#going to a cafe during the week and working from there for a few hours

[spamgyu]

BACKBURNER // PART 2

DESCRIPTION: She had grown tired of being on his back burner, the person that he had kept warm until he gotten the girl he has had his eyes set on for years... And with a little help from her friend, maybe... just maybe she'll finally be the first choice. PAIRING: Seungcheol x Reader | Mingyu x Reader GENRE: Angst & Fluff PART 1 | MASTERLIST

She wished she could go back and listened to her friend when he had warned her starting something with him was a bad idea.

Y/n could remember that day so clearly — even more now that she spent a lot of her free time alone with her thoughts.

It was going so well, three months into dating Seungcheol and not a single red flag in sight. Things were looking up.

Maybe he wasn't the toxic man she had come to know of when they were in school.

It was all going so well.

He had invited her over to his place, wanting to cook her dinner.

"Wanted to do something cute." He explained. Y/n happily made her way over to his place, thinking that he was finally going to ask her the big question.

To be his girlfriend.

They spent most of the time giggling like high school lovers as they worked around each other in the kitchen; Seungcheol stealing kisses each time he caught her looking over at him.

Which was more than she could count on one hand — but she wasn't complaining.

They were nearly done. Just needed to plate their meal when the rug under her was pulled, sending her right back down to earth.

His phone hadn't even completed ringing when he picked it up, his demeanor instantly changing.

"Sunhee's flight came in a few hours early. Rain check on dinner?" He flashed her his dimply smile.

What was she supposed to do? Say no? Not with that smile.

Y/n agreed, allowing him to usher her out of his place; not without a kiss of course.

With an empty stomach and a freed up Friday night, she made her way to her favorite duo's place — in hopes that the two were not out terrorizing local single women at the club.

"He called off date night? For Sunhee?" Mingyu snorted as she picked off of his plate. "Can't you go and make yourself a plate? There's literally enough food for both of us."

She shook her head, grabbing another piece of chicken only for her to drop it as his hand lightly smacked hers. "She didn't have a ride."

God, could she be any more oblivious.

"Uber? Lyft?" He listed in bewilderment.

Y/n shrugged. "You'd do it for me."

She didn't care if he had a girl best friend. To most, this was a nightmare. It would have been the first big red flag to any other girl.

But Y/n knew she couldn't complain. Not when she was the first person Mingyu would call to tell her about the latest girl he was dating, the person he asked for outfit approvals, the person she called when she had any car problems. They were each other's person. Even if they bickered like their lives depended on it.

No, she couldn't be a hypocrite.

"Pick you up at the airport? During rush hour? You wish. I'd only do that for someone I love.... even then I'd reconsider it." He chewed.

"They're best friends." She defended, tapping her finger on the table to make a point.

"Who's in love with each other." Mingyu replied matter of factly, copying her actions.

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"No they don't."

"May I remind you that last week he didn't make it to your little breakfast date because she didn't feel well. She." He emphasized. "You would have to be dying for me to cancel on someone I was dating."

Y/n had almost forgotten about the incident. She and Seungcheol had made plans to try out a new cafe by his place only for him to cancel at the very last minute.

She paid no mind to this, knowing that he and Sunhee were close and she had no family in the city to be at her aid.

Little did she know at the time was that Sunhee simply had a hangover and Seungcheol had gone over to nurse her back to health.

"It's been three months and not a single title has been established. He's a red flag, Y/n. Back out now before you get even more attached." Mingyu stood from his seat, walking over to the stove where the rest of his meal was cooling — scooping extra servings for him and y/n. "You want more rice?"

"No, just chicken." She shook her head. "He's just being a good friend."

"I give it another month before he makes you cry." He sat back down, this time placing the plate in-front of her.

He was right.

Within a month, Seungcheol began giving Y/n mixed signals — one minute he was telling her how he couldn't believe he had managed to score a chance with her and the next he was leaving her on delivered for hours on end.

Only for her to find out he had been pre-occupied with Sunhee through their instagram stories.

But see, Seungcheol had done it so slowly and Y/n didn't realize that she had been put on the backburner until it was too late.

She was far in too deep when she had come to realize that she would never measure up to the girl.

She had been attached, falling deeper and deeper as each day passed.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

"Are you done?" Mingyu whined from across the table.

She had taken and retaken the same picture of their meal for the past minute, unable to find the right angle.

"It doesn't look like a date!" Y/n groaned. "You know for someone who came up with this brilliant idea, you're shit at making it believable."

When he had told her he was going to be picking her up to get lunch, this was not what y/n had imagined. She thought he would have at least chosen a much cuter place that was worth pulling her phone out for.

But what would have expected from the Kim Mingyu.

She nearly strangled him as they pulled up to the usual spot they would gab a bite from. After much convincing, and the offer of a free meal on him, she exited the car and followed him into the establishment.

Picking up his chopsticks to pick at the meat that was beginning to brown on the grill, Mingyu let out a small chuckle. "He won't believe it if I took you to something fancy."

Y/n rolled her eyes, leaning back against her chair as she watched him stuff his face. "This is so romantic." She deadpanned.

"Fine, here." He sat up, placing an elbow on the table and a smirk on his face.

He was posing.

She had seen enough stories from girls he had dated to know it was his signature look.

"The fuck am I supposed to do with that."

"Just take the damn picture."

Picking up her phone with a sigh, she angled her phone just enough to capture their meal and him – cutting it off right where his neck began. It was discreet enough to get people wondering, but also obvious enough for him to know who she was with.

She didn't want to post his face just yet.

"Next date better be something good and not barbecue."

"Relax, we gotta do it slowly." He shoveled a spoonful of rice into his mouth, wincing at the sight of him talk while his cheeks were full of food. "Date here and there and then Hawaii– that's when we'll become so insufferable he'll want to kill me."

Hawaii.

In about two weeks, she and the whole gang were headed off to the tropics for one of their college friend's destination wedding.

Of course it would be a destination wedding. It was Jeonghan.

He couldn't just have picked a local venue.

It was going to be a week full festivities, the group wanting to take advantage of all the island had to offer before they watched their close friend walk down the aisle.

Might as well.

Everyone was going to be there. Including her.

"Speaking of," Mingyu continued. "Switch rooms with Minghao."

Looking up from her phone, she raised a brow at him.

"Do you even want to do this? Why are you so dumb?"

"Hey!"

Rubbing his face and groaning in frustration, he spoke slowly. "Minghao's rooming with me, meaning you will now room with me. Seungcheol will see. He will get jealous. Is your pea brain picking up on this?"

Jeonghan and his future wife had thankfully blocked off a floor at the hotel for those traveling for his big day, allowing all his friends to be within close proximity to each other.

She had initially booked a room all by herself after waiting weeks for Seungcheol to bring it up when they had all received their invites in the mail.

But he never did.

In fact, he had told her he was rooming with one of his high school friends who had not seen in a while.

She couldn't even bring herself to be disappointed, a part of her fully expecting he wasn't going to make the suggestion.

He had seen the disappointed look on her face that day, reassuring her that he may end up in her room every night anyways.

"Just want to hang out with Jihoon, haven't seen him in years." He reasoned, placing a kiss on her temple.

What a fucking liar.

"If we're going to do this, you have to be nicer to me.".

"Whatever you say, stink." He winked.

"Stink?" Y/n made a face.

"Short for stink bug."

It was a nickname he had given her in middle school, claiming that she looked a like a stink bug.... and smelled like one too. Y/n hated the nickname at the time, nearly crying each time he would call her this in front of the boys in their class.

It was better than baby.

"We'll work on pet names later." She laughed.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

Their fake dates have gained attention from everyone but him.

The rest of their friend group had managed to fall for their act after the second cryptic instagram story that the two shared at his apartment.

Unbeknownst to them, they had spent nearly half an hour getting the perfect shot on his couch to make it seem as though they were cuddling – all with the help of Minghao, of course.

"This isn't gong to work. You guys look so stiff." He laughed as he watched the two make a face as they intertwined their legs, pretending as though they were cuddling as they watched a movie. "Scoot closer, Mingyu."

"If I scoot any closer, my skin will merge into hers." He snapped, following directions.

"Oh my god, just do it." She cried, her arms growing numb with the multiple attempts of snapping the picture.

Seungkwan was the first one to swipe up on the story, instantly noticing the familiar console in the picture; replying "??????".

Soon her inbox was flooded with the rest of the group's reactions; even more when Mingyu posted his version of the same pose.

All except him, who didn't even bother watching the stories.

"Switch seats with me." Y/n whispered loudly to Minghao as they waited to board their plane.

"I already switched rooms, you want me to–"

"I'm sitting next to him."

They had booked their flight together; at the time when she hadn't been able to foresee the future.

Y/n was originally going to go through with sitting through the flight next to Seungcheol, wanting to get under his skin after spending the past two weeks and a half posting of nothing but about her and Mingyu. But considering he had yet to even see a single one of these post that was directed to him, and not a single text, she didn't think she could sit a four hour flight in silence.

Not while Sunhee sat to his right.

Taking the boarding pass from her hand and handing her his, Minghao let out a defeated sigh. "I feel like I'm doing as much work in this stupid shit as you two."

They had disclosed their plans to him, and only him. They knew if it had to be believable, they need someone on their side who was able to corroberate their stories – just in case someone had doubts.

"Love you!" She smiled, reaching over to pinch his cheeks.

"You better." He grumbled.

It wasn't long before they were called to board.

Y/n palms were sweating at the thought of walking past him as she would make her way a few rows back to her newly assigned seat; but she had to keep her composure. Just as she had while they were all sat at the gate – pretending she didn't care that Sunhee wasn't giggling a little too loud at whatever Seungcheol was saying.

Or the fact that he had pushed her carry on all the way from TSA to their designated waiting area while she happily walked alongside him.

She had to keep her head up high.

He had already been sitting in his seat when he caught her eyes from the line of passengers who were all patiently waiting to put their belongings in their overhead compartments.

She was two steps away when he stood from his seat, motioning Sunhee to do the same, to make room for y/n to squeeze in to her spot by the window.

"Thanks." Minghao smiled, shimmying past the two; paying no mind to the confused look on his friend's face.

With furrowed brows, Seungcheol followed her movement – up until Mingyu grabbed the rolling bag from her hand.

"I got it." He lifted the bag with ease, sparing no glance to the eyes that burned a hole in the back of his head.

Once she was no longer in his eyeline, y/n let out a breath of relief – buckling herself in.

"High five." Mingyu held his hand up, proud of her.

"Gyu please, not now." She shook her head, attempting to slow down the beat of her heart.

His head tilted to the side as he watched the girl's emotion's spiral from nervousness to a near panic attack.

"Cheol?" He asked.

"I wish." Her legs bounced as the last few passengers took their seats and the flight attendants made their rounds; her lips growing pale as each second passed.

Mingyu watched as she shifted in her seat for the third time since sitting, adjusting her belt tighter as she felt the plane slowly taxi on to the runway. "Still?" He asked in disbelief, eyeing her knuckles that had turned white from gripping the arm rest.

Y/n simply nodded, closing her eyes.

She had always been a nervous flyer, despite the countless times people have explained the physics of a plane. To y/n it didn't seem logical, how was it that a flying bus could easily travel from point a to point b? All with nothing but a fan for an engine and wings that didn't flap.

It didn't make sense. And don't even get her started with turbulances.

The low hum of the plane had began to grow into a loud roaring sound; she could practically feel her heart sinking deep into the pit of her stomach as she waited for it to gain speed.

Y/n's mind was instantly distracted when she felt his pinky slowly interlock with hers. She opened her eyes to look over at him, but his eyes was closed and fully locked in to whatever music that was blaring on his headphones.

Grateful for his attempts to comfort her, she relaxed under his touch – feeling his hand slip under hers to interlock hands once the plane was at full speed, giving it a squeeze when the plane reached the end of the runway.

It was only a matter of minutes before they were in the air, nervously watching the buildings grow smaller and smaller as the ascended past the clouds.

All thoughts of free falling began to plague her mind again.

"Stop that." He reached over to shut her window with his free hand, pointing to her personal tv. "Watch. Don't look out."

Time passed quickly all thanks to Mingyu's annoying voice that had kept her distracted, talking over the movie he had suggested for her to watch – pausing almost every five minutes to listen to him either comment on the scene or babble on and on about a random picture from his camera roll.

She had given up halfway through the movie, opting to sleep instead. But Mingyu wasn't letting up; he had thought if she sat in silence, she would manage to come up with all the worst case scenarios possible.

He would have much rather waste his breathe talking her ear off than have to comfort her while she sobbed in her seat.

He had been traumatized the last time their family took a trip together to Japan; the first time he had seen a different side of her. She had always been the braver one between the two, an adrenaline junkie who seeked thrill rides and any activity that would have him cowering in an instant.

They were fifteen at the time and since then, he swore he would rather eat dirt before he relieved that same moment again.

Just as he had comforted her during take off, Mingyu took her hand in his as they made their descend down – still babbling on and on about god knows what.

"See not bad." He grinned as they felt their plane come to a complete stop.

The humid air instantly engulfed them as they stepped out of the automatic doors of the airport, each making a comment about how glad they were that they chose to dress lightly.

The boys were all like children let loose in a candy shop, gawking over the Jeep Wranglers at the rental lot – Seokmin and Mingyu instantly bickering over who would get the last black two door.

"Boys." A voice next to her giggled.

It was Sunhee.

While the guys loudly made arrangements on who would be getting which vehicle and who would be riding with who, Sunhee and Y/n stood back and watched.

"They're... something." Y/n forced out a laugh.

The thing was, she couldn't bring herself to hate the girl.

As much as she hated that she was the reason for the pain that Seungcheol had put her through, y/n knew that Sunhee wasn't the problem.

In fact, Sunhee had attempted to distance herself from Seungcheol at one point when she had found out he was dating her; but of course, he didn't have any of it. Y/n was in the other room when he had called Sunhee, saying that he and y/n were just casually dating and didn't care feel at all threatened by Sunhee.

It wasn't a lie. But it sure did hurt.

"Stink!" Mingyu called out from black Jeep, motioning for her to head over. "Come on!"

He had won the rock, paper, scissors against Seokmin.

Fighting back the urge to send him the middle finger, Y/n smiled at him and turned to Sunhee. "I'll see you at the hotel."

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

"When'd you get that?"

Y/n turned away from her suitcase, halting her search for her white oversize linen button down, she followed his finger to the red fine line tattoo that read "lucky" at her hip.

Once they had all arrived at the hotel, the group wasted no time making plans to bound for the beach; agreeing to head up to their respective rooms to quickly change out of their airport loungewear to a much more appropriate attire.

Mingyu and Y/n have seen each other countless of times in their swimsuits, not bothering to bat an eye as they gathered all their belongings half naked.

"About four months ago." Y/n went back to practically tossing all her belongings on her bed.

Thankfully the room that they shared was a double queen, having it originally been Minghao and Mingyu's sleeping arrangement. She was able to make her own mess on her side without Mingyu's complaint about making the whole place look like a teenager's room.

He had been the clean one between the two.

"Nice." He nodded slipping a plain white shirt on. "Ready?"

"I can't find my shirt." She exhasperated.

"We're going down to the beach. Just go like that." He said, addressing her current outfit.

Which was just her swimwear and light washed cut off shorts that she had folded down to rest right at her hips. Something she had seen from pinterest when she was taking inspiration for her outfits for the trip.

"But I want to look cute." She pouted.

Aside from having to pretend like she was dating him, she still wanted to take document the trip and all her outfits.

She had an instagram feed to keep up, after all.

Rolling his eyes, he dug into his own suitcase – tossing her his crocheted short sleeve button down. "Come on, we're missing prime acting time." He clapped. "Need to annoyingly apply sunscreen on you and pretend to drag you into the water."

"Oh my god." She groaned.

When he said they were going to be insufferable, she didn't think he would jump right into it – dreading the fake laughs and giggles she would have to muster up the minute they stepped foot out of their room.

Grabbing her tote off the bed, Y/n put on her best smile and walked over to him. "Ready, bug?"

"Let the games begin, stink." He winked, slinging his arms over her shoulder – the two cracking up in an instant.

This was going to be a long week.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

They're act was in full force.

Mingyu wasn't lying when he said he would apply suncreen on her once they reached the sand, annoyingly taking his time as he reached her lower back.

He was also not lying when he said he would pretend to drag her in the water, throwing her over his shoulder as he bounded for the shoreline, only to set her down once he was ankle deep.

"Is he looking?" He asked, keeping one arm around her waist.

Discreetly peering over his shoulder, thankful that he was nearly a foot taller than her, y/n nodded.

Seungcheol was sat on his towel, watching the two with the same look he had been giving when they were at Seokmin's.

"Okay, we'll I'm gonna go play." Mingyu satisfied with his short acting career, nodding over to Hansol and Chan who was calling out for him at the deep end. "You're good for a few minutes?"

"Yeah I'm going to nap." She nodded, heading back up to where the other half of the group was lounging – not before she felt him give her hip a squeeze.

"For plot." He winked.

"Gross."

"You and Mingyu, huh?" Jeonghan wiggled his brows as she took a seat next to him, pulling her sunglasses back down to cover her eyes.

Along with Seungcheol, Jeonghan had managed to catch a glimpse of the two shamelessly flirting by the water.

He had bought their oscar worthy performance.

"Yeah." She replied shyly. "It kind of just happened."

They had yet to come up with how it just happened.

"Surprised it didn't happen sooner. Glad you got over this guy over here." Using his thumb to point at Seungcheol who had been shamelessly listening in on their conversation. Just like everyone else in the group, Jeonghan had been filled in on y/n and Seungcheol's weird relationship – despite being cities away.

"He'll just play her." Seungcheol snorted. "It's Mingyu."

The first time she had heard him utter a word to her in weeks.

"Can't be as bad as what you put me through." Y/n replied without missing a beat, laying down to soak up the warm sun.

She fought back the smile that threatened to creep up on her lips, content that she had managed to get in his head.

The plan was working.

"Okay, kids, no fighting this week." Jeonghan laughed nervously.

taglist:

@thepoopdokyeomtouched/ @scuzmunkie / @yunjin0 / @morkswatermelonnnn / @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan / @naturelvrgfstealer

(taglist open - lmk if you want to be added!)

#omg ty for the feedback from the part one lkfjlsdfkj #also yall toxic as hell wym u would do the same thing lksdfslfdkjf im crying #also if you saw me upload this a few mins ago no u didnt lol #mingyu fic #mingyu x oc #seventeen fic #seventeen #mingyu angst #kim mingyu #mingyu x reader #seventeen imagines #mingyu #kmg fic #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #seventeen seungcheol #choi seungcheol #seventeen scenarios #seungcheol x oc #seungcheol angst #seungcheol fic #svt fic #scoups x reader #scoups fic #spamgyu backburner

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #9

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You get a new mysterious co-worker.

Word count: 8,100

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

August 1st

Nearly pancaked by grand piano falling from the 8th floor outside of favorite cafe. No casualties (except the piano).

August 5th

Freak blizzard out of nowhere during lunch. Nearly crushed by large icicle dropping directly outside the exit of the Chrysler building. No other known casualty.

August 6th

An escaped hippopotamus from the Bronx zoo ran 11.3 miles, nearly got stampeded when exiting hotel for work. No casualties.

August 12th

Tornado appeared inside the Guggenheim museum, nearly squashed by large falling statue. Nobody nearby was seriously injured.

It's already mid-August now. You've used up more than a month of your allotted three. It means you don't have much more time to waste, but that knowledge does nothing to help you in figuring things out. 

You’ve compiled a comprehensive list of the Universe's ongoing murder attempts, determined to keep track of them all. All in all, there are 37 incidents and counting that you’re aware of… and they’re all different. 

They differ in severity. They differ in scale and they differ in frequency. Sometimes it can take weeks, sometimes days, sometimes within hours of each other. If there’s any sort of pattern to them—anything that might help you predict what will happen next or how to stop it—you can’t see it.  There’s nothing that gives you any hint or clue as to where you can start to make progress with solving this mystery.

The one thing you have been able to observe from cataloging these incidents is that Miguel was right about what he told you that day at Starbucks: the universe is ramping up. Each attempt is becoming more and more bizarre, defying the very laws of physics and nature in its attempts to snuff you out. Before this, in all of your years in New York, you’ve never heard of a blizzard in July or a tornado indoors. 

With the escalating dangers, Miguel is more on guard than ever. Sticking close to you at all times like a particularly insistent herding dog that’s always a few inches from nipping at your heels. Even when he’s seemingly preoccupied by something else—reading a book, folding clothes, eating a crate of kit kats in one sitting—you can always tell that he’s keenly aware of and attuned to your every minute move. 

Practically, the only time he lets you out of his sight is for bathroom visits. 

Work is still a point of contention between you two. He hates that he can't enter the building to monitor you at work and make sure you're safe, and after that incident when you caught a co-worker trying to take a surreptitious selfie with Spiderman while Miguel was loitering around in the windows, you’d banned him from climbing and scuttering around the exterior of the building like some deranged squirrel. 

It’s made him even less pleased about your whole work situation, something he’s not shy about sharing with you. Every morning when you are about to leave for work, Miguel will stand by the door with that ever present frown and ask you: 

“Why are you still going into a job you hate when there’s only two months left?”

This morning, you sigh as you reach for your jacket and messenger bag. 

Part of you completely understands and even agrees with his logic. If the end of the world is only two months away, why go back to that shithole everyday? You could go to Disneyland. Eat fancy croissants in Paris for breakfast. Have Lyla fake a reservation at an all-inclusive yoga retreat in Bali. You could be living your life like every moment is your last. 

The thing is though, as delusional as it may be, you’re not ready to bet on the world ending just yet. 

“Miguel, I fully intend for the universe to still be around in two months. And I don’t want to be unemployed when that day comes. I’m not some trust fund baby. Once we figure this thing out, you’re gonna be free to go, and if you take Lyla with you, then what am I supposed to do? Live on the streets? Rent in the city is ridiculous, and my rent-controlled apartment got blown into a million pieces.”

For once Miguel doesn’t seem to have anything smart to say back. He tilts his head, quietly studying your face. Then after a long pause, he gives you a curt nod, as if something clicked into place. 

"Fine."

You stop mid-way through zipping up one of your boots to eye him suspiciously. 

Okay, that’s… different.

In all the mornings you’ve repeated this argument, this is the first time he’s simply accepted your explanation without sassing you back. He just gazes right back, apparently unperturbed, and holds the door of your hotel room open for you, ready to walk you to work. 

There is definitely something going on inside his head, because this stubborn dummy never lets anything go without a fight. You just don’t know what it is yet. 

By mid-morning, you've forgotten all about your suspicions, too busy dealing with the aftermath of your coworker's incompetence. You're not entirely sure how they managed to corrupt the Excel formula you’d painstakingly inserted to make sure all the numbers add up correctly, but two hours later, you're still trying to get the data to compute properly. 

It’s the kind of mind numbing task that lets your mind wander, and you spend most of that morning wondering what Miguel is up to. He’s probably lingering near the building, eating mini donuts by the dozens from that food truck that is always parked around the corner. 

There’s a pointed series of knocks on your cubicle wall. The noise is grating, and it makes the whole of your back seize up because you recognize that signature knock from sound alone. It’s your boss, probably here to ask if you have capacity to take on more case evaluations. 

And sure enough, as you reluctantly turn to look, you see her, toothy smile and all, looking down at you in that hammy and strained way of hers. 

“Are you busy?” she asks. “I just wanted to introduce you to the newest member of the team.” 

She gestures to the person standing beside her. Your gaze goes up over their insanely long legs, up and over the narrow and tapered waist and torso, up over the wide chest and broad, broad shoulders, and even before you get to the familiar face, you already know who you are looking at, because no one else is that tall.

Your mouth gapes open wide in shock.

This stupid motherf-

“This is Mickey O’Hara,” your boss introduces, simpering up at him. (You didn’t even know she knew how to simper.) 

Has Miguel gone insane?

What is he playing at?!

He didn’t even bother to change his name properly!

And the man looks unfairly good in office casual! He’s dressed in a white, well-fitted button down shirt and dress pants. Wearing ridiculous thick-rimmed glasses that would belong on Gregory Peck. Riotous curls are as messy and wild as ever, not having even bothered to comb it back. You don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling, the subdued get-up only makes him stick out like a sore thumb.

“Mickey is our newest hire,” your boss continues, batting her eyes at him. “He's interning with our team as a junior insurance claims adjuster and will be shadowing you for the next two months.”

After that, Miguel truly is with you everywhere you go. 

He spends most of each workday sitting on a spare chair in your small cubicle, the two of you squeezed into 6'x6', shoulder touching shoulder in that tiny, cramped space.

A superhero he may be, but Miguel is a terrible office worker. He seems completely bamboozled by the copier, and you quickly learn not to ask him to do any copying or scanning or even pick your printouts from the printer, because he always manages to mangle the process, coming back with crumpled up prints or half-shredded paper that looks like budget confetti.

Before the week is over, he’s gained a reputation with the rest of the team as the handsome-but-useless junior that can’t even make coffee for shit.

Most of the time, he doesn't even make an effort to look like he’s doing any actual work, just sits right next to you, and reads books all day long. When you scold him and ask him to at least pretend like he's doing busy work, or he'll get fired, Miguel will just shrug and quietly hum back at you, engrossed in whatever latest sci-fi book his nose is buried in. 

"If they fire me, I'll just have Lyla hack into their HR system and rehire me."

Then there’s the way his sleeves are always rolled up halfway up his arm, hugging tight around the firm muscles of his forearm. The peep show of gorgeously tanned skin that is always on display for all to see. It's obscene. 

He’s maddening and distracting. 

Still, you can’t be too mad about his presence. The office is a much more treacherous place than you’d initially thought. It’s a danger zone of death traps. 

One morning when you’re in the supply room, getting a new pad of post-its from one of the massive industrial shelves—the ones that are supposed to be bolted to the wall for safety—suddenly crumpled, taking half the wall with it and nearly flattening you. That was almost game over for you. Squashed like a bug and entombed under a pile of archived TPS reports. 

Then there’s that time with the runaway elevator when the supposedly secure and unbreakable industrial cables snaps, with you in it, falling through 40 floors. And you still shudder everytime you walk past the copy machine because of that time it tried to electrocute you. If Miguel hadn’t been there for all of these incidents, you’d be a goner. 

Another upside is that it’s also nice to have a cubicle buddy. On slow days, the two of you kill time watching YouTube origami tutorials and practicing with post-its stolen from the temporarily-relocated office supplies. 

Despite having hands the size of a giant, Miguel is surprisingly good at it. Delicately folding paper cranes, butterflies and flowers that sit in the place of pride atop of your computer screen, compared to your questionable attempts that usually wind up in a crumpled ball in the trash. 

With Miguel there, your days at the office are never boring or predictable in the way they used to be. It no longer feels like you are just going through motions. It's almost… fun. 

If there wasn’t a cosmic executioner’s ax looming over your neck, you don’t think you would mind spending every day with him like this.

You take it back. You do mind spending days with him like this. Miguel is the worst. 

You've been doing data entry all morning, and the man will not shut up about how primitive Excel is. 

“Malo! I don’t understand how your company relies on this software. There are so many data consistency issues! It completely lacks data validation and integrity checks, and it’s too prone to human error when entering crucial data, which results in–” 

You take deep calming breaths as you continue to type, trying to pretend his rant is white noise.  

The previous day's near death experience—an electrical surge from the printer, trying to finish what the copy machine started—also wiped out one of the file servers, and now you and half your department are stuck manually re-entering three years worth of data.  

Two hours in, your fingers are aching, and you're about ready to start banging your head on the keyboard out of frustration. (Or banging the keyboard on Miguel’s head if he doesn’t shut up.)

Like he can hear your thoughts, the man in question obligingly stops talking, and there’s a moment of blessed silence before your chair glides smoothly and suddenly to the left as Miguel rolls you out from in front of your computer. Your first instinct is to wonder what new danger he’s saving you from, but no… He’s just moving you out of the way to make space for him to drag his own chair in front of the screen. “Enough,” he says firmly, already typing out some unintelligibly complex code at a speed that far outstrips your own personal best of 67 words per minute, “I can’t watch you keep doing this when it’s so simple to automate.”

You sometimes forget just how smart Miguel is. 

True, he can’t seem to work the office printer, but he’s a genius scientist who single-handedly built an A.I. sophisticated enough to hack into financial institutions and topple governments. He successfully invented a machine that travels between dimensions. Every other sentence coming out of his mouth sounds like something that would confound Stephen Hawking. You don’t know why you’re surprised he’s able to automate Excel spreadsheets. 

It doesn’t take him very long at all. 

Within minutes, he’s finished, hitting enter one final time, and then you can see all of the cells rectify themselves one by one. Errors disappear and new corrected information appears, data populating blank cells and aligning itself in tidy rows. 

You lean in closer to get a better look. Your elbow snags the edge of your coffee cup and the cup topples over, splashing runaway hot coffee across your hand.

Before you have a chance to react, there’s a strong pull backwards. Miguel is already grabbing you and pulling you sideways into his lap and out of the firing range.

The cup clatters off the edge of the desk and onto the floor. The rest of the burning liquid never had the time to land on you. 

Then you’re sitting on top of him, confined in the much too small seat of the office chair that can barely fit him and his broad backside, and much less the both of you. But if it’s uncomfortable, Miguel doesn’t show it. He takes your hand in his to inspect it carefully.

The patch of skin burns and stings, but you can’t tell if it’s from the coffee or his burning touch that makes you feel like there’s liquid fire simmering in your veins. 

“You okay?” he says, his voice right in your ear.

He is so close. Surrounding you. Broad arms locked around your waist and the firm muscles of his thick thighs under yours.

“Yeah,” you manage, nodding slowly. Your tongue feels heavy and dry in your mouth.

He quietly drags your hand closer to his face, then blows on the back of your burnt knuckles to soothe the sting. 

“Better?” 

Those stunning eyes are staring into yours from inches away, cut cheeks right there, nose barely brushing against yours, and – god, is he close. Too close. 

Miguel is always in close proximity to you these days. Never more than a couple yards away, but save for life or death situations, the two of you do not find yourself like this. He only ever holds you when you’re crashing through the skies or about to collide with a runaway vehicle. This is different somehow. 

Your heart feels like a trapped bird in your chest, fluttering so fast and panicky it might burst from inside out at the proximity. 

“I– um– ah…” You’re not saying any words, just making strange noises in your throat like a squawking bird. 

Your eyes flicker away from his face avoidantly and from the corner of your eye, you spot Matt from accounting spying on you from the cubicle across. 

Oh god. This probably doesn’t look great, does it?

You’re sitting on a co-worker’s lap in the middle of an open plan office. Compromising does not even begin to describe the position you two are in.

Jumping off his lap, you quickly stand up and turn away, trying to ignore the flustered heat in your cheeks. 

You walk back over to your chair, about to sit yourself back down, but there’s spilled coffee everywhere. The dark brown liquid quickly sinking into the already stained fabric of the seat.  You need to clean this up or else your chair is going to smell like expired coffee for the rest of time. Grabbing for your bag, you start digging for some tissues so you don't have to walk up to the supply closet.

You pull out item after item. Tampons. Sunglasses. A half-eaten chocolate bar. More tampons. New wallet with new ID, (expedited, all courtesy of Lyla). A handful of pennies. A random pamphlet. Still no tissues though, so you upend your bag onto your desk, wincing at the clatter. 

How on Earth have you accumulated this much stuff in the few short weeks since your apartment was destroyed?  And how on Earth do you not have any kleenex or napkins or anything in your handbag?? 

You paw through the mess, hoping for something useful, then swear as some of it spills over onto the floor. Ducking down, you crawl half under your desk, collecting wayward tampons and receipts, until your eyes pause on the pamphlet.

Not just any pamphlet. It’s yellow and bright with Whoopie Goldberg's face in the corner. It's the map you received from the fortune teller lady. One of your many misfires.

Now that you look closely at it, there are faint lines that seem to glow faintly in the dimness under your desk that weren't there when you were looking at it in plain daylight.

You pick it up and unfold it, laying it out on the floor. It looks like it’s been written on with some kind of a glow-in-the-dark marker, but it’s not dark enough for you to see clearly. You need to get somewhere darker to test your theory.

Backing out from under your desk, you get to your feet and head briskly off down the hall. You barely make it three steps before Miguel’s on your tail, his towering height blocking out the bright LED lamps above as he follows after you like the world’s biggest duckling. 

“Cielo, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you murmur curtly under your breath. The heat from before is still riding persistently on your face, and you quicken your steps, hoping it doesn’t show. 

You half run to the end of the hall until you reach the small supply closet. When you open the door to step inside, Miguel is right behind you, apparently trying to squeeze himself in after you. 

