, but Spencer doesn’t falter. Instead, he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders even as the mess on his shoes remains. There’s not even a hint of disgust on his face—if anything, he’s focused, caring, murmuring words of reassurance as he tucks his jacket around you. His hand lingers on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a silent promise that nothing about this has shaken him. 

“I’m so sorry, Spence,” you whisper again, your voice small and heavy with guilt. “I ruined your shoes. And your jacket. And—”

“It’s fine. You’re fine. Besides, I was planning to throw them out anyway.”

You shake your head weakly, your tone petulant even through your embarrassment. “Nooo, don’t throw them out because of me.”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do you suggest I do with them, angel?”

“I’ll wash them,” you declare, your words slow and sleepy.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You’ll wash them?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur, already halfway to drifting off against the seat.

“How about we get you home first and then worry about the shoes, okay?” he says gently.

“’Kay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as sleep begins to take hold.

Spencer stands, glancing back at the bar where the team is gathered. They’re not even pretending to hide their stares anymore, and he knows he’s going to hear about this for weeks. He raises a hand in a small, sheepish wave before climbing into the driver’s seat.

Derek shakes his head, laughing softly. “He’s gone,” he says, his voice carrying just enough awe to balance the humor. “Kid’s completely gone.”

Emily doesn’t need to ask what he means. Neither does Garcia. Because they’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this?

This is something else entirely.

The ride home is quiet, save for the occasional slurred apology from you. Spencer reassures you with the same soft patience each time, his hand steady on the wheel and his gaze flickering to you every so often, checking to make sure you’re okay. By the time he gets you home, your protests have faded, replaced by the heavy pull of exhaustion.

His arm remains firm around your waist, steadying you as he helps you inside, careful and methodical in the way he moves. He guides you to the bathroom, where you try to freshen up, fumbling with the faucet and splashing water on your face. Spencer steps in without hesitation and takes over when your movements falter. His touch is featherlight, but there’s no mistaking the care in every movement. The closeness makes your cheeks flush, though whether it’s from lingering embarrassment or something else entirely, you’re too tired to decipher.

“You don’t have to,” you murmur, your words sluggish but sincere.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his voice light but firm. “I want to.” 

He guides you to the bedroom with careful steps, his hand steady on the small of your back. Once there, he sets a glass of water on the nightstand, the gentle clink breaking the quiet.

“Drink,” he coaxes softly, his tone patient but firm.

You take the glass without protest, sipping obediently. Spencer watches, a small smile tugging at his lips. He considers making a playful comment about how quickly you’re drinking it now—so much easier than earlier—but he decides against it.

You’ve been through enough tonight, he thinks.

When he finally tucks you into bed, you’re too tired to resist. You mumble something incoherent, your hand brushing his as he leans in. Spencer pauses, his gaze lingering on your face—peaceful now, the traces of the evening’s mishaps melting away. He presses a light kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Spencer steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear you if you call out. He lingers in the hallway for a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly now that the night’s adrenaline has begun to wane. He glances down at his shoes—still damp and stained. With a resigned sigh, he makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag. He slips the shoes inside, tying the bag tightly before heading outside. The cold air bites at his skin as he steps toward the dumpster behind his building.

He stands there for a moment, holding the bag. The sight of the shoes, oddly enough, makes him smile. It’s ridiculous, he knows. They’re just shoes. Ruined, stained, completely unsalvageable. But they’re also a reminder of tonight—a reminder of how he’d taken care of you, how you’d let him take care of you. 

With a soft thud, the bag lands in the dumpster. Spencer dusts off his hands, turning back toward the building. When Spencer steps back into his apartment, the soft hum of the heater greets him, a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting inside. And there you are, standing in his shirt in the doorway of his bedroom. Spencer thinks it's a sight he'll never get tired of.

There's a pout tugging at your lips. “Where’d you go?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep and just a hint of a whine.

“Had to throw out the shoes angel,” he says as he steps into the kitchen to wash his hands.

Your gasp is exaggerated like he’s just committed an unspeakable betrayal. “I thought I told you I’d wash them!” you exclaim, your voice rising. 

“And I thought I tucked you into bed,” Spencer counters, his laugh soft and full of affection. “Why are you out of bed sweetheart?”

You shuffle closer, blinking up at him with drowsy eyes. “Missed you,” you say simply, your earlier outrage regarding the shoes already forgotten. “Wanna cuddle.”

Spencer’s expression softens, but he gestures to his clothes. “I’m dirty,” he reminds you gently, “Outside clothes, remember?”

“Change then,” you reply stubbornly, tugging at his sleeve as though that’s the simplest solution in the world.

“I need to shower first,” he says, his voice patient as he begins to guide you back toward the bedroom.

“I didn’t shower either,” you argue, leaning heavily into his side as though that somehow strengthens your case.

“Because you’re drunk,” he replies with a small smile.

“Am not,” you insist, though your tone is far from convincing.

“Wanna tell that to my shoes?” Spencer teases, raising a brow.

You ignore him, brushing past his comment with a huff. “You’ll take too long,” you complain, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you too,” he replies, his voice tinged with amusement as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then cuddle,” you plead, your tone slipping into that sing-song quality you know he can’t resist. “Pleaseee”

Spencer hesitates, the logical part of him warring with the sight of you—soft, vulnerable, and looking at him like he hung the stars. He knows you’re usually the enforcer of the outside-clothes rule, a stickler for order when sober. But right now, you’re anything but sober, and he can’t find it in himself to deny you.

“Pleaseee,” you say again, drawing out the word for emphasis, “I’ll buy you new shoes,” your eyes wide and imploring.

He knows you probably will.

“Enough about the shoes,” Spencer rolls his eyes fighting back a smirk, “Just help me change the sheets tomorrow,” he relents, his voice warm with affection.

He knows you probably won’t. But he lets you drag him toward the bed anyways.

You beam, looping your arms around his waist in triumph. “Knew you wouldn’t say no,” you mumble into his chest.

Spencer laughs softly as you settle against him, burying your face in his chest with a soft, muffled sigh. He feels his heart swell in a way he can’t quite put into words. He’s never been one for mess—for dirt, grime, or anything out of place. Heck, he hadn't even wanted to shake your hand the first time he met you. It’s in his nature to keep things neat, orderly, clean. But now, with you?

His shoes could be ruined, his clothes crumpled, and the night an absolute whirlwind. And still, all he can think about is how peaceful you look now, your eyelids fluttering shut as sleep starts to claim you.

Spencer presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles along your back.

For you and only you, he thinks, he’d make an exception every time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[fruitlicense]

I think I’ve figured out my favorite chemistry for the DC Trinity, as follows:

Superman and Wonder Woman are the kind of friends who treat each other like siblings, but they 100% mean it. They laugh, they hug, they get at least one meal together every week, they occasionally finish each other’s sentences, and when they’re in the same room you can tell they genuinely like each other. They know each other like siblings, too - one won’t know every detail about the other, but they can pull out years-old esoteric stories that no one else had any idea even happened, and they each have a keen sense of who the other is deep down. Clark and Diana know each other’s dreams, fears, and morals, and that trust is visible. The only thing that tells you they’re not actually related is that when they disagree, they argue like well-adjusted adults, without any psychological manipulation or maiming. Sparring is a bonding activity for them, not a way to express anger.

Wonder Woman and Batman have a bond that is entirely platonic but mind-bogglingly deep. They should have the kind of relationship where it’s perfectly normal for them to shower together after a mission and discuss what the Justice League’s next steps should be, but if you point out that it’s kind of weird for them to share a showerhead and a shampoo bottle they’ll act like you’re weird for pointing it out. Bruce is washing blood and concrete dust out of Diana’s hair. There are no sexual or romantic vibes whatsoever. They’re at a level where it’s almost like they’re two halves of the same mind, like if they got into some crazy magic mishap where they were sharing a body it would move like a well-oiled machine. Even when they disagree or argue it seems like a single entity having an internal battle. They have crazy trust, like knowing-every-corner-of-the-other’s-brain trust, to the point that the greatest way to show their affection to each other is allowing each other their secrets. Bruce doesn’t pry past Diana’s hard lines and she knows when to stop pushing him, and those boundaries are honored because literally all the others are gone.

Batman and Superman, however, have inexplicable vibes. At a glance they act like coworkers, or like good friends, but if you look longer than thirty seconds there’s something between them that’s tangible enough to cut - it’s also weirdly horny and literally no one else wants to get involved with it. You could walk into a room where Clark was making coffee and Bruce was doing paperwork and they weren’t talking to or looking at each other and you would feel like you were intruding on their marriage bed. They keep up the same level of professionalism with each other that they do with the rest of the Justice League but they might as well not fucking bother, because somehow it still seems like they’re incapable of not broadcasting that they want each other carnally. They also have a deep level of trust, but it’s not familial or platonic. It’s more like the kind you have with someone you’re so deeply in love with that you can’t fathom not sharing your entire self with them. The world could end in burning flames and they’d survive it without going insane as long as they had each other. No one is actually sure if they’ve ever acted on these feelings, or if they’re even aware that they have them.

All three of them would burn the world down for each other, obviously, so it’s a damn good thing they’re saving it instead.

[kxsagi]

“𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲”

a/n: based on this!

it’s honestly unfair how famous you are. 

not just “front row at fashion week” famous or “gets surprise flowers from designers” famous. no, you are the woman. the woman of the decade. the woman of the century. the woman everyone either wants to be, wants to marry, or wants to be adopted by. it’s global. international. peasants know your name. politicians have posters of you in their offices. pop stars write songs about you and your career. your wedding at twenty was televised and momentarily broke peace treaties in three countries because no one wanted to miss it. 

and despite all this, you still look like you’d throw hands if someone touched your man without permission. 

you married young, and to a man whose name can silence entire stadiums. a man just as disgustingly in love with you as you are with him. the kind of love that makes people sigh dreamily and gag a little. mutual. sickening. soulmate-coded. the internet has never recovered. 

so when you walked onto that late night interview show in your sunglasses and million-dollar smile, the audience erupted. cheers, tears, screams of “MOTHER!” and “SHE’S HERE!” filled the room. you waved like a benevolent queen, high-fived a teenage fan in the front row, and sat down with the grace of someone who knew the world revolved around her and her alone. 

the interviewer blinked at you like they couldn't believe you were real. “i have to say, you look stunning tonight.” 

you laughed, low and easy. “thank you. i stole this outfit from coco chanel herself.” 

the crowd screamed again. 

the interview went smoothly at first. questions about your upcoming projects. your career milestones. your recent appearance at the met gala where you’d made headlines for not blinking once during the entire red carpet. the fans ate it up. the comments online were already calling you mother, icon, CEO of their hearts. 

and then, mid-way through the interview, the host leaned forward with a little glint in their eye. 