"We won't both fit in here!" you scold as you close the door after you.  His unhappy expression is the last thing you see as darkness envelops you in the pitch black.

There’s a niggling feeling of guilt that wiggles down into your skin. But you remind yourself that you can always steal cupcakes meant for clients from the conference room to make it up to him. All will be forgiven if you appease his sweet tooth. 

Ducking your head to stare down at the map clutched in your hands, you squint your eyes in the dark to study it closely. There's a small star glowing bright in the middle of the map.

It's a literal star map.

She gave you a location.

You're standing in front of an old stone building at 177A Bleecker Street, smack in the middle of Greenwich village with its picturesque ivy covered old brownstone houses. 

Then there's this monstrosity: Sanctum Sanctorum. The infamous residence of Dr. Strange.

The mansion is built in a mix of a Victorian and Gothic style as if the architect couldn't make up their mind and just decided 'why not both?' Throughout the rooftop, there are ornate carvings and intricate stonework that you suspect was meant to lend it a mysterious air, but instead the place reminds you of Disney’s Haunted Mansion ride attraction. 

You bring up your hand to the old knocker, gripping it firmly. Your lungs tighten, breath constricting in your chest as you hesitate, unable to bring yourself to pull the brass down to make contact with the wooden front door. Instead you’re holding it still in the air. 

Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. How are you going to explain this? 

‘The universe is out to get me, please send Avengers to help.’

Isn’t he just going to think you’re nuts? One of those delusional Supes-fan with munchausen syndrome?

"We can still leave," Miguel says. 

The man's been protesting every step of the way here, buzzing in your head about how much of a bad idea this is.

You frown, turning around to him. "I want to do this,” you answer. 

His continued opposition is the final push you need. You bring down the knocker against the front door and tap it repeatedly. 

There's no answer.

Part of you has to fight the urge to turn your feet and flee, saving yourself the embarrassment. But before you do, there’s a loud creak and a heavy scraping noise against the entrance as the double door swings inwards and slowly opens. 

No one greets you by the door. The entryway before you is empty, revealing a grand imperial staircase leading to the second floor, curving upward into a majestic spiral on each side of the room. 

It looks deserted. It’d be impolite to just step inside without someone to greet you and explicitly invite you in. But the doors did open to let you in. 

You look at Miguel, unsure of what to do, but the man does not have the same compunction for politeness that you do, he’s already walked in, shoes and all, straight into the main hall. 

“Can we just get this over with without you making your usual stupid grand dramatic entrance?” Miguel says into the empty room seemingly to no one in particular and you don’t know who he thinks he’s talking to. 

A ring of ember and fire sparks into existence out of nothingness in the center of the room. The ring grows wider, and you can see hints of another room inside of the circle: one decorated in a different decoration style than the current room you’re in: moroccan seats and plush cushions with oriental wooden carved furniture. 

A man steps out from within that room to stand in front of you both. The ring of light closes behind him once he’s made it through. Clad in a rich purple tunic and dark robes that is monk-like in appearance. Miguel steps in front of you, tucking you safely behind him. 

"You're not Strange," Miguel sneers, and you want to smack him. Why does he always have to be this rude?

"Oh, I'm quite strange. But I am not the Doctor. I am Wong. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme and guardian of this place." The man’s voice is calm and formal, and he holds himself with a stately manner as he speaks. 

You pop out your head from behind Miguel’s side. "We’re here to see Doctor Strange." 

At the repeated mention of Strange, the man’s formality seems to fall away, an expression of irritation bleeding into his features. 

"Let me know when you find him. Because he is not here."

"Where is he?" Miguel asks, and there’s that contempt rumbling in his voice again. 

"I do not know. Probably playing hooky again. The man comes and goes as he likes." Wong makes a muttering noise under his breath as he continues. "Treats this sacred place like a summer gig at McDonalds."

Your chest deflates. How are you supposed to get Dr. Strange to help you if he’s not even here?

"I need help,” you plead with Mr. Wong. Maybe he can help you if Dr Strange can’t, he is the Sorcerer Supreme after all, supreme is the highest level, right? This might even be an upgrade from Strange. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think the universe is out to get me." 

Wong just looks at you, expression unchanging, and okay, yeah, that was maybe not the best place to start. You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to make yourself sound less paranoid.

"I've almost died 40 times since the beginning of the summer. I just want to know why this keeps happening and how to make it stop."

You dig into your bag, pulling out the folded map. 

"We talked to a fortune teller in Chinatown, and she gave me this map. It led us here, and I'm really, really hoping you can help me."

Wong dips his head down to the map, "This is a celebrity home star map," he says, with a straight face and a neutral voice that only slightly betrays that he thinks you're batshit crazy.

“I know it sounds crazy, but-”

“Sanctum Sanctorum opened its doors for you, which means it wanted me to meet with you. I believe what you’re telling me.”

Oh thank god.

You tell him everything, rambling on as you try to explain what’s been happening and what little you know about it as best you can. The near death experiences, Miguel being a Spiderman from another dimension, the destruction of your apartment,  the unnatural phenomena and the universe’s escalating attempts on your life. 

Wong is quiet throughout, studying your face with grave concentration as you speak. 

When you’re finally done, he sighs with deep weariness that emanates from the core of his soul. He looks down on his feet, tapping them in deep consideration.

"I have an idea,” Wong says cautiously, “I could perform a Multiversal Divination on you, that might give us a clearer idea of what we’re dealing with,” 

“What does that mean?” Miguel asks, anger vibrating off his skin and boiling in his tone.  

This man needs to calm down. You clearly need to take him to anger management, because since the moment he’s stepped into this place he’s been on the edge (even more so than usual).

“What does a ‘Multiversal Divination’ entail?” he continues, “Is that some magical mumbo jumbo that’s going to hurt her? Because if so we’re not–”

“I’ll do it,” you say, interrupting his objections, and you sidestep Miguel who is scowling, mouth already parted in yet another protest, to stand in front of Wong. 

Wong looks to you and then Miguel, then back at you again, caught in the awkward stalemate, before you interrupt. 

“Please, I need answers. Whatever it is, if it might help, I want to do it.”

Wong nods, stepping closer to you. "This will feel a little bit strange," he warns with the bedside manner of a patient doctor.

His hand comes to your collarbone and he places his palm there with a gentle push. There is barely any effort put into it, but you feel the force of it as if you had been slammed with the full force of a six ton truck. Your body wants to leap out of its skin. It is the sensation of being dumped in cold water from head to toe. A shock runs through your entire nervous system.

Images flash before your eyes, flickering by too fast for you to process. They’re vivid and bright. Glimpses of a scene: your apartment, your work, your commute home. Each of them expiring in a fraction of a moment before you have a chance to latch on and make sense of any of them individually.

You see yourself in picture after picture. Except slightly different in each. Short hair. Long locks. Curly.

In some you're wearing glasses instead of the contact lenses that you usually use. In others, you’re sporting the piercing you wanted to get at 16 but never did. Sometimes you have tattoos, sometimes not; occasionally you’re covered in them. Dyed hair, in every color of the spectrum: pink, blue, purple. A myriad of versions of you, of every variation of the decisions you could have possibly taken in your life. 

There are pictures of memories you have had and not had. They rush in and flee before you're able to grab hold of one.

Captured moments of lifetimes you have never lived.

It's overwhelming. You don't understand what you're seeing. There’s pandemonium inside your head.

Then everything slows to a crawl.

The scene unfolding before you is one that you immediately recognize. An image that you'll never forget.

Window after window after window flashing you by. You know this view. Have seen it twice before. The same view of the Chrysler building as you were falling. But it's different this time. 

The sky isn’t blue, nor is it gray. It’s a pink and an abnormal purple, a color you’ve never seen on it before and it looks both beautiful and completely wrong. There’s an angry tear in the sky, cracking at the edges with static. The whole of the sky looks like it is going to cleave in two and bring the whole world with it. Is this the future? Is it the past?

There's no pain, but somehow tears run down your cheeks uncontrollably.

In the distance you hear Miguel's voice, muted even though you know from that tone that he's furious and must be bellowing loud enough that it echoes through the walls. It sounds like you are underwater, and you have to strain to make out what he is saying.

"Why is she crying?" He's definitely shouting, voice raw and growling. Is this part of your memory or is it happening in the now? "You're hurting her."

The ground approaches. 

"Stop! Stop!" Miguel's voice is shouting, but there's no way to stop this. Everything is going too fast this time around.

Miguel is here, tearing through the sky towards you. But you know it's too late. He's too far away. He can't save you this time.

Then everything does stop. 

No images in your head. No noise in your ears.

Everything goes black, like the ending of a movie.

Then you hear a thud.

It's loud and close and real.

You snap yourself out of your fugue state, to see Miguel towering over Wong's body where the Sorcerer Supreme lies, limp and lifeless on the ground.

“What did you do!? Are you out of your mind?" you shout, running up to them.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Wong isn’t moving, not even blinking!

"He was hurting you!" Miguel roars. 

"He wasn't hurting me, you big doofus!" you shout back, and it’s only then that the fury in Miguel’s eyes seem to abate. 

"What's wrong with him?” you ask, bending down Wong’s limp body on the ground. “Is he dead!? Did you kill him?” There's a rising panic pushing inside your throat.

"He's just paralyzed."

"He’s para– What do you mean paralyzed? What did you do to him?"

"I just... I bit him," he uses a finger to part his lips slightly, pushing the upper one up just enough to reveal the sharp edges of his fangs. "There's toxins in them that can have a paralyzing effect."

You glance back at Wong. He’s still worryingly still. 

“Is there some kind of way to un-paralyze him!?"

"It was just a small bite," Miguel says, ducking his head down sheepishly to stare at the floor, like a scolded boy. "I didn’t use that much venom... It’ll wear off. He shouldn't be out long. Maybe half an hour or so."

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry,” you tell Wong fervently, hovering over him. You can see his eyes tracking yours and the rise and fall of his chest, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the proof that he’s still alive. “Do you, um… Do you want me to help you up?”

“He’s not gonna want to move for a few more minutes,” Miguel interjects from behind you. “Moving will be incredibly painful until the venom wears off the rest of the way”. 

What the actual fuck!?

You throw a glare at Miguel, as you loop an arm under Wong’s waist, “Well help me move him so he can be more comfortable.” 

At your command, Miguel helps you prop the man up against the wall in what is (hopefully) a more comfortable position, and then you sit next to each other and wait.

"I can't believe you bit the Sorcerer Supreme," you mutter under your breath. “Miguel, you can’t just–” you cut yourself off, too frustrated to find the proper words. 

"I'm sorry,” he says, grimacing at your scolding, looking regretful for once as he ducks down his gaze. “You looked like you were in pain".

Your anger subsides, if only slightly at his repentance. 

“It still doesn’t make it okay. You can’t just attack someone like that! He was trying to help us.”

He doesn’t say anything more to that, just stares down at his feet in contrition. 

The two of you sit in the silence. 

Your mind goes back to the surreal experience you just had. The myriad of thousands if not millions of images that were flashing through your mind at the speed of light.

The warped shape of your world, the jarring images of it distorted and wrong, as it started to collapse. 

Miguel had said that didn’t he? That the universe was going to ramp up its game and if it didn’t succeed, it would eventually self-destruct in its mission to get you.

It takes 26 minutes. The first sign that the toxins are wearing off is that Wong is able to wiggle his toes. His recovery accelerates after that, he's able to move his fingers, then the muscles in his face until he's able to form a grimace. He doesn't look happy, and you don't blame him.

After another five minutes or so, he's able to speak again. 

"Strange way of expressing gratitude, literally biting the hand that helps you."

You get up on your feet to help Wong, and Miguel moves next to you. 

“No, you stay there! Don’t move,” you order, and even though he scowls, Miguel complies. 

You hunch over next to Wong, and help him sit fully upright. He stays seated, but dusts his robe off from the caked soot and fine layers of dirt. 

“This has happened in other dimensions,” Wong tells you. “And if we don’t stop it, our universe will be destroyed.”

“How do we stop it?” you ask. 

“The universe wants you dead. It won’t stop until it achieves its goal.”

Your stomach drops. 

“So in order for this to stop… I need to die?”

There’s a look of barely contained fury burning in Miguel’s red eyes that seems to vibrate out of his skin and pounce. But he doesn't, this time he remains in place, visibly restraining himself, still following your orders. 

“There is that option, or you will need to find the reason for why it wants to kill you. And you need to find it soon, because you don’t have a lot of time left. You will have even less time once the people of this world realize the threat you present to the continued integrity of this universe.” 

“Are you threatening her!?” Miguel demands, and somehow even though you didn’t hear him move, he’s right behind you, red eyes glowing, shoulders rising, looming over Wong, ready to cut him down at any further hints that the man might be a threat to your safety. 

Wong doesn't seem deterred in the slightest. 

You have to give it to the Sorcerer Supreme. He's a brave one. It took you weeks before you stopped being intimidated by the man, and Miguel’s never bitten you. 

“I am only telling you what the universe tells me. And it tells me that you do not belong here at all. The universe thinks neither of you belong here.”

You think back on fortune teller's drawing of the poorly drawn circle and stickfigure of you that’s speared with arrows.

"What if we went… somewhere else?" Miguel asks.

For the first time since he entered this house, his tone is no longer dripping with anger. “What if we left this universe and dimension?”

The image of white blankness enters your mind at his words. You shudder at the reminder. The cold numbness of the void and the sensation of nothingness. Dread fills your veins. A cold clammy sweat flashes hot and cold against your skin at the memory.

Wong tilts his head up in deep consideration. “That might work. This universe would slowly return to equilibrium with her gone. But… This will just start again in any new Universe. Most likely she wouldn’t be able to stay. She might have to leave every dimension she's in for the rest of her natural lifespan. A life spent always on the run.” 

Wong pauses as he glances over to you with sympathy and concern in his gaze. “Is that something you would want?” 

What is the alternative here? To lie down and die?

“Yes.”

“One month’s time, you need to find a way to leave this dimension before then.”

Back at your hotel that evening, you wake up to the sound of distress. Muffled whimpers and quiet moans. 

By habit, your eyes roam the room, seeking out Miguel in the dark. He’s lying on the sofa from across the room and even in this distance you can make out that his body is writhing beneath the covers. But you’re groggy and too sleep-drunk to make sense of what you’re hearing or seeing. 

There’s murmured noises from him, and it takes you far too long to understand what’s going on. 

He’s having a nightmare. 

Tugging off the blanket on top of you, you get up and scoot over to the end of the bed over to him. Miguel looks like he’s in pain. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he tosses and turns, face pinched in pain and distress. Now that you’re closer, you can make out words in the sounds he’s making. 

“Quiero quedarme contigo. No te vayas, no te vayas,” he keeps murmuring. 

He looks exhausted. Which, of course he is. He's been on constant alert trying to protect you. Fighting off supernatural weather phenomena, blocking hazardous furniture and fighting off charging hippos out of nowhere. Of course he's worn out.

“Shhhh, It’s alright.” you whisper to him, reaching out to gently stroke his arm, attempting to soothe him. “It’s okay.”

He groans unhappily in his sleep, burying his head into the cushion.

“Quiero quedarme conti–”

"Hey, hey, Miguel,” you tap insistently at his shoulder now. If you can’t soothe the nightmare away, then maybe you can at least wake him up out of it, “It's okay. Wake up."

This time his eyes slam open, wide with adrenaline and shock, and he shoots upright, head whipping from side to side as he scans the room. Every inch of him prepared to leap into a fight.  

“What’s wrong? What’s–”

“You were having a nightmare,” you explain to him. 

He stiffens at that, dropping his eyes to stare down at his lap unhappily. 

“Shit, did I wake you?” he runs a hand over his face, then lays back down, “Sorry.” 

Silence blankets the two of you, and you don’t know what else to say to him. Except just that you want him to be able to rest–truly rest–after the day, week and month you’ve both had. You don’t want him to have to go back to snatching moments of troubled, uncomfortable sleep on that stupid, too-small couch.

“You could come sleep on the bed with me,” you offer, “That couch is nowhere near big enough for you.”

"It's fine," he mutters, "It's been fine the last month, and it's fine now."

"It's not though. You're clearly not sleeping well.  I should have asked you before.  I'm surprised your back isn't already killing you—that sleeping position looked painful."

His head darts down, eyeing his own spread legs that are sticking out into the empty air from the bottom of the couch. But he doesn't concede the point.

"Please?" you try again, "It will make me feel better."

Apparently all you needed to do was ask, because Miguel immediately complies like your request was a decree. He gets up, pulling the quilt with him, his mop of curls in adorable disarray as he drags his feet over to the other side of the bed and flops down with a loud thump that makes the whole mattress bounce underneath you.

You can feel the pull of the sheets where his legs threaten to brush up against your bent knees, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think this through. Even in the big bed, there's only so much space, and he seems to be taking up most of it.  

He's close, and you can't seem to peel your eyes away from the strong line of his throat. Can't help the way your body reacts. Your pulse starts to race, heart kicking up hard and fast against your ribs.

Miguel turns around to observe you with narrowed eyes. “You okay?” 

Shit! Did he hear you? That timing was too on the nose. You nod at him a little bit too frantically and you sound high-pitched and skittish even to your own ears. 

 “Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”  

“Your heart is beating really fast.”

Fuck. He could hear you. Of course he can, he has super hearing powers doesn’t he? 

“I’m just tired,” you stammer out, wrapping the blanket close to your chest for layers as a shield from his super hearing. 

Miguel doesn’t push it. He turns back around, letting his head drop down the pillow. 

The distance between you has been growing smaller and smaller with each passing day together and you think you have been crossing an invisible line that you shouldn’t be crossing as of late. 

You think of the closeness of him in the office, the weight of his arms on your waist as he held you in his lap. His eyes on you. The bare skin of his broad back casually revealed to you when he was changing. The same back that you find yourself staring up at in this moment. 

“Go to sleep,” Miguel rasps from your side, and you nearly jump out of your skin in surprise. 

You close your eyes, but somehow in the dark you become even more keenly aware of his presence in the bed with you. Your heart seems to skip a little bit faster as the seconds pass, each beat a little bit harder. 

There's a quiet sigh, then a much louder exhale, as he turns back towards you in bed. 

"What's wrong?" His voice is still gruff with sleep.

"I can’t fall asleep,” you say, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. “Can you talk? It might help me sleep."

He snorts with a laugh. The sound of it makes something pleasant skitter up the length of your spine. He's got a nice laugh. It's a shame he doesn't laugh often.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing. Just... some things never change." Even in the dim of the unlit room, you can see the smile on his lips.

"What do you want me to talk to you about?" he asks.

You tilt your head, considering it. Miguel rarely gives you a carte blanche to ask him for information. Logically, you should use this moment to seize a tactical advantage and ask him for all the salacious details that you know he’s been keeping from you. But as you wrack your brain for questions, the only ones that come to mind are disappointingly ordinary. You just want to know more about him. Small, silly, personal details, the way he seems to know everything about you. 

"Tell me about where you're from," you request, "Your dimension. Your hometown." 

He shifts on the bed, lying flat on his back until he’s staring up at the ceiling with you as he reminisces. 

"It's called Nueva York. It's significantly more technologically advanced than this dimension. Definitely cleaner. People aren't as big of assholes as they are here. Public hygiene is way better, everything doesn’t reek of piss. Oh, and there’s not a rat epidemic in the public transportation system there." 

His head turns to his side to look at your face, and he gives you a small mischievous grin as he continues. "Food is healthier. You don't get junk food there."

The words should be complimentary, but from his tone of voice and what you know of his eating habits, you think it’s probably a win for your dirty, rat-infested dimension.

"Lots of skyscrapers and neon-lights everywhere. It's colorful."

He pauses, as if he's struggling to find anything more to say about the place. Then his head tips to the side, meeting your eyes, and his gaze is soft. 

“I'll take you there," he promises, voice quiet and warm and it makes something sweet and honeyed trickle inside your veins pleasantly. 

“How?” you wonder.

His smile drops, replaced by an unhappy frown. “Not sure yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Can’t we just open up a portal like last time?”

He shakes his head. 

"The last time I took you through the portal, it was meant to take us back to my dimension.  But I built the parallel universe traversal device to transport me—and only me—through the multiverse."

He reaches out to you, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. The contact makes your skin tingle, but you don’t pull away. 

"I wasn't thinking last time. We can’t take the risk of winding up back in the void.” 

He’s mumbling now, nearly asleep. His eyes half-shut as he blinks slowly, struggling to keep them open as he slowly blinks.

"Someone that disappears in the void, they'll be erased from existence and out of every timeline. No one will ever remember you or know you existed. It's as if you've never existed at all."

You eye the watch on your wrist. The slight sheen of the bed light reflecting against the shiny glass.

"Can we modify the watch?"

"Firstly, not a watch", he reminds you by rote as he fluffs up his pillow with his arm. 

"And second..." he pauses, eyes drifting up to study the ceiling before he shakes his head, "I've tried. It doesn’t work. The power source isn’t powerful and your world is not technically advanced enough for me to build an upgraded self-sustaining fusion power source that would be needed. It’s how we ended up in the void.” 

Worry burrows into your chest, and your gaze drops down from his face. It always feels like you’re taking one step forward and ending up two steps back. Futile and hopeless but that’s what you get for trying to fight against the will of the universe. 

"Go to sleep," he says again, his hand coming to rest gently on top of your head, "I'll figure it out, don't worry.”

You smile, warmed by the comforting gesture and his reassurance. 

“I won't let you get hurt this time."

…‘this time.’

The promise cuts through you like glass. Sharp and jagged and clawing its way into your chest until it hurts you to breathe.

Miguel is talking to you, but you don’t think it’s you he’s thinking of when he says the words.

He attacked Wong without a second of hesitation when he thought you were hurt. He's exhausting himself half to death to protect you. But you know that he’s not really doing any of this for you. 

It’s not your comfort he was thinking of when he cradled your burnt hand and gently blew on your fingers. It’s not your love of egg tarts that makes him save the flaky pastries for you when the two of  you go out for dinner. It’s not you—has never been you—that he’s seeing whenever his eyes linger on your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention. 

You're riding on the emotional coattails of the other you. The unwavering loyalty that he had for her has transferred to you now that she's gone.

He must have really loved her. 

There’s a sharp fissure in your chest, and you try to swallow down the thistle of needles that’s found its way into your throat, only to discover that your saliva tastes sour and bitter. 

Closing your eyes, you can see an image of yourself smiling with him, laughing with him, holding his hand. Except it’s not you. 

It’s her. 

Other-you, with the wedding band and the happy life and– And somehow better hair too, the lucky bitch!

Except… she wasn't lucky, was she? She's dead.

She’s dead, and you still resent her for what she had with Miguel. It's such an ugly feeling. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, but the image doesn’t go away. Nor does that acrid taste in your mouth. You can't help it. This irrational and childish madness is eating into the edges of your mind. You're envious of your other self. 

God that’s fucked up. 

Does someone like you even deserve to be saved at all?

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedications: To @thirstworldproblemss for all the rubberducking we do together on this silly little story. Thank you so much for sitting with me and making this fun! I love you 234238472938492374923 x infinity and back again.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

[venusacrossthestars]

right person wrong time? wrong person, a fine time.

Pairing- Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

WC- 2.2k

warnings- angst, Charles is an ass, swearing(?) italics represent flashbacks

f1 masterlist

Its been a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days since Charles broke your heart. Its been a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days since you last saw him. Its been a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days since he said, ‘its not you, its me.’ Its been a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days and yet you can’t fall asleep without thinking what could have been. 

All the traveling and distance was considered to be a curse during your relationship, now you were considering it a blessing. Monaco wasn’t a large country by any means, its own popularity along with its neighboring countries came from  tourist, travelers, and summer home owners. Meaning it was the perfect place to blend in with the hundreds of passing faces. Here you were hoping to go unrecognized. 

The first two weeks of your five week vacation were going swimmingly. You and a couple friends rented out a villa. You all swam, ate good food, shopped, sun tanned, everything you could imagine of a great vacation. 

It was a Tuesday morning and you and your friends were sitting out on the patio at some brunch cafe that was quickly becoming your favorite spot in Monaco when your luck of being incognito had run out. 

“Y/N?” you hear a familiar voice call out, and judging by the reactions of your friends you know exactly who it is.

Turning around in your seat to look up at the caller, you are greeted with the unfortunate sight of your ex-boyfriend. 

“Charles?” 

“Wow, its really you,” he seems surprised. 

“Yup, in the flesh,” you chuckle out uncomfortably. You shoot a look ‘help what do I do’ at your friends. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“On vacation, trying to enjoy the slow season before the fall.” 

“Oh that’s nice.” 

“Yeah.” Neither of you say a word after that. Your friends attention split between you and your ex.

After a moment of silence it seems that Charles finally gets the memo that you would like to get back to brunch, “I’ll leave you be, hopefully I’ll see you around.” 

You don’t reply, why would you lie and say you hoped to see him too? After the way things ended you were seriously hoping to never see Charles Leclerc ever again. 

The past few weeks had been rocky, you knew that. Charles had been having a few couple of weeks. A DNF at his home race, a poor performing car, pressure from the fans. You understood it all to be frustrating. Your work hadn’t been easy either. Someone had split their coffee on your silk piece for your show, you had to spend a full 36 hours having to re-sew the entire thing by hand in order to make the deadline. 

All you wanted right now was to curl up in your boyfriends arms, watch crappy tv and eat even crappier food. But it didn’t seem like any of that was going to be happening with the ominous ‘we need to talk’ text you got from Charles around lunch time.

When you entered the apartment it felt cold, empty, and overall unwelcoming. All the lights were off expect for the ones in the kitchen and sitting at the island was Charles with his head in his hands.

“Babe,” you began as you walked closer, “is everything ok? Your text gave me a bit of a start.” 

Charles doesn't respond and you move to rest your hand on his shoulder, he flinches at the contact as if he is repulsed by your touch. 

“I want to break-up,” Charles states out of the blue. 

Time stops, you swear it. The clock that hangs on the wall doesn’t move nor make a sound, the dripping faucet doesn’t let a drop of water fall, the quiet humming of the air conditioner is absent. All is still, except your rapidly beating heart. 

“What?” you croak out. 

“Its not you, its me.” Charles simply states, back still turned to you. 

“I find that hard to believe when you won’t even look me in the eyes.” You scoff, you can’t believe what you’re hearing. 

Charles shoots out of his chair and faces you. His hands flying up in the air. “I want to break up!” 

A “why?” escapes you  pathetically.  

“Its not you, its me.” he repeats. “The distance, me traveling for my job, you traveling for yours. It’s all too much. I’m not, I can’t do a relationship right now. It’s all too much.” 

“Charles,we talked about this just say the words and I’ll drop it all for you. You know this.” You tell him, referring to your conversation from a few weeks back that how you would take less responsibilities at your job if he wanted you too. 

“I can’t- I can’t do that to you.” 

“Oh but you’ll throw a two year relationship away,” now your angry. He throws this at you out of the blue. No hints, no major changes in his behaviors, nothing. 

“Y/N-” he beings but you are quick to cut him off.

“No, I deserve an explanation as to why this all of the sudden ‘this’ isn’t working.” 

“Y/N” he tries again. 

“It was all fine, yeah we had a few bad weeks but we have a gap week coming and maybe if we just try and relax we can-” 

“Maybe its because I don’t love you!” Charles now interrupts you. “Maybe its because I never loved you.” 

“Well now you are just being mean,” you weren’t going to cry. Why would you? It wasn’t like the man you have given your all too for the past two year was breaking your heart or anything? If you weren’t going to cry then what was running down your cheeks. 

“It’s the truth.” 

“You’re an ass. Typically Charles behavior. Run when things go though or don’t go your way. Too high and mighty.” 

“You don’t know what its like to be me, you wouldn’t understand.” 

“Then explain it to me! I have begged and begged you to let me in and all you do is push me away.” 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“Then you’re right. Its not me, its you. Its always you.” 

“Get out.” 

“What so now your mad that I agree with you?” 

“Get out,” Charles says again. 

“Gladly.” 

Two days have passed since you saw Charles at brunch and as much as you wanted to say it was nothing, you couldn’t. Seeing Charles brought up memories that you didn’t necessarily want to think about while on vacation. 

Today everyone was off doing their own thing, so you had the great idea to wander along the beach. Well it was a great idea until you heard your name being called, once again by no one other than Charles. 

Stopping in your tracks you turn to face the man who claimed he never loved you. 

“Are you following me?” 

Charles looks take aback by the question, “no?” 

You hum and continue walking, Charles follows. 

“I wasn’t kidding when I say it was nice to see you the other day. Its been a while, hasn’t it.” 

“Yup.” Exactly-1 year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and now 6 days,  you think to yourself. 

“So how have you been, anything new?”

“Been good, headlining my own show. Collaborations, sketching up new designs, same old same old.” 

“I saw. Congrats.” 

“Thanks,” you curtly reply. “Anything new with you?” Ever since the break-up you avoided looking at anything Formula 1 related. You can tell by his reaction that he didn’t know that. 

“Well, car is good this year. Still a little early to tell but I’ve got a good feeling about this year.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“Can we talk?” 

“Is that not what we’re doing?” 

“Well, I guess. I mean I want to apologize.” 

This stops you, you really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. You really never wanted to have this conversation ever. You turn now fully facing Charles, squinting at him. 

“I’m sorry for that night. I didn’t mean what I told you. You didn’t deserve any of what I said.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“That’s all you have to say?” 

“And that’s all you have to offer as an apology, after all this time?” 

“Well I’m not perfect.” 

You scoff, “see that, that right there is how I know you aren’t sorry.” 

“I am. I still love you. I was an ass. I was stressed. It was all too much. I truly wasn’t in the mindset to be in a relationship. I wanted to be a good boyfriend.” 

“You wanted to be a good boyfriend?” You chuckle, “if you wanted to be a good boyfriend you would’ve told me what was going on.” 

“You could’ve been a better girlfriend.” 

Typical Charles, is all you can think to yourself. You are now seething, emotions that have been pushed down and down, now surfacing. 

“I was willing to work it out,” you point at your chest, “all of the problems I was willing to work through for you.  I was willing to ignore the hurtful words because I loved you. I would’ve left everything behind. All of it. If it meant being with you. So don’t tell me I could have been a ‘better girlfriend’, unbelievable.” 

“Right person, wrong time.” Charles said quietly. 

You actually laugh at his statement. Was he high? At the beginning you might’ve thought that too. You loved him so deeply that you were willing to over look his flaws. But that night, that faithful night when he ripped your heart out and ran it over with his Ferrari you realized that someone who loved you would never do what he did to you. 

“No Charles, you were the wrong person at a fine time. The right person would try to work out their problems. The right person would listen to their girlfriends concerns. The right person wouldn’t tell the person they love, that they simply never loved them. The right person wouldn’t ask another woman to marry him not even a year later. And yet you stand here claiming to still love me. You wanted to be a good boyfriend, how about you focus on being a good fiance.” 

A look of hurt flashed over Charles face and for a moment you almost felt bad for him. But he hadn’t felt bad when he broke your heart. He hadn’t felt bad when he said that he couldn’t do a relationship and travel. He held no remorse for you when not even a month later he was seen with another woman hanging off his arms. And you know for a fact that he held no remorse when 7 months later he was asking her to be his wife. 

Yes, Charles the same man who told you that he wasn’t ready for a relationship was engaged to another woman. The same woman he was seen with not even a full month after he broke your heart. At first you thought he was cheating on you, who wouldn’t jump to that conclusion. But as much as you hated Charles he did surprisingly had morals. He might’ve met her when with you but you knew, mostly due to his hectic schedule, that he wasn’t cheating on you. 

“Speaking of which, how is the wedding planning going. Its been how long since the two of you got engaged?” You ask. You know how long its been. You know you’re being petty. You know asking about the engagement is a low blow. You should be the bigger person but there is something about the way he is looking at you that fills you with rage and sadness. 

“That’s none of your business.” Charles crosses his arms over his chest defensively. 

“Well I would say this has been nice but lets not kid each other. Charles I do wish you the best with everything, but please, don’t ever talk to me again.” 

You are quick to turn away, you don’t want to hear another word from him. This vacation was meant to be peaceful. You were meant to blend in and have fun. The last thing in the world you were expecting was to run into your ex. 

The once beautiful country of Monaco had now been tainted by the unpleasant memories of a time past. And you knew that no matter how much you loved the atmosphere, the people, the culture that you would never be able to wash the memory of Charles away. Charles Leclerc has officially ruined Monaco for you. 

That night after you recounted the story to your friends over a crappy bottle of tequila, you went to bed and did something you haven’t done for a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days, you googled ‘Charles Leclerc’ and the first thing that that popped up might’ve been a surprise to everyone, but not you. “Charles Leclerc and long-time fiancée mutually call off engagement”. 

And for the first time in a year, 3 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days you fell asleep not thinking of Charles Leclerc and what might’ve been.

taglist- crossed out names mean I could not tag you

@arieslost @astrostar24 @aneverythingwriter @maryseesthings @boiohboii @lexiestarkey @scaramou @anedpev @simplyscorpio @the-untamed-soul @stupendousrebeldreamer @lyana344 @moonlightem @itsbwokenln4 @a-daydreamers-day @barcelono @naturallyspontaneous @bunbun9396 @meredithmeiz @clowngirlsstuff @jordy-jor5 @charlesleclerx @loveyatopluto @lewisroscoelove @graciearnold1 @saiteliites @oliveswiftly @lover122 @dear-fifi @onecojg @martaaairwin1994-blog @bigchrisevansmarvelsoul @sittingalonereads @fuckmylifedudee @hanniesdawn @leonie-swift @havaneselover08 @homosexualjohnwayne @bjralph @naaanasworld @dannyramirezwife @mileeen-aa @futuristicherobailifflamp @boherahpsody

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc angst

[eveningepiphany]

welcome to the final show | H.S, part 2

the girlies asked so I deliver!

read part one here, or check out my masterlist!

summary: after the accidental cafe run in, harry and y/n have wound up with each others numbers. and are quick to go from casual texting to organising another time to meet up. including a cafe trip and an unexpected ice creamery visit.

warnings: fluff, swearing, minor mentions of alcohol, nothing too heavy, just our lovely italyrry who is the sweetest ever.

a/n: thank you all so so much for the incredible amount of support on the first part of this official series. and also for your patience in waiting for me to hurry up and post an update. i know it’s been like 2 weeks since the first part, but I really wanted to give you something i took my time working on <3

———

There’s a certain type of disbelief that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

It’s the kind that you feel straight to your core. That randomly dumps on you during the day like a bucket of water, and leaves your head spinning like that very bucket came crashing down with it.

It happens in a single moment, but lingers for a long time after the fact.

That’s exactly how you felt after harry texted you first. Because not even a few hours later after you’d exchanged numbers, he sent you through, not only a message, but a photo of all things.

One that made your heart swell with its endearing qualities.

A photo of a plate, filled with the food you’d told him earlier that day was one of your favourites.

Sent with a further little message below it,

Your favourite is currently up for grabs at the family gathering. H

The way he’d signed his intial off at the bottom had you nearly throw your phone across the room at how adorable it was.

Like as if you didn’t even know who you were texting.

Again it strewn your thought— is he aware the kind of mental effect this is having on you? Because you’re borderline going to need to phone for an ambulance.

You’re a simple person. A fangirl, to say the least. This shit, despite being able to say ‘I’ve met and talked with Harry Styles for more than 10 minutes’ does not just disappear.

And you had promised yourself not to tell anyone that this had happened— or was happening? Because there would be nothing worse than this somehow ending up online.

And not to treat him like a flighty deer instead of a grown man, but you would hate for that to place a kind of distrust in his hands.

However, all of that self-agreement doesn’t take away the nagging voice in your head that just wants to tell at the very least your immediate friends and family.

But you’re proud to say— after a long 2 minutes of pacing around your hotel room— you manage to craft a reply back.

Well, only after a few rough and undeniably embarrassing drafts that quickly get deleted out of the text bar.

You’re back to sitting on the floor against the bed frame, facing the window looking out on the gorgeous colours of the evening Italian sky.

Heart pounding, and you’re sure this scene from a third person perspective would look like it was pulled from a hallmark movie.

Girl fawning over man’s simple text. Kicking her feet in the glow of Italian sun, with a glass of wine on the floor next to her.

You stared at your finalised message and decided if you didn’t send it now, you would spiral into a never ending pit of doubt. And just end up overthinking the whole thing.

So you just did it. And now on the screen, under his blue message, was your own grey one.

there’s no way. it looks so good! im gonna see if it’s on my room service menu tbh. consider me inspired.

You bit your knuckles. Acting up like a fucking teenager. Waiting for the shock to subside before you actually get up to find the hotel menu.

After you replied back, you were sweating, honestly. Anxious at the fact you had just sent a text to Harry Styles. And unlike a conversation, that shit is permanent. So too bad if it comes off embarrassing.

Which of course, it didn’t on his end. Unbeknownst to you, he almost physically gleamed at sight of your name on his screen for the first time.

You’d nearly dropped your glass of wine when your phone vibrated up on the counter of the hotels kitchen where it was charging.

It’d been about half an hour from when you replied, you’d since ordered room service and sat in your bed to watch tv.

You made sure to place your glass elsewhere as you ran over to grab your phone.

If it wasn’t already all gone I’d save you some. Any luck with the room service?

You’d replied back swiftly, disregarding any kind of waiting to text back rule. You were all too eager to wait.

i managed to score some up from the room service. didn’t look as appetising as yours, but it was still enjoyed. x

And at this, he smiled, looking at the Italian sunset as he thought of you with a curiosity he recognised as all too unhealthy.

———

If you had told yourself two days ago in that cafe, that you have had several full conversations with harry after getting his number… you probably would have laughed.

Yet its not a joke of any kind. You can pinch yourself over and over again looking at those texts, but all you’ll end up with is a bruise and they will be just as real.

But as you read over the most recently received one, pinching would have not been enough of a reality check.

Maybe a frying pan? Probably would do the trick.

You scanned over his words, rubbing your eyes like you were tired and seeing shit— even though you’d been awake since 9am, which was 2 hours ago.

Unless you have plans, I’m going to try this cafe a friend recommended me a while back, if you wanted to tag along?

[ 1 attachment link]

And there’s simply no way that this is happening? But after 30 seconds without a follow up text telling you he’s accidentally sent this to the wrong person, you sit up straight.

Well, you’re not about to ask him if he’s serious right now, so you channel every fibre of casualness left within you and use it to construct a response.

id love to! I’ll get ready to go soon if you want to meet there before 12:30?

That works perfectly. did you need a lift, or are you in walking distance. I can pick you up if you need.

You almost keel over at his offer, and the absolute gentleman move he just made.

You also realise you didn’t even look where the cafe was. Because if Harry Styles asks you to go somewhere with him the answer should always be yes. Figure out the means of getting there and back later.

Either way you open the link and get taken to google maps, and the cafe in question is literally a 10 minute walk away from you.

im in walking distance, it’s about 10 minutes away. so I’ll just make my way there at about 12:15! thank you for the lovely offer though.

And you move as quickly as possible from your bed to your suitcase, ready to tear that thing apart for an outfit.

You don’t want to be over the top, but you have to go with something on the shorter side because it’s already in the high 20’s and it’s not even afternoon yet. So you lug out the many summer dresses you crammed in there, hoping that one of them will strike your interest.

Some get tossed back into your bag as you filter through them, not making the cut for a variety of reasons— like showing too much of your cleavage.

Yea, a good few of them get ruled out for that reason.

But eventually— and thank god, because you were starting to loose hope— you find one that is perfect for the occasion. It’s all types of flowy and comfortable, but still maintains the pretty connotation that summer dresses are known for.

Before putting it on, you go into the bathroom and do your morning routine— fixing your hair as a final step, but deciding to leave it out since there is hardly any wind outside to make it a mess. Plus it will suit the dress.

You somehow managed to take long enough that the next time you look at your phone you realise it’s nearing 12:15pm a lot faster than you expected. So you hustle to get the rest of your shit together, and make your way out the door.

The walk there is as peaceful as you could imagine, just the sounds of chatter from passer-by’s and birds lingering in trees dotting the sidewalk.

But on the inside you are still panicking. The last time you’d meet him in a cafe was a total surprise. This time it’s planned, and that leaves too much room for your brain to overthink it.

As you finally push through the doors of the cafe you had found your way to, a tiny bell above jingles. But you’re hardly focused on it as you look to the front counter.

Seeing the exact person you were here for already grabbing two drinks from a barista at what you can only assume is a pickup counter.

As he spins around, he catches your momentary surprise, complimented by flushed cheeks. To this he smiles and nods you over with his head.

He looked excited to see you. Like a longtime pair of friends meeting up again after a while apart.

Your feet kick back into gear at his nod, following him over to a table that’s tucked into the corner. He had his pleasing bag slung across the top of the chair.

“Hi lovely,” he says the minute you’re close enough to hear his deep voice.

“Hi Harry.” You smile, heart still beating too fast. The words feeling different as they get spoken from your mouth.

He walks the few steps around the table, closing the gap still between you— and he doesn’t wait for you to hug him, he just pulls you straight into the warmth of his arms.

Wrapping you up in a way that you can smell the cologne lingering on the dip of his neck into his shoulder.

His accent is muffled by your hair as he talks gently, “how’ve you been?”

The common question has your head reeling. In its simplicity is still sweetness.

You pull back, his eyes training on yours, looking keenly at you, awaiting an answer from your almost shy lips.

“I— yes, I’ve been really good thank you.” You nod, how could you not be? Look where your standing, who you’re standing with.

“What about you…?” You ask, watching as the corners of his pink mouth upturn.

He’s freshly shaven, you notice, and your fingers twitch with the need to glide over the smooth skin of his cheek.

You resist as he answers, still relatively closer than you should be out in a public place.

“I’m doing well, even better now.” He raises his eyebrows, a cheeky grin coming on his face.

He revels in blood that rushes into your cheeks, reddening them up like you’ve just run a mile.

“Oh, stop it. You’re a bloody flirt.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to play it off, and you also take a step back to seat yourself in the chair at the table he’d picked.

Maybe he was a flirt at most times. But from his perspective, with you in a dress like that? Not to sound like he’s drawing on the one direction lyrics, but as if you don’t know you’re beautiful.

I mean, sure, he thinks you’re aware that you’re pretty. But in the way it’s working him up, you seem to be clueless.

Because he’s almost stumbling on his words at the sight of you, soft fabric flowing seamlessly over your tan skin, cutting off above your knees leaving him with thoughts that he should not be having in a public space.

But at the same time, he tries to convince himself it’s nothing but a wholesome coincidental friendship. Even though if at any point tabloids get a hold of this, it will be very very far from that.

You’re watching as he looks a little caught up in thought, and you chuckle at it.

The sweet noise breaks him out of it, and he’s grateful for that. It was a rabbit hole he was happy to just not go down right now.

“Can’t help it,” he shrugs, going over to his own seat.

“Now, i need the full story of what happened with your friends luggage at the Singapore airport?”

You let out a laugh, a little surprised he even remembers to bring it up. You had been texting about travel, and told him the time your friend had her luggage lost in a layover between Singapore and London last month.

“I mean, where did it leave it off?” You had explained a partial amount of the story. But told him, if you’d planned another cafe trip it would be a lot easier to explain the ins and outs.

And he was overly excited to watch you tell the tale. Watch the way your hands moved as you animatedly told the story, and the way your eyes get a little lost in thought.

He caught tiny glimpses of it the first time you’d met, but he craved to watch it happen in full. Among other things.

You told him how you’d had 12 hour layover, but that you guys didn’t want to book a hotel since they were so expensive. But you were still meant to collect your luggage— and everyone else but your friend Bonnie got it back.

“She’s Scottish, crazy red hair and she is like a fire cracker. She was actually at the last show, in the front with us, but anyway— so she’s running around Singapore airport accosting all the staff with her stressed out and angry Scottish accent.”

You went back and forth with the many fuck arounds of that day, how you went from halfway across the airport to a misplaced baggage unit per a staffs advice, only for the lady at the front desk to say it wasn’t there— and to go back to the support centre.

“It was not funny at the time,” you said, “but fuck, looking back now it’s pretty good. And it makes a fun story to tell.”

“So where did she actually get her stuff back?” He asks, frowning with a curious smile.

“Oh, like 6 hours after we originally got off the plan. They’d told us to wait up at that little customer support place and after like another hour and a half, some really frazzled guy came running up with it.”

And you laughed at the image in your head, sweaty and looked terrified he’d gotten the wrong bag, “We asked where it had gotten lost, but he just asked if it was certainly ours, then when we said yes he nodded and practically ran the other way.”

Harry was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

“God, is that quite a story.”

“See why I said texting it would have been way too hard.” You amend, reaching for the deserted cup of tea you hadn’t even drank out of yet, taking a sip.

Exactly how you like it, and you smile. Watching him watch you drink it.

“Just how you like it, yea?” He asks to confirm. But also lost a little in the way the liquid seamlessly travels from the cup down your throat.

“Yea, perfect.” You nod, clutching the warm cup between your hands, tongue swiping out over your lips.

“Anyways, what about your own crazy travel stories. Since you’ve done plenty of it.” You prompt, unaware of his remaining gaze.

The afternoon went of just like that. Telling stories and sharing funny little anecdotes that had you laughing so hard that tears were about to spill from your waterline.

You slowly forget that it’s Harry Styles you’re sitting with. And of course that sounds weird. But it’s like there came a certain point in the afternoon where he just became simply Harry.

Nothing more, nothing less.

It had been a rather long time you sat in that same cafe with him. So much that the chairs, originally very comfortable, had started to become the opposite as time flew on.

“Are these chairs starting to hurt your ass too?” He asks, humour lacing his tone as he watches you adjust yourself in the chair for the third time in the last 10 minutes.

“Yea, the metal seats are lowkey not it.” At this he laughs, the way you word things somehow being more entertaining than most.

“Well, cmon, I already paid, we can go for a walk if you want?” He rises from his place, and you’ve never stood up quicker.

“Braving the Italian sun at its very brightest are we?” You joke, smiling as he grabs his bag and slings it over one of his broad shoulders.

“Could be a big regret, could also be very scenic.” He says as you grab both your empty cups.

“I forgot to put sunscreen on as well, so might have a different colour forehead to the rest of my body but… oh well.” he shurgs, following you over to the small bin by the cafe door.

You’re immediately thinking of the time he went to a show after going out golfing and he had a sunburnt head.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” And it takes you by surprise that the teasing words made it out of your mouth.

Yet, he seems happily indifferent to it, like it’s of course something you’d know, “Whatever you.”

Your laughing at his response as you hold the door open for him, exiting the cafe into the heat.

A tortured sigh is let out of you both at the swelter of it. The concrete pavement doing nothing but intensify it.

“I underestimate the weather every day here, I’m wearing too many layers of clothing to be dealing with this.”

“Take your hoodie off you dolt.”

He usually keeps layers on so that his tattoos are less visible. Since they’re often a dead giveaway of who he is. So his hands hesitates as they slip to the hem of his jumper.

“Don’t tell me you went out with just a jumper on, no other layers. In Italy?” You shake your head, still smiling as you slowly walk into the shaded part of the sidewalk.

“No— I did.” He laughs, “just m’tattoos usually garner some attention.”

He clarifies, “that sounded really egotistical, not the tattoos themselves, I meant people recognise me easier when they’re out.”

“Oh!” You stumble a little in your thought process. Feeling a little silly for not realising.

“I kind of like… forgot?” You say, coming to a stop as he eventually succumbs to the heat and peels the jumper over his head. Folding it up and popping it into his bag, glancing at you with a tiny breathe of relief at his new found ventilation. Hands moving to tousle with his hair in attempt to flatten it after pulling the jumper over it.

“I mean, i did. too honestly.” He agrees, continuing to walk forward.

You read into that a million different ways. But he makes sure you don’t get confused, “Y/N, don’t look so worried. I just mean you’re a very easy person to get… i dunno, lost in.”

Oh okay? How does one just casually continue putting one foot in front of the other after someone says something like that?

“You flatter me too much.” You roll your eyes, still as awful as ever at masking your shock or adoration for something someone’s said.

“Cmon, you’re just too humble i think.” He bumps you with his shoulder.

You’re laughing at him. But stop dead in your tracks as you stop something across the road.

“H.” You say, and he also comes to a halt. Taking a moment to process your use of his nickname. Like the way it so gently came from you.

Yet you sound almost dire, so he’s looking over where you are, scanning the sunny street for something that could possibly concern you?

For a moment he thinks it may be paparazzi, but this side of town is usually much better in regards to that.

He feels protective of you, “What? Are you okay?”

“There’s ice cream over there.” You say, hand coming up to cover your mouth a little.

A breath of relief fills his lungs, “i— you made it out like this was a life or death situation about t’unfold.”

Your expression turns to a grin, “no, i just love Italian ice creameries!”

“Can we please go and get some?” You glance back to him, and his own smile widens at your face. Gleaming with this unfiltered excitement over something so simplistic.

“Of course we can.” And you’re immediately grabbing his wrist to tug him across the road towards the shop.

“As if I could say no to you, anyway.” He laughs as he keeps up with your quick pace, clearly on a mission.

Once inside the store, with its pink and mint coloured walls and decor, you move to look at the collection of flavours.

The staples such as vanilla and strawberry, but then a small selection of more slightly diverse ones, like peanut butter brownie or salted caramel.

Their cookie dough ice cream looks amazing though, filled with chocolatey chunks of cookie. So you decide relatively fast that’s what you want.

And then you turn to Harry, whose eyes are still darting between flavours indecisively.

“What one do you want?” You ask, and he adverts his eyes to you.

“No I’ll order.” He shakes his head.

“No-no. Let me get this for you, please.” He goes to protest and you nudge him with your elbow, “don’t be stubborn. I want to get you something.”

“I— fine. But know you’re just as pushy as i am.” He scoffs with a laugh.

“I’ll get… maybe chocolate?” He points to it, and you nod.

The older lady at the counter is overly lovely, and you’re rattling off your order to her with a beaming smile.

Harry watches your interaction with her, and how you take a moment to compliment the heart covered apron she was wearing.

His heart trips over it’s own rhythm at the sight.

You pays and he still feels a little guilty, but figures he can make it up to you next time they go out by getting you a cookie or two with your tea.

You come back to his side with the two cones, stacked two scoops tall, and hand one to him.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to though.”

“It’s fine, Harry. Do you wanna find somewhere outside to sit?” You ask, turning to wave at the lady who served you as your slowly exiting the shop.

“Sure, i saw that little bench under a tree a couple shops down near that park.” He nods, taking his turn to lead the way there.

You shortly find the way there, sitting yourselves down on it, looking out onto a small playground with some kids swinging on monkey bars and sliding down the slide.

“Italian ice cream will forever be the best kind of ice cream.” You sigh out with pleasure, licking over the cool scoop.

He unwittingly is blushing at the sight, suddenly batting away mental images at the sight of your pink tongue jutting out of your mouth.

Shaking his head, he pushes them aside. “Definitely. You can tell it’s handmade.”

He busies his own tongue on his own ice cream, only stealing occasional glances to you at his side.

But he can’t help but tilt his cone to you, “Wanna try the chocolate?”

His offer comes as the equivalent of a brick to the head, but you’re invested in making yourself not seem psychotic.

So you nod nonchalantly, “i will, but I have a feeling that’s just because you want some of mine.”

“Mm, maybe I do a little.” He agrees, but any other coherent thought dies where it was in his head at you leaning over to his own cone. Your tongue running over the ice cream, collecting up its sweet residue.

You nod, “That’s so good.” Acting like you’ve got a normal internal monologue right now. Even though she’s hurling things at you that you can’t all process in such a short flash of time.

You just put your mouth where his has been! He is about to do the same thing! His eyes look a little blown out! What the fuck!

Pretty much what it sounds like up there, along with some alarm bells and screaming.

However you just gesture your cone to him, taking mental images of him mirroring what you did just before.

He hums a sound of enjoyment as he pulls back, glancing up at you, pinning you with his green gaze. “Good choice.”

You agree with a slight mumble, shaking your head momentarily to clear your thoughts. Ready to change the subject so you can internally recollect yourself.

“I only regret sitting out here since it’s melting so fucking fast.”

“I know,” he also settles quickly back into the normality of the moment, “i cant eat it quicker than the rate it’s melting.”

“It’s cold though, which is at least a win.”

Conversation trails on as normal while you finish off the ice cream. Discussing if biting the bottom off an ice cream cone is normal or not.

And before you know it you check your phone when you get a text from your mum, asking what time you’re able to call tonight.

She misses you heaps, you can tell. But despite the timezone difference you are making it work.

You also glance up at the time and realise it’s nearing 4pm. And you have just spent majority of the afternoon with Harry.

You also realise you’d agreed to have dinner with all of your friends in one of their hotel rooms tonight.

“Seems like it’s my turn to have to be the one to bail.” You say, popping your phone in your back pocket and looking back at Harry.

“That’s okay, love, what’s the plans for the evening.”

You explain that you’ll go over the the girls hotel room and probably just eat pizza, and then go back to your own room and call your mum for a bit.

He feels a little sad you even have to leave, which is odd, but he nods anyway, “That sounds fun. Solid plan.”

You reluctantly rise from your seat next to him. “So…” you take a tiny breath in, “am I the one picking the next cafe we go to?”

He beams internally at the fact you’re also trying to plan the next time you’re able to meet up with each other.

“I reckon so, Angel.” He stands as well, “I’m good for any day.”

Any plans he has can be rearranged for you.

“Alright!” You feel better immediately knowing you can see him again soon.

“Thanks for the ice cream too, by the way.” He says, walking back over to the pathway with you.

“It’s okay.” You smile, nervously being the one to give him a goodbye hug. A small flutter erupts in your stomach as his hands pull you flush to him around your lower back.

“I’ll see you soon, mkay?��

“Yea. Ill talk to you later.” You remind yourself that he’s easily accessible to talk to. You literally have his number.

“Bye H.” You give him a squeeze, pulling away with a smile, “Bye Y/N.” And you wave as you start the walk back to your hotel. Plenty of things to think about.

———

“Did you guys see the supposed pics of harry today on harryflorals? He was hanging out with someone apparently!” Nina asks everyone.

Only two of you hadn’t, including yourself.

She passes the phone first to you, and you frown.

“I know, looks like it’s taken on a potato.” She says, assuming your furrowed brows are due to the fact the image is really hard to get anything from.

Unless you know that park bench he’s ‘allegedly’ sitting on. And that the blurry figure next to him is almost certainly you— but no one else can tell.

“Yea… shit that is…” You pause, brain freezing a little, “bad quality.”

You hand her phone back. But caption of the post still festering in your head long after the moment is over.

HARRY *SUPPOSEDLY* WITH A GIRL IN ITALY TODAY! but this is the only pic we got 💔

———

ahh and that’s part two! I hope you guys are enjoying this, and I’m so excited to write more about these two. cant wait for you to see what’s in store for them.

thank you again for your patience while waiting for this second part, and to all the lovely people who requested this oneshot to be made into something more.

taglist:

@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @lquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss

+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #fanfiction #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #famous!harry #fangirl! y/n #welcome to the final show #series #harry styles series #strangers to friends to lovers #fluff #harry styles writing #hes so perfect #italyrry

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 2 -  La Valse de Paris

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k

AuthorsNote: Chapter 2 of new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This details our reader settling into Paris and the outbreak of war. Benedict turns up next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

Paris, September 1939

Your first few weeks in Paris are a delightful blur. 

Spending late summer exploring the city - with Solène as your occasional guide and Eloise when she is not at work. You soak up every moment, from the windswept magnificence of standing atop the Eiffel Tower, your words being stolen by the wind, to the monastic silence of the Louvre on a quiet Monday morning. And everything in between - from Notre Dame's atmospheric incense-laden gothic darkness to the airy, resplendent glass dome of Galeries Lafayette that glitters like a prismatic jewel even on cloudy days. 

But perhaps your favourites are the little slices of city life: sitting watching the world go by at a corner cafe, the crunch and warm, pillowy softness of the first bite of freshly baked baguette as you wander back from the boulangerie, the lingering fragrance of the rose garden at the Château de Bagatelle in Bois de Boulogne... It's all pieces of a puzzle that fill your heart in ways that make your life before now seem drab, almost in black and white, like a photograph.

You have written to Stanley once since you arrived, effusive in your praise, a homily to your new home, however temporary. While proclaiming his happiness for you, his response tempered, a touch dismissive of your wonderment. I can scarcely believe any city could truly live up to the praise you so readily heap upon Paris, my love, he wrote back. That was a week ago, and your urge to reply has been muted. 

It's during an idle lunchtime by the Seine, eating a sandwich as you dangle your feet over the river wall, that you genuinely feel a local. An elderly French couple, likely visiting from the provinces, approaches you and asks you for directions to the Musée de l'Homme. Part of you aglow they think you sophisticated enough to look Parisian, and French. And you are able to help them, giving them the information in French, not fluent but sufficient that they are surprised when you confess “je suis américaine”.

In your third week, you secure the art gallery job Eloise had seen posted. An opportunity to meet many new people, primarily British and American, who share your love of art of all persuasions. You spend many a happy hour answering questions and building your knowledge of art, not just in your gallery but across the city. Part of you is wistful to study the subject in even greater depth than the books you borrow in copious quantities from the library where Eloise works.

You grow so close to Eloise so quickly that it’s as if you have known her your whole life. A sense of kinship, a near familial bond. You know, on some instinctive level, she will always be a part of your life somehow. Your evenings are often spent in lounge bars together—venues awash with art deco splendour as you listen to jazz through a cigarette haze and flirt aimlessly with a carousel of handsome men. Life seems so full of potential, a hum in your very being.

“What do you think the purpose of life is, y/n?” Eloise sighs as she flops onto your bed after returning from one such decadent night out.

“Aaaand we are done with the brandy…” you declare, taking the bottle of Martell cognac from her grip and placing it pointedly on the dresser, your high-handed point only mildly undermined by your own unsteady gait.

You collapse down next to her, the intricate ceiling rose around your light fixture swirling slightly before your very eyes.

“Love?” you hazard in answer to her question.

“Boo! Cliché!” she jeers, elbowing you good-naturedly.

“I don’t just mean romantic love,” you protest, “the love of family… friends…”

“Ah, yes, family. Endlessly large family. Don’t suppose you want an extra sibling or two, do you? I could be persuaded to let a couple go,” she squints comically.

“Depends… can I have the artist?” you jest.

“You have to stop staring at that painting; it's getting weird,” she opines with her typical bluntness, “and no, you can’t. You know he’s my favourite,” she pouts.

“I think he’s my favourite too,” you opine over a stifled yawn, any embarrassment about being called out for your unbridled admiration overridden by the sleepy state your comfortable bed lulls you into.

“If you end up being attracted to my brother, I will have to disown you, you know,” she pats your hand drowsily.

“Hmm, good thing he’s so far away…” you trail off with a lazy giggle, eyes drooping heavily.

It’s the last words you exchange before you both fall asleep on your bed.

–

Perhaps, as with all things that are too good, the idyll is temporary. It's the news you wake up to that following morning, September 4th, which throws everything into uncertainty. Solène knocks on your door early with an uncharacteristically sombre expression, wordlessly handing you the morning paper and flicking on the wireless on your mantelpiece, the fine lines on her face deeper etched, furrowed with worry.

‘La Guerre!’ the headline screams from the newspaper. And the voice on the airwaves, your ear more attuned to the language now, details how Britain and France have jointly declared war against Germany for their invasion of Poland a few days prior.

At the sound of the radio, Eloise emerges from your room, blinking and hair asunder, a little delicate from your previous night's revelry. You sip coffee at a loss for what to think or do. It’s an odd cognitive dissonance when life at once seems identical but also changed by an invisible shape - an undercurrent of fear, of the unknown, a punch to the pit of your stomach that you don’t know how to acknowledge - even as you go through the motions of your daily routine and head to work.

By the evening you are more phlegmatic about the situation. Your spirit dampened, yes, but not crushed. You feel an immense sense of privilege that conflict is not yet at your doorstep, but equally knowing being in the capital city of a nation that just declared war against a neighbouring country is not exactly safe.

You and Eloise splash out on dinner at an upscale brassiere that night, one you have both passed and commented you’d love to dine in some time. Both of you seized by the unspoken “what if”, the previous reluctance to treat yourselves entirely absent.

Talk on all the tables around you as you dine - on heavenly butter-soft steak - is about the war. What it could mean for Paris, fear of another major European conflict so soon after the last, the economic concerns - the bite of the early 30s depression just relinquishing its hostile grip on the somewhat bruised denizens.

Afterwards, you wander the cobbled streets back to your apartment, arms looped, bellies full, occasionally staring up at the starry night sky in mostly contemplative, sober silence. It’s a beautiful evening, but something in the warm breeze feels melancholic.

When you open the door to your building, Solène is waiting, rocking on her heels.

“Eloise, a telegram has come for you!” she announces, shoving a piece of paper into her hand. “And a telephone call from England earlier,” she adds, gesturing to the black rotary phone outside her place—the only one in the building.

Eloise gives you a brief glance and then opens the message. You watch her eyes ping across the text before her shoulders slump.

“My mother,” she sighs in explanation, “it appears she is summoning me back home.”

“What?!” the selfish reflex of not wanting to be left alone is the first thing flaring in you.

“It’s not fair!” she whines in a flash of child-like defiance before continuing in a more subdued tone. “She is sending my brother to come get me. She doesn’t specify which, but seeing as Anthony is a Lieutenant General in the Army and has likely been called to Churchill’s side, I'm presuming Benedict,” Eloise surmises. 

Your thoughts instantly fly to that painting hanging in your apartment upstairs. A strange flutter under your ribs at the idea you could be about to meet its creator. Quickly followed by a wash of guilt that you could even focus on such a frivolous thing.

“What will I do without you?’’ You fret aloud, grasping her arm tighter.

“There was a call for you too, y/n,” Solène pipes up. “Your father wants you to exchange your return ticket for a sailing home as soon as possible,” she relays.

“But.. I just got here!” your lament as defiant as Eloise’s. A frustrating sense you are losing a fleeting opportunity you already hold so precious - like a new toy being ripped from the meaty fist of a truculent toddler.

“Mes amis, what can I say?” that trademark Gallic shrug seizing Solène’s shoulders. “While Paris is safe for now, we do not know how much longer that will hold true… it is likely best you return home. Perhaps this will be over in weeks, and you can return?”

You know your parents have paid your rent upfront for a whole year, likely similar for Eloise, your landlady not impacted financially by your leaving, merely a wish for you to enjoy your Parisian adventures.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and wander in, both of you sigh; the illumination from the Eiffel Tower that refracts upon your window pane just adds to your melancholia, a sight that before had never failed to warm your heart.

“When will your brother get here?” your inflection dull.

“Tomorrow, most likely. It only takes a couple of hours to cross the Channel, and as you know, the train ride from the coast is just a few more. I expect he’ll be waiting for me right here when I return from work,” her tone is just as flat as yours.

You want to ask if she will pack tonight, but you stop yourself, seeing the flame that usually burns so bright behind her blue eyes dimmed. Wordlessly, you draw closer and pull her into a firm hug.

“I will miss you like a sister,” she whispers into your hair, returning the embrace just as fiercely, “maybe moreso.”

You nod and band your arms tighter briefly before letting go, bone-deep exhaustion overtaking anything else you see in her mirrored stance.

The last thing that captures your eye as Eloise turns to her room is that painting of her childhood home and, strangely, how it feels closer now than ever before.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[holdinbacksecrets]

who in svt would get as close as possible to you in the subway train while you're standing and hover over you, just to assert their dominance? i feel like it would be mingyu and coups the most, god i can hear those shit eating grins-

ohmygod

also, what about being afraid to ride public transportation unless you’re with him… you probably had one uncomfortable night ride and told yourself never again. then minghao told you to call him whenever it’s late and you have somewhere to go. you have to close your eyes the first time and focus on the feeling of his hand holding yours. with time, you go from watching him alone, to the scenery outside the window to the fellow passengers in the subway car.

mingyu and seungcheol… they’re the boys to ride with during rush hour and the odds are not in your favor for getting a seat, but you’re glued to his strong build, barely noticing the sudden jerks. it doesn’t hurt that his cologne overwhelms your senses in the best way, and his knuckles run up and down the length of your spine continuously. hell, you nearly fall asleep.

every one stares at jeonghan when you take the train together, but he’s too focused on the details of your day and convincing you to come to a few of the abroad tour stops or entertaining you with his latest debacle

joshua meets you at your stop every night he can and ohmygod how it releases all the butterflies and love confetti. he leans against the closest light post and you beam

once, you and jun waited at a bus stop for two hours in the pouring rain, and the memory is something you write down again every few months because you’re terrified it will leave you before you write your wedding vows

soonyoung would light up like a christmas tree taking a train in europe during your honeymoon. so many pictures. so much love. so wholesome

reading the same book with wonwoo who looks over at you and waits for your approval to turn the page. he stops reading if you fall asleep

you convinced jihoon to take a mattress on public transit once. it was a distressing experience, and now he won’t even whisper metro card

seokmin packs sandwiches for you in a cute lunch box he ordered online, and you exude a cheshire-wide smile every time you read his notes. he also loves to take public transportation for dates. like picnics only happen if you take the bus because in his head, they go hand in hand, and watching him sit beside you with the gingham blanket on his lap as he mindlessly trails his fingertips over your hand on the way to the park makes your heart melt

you’ve watched seungkwan on the train for months and try not to laugh at his unimpressed expressions or his dissatisfaction with an americano picked up from a new cafe. every time you try to talk to him, his stop is coming too soon, and you’re terrified of making him late or interrupting is schedule

you finally connected with hansol on the bus after months of stolen glances. it took you a couple weeks to realize you ride bus five at the same time at least a few times during the week. you’re amused and keep track of how long it takes for him to notice and gradually work his way closer to your seat until he gets on three stops late and the only available spot is beside you. he says: “did you forget your headphones?” before offering you one of his airpods. the first song he plays is one of your favorites, and it gives you chills

chan meets you at the red line and always has a book in his bag for you to read if the car gets crowded. having something else for you to focus on is his top priority, as if his hand in yours wouldn’t do the job just fine

#seventeen reactions #seventeen fluff #seventeen blurbs #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seungcheol scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #joshua scenarios #jun scenarios #soonyoung scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jihoon scenarios #seokmin scenarios #mingyu scenarios #minghao scenarios #seungkwan scenarios #hansol scenarios #chan scenarios

[succubusonthedoorstep]

ArtTeacher! Geto x Fem Reader (Part Two!)