“so… we’ve all seen the fan edits. the montages. the insane compilations. i have to ask… how’s your sex life with your husband?” 

the audience sucked in a sharp breath. 

your lips twitched. 

“oh, naughty,” you hummed, voice dripping with amusement as you crossed one leg over the other. “buttttt i won’t be saying anything, because i’ve seen the fandom edits. i know what y’all are capable of. i’m not giving you another frame to turn into a ‘me x my husband moaning in 4k’ tiktok.” 

the crowd exploded. half of them screamed. the other half cried. one person fainted. 

the host choked, laughing. “wait, wait. you watch the edits?” 

“of course,” you replied smoothly. “i have to see what my digital doppelgänger is doing. sometimes the plots are better than actual TV shows.” 

a fan in the audience shouted, “IS YOUR HUSBAND JEALOUS?” 

you smirked. “jealous? he makes fake accounts just to defend me in the comments.” 

that was the end of the interview, essentially. nothing else mattered. the internet went feral. the words 'naughty but no moaning tiktok sorry’ trended worldwide. fan accounts posted clips of the moment on loop, edits rained down within hours, and despite your very clear warning, the fandom somehow went harder than ever. 

there were now more suspiciously well-edited videos. some with you and your husband in soft domestic bliss, others labeled “you can’t tell me they didn’t do it in the kitchen after this interview.” some of them were too well-edited. you scrolled a bit through tik tok days later, narrowed your eyes, and muttered, “that audio was fake. i did not say ‘daddy’ like that.” 

your husband passed by, peeked at your phone, and mumbled, “i kind of like that one. they gave me a six pack.” 

“as if you don’t have one.” 

the fanbase? oh, it's unhinged. there’s the main fandom, the professionals who have followed your rise since you were eighteen and treat you like royalty, and then there’s the reader x character fandom, a subculture so passionate they’ve created an entire parallel timeline. you’ve seen it all. fanfiction with 300k words. hand-drawn comics. romantic timelines. detailed analysis on your zodiac compatibility with your husband (as if you weren’t married for four years now). 

and you? you love them. adore them. blow kisses and comment emojis and once personally called out a stalker in the dms like: 

❌ you. in the bushes yesterday. blocked. 

✅ everyone else. you may continue to thirst in peace. 

the world can’t get enough of you. neither can he. your names are etched into pop culture history like an eternal love spell. and even though you tried to warn the internet… somewhere, in the depths of fandom editing hell, a new video is rendering. 

title: “reader x husband – ‘naughty’ scenes the interview DIDN’T show 😭💥💍🔥” 

you sigh, drop your head back, and mutter, “gosh. i love being famous.” 

and the comments? 

“THEY’RE NOT JUST A COUPLE. THEY’RE A RELIGION.” 

“i want a love like that or i’ll perish.” 

“her and her man are SO unserious. goals.” 

“mother is mothering again.” 

god help anyone who thinks they can match your energy. 

you’re the woman. and he’s your man. the world’s just lucky to witness it. 

characters: any boy from blue lock 😚💙

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[lymtw]

The thought of you being with anyone else has always made Satoru sick to his stomach. He can't imagine you loving others more than you love him, and if he ever sees you giggling or smiling at someone else the way you do with him, he'll find a way to include himself or put an end to it overall.

It's understandable that you're at your wits end with his immaturity and his inability to make you feel like he trusts you around others, as his girlfriend, but that doesn't mean he wants you to leave him. He can do better. He can make you feel better. He always does.

You're sitting at the dining room table, working on some slides for an upcoming presentation. You're in your zone, focused, even wearing your big noise cancelling headphones, which blast your calming music playlist into your ears.

Satoru sits on the other end of the table, straight across from you. He watches the focus and concentration that has silently etched into your features, his hands folded as he, too, focuses. You haven't said a word to him in the past two hours. You let him know that you'd be working on schoolwork, but he knew there was something cold running through you when you told him this. He could tell you were still upset about what had happened earlier.

It was a brief interaction you had with someone who simply laughed at the sight of your keychain. They complimented it because it was a character from one of their favorite shows. This two minute interaction was enough for Satoru to storm over to you and the unfamiliar person. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he stared the stranger down with a smile so sweet, it was obvious that it was fake. You were uncomfortable, the stranger was uncomfortable, and Satoru was radiating possession over you. You managed to chuckle nervously and apologized for the interruption.

You can feel his heavenly eyes on you, and you're trying your hardest not to crack under the tension. He always manages to fluster you so easily when he watches you, making it much more difficult to get things done.

The silence makes him want to create noise. He wants you to make noise with him. He wants to show you that he loves you and that he does things like that because you're wanted by many, but are doomed to be only his. He'll make you forget the incident ever happened. He can make you feel better. He'll discreetly plant his firm custom of only fantasizing about you, through his touch, and he'll remind you of the way his eyes lock onto you whenever you move, while he watches your reaction to him running his hands all over you. For fucks sake, you're the nightly stars in the sky to him. What's wrong with treating you as such?

Satoru slowly rises from his seat. You're unbothered by the movement, not looking up as he makes his way around the table. He stands behind you, silently setting his hands on your shoulders, as he glimpses at the professional looking word vomit on your laptop. He sweeps your hair back, clearing your shoulders.

You finally read a part of the text that can be used as evidence later on in the slides, and immediately jot it down in your notes. You're not giving Satoru the attention he wants, so he carefully removes your headphones. That definitely does the job.

"I need those. I can't focus without them." You put your pencil down and stop scrolling on your laptop, turning to look at him.

"And I need you to take a break. You said that isn't due 'til next week."

You roll your eyes and exhale through your nose, turning to face your screen again. "Guess I can work without them," you grumble.

He puts the headphones down on a counter behind him and his hands go back to your shoulders, this time dragging forward, dipping beneath the neckline of your shirt. The collar will surely be stretched out by the time he removes his hands.

"Did you hear what I said?" He asks, voice low enough to make your heart drop. His hands slide into the cups of your bra from above, allowing him to hold your breasts.

"I did," you respond, feigning nonchalance, when really you've read the same short passage three times now, as a result of his touch.

"Take a break." He squeezes, gently, taking in the quick jolt of your body when he started concentrating on your nipples. "Indulge me," he spoke, against your ear. He dragged his lips down the side of your neck, kissing every inch of it. It was warm and wet, and it was driving you crazy.

"Satoru..." you said, more breathily than expected. "I need to do this." You contradict yourself and tilt your head to give him more room. He's so enticing. He already has you on board with whatever he has planned, but you'll unstably stand your ground for a couple more minutes to deflate his ego a little.

"If you don't come with me..." he murmurs. "...I will go down there and make it impossible for you to keep working," he continued, between kissing and sucking your neck. Your thighs were pressed together, tightly, and you were so turned on by everything he was doing, all for you to throw him a bone.

You sighed. The pressure offered by your thighs was not enough to satisfy your want for the man touching you.

"Let me put your mind at ease. Bet your brain is fried. Why not just finish it off?" His hands slid out of your shirt, settling on your shoulders once more.

You reached for your pencil, only for your hand to be immediately swatted down by Satoru's hand and pinned to the table.

"Really?" His voice brought goosebumps to your skin.

You sighed in defeat and saved your documents before shutting your laptop, allowing him to lead you to the room. He hummed in satisfaction as you walked with his hand tight around yours.

–

"Satoru! Fuck- Holy- Oh... more, please!" Your words jumbled in an attempt to ask him to keep going against the spot he was abusing. His fingers were slowing, and the stimulation wasn't as prominent. "No. N-No! I was gonna-"

"I know," he cuts you off. "Don't want you to cum yet, sweetie," he groans, using every ounce of patience he has. He wants nothing more than for you to cry out for him once he makes you cum, but you're still thinking, meaning you can still think of the situation from earlier.

"'toru, please. I was so close. This is the second time already."

"Once you break, i'll fix you, babe. I swear. I'll make you cum more than you want to, but give me a little longer, 'kay?"

The transparency of his goal was relieving, but knowing that you'd be toyed with a while longer was frustrating.

"Don't worry your pretty head about when you'll get to cum. It could happen aaany minute now. You have to remember our rule." He smiles, watching the way your stomach quivers in anticipation of his fingers touching your cunt.

You closed your eyes and drowned in the feeling of Satoru's touch. He knows you so well. Knows what turns you on, knows exactly how to get you off, and know how to make you cum in just a couple minutes. He uses this against you when he needs to, but for the most part, Satoru is fair. He's good to you.

Eventually a rule had to be introduced in bed because of his ability to make you cum impossibly fast. The rule implied that if there was enough time to drag your pleasure out, you should make use of all that time, even if it means you don't get as many orgasms. You both agreed that Satoru mastering your weaknesses took away parts of the intimacy when he got you to orgasm so quickly, so he doesn't use those methods as much. He prefers to build you up, anyway. You loved and hated the rule. Loved that you would be observed and touched for longer, and hated that the touch fled as soon as you were on the brink of orgasm.

"Satoru!" You gasp. "Please, I... I-I need this!"

His pace slows again, your body trembling as he pulled his fingers out and stopped all contact with you. His coated digits dragged along your thigh, painting you with translucent wetness. You're so sensitive, twitching at when his fingertips ghost your slit.

"You're getting there." He smiles, too kindly at you.

"Satoru," you groan. He didn't deserve to go by ''toru' in this moment. "If I wanted to be edged, I would have stayed at the table, doing my work while you did whatever you wanted to me, had I not followed you."

"Don't be upset, princess. We both know your brain will shut off the second I make you cum. I just need you with me for a little longer." The kind smile fell off his face. "For the record, I wasn't kidding when I said I would stop you from getting any work done at kitchen table. I promise you, you would have made zero progress."

His switch flipped again, and he gave you a loving grin. He looked up at you from between your thighs, his pretty, blue eyes centered on your own. You love when he looks at you like this—like you're his world, and he would do anything to keep you chained to him. It's moments like this that keep you sane around him. He has this intensity to him when he's alone with you. It causes any doubt you have of his love for you to vanish, instantly. You can never stay mad for long enough when he looks at you this way.

He kisses along your inner thigh, his eyes glue to yours as he does so. His hand stays on your hip, softly pressing his fingertips into the skin. You trembled in his hold when you felt his tongue slide through your folds again. His arms hooked around your thighs, holding you in place when you began to squirm.

"Satoru..." you sighed, your hands gripping the sheets tighter.

"Princess." A smile runs across his lips, not interrupting him as he continues to debilitate you with his mouth.

"Can I please... fuck," you moan. "Please... please," you beg, eyes shut as you try to compose yourself before you continue speaking, but he was relentless.

He let his hands take over, his full attention on what you wanted to say. His thumb glided up and down your slit, occasionally sparing attention to your clit, which only drove you closer to insanity.

"Go on. I'm listening." He very much was listening, your little breaths and whimpers so sweet to his ears.

"Can I cum, please?" Your hips rolled against the mattress, chasing the friction of his fingers against your pussy. This brought a satisfied grin to his face.

"Did you finish all your work?" He looks down to where he's working his fingers into you, mesmerized by the way your slick drooled down his reddened knuckles and the back of his hand.

"T-That's not fair. You pulled me away from my work."

He chuckles at the impatience in your tone. "That's not what I asked you, baby. Did you or did you not finish your work?" His index and middle fingers beckon inside your velvety walls.

"N-No, fuck, no. I didn't," you whimper.

"I love you to death, but I never said this would be a fair game. I'm gonna have to say 'no', too, baby."

You looked like you were on the verge of tears. Tears of impatience and frustration.

"Oh..." he coos. "It's okay. You'll be okay." He placed little kisses on your thighs, as if comforting you through this seemingly endless loop you were trapped in because of him. "Honey, you're gonna be fine. I've got you."

—

Your eyes became waterfalls towards the end of Satoru's game. You were ruined and all hope of cumming any time soon fled by the fifth orgasm you were denied of. He showed you all the affection he could to make up for how selfish he was being with your pleasure. There were fresh hickeys as well as purpling ones all over your lower body.

Satoru loved that he had reduced you to a whimpering, sobbing mess, with just his hands and his mouth. Your arousal, as well as his saliva, coated the better part of the bottom of his face.

His fingers entered you one last time brushing every point of weakness within you, repeatedly.

"Fuck- Oh fuck... Sa...toru!" You moaned. This was different. It was better. It was good. So, so good.

His lips attached to your clit, sucking on it mercilessly.

"Holy fuck..." you whined, sitting up, tangling one of your hands into his hair. Your back arched and your face was aimed towards the ceiling as you took every ounce of pleasure he graced you with. The edge was so close, within reach.

"Please, Satoru, oh my god... please."

With one more curl of his fingers and a swirl of his pointed tongue on your clit, you were launched into oblivion— lost to the overwhelming sensation seeping into you. You cried out his name, him being the only thing running through your mind. Your eyes were shut so tightly that tears spilled down your cheeks all over again. You were panting, cracked whimpers leaving you as you rolled your hips against the mattress. Your grip on his hair tightened even more.

All Satoru could do was watch with marvel, completely ignoring the pain in his scalp. You had the prettiest blush, and like a crystal glaze, your tears decorated your face so stunningly. Your eyes fluttered open again and you looked at him through wet lashes, the most flustered expression on your face as you continued to release small puffs of air. It's then that the constant thoughts of you that echo through Satoru's mind come forward. No one is enough like you are. No one deserves you.

In all the loving thoughts Satoru got caught up in, he was unintentionally starting to overstimulate you. He wouldn't let up, too mesmerized by the way you said his name so sweetly. His arms prevented you from shutting your legs. He couldn't deny that he loved the little grunting sounds you made, and the shuddered "'toru..." you whimpered out when you couldn't handle everything he was giving you anymore.

He finally let up and patted your thigh, silently praising you for being so good for him. Your eyes were shut and your chest was still heaving as you worked to steady your breathing.

There was no doubt in Satoru's mind that you weren't thinking of his little display of possession from earlier, anymore. Just as planned, but just to be completely certain, he would repeat the process a few more times.

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something constant. | joel miller x f!reader, 9.1k

Summary: You are Tommy’s best friend, Joel’s constant complication- the one woman he can’t touch without breaking. But when years of tension finally snap, Joel has no choice but to face what he’s been running from: the fact that you’ve always been his, whether he deserves you or not.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST (like- I'm putting them through it like my life depends on it)(it does.), SMUT, reader is 5 yrs younger than Tommy, so that leaves a 10 yrs age gap with our man, emotional and physical abuse, toxic dynamics: mentions of abusive family but nothing descriptive or graphic, mentions of abusive boyfriends and unhealthy relationships in general but nothing descriptive or graphic, substance use: mentions of gambling and intense sexual content: grinding, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, unprotected PIV, dom!Joel. Please be aware and read responsibly.

A/N: Well, well, well- what do we have here? It’s been almost a year since I last posted anything of mine. This is not some breakthrough, or something you haven’t read before. For some reason, I decided to forgo dividers and use titles instead. Where did that come from? Lord knows. The writing and rhythm feel a bit different, especially in the beginning- don’t ask me to explain, I’m not a trained professional. I also think I used dashes more than I ever have before, maybe I'm addicted, who knows. (They made sense, ok?) Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling; I don’t even know if you still remember me, but hey-(oh look, another dash!) I'm still here and I’ve missed you guys!

P.S.: Oh- oh and please don’t forget, as always, I hate summaries!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

They say you only get what you think you deserve in this life.

They must be gravely wrong then, because you don’t think you deserve Joel Miller. Not for one second. And yet, somehow.. here you are.

But let’s take things from the beginning.

The past.

You and Tommy met when you were young. Well, he was young. You were young..er. Which, by default, made Joel the old..er brother.

You and Tommy became fast, inseparable friends. You were both drawn to mischief and that made you almost instantly thick as thieves. He’s always been like a brother to you. You spent summers at the Millers’, crashed there during rough times.

You didn’t have a stable home life. You learned from a young age to adapt.

Actually, you learned a handful of helpful things: how to read faces, microexpressions, words unsaid and gestures unmade. When to activate your sympathetic or parasympathetic systems. When to freeze. When to hide. When to run. Especially where to run.

The destination was always the same, the Millers’ house. Tommy and by extension Joel, became your lifeline.

The one person you could never read to save your life though, was Joel Miller.

Joel, always wiser, quieter, intense. You called him “sir” jokingly. He called you “kid.” Typical.

He wasn’t warm, but he was reliable. Always picking Tommy up from trouble. Always fixing things. Always there.

You admired him before you even understood why. He never faltered. Never drifted.

As you grew up, that admiration turned into something deeper. But beyond that, all you could ever figure out was that he didn’t like you all that much. You guessed you were used to that. You’d had your whole life training for it.

The hidden love.

You never said anything. Joel treated you like a kid.

Even as you matured, he stayed distant, protective, but formal.

You kept it to yourself, how you felt about him and tried to date others. No one ever measured up. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t even give you the bare minimum.

But even when they did -rarely- your heart was singing only for Joel.

What a stupid fixation, you thought.

To crave the safe. To long for the normal. To love the constant.

But he provided. So you did.

Truth be told, you’ve never shared much with Joel. He was always orbiting your friendship with Tommy, anyway. He was the big brother. He was always around, mostly to keep an eye on Tommy, if you had to guess. So, inevitably, he ended up getting to know parts of your life, of you.

Like right now, when you wish more than anything that he never knew you at all.

You see, you’re in a bad relationship. You don’t tell Joel as much. You never would.

But Tommy knows.

And if Tommy knows, Joel does too.

Because Joel is observant. He always watches. He always has.

Like you said, to keep Tommy straight. Wasn’t his fault if you were always around. So it wasn’t that hard to figure you out. To notice things.

Like you, clinging to people who give crumbs of affection, because you grew up without real support.

Like you, staying with your boyfriend after he apologizes, crying, believing it meant change.

The sleepover.

Tommy lets you crash at Joel’s place. You don't even need to ask; it’s practically a given. He thinks it’s casual, just like always.

You feel safe there, even with Joel being standoffish. He never kicked you out, though. His door was always open when you needed it and that meant something. It had to, right?

But when you settle into the familiar room and mattress, you have a confession to make. You admit to Tommy that you forgave your boyfriend because “he cried and I thought maybe he deserved another chance.”

“Jesus..” Tommy sighs, his brows pinched in frustration. Not at you but at the lucky bastard who’s havin’ it easy.

He doesn’t know what else to say to make you see; you are enough. Enough to stand on your own. You don’t need anyone else to feel whole. Complete. Relevant. Seen.

But who is he to talk? He’s always carryin’ his own demons, makin’ his own same mistakes; always havin’ Joel anchor him to reality, like you’re havin’ him.

Tommy sits on the bed next to you, searching your eyes. “What are you not tellin’ me?”, his voice soft and caring like a knuckle brushing against a cheek.

Goddamn Miller brothers and their ability to read you like an open book.

You avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but him.

He calls your name now, sternly. Serious. Patience was never really his strong suit, but then again, you already knew that. “Done playin’ games, darlin’.”

Tommy pinches your chin, forces your eyes on his. “Spit it out.” He speaks like he’s scolding you, but his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

You start stammering, the words to admit your level of failure elude you, like smoke curling in the air. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. Your knee bounces once, then twice. You suck in a breath like it’ll help you speak. It doesn’t.

“I- I-” you exhale loudly. You rehearse the sentence in your head but it comes out wrong every time. Too much. Too small. Too pathetic. You hate that it’s even real. “I think he spent all of my savings on gambling.”

Silence.

It hangs there, thick and heavy, filling the room like smoke. You don’t dare look at him. You regret saying it already. It feels too real now, like speaking it out loud makes it official.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away.

You half-expect him to curse, maybe yell. You’ve seen that version of him. Loud, angry, Miller.

But when he finally moves, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He rubs a hand down his face, exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Then, softer than you were ready for- “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Your eyes stay glued to the worn edge of the blanket you’re gripping. “I dunno.” Your voice is small. Pathetic. “Guess I didn’t wanna see it.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor for a moment before glancing your way. “You gonna tell Joel?”

That makes your head snap up. “What? No- no. I don’t want him to know. He’ll just-”

You stop. You don’t even know what exactly you’re afraid of. Joel being disappointed? Joel being right? Joel looking at you like you’re one of those strays he has to keep out of the yard?

Tommy narrows his eyes just a bit. “He ain’t like that, you know.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know how he looks at me.”

Tommy gives a little snort. Amused. Tired. “Pretty sure you don’t know how he looks at you.”

Your breath catches. And now you have to look away.

He sees it. Of course he does. Goddamn Miller brothers.

Tommy doesn’t press. He just shifts closer on the mattress, hand resting lightly on your shoulder. No pressure. Just there.

“You’re not stayin’ with him anymore,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

That “we” shouldn’t hit you in the chest the way it does.

But it does.

You nod once, quietly. You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful, but because you’ve learned that some kindnesses are too big for words.

Joel’s Judgment.

Sunlight’s starting to crawl into the kitchen. Joel’s already up, nursing his coffee, sleeves pushed up, working a stubborn hinge loose on the cabinet door.

Always fixing what breaks, never what’s breaking him.

He’s got that tired, focused look, the one he wears when there’s too much on his mind and nowhere to put it.