Warnings? Explicit Language and Smut, sir kink, choking, breeding kink, possessiveness, reader is inexperienced.

2.5 Word Count. Read Part One Here!

Author's Notes? finally uploading this <3 send requests and hcs, while i still work on longer fics mwah

ArtTeacher! Geto’s yawn echoes throughout his empty classroom- the lights flickering to life a beat late. The room smelled of paint and morning air as the windows were left open from the day before. 

To say the least, the room was a mess. The freshman class seemed to have the cleaning habits of toddlers. He rarely even came in at this time, but he made an exception for you. 

The previous day, late into Saturday night, you texted Geto about coming in early for a head start on your new project. He assumed you must’ve gotten his number from the school website, while yours was already saved in his phone. He felt his ears go hot as the next text came in.

(Name:) i’d love to get your feedback on it too!

He glanced at the clock that read eight am- an hour Geto usually spent out on a jog or still in bed because the weekend allowed him. He’d prefer your company over breakfast or coffee, but he’d settle for class with no way to comfortably bring a date up.

He spent the next few minutes obsessing over the state of his classroom. During the week it served as the beginner’s art course and they often left it in disarray. Geto had to start locking up the resources and completed works from his class, as they often went missing.

But with no time for him to worry about it, Geto began setting up your workstation. You’d be here any minute and he didn’t want you to waste your time doing something he could’ve started. All of your time should be dedicated to your art.

The soft knock at the door signaled your arrival, and Geto felt his heart drop in his chest. He sets down clean brushes at your easel before making his way over to the door and opening it for you.

Looking down, his eyes gravitated to the sundress you must’ve worn for him. Making his way down, your hard nipples poked through the thinness of the cloth and Geto’s mouth watered. He wrote it off, as he hadn’t had breakfast and you looked good enough to eat. If he had you how he wanted, you’d be spread across his desk with your toes in his mouth and his fingers in your cunt. 

“I brought you coffee, sir! I wasn’t sure how you’d like it, so I got the good sugar and cream from the cafe,” Bright as always, you gave him a sweet smile and entered the class to set the cups down. “I really appreciate you letting me come in early.”

Firmly shutting the door behind him, Geto watched your ass in the dress as you set your bag down to pull out packets of sugar and cream. “It’s not a problem…” He lost what else he had on his tongue, enamored by your thinking of him. 

“Aw, and you got me all set up?” You asked, gathering the ends of your dress to sit on the cushioned chair. “Where’s yours?”

“My what?” He asked, picking up a lidded cup from the on-campus cafe. 

“Your chair?” You say it like it’s the most obvious thing. With your half-done canvas in front of you, Geto handed you a palette while he sipped the caffeinated drink. While he’d love to keep you company as he watched you do his favorite activity, the room was trashed. He’d think those damn freshmen were doing this on purpose, keeping him from you.

Grabbing a chair and pulling it beside yours, Geto looked at you pointedly. “I’ll check on you in a minute; I just have to do this before my next class,” he explained. The (unintentional) doe eyes you gave him didn’t work- only creating thoughts of those same eyes filling with tears as he face-fucked you.

A playlist Geto selected before you came in tuned out the sounds of him tossing empty bottles into the trash and sweeping the floor. The jazzy mix of melodies helped the both of you at your tasks- you’d begun the next step in your art process, and Geto got to sneak peeks at your cute face scrunched up in concentration. 

Cleaning the room was soon insignificant; reduced from an hour of work for anyone else to 30 minutes for him. 

Rolling up his sleeves he finished wiping down a few more easels before lowering the volume and taking his seat next to you. The black coffee had done its job, that’s for sure. 

“Do you like it?” You asked, setting your brush into a cup of water. His mouth was set in a hard line as he analyzed the brushstrokes and tones of color you’d created. He wasn’t sure before this how proficient you were before, but now there was no doubt in his mind. 

“It’s beautiful,” he began, leaning back into his chair and making his legs comfortable before scooting closer to your easel. “But, let me show you something. Pick up your brush.”

You obeyed, taking your brush in your hand and standing from your chair at the flick of his chin. Large, warm hands rested on your waist as he guided you back into his lap. With your palette in one hand and your waist in the other, Geto could watch you work from a much better angle.

“A-Are you sure this will help? I don’t wanna block your vision…”

“You won’t,” He simply said, already feeling his cock growing in his pants. The curve of your lower back into your perfect ass had Geto’s hand dangerously low on your hips. “Watching you from here allows me to see from your perspective. Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, sir.”

“Then don’t allow me to delay you any longer,” he concluded, setting you on his clothed cock and watching you work. You could feel his eyes on your canvas, examining the vulnerability you expressed through your medium. Adjusting yourself on his lap, Geto let out a barely audible groan at the friction.

So you continued, despite the growing heat between your legs. When you’d lean forward to dip your brush into water, Geto’s thick bulge would grind deliciously into your cunt. You probably looked so slutty, you thought, sitting in your teacher’s lap like this. 

Idly whining your waist in Geto’s lap was just pleasurable enough to continue working, until he couldn’t take anymore. 

“Wait, (Name). Like this,” The hand on your waist guided you back and forth over his dick print. You weren’t sure how this could help with your art, but he was the expert, right?

At least he sounded pleased. The light breathing became heavier and the hand on your hip lost its innocence. Thick fingers dug into your ass, slowly lifting the thin fabric of your dress until Geto revealed your cute light pink thong. The brush you held between your fingers trembled from the bliss of finally having him beneath you.

Next came the clinking of Geto’s belt unbuckling and hitting the floor, your panties not following long after. He had set the palette down in favor of pulling down the front of your dress to pinch and flick at your nipples.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” He demanded, slapping your ass and humming in appreciation at your desperate whimpers. The paintbrush slipped from your fingers and landed at your feet. “Not your first time seducing an older man?” 

“S-Seducing?!” You exclaimed, shifting to sit on his thigh and catch his lust-filled gaze. His lips were hovering over yours, maintaining eye contact as he took your hand and guided it over the bulge in his underwear. Watching your expression, Geto felt your inexperienced fingers stumble and stutter over the length of his cock. He could see the bashfulness seep in until you broke eye contact and pressed your face onto his.

Geto, completely enthralled, gave in to the amateur kiss without any doubts. Easily overcoming you, he guided your lips to smooth over his and pick up the rhythm of kissing. The room filled with hums of approval and the sounds of light smacking from your tongues tasting each other.

“Seducing,” he confirmed, moving his hand from yours to the center of your legs. Finding your clit immediately, he ran a digit up and down your slit. “With your cunt dripping all over my finger. Did you plan this?”

It was a rhetorical question, you assumed because he didn’t pull away from your lips to allow you to answer. Instead, he worked his middle finger in slow circles over your clit, drinking in the sweet moans you gave to him. When you dug your nails into his shirt, all decorum snapped in Geto. Picking you up bridal style, he effortlessly carried you to his desk and laid you down, slotted between your legs. 

Feasting your eyes on Geto undressing was a delicacy you didn’t know you needed. He first started with his shirt, loosening button after button and exposing his broad chest. You resisted the urge to sit up and touch, knowing from the look in his eye that he’d disapprove.

“First time seeing a man up close?” He inquired, shedding the thin fabric from his shoulders. Long fingers trailed to his loosened slacks, awaiting your answer.

“Yes sir,” you nearly moaned, drinking in his obvious arousal. The slacks he wore slipped from his hips, boxers following not long after. 

His dick was eight inches of perfection. The trail under his belly button led down to neatly trimmed hair, a pretty sight if you had ever seen one. 

He gave himself a few languid strokes, keeping his eyes on yours as he lifted your leg over his shoulder.

“I’m assuming it’s your first time,” he hummed, nudging your other leg open slightly. “So I can’t be too rough with you, hm?” His lips gave your ankle a few slow, wet kisses before he started running the length of his cock up and down your slit. 

You shivered, watching his cock thoroughly coat itself in your wetness. Geto’s hips rolled against yours, nudging your clit with every push he gave. 

“She’s greedy, baby. Look how she’s twitching under me.” His lusty voice deepened as he slapped your cunt with his heavy cock. You gasped at the contact and tightened your grip on the desk, hopes of receiving Geto’s mercy flying out of the window… The sight of your cunt gushing for him so prettily had him completely narrow-minded. 

With the tip of his cock pressed to your twitching hole, Geto admires his best work yet. He thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, but being sprawled out on his desk with smeared lip gloss and desperate tears in your eyes proved him wrong. 

“Be good,” He cooed, giving your hip an affectionate squeeze. Geto pressed and split you open on his length, watching your mouth open wider the deeper he slid into you. 

Any mere passerby could incidentally stroll by the isolated classroom, peek in, and find the usually quiet teacher railing his newest student. They’d hear the crescendo of moans echoing through the room (and in turn the halls) and know how much your sensei wanted you. 

Your legs settled on Geto’s rolling hips, the steady rhythm he set shaking the desk with each thrust. One hand remained firmly on your hip, while the other was placed affectionately on your neck. 

“Oh, sir,” you encouraged, his eyes holding yours. “Please, just a little tighter?” Taking a hand from the desk, you placed it delicately on his wrist and pressed his hand harder. Geto had to break eye contact to not cum too early, giving you a quick peck on your lips and tightening his grip on your throat. 

“You ask so nicely; how could I deny you?” His lips brushed yours mercifully, maintaining the harsh strokes that had your release creeping up on you. 

The hand he set on your hip pulled your legs around his waist, a satisfied hmph coming from his throat when you locked your ankles together. 

“So demanding, baby,” he cooed as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. “If I didn’t know better, I'd think you’d done this before.”

His hand tightened at the insinuation, but only briefly. You were just too cute under him, writhing with the pleasure only Geto could grant you. His silky hair slipped from the elastic he loosely had tied, pathetically landing on the floor by his feet.

“Eyes here, princess.” His hand left your throat to take your chin in his fingers and make you look at him. His hair was draped over his shoulders and he had the pinkest tint to his cheeks. Geto wanted you to see; he was just as ruined as you were. 

“You gonna cum?” He asked, not allowing you to answer. His hips met yours in a quick snap, and you watched a sick grin spread across Geto’s cheeks as your face contorted with pleasure.

Your cunt gushed around him, your wetness coating the art teacher’s legs and causing him to chuckle. He released your neck to prop himself up onto the desk, pushing your legs up and settling himself into a mating press. The hand on your neck trailed down in favor of playing with your clit.

“Watch me,” He demanded, giving you a quick slap on your pussy. “We’ll paint the prettiest picture of this.” 

Keeping your eyes on where you connected, Geto painstakingly fucked you with slow, deliberate thrusts. Holding your gaze where he wanted it through the bliss he was giving proved almost too big a task. Every time your eyes threatened to roll back in pleasure, he’d give your clit an affectionate rub. 

“You’re mine, you know that?” He looked so primal, hair shadowing his face as he watched you nod your head furiously. “My pretty little wife. How clichè is it that we met in class?”

His newest name for you went straight to your cunt, both of your imaginations running wild with thoughts of domesticity and late nights of lovemaking. You couldn’t hold on much longer; before long the thumb Geto worked over your clit and had you squirting on his cock. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths as he continued fucking you, mumbling praise as his own orgasm rushed through him.

Geto couldn’t resist giving your cunt a few final sharp thrusts as he painted your walls white. The muscles in his arms flexed, his eyes shut tightly and he let out the prettiest moan under his breath. The light sheen of sweat glistened under the dull schoolhouse lights, making the thought of being Geto’s wife impossibly more digestible. 

“Ah, I’m surprised the desk held up,” He sighed, slowly pulling out of you. Warm cum dripped from your hole, only to be scooped back up and pushed back in even deeper.

“Can’t let it go to waste. We’ll try as many times as we need to, hopefully at mines next time?” He climbed off the desk and offered you a hand and a kiss on the forehead.

“I love to,” you stood on shaky legs, leaning on the desk for support.

With his cum running down your leg and his hand mark imprinted on your neck, ArtTeacher!Geto impatiently waits for the portrait he’ll paint of you pregnant. 

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© succubusonthedoorstep2023. all rights reserved. please do not copy, repost, steal, or translate my work.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x black reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #getou suguru smut #missmystic.jjk #jjk imagines #jjk fic #jjk headcanons #black reader smut #black y/n #anime x black!reader #geto x y/n #geto x black reader

[chrollosbm]

Sunflower Fields: a Choso Love Story Chapter Ten

art cr: umbra3terna on x

You're broken from a past relationship, thinking you only deserve the worst. Choso comes along, making you realize you deserve the world and more. Will your ex-boyfriend let you go without a fight? (Choso x black!reader, yandere Choso)

Previous Chapters

pls support me on ao3, it would mean the world to me

Choso was bored. It was Friday night and he was currently laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how much he missed you. Granted, he had just seen you two days ago, but who’s counting? He only wanted to be around you at all times, making sure you were safe and sound, always within eyeview and in his protection.

The man began to genuinely worry when you wouldn’t message him back during a certain timeframe (after a half hour, Choso’s mind would reel,) or when you would fall asleep before his nightly ‘goodnight’ text, not responding until the next morning, with a ‘sorry, fell asleep,'' as if he didn’t stay up half the night, contemplating driving past your house to make sure everything was okay. 

You kept your promise and stayed with him until you were able to go back to work in person, with you insisting on going back to your own apartment when you had to return to the office. Something about wanting to keep your daily routine. Ugh, whatever. 

As part of the agreement though, Choso had to be the one to take you to and from work, with no exceptions. Because he had finally convinced (forced) you to let him take care of your car repairs, it was now in the shop for a couple weeks. He didn’t understand why you had gotten so worked up about him simply wanting to pay for the repairs, it really wasn’t that much of a hassle for him. In all honesty, he really wanted to buy you a new car, but seeing your reaction to him offering to get maintenance done on it, he made the right call. 

You thankfully seemed to be more receptive to him wanting to take care of you now as each day passed, with him doing little things to make your days easier. Starting off, he woke up extra early to get your signature caramel latte and chocolate croissant every morning from your favorite cafe for you to start the day, knowing you never wanted to show your face in the establishment anymore thanks to the public spat between you and that horrible ex-boyfriend of yours. The simple gesture seemed to ease your usual morning tension, bringing that bright smile to your face, so he decided to make it a habit to do for you every day.

You had also briefly mentioned wanting to get beauty maintenance done for your upcoming birthday weekend (whatever that meant,) and that it was going to be more on the expensive side, so Choso did the obvious thing and proceeded to send you a hefty balance via apple pay. He really had no idea how much all this stuff costs, but he knew it sounded pricey, so he wanted to be more on the safe side. 

You, of course, didn’t take it willingly at first, throwing a fit, causing another argument, claiming that paying for vehicle maintenance was more than enough. You really didn’t get it, he could buy you the entire world, the entire universe, and it still wouldn’t be enough for him. After a tense back and forth between the two of you (and a few aggressive taps on the ass from Choso,) you accepted it, gratefully. He knew it would be a huge help and that you would eventually give up anyways, but he really wanted to drill it in your head that you would never have to want for anything when you were his.

You already were his, he just hadn’t made it official, yet. The timing never seemed right with everything going on. From drama with your ex to your upcoming birthday celebration, he just didn’t know when to ask you. It was going to be very soon, he knew that, he was just waiting for the perfect opportunity and the best way to pop the question. He really wanted to jump several steps and make you his wife already, but that wasn’t the socially acceptable way to do it. Boring. 

He wanted to be your husband and the father of your kids already, to hell with societal norms. You were the most beautiful being in the world to him, he knew there was no other person on this planet that could turn his head or excite him in the way that you did. Your impulsive and vibrant personality always kept him on his toes and he loved it. Being with you brought him out of his shell, with him slowly becoming more expressive with his emotions and talkative because of you.

Anyway, as he lay in bed thinking of you, he couldn’t help but wish you were still home with him, where you belonged. Every day you were at his place, he had something to look forward to when he got back from work. Coming home to the smell of grilled cheese and freshly brewed coffee was something he had grown accustomed to. He would come home to see you in his clothes that were too large for you, bare faced, with that head full of curls, looking so fucking pretty. He especially loved the couple days he would come back to see you hanging out with Yuji, either watching television or listening to his youngest brother talk your gorgeous little head off about something you very clearly had no clue what he was going on about. You just listened, pitching in every now and then, asking questions to encourage the conversation. 

God, he missed you so fucking much. 

One thing he really missed though? The incredible, mind shattering, groundbreaking sex the two of you had been having. You two were at it like rabbits, going round after round, lasting until one of you passed out (it was always you falling asleep right after asking for another round.) Choso had learned you were a borderline nymphomaniac, wanting to fuck every chance the two of you were behind closed doors. He wasn’t complaining though, he was finally glad he found someone who could keep up with him, he’d just underestimated how much of a sex fiend you were, and how much stamina you really had.

“Cho’, fuck- I’m gonna cum again. Please.” You were stuttering on Choso’s rigid cock, your hands fisted in your own hair of shiny curls, head leaned back as you rocked your hips back and forth on top of him, incomplete sentences coming from your mouth.

Choso was staring at you from below in awe, lip caught in his teeth, your perfect body grinding on his impossibly hard dick, with your nipples harder than rocks. He could see the goosebumps on your body as you moaned out, trying to remain as quiet as possible in the house, even though the stereo from up above in Yuji’s bedroom had been blasting for hours now.  

“Please what, baby?” Choso’s voice was husky and deep, louder than yours, knowing his brother couldn’t hear you two going at it like animals. His arms were resting behind his head, a proud smile on his face, body sat up halfway as he watched you fuck yourself on top of him, sitting on your rightful throne like the queen you were. He was only a peasant compared to you, watching as you ruled his world. “You’re doing so good, pretty girl. Fuck-” He paused mid sentence, feeling the pulse of your wet cunt, causing an electric bolt to shoot up his body. “Keep using me. Ride this fucking dick.” He continued after a brief second, pants filling his breath.

He’d noticed your body reacted to the dirty words he oh so loved muttering as he was inside of you, so he’d made a habit of speaking filthily to you, as well as giving you the words of praise he always did. 

Your pretty eyes snapped to his, tears brimming in those brown irises as he felt your soft walls tighten around him and your movements stopped briefly as you let out a closed mouthed whimper, entire body twitching as you did so, causing Choso to let out a shiver at the sudden tight, hot hug your cunt was giving him. He felt your arousal drip out of you and down his shaft, the blend of both of your cum mixing together again, not knowing whose liquid was whose. 

“That’s a good girl…” Choso spoke, trying to compose himself, voice trailing off as he lifted his hips to meet yours, selfishly wanting to have another orgasm too. Your eyes almost bulged out your head at the sudden movement and sultry moans came out of that pretty mouth, forming an ‘o.’ “Can I cum inside you again, baby? Keep filling you up? Please?” He asked all at once, eagerly, knowing you would say yes anyway, he was just showing a little consideration. 

You simply nodded, facial expression remaining the same, seemingly unable to speak as you were still riding out your intense orgasm that was currently dripping down Choso’s left thigh. That’s all it took for Choso to use his large hands to grip your asscheeks and use its plumpness to glide you up and down his wet cock, causing you to snap out of your daze, with your pretty moans to fill the large room again. 

His hips were snapping up at the perfect speed, going deep enough to reach your g-spot, your soft cunt warming the entirety of his length with each thrust. He wasn’t going to last long, he knew that already as he had been cumming fast all night (and week.) He had already emptied his load into you twice already during the past hour, with both you and he not wanting to end this incredible session you were having. 

He wasn’t complaining though. Why would he? He had the best view right now. Your incredible body on top of his, using him for your pleasure, brown skin glistening with light sweat, dark hair sticking to your face and neck, fucking crying and panting on his soaking dick. If he could live in this moment forever he would, pleasuring you infinitely.

Your pretty face was twisted up again, eyebrows furrowing as you looked down at him with tears now running down your face, and Choso knew what that meant. His rams got progressively rougher and he knew he was close again, too. He had to get another orgasm out of you before he finished though. He needed to feel you milking his seed out of him and into you, then he would be done for the night. Maybe. 

He spit on his thumb before quickly attaching the digit to your clit, still using one arm to wrap around your waist to guide you on his cock, your clapping ass bouncing on him roughly, and began rubbing soft circles on the sensitive bud. You were panting again, more tears streaming from your eyes and onto your glistening neck. Choso was beginning to lose it just as you clenched on his length again, your tight, sopping pussy sliding up and down, up and down, and fuck. 

Right on queue, the two of you were cumming at the same time, Choso’s rough, rhythmic, movements stuttering, hot seed spilling into you, as he groaned out, head resting back onto the headboard as he released into you. You were still a mess on top of him, your orgasm running through you with your wet lips quivering, looking absolutely delectable.

Choso spoke lowly and out of breath, almost wincing from the overstimulation of your tight cunt still squeezing around him. “That’s right, baby. Cum on this dick, it’s all fucking yours.” His arm around your waist was guiding you to grind on him, riding him as his thumb still abused your swollen button. You were a sobbing, gorgeous mess on top of him, those pretty sounds coming out those precious, full lips of yours, as more of your juices soaked his sheets, creating a huge mess he loved seeing.

His swollen cock was still twitching inside you, extremely over sensitive when you asked him if he could keep going, that pretty voice filling his ears, making it impossible for him to say no.

Choso’s dick was in his hand at the memory, swollen and ready to erupt as he heard the ping of his cell phone causing him to let out a loud groan. He reached over to the bedside table and his heart skipped a couple beats as he saw your name next to the messages icon on his lock screen. A smile spread across his lips upon seeing that, forgetting all about his aching cock.

He opened the message to see that you sent multiple photos of yourself, all showing your new look. His throat dried up as he swiped through each photo, soon having to clear his throat or he would begin dry heaving.

You were sporting a new hairstyle, your natural hair flat ironed, and cascading down your back, thick and shiny. Your dark, sultry eyes had long lashes on them that flattered your eye shape, making you look impossibly more beautiful. Your hand was displayed in the photo, showing a new set of nails that were long and painted a cream color with extravagant gems on a few of your fingers. 

He quickly loved every image, and texted you back, “Are you trying to make my dick hard? If so, mission accomplished.” He wasn’t lying, he was still hard, somehow impossibly more than before as he stared at the photos. You were looking straight into the camera, giving the lens a seductive look. 

Your text back came in fairly quickly after that, a notification indicating you loved his message and a sly response of  “Don’t I always do that?” 

Choso laughed out loud at that, knowing you were right. He decided to give you an actually compliment in response, one with words consisting of “beautiful,” “sunflower,” and fucking your brains out the second the two of you were alone.” Very romantic.

He knew you were going out tonight, with your sisters visiting from out of town since the day before. Andrea had apparently made it clear that the first half of your birthday weekend was for “the girls,” a message Kento had relayed over to him during their lunch break one day at the office. 

Because your birthday fell on a Sunday, you wanted to celebrate with your sisters and best friend Thursday-Saturday night. Choso rolled his eyes at that. He was happy you were making time to spend time with your sisters and Andrea, but he fucking missed you. He was incredibly selfish and wanted you all to himself, wanting to spend the entirety of your birthday weekend together so he could spoil you all three days, not just the day as planned. 

It was okay though, considering Andrea had planned a surprise party at her and Kento’s apartment on Saturday, and Choso was invited. Tonight was apparently a “girls only clubbing night.” Choso tensed up at that thought. The last time you went out, it didn’t go too well for you. He, in fact, had no idea where you were that entire night. The worry and anxiety he felt was something he never wanted to feel again, the emotions he was currently feeling right now..

He trusted you, but he didn’t trust other people. What if someone tried to hit on you? What if they tried to hurt you? You were nothing but his weak little baby who could barely protect yourself. Yeah, you had a mouth on you for sure, but Choso had no idea if you could handle a situation where a physical altercation ensued. The thought of you needing him and him not being there was driving his mind crazy, the idea causing the clench of his jaw and heavy breathing at the moment. What if a man-

Another text ping drove Choso away from his sinister thoughts and he was grateful this time, before picking it up and seeing another message from you, letting him know you were on your way out and to “not wait up.” He rolled his eyes at your message, knowing damn well he had half a mind to show up to the club and keep an eye on you from afar.

Should he? Shouldn’t he be there, closeby, just to be sure no one would lay a finger on you? 

Those were the thoughts going through his head, as he began getting dressed, mind already made up on what he was going to do, anyway.

Chapter Eleven is Posted

#choso #choso kamo #jjk #choso x black y/n #choso x black!reader #choso x female reader #choso x reader #choso x y/n #jjk angst #jjk fic #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk smut #choso smut #yandere choso #geto suguru #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #yandere geto #geto angst #geto x black reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto x female reader #choso x you #jjk x black reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x female reader

[sluttywoozi]

Middle Of The Night | Geonwoo x reader

Summary: Ever since the incident at the cafe, you've been having nightmares. One night, you get up for a glass of water and find that you're not the only one having trouble sleeping.

Rating: T | WC: ~2k

AN: no spoilers beyond ep 1, reader lives w geonwoo and his mom and works at the cafe, was present for events of end of ep 1

Warnings: mention of canonical violence, insomnia, nightmares

You wake with a start, your heart racing and your brow damp with sweat as images of shattered glass and a broken, bleeding Geonwoo race through your mind. It’s been a few weeks now since the incident with the loan shark, but you’re still feeling the effects. You close the cafe before dark, and you don’t walk home unless Geonwoo or Woojin are there with you. You don’t like loud noises, or shiny black SUVs, or being in a room with too many men. 

You’re also having trouble at night, and you’re starting to think Geonwoo is too. He seems haunted, hunted, like he has to look over his shoulder all the time but doesn’t have the energy to do so because he’s sleeping with one eye open. 

It’s showing in the ring and at home. He’s been training at all hours of the day, losing sparring matches to Woojin, coming home with bruises he should have blocked. He’s losing focus during conversations, his smiles don’t reach his eyes the same way, and he even declined the last rolled omelet last night at dinner, which is what really tipped you off that whatever is wrong with him won’t fix itself. 

You don’t know if you can fix it, but you owe it to Geonwoo to try. 

For now, you’ll rub the sleep out of your eyes and try to calm your pounding heart before sliding to the edge of the bed and staring into the darkness. This is your routine ever since Geonwoo got hurt and the nightmares started, not that it really works to soothe you at all. You wish you could talk to him and see if he’s going through the same thing you are, but if he is sleeping, you don’t want to wake him. 

You do want some water, so you step into your house slippers and make your way to the kitchen as silently as you can. You normally don’t get up after a nightmare, just sit there in the quiet dark until your brain stops showing you that night, but you’re feeling parched. 

As you tiptoe down the hallway, you notice Geonwoo’s door is shut. He always keeps it open at least a crack, just in case you or his mom need anything, so it’s odd that it’s fully closed. Your hand hovers in front of the wood, your ears straining to hear anything over the white noise of the city. You’re just about to leave when you hear it. 

A hiccup, a rush of air, and then a deep, stuttered inhale, like soundless sobbing. 

“Geonwoo?” You ask as softly as you can, not wanting to startle or alarm him. 

“Mm?” 

Pushing the door open gently, you peek inside. 

He’s sitting on the bed with his back to you, his shirt damp with sweat and his head hung low. You can see the shuddered breaths he’s taking in, see the wetness of tears on the cheek he’s got turned toward you, and you feel a new fault line form in your heart. 

“Can I come in?” 

He hesitates for just a second before nodding, just long enough for you to see that he might be worse off than you thought. The Geonwoo you know would have jumped up, opened the door for you, and waited for you to settle on the bed before sitting a more than respectable distance away from you. He’d be smiling, and bright, and happy, and tired because you’d woken him up, not because he’s not sleeping. 

This Geonwoo isn’t smiling. His eyes are sunken, the corners of his mouth downturned, his frame weighed down by lingering aches and a memory that won’t leave him. 

He’s not meeting your gaze either, his back still turned to you and his fingers squeezing the sheets so hard his knuckles are pale in the moonlight. You walk toward him slowly, rounding the bed and kneeling before him to find his eyes. 

They’re watery and hollow when they finally meet yours, red like he’s been crying for hours and puffy like he hasn’t slept in days. You hate to see him like this, especially when he’s still acting like he’s fine, good even, during the day. 

“Do you wanna talk?” You ask, though you’re sure you can guess the answer. Geonwoo just shakes his head quickly, rocking forward like he can’t stand to not be moving. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” 

The head shake comes faster this time, one of his hands reaching for yours where they rest on your thighs. You give it to him, ignoring the sweatiness of his palm and focusing on how cold it is. He must have been out of bed for hours now, maybe since everyone turned in, and with how chilly it is in the apartment, he must be freezing. 

After contemplating the situation, you decide warming Geonwoo up is your first priority. He doesn’t seem to want to let go of your hand, so you rise to your feet and sit next to him on the bed. He leans into you, his shoulder brushing yours and a shiver traveling through his body when he feels how warm you are. 

“Why don’t we lay down? Just for a little while,” you offer, begging him in your mind to say yes. 

You can see the gears turning in his head as he thinks about it. It seems to be a difficult decision, and you wonder what all there is for him to consider but let the seconds pass in silence, knowing he’s likely to close up more if you ask. Geonwoo has never been particularly touchy with you, always sticking to pats on the shoulder and smiles instead of hugs, and you’re not sure why. Him reaching for your hand was out of character, and him leaning into you is even odder, but you can’t say you mind, especially if it gets him under the covers and out of this cool air. 

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, his voice shaky and his hands even more so as he stands and lifts the duvet for you. 

Confused, you climb in and accept the blanket he carefully lowers onto your body. You watch him walk around to the other side, the one closer to the door, and keep your limbs to yourself as he gets into bed next to you. 

It’s weird, you admit, to be close to him like this. To be in the same bed as him, ensconced in the same blankets, resting on the same mattress. You think you like it though, like how he smells and how he feels, even with how cold he is. He’s like a statue beside you, as stiff as he was when you first met, but just like then, you’ll let him relax on his own time. 

He’s not touching you but you can still feel his muscles untense one by one, his hand finding yours under the duvet and holding tight. You glance over to find him staring at the ceiling, his tears dried up and his face smoothed out. 

Smiling softly to yourself, you let your eyes close, the feeling of Geonwoo’s hand wrapped around yours anchoring you to the bed and to the present. 

Your sleep is dreamless, and when you wake, your hand is still in his. 

. 

The next night, the same thing happens. 

You shoot upright, your body in fight or flight mode, your eyes wildly taking in the room around you to remind yourself that you’re at home with Geonwoo and Soyeon, not at the cafe surrounded by men with pipes. 

You don’t bother sitting in the dark, just get up and stumble to Geonwoo’s room, the wood cold under your feet and the chilly air sparking goosebumps. You wait outside the door, holding your breath so you can listen for sounds, hoping at the same time that he’s asleep and awake. 

Awake, Geonwoo can help you. Asleep, he’s helping himself. 

You catch that telltale breath pattern and knock, your heart in your throat as you wait. He doesn’t keep you long, a hushed, “Come in,” just barely reaching you through the door. 

He’s still in bed, the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes and the blankets tangled up in his legs like he’s been running in his sleep. He shifts up to sit as you enter the room, folding his hands in his lap and crossing his legs to make himself smaller. You’ve noticed he does that around you, shrinks himself as if you could ever even think to be scared of him. Geonwoo hurts none but those who deserve it, and even then you know he still feels guilty sometimes for doing what he must. 