Tommy walks in after a while, hair still a mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re not around, maybe still in the spare room, maybe hiding from the weight of everything.

Joel doesn’t ask, not directly. He never does. But he eyes the hallway, then glances at Tommy.

“Everything alright with her?”, he asks almost indifferent while still working on the cabinet door.

Tommy runs a hand over his face. Hesitates. Then shrugs.

“She always ends up with assholes, doesn’t she?” Joel mutters under his breath.

Not angry. Not cold. Just.. detached. Like he’s trying to put you in a box he can label and keep at a safe distance.

Tommy’s halfway to the coffee pot when he freezes.

His voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Jesus, Joel.”

Joel looks up, brows raised. “What?”

Tommy slams the pot down harder than necessary. “She thought she could trust him. He cried, said he’d change, you know how that goes.”

Joel watches him now, more alert. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Tommy exhales through his nose, pacing once. Shit. Then- too late to take it back- “..The bastard drained her savings. All of it. Gambling.”

Silence.

Joel blinks once. Sets the screwdriver down slow, deliberate. Like he actively accepts he’s capable of murder right at this moment.

“You serious?”

Tommy just nods, jaw tight.

Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His face hardens, not with judgment, but with something else. Something Tommy has seen too many times before. That cold, calculating kind of quiet. Like when a storm’s just out of sight but already coming.

He glances back toward the hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller looks like he might actually break something.

The confrontation.

“Is she really that stupid?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, low, gritted, sharp like broken glass.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Just happened to walk toward the kitchen, bare feet soft on old floorboards, the kind that creak at the worst moments.

But now you’re at the doorframe.

And you’ve heard it.

They both freeze when they see you.

Tommy’s mouth parts like he might say something -anything- but Joel gets there first. He takes a step forward, guilt blooming all over his face.

"Wait-", time fractures; each fraction of a second splitting into aching pieces, stretching into eternity, as he struggles to find the right words. "That’s not-"

You flinch back. Not from fear, from instinct. Like touching him would burn.

Your eyes are glassy, breath stuck somewhere between your chest and throat.

You tried so fucking hard. For years.

To believe he didn’t despise you. That it was just the way he was, guarded, quiet, rough around the edges. Maybe, just maybe, under all that brooding, he gave a damn. Not enough to love you, but enough to keep you torturing yourself. Hoping.

You clung to scraps. Glances. The open door. The silence that wasn’t quite rejection.

But now- now you have your answer.

He reaches out and you step further back, hand half-raised like a warning.

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks.

“You’re cruel, Joel.” His name tastes foreign, like something you were never meant to say out loud. Not in this kind of sentence. Not aimed at you.

He flinches.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and still try to believe people can be good. That they’ll change. That you matter enough for someone to try.”

You laugh bitterly. Short, sharp.

“I used to think that was my strength, it gave me hope, nurtured my heart.”

You shrug, mouth twisting.

“Now I just feel stupid.”

Joel opens his mouth and this time his voice is soft. A crack in the armor.

“Sweetheart-”

It halts you.

Like something forgotten and fragile just cracked open in your chest.

He’s never called you that. Never reached for softness when it came to you. You were always kid, background noise, someone tolerated.

But this- this name, heavy with something almost gentle- it lingers.

Uninvited warmth in the middle of a wound. A wrong word at the worst possible moment.

And just like that, you falter.

Your footing slips, like the floor forgot how to hold you. You hate that it gets to you. You hate that part of you still wants it to mean something.

You snap.

“No.”

You shake your head, fast, like you're trying to physically push the word away.

“No, Joel. You made what you think of me very clear.”

You take another step back, voice trembling but strong.

“You sorry you said it or just sorry I was there to hear it?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking. But you don’t let him. A quiet kind of peace settles over you- cold, final. It’s all done now. Sealed. Clear. Maybe hope was never meant for you. Maybe it ruined more than it ever gave.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for having a heart. For seeing the good in people. For thinking maybe, just maybe, I could believe in something better.”

A beat. “For thinking you’d ever see me as something more than a burden.”

Then the final twist- “But hey- I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to be an asshole, it’s you.”

Silence.

You turn around.

And this time, when you walk away, you don’t look back.

The void.

The door doesn’t slam. He almost wishes it did, something loud, something final, something that could match the sting in his chest.

But no.

It’s the quiet that kills him.

He stays there, frozen. One foot half-forward like he still thinks maybe he can catch you.

Maybe call you back.

Maybe undo it.

Too late.

Tommy doesn’t speak. He’s seen this side of Joel before, the kind that hits hard and then stands in the wreckage, not knowing how to fix what’s left.

Joel drags a hand down his face, slow. Tired.

He feels like he just handed a loaded gun to someone he swore he’d protect and it went off in his own damn hands.

He sinks down onto the edge of the kitchen chair, his elbows digging his knees. Staring at nothing. Staring at the space you occupied moments ago.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters defeated. “Not like that.”

But there’s no one there to hear it.

The room stays still.

Tommy leans against the doorframe. Crosses his arms. Watches his brother fall apart without making a sound about it.

He wants to say I warned you.

Wants to say You crossed a line you can’t uncross.

But what good would it do now?

Joel doesn’t need a lecture.

He needs a time machine.

Tommy sighs, low, deep; rubs the back of his neck.

“You love her,” he says simply. Not a question. “You just don’t think you deserve her.”

Joel doesn’t look up. Doesn’t argue.

Tommy nods to himself, jaw tight.

“Then I hope to God you figure out what you do deserve, before she’s too far gone to look back.”

He pushes off the frame and walks out, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving Joel alone with the quiet and what he’s done.

The conversation.

Tommy stepped out onto the back porch with two beers. Joel was already out there, sitting in silence, the lamp behind him casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He didn’t say anything when Tommy handed him one.

They sat for a while.

“She didn’t mean to hear it, y’know,” Tommy said eventually. “Was just.. bad timing.”

Joel didn’t react. Took a sip. His expression remained flat.

“Maybe it’s better she did,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his thumb as it peeled the label off the bottle- then drifting back up again, straight into nothingness.

Tommy bent forward slightly, fingers laced together. “Jesus, Joel. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

Joel’s eyes stayed lost in the dark. “She’s the kind of woman who believes in second chances. Believes people can be better. Damn, she forgives the unforgivable like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said softly, almost in awe. “I know.”

“But me?” Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle. “I’ve run out of people to prove wrong. And if she ever looked at me the way I look at her.. God help me, I’d take it. I’d take it and I’d never let go. Which is exactly why I can’t.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment.

“You really think you’re that far gone?”

Joel gave a hard smile. “You see the man I am now. But she didn’t see who I had to be. Who I chose to be. I’ve done things, Tommy. Not the kind that sends you to jail- the kind you do when you look out for your own. I walked away from people who needed me. I picked you over them. And I’d do it again, but that don’t mean it didn’t mark me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy said sharply. “For me. For us.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong either.”

Joel’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “She thinks people can change. I know they don’t, not really. And I ain’t gonna be the one to prove her wrong.”

Tommy studied his brother for a long beat. “You ever think maybe she sees who you are now ‘cause that’s who you are?”

“She’s not like us, Tommy,” Joel said flatly. “She’s strong, but not cold. Got this light to her that-”, he stopped, sighed. “I ain’t got no business even standin’ near.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy said. “You love her.”

“And that’s the goddamn problem,” Joel snapped. “I need her. And if I let myself need somethin’ that good and I lose it..”, his face shifted, darkening into something grim and unyielding, “-Lord have mercy on anyone standin’ in my way.. I don’t think I’d come back from that.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the sky.

“She’s not gonna break you, Joel. She’s already holdin’ your pieces together. You just too scared to admit it.”

Joel took another sip as silence settled over them once again. There was something fragile in his voice now.

“I have a brother, you know,” he said with a dry quip. “He trusts me with everythin’. Even her. I can’t give him a reason not to.”

Tommy laughed bitterly. “I think he’d be more pissed if you kept hurtin’ her just to protect him.”

Joel stared off into the night, beer forgotten in his hand. Another beat of quiet. His resolve was cracking slightly. Not entirely. Not enough. Not yet.

Then, barely above a whisper-

“A man like me don’t get to want things like her.”

The explotion.

It’s been weeks.

No word from Joel.

Tommy checks in from time to time, but he doesn’t say his brother’s name. Not once.

And you don’t ask.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the silence doesn’t ache.

Then one afternoon, Tommy texts you:

"Swing by Joel’s place. Left some stuff for you in the garage. I’ll be back in 10."

You don’t think twice. You go. You assume Joel’s at work. He always is.

But when you step inside, the air is too quiet. Tommy’s truck is gone. And then you hear a key turning in the front door.

Joel walks in.

You both stop in your tracks. He blinks, like he’s not sure if you’re real. Your heartbeat drums in your ears. You mumble something about Tommy. He nods; says nothing at first. Just sets his keys down on the table.

He glances at you. There’s a hesitation, like something’s been living in his throat for too long and he’s finally decided to let it out.

"Tommy said you.. broke things off."

You nod stiffly, eyes dropping to your feet, like they could carry you away from him. Like they ever would.

He shifts his weight, almost uncomfortable. His voice is low, a little rough, when he dares-

"That guy ever lay a hand on you?"

Your jaw tightens.

Not this again. Not from him. Not when he’s the one who shattered you last.

"Not everyone’s lucky enough to have Joel Miller in their corner." you bite out before you can stop yourself.

His brows twitch and you don’t wait for him to respond. The words keep spilling now, bitter, broken, sharp.

"I don’t let people touch me or talk to me like that. Not anymore."

Your eyes flash, not with anger, with hurt.

"But you? I made an exception for you. God knows why."

He flinches. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift in his jaw, his breath caught wrong.

Like it’s only now hitting him that being let in -truly in- came with weight. That he held something fragile in his hands and dropped it anyway.

And you?

You hate that your voice breaks on the next part.

"You were the only one I thought I didn’t have to protect myself from."

He takes a step forward. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded and wild.

You don’t move- not back, not forward. Just watching him, tight-lipped and trembling like you’re holding yourself together with spit and thread.

"Don’t," you say, low and hollow.

He stops. Hands hovering like he might reach for you and thinks better of it. Again.

"Kid-"

You flinch at the nickname. Just slightly, but enough. He notices. Of course he does.

That damn observant look of his. It used to make you feel seen. Now it just makes you feel exposed. Like he sees the ache he put there and doesn’t know how to address it.

He doesn’t know what to fix first.

The way he spoke to you?

The way he looked at you after?

The way he didn’t come after you when you left?

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"That day, I didn’t mean-"

You cut him off, voice like stone, "You never mean to. That’s the whole problem."

The silence after is raw.

He doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t step back. He just stays there, suspended in regret.

Like, he finally understands the difference between being in someone’s corner and being someone they can truly rely on.

The tension is suffocating. It coils in your lungs like smoke, thick and hot and inescapable.

Joel says nothing. Quiet again. Resigned. His eyes fix somewhere over your shoulder, or maybe nowhere at all. You can’t tell.

He won’t even look at you. You were always a ghost to him, weightless. Unseen.

A haunting he never asked for.

A slight inconvenience, someone he tolerated for Tommy's sake. Never close enough to matter. Never far enough to ignore.

And that tells you everything.

You’re not getting an explanation. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever that moment was, the truth he nearly let slip, the rawness behind his voice, it’s already retreating back into the dark.

You feel it, the distance returning, sharp and cold, like the final click of a door locking from the inside.

Of course. Of course he’d leave you standing there with nothing. Of course he’d choose silence again.

Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.

And suddenly your chest feels too tight, your throat dry, like your body’s trying to brace for impact but the crash never comes.

So you nod. Once. Slow.

You turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But as you move past him, something inside you screams enough. And before you can stop yourself-

“Why do you hate me so much?” you ask, your voice cracking before you mean it to. You weren’t even going to say anything, but the way he always looks at you, jaw clenched, arms crossed, that permanent scowl — it’s been eating at you for years.

Joel’s response is a gruff, confused, “What?”

“Every time I’m around, you act like I’ve done something wrong. Like you can’t stand the sight of me. I just- what did I ever do to you, Joel?”

His face shifts. Something flickers in his eyes- not anger. Something else. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“You didn’t do nothin’.” he says quietly.

“Then why? Why are you always so angry with me?”

He won’t look at you. Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his mouth, like he’s mocking you. Silence stretches. But you keep going, your voice sharper now, almost shaking.

“Is it because I’m not your business? Because I was always just Tommy’s dumb little friend hanging around? Or is it just fun for you; pushing me away over and over until I finally take the hint?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” he snaps, his voice cold and defensive, eyes glittering with barely-contained rage.

“Then say it!” you bite out, bitter and breathless. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for years; say it. Tell me what the hell I ever did to make you look at me like I’m something you need to keep your distance from.”

You’re flushed now. Heart pounding. He still won’t look at you. So you take a step forward.

“Is it because I’m too young? Because I’m soft? Because I forgive people who don’t deserve it?”

Now, finally, Joel looks at you. Maybe he thinks this is meant for him. Maybe he knows he’s one of those who don’t deserve it- forgiveness. Your forgiveness. And something inside him snaps.

“It’s because I can’t afford to look at you the way I want to.” he says low, furious.

You blink. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s because every time you walk into a goddamn room, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. And that shouldn’t be your burden.”

“Joel..” you whisper, barely audible.

He goes on, more raw now.

“You think I’m angry with you? I’m angry with myself. For wantin’ something I got no right to want. For feelin’ like maybe -maybe- there’s a version of me that could be good enough for you. But there ain’t.”

He laughs once, bitter, shaking his head.

“I push you away because if I didn’t, I’d never stop reachin’ for you. And you deserve better than a man who can’t let himself want good things without breakin’ ‘em.”

Silence. His jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides.

“I would’ve given you everything, Joel.” you say, voice trembling. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you just said something cruel. His face twists- not in anger, but disbelief. Something almost panicked beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, quiet, almost pleading.

“What?” you ask, startled.

“You think you do, but you don’t. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some fixed thing. Like I’m solid. Steady. That ain’t love, sweetheart. That’s just safety.”

You blink, like he’s slapped you. And he keeps going, like he has to kill the feeling before it grows roots.

“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. What I was to Tommy. What I never was to you.”

“If I ever let you close enough to see what’s really here,” Joel gestures vaguely- to his chest, his heart, whatever broken thing still beats inside him, “you’d realize you don’t love me. You just mistook the feelin’. And I can’t be the reason you lose that part of yourself.”

But you’re steady now. Hurt, but unwavering.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

Joel stiffens. But you don’t stop.

“You think I saw you as safe? You? With that goddamn storm behind your eyes? With the way you look at the world like it already failed you?”

You step closer. You don’t shout; you just slice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out why the worst parts of you still felt like home. Why every time you pushed me away, I wanted to stay. Why I kept waiting for one -just one- moment of softness from you like it might be enough to last me a lifetime.”

You laugh, bitterly, like he did earlier.

“You think I made you into something better than you are? No, Joel. I saw all of it. Every wall. Every silence. Every time you looked right through me like it would be easier if I just disappeared.”

You swallow hard. Your voice cracks, just once.

“And I loved you anyway.”

Silence. He stares at you- stunned. Maybe horrified. Maybe something else. You’d say he almost looks scared of you; if you didn’t know any better.

You continue, quieter. “You don’t get to tell me I mistook the feeling. You just didn’t want to believe anyone could see the truth and stay.”

And then you push again, sharp, your voice shaking with rage and pain as you step forward.

“So, I ask you again, Joel, because you’ve failed to answer me, how dare you tell me what I feel?”

He exhales, tired, low. “I’m tryin’ to protect you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You’re protecting yourself. Because it’s easier to believe I’m just confused than to admit someone could really love you for who you are. Even with all the shit you carry.”

He flinches. You see it. And it only hurts more.

“I do love you.” you tell him. “I love the man who sits in silence and makes sure everyone else eats first. The man who takes the blame even when it isn’t his. The man who looks at me like he’s drowning but won’t reach out.”

You’re toe to toe now. Your voice drops.

“You think that’s not real? You think I don’t know the difference between comfort and love after everything I’ve survived?”

Your next words come softer, almost breaking.

“You’re not some ghost I projected things onto, Joel. I see you. And I still want you.”

You’re standing so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his breath on your face and for a second, you think maybe- maybe this is the moment he’ll finally stop holding back. You reach out, slow, your fingertips brushing the side of his jaw, tentative, trembling with everything you can’t say.

“Joel..” you whisper.

But the second your hand touches him, he flinches- just slightly. Like a breath he wasn’t ready for. Like instinct. But it’s enough. You freeze, your hand falling, your face crumbling. The air goes out of you all at once.

“Right. I- got it,” you say, pulling back, your voice thin and wrecked.

You turn quickly. You don’t want him to see your face, the way it crumples, the way your shoulders shake.

He doesn’t move at first- he’s frozen, like the breath has been punched out of him. But then-

“Wait. Wait- no. No, don’t- don’t do that,” Joel blurts out, panicked.

You keep walking. He follows.

“Don’t you dare think that was about you,” he says, more urgent now.

You stop at the door but don’t turn around. His voice is shaking. You’ve never heard him like this.

“You think I flinched ‘cause I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Your fists clench at your sides. Your heart pounds on your chest; you’re sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit quietly, trying to hide your broken voice.

Joel crosses the distance between you before you can move again. His hand catches your wrist- gentle but firm, turning you to look at him. His voice is low, rough, but soft in a way you’ve never heard before.

“I flinched because it felt like everything I’ve been tryin’ not to feel for years just broke wide open.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are dark, wet, desperate.

“Because the second you touched me, I wanted to fall into it. Into you. And I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t get to have that.”

His hand slides to your cheek- slowly, like he’s asking for permission with every inch.

This time, he touches you. His thumb brushes your jaw, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you in case he loses the right to ever do this again.

“You scare the hell outta me,” Joel breathes, “because you look at me like I’m someone worth lettin’ in. And I ain’t. I know I ain’t. But-”, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice shaking, “-just this once. Let me pretend I am.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just breathe -ragged, shallow- afraid that if you say anything, the spell will break and he’ll pull away again.

But part of you still doesn’t trust it.

Not fully. Not yet.

“Joel..” your voice comes soft, almost broken. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna disappear tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer, and you can see the war raging inside him; you can almost taste it. The doubt. And that silence? It kills you.

So you turn. Ready to leave, to protect what’s left of you.

But he moves, fast.

He doesn’t grab you, just steps into your path, like it’s instinct. For a moment, he considers pressing his palm to the door to stop you. But after everything you’ve been through, he knows better. Even now, even here, he remembers.

“Don’t go,” Joel says, low and aching. One hand half-raised like he’s scared of touching you, scared of what it’ll mean if you let him.

“Why?” you ask, sharp, trembling. “So you can push me away all over again tomorrow?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at you like he’s falling apart, eyes dark and wide, as if just saying this next part might break him completely.

And then-

“Because if you walk out that door thinkin’ I don’t love you, I won’t survive it.”

The realization.

Your breath catches.

His words settle like thunder under your skin. You look at him -really look- and for the first time, there’s no mask. No guarded distance. Just raw, shattered truth.

He takes a slow step closer, like he’s giving you time to run.

"You still wanna walk away?" Joel’s voice is hoarse.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Joel’s thumb brushes your cheek, his hand warm and steady now, no longer holding back. His forehead rests against yours, and when he speaks, it’s like a promise that’s already been broken.

"Tell me to stop. If you do, I swear I will."

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re something he needs to survive.

"Don’t," you breathe.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and then his mouth is on yours, hungry, devastated, like he’s sorry and aching and starved all at once.

His lips are rough but his hands are gentle, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss starts slow, reverent and builds, deepens. His hands cradle your face, your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. Your fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down, pressing into him.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s a sound he didn’t mean to let out. He presses you back against the wall, not rough, not aggressive, but desperate.

"Been wantin’ this for so long.." he murmurs into your mouth.

Your hips shift and he feels it- the press of you against him. His hands fall to your waist, dragging you tighter against him, grinding into you like he needs the friction, needs proof this is real.

You arch into him, needy, breathless. He presses into you, the thick line of his thigh between yours, the heat of his body unbearable. Every little grind is slow, controlled, but filled with hunger.

"You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me…" Joel’s voice is hoarse, dark and full of disbelief.

You whimper at the sound of it. He rests his forehead against your neck, breathing hard, hips rolling into yours.

"Then show me," you whisper, soft and ruined.

He kisses you again, deeper this time; his tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You think you’d float away, lost in a dream, if the coarse scruff of his beard wasn’t there, grounding you, prickling the skin around your lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, just skin and warmth and a shiver down your spine. But then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

"If we keep goin’, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop."

"Then don’t."

Your lips part from his, breaths mingling in the heavy air. Joel’s hands don’t rush; they trace the lines of your body through your clothes, deliberate and sure, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your ribs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly before returning to the fabric. One hand cups your waist, pulling you flush against his hard thigh- the heat there like a magnet.

You shift your hips slowly, grinding against him, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the tension building with every tiny movement.

"So needy already.. what happens when I really touch you?" His voice is low and rough.

You whimper, pressing closer, needing more contact.

"Feels good, baby? Keep grindin’ just like that."