“Can’t sleep?” He asks softly, his gaze open and nowhere near as glassy as last night. 

You shake your head, playing with the hem of your shirt as you try to muster up the courage to ask for what you want. You’re sure he’ll say yes, but it’s difficult to make yourself vulnerable enough to speak the words. 

“Stay with me?” 

You nearly stumble over your feet in your haste to get into the bed, his hands smoothing the blankets out and lifting them for you to slide under. It’s silent for a few ticks, just the hum of the city and your breathing breaking up the quiet night, until you roll to your side to face him. 

He copies you, tucking his hands under his head and bending his knees, the position so sweet for someone so large. You both stare for a while, communicating wordlessly the pain and fear of that night. His eyelids start to flutter, his breaths growing deeper and his body relaxing, and it’s not long before you relax too. 

You wish you could hold his hand, but they’re folded beneath his head and you don’t want to disturb him, not when he’s so obviously on the verge of slumber. Being close to him is enough, his presence soothing you like nothing else. 

You’re asleep before you know it.

.

You blink awake to sunlight on your face and Geonwoo’s hand in yours. He’s still curled up and facing you, his seemingly only movement in the night being to take your hand. 

You lay there and just stare, for a while. Taking in the freckle on his nose and the lines in his plush lips, just barely feeling his breaths from the foot or so you are from him. You feel so calm, so peaceful next to him in the cool light of day. 

His eyes move beneath his eyelids, his hand flexing in yours, and you wonder what he’s dreaming about. You hope it’s something good, something safe and happy, but you’ll be here for him if it’s the opposite. 

You’ll be here for him from now on, now that you know he’s been hiding his pain from both you and his mom like this. You’re sure he didn’t want to worry or burden you, or maybe he thinks admitting that he needs help is a sign of weakness, but whatever it is, you’re not going to let him keep it from you anymore. 

Geonwoo’s hand squeezes yours, making your gaze and your focus snap back to him. He’s awake, and he’s staring at you. 

“Did you sleep well?” He rumbles, his voice scratchy and deep with sleep. 

“Yeah,” you smile, “For the first time in a while. You?”

He shyly grins back and hums, looking down at your entangled hands and brushing his thumb over yours. His grin fades, a somber look replacing the soft warmth. 

“Please don’t tell my mom what you saw,” he whispers, “I don’t want to worry her even more.”

“I won’t, of course, I won’t. But will you do something for me?” 

Taking in a deep breath, he nods, his hand tensing in yours and his eyes attentive. 

“Don’t suffer by yourself anymore. I’m here. I didn’t experience what you did but I watched it happen, and if you won’t talk to your mom, at least talk to me, please,” you implore him, your mind going back to the tears on his cheeks and the hollowness in his gaze.

You don’t recognize the look in his eyes or the slow, sweet half smile that rises to his lips, but you know you like them both. 

#bloodhounds #woo do hwan #woo do hwan fanfiction #woo do hwan ff #kim geonwoo #geonwoo fanfiction #hurt/comfort #angst #✨emily writes✨ #bloodhounds netflix #bloodhounds kdrama #kim geon woo

[genshin-scenarios]

A Flower Made of Playing Cards (Lyney x Reader)

Summary: A highschool idol AU commissioned by a very kind and patient anon!

It's mostly inspired by this headcanon post, where Lyney spends his civilian life starting to pine after you (a classmate) while keeping his idol life as 'Felis' a secret.

Content warnings: reader is implied to be at a height where Lyney can spin them under his arm?? That's pretty much it! Still gender neutral as usual

Preparing for the Stage:

When Lyney was first asked what he wanted to base his idol concept on, he decided on the magic of luck — something unpredictable and frankly, he wouldn’t bet on most of the time — but if a black cat of all things could disguise itself as a charming magician who made dreams come true, Lyney thought that could be the truth threaded within his performances. 

His luck in gaining a family as supportive as his own. His luck in being chosen out of many candidates to debut, and…

Suppose a bit of rotten luck could play into his concept too. The kinds where props or staff go missing on the day of his nationwide tour, and miracles come into play to get him out of a tight spot.

But like a cat landing on its feet, Lyney — as Felis — would always come through in the end with a smile.

There is comfort in the mysterious and ethereal. The audience places their faith in idols to remain as an untouchable being, talented and charming till the end; while the idol repeats their tricks and illusions, learning them down to a science of well-orchestrated plans.

With the right people to support him behind the curtains, Lyney is sure there is little he can’t do.

But at the end of the day, Lyney is still just a teenager. And when faced with you, who’d unknowingly puppeteered his heartstrings to skip at the quirk of your lips, eyes crinkling with laughter from your seat a few rows away…

No one said that stars couldn’t fall in love. In fact, the ways they do so might be more beautifully devastating than ever. And Lyney is nothing if not someone who burns as brightly as he shines onstage.

-

On the other side:

You’ve always thought of Lyney as a regular classmate; one who gets along with others but otherwise keeps to himself. And sure, he’s also really cute, but Lyney’s always just been a nice presence to hang around with, especially after you learned he has a knack for magic tricks and was willing to teach you a few, skilled fingers sifting through a deck of cards.

You’re starting to think that Lyney’s not just a friend to you anymore.

Despite your best efforts to keep your feelings at bay, you’re more than aware that the nerves building up in your stomach whenever he’s near spells out a crush. As you get to know him, Lyney’s somehow went from cute to pretty, and you know you're not crazy when you notice his quiet charm shifting into something more extroverted. 

There are no seating plans during the breaks between classes — particularly if it’s this week, where your science teacher has packed off to accompany a sports team to a tournament — so you spend the hour finishing your substitute work with Lyney by your side. Except once you’re both done, he takes to scrolling through his phone and showing you the posts on his feed every now and then, and you swear his chair has been shifting closer and closer every minute.

With quiet words, Lyney leans towards you with a quirk to his lips. You wonder if he realizes how dangerous this is to your wellbeing. 

“This cafe’s menu is themed after wizards! See the cauldron?”

“Maybe you could get a part-time job there as an entertainer.” You suggest.

Lyney hums. “But I only like to perform magic for my friends. Which totals to three people, including you.”

“Are the other two Lynette and Freminet?”

“Bingo!”

“I don’t know if your sister would be happy to hear that.” She’d probably say he sounds like a loner.

“Nevermind if that makes her cringe — she’s stuck with me anyways. But I’d like to think at least Freminet would be happy.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” You try not to get distracted by Lyney’s hair tickling your shoulder. “Maybe you should take him there with you.”

“Just between us, I think Freminet would be more comfortable if you were there too.” Lyney shrugs, eyes meeting yours with a clarity that tells you this is a genuine offer. “He’s a bit more chatty around you, which is saying a lot.”

“Maybe that’s just because you’re too much for him?”

“Whatever do you mean? I’m nothing if not quiet, introverted, shy…”

“Shy.” You repeat in disbelief. You might’ve believed that once upon a time, but certainly not now. “A shy person wouldn’t offer to teach a stranger how to do card tricks.”

“Maybe I was just enchanted by you.”

“You avoided me unless we were talking about magic.” You remind him, to which Lyney bumps his shoulder against yours with a huff. “Maybe at that time you were a little shy, but I highly doubt you’d be like that towards your brother.”

“I’ve let you talk too much to my siblings…” He’s pouting. “Your impression of me is ruined now.”

“There’d be nothing to ruin you with if you haven’t done anything.” You tap your chin. “Is there another big secret that I should ask them about?”

You don’t notice, but Lyney’s eyes widen before he tears his gaze away from you, trying to stop the blush rising on his cheeks. If he wasn’t sitting so close, he’d probably slap his face to snap out of it.

Which secret? His crush — or idol career?

Just the thought of you knowing about his feelings is enough to make him combust, but the idea of you realizing he was the idol Felis? You’ve already told Lyney you weren’t that interested in idols since they were real people, compared to 2D characters who you could headcanon about to your hearts’ content. 

A part of him is relieved this means that if you fell for him, it’d be for himself. But another part feels like it’s a waste of the possibilities floating around his head; what if he surprised you by inviting you to a concert, then watched as the understanding enters your face when he steps onstage? What if he dedicates one of his performances to you, or asks you to sneak out with him after a show?

He’s even wearing just one side of his earphones so there’s an opening to offer you the other; it’s less about the music at this point, and instead the little gestures that tell him he has a chance.

He’d take any interaction if it has to do with you, but only within the safety of his own home would Lyney allow himself to daydream — his imagination causing a burn on his cheeks.

Lynette tells him he’s been reading too many mangas, but an idol can dream. Lyney just hadn’t expected you to become one of said dreams so fast.

-

Rehearsals:

Somehow, practicing how he’d confess to you is harder than any other rehearsal Lyney’s done. Perhaps it’s because he knows he looks like an idiot, speaking to the wall-length mirror after he gave up on Lynette and Freminet as helpers.

…The things he’d like to say to you remain private, anyways. There’s no way Lyney could bring himself to sound so sappy to anyone’s face but yours.

Seeing as it’s off-season, the only idol work Lyney has is related to magazine and advertisements shoots. It’s nothing much compared to when he first did an overseas tour, so he has the chance to steal some time for himself — going for a coffee run after he dons a mask and large sweater, then a cap which hides most of his hair.

Today Lyney had to model for a limited-edition pocky series. It’s strawberry and something-flavored, so the dress and makeup people had the bright idea to add a ribbon to his hair. It’s fanservice, it’s cute, and Lyney doesn’t think much of it seeing as he can’t see himself, until he spots you outside of the cafe where he’s waiting for his order. 

He’s always been light on his feet, but Lyney doesn’t think he’s ever ducked into a corner so fast, quieting himself in an attempt to become invisible.

You haven’t seen him without his glasses before, so maybe you wouldn’t…?

“Order for Felix!”

Of course it’s his turn now that you’re here. He considers taking off the ribbon before thinking better of it, hoping it isn't visibly poking out from underneath his cap.

“...Here!” Lyney tries not to cringe as he goes up to the counter. On most days he gives the cashier a random name — sometimes ‘Felix’ because it could be his idol alias read wrongly — but right now it almost gives him a heart attack when he hears his not-name, because it’s followed by you accidentally bumping into him and apologizing for almost spilling his coffee.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“It’s alright, nothing’s spilled.” Lyney realizes too late that you might recognise his voice, and starts to speak in a muffled tenor. “No worries at all. Thank you for your concern.”

“...Felix, was it?” You look at him in confusion. “Is your throat okay?”

Before you can look at him any closer, Lyney’s turned away from you and started to speed-walk out of the cafe like his life depends on it. 

“Perfectly fine, enjoy your day!” He says a bit louder to not appear too rude. He’s quite sure his ears are red as he makes his retreat, and by the time he makes enough distance between himself and the cafe, Lyney realizes something.

He didn’t even get to hear your coffee order!

-

Back to your side:

Out of all strange incidents that could happen over the weekend, you didn’t expect an encounter with some ‘Felix’ guy to linger in your mind until now.

To be honest, it was less about the stranger and just the ribbon you spotted in his hair when he ran away. As you listen to Lyney ramble about a magic trick he’s figured out recently, you watch the way his ash-blond locks sway with every motion.

…That pink ribbon from the stranger's head might look cute on Lyney. With how the breeze is playing with his hair, you can imagine the ends of the ribbon floating, threatening to fall loose and fly off the school rooftop you’re loitering at.

Lunch finished and forgotten, Lyney stands up as he’s reminded of something. He spins on his heel to look at you, hands linked behind his back.

“You know, over the weekend I saw a dance go viral.”

“The one on tiktok?”

“Yep! Want to try it?”

Lyney’s not usually this energetic, but it’s not so out-of-character that you’d start to find it odd. Instead, you’d like to preserve the easy smile on his lips while you still can — it’s a rare sight to see him this excited, steps light and gaze playful.

“I’m not a good dancer, though…” You hesitate, before Lyney comes closer to pull you to your feet with both hands — and how could you say no when your fingers are still loosely linked between you?

Lyney’s cheery demeanor slips into something more calm. With a content hum, he takes a small step away from you and positions his feet. You mimic him as he explains each move.

“Okay, so now you have to do a turn from this side.”

“How should I when you’re still holding onto me?”

“Like this,” Lyney urges you to turn, and as naturally as momentum brings you, he lets go of one of your hands to twirl you under his arm. “See? It’s easy!”

“I’m quite sure the dance didn’t involve a partner.” You can’t keep your smile down, peering up at Lyney when you stand in front of him again. “Trying to set a new trend, are we?”

“Only if you’ll let me record us. I won’t post it anywhere though, since my manager might get mad at me.”

“Your manager at work?” You ask, confusion furrowing your brow. “Did you accidentally sign an extra clause or something? They shouldn’t be able to control how you act outside of your shift!” Lyney bursts into laughter, earning a light hit on the shoulder from you. “Hey! This is serious — what kind of part time job did you get yourself into?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a regular side-gig.” Lyney calms down, expression dusted with a pink blush as he looks at you fondly. “I’m a bit of a public figure, though I don’t normally dress that way when I’m at school.”

“Well then, Mr Popular.” You play along. “What should I be calling you instead then, when I see you during your job?”

“...Most people call me Felis, if that rings any bells.” He glances away. “It’d be pretty embarrassing if you didn’t recognise my name. But I do have to sing, dance, and…”

“You’re an idol.” Your eyes widened, the words spoken so quietly, you had to repeat them just to make sure they didn’t slip away. “You’re that idol, aren’t you? The sparkly-looking guy on the billboards!”

“Not so loud!” Lyney hushes you, grabbing your shoulders in reflex before stopping. He clears his throat, taking a step away. You would’ve minded the distance more, if it were not for the sight of Lyney bashful in front of you. “...It’s a bit of a secret, just so I can still live peacefully as a civilian. I asked Lynette and Freminet to make sure no one could overhear us here. They might be as nervous as me about your reaction, I’m sure.”

“I find that a little hard to believe.” If anything, they might be more worried about Lyney recuperating. You speak tentatively, raising a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Now that I’m checking properly though, you do have the same look.”

It takes everything in Lyney to not squirm at your touch, and it’s even more terrifying that he wants to keep you there. “I would hope so, seeing as we’re the same person.”

“I bet Felis doesn’t spin his fans under his arm,” You quirk a cheeky smile. “Unless there’s something else you have to tell me?”

“Of course not, that’s only reserved for the best of…” Lyney trails off, the word ‘friend’ dying on his tongue. Not that you aren’t one, but— “I thought it’d be important to tell you about my job, before I ask you the real question I have on my mind.”

Giving him a nod, you tell him you’re all ears.

“...If you’re free next week, would you want to go somewhere together? As a date, I mean.” He lets the question sit in the air. “I understand if not, of course, whether it be because you just see me as a friend or find the whole idol thing too much—”

“I’ll make sure I’m free.” It takes a moment for your answer to register in Lyney’s head before his eyes light up. “Rather, you might have to make sure I don’t mess anything up for you. Like… should I call you by another name? Do I also need to wear a disguise?” If you had a net right now, it’d be very helpful in catching the butterflies in your stomach, to keep you focused on what you’re saying.

Just you would be perfect. “As long as we dress casually, it should be fine.” Lyney’s smile is contagious, now that he’s settling into the fact you said yes. “Sunday afternoon?”

“Sounds good!” You’re cut off by the bell. Remembering that you have PE and haven’t changed yet, you curse under your breath and quickly apologize to Lyney. “I’ll see you later— or text, if not!”

By the time your sentence ends, the door to the rooftop has shut, and Lyney is left standing with the tiniest of smiles, looking at the ground to try and control his expression before his siblings can bombard him with questions.

Lyney has never felt nervous while singing love songs before, but his manager recently commented that he feels younger than usual. Like an actual teenager in love.

It checks out, considering how fast his heart races when he starts to associate lyrics with you. Gone is the Felis who shines like an untouchable star, and here enters an idol who might just be human.

He enjoys it, as afraid as he is at the same time. To place one’s heart in the hands of another is terrifying, but he’d rather it be you than anyone else.

…But maybe you shouldn’t attend any of his concerts for now. He doesn’t know what he’d do if his brain short-circuits at the sight of you within the crowd. 

His own little secret within a sea of people entrusting him with their dreams — what a thrilling thing indeed.

-

Speeding up:

After that day, you noticed that Lyney has loosened up more around you — in a way that means he’s more likely to smile and cling to you during conversations. If he had cat ears, you can imagine they’d be standing proud every time he managed to fluster you, watching for every micro-reaction as if his career depended on pulling that expression from you as he might with a crowd of adoring fans.

Except you think that Lyney’s adapting to this too quickly. How is it that he was the nervous one that day at the rooftop, but has been going on the offense ever since the next morning?!

Lynette apologized to you in advance, telling you that once Lyney has his eyes on a goal, he’d be merciless in trying to charm your heart. You just didn’t think it’d affect you this much, though that might have more to say about how quickly you’re falling rather than Lyney’s approach. 

Every time Lyney calls your name and decides it’s time to hang around you like sunshine to a flower, you’re reminded of the clips of Felis you’ve watched after learning of his job. It was a mix of curiosity and puzzling out what Lyney’s other side might be like…

But god, does he have to constantly sport a smile like that? You find out through a promotional video that the coffee shop stranger actually was Lyney, and the ribbon does look very cute in his hair.

It’s a shame you’re only seeing the whole design through a screen. And even worse is the way he’s blowing a kiss to the camera in this one music video—

“What’re you watching?” Lyney’s hands rest against the back of your seat as he leans to look over your shoulder, prompting a panicked noise from your throat. You fumble with your phone, flipping it over so he can’t see. The little smile Lyney’s wearing tells you he has an inkling, but he does you the favor of not spelling it out. “Must’ve been a pretty good video if you didn’t hear me coming over.”

“You snuck up on me!” Sending him a glare, you power off your phone protectively. “...And if you must know, I was just listening to a song.”

“Can I hear?” Despite his playful tone, Lyney does give you the space to deny him as he adjusts his glasses. “But of course, I understand if you don’t like to share headphones.”

“I don’t mind, but there’s something else I’m wondering about.” You tilt your head up to peer at Lyney more closely, reaching a hand out to graze against his fingers. “Are these real?”

“My hands? I’d hope so.”

“Your glasses.” You retort quietly, trying not to roll your eyes. “Despite how I had to make a reality check about you too, I do know in fact that you’re real.”

Lyney laughs, raising a fist to his mouth. “You flatter me. But to answer your question — yes, these are actual glasses. Though the prescription isn’t too bad, so I only wear contacts if needed elsewhere.” With a serious pause, Lyney meets your gaze. “I wear these to school though, because I need to look at the board from behind and admire you clearly.”

You prop your chin against your palm. “I’m starting to think you’ve gotten too flirty recently.”

“Would you believe me if I said I’ve been holding back?” He hums, pulling a chair to sit beside you and mirror your pose. “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with me romantically at first, but after that…”

“...You’re lucky I find you cute.” You sigh in jest. “At this rate, you might wear me down before we even go on a first date.”

“There’s still a lot about myself I’d like to share with you.” Lyney quietly admits. “I just hope we’ll be able to talk with more freedom. And if you decide you still like me after that — I suppose I’d feel like the luckiest guy in the world.”

The softness in his words somehow hits you harder than his previous flirtations. 

It’s me who should be feeling incredibly lucky.

Rather than one persona being more genuine than the other, you were starting to understand Lyney’s balance between the schoolmate you knew and the charming idol onscreen.

You see the truth of his smile underneath the blinding lights and exchanges in the hallways; the adorable way he fiddles with his pen during class versus his confident choreography.

It’s all Lyney. You just have to learn more about him and put his trust to good use.

He’s not the type to pull just anyone into his world, after all. Lyney has always held back just a little, so as to not let his secrets show from behind the curtains to even his familiar friends.

And now that he’s allowed you in, how could you possibly take his excitement for granted? You’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to it too.

-

The date:

When Lyney greets you at the start of the date, the last thing you expected is for him to sneak a pink rose into your hair in place of a bouquet.

He claims it’s more discreet, especially considering the way he’s dressed with a mask and hat to hide his features, glasses also present. Despite these, Lyney is expressive enough that it doesn’t affect your conversations, and you allow him to take your hand as he leads you to the aquarium. It’s lunch time, so you’re going against the regular flow of people and enjoying the exhibits while it’s less populated.

Beneath the walkway tunnel where various rainbows of fish swim by, you gaze up in wonder at the shadow of a shark passing through.

Fontaine is nothing if not abundant in sea-related attractions, even if the main city is on land. You haven’t visited this aquarium since you were a kid, so it was nice to relive traipsing through a world washed in soothing, gentle blue.

“I think when we were younger, me and Lynette would talk about catching these fish if we were allowed into the tanks.” Lyney muses. “Perhaps that’s why our father says we’re like cats.”

“If we were in the wild though, catching fish for dinner would be a pretty good idea.” You gaze up. “But… if I was able to breathe underwater, I think I’d just spend all day escaping my troubles.”

“Would you have space for a partner in crime?”

“Only if they’d be able to help, by whisking us away from pursuers, for example.” You smile when Lyney starts swinging your hands lightly between you. “It’s stressful business when I have to worry about two of us getting caught, instead of just one.”

“I’d take the heat so you can get away first.” The conversation is childish, but Lyney’s sentiment makes a frown pull at your lips.

He’s confused when you stop walking and turn to face him. “No self-sacrifices! We either run together or get caught together. Nothing in-between.”

Something flickers in his eyes before he replies, tone warm. “Alright then. I’m at your mercy.”

“A bold claim, when you surprised me with this in my hair.” You point towards the rose Lyney’s managed to secure to your shirt with a pin, after his initial sneaky reveal. “...I’m just trying to make sure you’re not the only one giving between us, but it’s hard to keep up with all…” You gesture vaguely at him. “This.”

“You just signaled to all of me.” 

“That’s right!” You huff, crossing your arms across your chest. Lyney resists the urge to reach out and entwine your fingers again. “You’re too pretty, and nice, then I find out you can sing and dance too—”

“But I like surprising you.” Lyney chirps back, a laugh in his voice as he notices the way your face is darkening with a blush. He does you the service of hiding this from passersby — if any actually entered the walkway now, empty as it is — with his hands cupping both of your cheeks. “Maybe it’s because I’m a workaholic, but I want to make sure your eyes are only on me.” It’s the most dangerous thing he could say to you, in public or not. “So maybe I should apologize for dragging you into my selfish whims.”

“...But you don’t intend to stop.” You say, feeling lightheaded.

“Of course not.” Lyney hums, eyes bright with a smile. “There are a lot of stars to compete with in the night sky.”

And you said we're in this together, did you not? It's not the first time someone's told him he doesn't have to do things alone, but… it means a lot, coming from you.

“I hope you don’t say this to all your fans,” you sigh, relaxing into the softness of his palms. They’re smooth, and you realize Lyney’s always felt a little warm to the touch. 

“You’re a fan?”

The lilt in Lyney’s voice tells you you’ve made a mistake in your choice of words. He’s much, much too happy that a previously-disinterested person like you has now seen enough of his idol content to make such a slip.

“A fan of Lyney Hearth.” You try to salvage your pride, gaze trained onto the ground.

“Oh… I see.”

Lyney’s eyes widen before he catches himself, suddenly glad he’s wearing a mask for a different reason.

God… What is he going to do with you?

-

After attempting to feed penguins, seals, and exploring the open pool where you’re allowed to touch reef creatures, you and Lyney make a beeline out of the aquarium and towards the main shopping street, where many cafes are abound.

Since you were working against the usual rush schedule, you managed to grab a seat at a local favorite which also served meals; corner of the cafe and out of sight.

The meal passes by without issue, and next you browse some stores nearby while slowly heading towards the park. You were in a hobby shop when a group suddenly exclaimed the name Felis, causing Lyney to flinch and pull you with him behind a shelf.

“Oh my god, they do have idol stuff!”

“Yeah, but we already have this! It’s not new merch, y’know.”

Lyney lets out a relieved sigh, slumping against the shelf of comics. “Nevermind, false alarm.”

“Are you always this jumpy?” You whisper back, resisting the urge to look around him and see what said Felis merch was as the group moves to another end of the store. Lyney doesn’t seem to realize his arms are still wrapped around you, and that if you simply tilted your head a little, your faces could touch.

“Only because I’m more distracted today.” With you. “It’s nice to know that people are having fun though. My manager would classify that as a good review.”

“Yes, but also, um…” You clear your throat, causing Lyney to finally turn his head and freeze at your proximity. “Not that I mind, but you’re still holding on to me.”

“...Am I too close?” He sheepishly asks.

Yes.

“Not at all.” You swallow your nerves. “But if the staff find us like this, we’re definitely going to get kicked out.”

-

One shared crepe and a walk in the park later, you reach a quiet area hidden between the trees that’s lit by the evening light. Lyney explains that he and other trainees would often come here to hide out and practice choreography together, when the training rooms became too suffocating. In hindsight, he’s quite sure this spot had eventually been bought out by their company, seeing as they never ran into any press or strangers here.

“We’d prop our phones on water bottles and record ourselves, since there was no mirror.” Lyney recounts. “It was mostly to catch our mistakes, but some managers encourage us to pretend we’re doing vlogs too, to get used to presenting our personalities to the camera. Whatever does get uploaded is screened, though.”

“Do you still have those videos?” You’re sitting on a bench, legs crossed and facing one-another. “The ones that didn’t get posted, I mean.”

“...Maybe? They’re really embarrassing though.” He chuckles, and almost moves to take off his mask before he thinks better of it. “And I think I only did those to update my family on how I was doing. They don’t believe my words entirely when I say I’m fine.”

“You are too good of a talker, so I’d be wary too.” You laugh, glancing up at the sky. The clouds are parting for purple and orange. “I think once upon a time, I might’ve dreamed about doing something creative too. Like singing, fashion, or etcetera.”

“Not every interest has to be placed in the public eye.” Lyney takes off his hat, giving you a wink. “Guess what’s inside.”

“A dove? More roses?”

“Take a look.”

Once you lean closer, Lyney raises the cap to shield your faces from one side, then pulls his mask aside to block the other. It’s over in a moment, but he brushes his lips over your cheek, and the one image that clings to your mind is the blush adorning his face and the clear look in his violet eyes.

Eyes that are trained on you — holding your attention until something flickers in the corner of your vision, and Lyney reveals a rose made of playing cards.

You look down to check for the flower pinned on your shirt: no longer there, and presumably transformed by Lyney’s trick of the senses. He allows you to take the handcrafted rose with a satisfied smile.

“I was nervous it might’ve fallen apart after walking around all day.” He admits. “It’s not as romantic as a regular rose, but I hope it holds its charm all the same.”

It’s very him. Lovely and careful in the ways he opens up his petals to you, but hiding a puzzle of spells underneath.

“It’ll last a lot longer, too.” You smile, storing it carefully to take home later. “How long did you spend on preparing that?”

“What do you mean? I transformed it in a second.” He muses. “Besides, I don’t want to spoil the magic. It took a lot of practice, but normally just with an audience that looks at the hat, instead of…” Lyney trails off, clapping his hands together as if to signal the next topic. “I can teach you to fold a flower like that though, if you’d like.”

“In the library as usual?” You allow the shift in conversation, if only because unlike Lyney, you do not have the solace of hiding your expression behind a disguise. “I’m starting to wonder if your skillset will ever be exhausted.”

“Well, I’m quite adept at interviews, modeling, and learning things by sight.” For his idol work, he means. “But I will admit I’ve been curious about baking. Maybe one day we could try that together.”

“Collecting points in more categories, I see. Maybe you can teach me how to dance, too.”

Lyney surprises you by swinging his legs off the bench and standing. He gives you a little bow, a glint in his eyes as he extends a hand towards you. “One of Felis’ you mean? I could do that now.”

Right now?!

“Don’t you trust me to?” Lyney pouts. “I’m a good teacher, I promise.”

“M… Maybe next time?” You’re not too sure, suddenly feeling intimidated by the idea of proper choreography. By instinct, you still take Lyney’s hand and get to your feet. “I need to mentally prepare— Whoa!”

Before you can finish, Lyney’s spun you around and lowered you into a dip, hands supporting you at your back and waist. He keeps it shallow and helps you back up — lips quirked as you’re suddenly pulled closer to him with the momentum, bodies and faces inches apart.

His pupils are dilated.

Your indignation quickly forms into surprise. There’s a quiet tension surrounding the air — a question asked, and your hand reaches up to take off Lyney’s mask in reply as he steals your breath away straight from your lips. 

You’ve been wondering when you’d finally get the chance to stop his honeyed words with a kiss.

After you get home, you find a playing card that Lyney’s slipped into your pocket. On it is his familiar scrawl, and a few simple words:

‘Thank you for today.  Love — your number 1 fan.’

You get a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time you exchange messages upon a suit of hearts. Maybe you’ll start investing in a deck of your own, just for him.

#genshin lyney x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n #genshin x reader #lyney genshin impact #genshin x you #lyney x gender neutral reader #genshin reader insert #genshin writing #genshin impact imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin fic #traveler wishes

[sluttyten]

You In My Arms

Chapter 4: Promises

(gif credit to: huangrenjuns)

full masterlist || haechan masterlist || YIMA chapter index

summary: your time at university is coming to an end, but Haechan isn't going anywhere, and neither is your long-standing crush on him

length: 13,144

tags: voyeurism, exhibitionism, slowburn, friends to lovers, masturbation, general perversion, smut

previous chapter || next chapter  (Coming Soon)

As time passes, your graduation date growing closer and closer, you try to spend more time with your friends. Sure, you’re looking for a job and all that stuff too, hoping to jump right into a career after graduation, but also you’re not ready to let go of all of this just yet – your friends and this somewhat carefree life. 

You take every moment.

You cherish the lunch breaks with your friends, hanging out between classes or after work, going bowling together with some of them on a Saturday night. You take photos and videos, keepsake memories with all of them.

You want to remember it all. To remember way it feels to be surrounded with friends, to laugh with Jaemin and Shotaro in the sunny courtyard outside the sciences building, to eat a gourmet feast Xiaojun made for his culinary cornerstone class.

You enjoy the excitement when you run with Haechan to the cafe in the break during your three-hour lecture to grab a caffeine-punch in a cup — the way he laughs at you as you try not to spill your drink while you jog back to class, the silly way he smiles when you laugh at him for having smudged the pile of whipped cream on top of his drink onto his face. 

You spend plenty of time with all of your friends over those final few weeks after midterms, but surprisingly, you spend quite a bit of time with Renjun too. Despite his awkward departure that night after you messed around during the movie, things were going perfectly smooth. 

It probably helped that neither of you mentioned it for quite a while after that. 

You’ve always been on good terms with Renjun, but over those final weeks of your final semester, you actually become quite close with him in a purely friendly way. You study together, hang out together, grab coffee and lunch and dinner. You talk about stuff, about the impending ominously dark cloud of your futures that looms ahead of you. You talk about many things, yet you both ignore the events of that movie night, not talking about it at all until weeks later. 

On a late Saturday morning, you meet Renjun to grab coffee before you go shopping together. It’s at a little place just a few blocks away from your apartment, and unfortunately, too close to the apartment of a guy you’d attempted to hook up with just a couple weeks ago. 

It’s truly unfortunate when the guy walks in while you’re standing there with Renjun. 

“Oh, shit!” You hiss, tucking yourself into Renjun’s shadow. 

Renjun freezes, barely even moving his mouth when he asks, “What? What’s wrong?”

Quickly you sum up the story for him, whispering it in his ear, and Renjun just smirks and shakes his head. He lets you keep hiding behind him until your drinks are ready, until you’ve snuck out of the shop without being noticed by the guy.

Once you’re outside, Renjun begins laughing. “I guess I should be glad you don’t treat me like that.” 

You take a sip of your drink and look sideways at him. “Honestly, I’m the one who was worried you were going to start avoiding me. After that night.”

Renjun clears his throat, and for about half a block, the two of you walk in silence tinged with awkwardness — the subject hovers right there between you, unable to be avoided now that it’s been mentioned. 

“Look,” Renjun sighs when you reach a crosswalk. Cars whip by, stirring up a breeze. “About that night….”

“Renjun, it’s fine! You don’t —“

“No, listen.” He takes your hand, and you turn to look at him. Renjun clears his throat. “What we did that night, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m kinda seeing someone, and it’s been a tentative thing for a while now.” He doesn’t meet your gaze as he says, “It’s this older guy at the place where I’m interning, so it’s not like we’ve been able to be upfront about it.”

Well, shit. There’s someone else? Did you pressure him into it that night? And, also, on top of that, you didn’t know Renjun was even interested in men. 

As if he can read the look of mild panic on your face, Renjun quickly says, “I’m bisexual, which I’ve never really said out loud before. So it’s not like I didn’t enjoy it. I did. It was a sexy situation, and you were very tempting.”