His hands slide to the front of your shirt, palms cradling your soft breasts, thumbs sweeping lightly over your nipples through the thin fabric. He feels them stiffen instantly beneath his palms, the reaction so visceral it sends a jolt through him, something raw, almost primal, uncoiling in his chest. His fingers pinch and roll them with just enough pressure to make your back arch, to draw a broken gasp from your lips.

He watches you writhe, mesmerized by the way you react to every twist of his fingers, the way you shiver and press into his hands like you need more- need him.

Your hands find his wrists, holding him close, desperate for more.

His thumbs drag slowly again over the sensitive peaks, his mouth watering at the thought of that taut skin against his tongue and he swears under his breath, voice thick.

"Joel- please.." you breathe.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your jaw. His brain is deep in a haze of desire and need; he's not in control anymore. Maybe he never was- maybe he was always waiting for you to undo him.

His thigh tightens beneath you, holding you steady as you grind harder, matching his rhythm without words. His fingers tease, flick, and pinch lightly, coaxing every sigh and tremble from you.

"You feel that? That’s mine. You're gonna come for me, right here, just like this. Show me you’re mine."

You arch into him, breath hitching, heart pounding as the friction and his teasing combine into a storm inside you. His hands roam with growing confidence, undeterred by your soft moans and shudders. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading fast and he’s right there- steady and sure beneath you, grounding you even as your senses spiral.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the sound of your ragged breaths and the tight coil of pleasure winding up inside you.

Your breaths come faster, your chest rising and falling as Joel’s fingers trace tight circles over your nipples, every pass sending sparks of heat through you, even though he still hasn’t touched you directly. Your hips grind harder, trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

You cry out softly against his pouty lips, your body shuddering against his thigh. The warmth pools low and spreads, waves crashing through you and he swallows every little whimper and moan like a man parched. Your fingers clutch his shirt, digging in as the pleasure ripples and crashes, leaving you breathless and undone.

"God.." Joel whispers, voice almost breaking.

He watches you fall apart- skin flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and something inside him twists.

The love scene.

His hands freeze for a moment, not wanting to disturb you but desperate to hold onto you. He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady. Joel watches -intense, silent- his gaze fixed on how your body unravels under his touch, how every shiver and sigh seems to pull at something deep inside him.

His hand stills, hovering just above your skin, afraid to break the fragile spell but desperate to hold onto this moment. His jaw tightens, eyes dark with a storm of emotions he won’t speak aloud- need, protectiveness, and something rawer he’s terrified to admit.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop the rush of feelings, to keep things safe and simple. But the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he simply presses his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven, trying to steady himself. His body tenses beneath you, a silent war raging inside him; he’s drawn to you like never before, but his mind is screaming that this could burn everything to ashes.

Your breath stays uneven, chest pressed to his, foreheads touching like you’re both holding on to something that would vanish the moment you let go.

"Joel, look at me."

He hesitates. You can feel it- the tremble in his hands, the slight shift in his stance, like his whole body’s braced for you to disappear.

"I’m lookin’."

"I’m still here."

And you are -flushed, shaking, pupils blown wide- but still tethered to him, anchored in this fragile space between fear and want. You watch the fight flicker in his eyes. The way his jaw clenches. The way his hands, warm and steady a moment ago, are now flexing like he’s trying not to grab hold too tight.

"You shouldn’t be."

"Don’t."

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like that word, like your voice, cuts deeper than it should.

"I don’t know how to do this without hurtin’ you."

"I’m already hurt, Joel. But not by what we just did. By you thinking I can’t decide for myself what I want."

That hits him. You see it. The flinch. The ache. The guilt sinking its claws in.

But you don’t stop. You can’t.

"You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be safe. I just need you to be real."

He looks at you like he’s drowning again. Like you’re offering him something he’s too afraid to take. But his hand rises anyway -slow, hesitant- and brushes your cheek again, thumb catching a tear you didn’t know had slipped down.

"I don’t wanna lose this. Lose you. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of man you hold onto."

"Then let me decide that."

You take his hand. Place it against your chest. Let him feel the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

"I already am. Can't you feel it?"

One breath. Then another. Joel exhales slowly, like something inside him just gave up the fight. And what’s left is raw and exposed and his.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Less desperation, more reverence. Like a man memorizing his last breath. And this time, he doesn't pull away.

The kiss deepens again, but there’s no trembling now. No flinching. Just heat. Just his hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your clothes, skin on skin, rough palms and calloused fingers learning you like he’s starved for the taste.

You gasp as he lifts your shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes drag down your body like a slow burn, reverent, almost disbelieving.

"Jesus Christ.."

He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing around your nipples, already raw and swollen from his earlier attention, watching the way your back arches into him like instinct. His mouth follows next, hot and open against your tender skin, teeth grazing your stiffened peaks with aching slowness.

Your cunt is pulsing painfully in anticipation, your panties soaked and surely ruining the thick denim of his jeans. All you seem to be able to do is beg for him one more time.

"Joel- please.. I can't-"

He growls -actually growls- the sound scraping low from his chest, like he’s been waiting years to hear that. His hands roam lower, finding the button of your shorts, undoing them slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough time to stop him, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your hands are just as greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to know him the way he’s never let anyone close enough to know. When you finally get it off him, it’s almost too much. All of him -broad and solid and burning under your palms.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you to fuck me, Joel."

A pause. A beat. Like the words steal the air from his lungs.

Then he moves.

Your back hits the wall again -gently, but firm- and his body follows, pressing against yours, one hand slipping into your panties, fingers sliding through slick heat with an almost broken sound.

"You’re so fuckin’ wet.." he breathes against that sensitive spot right beneath your ear and you can feel his hard cock grinding for relief against your hip.

You cry out as two thick fingers slide into you, curling just right, slow and deep. Your soft walls flutter around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. His other hand grabs your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He’s grinding into you now, rutting slow, the thick line of his cock still trapped behind denim- but you can feel it. Every inch of it, hard and pulsing through his jeans.

The slick, obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt only makes you ache more, arousal spilling down his wrist. You’re so fucking close to snapping, to breaking apart if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“God, Joel- need you inside me-”

"I know, baby. I know. I got you."

He pulls his hand back, wet with you and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a groan that makes your knees buckle. Then he tugs your shorts down, sliding them off you and undoes his jeans, shoving them low enough to free himself and—

Fuck.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.

Heat spreads across your skin and you’re acutely aware of how vulnerable you are and how completely ready your body is for him. You lean forward, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with your own. He hisses at the contact. The head of his shaft pulses against your palm, and your fingers curl around him, unable to stop yourself from feeling how rock-hard he is.

"I’ll go slow. Just.. hold onto me.", his voice is low and thick with need. Your heart lurches at the raw sincerity in his tone and you press your body closer, arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his neck.

He lifts you effortlessly, one leg hooking around his hip and pulling you flush against him. With one impatient tug, his fingers sweep your panties to the side, and cool air skims over your heated skin.

The slick tip of him nudges at your entrance, and a sharp gasp escapes you as you feel him teasing you through your wetness.

He sinks into you with one slow, steady thrust and you arch back, teeth gritting to keep the first cry from escaping. A fierce burn flares deep inside as the first inch slides in, and you instinctively dig your nails into his shoulders.

He groans, bending to press his lips against your ear, and exhales your name as he pauses. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper, every fraction of an inch driving wild pleasure through you. Warmth and fullness bloom between your bodies and a long, trembling sigh escapes as your muscles flutter around him, completely filled, leaving you both panting and still.

"That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, takin’ me so good.."

He stays there, buried deep inside you, forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you trembling, both of you lost.

Then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The song of your bodies meeting- skin against skin, the slick, filthy rhythm of it- fills the room. Your moans spill into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue tangled with yours, every thrust more desperate, more real than anything either of you has ever known.

"Wanted this.. fuck, wanted you for so long-" he mumbles and you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"Don’t stop. Please- don’t stop-"

He doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s fucking you like he means it, like this is the first and last time he’ll ever get to love someone like this- with everything in him, without apology, without restraint. His hips snap into you with purpose, rhythm deep and relentless, like he’s trying to bury himself in you, like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.

You can feel the tremble in his arms where they hold you steady, the sweat slicking between your bodies, the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.

Your name spills from his lips like prayer- wrecked, reverent, desperate. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, teeth dragging over your pulse point like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely.

"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans, voice raw. "Shit- don’t know how I ever lived without this."

Your nails dig into his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him right there- inside you, on you, with you. You meet every thrust with your own, chasing that edge together, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your drooling cunt chokes his dick with every pulse, soaking him all the way down to the base, slick spilling down his balls and ruining his jeans. The sounds of skin slapping skin make you both feral with lust. Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, your nipples dragging against the coarse hairs on his toned chest, slick and flushed from the effort.

His hand snakes from the small of your back to the base of your neck, wrapping firm- grounding, claiming. You feel your walls flutter instantly under his grip.

“Not yet,” he breathes- simple, sharp, possessive- against your pleasure-parted lips. Like he knows your body better than you do. Like he knows you'll obey.

“Not till I say. You hear me?” His breath is hot against your lips. “You come when I take it from you.”

Everything in you screams to hold on, to never let go of this feeling- this heat, this fucking need. It’s too much and still not enough. Your vision swims with unshed tears, pleasure cresting into pain, into surrender.

His other hand grabs your thigh, spreads you wider and he drives in deeper, his cock hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I need to hear it.” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, eyes wild. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your jaw falls open on a gasp, but no sound comes. You can’t. You can barely breathe. He fucks into you harder, his grip tightening.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I stop. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

Your eyes fill with tears- overstimulated, overwhelmed but your voice still breaks through.

“You- Joel, fuck- you- I’m yours- please- don’t stop-”

He groans, deep and guttural, like that was all he needed to unravel.

“That’s right. You’ve always been. Even when I couldn’t have you. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t touch you.”

He drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, breathing you in like a man starved.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. I want you so fucked out and full’a me, no one else ever stands a fuckin’ chance.”

It’s too much- the pressure, the stretch, the heat, him. You try to hold back, to obey, but your walls flutter dangerously around him and he feels it.

“Now.” he growls, voice tearing through the air like a command from God. “Come for me.”

And when you finally fall apart around him- walls pulsing, thighs trembling, stars bursting behind your eyes- you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know, clinging to him like you’ll never let go.

“Mine. Fuckin’ mine.” he growls before he follows you with a broken moan, hips stuttering, his whole body seizing as he spills into you, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. His face is buried in your neck, breath ragged, heartbeat thundering against your chest like it’s trying to match yours.

Like maybe, for a moment, they’re the same.

The aftermath.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Still buried inside you, still trembling- not from release, but from everything after.

His arms are locked around you, your chests pressed together, heartbeats still thundering in unison. You feel the sweat cooling on his back, his breath uneven against your neck. But it’s not the aftermath of sex that makes him shake.