The light changes, and Renjun starts walking away, his hand still wrapped around yours. He starts talking again as you draw level with him, side by side. “The reason I just walked away that night after everything was finished is because I suddenly remembered him, and like, I’ve got this thing with him, and I really like him. So I thought I’d fucked up, and I panicked a little bit. He and I aren’t exclusive at the moment, but I still didn’t want to mess things up.”

You understand. That night is in the past, though now what little awkwardness about it remained has faded. 

You’re happy that Renjun feels comfortable enough with you to be open and honest with you, as he’d said, he’s never told anyone he’s bisexual before. And you’re just happy for him as he begins telling you about the guy he’s kinda seeing. 

Since you’re the only one of your friends that knows about this secret not-relationship going on, Renjun starts telling you, over the following days and weeks, all about the guy. He shows you pictures of him, tells you cute stories, and he even introduces you to him once when you have to swing by the guy’s apartment to pick Renjun up on your way to class. 

It’s a nice building. Nice enough that it has a doorman who gives you a strange look when you pull up to the curb and sit there waiting. You sit there, idling for a moment, and that’s when Renjun emerges. 

The guy walking beside him is wearing a cozy looking sweatshirt, a pair of basketball shorts, sandals, a backwards cap, and sunglasses. He doesn’t look like the supremely wealthy man you would typically imagine living here, nor does he totally match with the professional shots Renjun has shown you from their company’s website or his own social media. 

To your total surprise, as Renjun opens the door and slides into the passenger seat of your car, he rolls down the window and waves his not-boyfriend over. The man leans at the window with his arms folded on the edge of the car door, grinning in at Renjun before he looks over at you. 

“Hi,” he greets you. “I’m Jaehyun.”

He extends a hand, and you take it. He has a firm businessman grip, a strong handshake, a contrastingly cherubic smile. He’s tall and handsome, built like the type of man you’d see in a magazine. 

“Nice to meet you,” he tells you as he withdraws from the car a moment later. And to Renjun, he says, “I’ll see you later at the office.”

Renjun smiles and nods, his eyes softening when he looks at Jaehyun. “See you later, hyung.”

As soon as Renjun has rolled the window up, as soon as you’re pulling away, you exclaim, “I can see why you’ve been keeping him all to yourself. He’s even hotter in person, Renjun.”

To that, he just laughs. “I want to show him off. But we can’t go public since I’m an intern and he’s technically my boss right now. He’s, uh, a little bit like you. Doesn’t mind getting a little handsy in public.”

You blush as you drive. 

Renjun doesn’t even know half of it. You haven’t told him everything about the interests you’ve taken. All he knows is the way you’d not shied away from his wandering hands during the movie night, how you’d reciprocated without hesitation. 

He doesn’t know that lately you’ve been venturing out to explore your exhibitionist hungers somewhat regularly too. But you feel a little too wary about doing anything by yourself completely in public, fearing the negative consequences of getting caught, so you mostly just keep it in your car. Masturbating in your car in the parking lot on campus or while you’re driving. But there’s a missing thrill when you do that because there’s no one to really see you, which is a little contradictory to why you won’t do it properly out in public. 

Luckily, Renjun changes the subject, steering things away from your sex life or his. And for the most part, you don’t talk about it again until a few days later. 

The end of the semester is rapidly approaching, days filled with studying for finals, working on final projects, spending every waking moment working towards the finale of your time in school. That’s when the subject of Jaehyun finally comes up again. You’d just asked how things were going, Renjun had answered simply, and after a few moments of silence, he spoke up again. 

“I told Jae that I hooked up with you once,” Renjun admits.  

You’re sitting together on the floor of his bedroom, studying for different classes, but you decided to do it together. Haechan and Jaemin had been here earlier too, but Jaemin left for the gym with Jeno, and Haechan had finally left because he had to go to work at the restaurant. So now it’s just the two of you. 

You look over at him. 

“Jae said he thinks we must’ve looked good together, and I told him that no one was watching so I wouldn’t know how good we looked together. That we really just swapped a handjob and me fingering you beneath the blankets, so it wasn’t much to look at.” Renjun taps the end of his pen against his notebook, and he’s studying you, looking along the length of you stretched out on your belly on his floor. “He said he still would’ve loved to have seen.”

Yeah, well, you’d like to see him and Jaehyun together too. Renjun is so pretty and Jaehyun is so handsome. You’ve seen his hard muscles in some of the photos Renjun has shown you, plus the day that you picked Renjun up, Jaehyun was wearing a sleeveless shirt that showed off arms so beautiful they could have been marble sculpted by an old-world artist. Renjun has shared a few details about their sex life, enough that  you’re intrigued. You’re sure he and Jaehyun make a pretty picture too. 

Renjun looks away from you, staring down at his pen tapping on the page. His cheeks are a little pink when he says, “He’s given me permission to have sex with you again, if you’re down for it. But he wants to see. If it happens, he wants me to film it.”

A bolt of heat shoots down to your core, spreading fast through you as you sit up to properly look Renjun in the eye. “Are you serious?”

Renjun nods, nervously avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. It’s weird, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about it, but you were into the like exhibitionism of that night, so I thought maybe you could be into this too? But, I get it’s weird so if it’s too weird or if you just don’t want to do it at all, I understand and we can forget all about this.”

But you do want it. It’s exactly what you’ve kinda been wanting. To have someone watch without the risk of it becoming a problem. And you like Renjun; it’s not like the thought of doing anything more sexual with him hadn’t crossed your mind since that first time. 

“Ok. Can I make one request?” You ask, already closing your textbook and pushing your notes away. 

Renjun nods. 

“Can we do it in my car?”

So the next day, you and Renjun are in your car. You’re parked in the back of a parking lot on campus, far away from anyone else, facing a border of trees. Renjun, while he’d agreed to the car thing, didn’t actually want anyone to be able to see, so you’d drawn up this happy medium. 

He props his phone up on your dashboard, and you climb into his lap. The day is warm enough that without the AC on in the car, you’re already sweating, especially when your bare thighs rest against Renjun’s. He’s shimmied his shorts down to his ankles, sitting in the passenger seat of your car in just his underwear. 

“We do look good,” Renjun comments as he looks over and readjusts the angle of the phone. 

You pull the sundress you’re wearing over your head, dropping it back into the driver’s seat. Now you sit nude on Renjun’s lap, sunlight pouring in through the windows over your skin. You put your fingertips just beneath Renjun’s chin, tipping his face up until his gaze meets yours. “Let’s show ourselves off to your man.”

He touches you, running his hands over your thighs, hips, your belly, your chest. You didn’t discuss it beforehand, but Renjun curls his hand against the back of your neck and brings you in for a kiss. His mouth is soft, his breath sweet. Renjun is gentle with you as you both get to know each other a little better, as he softens you up and as he slips his hand down to open you up with his fingers. You don’t hold yourself back, not in the sounds you make or the way you grind onto his fingers. You don’t care that the windows are cracked to allow in a breeze, that your moans might carry across the parking lot. 

After a few minutes, Renjun loses the stiffness brought on by uncertainty. He loses a bit of that softness when he grabs both of your hips and drags you a little higher in his lap. He lifts a hand to your throat, holding on as he brings his lips to your ear and tells you, “Want you to ride my cock like a good slut. Yeah?”

A swift smack to your ass with one hand gets you moving. 

You push at Renjun’s shoulders, pinning him back into the seat. “Why don’t you just sit back and enjoy, huh?”

Renjun does just that, relaxing back into the seat. He slides the hand down from your throat, to your shoulder, down your arm. His fingertips trace the rounded curve of your breast, down your side, over your hip and your thigh, down to your knee where it bends beside his hip. 

You squeal with surprise when suddenly the seat moves, falling nearly horizontal. 

Renjun laughs, lifting his hand from where it had fallen to the lever beside the seat, the one he’d used to make the sudden move. “Now,” Renjun says, “Now, ride me, beautiful.”

So you do exactly that. 

You fuck Renjun, riding him on that small seat in your car, both of you baking under the heat until sweat pools in all the small places, until your skin sticks to his disgustingly. Your car rocks as you ride him, and the phone filming all of this slips from its perch on the dashboard a few times until Renjun finally picks it up and holds it himself, focusing it where he disappears inside you, aiming it at your tits when he puts a hand on one, speaking to you, and capturing your moans and wordless replies. He films every part of you but your face, which had been another request of yours. 

Renjun pushes you off his cock just seconds before his orgasm mounts, and he releases across his belly, gasping and groaning. 

“Don’t move,” he groans as you begin to climb off him into the driver’s seat again. “You didn’t finish. Let me.”

It takes some careful rearrangement, but after a moment you’re the one reclining in the seat. Renjun has pushed the seat as far back from the dashboard as allowed, and he’s carefully squeezed himself down onto the floor, kneeling there with your legs draped over his shoulders as he dips in to lick you out. 

It’s great. It’s fun. 

You’re leaned far enough back that you can’t see the rest of the parking lot beyond the windows, only the sky above. But you can still hear, and you hear as a few people pass nearby the car, as Renjun does a certain thing that makes you let out a completely inappropriate sound. You hear the conversation of those outside pause, but you don’t even mind, in fact it perhaps excites you even more as Renjun carries you straight over the edge of your orgasm. 

That time is not the only time. Apparently Jaehyun likes seeing you and Renjun together. 

Jaehyun never wants to physically be present to witness it, just wants to see videos and pictures, and once he does call so he can listen and direct Renjun from a distance. 

It’s just sex. Great sex. Fun sex, sometimes in public but sometimes in Renjun’s room at the rental house. 

You keep it secret between you two. No one needs to know about the confusing nature of whatever is happening between you. They don’t have to know that while you’re all over hanging out at the rented house that you’re wondering about the likelihood of dragging Renjun into the laundry room for a quickie, or you’re wishing that you could just be riding him on the swing on the back porch with each of you wearing an AirPod with Jaehyun connected through a phone call like you’ve done before. None of them have to know at all, not that they’d notice. 

No, instead they’re all typically busy focusing on games or whatever movie or drama someone puts on. Or, such as on this particular night, a karaoke machine. 

Jaemin brought one home from the rec center on campus because it was outdated and they were going to trash it. So he’s brought it home for some fun tonight, and pretty much everyone has been having fun with it, and paying no attention to anything else, fully distracted. Even Renjun who keeps missing the way you’re trying to catch his eye. 

Your mind has been preoccupied with those thoughts about being bent over the washing machine in the laundry room, but it’s clear as you fail to catch Renjun’s eye for the fifth time tonight that it’s not going to happen. 

So you decide to give in to just having regular non-sexual fun tonight. To just enjoy the company of your friends, to pick up the mic and sing karaoke along with the rest. You’ll do anything for the prize of the cheap ass gold trophy one of the guys bought as a joke during your freshman year, the one that gets passed around any time there’s a contest. 

Haechan, tragically, is just getting over a cold and his voice is still a bit hoarse, so he’s had to sit out on the karaoke fun. He’d pouted for a while earlier when Jaemin brought the machine out, but once Mark had suggested that Haechan be the karaoke maestro for the evening, his mood improved. 

Therefore, Haechan is the one holding the control for the karaoke machine when you jump to your feet, ready for your chance. He grins at you, and you get this silly, starry-eyed feeling, bunnies jumping around in your belly. You pinch the inside of your elbow, trying to chase the thoughts away. You need to get over your crush on him. It’s been long enough. 

“What’ll it be? Anything in particular?” Haechan rasps, lifting his eyebrows as he scrolls through the selection. “Or dealer’s choice?”

“Don’t do it,” Chenle warns from where he’s sunken into a beanbag chair, arms folded and his eyebrows set in a deep frown. Just moments ago he failed disastrously after the song Haechan had chosen for him proved to be surprisingly too difficult. 

Haechan blinks up at you, fluttering his eyelashes with a sweet smile, the face of innocence.  

“Yeah, absolutely not,” you laugh. “I know what I want. ‘You In My Arms’ by Yoo Jae Ha, please, Haechan.”

It’s a slow ballad song, but it’s one you like. You’d heard it once and immediately fallen in love with the old song. It’s certainly the oldest choice of all the songs that have been sung so far tonight. 

“That one?” Haechan asks, a tone of surprise weaving through the scratch of his voice. 

“Yes.” You straighten up, turning to face the screen fully, trying to put Haechan out of your line of sight. 

You put your heart and soul into the performance. A few of the others sing along in the background, and even if you’re not the best singer in the room, you’re not the worst. You sink down into your spot on the floor, pretty pleased with yourself honestly, although Xiaojun ends the night in possession of the trophy, vowing that he’ll take good care of it. 

It’s only when someone points out that he might be the one to end up with possession of the trophy permanently with graduation coming up that the mood of the night sours. The end of the semester is quickly approaching, and many of you are graduating, and things will be different. There won’t be nights of congregating in the rented house just off campus, no more pointless competitions for the sake of the trophy. 

It’s coming to an end. 

Someone has the idea, on that bittersweet note, for all of you to take a group picture together because for the first time in forever, your entire close-knit group is all in attendance. And it would be nice to have a group photo to remember everyone by. 

“God damn, we’re not dying,” Haechan says. The words are rough, grating out of his throat and grating along sensitive nerves among the group. One of the girls starts crying, dragging everyone she can reach together into a half-hug, half-pose for the photo. 

Renjun sets his phone up, sets a timer, and everyone clusters together. Shoulders, knees, elbows knock as everyone scrambles to fit into the frame. Someone steps on someone else’s hand. There’s an elbow digging into someone’s thigh. A hand brushes your back, slipping over your shoulder as they lean on you a bit. 

The unexpected weight throws you off balance, and you almost fall forward until the hand on your shoulder drops to your waist, holding you steady, holding you up. 

“Smile everyone!” Someone says. 

The camera flashes bright. You hear the snap of the iPhone’s camera. 

The group disintegrates, people moving immediately. The hand on your waist falls away. 

You turn around to see who it was. 

Renjun smiles brightly right there. Mark is there too, laughing and swatting Renjun and Haechan on the shoulders. Haechan smiles too, silently laughing along with Mark. None of the three of them look at you. 

Renjun promises he’ll send the picture out to everyone, but then someone breaks out a couple bottles of wine. Glasses are poured, toasts are made, memories remembered. The night passes, tasting bittersweet on everyone’s tongues. 

“Let’s take a trip,” someone suggests before the night ends. “Let’s all go away somewhere after graduation. One last trip with all of us!”

Haechan is the one to suggest, “We could go overseas to somewhere warm with a beach and get drunk to celebrate.” He’d looked around at your friends, a light glimmering in his eyes, a touch of his insatiable voyeuristic hunger residing in that look. “How about Thailand?”

No official plans are set in stone that night. There’s been too much drinking already, people get sucked back into the lure of the karaoke machine, and others start to head home. You should go home too. Tomorrow you have an interview for a job that starts after graduation. You need to get some rest. 

But Haechan offers you another turn on the karaoke machine, any song, your choice. You can turn that down. As you slide down onto the sofa beside him, your shoulder brushes his, fingers sliding against the back of his hand while you use the controller to select the song you want. 

And maybe it’s your imagination, just wishful thinking brought on by your crush, but you think he leans into you, that he sighs a little when you touch his hand. 

Regardless of the truth of your experience, you cradle the warm feeling brought on by Haechan’s potential reaction, carrying it with you all the way home later that night.

It is a total relief, a weight lifted off of your shoulders, to be walking out into a beautiful, sunny, temperate day knowing that you have just received a job offer from the company you wanted to work at. 

The Moon Corporation is a business created by an alumni of your school, Moon Taeil. He’s hired many people who’ve also attended your school, so you felt like your odds at getting hired were pretty good. Especially since you’ve been there at the top of pretty much every class, top grades and performance. 

So today, after your interview, you walk out of the building with a nice job offer that you’re absolutely going to accept. 

“Well, how did it go?” A voice from behind you. A burst of cool air as the doors of the building are opened again. 

You turn around.

Haechan saunters forward, hands tucked in the pockets of his tailored black pants. His shirt is tucked in and crisp. His hair is styled instead of the fluffy mess it had been just last night during all the karaoke-ing. He’s wearing glasses again and an open smile. 

You forgot that he was here too. You’d seen him sitting there waiting when you were called in for your interview, but in all the excitement of how well the interview had gone and then receiving the offer, you’d miraculously forgotten about Haechan. That has rarely ever happened when he’s in your vicinity. 

“I got the job!” You lift your hands to your face, cool palms against your warm cheeks. You’re still surprised and elated, your face flushed with happiness. “What about you?”

The Moon Corporation was hiring multiple positions as the company was looking to finally expand a bit more. 

Haechan grins, and as he comes up beside you, he throws his arm over your shoulders. “I got it too, of course. You already know I could charm my way into anything.” He says it smugly and teasingly, offering you a wink that makes your heart beat a little faster. 

You push him away a little, half heartedly because you don’t actually want him to pull his arm away from your shoulders. Luckily he leaves it there as you start walking towards where you’ve parked your car. You ask, “So I’m stuck with you even after graduation?”

“Oh, dear,” Haechan laughs, “Yeah, I think we might be stuck with each other for a long time. It’s a good thing you enjoy my company.”

His arm slides away from your shoulders and he steps away, but you find yourself drifting closer to his side. “We’ve got to have each other’s backs, got it?” You tell him. “We’re in this together. Friends and coworkers, teammates.” 

Haechan nods seriously, holding his hand out to you, pinky finger extended. “I promise.”

You loop your pinky finger with his, holding his gaze as you make this pinky promise. An unbreakable vow. “I promise.”

The day of graduation comes too quickly. Final exams pass in a series of successes, final projects are submitted without a hitch. Your contract with the Moon Corporation is signed and submitted, and your orientation is scheduled to begin in two weeks.

But first, before all of that, before the entirety of the rest of your life stretches out before you, there’s the trip to Thailand planned with your friends. Before life, first there is the promise of fun and relaxation, adventure and alcohol as you all fly to Thailand, and cram a dozen of you into one house for a week. 

Everyone comes, which is kind of hectic to plan and organize, especially when some of your friends don’t even jump onto the trip until rather last minute. 

You don’t know if it’s the heat or something else, but something about those days spent in Thailand has everyone horny. 

In between the adventures — trips to historic and religious sites, a trip to a busy market in the city, a few hikes — and just simply relaxing on the beach, it seems that everyone is sneaking around and having sex. 

You hear sounds from the rooms the others are in. Echoing moans from the bathroom. You know the outdoor shower certainly gets more use than just for showering – you catch Jaemin walking in there once and moments later soft moans echoed out. You were pretty certain you spotted YangYang getting handsy on the beach with a European tourist he met at one of the bars in town. 

You are no exception. The heat just gets under your skin and drives you wild as you lounge on a float in the pool, watching Haechan swim laps, watching Renjun wrestling YangYang in the shallows. You watch both of them closely for the first day, unable to pull your gaze away from Haechan because he’s the object of your list and affection, but Renjun as well. Because you know that if you approach him, it’ll be so easy. 

It only takes a few hours for you to snap, to drag Renjun away from your friends and tell him that you need to get off. That leads to the pair of you sneaking around the house and on the beach, having sex at every opportunity over the next few days. You also use that outdoor shower for non-showering activities. 

You try to get it all out of your system, just wanting to not feel horny. All you want is to enjoy a day trip to a beautiful ancient temple, but your mind can only focus on Haechan standing beside you in a loose white tank top that doesn’t hide the way the muscles in his arms flex. And since when does he have toned arms? Has he been working out? You can only watch his hands as he gently brushes his fingers over objects in the market. You can only stare as his swim trunks rise up around his thighs when he sits down across from you under the pergola behind the house you’re all staying at, his hand fisted around a water bottle held between his thighs — your mind immediately turns to filthy thoughts of his hand around his cock, his golden thighs on display and his head thrown back with a moan instead of just laughter at a joke that Jeno is telling. 

That night you drag Renjun out to the beach when no one is paying attention, and you beg him to please let you do whatever you want with him to just get these urges out of your system. He lets you, and he doesn’t have to know that when your eyes are closed it’s because you’re thinking of Haechan. Although, to be fair, when you’re kneeling in the sand, sucking his cock with his fingers threaded through your hair, he could just as easily be imagining you as Jaehyun as you’re imagining he’s Haechan. 

That night is certainly not the only time that week. 

You know that you and Renjun aren’t alone in all of this horniness. Everyone is getting action either from among your friend group or from locals or other tourists in the area. 

Everyone except Haechan.

You try not to notice, but obviously you can’t help it. Everyone pairs off, even if they’re swapping pairs like YangYang keeps doing when he trades out the tourist for a local girl and that local girl for Giselle in your friend group, and then Giselle for another tourist. 

But Haechan is always alone, though he seems entertained by everything going on around him even if he’s not directly involved in any action.

On your final night in Thailand, several of the guys decide to cook for everyone. Xiaojun has just graduated with a culinary degree, Haechan just enjoys cooking, and after a recent trip abroad Chenle is now possibly considering switching his major to culinary arts. The three of them prepare dinner for everyone, serving it out by the pool with many drinks to be had by everyone. The drinking lasts a lot longer than the food, going until late in the night when drunken toasts are being shouted out left and right to celebrate everything from the big victories and accomplishments to the small and ridiculous things. 

“To those of us who’ve already got jobs lined up!” Renjun cheers, lifting his glass.

Several of the others glare, but you lift your glass to tap it against his. Haechan too, both of you with your office jobs lined up with the Moon Corporation. Haechan’s knuckles bump against the back of your hand as he joins you in the toast, and you glance his way. 

Haechan isn’t truly paying any attention to you, but rather he’s looking at Renjun.

Haechan’s eyes flash as he says, “I still don’t get how you got a full-time position with full benefits, Renjun. Getting promoted from an unpaid intern to having full benefits and everything at your company. You skipped right over being a part-timer. Sheesh,” Haechan whistles, knocks his drink back like it’s a shot, and then asks, “Whose cock did you have to suck for that?”

It’s just a phrase, but still, it holds a little ring of truth to Renjun’s situation. 

Renjun sits his glass down heavily onto the table. 

Not that Haechan could possibly know it, but that’s something Renjun has expressed concern to you about. That it’s Jaehyun that got Renjun his position. You know it can’t be true; Renjun deserves the job he’s got, and maybe Jaehyun helped fast-track the promotion, but Renjun certainly would have gotten himself there all on his own. 

You know that there’s no way that Haechan could know about that. None of your friends probably do. Most of them don’t even know that Renjun is bisexual. 

Renjun doesn’t take another drink from his glass or say another word. He simply leaves the table.

“Damn,” Haechan whistles, “I think I touched a nerve.” And then he looks at you, a smile beginning to form, and then he opens his mouth, ready to say something to you, too.

“Don’t even dare to suggest that I did something like sleeping my way into our company, Lee Donghyuck,” you warn him off before he can say anything like that.

He just smirks. “The full government name? What did I do wrong?” He steals Renjun’s abandoned drink and tosses it back without flinching. “And besides, angel, you know I don’t think you could do anything as naughty as fucking your way into a job. You’re too much of a good girl for that.”

Heat flares beneath your skin due both to anger – why is he so determined to think that you are the perfect picture of innocence? – and arousal in hearing him call you a good girl. The way that his voice curls around the words, softening them, turning them into a praise rather than just a tease. You cross your legs beneath the table. 

“I wouldn’t accuse you of something like that. I’m not dumb enough to piss you off when we’re about to be working together. And I know you’ve worked hard. You’re brilliant.” Haechan drapes his arm over the back of your seat, and it takes a lot of your willpower to not lean into his gravity. He smells like summer with a little hint of the spices he’d used to prepare dinner. It’s so tempting to lean in, to breathe the smell of him in, to have your nose tracing the path of moles on his throat, to let your tongue take over and taste his sweat….

Just like Renjun, you leave the table without another word. But yours is less to do with being upset, and everything to do with the way that you’re about to throw yourself at him. 

Haechan just laughs, and when you take a last glance over your shoulder at him, he’s already turned to a conversation with Shotaro.

You find Renjun upstairs in the group bedroom, or the overflow room where a variety of people who there weren’t enough bedrooms for had been sleeping all week. He’s sitting at the far end of the room on the pallet of blankets that you and he had claimed the first night. He’s on the phone, talking quietly with someone you can only assume is Jaehyun. 

Renjun only glances at you as you walk around to sit down on your blankets. You can make out the low timbre of Jaehyun’s voice on the other end of the line, and you quickly determine that Haechan’s little jab at Renjun had certainly touched a nerve as he’s now seeking reassurance from Jaehyun that he didn’t earn his job just because of the relationship that they have.

You find the answer when Renjun spits out, “What the fuck, Jaehyun?” 

He promptly ends the call, tossing his phone over into his suitcase. He cries, frustrated, angry, sad. And you sit up there with him and comfort him for a good long while until his irritation with Jaehyun — who had in fact fast-tracked Renjun’s promotion from intern to full-time employee — shifts back to being his irritation with Haechan. 

“Haechan can be such an asshole sometimes!” Renjun complains. “You know the other day when I left my phone down by the pool? I saw him looking through it before he returned it to me, like what a nosy asshole.”

“And what do you think he was looking at in your phone?” You rest your cheek on your hand, tilting your head to look at Renjun. 

Renjun shrugs. “My photos app is full of nudes and videos, so he probably saw some of that. That’s probably why he thinks I fucked my way out of being an intern.” He shakes his head. 

“I’m pretty sure he was about to make some comment about me too,” you say, “But I stopped him before he could.”

Renjun sits up quickly, staring down at you. “Are you fucking kidding? What the hell is his problem tonight? Accusing both you and I of sleeping our way into our jobs?” He scoffs and looks like he’s about to get up, to go hunt Haechan down. 

You take his hand, tugging to get him to stay down there on the floor with you. “He never actually said anything implying that I’m a slut. Actually, on the contrary, he told me again that he thinks I’m too innocent to do anything like that.” You roll your eyes a little bit. “I’m halfway convinced Haechan still thinks I’m a blushing virgin.”

“If he only knew.” Renjun slumps back down beside you. “I’ve never met anyone else who wanted to have sex in public as much as you.  No one else who would eagerly agree to fuck on video just so I can send it to my… my boyfriend?” His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t know if that’s what Jaehyun is or not. We haven’t called it anything officially. But if that’s not what we are, why would he give me such a good position at work? Like, he obviously wants me around, right? Fuck, Haechan has me questioning everything now. And I had to put a passcode on my phone because of him.”

You smile at him softly. “You probably should’ve done that a while ago if you have so much sensitive stuff in your phone.”

Renjun makes a face, but you know that he knows that you’re right. He sighs, “I’m just ready to go home. I’m tired of being crammed in this house with so many people, most of all him. He’s just right there beneath my skin, you know?”

You do and you don’t. As much as Haechan irritates you sometimes, you also can absolutely not deny that you still like Haechan. Quite a lot. And Renjun mentioning Haechan potentially looking through the camera roll doesn’t help the problem you were trying to escape from by coming up here. A low heat simmers in your belly as you think about gross voyeur Haechan scrolling through Renjun’s phone. 

“I’m getting my own place when we get home. With my salary, I’ll be able to afford a decent place.” Renjun stares up at the ceiling, his gaze distant, his thoughts probably miles away from where yours are. “Our lease on the house is up at the end of the month, and most of the rest of them already have their next place lined up. I was hesitating, hoping Jae would ask me to move in with him. Maybe I’ll see if Xiaojun still wants a roommate. But he lives next door to YangYang and Haechan. Do I really want to deal with them?”

As if YangYang isn’t Renjun’s best friend other than you? You know he would love to have him as a next door neighbor. Haechan too. Even though he’s on Renjun’s nerves right now, they generally do get along quite well. 

It’s already late, and when someone stumbles into the room a few minutes later, crashing and stumbling down onto the blankets at the other end of the room, your conversation with Renjun tapers off. It’s late, your flight back home is in the morning, and even if the others want to drink until you all leave for the airport, you’re going to sleep. 

Renjun follows your lead, getting undressed to fall asleep in the humidity of the room. 

You doze off, sleeping lightly. 

You hear every creak and groan of the house, each footstep climbing the stairs. Every flush of the toilet. The quiet conversations as people say goodnight and close themselves into their rooms. You hear a distant moaning and thumping of a headboard against a wall. You hear the room fill around you, snores and breathing and the ever-increasing heat as more of your friends pack into the room. 

The ceiling fan overhead doesn’t seem to do much at all, and even when you get up to crack the window in the hope of tempting in a breeze, it only helps slightly. But when you lie back down, you do manage to drop right back into sleep. You fall all the way down to a place where you can dream. 

And you do dream.

A sweet summer fantasy of relaxing on the sand of the beach just outside this house, entirely nude beneath the sun. There’s a soft pair of lips and a set of rough hands, a clever tongue flicking against your clit, quick fingers pressing inside you. Even in your dream you know it’s wrong to be doing this out in the open, but you love it so much, knowing that anyone could see how your partner is making you feel. 

You lift your head and look down your bare body to the head of the person settled between your legs. All you can see is his hair — dark and fluffy, curling in the humidity. And then he moves, tilting his head in just a way that you can at last see his eyes. 

“Haechan,” you sigh.

Your eyes open, heart pounding in the quiet of that room. The humid air clings to your skin even though all you’re wearing is your panties and a tshirt. You’ve already kicked your blanket off in your sleep, so what little air is circulating in the room moves over your bare skin, but it does very little to help anything, especially with the heat of a different sort simmering beneath your surface. 

And of course, nothing is helped by what you see as soon as you’ve opened your eyes. 

The man in your dreams is right in front of you. 

Haechan is stretched out on his back right beside you. And he’s awake, his gaze fixed first on your ass only to slowly trail back up to your face. 

And that’s when you realize that you’d spoken his name aloud. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, making some excuse about how YangYang had locked him out. 

You don’t care about what he’s saying. All you can think about is how you’d just been having a very nice dream about him, and now here he is. What are the odds? 

Haechan moves a little, and you realize that you can smell him — all sunscreen and spice, and much like earlier in the night, you have to fight that urge to smell him. It would be so easy right now to just roll closer to him, to snuggle into that spot between his shoulder and his neck, to excuse it in the morning as not having been fully awake. Maybe you’d been able to smell him in your sleep, and that’s why he’d taken up that role in your fantasy. 

Haechan finishes his excuse, and you just close your eyes again, and tell him, “Don't care. Just stop staring at my ass. I’m trying to sleep.” You hide your face in your pillow, hoping that he couldn’t tell that you were flushed in the face, hoping he won’t notice that you don’t fall back asleep because your heart is pounding and your body is craving to be touched. 

He doesn’t say another word, but after a moment of silence, he does suddenly fling his blanket off only for it to land over your feet. Even that much is too warm, plus it stirs up the scent of him that just riles you up even more. You feel like an animal, getting so turned on just by a smell, so you back away, scooting back towards Renjun to try to get a little distance from Haechan. You turn onto your side instead of the less comfortable position of lying on your belly, and as you do so, you accidentally bump into Renjun. 

He jolts, startled awake by the contact. You can tell he’s awake because he wraps an arm around your waist, he presses up against your back. He drops a kiss to the sensitive spot right behind your ear that’s exposed at this angle. 

You shiver against him, and without either of you acknowledging it, Renjun starts moving. 

You’ve mentioned this before, this idea of being touched in the room with all of your friends. A scenario similar to the first sexual encounter between you and Renjun. Even earlier this week, you’d mentioned something quite similar to this about messing around with each other in this room while your friends slept around you. 

You think that’s what Renjun is playing off of right now as he slides the hand resting on your waist down along the band of your panties. 

In front of you, Haechan’s face has relaxed, and you think maybe he’s fallen asleep that quickly. Maybe the heat, instead of suffocating him, has lulled him into a comforting sleep. Part of you wishes it had worked that easily for you. 

You slowly slide down to lie on your back as Renjun moves too, lifting himself up on his side to look down at you. His fingers graze your clit, dipping a little lower and finding you already soaking wet with arousal, and an involuntary noise leaves your lips. Renjun grins, lifting his free hand up to his lips, signaling that you need to keep quiet, but with the other hand, he keeps touching you. Slowly he circles his fingers on your clit. You want more, need more, crave to be touched everywhere. 

And somewhere at the other end of the room, someone coughs in their sleep. 

Renjun freezes. 

He’d better not stop. He can’t stop. You’re too worked up at this point to not be allowed to cum, even if that means that you wake every single person in this room. 

But the room settles into quiet again, and Renjun’s fingers move on your clit again. A sigh spills from your lips. 

You bring your own hands up to your chest, slowly moving your hands up over your shirt which is already ridden up over your ribs, and you try to keep it covering your tits just a little to preserve a tiny bit of your modesty. Your nipples are hard, and you pinch them between your fingers, massaging your tits just the way you like as Renjun keeps touching you. And you know there are involuntary little sounds that keep escaping you, but they’re so quiet there’s no way that they’re loud enough for anyone else other than you and Renjun to really hear. 

Until Renjun decides to touch you deeper. His fingers dip down to your entrance, sliding inside you in a way that makes your breath catch, makes your legs fall apart to allow him better access. 

This time, Renjun clears his throat, just a small coughing sound, but it’s enough to draw your attention up to his face. He flicks his gaze over toward your other side. 

Your knee is touching Haechan’s leg. Renjun looks at it, looks back at you. But you don’t care, you just want Renjun to keep touching you. You shrug a little, and that’s enough for Renjun. 

As his fingers stroke your inner walls, your control really starts to slip. Whimpers, sighs, all these little noises that are going to get you caught. Which, really, is that the worst thing that could happen?

For Renjun, the answer might be yes. 

He covers your mouth with the hand that’s not busy at work between your thighs. You can’t help making sounds, you feel so good, and you’re really enjoying this situation and the possibilities. It’s your ideal exhibitionist scenario playing out in real time. 

Renjun holds your gaze, a silent command in his eyes for you to be a little more quiet. 

But then his fingers press right against that certain spot inside you, and this time you whimper his name, the sound muffled against the palm of his hand. 

A moment passes in which Renjun stops touching you, and then his hand moves as if he’s going to pull his hand away. Immediately you reach down, closing your hand around his wrist, keeping his fingers inside your panties. His threat is clear in that alone, but still Renjun whispers, “Quiet, beautiful.”

“Renjun, please,” you beg, trying your best to keep your voice quiet too. You move, rolling your hips up, trying to get Renjun to resume touching you. He looks into your eyes and you tell him, “Someone is going to hear.” And by that you mean: someone is going to hear, it’s inevitable, but you don’t care. He knows you get off on stuff like this, so why is he suddenly wanting you to be quiet and sneaky about it?

“Then be quiet. You said you wanted this,” his fingers stroke slowly over your clit. “Do you still? Or should I actually stop?”

His threat is clear. His rules are plain. 

Either you keep quiet while he fingers you in this room full of your friends, or he’s going to stop and leave you horny. He won’t finish giving you what you want. He doesn’t mind the threat of being discovered, but he doesn’t actually want to be discovered. The noisier you get, the higher the likelihood of you actually being caught. 

He slides a finger back down to your entrance, pressing it deep into your tight heat. It’s a test to see if you’ll keep quiet. 

Your thighs close, and you roll towards Renjun, rolling your hips to get him to move, hoping he’ll fuck you on his fingers until you’ve made a mess of your panties. He gives you a little, but he’s still holding back, so you clutch at his shirt, press your forehead to his chest, and you plead, “Keep going.”

Fuck.

You wish you were alone with him right now, and that alone is a rare enough feeling to be fucking around with Renjun and wishing that you were entirely alone and in private. You wish that he could properly fuck you right now and that you didn’t have to be quiet. You’re just desperate for it, and you can’t get what you really want here in this room of all of your friends. But this is something that you want too. It’s hot to be getting touched like this right now. 

Renjun just smiles and caresses your jaw, your throat, and he touches his fingers lightly just beneath your chin until your tip your head back just enough that it only takes a slight tilt of his face downward to kiss you. You moan softly from the smooth way he kisses you and the way that he finally really starts moving his fingers, fucking you with them.

You slide your legs apart, wanting him to get deeper, to touch you everywhere. You roll your body forward, riding his fingers as well as you can, and you can’t help the sounds you’re making. You know you’re being louder than you probably should, even though you’re actually being quite quiet as compared to normal. You can hear the rasp of the blankets beneath you as you’re moving your hips to meet each thrust of Renjun’s fingers. You can hear your wetness lubricating the way for Renjun, and it only serves to turn you on even more. Knowing that these noises are happening regardless of your attempts to muffle your moans and whimpers (unsuccessfully).

Renjun has three fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing circles at your clit. Your heart is beating everywhere all at once – in your throat, pounding in your chest, pulsing in your pussy, fluttering in your belly. You can feel it in your toes as they curl in the building heat tickling through your veins. Your hands clutch at Renjun’s shirt, and he smiles when he bends his fingers just-so, his thumb working tight circles against that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.

You gasp and whimper as you cum. You bite at Renjun’s shoulder, pulling him closer even as you try to push him away to get his hand away from where you’re quickly growing sensitive as you soak your panties. You ride it out, still feeling your heart beating in every part of you as you do pull yourself away from Renjun, flopping onto your back to stare up at that ceiling fan revolving slowly overhead. 

You’re sweating. 

You feel sticky and gross, and you’ve only got a moment to rejoice in the slight respite of the air stirred up by the fan. Then Renjun is there stretching over top of you.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. 

And Renjun is the one all over you right now, but you’re only thinking of Haechan. Thinking of his “good girl” from earlier tonight, wishing it was his voice that was whispering that in your ear, that it was his fingers inside your panties, his body too hot against yours in this already too stuffy room. Which, you do still have that one burning hot point of contact with Haechan where your knee rests against his. 

It’s not enough. 

Your body craves more of that. 

But instead you have Renjun. He’s a cuddler, that’s one thing you’ve learned since this started, and you usually don’t mind. But tonight is too hot.

“Fuck off,” you whine, squirming in a half-assed effort to dislodge him. It’s too hot, but you’ve also completely run out of the energy to actually get him to move. Renjun just lies there halfway on top of you, his arm stretched out on your other side. You wonder if he’s going to tell Jaehyun all about what you and he have done on this trip. You haven’t filmed any of your encounters on this trip, and after his argument over the phone with Jaehyun earlier, you wonder if it even matters. 

Haechan suddenly switches sleeping positions, breaking that singular point of contact, and he rolls over in his sleep so his back is to you. He twitches and shivers a little, which seems like it should be impossible given the heat, but after a moment, he relaxes again. He’s shirtless, and in the faint light coming in through the cracked open window, you can see that he’s sweating too. Beads of sweat glisten along his arm and the length of his spine. 

You smile a little to yourself as you look at his sleeping figure.

He’s so blissfully unaware that you and Renjun just did this right beside him. You could almost laugh. Would he have watched you two if he’d known? Would he have sat there like he’d done with Shotaro and his girlfriend, watching and getting off?

You fall asleep thinking about that, and in the morning you find yourself looking over at him as you wake. He’s still asleep, now flat on his back again. He looks so peaceful in sleep, his hand resting low on his belly right above the band of his black boxer-briefs. Perhaps you stare a moment too long, but as soon as you feel Renjun stirring behind you, you look away. You get up and leave the room, deciding you definitely need a cool shower before you finish packing up to head to the airport for home. 

Life settles into a boring routine once you return from Thailand. Half of your friends move away, the other half is almost always so busy working now that you hardly see each any of your friends.

Except Haechan.

With both of you working at the Moon Corporation, you see him every single day. Plus, YangYang is the only one of your friends still in the city who isn’t pursuing a proper professional lifestyle, so he made an open invitation for any of your friends to come over pretty much at any time. You take him up on that offer pretty often, honestly, but considering that he’s Haechan’s roommate, you still see a significant amount of Haechan.

Not that you’re complaining. 

You still have a dumb fucking crush on him even though you know that it’s probably just time for you to completely let it go and move on. It’s been almost five years that you’ve known Haechan, and the relationship between you has never developed beyond friendship, so maybe it’s just time that you give up.

But that history is part of the reason it’s so difficult to just move on. 

It also doesn’t help that you’re quite horny like all the time, so seeing the object of many of your fantasies all the time has put you in a rough spot. 

After your return from Thailand, Renjun and Jaehyun made up for their little fight, and they created new rules and boundaries, which meant cutting you out of the relationship altogether. You understand, of course. It was really just sex after all. You didn’t have feelings for Renjun, and you don’t want to ruin his happiness with Jaehyun. Renjun gets his own place, though Jaehyun’s over there so often that it might as well be their place. Renjun is swept up in his official relationship and his professional job, so you see less of him than you would like.

Xiaojun gets an apartment right next door to Haechan and YangYang, meaning that it should have been more convenient to get to see him too, and when you receive the invitation to his housewarming party you consider the possibility of rekindling your friends with benefits relationship with him. But at the party you learn that he’s got a new girl he’s seeing, and that it’s only been a few dates but he really likes her. 

So, instead of spending that time with your friends (except Haechan), you start spending time with your seniors at the Moon Corporation. Many of your coworkers there are men, though there are a few women too, but for the most part it’s a male-dominated company, though Mr. Moon Taeil had reassured you that as his company grows and he has a larger applicant pool to pull from, he is hoping to bridge that gender gap. For the moment, you don’t mind too much. With less women in the company, it means when you search for private company among your coworkers, there’s less competition.

You select Jungwoo, a nice guy. Funny and carefree. He’s fun for a little while, a couple hook ups in those first few weeks, but soon you both agree that you’re not truly compatible in the long run. Plus he claims that you seem distracted, like you want something else or someone else. Which is bullshit because you’re using Jungwoo to try to forget about Haechan. 

Next, you hook up with Yuta – he’s one of the biggest gossips in the company – after a night out having celebratory drinks. It’s just a one-time thing because you realize that the two of you are better off as coworkers or friends. 

No one else really catches your eye. You sometimes hang out with Yuta, WinWin, and Ten on your lunch breaks, which is when you learn all the gossip. Particularly everyone’s favorite rumor (or favorite bet) about if Taeil is in fact secretly hooking up with his secretary.

She’s gorgeous, of course, so you can understand why all the guys who have been rejected by her wonder if she’s sleeping with their boss. It’s surely some way of them coping with the rejection. But she is also really close with Taeil, so you can sort of see why they might assume she’s sleeping with him. You consider yourself a pretty decent judge of character and reader of body language, so you can tell by the way Taeil’s secretary and him interact that there’s not anything going on between them.

Romance is surprisingly a hot topic of gossip among your coworkers. But you try not to pay too much attention to it all. 

Not until the company retreat in October, a little over five months after you started at the Moon Corporation. 

On the way there, you’d been squeezed into the back of one of the transit vans that Mr. Moon had rented. One of the women was sitting beside you, and on the drive she’d chattered to you about everything that she could think of. That included, at one point, her discussing with you her ranking of your male coworkers, which was all fun and games until she reached Haechan.

“A ten. For sure. He just seems like he’d be a fun time, you know?” She says, twirling her hair around her finger as she stares at the back of Haechan’s head a couple rows up from you. “I can’t even lie that it’s kinda my goal to get him during this weekend. I want the full, fun experience of a retreat.” 

The woman on your other side giggles at that, but you just sink into a funk. 

You haven’t known anyone Haechan’s hooked up with since probably Halloween, which has been nearly a year ago. You don’t want to know that he’s having sex with anyone honestly. And as the two women continue laughing together about it for the next several miles of the trip, whispering about it while you sit there stuck between them, you just want to melt into your seat.

Instead, you decide to drink yourself numb as soon as you arrive at the retreat. Just in case you somehow play witness to your coworker’s seduction of Haechan, maybe you won’t remember it in the morning. Luckily, your first night of the retreat consists of everyone getting drunk together, so it’s not like your actions totally stand out. It’s actually just meant to be everyone drinking together, not necessarily getting drunk. 

You, Taeil, and the secretary are probably the three worst drinkers in attendance.

You only have vague recollections of that night. You remember blurrily Haechan coming over to you, stopping you from drinking any more. You remember seeing the other woman watching you with jealousy in her eyes while Haechan talked to you, as he pushed a bottle of water into your hands.

You remember sitting there, looking into his eyes and wondering if maybe you should just confess everything to him. But even with as much alcohol as you’d consumed, it wasn’t enough to loosen your lips and let everything flow out. 

You remember him asking to walk you back to your tent, and how your mind had immediately shot to the only possibility that your forever-attracted-to-him brain could think of in delight, while the rational part of your brain was shouting that you couldn’t have sex with Haechan when you were drunk. Of course, that’s not what he was trying to say. He was just trying to be a gentleman and walk you back to your tent since you were staggeringly drunk.

You vaguely recall him calling you angel, him putting his arms around you to help you walk. You barely remember the walk there, only the cool material of your sleeping bag against your bare legs as you crawl in, as you flop down and twist around to look at Haechan. You remember wanting him to stay, but also wanting him to leave because you don’t want him seeing you like this. And then everything fades away completely.

But then you’re awake and it’s not yet morning.

The tent is dark with only the shadows of branches stretching across the canvas ceiling. Bugs chirp and buzz outside the tent flap. Something woke you, though you’re not sure what exactly. You consider rolling back over and falling asleep, but that’s when you realize that the spot beside you in the tent is empty. The spot where Mr. Moon’s secretary was meant to be sleeping tonight. 

There’s no way that you’re sober enough to be getting up and wandering around the retreat site in the dark, but you’re also not sober enough to realize how that might be a bad option. So you get up, you pull on a hoodie and slip on your shoes, and you step out into the dark morning. 

The grass is damp with dew. The stars are visible overhead. All of your coworkers are asleep in their tents, but the lights are on back up at the guesthouse where the bathrooms and the kitchenette are, and you realize maybe she’s just gone to pee. You can’t blame her for that; as a matter of fact, you could probably use the toilet too. So you make your way in that direction, but before you can quite reach it you notice something odd.

Through the uncovered window, you can see Miss Secretary straddling Mr. Moon's lap while they make out.

Damn, Yuta was right about them, is all you can think as you watch her running her fingers through Mr. Moon’s hair, rubbing herself in his lap.

Then something else shifts in the darkness.

A shadowy figure shifts in front of the scene, standing outside one of the windows in the bushes. 

And in the next instant you realize that the shadowy figure is none other than Haechan. And he’s definitely jerking off. You can see his arm moving.

You’re sure he thinks no one could possibly be watching him. But you are. The watcher is being watched, and you can feel yourself growing a little warm and wet from the sight of Haechan highlighted by the glow from the window. 

You can’t properly see him from this angle, can’t see the way that his fingers wrap around his cock, but you can definitely tell what he’s doing. The way he strokes himself to the sight of them in front of him. God, he’s gross, but you love it. Heat pools between your legs, watching him like this.

You don’t even notice that Taeil and the secretary have left the scene until you notice Haechan shuddering, a quiet moan breaking the otherwise silent night. You can just barely see in the light that comes through the window, the way that there is a splatter of cum on the window. 

Damn. You feel warm, craving to be touched. 

You don’t hang around and wait for Haechan to find you, you flee back to your tent. The other woman you’re sharing your tent with is passed out completely. She hadn’t been drinking tonight, but she had taken a sleeping pill, so she is well and truly out when you slide back into your sleeping bag, when you wiggle around to get your hand inside your panties, when you plunge your fingers inside yourself, thumb swirling against your clit as you imagine a scenario where you were there in those bushes with Haechan, him fucking you while you watched the beautiful secretary ride Taeil at the table. 

You cum quietly without the other woman in the tent even stirring. And a few minutes later, as your racing heart settles, the secretary quietly returns to the tent, smelling like a masculine body wash as she tucks herself back into the sleeping bag beside yours. 

You level your breath, hold still, and soon you fall back asleep again, and in the morning you’ve pretty much forgotten everything from the night before, including the encounter between the boss and the secretary, as well as you witnessing Haechan succumbing to his perversion.

You essentially forget all about it until a few weeks later when Ten excitedly tells you and Haechan that he swears he almost walked in on Taeil and the secretary in the break room. But it just sounds like they were both standing in there when he walked in, though that little tidbit is enough to jumpstart your memory and that early morning comes back to you.

It’s a few days later when the topic returns while you’re out for dinner and drinks with several of your coworkers.

Ten is once again excitedly talking about Taeil and his secretary, insistently asking everyone else, “Don’t you think something is going on?” and “I know we don’t have proof, but I really think….” He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for everyone at your table to know he means that he’s pretty sure they’re fucking.

You look over at Haechan. 

He has proof. So do you. You’ve both witnessed it with your own eyes, although you’ve not mentioned it to him since you remembered it a few days ago. That’s in part because you don’t know how to bring it up to him without admitting that you also saw him jerking off while watching them. 

Haechan looks at you. A knowing look as if he could possibly know what you’re thinking about right now.

He doesn’t admit to anything then, not in front of your coworkers, and it makes you wonder why he’s keeping the secret to himself. He didn’t hide the secret of Shotaro and his girlfriend hooking up before outing them at that camping trip your friends had taken about a year ago. You’re curious about why he’s hiding it, and you’re curious about what his knowing look had meant.

There’s no way that he knows that you also know.

Later that night as you all start to head home from the pub, you head in the opposite direction from where everyone else seems to have parked. You’re headed for the bus stop since your roommate has borrowed your car for the night. 

You don't make it far from the door before someone calls out behind you.

“Can I walk with you?” He asks, jogging a little to catch up with you. “Don’t look at me like that. I just want to make sure you get there safely.”

You immediately wipe away your expression of surprise at his offer. “Yeah, you can walk with me. Thank you, Haechan.”

He just nods, and for a minute the two of you walk in companionable silence. But then you ask, “Well, what do you think? Think they’re fucking?”

That seems to catch him off-guard. A startled laugh tears out of him. “Yeah, they absolutely are.”

Is he going to elaborate on that?

You bump your shoulder against his, hoping if you just make all of this seem like friendly inquiry based off of that earlier conversation that he’ll be more likely to open up. For some reason you really want to hear him say it. You want to finally hear Haechan admit to you that he’s a perverted voyeur who has watched your friends and now your boss while they have sex. “You sound so certain, Haechan. Why?”

“I have my reasons.” He shrugs a little, his lips tilting up on the one side in a smirk. 

God. You want to kiss him.

You want him, and the combination of the cool air and the alcohol warm in your veins leads you to pull yourself closer to him. You wrap your hands around his arm, snuggling up against him, and you catch a whiff of that warm summery scent of him like spice, citrus, and something else distinctly Haechan. He doesn’t flinch or say a single thing as you basically hug his arm. As a matter of fact, his fingers flex a little, stretching out minimally to brush against your hip before he closes his fingers in a fist.

You wish he wouldn’t keep this a secret. Maybe if he would just admit to you how he knows, if he confessed to you the truth of his reasons, maybe you would tell him too that he might be a voyeur but you’re an exhibitionist, and something about those two truths could work out between you.

But he doesn’t say that. He actually falls silent as you come to stand beside the bus stop. There are others waiting there too, but your eyes are only on Haechan. 

You pretend not to notice when he finally looks over at you. You pretend not to see the way that he’s studying you. You pretend that you don’t notice when Haechan inhales a little sharply, turning his face away to look across the street. He just keeps silent, keeps still as he seems to stare at nothing, deep in thought.

You decide to speak since he won’t.

“I feel like you see a lot of things that other people don’t, Haechan. I think you keep a lot of secrets.” Again, you feel his hand flex, and this time when his fingers stretch out, they rest against your hip and don’t pull away. You’re not even sure he’s aware of it. You continue, “You can share secrets sometimes. I have secrets too. We could trade.”

You want him to know that even though he’s a pervert, you’re a bit of a pervert too. 

You lean your head to rest it on his shoulder, and he looks at you again. Your eyes meet. 

“Can’t you just share the secret of how you know with absolute certainty that Taeil and his secretary are fucking?” Your fingernails dig into his jacket sleeve, a whine in your voice as you gaze at Haechan’s face. You notice the way his throat bobs as he stares down at you. 

“I don’t think you want to know my secrets,” he says, looking away from you. His voice shakes a little bit, and you wonder if he’s truly that nervous about you learning about his creepy habit. You swear you can hear his heart pounding beneath the ear that you have against his shoulder. “You wouldn’t look at me the same.”

The sound that comes out of you then is not a nice one. A snort of laughter. But you’re amused. He must think you’d think of him as some gross weirdo, but it’s really quite the opposite. Ever since that first night you caught him watching Shotaro and his girlfriend in the hot tub, you’ve actually found it surprisingly hot to think of him being a voyeur. 

“I don’t know about that, Haechan. Maybe I have secrets that would make you look at me differently.” You tilt your face so you can better see his. He looks down at you with such a look of doubt, that it almost pulls another laugh from you. He really doesn’t believe that you could ever do anything naughty. “Maybe I could tell you a thing or two that would make you finally see me as less than a perfect angel,” you say, and you put a tiny bit of challenge into your voice.

Haechan straightens up. His fingers withdraw from where he’s been absentmindedly touching that little sliver of skin bared between your shirt and the waistband of your pants. Haechan shrugs until you’re dislodged from his shoulder, but he’s relaxed as he stands there beside you and says, “Alright. Not tonight, though. Let’s keep our secrets just a little while longer.”

The squeal of brakes alerts you to your bus pulling up.

Before you walk away, you want to hear him promise you that he’s not just saying this tonight, that it will actually happen. 

“Promise?” You hold your pinky finger up to him, daring him to make the promise. 

Haechan hesitates for half a second, but then his pinky loops around yours, squeezing tight. “I promise, angel. We’ll trade secrets and truths someday soon.”

Your heart lights up with Haechan’s promise. A trade of secrets someday soon. That’s good enough for you. Before you can think about it too much, you smack a kiss to the back of Haechan’s hand, and then you walk away quickly.

Unable to resist, you turn to look at him over your shoulder. Haechan is still standing there, looking after you with an amused and bemused expression. You smile and watch the way his smile rises as well.

“Text me when you make it home!” He shouts behind you as you climb aboard the bus. You wave in acknowledgement.

You feel giddy, excited. You’d think it’s a date you’ve just planned given how excited you are, but really it’s just going to be a trade of secrets at an undisclosed date. A trade of secrets, a trade of truths. 

As you sit down, you look out the window one more time.

Haechan is still standing there, looking right at you. You don’t know what that look on his face means. But he smiles a little, offering you a small wave that you return, and before your bus can even pull away, he turns on his heel and walks away back up the street.

previous chapter || next chapter  (Coming Soon)

a/n: part of this was of course inspired by a scene in workplace (mis)conduct the taeil and y/n workplace romance kinktober drabble

And I know that it seems like there's a whole lot more Renjun action in this fic than Haechan, but I promise !!!! there's a lot more of the good Haechan stuff that this story is meant to have coming soon! Like... next chapter? maybe? You'll have to keep reading to see!

#haechan #nct haechan #haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct dream #nct #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #lee haechan

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Life in a Tranquil State

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Just a short drabble about a sweet morning with an injured Matty.

warnings: none

a/n: This piece is rather short but very fluffy! I hope everyone is doing ok, I know this time of year can be difficult for people. Sending you all my love!

w/c: 1.2k

Dashing into the stairwell to escape the chill, you shuddered as the last gust of wind lifted the wisps of hair peeking out at the front of your hat. Inhaling deeply, you trekked up the stairs—relief washing over you at the sight of your front door. After taking a moment to squeeze your fingers in an attempt to shake off the cold-induced numbness, you turned the door knob and scurried inside. 

The warmth of the apartment enveloped you in a comforting embrace, causing your shoulders to sag as the general discomfort of the rapidly falling temperature faded away. Your boyfriend was seated in the middle of the living room rug, bare shoulders illuminated by the dim light leaking through the massive window behind him. His eyes were closed, the striking muscles in his legs flexing in their crossed position. 

Still meditating then, you thought to yourself, toeing off your boots as silently as you could to prevent disturbing his focus. Rising inflation and consistent apathy from politicians had unleashed a current of building unrest in the city. Matt had been working overtime in and out of the office, helping New Yorkers appeal their welfare denials during the day while stopping corruption and petty crime at night. Honestly, it was downright miraculous that it had taken next to no convincing to get Matt to take a day off, though that might have been because of your desperate begging. 

Last night had been especially turbulent, ending with an exhausted Matt, an equally exhausted Claire (who REALLY deserved some time away from the shenanigans), an absurd amount of stitches, and the worst tension headache you'd had in recent history. As the color slowly reappeared in Matt's face, you'd given him an earful between stress-induced sobs, pleading with him to take some time off to recover--and thanking every divine entity in the universe when he'd accepted. Once Matt had taken his painkillers, you both passed the fuck out in a tangle of limbs that was sure to be more uncomfortable for him than for you. 

It wasn't that you wanted him to stop being Daredevil, you'd never ask him to restrain the part of himself that had saved the city time and time again. But you'd continue to remind him that his body needed to rest sometimes, a fact he had been pointedly ignoring the past few weeks. 

Which is why the sight of him beside the couch was such a welcomed one. This morning had been tense, by no fault of Matt's. You'd slept restlessly, waking up jittery and drained next to an aching, and incredibly guilty, Matt. He'd apologized to you profusely, clenching the fabric of your sweatshirt between his fingers like he expected you to disintegrate. Pressing soft kisses to his head, you'd brushed off his needless worries, promising that you weren't going anywhere. 

To Matt's chagrin, you'd dragged him to the living room and encouraged him to meditate so that he could regain his strength. He'd accepted, but only when you agreed to sit in his lap, which he swore would not break his focus. After an hour of listening to his exasperated grumbles and helping him shift positions, you'd clambered out of his lap, cajoling him with the offer of breakfast and a coffee from the cafe down the street. 

Padding quietly into the apartment, you set the steaming paper cup and accompanying box of pastries on the counter, using your now empty hands to pull off your hat and comb through your staticy hair. 

“Only one coffee?” Matt's voice over your shoulder startled you, causing you to nearly knock his drink to the ground as you turned to face him.

“Christ, Matty, don't do that. I'm gonna make you wear a bell.” You shoved at his sculpted chest, brief irritation dissipating when he let out a low chuckle. 

“I'm sure the criminals would appreciate the warning.” His hands slid around your waist, forehead tipping to rest against yours. “Missed you.”

Giggling softly into the kiss he pressed to your lips, you let your hands drift up to cradle his neck. ”I was only gone for a few minutes, you sap.“ 

”I don't know, it felt like hours.“ Matt sighed dramatically, leaning into your body heavily as he picked up his coffee. Taking a sip, a pleased groan rumbled in his throat, making you grin.

”Too sweet, just the way you like it.“ 

”It's perfect. What about you?“ Matt frowned, jerking his chin towards the lack of a second cup on the counter. 

With a shrug, you snuggled into Matt’s hold, humming in appreciation when he ran a hand along your back. 

“Didn’t feel like coffee today. I’m not above napping, Murdock.” 

“That can be arranged, darling. I owe you some peace after last night.” Despite his clenched jaw, you watched guilt fill his expression, gorgeous hazel eyes falling to the floor. 

”Don't you start.” You chastised gently, rubbing circles on his nape with your thumb. “We talked about this earlier, my love. You didn't do anything wrong, you just bit off a little more than you could chew. Happens to the best of us, yah?“ Brushing your nose against his, you slotted your hips against his and tugged him into an embrace. 

Resolve crumbling, he melted into the touch. ”I'm still sorry.“ 

”And I'm still reminding you that you don't need to be. Just remember to be careful and let yourself rest every once in a while. Speaking of,“ You brushed a thumb under the stitched wound on his shoulder. ”Meditation still not working?“

Whining under his breath, Matt shook his head mournfully. ”Not well. I just...I don't know what's wrong with me today.“ 

Brow furrowing, you kneaded at your boyfriend's scalp in an attempt to scare away his crippling self-doubt. “Anything in particular that made it difficult?” 

Matt shook his head, his lips parting around the tiniest of sighs. “Everything is just...a lot today. I don't think I ever fully relaxed after the adrenaline from last night.” 

Biting your lip in thought, you carded your fingers through Matt's hair. “Hmm, well it might help if you were more relaxed before you started meditating? Do you think that might work?”

Smirking at you, Matt purred, “What did you have in mind?” One of his large hands slid down from your waist to palm your ass. 

Swatting at his wrist, you snorted. “I didn't mean sex, Matthew. Though I suppose that's one option we could pursue if the others don't work.” 

Kissing you deeply, Matt's breath ghosted over your lips as he asked. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Well, we can start by eating the pastries I painstakingly picked out for my very picky boyfriend,” Ignoring Matt as he pinched your waist and scoffed indignantly, you continued. ”Other than that, we could try showering first? That always makes me feel better.”

“That sounds great sweetheart,” Matt leaned his forehead against yours with a smile. 

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x you #my writing #marvel #charlie cox #matt murdock fic #matt murderdock #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock my beloved #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x female reader #human disaster matt murdock #marvel's daredevil #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fic #daredevil mcu #daredevil netflix #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #netflix daredevil #mm #matthew murdock

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

The One

Prompt: Hours away from your wedding, you visit Gibbs, needing to ask him a question that’s been on your mind for years.

Various family members had come in and out of your room, helping you get ready for your wedding that was set to happen in 6 hours. It wasn’t a big venue, just mainly close family and friends and their plus ones. The location was a botanical garden your fiancé’s parents had decided on, even after you had voiced that you preferred it in a small church. During most of the wedding planning you didn’t get much say at all, all of it being organized by your future mother in law who felt she knew best.

Your fiancé was too submissive to go against his parents wishes, not wanting to ruffle anyone’s feathers at the cost of making you feel unimportant.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, hair finished as your curls fell over your shoulders and sighed. Something was keeping you uneasy all morning. You could just blame it on cold feet but that wouldn’t explain why you couldn’t stop thinking about a certain someone that wasn’t your husband to be. You looked down at the multiple unanswered texts you had sent him throughout the day, telling him you really wished to see him at the wedding.

He was your friend of 5 years, you two met on a joint operations case between the FBI and NCIS. The both of you kept in touch, meeting up for a quick cup of coffee and chat almost every week. You would be lying if you said you never thought of him more than just a friend but for whatever reason, it never exceeded friendly conversations and occasional late night cafe dinners. The last thing you wanted was to ruin your friendship by catching feelings that most likely weren’t returned.

4 years later and multiple bad breakups later, you found the one you wanted to marry. Or at least think you did. Sure, the two of you weren’t as compatible as you’d like but it’ll work itself out with time, right?

Another big sigh from you, it became clear what you were gonna have to do. Getting up and dressing into something casual, you grabbed your keys and left your room. No one stopped to see where you were going, all too worried about whatever task they had been given by mother in lawzilla, so getting in your car and leaving went smoothly.

The drive wasn’t long as you pulled into the quiet neighborhood and parked just outside his house. His old truck parked in the driveway told you he was there as your hands suddenly became clammy with nervousness. You got out of your car and made your way up to his door. You knew it was unlocked and all you needed to do was walk in but you were frozen. You hadn’t thought your plan all the way through and now your head was filling with doubts.

As if your body knew something you didn’t, your hand opened the door and your legs carried you in. Surely, he had heard you come in so there was no turning back now. The house was quiet except the sound of power tools being used from down below.

The floor creaked as you walked towards the basement and began to descend the stairs. You were going to call out his name in announcement but he was already standing there looking up at you. Dressed in a plain blue plaid button down and some cargo pants slightly dusted in wood shavings, it was a good look for him.

“Hey Jethro,” you started.

“Hey Y/N.”

You made it to the bottom of the stairs and continued until he was only a few feet in front of you.

“You haven’t been answering any of my texts.”

He licked his lips and looked down guiltily before responding. “I know.”

Feeling antsy, you walked over to the boat and ran your hands over the newly sanded edges. He took that time to grab two small glasses and pour 2 fingers of his whiskey in them, handing you one.

You took a bigger sip than necessary, hoping it would help the building anxiety.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married in less than 6 hours,” you said, leaning against his workbench.

“Lucky man,” he responded flatly.

“Is he?” He gave you a look of inquiry. “I mean we don’t have that much in common. His parents don’t really like me and..”

You stopped, refraining yourself from finishing the sentence and took another sip of the whiskey.

“I don’t know. I mean did you think your ex wife was gonna be the one when you married her? Marriage is a big deal, you don’t just go and marry anyone. What’s so special about me?”

“I don’t think I’m the one to ask about marriage,” he said with a short chuckle. “But I’m sure he has many reasons why you’re special to him.”

“I don’t know Jethro. I never really thought in depth about our relationship until now. It almost feels as if the last year and a half was a blur, nothing standing out too much. Our relationship isn’t like what they describe in all the romantic books and movies. Sometimes I feel like he’s more of a platonic friend than fiancé.”

“Then why say yes to marrying him?”

You didn’t have a straight answer for his question. The proposal had gone so fast and in public, you didn’t have much time to think about it without looking like you were gonna say no.

“I don’t really know. Because it was the logical choice? We’ve been together for almost 2 years now.”

He shook his head and swirled the amber liquid in his mason jar, taking a step towards you.

“You don’t marry someone because it’s logical Y/N. You marry them because you can’t see yourself with anyone else and want nothing more than to spend every day coming home to them. You marry all of their traits that you fell in love with, including the weird ones. Marriage is a team effort and if you aren’t both absolutely on the same page, it’ll never work.”