It’s you.

The fact that he finally has you and the sick, gut-deep fear that he might still lose you.

His hand slides up your spine slowly, until it cups the back of your head. He kisses your hair. Your temple. The curve of your jaw.

“You okay?”

His voice is hoarse- too soft for a man like him and yet it holds the weight of a warning. Like he’s asking if you regret it. If he should start bracing for impact.

You nod, whispering his name into his chest.

His jaw tightens, and you feel it- the wildness under the surface, the animal in him that’s never known gentleness without loss. He kisses you- slow at first, then harder, like he needs to claim the truth on your lips.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it, pressing you closer, even though you’re already one body.

“You got no idea what that means, do you?” he murmurs against your mouth. “No fuckin’ clue what I’d do for you.”

You look at him -really look- and suddenly you do.

Because this isn’t about sex. It’s about Joel and how, for once in his life, he wants something enough to stay. To fight. To keep.

He brushes his nose against yours. A soft, strange thing from such a hard man.

“You’re not just mine,” he says, barely audible. “I’m yours too, if you still want me.”

He knows he’s done for. He can’t go back- not after this.

The choice is yours now.

It always was. It always will be.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“I always did.”

“Then I got you. I swear to God, I got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it.

[niniwritesxo]

‘will you let me hit?’

nam-gyu x fem reader —> pt.3 ‘goody like you’

(part two of ‘we’re teaming up’)

it’s been 2 days since the mingle game and you haven’t really seen nam-gyu since. which is good because you didn’t want to face him anyway.

ever since he rescued your ass you felt weird, did he feel bad for you? ugh.

the crazy thing was how you recognised him instantly because of that stupid smirk he always wore on his face.

9 years earlier

‘nam-gyu i already told yo-‘ you open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off, looking up from his book making direct contact.

‘noona..tell me, if i ace this exam….you know what never mind.’ he laughs at his own stupid idea, shaking his head.

you hated it when he called you that, you were like 8 months older than him anyway. it made you feel like a ancient woman.

‘hey! you can’t be like that’ you say grabbing the book in his hand so he would look up at you.

‘if you ace this exam?…’ you ask him genuinely wondering what he was going to say.

‘..will you let me hit?’ he asks with a smirk, his hand lifting up to fix his hair.

you let out a laugh as i hear his question, was he fucking kidding?

‘nam-gyu, you can’t be serious, miss park literally begged me to be your tutor, that’s all i am to you.’ i reply, trying to stay as ‘professional’ as possible.

besides you had a boyfriend, jaewon. he was a dick to you but you’ve been together for almost two years now and honestly you don’t know what to do without him.

talking about the devil, your phone starts ringing and you see the number id, it’s jaewon.

as you pick up the phone nam-gyu looks pissed, he knew jaewon from school but they weren’t friends, not even close. they fought last year over something so stupid you chose to forget about it.

he grabs the book out of your hand rolling his eyes, he flips to the right page and starts reading.

‘hey nam-gyu i have to-‘ you feel guilty leaving him right now because you didn’t even finish the paragraph but jaewon needed you.

‘yeah sure see ya’ he responded with venom in his voice.

he hated how you did everything for him, you would drop everything to see him, how fucking stupid? you were like a fucking dog. nam-gyu didn’t even like you that much but you didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

present day

‘how is that dipshit boyfriend of yours?’

you shoot up at the voice, looking to your right seeing that dumb smirk again.

‘married’ you respond sighing, finally making eyecontact with him.

‘wow really, when did he ask y-‘ he starts, trying to act interest when he couldn’t give less of a fuck.

‘to kang mina’ i finish my sentence scoffing at how dumb i sound

kang mina was like the queen bee of our school, she wasn’t smart, she was just really pretty. and i guess that’s what jaewon fell for seems like beauty does matter.

he can’t help himself but laugh at you, the way his hair would hit his cheek, his dimple would show. it all reminded you of the past.

‘holy fuck he didn’t marry you?’ he laughs.

‘and kang mina? fuck she was such a bitch’ he stops laughing and looks at you.

‘hey y/n, my offer still stands you know’ he says tracing little circles on your right thigh.

i remember having a conversation with nam-gyu’s ex girlfriend a few years back, she told me about his personality while dating. apparently he is a master at manipulation.

he had all sorts of tricks up his sleeve to make girls melt for him, it didn’t matter what he wanted, he always made sure he got it in the end.

i scoff trying to remember his stupid ‘offer’

‘your offer?’ i ask him foolishly looking at him with a annoyed face.

‘these games can get..pretty stressful, so if you want to relieve some stress..’ he starts again fiddling with his rings like a nervous teenager.

‘fucking spit it out nam-gyu’ i say impatiently, rolling my eyes at the man in front of me.

‘if you want me to fuck your brains out, you know where to find me’ he responds quickly, looking up at you.

and then he did it, biting his bottom lip. he did that whenever he got under your skin. you hated it.

you recognised it all too well, nam-gyu has always been a horny spazz and the look he gave you just now? confirmed he is still that same old guy you once knew.

‘get lost nam-gyu’ i scoff looking at him.

the man finally takes his hand of your thigh and decides to walk away, he turns around and walks over to the purple haired guy he is always with.

meanwhile you are still sitting on your bed, realizing you are squeezing your thighs together all of the sudden.

out of all the 456 people here, nam-gyu made you horny? what the fuck are you supposed to do now?

okay guys soooo i tried a different writing style, do you guys like it? :3

this will become a series btw! and there will be smut, (i know you horny mfs are waiting for it lmao)

[theonottsbxtch]

HOPELESS | PO5

an: first time writing pato and i know i've written him less cocky and flirty than i wold have personally expected him being depicted. but i think for this request it worked in my favour.

wc: 3.3k

Pato had never been particularly good with words, but that didn’t matter much in motorsport. Out on the track, skill spoke louder than conversation, and for the most part, he was fine with that.

But with her, it was different.

She was the first-ever Indy champion, a driver who had carved her name into history with raw talent and relentless determination. Everyone knew her, everyone respected her—himself included. The other drivers had stories about her, moments shared in garages and on podiums, inside jokes and easy camaraderie. He had none of that.

For some reason, he simply didn’t exist in her world.

It wasn’t that she disliked him. There were no grudges, no bad blood. She treated him with the same polite professionalism she extended to reporters or engineers she barely knew. And yet, when he spoke, her responses were clipped, transactional. If she laughed at a joke in the paddock, it was never one of his. If she scanned a room, her gaze slid past him like he was a shadow against the wall.

It shouldn't have bothered him. It did.

Because Pato had been nursing a hopeless, ridiculous crush on her for as long as he could remember.

It wasn’t immediate, this thing he had for her. It crept up on him, slow and insidious, like the way tyre wear set in over a long stint—barely noticeable at first, until suddenly, it was all he could think about.

Maybe it started the first time he saw her race, years ago, before he even had a seat in IndyCar. He remembered watching from the pit wall, the way she danced through traffic, fearless and calculated, wringing every ounce of speed from a car that should’ve been struggling. He told himself back then that it was admiration, the kind any driver would have for another at the top of their game. But admiration didn’t tie knots in his stomach when she brushed past him in the paddock, nor did it make him hyper-aware of every offhand comment she made.

No, this was something worse.

And she had no idea.

Pato had tried to make an impression—nothing over the top, just little things. A comment here, a question there, something to make him more than just another driver in the field. It never landed. She’d acknowledge him, sure, but only in the way she acknowledged anyone she wasn’t particularly close with. There was no spark of recognition, no shift in her tone when she spoke to him.

Everyone else had that with her. Everyone but him.

And the worst part? He had no idea why.

It wasn’t arrogance; he knew his place in the pecking order. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he deserved her attention just because he wanted it. But it wasn’t as if they’d ever clashed, either. He’d never taken her out of a race, never bad-mouthed her, never done anything that might explain why she skimmed over him like he was background noise.

He’d never mattered to her.

And yet, she was all that mattered to him.

He knew he needed to get rid of his hopeless crush on her.

It was stupid. Pointless. Self-inflicted torture.

He told himself that constantly, especially when she breezed past him in the paddock without a second glance, or when she laughed—really laughed—at something another driver said, like they were in on some joke he would never be part of.

He needed to move on.

Until they were paired for pre-season media.

For a whole week.

Pato stared at the email in his inbox, half-convinced it was a mistake. Media obligations were a necessary evil in racing, but they were usually spread out, different drivers rotating in and out for interviews, photoshoots, sponsor promos. This, however, was something else.

A full week of interviews, press events, and behind-the-scenes content. Together.

The logic made sense. She was the reigning champion, the face of the sport. He was coming off a strong season, a title contender in his own right. Pairing them up created a compelling narrative—two of the top drivers, side by side, setting the tone for the year ahead.

For everyone else, it was great marketing.

For Pato, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Because how was he supposed to pretend she didn’t affect him when he’d be stuck with her for seven straight days? When he’d have to sit next to her, answer questions about their "rivalry" (which didn’t exist, considering she barely registered his presence), and—God help him—probably pose for staged social media content where they’d be forced to look like they were actually friends?

He could already see it: a carefully curated clip of them laughing at some scripted joke, the kind of moment fans would eat up. She’d be effortless, charming as ever. And him? He’d be struggling to act like he wasn’t hanging onto every word she said.

It was going to be the longest week of his life.

The first day of pre-season media started early. Too early for Pato to be dealing with this.

He arrived at the studio ahead of schedule, hoping that being early would give him time to settle in. It didn’t. The place was already a whirlwind of activity—PR reps barking orders, camera crews setting up lights, stylists buzzing around like it was the Met Gala instead of a bunch of racing drivers doing press.

And she was already there.

He spotted her near one of the backdrops, talking to a producer, nodding along as they ran through the schedule. Effortlessly composed, like she’d done this a thousand times before. Which, of course, she had.

She was dressed in team gear, but even the plain polo and branded jacket looked good on her, like she belonged on the cover of a motorsport magazine. He forced himself to look away before his brain could start romanticising something as stupid as the way she stood—like she owned the room without even trying.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Good.

Maybe he could get through this week by staying in the background, doing his job, keeping things professional. He just had to ignore the fact that every time she looked through him, it twisted something in his gut.

“Ah, Pato! You’re here.”

Too late.

One of the PR reps clapped him on the shoulder before steering him forward, right into her line of sight. She turned at the sound of his name, her expression shifting from polite focus to something neutral. Not cold, not unkind—just nothing.

“Morning,” she said, like it was an afterthought.

“Morning.” His voice came out steadier than he expected, which was a miracle in itself.

She gave a small nod, then looked back at the producer, clearly expecting the conversation to move on without him.

Of course.

The PR rep cleared their throat. “Right! So, you two are paired for the day, and we’ve got a packed schedule. First up—some quickfire Q&A for the socials, then a sit-down interview for the pre-season documentary.”

Pato nodded, determined to act like this was just another media obligation. Nothing unusual. Nothing worth overthinking.

Until the PR rep added, far too casually—

“And after lunch, we’ll be doing some fun challenges—bit of a ‘getting to know each other’ vibe. Teamwork exercises, that sort of thing.”

He froze.

So did she.

Her brows pulled together, just slightly. It wasn’t irritation, more like mild confusion—like she couldn’t understand why they had been chosen for something like that.

“Right,” she said eventually. “Sounds… fun.”

It didn’t sound fun. Not to her. Definitely not to him.

Pato had wanted her to acknowledge him. To notice him.

Now, for the first time in his career, they were going to be forced to interact properly.

And he had no idea if he was ready for it.

The first part of the day went about as well as Pato had expected—awkwardly, painfully, and with absolutely no shift in how she saw him.

The quickfire Q&A session was fine. Standard questions, standard answers. They sat side by side while an off-camera producer fired prompts at them. Who had the better qualifying record? (Her.) Who was most likely to be late to a team meeting? (Him.) Who had the worst taste in music? (Also him, apparently, judging by the way she scrunched her nose when he admitted to liking 80s rock.)

She didn’t laugh at him, but she didn’t laugh with him either. The same easy, effortless energy she had with other drivers wasn’t there. It was all business, like she was just getting through another obligation.

The sit-down interview wasn’t much better.

“Describe each other in three words.”

Pato hesitated. Three words. Just three? He could name 100 if she asked.

“Fast,” he said eventually, because obviously. “Consistent. And… competitive.”

She gave a small nod, acknowledging the answer, but there was nothing behind it.

When it was her turn, she barely hesitated. “Skilled. Focused.” A pause. “Quiet.”

Quiet.

It wasn’t wrong, exactly. He was quieter than most of the grid, more measured with his words. But coming from her, it felt less like an observation and more like confirmation—of what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe that she still didn’t really see him.

By the time lunch rolled around, he was convinced nothing about their dynamic was going to change.

And then, the afternoon happened.

The "fun challenges," as the PR rep had so kindly put it, turned out to be a mix of stupid icebreaker games and team-building exercises.

The first was a trust exercise.

“Okay, you know how this works,” the producer explained, gesturing between them. “Pato, stand behind her. She’s going to fall, and you’re going to catch her.”

Pato’s brain short-circuited.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, looking more amused than anything. “Try not to drop me, yeah?”

It was the first remotely casual thing she’d said to him all day.

He managed a smirk. “No promises.”

A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips. Not a full smile. Not even close. But it was something.

She turned back around, took a breath, and let herself fall.

For a split second, he almost forgot to catch her. Not on purpose—he just wasn’t used to her being this close, trusting him with something as simple as this.

His arms wrapped around her waist just in time, stopping her before she hit the ground. For the briefest moment, she was right there, weight pressed against him, her head tilting slightly as if she was about to glance back.

And then it was over.

She straightened up, stepping away, brushing her hands over her jacket like nothing had happened.

“Not bad,” she admitted.

Pato exhaled, forcing his brain back into normal function. “Told you I wouldn’t drop you.”

She hummed, considering. “I thought you said no promises.”

He blinked. Was she—was she teasing him?

Before he could figure out how to respond, the producer clapped their hands together. “Great! Next challenge—answering questions for each other. Let’s see how well you really know your gridmate.”

Her brow lifted slightly as she looked at Pato.

Gridmates.

They weren’t. Not really.

But for this week, maybe they had to be.

The rest of the week blurred into a cycle of press obligations, staged interactions, and an ever-present awareness that, for the first time in his career, she actually had to acknowledge him.

It wasn’t much—small, incremental shifts that barely felt like progress. But Pato noticed everything.

The way she started looking at him when he spoke, instead of through him. The way she started responding to his jokes—not always with laughter, but with a twitch of her lips, like she was holding something back. The way she started actually engaging with him, even if it was just subtle, throwaway comments between takes.

By the time they reached the final stretch of media duties, it was easier. Almost natural.

Almost.

The moment that stuck with him, though—the one that lodged itself in his brain like an unshakable thought—came on the second-to-last day, during lunch.

He hadn’t even realised she was nearby until she was standing in front of him, hand extended. A cereal bar. Nothing fancy. Just one of those standard protein bars the teams kept stocked for quick energy.

Pato frowned, looking between the bar and her face, like there was some hidden meaning he wasn’t catching. “What’s this?”

She tilted her head slightly, like he was the one being strange. “You haven’t eaten yet.”

He blinked. “How do you—”

“You always wait until the last second, and then you grab something just before the next shoot.” She shrugged. “Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

Pato stared. Not because it was a grand gesture—if anything, it was small. Thoughtless, even. Like she’d noticed, made a decision, and moved on without thinking too much about it.

And maybe that’s what got to him.

She noticed.

She noticed.

Before he could say anything, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him standing there, cereal bar in hand, trying very hard not to read into something that probably meant nothing.

Probably.

That night, Pato was actively losing his mind.

The cereal bar was still sitting on his hotel nightstand, untouched. He didn’t even like that flavour. That wasn’t the point.

She had noticed him. Noticed him. And not in the usual, fleeting, empty way where he barely registered in her head. She had paid attention. To his habits. To the fact that he was terrible at remembering to eat on time. She had walked over, handed it to him, and left before he could so much as process the fact that it had even happened.

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

There was only one person he trusted to make sense of this for him.

His mother.

He pressed the phone to his ear, pacing his hotel room like an idiot, waiting for her to pick up.

“¿Mijo?” came her warm, familiar voice. “¿Qué pasó? It’s late where you are, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” he said, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m losing my mind.”

She sighed, the kind of exasperated sound that only a mother could perfect. “Ay, Dios. ¿Qué hiciste ahora?”

“Nothing! That’s the problem!”

A pause. “… Es por una chica, no?”

Pato groaned. “Of course you immediately know it’s about a girl.”

“Because you sound like your father when he was being tonto about me,” she said, unimpressed. “Who is she?”

He exhaled. “It’s—ugh. It’s her.”

His mother knew exactly who he meant. He had never explicitly told her about his hopeless crush, but she wasn’t stupid. The one time she’d come to a race and met his fellow drivers, she had taken one look at him watching her across the paddock and raised a knowing eyebrow.

“Ah,” she said, like that explained everything. “And what has she done to make you so dramatic?”

“She gave me a cereal bar.”

A long silence. Then—

“… Perdón?”

“A cereal bar! At lunch! She just—she noticed that I wasn’t eating on time and handed me one and walked away like it was nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And I know it’s stupid, but she’s never noticed me before. Not really. And now she’s—she’s just—”

“Being nice?” his mother finished dryly.

Pato groaned. “Yes. No. Maybe?”

Another sigh. “Mijo, listen to me. You have been in love with this girl for—what? A year? More? And you’ve done nothing because you convinced yourself she doesn’t care. And now that she’s proving you wrong, you’re still doing nothing?”

“I—”

“Ay, Patricio.” When she used his full name, he knew he was in trouble. “What do you want? Honestly.”

Pato sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

“I want her to see me the way I see her,” he admitted, quiet.

His mother’s voice softened. “Then haz algo, hijo. Do something. Say something. Stop standing in the background of your own story.”

Pato closed his eyes.

She made it sound so simple.

It wasn’t.

But maybe… maybe it didn’t have to be impossible, either.

Pato barely slept.

His mother’s words looped in his head all night. Do something. Say something. As if it were that easy. As if he could just shake off a year of being invisible and suddenly be someone that mattered to her.

By the time 5 a.m. rolled around and his brain still refused to shut up, he gave up on sleep entirely. He pulled on a hoodie, grabbed his keycard, and made his way downstairs to the hotel’s outdoor pool, hoping that the quiet would clear his head.

And then he saw her.

She was sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dipped in the water, arms braced behind her as she stared out at the city lights reflecting off the still surface.

Pato froze.

His body screamed at him to turn around before she noticed him. But then she shifted slightly, head tilting at the sound of footsteps. Her gaze landed on him.

Too late.

He had two options: pretend he had some other reason to be here, or…

Do something.

Taking a slow breath, he stepped forward, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a nearby lounger before sitting down a few feet away from her.

“You do realise this isn’t a race,” he said, nudging his chin towards the water. “No need to be this dedicated to aerodynamics.”

She huffed a quiet laugh through her nose, shaking her head. “It’s peaceful. And I couldn’t sleep.”

“Same,” he admitted, nudging his bare feet into the water. It was cool, not freezing, but enough to shock his system awake.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Not awkward, but not entirely comfortable either.

Talk, his mother’s voice nagged in his head. Say something.

“So,” Pato started, searching for anything to keep the moment from slipping away. “Since we’re stuck doing media together, I feel like I should get some information. Y’know, for survival.”

She raised a brow. “Survival?”

“Yeah. Like, what’s your go-to pre-race meal? Most important question, obviously.”

That earned him an actual smirk. “Pasta. Always.”

“Solid choice,” he mused. “Okay, follow-up: if you weren’t a driver, what would you be doing?”

She hummed, tilting her head in thought. “Something adrenaline-based. Maybe skydiving. Or stunt driving.”

Pato snorted. “I can definitely see that.”

“What about you?” she asked, glancing at him.

He blinked, caught off guard. Not just by the question—but by the fact that she was asking in the first place.

“Probably something quiet,” he admitted. “Maybe a mechanic. Or a watchmaker.”

That made her actually turn towards him, brows raised. “A watchmaker?”

He shrugged. “I like precision. Small moving parts. Everything fitting together perfectly.”

She studied him for a moment, like she was seeing him properly for the first time.

Before Pato could think too hard about that, he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, last question.”

She arched a brow. “Go on.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

She hesitated, glancing away. “Extra media obligations. All day.”

Pato nodded, swallowing the mild disappointment that settled in his chest. “Right. Of course.”

But then—she paused.

“… But I’m free after eight. Why?”

His pulse kicked up, and before he could overthink it, the words tumbled out.

“Dinner,” he said. “Just as grid mates.”

She looked at him. Really looked at him. Then—her lips quirked slightly.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Pato’s brain immediately short-circuited.

“N—no,” he said too quickly, scrambling to backpedal. “I mean, it’s not—obviously not—”

“That’s a shame,” she interrupted, standing up and stepping out of the pool. She grabbed a towel, casually drying off her legs. “Because I would have said yes.”

Pato forgot how to breathe.By the time he managed to reboot his brain and form a response, she was already walking away, leaving him sitting there—staring after her, heart pounding, and officially, completely doomed.

the end.

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