Tears welled in your eyes, his words making you realize just how dumb you have been. You knew your fiancé wasnt your soulmate. You had more in common with Jethro than him. And that’s what bugged you the most. Being best friends with the person you wanted something more from and not having the courage to say anything. But now it’s time. It’s time for you to know if there could’ve been anything between you and Jethro.

“I just need you to answer one question Jethro. Is there something more between us than just being friends? Because every time I’m with you, I can’t think straight. I enjoy every moment we spend together and can’t wait for the next one. You always make me feel so happy and cared for but am I alone in those feelings?”

He sighed and finished his drink, turning to walk away.

“Don’t ignore the question Jethro! Please. Just talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say Y/N? That I’m jealous that your boyfriend of 1 year gets to marry you instead of me? He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know that you like to look up at the stars at night when you’ve had a bad day at work. He doesn’t know that you actually have a PhD in science but don’t tell anyone because you don’t want to feel like you’re better than anyone else.”

He turned back, now headed your way, confessions continuing to spill from his mouth.

“I bet he doesn’t notice the way you arch your eyebrow when you’re lying. Or how you pour half a gallon of milk into your coffee after adding a cup of sugar. You’re right Y/N. There is something more between us but it’s too late. You’re gonna marry him and I’ll be there for you just as your friend.”

You let the tears fall, elated and heartbroken at the same time.

“But I want to be the one,” he said cryptically, /settng his whiskey down.

“One what?” you asked as he came closer, causing your breath to hitch.

“The one to kiss you before he takes you away from me,” he breathed, closing the gap between the two of you. Almost reflexively, the glass you had dropped to the floor and overcome with so many emotions it made you light headed, you kissed him back, holding onto him for support. One hand on the back of your neck and the other holding you tight, your tongues met and danced with each other until both of you were out of breath.

Both of you let out heavy breaths as you pulled apart but he didn’t let you go. He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead, your nose, your jaw and your neck, making your eyes flutter closed. He then released you and took a step back. His words and actions had changed everything.

You couldn’t get married now knowing what you knew. You weren’t sure how to put it into words but something told you that Jethro knew that as well.

“Thank you,” you finally answered. You were sure your makeup was ruined from all the crying and stress but it didn’t matter any more. You pulled him in for a hug, arms wrapping around his neck and just breathing him in. Without hesitation, his arms held you close again. Yeah, you could get use to this.

#gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis fanfiction #agent gibbs #ncis #mark harmon #ncis request #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis imagine #jethro gibbs fanfiction

[maryangelex]

Never Let Me Go (Pt. 5)

John Price x f!Reader

(Part 6)

Summary: After weeks away, Price comes back from deployment to a warm welcome.

warnings: nsfw!!, cumshots, praising, pulling out, p in v sex, fingering, some overstimulating

a/n: this is very much not as proofread as I’d like it to be but that’s what a 1 am burst of horniness creativity does

songs for this chapter are Kerosene by Yves Tumor but also Burning Desire by Lana!!!

Three weeks passed since then. John had let you know he'd be back home sometime soon if everything went as planned. During these last four weeks, you and he had remained in consistent contact, growing more and more comfortable with each other.  

At first, you had been hesitant to send him more pictures of yourself donning the few other pieces of lingerie you owned, but John made sure you knew just how much he enjoyed you taking his mind off his current situation.

He didn't pressure you, he never would be capable of doing so, but he did encourage you by sending you messages that let you know when he was in need of you, when he couldn't get you out of his mind, when he was desperate for you to ease his mind off work.

You, being your gratuitous self, never denied him that pleasure; you got to the point that you were beyond comfortable with letting John see your body, nearly every bit of it that wasn't clothed by the sheer lace fabric of your garments. Eventually, it was even he who wired you money for you to 'get yourself something pretty' for him, as he said. 

And you did just that by buying yourself sets you thought he'd enjoy seeing; teddies, rompers, garter belts, babydolls, everything you thought John would appreciate his money going to. You felt like his sugar baby, but you absolutely didn't mind, in a way you were flattered. 

You'd make sure to model every single new piece and John made sure to praise you and commend you for picking out something so perfect for him. 

And throughout all this time of waiting and being restricted to receiving John's affection through your phone screen, you couldn't help but count the days, the hours until he'd come back home. 

But you also couldn't help but wonder what this, between you and John, could be labeled as, what he considered this thing between the two of you to be? Surely it had escalated beyond a friendship, that line had been crossed a long time ago past the point of no return. John seemed like a serious man, and you knew he was much older than you to be doing situationships or anything of the sort.

You guessed you'd enjoy it for the time being, whatever this was, even though deep within you the long talks on the phone, the attention, his praises and affection, the way he showed you how much he wanted you, all of that was getting to you. 

You were in the cafe this Saturday morning, and it was a busy shift for once; plenty of people decided that breakfast at your and your cousin's cozy little cafe would be ideal, for finding a cozy, warm place to hide away from the weather that got colder and gloomier each day.   

Your cousin had made her best efforts to not pry into your little fling with John but she could only do so much. You had kept some mystery to it, but of course, it was difficult to contain the exhilaration of your escapades with the stunning man you had eating out of the palm of your hand. Still, you didn't want to give too much away. As far as she knew, you two were just texting and calling while he was away every now and then. 

The two of you were hard at work today, though, not much talk was being had except for the few jokes you two exchanged every now and then to take the weight of work off your shoulders, to alleviate the few entitled customers that walked in throughout the day. 

One of them really got under your skin, though. A middle-aged woman with a sour face had walked in to order a latte, and even though you had done your job and fulfilled her order, she still had something to say. She decided that she no longer wanted oat milk and instead wanted soy milk, demanding that you remake her drink, then deciding it was still not fit for her to pay you, and of course, deciding to insult you before being on her way. 

You were enraged at that, and that was your cousin's cue to tell you to take a break and go do some grocery shopping at the shops next door. With an exasperated sigh, you grabbed your purse and coat and stomped out of the cafe, repeating a mantra in your head to keep cool and not let some bitter bitch ruin your day.

You checked your phone briefly as you walked down the street, hoping to see a text from John, something that would cheer you up. But to your misfortune, there was nothing today yet. You thought about how much better your day would be if you had him around, even if it was just through a short text. Another heavy sigh left you, this one more mournful than irritated. 

You walked into the small family-owned grocery shop that was a few blocks from your cafe, your mind already starting to ease away from the negativity of that interaction as you wandered around. You and your cousin frequented this place to buy ingredients for the cafe, and for your personal shopping as well.

As you walked around collecting the items on your mental list, you felt your phone vibrate twice in your pocket. When you reached in to look at your screen you saw your beacon of hope; John had texted you. 

The first one was his usual morning greeting, followed by a second one that made your heart jump. 

"Coming back home on Sunday. Dinner?" 

You held back a squeal when you bit your smiling lip, biting the glove off your hand to be able to respond to him as quickly as you could. 

"My place at 8, don't be late", you replied, adding a few emojis to decorate your invitation to John. 

You thought about just how easily the man could single-handedly turn your shitty day around. Your shopping list just became longer as you sought out the proper ingredients for John's homecoming dinner.  

When Sunday rolled around you were off work, so you dedicated the entire day just to prep for your dinner. You had a whole menu prepared in your mind, even went to buy wine that didn't cost only £10. And something had possessed you to be John's perfect housewife and slave away at making him a Sunday roast. 

It was nearly 6 by now, and while you let the meat roast in the oven you hurried to get yourself ready. You showered with diligence, scrubbing the smell of cooking off your skin and hair. All you could feel was a mix of nerves and excitement to see him again. The thought of John's hands on you again, in the comfort of your own home where the two of you couldn't possibly have any disruptions, made your heart skip a beat. 

You shook the thought away as you threw on the dress you had picked out, one that hung on your body in every perfect way possible. When you got back to cooking it was nearly 7:30, so you checked your phone for any sign of John being on his way, or worse, for any sign of him not being able to make it. 

But you were pleasantly surprised when you saw a message from him letting you know he was in a cab on his way to you. Another moment of your heart fluttering. Now you were counting down the seconds till 8, not knowing what to do with yourself as you waited for the roast to reach its perfect temperature. Your mind was racing; you wanted everything to be perfect for John, you wanted to be perfect for John. 

Twenty minutes passed of you pacing around your flat, fluffing cushions that didn't need fluffing, biting your fingernails, dusting surfaces that didn't need dusting, and moving items centimeters in the same spot. 

You were snapped out of your fit of perfectionism by the sound of three knocks at your door, the sound of knuckles striking the old wood made you jump. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding before striding to open the door, and when you did so he was standing there like an apparition. 

That kind smile you hadn't seen in a month was flashing at you, tugging at bearded cheeks and crinkling the sides of deep blue eyes. You gawked at John like it was the first time you had seen him, the realization that he was real and at your doorstep dawned on you and you couldn't help the stupid smile that cut across your own face. 

"John," was all you could muster, and the chuckle that rumbled from his chest as he stepped closer to you made you realize that he was real, that he was really back, that he was just inches from you. 

John's hands cupped the sides of your face as he planted a kiss on the apple of your cheek. You held your hands over his own, feeling the man's rough skin in comparison to your supple, delicate fingertips that had never known labor like his. 

"Miss me, dove?" he asked, voice husky. Of course, you did, you thought, swooning at the sound of his voice, your eyes locking with his. How you missed those ocean eyes of his. You nodded in his grasp, your hands migrating to his shoulders as you stepped forward to place a soft kiss on his lips. Your pecks were gentle, shy even, as if the distance and time apart had you both starting back at square one. 

"I missed you too, sweetheart," he said against your lips, to which you giggled and gave him a chaste kiss before pulling back to lead him inside. 

"I hope you're hungry," you smiled. 

John let out a sigh, "Starving," he confessed. He entered your flat and you noticed he was still lugging his backpack with him. Your face dropped; did he come straight to you?  

John had a gift for reading your thoughts through just your expression, "Didn't wanna waste any time getting to you, dove," he said, gesturing to the backpack in his hand before setting it aside at your entryway. 

Fuck, his dedication to you never ceased to amaze you. The fact that he had gone out of his way to get to you the second he got off the plane ride home had you feeling some sort of way like you were the most important person in the world, a feeling John never failed to elicit in you. 

"You didn't have to, John, I could've waited for you," you gave him an apologetic smile. 

"I couldn't," he quipped, flirty bastard as always. You rolled your eyes, pretending like his courting didn't affect you. 

You took hold of his hand, bringing him along with you with a light "c'mere," as a command to follow you to the kitchen. John let you guide him, and when he caught a whiff of the cozy smell in the kitchen he practically melted. His expression was a mix of impressed yet embarrassed at the realization that you made all of this for him; you could see the blush painting his cheeks.

You urged him to sit at the table where you had set everything out for him, grabbing his plate to serve him the Sunday roast you had put your heart into making for him. He insisted on opening the wine bottle for you, it was the least he could do. 

"Fuckin' hell, love, I should've at least brought you flowers," he cursed, a scowl pulling at his lips in dissatisfaction with himself. 

"Well I'll give you a second chance for you to do so," you chuckled lightheartedly, already planning on this being a Sunday habit for the two of you. He liked your remark, evident by the approving hum he let out. 

You sat next to him at the table and the two of you shared the meal. It felt like this wasn't the first time, more so it felt like this was customary for you two; for you to welcome him with a home-cooked meal and a pristine house like you were his wife waiting for him to come back home. You basked in the feeling of it, completely ignoring the doubt that had lingered in the back of your mind.

John was none the wiser, he was enjoying himself thoroughly. You think he felt the same way; he looked content and delighted by the food and company, his hand never leaving yours throughout dinner, making sure he was holding you or touching you in any way as if to not let you go again, to not drift off you like a log in a river's current. 

There was a glow to him now that he was with you, it was almost angelic. And the way that he looked at you made you feel enveloped with endearment. 

When you were finished, and John looked like he was about to enter a food coma from how much he'd indulged in your delicious food, you felt more than satisfied with yourself as you rose from your seat to collect the plates. Immediately, John got up from his seat to help you; you knew he was unable to be a bystander when it came to you doing absolutely anything, the man couldn't live with himself if he did. 

He helped you carry nearly everything to the sink and insisted he did the dishes for you. The domesticity of it all made you feel warm inside. When you came back to the table to wipe it clean and put anything remaining away, you felt John's presence behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your back as he inched closer. 

You felt his large hands on your hips, stilling yourself as you revel in his touch. His hands scaled up your body, massaging the tender flesh of your hips and waist, feeling the plumpness and curves of your frame like you were clay on a potter's wheel. He hummed to himself and you felt the wetness pooling between your thighs. One of John's hands migrated up to your hair, gently adjusting it over your shoulder to expose your back in the strappy dress you wore. Your body was filled with goosebumps when the hairs of his mustache tickled your bare skin, peppering warm kisses on your shoulder blades. 

"Can't believe you made all of this f'me, sweetheart," his voice vibrated against your skin as he spoke between kisses. The hand remaining on your waist was sprawled on your lower tummy, pressing your ass flush against him. You could feel the hard mass of muscle behind you, the bulge of his crotch poking against you. 

"My sweet girl, so carin'...so stunnin' in this dress," his hand on your belly pet the silky fabric, while the other caressed up your arm, up to your shoulder, your collarbone, and finally stroking down your sternum between your breasts. His mouth occupied itself with the exposed skin of your neck now, his velvety lips gently pressing against it. 

The sound of him calling you his ringed in your ears, and you couldn't hold back the whine that brewed in your throat. 

"I wouldn't mind comin' home to this every day f'the rest of my life," he professed, and now you really were a wreck between your legs, all for this man's simple words. You wiggled your hips against his crotch, feeling the hardness that was confined in his jeans. That was signal enough for him; a sign that you were just as needy for him as he was for you. 

"Remember everythin' I said I'd do to you over the phone, love?" 

You nodded as your head lolled to the side, John's lips scaling up your neck and up to your jaw. His hands were now firmly holding your breasts, fondling the soft mounds of flesh. 

"Been thinkin' 'bout it all this time... thinkin' 'bout how good 'm gonna fuck you tonight, dove." 

Maybe it was all the wine you two consumed throughout your dinner, maybe it was the dizzying effect John's presence had on you, but without even realizing it you wound up in your room with him tearing your dress off between panting breaths and sloppy kisses. His hands desperately and messily scoured your now bare body, making sure to not leave an inch without being touched. 

Your hands got to work as well, clumsily working at the buttons of his shirt; he chuckled lightly at your nervousness and gently assisted you until you finally tore off the pesky shirt. Your tipsy mind took a moment to admire the man before you; burly physique with a comforting layer of fat adorning the taut muscles his career had provided him. Your hands caressed his hairy chest, thick and lush, and trailed down to his abdomen following the treasure trail of hair that trailed down his waistband. 

John's rumbling chuckle interrupted your gawking before helping you take off his trousers but staying in his underwear.

He gently guided you to your bed, his lips against yours whispering for you to lay down for him, and you complied, sprawled out on your bedsheets like a work of art made just for his eyes. He sat between your legs, looking down at your naked form and swallowing you whole, wide pupils burning a hole through you. You could see the way his cock twitched in the confines of his boxers as he eyed you, letting you know the sight of you like this was a delight to him. 

He dipped down to press his lips over yours, hands tracing the sides of your body down to take a handful of your hips and drag you down closer to him. You took a fistful of the hair at the back of his head as you kissed him deeper, your hips rolling up to find his clothed erection to rub on for some relief, but his grip only tightened on your hips and pressed you still on the mattress. 

"Needy girl," he whispered, giving your bottom lip a light tug with his teeth. Your response was a whiny moan and all he did was smile at your evident impatience. 

One of his hands scaled up your body, taking one of your breasts and giving it a squeeze before toying with the sensitive pebble. His mouth followed suit, popping the other unattended one into his mouth and sucking on it, making another pathetic sound come from you. 

He nipped your tits lightly, scattering bites and kisses alternating between the two while his fingers trailed down the center of your abdomen and down to between your legs. You absentmindedly spread them wider for him, the coldness of the room only making your drenched pussy more sensitive before he swiped a finger between your folds. The contact made you shudder, and John feeling your wetness made him growl a gravelly moan in his throat. 

"Like this for me already, sweetheart?" you nodded your head pitifully which only riled him up even more. The rough fingerpads of his ring and middle fingers applied pressure on your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. John propped himself on his free arm as he watched the way your mouth fell agape in silent moans and as you squirmed at the way he treated your delicate pussy. 

"P-please," you started, your legs spreading impossibly farther apart. 

"Please what, love?" 

"Need you, John," your nails dug into his shoulders. "Want you...so bad." 

John was too good of a man to deny his pretty girl anything, so of course he moved his fingers and slowly dipped them into your aching entrance, painfully slowly. A mewl came from your parted lips as you felt the pressure of his only the first knuckle of fingers inside of you. If just his fingers were this thick and invasive in your pussy you couldn't imaginejust how much his cock would split you open.

His eyes were fixated on watching the way your face contorted as he pressed further in, so so so slowly penetrating you, until his fingers bottomed out inside of you. And then a beat later, you practically sobbed when you felt the digits curl inside of you, seeking out the spongy, sensitive spot inside your walls.

Your hands gripped John's biceps to ground yourself as he fucked you with his fingers, alternating between curling inside and pumping in and out of you. His thumb joined in to rub at your throbbing clit, and his mouth busied itself with one of your breasts once again. You threw your head back and just about fell apart, hips rolling to match his movements as you selfishly got off on his fingers. 

"Fuck, doll...love how I make you sound," John cursed under his breath, mouth never leaving your tit as he lapped his tongue and tenderly bit the soft flesh. His cock was throbbing and leaking pre in his boxers, the impossible hardness of it almost made him lightheaded. 

His mouth moved to your neck now, lips sucking on your skin to make sure when you went out everyone knew you were not to be claimed by anyone else but him. 

"J-John," you sobbed, feeling the tightness in your stomach that was only rising further the more his fingers fucked you. 

"I know, baby, I know," he cooed, "be good and cum for me, yeah?" 

You nodded your head desperately, a hand reaching to tug his hair once again, peeling him away from your neck to crash his lips against yours. But he resisted, opting to keep his gaze on your teary-eyed face, his pace never faltering as he knew you were almost at the edge of the precipice. 

"Uh-uh, doll...wanna see your pretty face when you cum." 

With only a few more pumps of his fingers, your walls were clamping around the digits, your legs spasming and your moans being sobbed out as you came on John's hand. His rhythm slowed down, his thumb on your clit being the only thing moving and overstimulating your abused clit as you rode out your orgasm. Your ears were practically ringing and your mind was in a haze as you climaxed.

John's piercing blue eyes took in the sight of you cumming from just his fingers which were now completely saturated in your slick. He whispered praises as you came down from your high, breathless and sensitive. His fingers retracted from your pussy, collecting the juices that were oozing from you, that had now covered the inside of your thighs. 

"Good girl," he purred, "so fuckin' good... look at you, sweetheart."

He brought his fingers to his lips, sucking on them and closing his eyes as a delighted hum came from him at the taste of you. "Taste so fuckin' good...missed how this pussy tastes so much." 

You whined at his words and at the view of him tasting you on his fingers. Your hand weakly reached for his boxers, tugging on the waistband in a silent request for him to finally take them off. 

He looked at you and chuckled, "So greedy...want my cock even after I just made you cum?" 

"Need it, John," you said shamelessly, your eyes pleading for him innocently. 

He sat back on his haunches, tugging down his boxers with his clean hand while the other reached to stroke his aching cock, coating it in the mix of his spit and your juices. He moaned lewdly at the contact, slowly jerking himself off in front of you for a moment, lubing up his cock and preparing it for you.

You watched just how pretty he was in his hand, how he sat heavily on the palm of his hand, flushed red tip and veiny, with a hefty girth that you knew would tear you open. 

You watched him intently and your desperation for him was anew; arousal and neediness for him overcoming you again. You weren't going to be satisfied until John's cock was in you. 

"I did promise to properly fuck you," his unoccupied hand stroked your cheek and you melted in his touch, your sweaty skin felt like it was on fire.

"And I keep my promises, love." he purred, aligning his cock with your socked entrance that he had just so generously prepared. When he pressed inside you felt his girth stretch you wide, feeling the sting of the intrusion despite his prep-work; and yet, he fit so perfectly in you, like the last piece of a puzzle.  You gasped in unison as he buried himself into you to the hilt. He took a moment to savor the feeling of you wrapped around his cock, like a perfect mold cast precisely for him. Your walls fluttered around him, begging for him to move.  And after a beat, he rolled his hips, slipping his shaft out of you until only the tip was kissing your entrance, before slowly sliding back into you. He kept this pace, pulling out entirely just to bottom out to the point you felt the mound of hair at his base phantom over your skin.  You choked on your moans, nails digging at John’s shoulder blades as he pistoned his hips into you. His pace hastened and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled your home. 

John’s hand was cupping your jaw, holding eye contact with you as he bullied his cock into you. Those crystal eyes watched your tear-filled ones, watched the way you lost yourself at the feeling of his tip punishing that sweet spot inside of you. 

The way he fucked you was becoming more and more primal each thrust. John was at the verge of giving into every ounce of desire that he’d had pent up since the moment he walked into your cafe. Since the moment he’d tasted you. You felt the way his thrusts became harsher, the squelching sound of your pussy was lewd and sinful as you took every inch of him.  He held you impossibly close, his thrusts were shorter but impossibly deeper, making his pelvis rub against your needy clit. 

His breathing was ragged, huffing past his parted lips. 

“Fuck, baby…been wanting you like this…so fuckin’ long, so fuckin’ bad,” he tucked your sweat-damp hair behind your ear before lightly wrapping his hand over your neck, just to feel your pulse, feel that you’re really there, “you’re fuckin’ perfect, n’ you’re mine.” 

Now he slammed his hips into yours, thrusting with reckless abandon, losing himself in you. You let out a cry and tears rolled down your cheeks. A hand gripped at the tufts of hair in the nape of his head and his forehead rested against yours.  You were his, since the moment he walked through the door you knew you would be. And here you were, your heart racing and your pussy enamored by the way he fucked you and claimed you as his. 

You babbled mindlessly about how you were his, about how you wanted him to use you, how you wanted to cum so bad around his cock. So shameless you wouldn’t recognize yourself if you really heard what you were professing. You only heard a groan come from John and a string of curses as he fucked you impossibly deeper and harder, any further and you two would merge into one. 

One of John’s hands slipped between the two of you to rub at your clit. His mouth clashed against yours, swallowing the moans that were flying out of you at the added pleasure, before encouraging to be his good girl and cum for him a second time. 

“I can feel you so close, baby, so fuckin’ close,” he growled, lips still against yours, “let go, baby, be good and cum for me again, yeah?”  

And it was like his word was your command. John’s thrusts and the feeling of his fingers rubbing your clit made you cum once more. Your back arched off the mattress and you gave another sob as you clenched around the wide girth of his cock, body convulsing as euphoria consumed you, burning every single one of your senses. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s it.” 

John didn’t stop fucking into you, though. He slowed down momentarily to let you come down from your high. 

But then his pace picked up and became sloppier as he chased his own high, pounding into you to reach his own climax. 

“Please, John,” you mumbled drunkenly “Want you— want you to cum, too.” Your body went limp like a rag doll sprawled on the bed, arms falling over your head on the mattress, letting him use you as he pleased. 

John let out a growl as he leaned back, holding your hips in place so he could relentlessly fuck you to his heart’s desire. Huffing breaths and grunts escaped him, chest puffed proudly as he took you and used you like you asked him to. 

And soon enough, he pulled out of you, spurting ropes of cum onto your lower belly and pussy. He grunted as his hips faltered, cock pulsating as he painted your abdomen and entrance with his seed.  You moaned at the sight of him coming undone, at the feeling of his hot cum all over you. 

John supported himself on his arm beside you, panting breathlessly as every drop of him was let out onto you. You tiredly embraced him as he came down from his high, planting lazy kisses on his sweaty face. He gave you an appreciative hum as he slowly let himself lay beside you. 

The two of you lay on your bed exhausted, messy and in a haze but basking in the afterglow. 

After a moment, John reached for the box of tissues you had on your nightstand and cleaned up the mess of himself that coated your skin. You let him and gave him a smile that conveyed how out of it you still were, to which he chuckled pleased with himself. 

Once finished, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting your tired body to lay on top of his hairy chest. You were both sticky with sweat, but you were too drained to care as you lay on top of him, absorbing his musk and heat of his body. You felt his lips give a chaste kiss to the crown of your head before your lids started closing. 

John’s fingertips raked over the expanse of your back as you drifted asleep, the last thing you gave him was content sigh. 

He chuckled to himself, inhaling the scent at the top of your head before he let himself doze off with the weight of your body on him. 

That night you didn’t dream. Your body gave out completely. You had nothing to dream about since all you wanted was lying under you in the comfort of your bedsheets.

#cod mw2 #call of duty mwii #fanfic #cod fanfic #john price #price call of duty #price x reader #price mw2 #price cod #captain price #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x you #john price cod #john price call of duty #captain john price

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General Dating Headcanons

Raph:

When you first start dating he acts pretty shy

Like if you told him a compliment he would shut down and become a stuttering and blushing mess

“I like your shell 😊”

“Y- you like my shell?  I- I mean, thanks!”

He just needs a moment to get used to you two dating

Like maybe a month or two

After those few months he gets more confident

He likes to have nice dates with you where he gets to just hang out with you

Takes you to the park during the night when nobody is there, or goes during the day in a disguise

Will go anywhere on a date with you if you recommend it, just don’t abuse your power please

He likes to kiss you on the forehead

Like if you’re just sitting together he’ll randomly do it

Likes it if you kiss him back on his forehead

Gives the best bear hugs

He’s nice and warm (for a turtle 😒)

If hugging or touching isn’t really your thing he respects your space

Completely fine with PDA

will kiss you any place and any time

If you don’t like PDA he won’t do it

He likes cuddles, but he gets scared he might accidentally hurt you

Please reassure him, I’m begging you, so help me if you don’t 😠

If you reassure him enough he’ll cuddle you more out of random

Will melt if you boop his nose

“Raph, Raph!  Come close I have a surprise”

*Raph bends down to your level*

*boop!*

Is you hype man, no doubt

You wanna start a business?  He’s all for it

Wann start a band?  He’s your biggest fan

Wanna become a streamer?  He’ll watch all of your streams

Anyways, very sweet and supportive boyfriend 10/10

Leo:

When you first start dating he won’t stop flirting with you

But it’ll be a bunch of dumb pick lines that weren’t well thought out

“Come here often?”

“I literally visit you and your brothers almost everyday, Leo 😒”

Takes around two weeks for him to start getting used to dating you

He’ll slow down with the flirting, but won’t fully stop

It’s Leo for crying out loud!

Likes to go to the movies with you

It’s dark so it’s hard to see that he’s a mutant

Likes to go to cafes with you in the Hidden City too

Will randomly kiss you smack dab right on the lips just so he can try to fluster you

“Hey, y/n!”

“Yeah?”

*Kiss*

If you kiss him back he’ll get flustered

Likes to hug you from behind

Like if you’re just standing and doing something he’ll put his ninja skills to use and sneak up behind you and hug you

If he spooks you too much though he’ll stop, don’t worry 😌

Loves PDA

Kisses you in front of his brothers just to annoy them

If you don’t like PDA he’ll be extra lovey dovey in private 😏

Absolutely loves cuddles

He can easily fall asleep while cuddling

Please cuddle him, he has bad insomnia

Just a warning, he won’t let you go

He needs a good two hours

Will randomly poke you for no reason

Even if you protest against it he won’t stop

Don’t take it in a bad way, but will randomly smack your butt (not a hard smack) and run away

*y/n talking to April while standing*

*Leo walking past y/n and smacking their butt and then running away*

“Dude 😐”

Donnie:

When you first start dating he probably tries to impress you a lot

Make inventions just so you can praise him and stuff like that

“Look what I made, y/n!”

“Omg, that’s so cool, Don!”

Takes around four months to get used to dating

He starts to stop trying to impress you a whole bunch, but still does it to a certain extent

Likes to hang out with you will he works on a project of his

Has a chair for you

“I made a chair, just for you, it’s even your favorite color! :)”

Made it himself 😌

He likes to go to cafes in the hidden city with you a lot, like twice a week

You guys are regulars at some cafes

Likes to kiss you on the lips

He doesn’t really do it randomly though

Like he’ll ask in some way before he engages

But it’s always in a weird way

“y/n, perhaps we could partake in the gesture of forming our lips together as couples do if you want.” 

“😐 sorry, what?”

Doesn’t really enjoy hugs that much

He’ll hug you if you ask, but won’t actually do it himself

Not into PDA

He feels like his brothers might tease him

He’ll hold hands with you or lean his head on your shoulder but that’s about it

He doesn’t mind cuddling, but doesn’t necessarily love it

He likes it if you sit on his lap and hug him while he works on something

Or if you sit close to him and lean your head on his shoulder

Likes to lay his head in your lap

He’ll even do it around his brothers

If you’re watching a movie with him and his brothers he’ll do it

Does this weird thing where he just stares you down until you pay attention to him

“Hey, why’s Donnie staring into your soul?”

“Oh, he just does that sometimes.  Probs just wants attention.”

“😟 Should I be concerned?”

Probably stared you down while you were sleeping before because he wanted to show you something

Overall, good boyfriend material :)

Mikey:

When you first start dating it’s kinda awkward between you if you know what I mean

Like he’s still getting used to the whole thing

Only needs a week and a half to adjust

Yes, that time exactly, no questions 😊

Likes going to amusement parks and arcades with you

He just likes fun dates

Went to a hidden city mall with you and got lost

Raph had to go and find you two

Raph was not having it 😔

Likes to peck you on the cheek

Will just randomly do it in the oddest ways

“Hey y/n, I have a secret to tell you!”

“Hmm?”

“I love you!”

*kisses cheek and then leaves*

Always hugging you

Any time that he wants a hug he just goes ahead a does it

*y/n talking to Raph*

*Randomly comes over and hugs you*

“Hey Angelo”

*continues talking to Raph while hugging Mikey*

Enjoys PDA

He likes to hold hands and give you little pecks on cheek or lips

He’ll openly cuddle you infront of his brothers

Won’t do it if you don’t like it though 😊

Absolutely loves cuddling

He likes you to just hold him and talk or take a nap

It’s going to take a long time to stop cuddling though

Like he refuses to let you go over some time

“Hey, where’s y/n?”

“Oh, their cuddling with Mikey over there.”

“HELP ME.”

“Is that normal 😟?”

“Yeah.”

You guys have a lot of inside jokes and stuff

You guys have been known to randomly blurt out a vine or a phrase and start dying of laughter

“y/n, diddly dum.”

*cue hysterical laughter*

---

Hope these were good :)

#tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt x reader #rottmnt x reader #raph x reader #leo x reader #donnie x reader #mikey x reader

[wndaswife]

Hey, can you do a stepmom Wanda fanfic with innocent reader or professor Wanda and bimbo reader. You don’t have to if you feel uncomfortable.

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

tags: smut, drugging, manipulation, somnophilia, hair pulling, face slapping, cunnilingus, dubcon, mommy kink, dollification, degradation, praise, aftercare, dom!professor!wanda, sub!bimbo!reader. MINORS DNI.

word count: 1959

a/n: prof wanda n bimbo reader was such a good idea

You asked your professor for help with your final assignment essay, the rubric in your hands as you approached her desk during her office hours. Your TA was unhelpful, giving passive aggressive advice at most whenever you contacted them for assistance, and as the deadline for your essay began looming over you dangerously close, you were scrambling for help, and you’d do anything to get it.

Your class didn’t have a final exam, but rather a huge research project that you should’ve been working on within the last month, but you weren’t. You hadn’t even opened up the rubric until last week.

Professor Maximoff was passionate about what she taught, and she had always been so sweet to you, so over the last few months, you had tried your best to attend her lectures, even if only to scroll through social media aimlessly the entire time.

Not knowing whether or not your professor would help you out in the eleventh hour was something that settled heavily in your stomach while you walked across campus to her office.

But Wanda was as helpful and saccharine sweet as she always had been. She looked up at you from her desk with an excited smile when you entered her office. When she asked to take you out for coffee, you initially agreed to her offer because you needed help, although you also found yourself excited to spend time with her. The dark glints in her green eyes as you turned to leave her office with her was lost on you.

The line at the cafe the two of you went to was long, so Wanda lined up for you while you sat at one of the tables reading over your essay rubric. After several minutes, Wanda approached you with your iced coffee in hand and her latte in the other. You never questioned why you had accepted her offer so easily. You were at one of Wanda’s favourite cafes in the city, sitting beside her at a table while her hand was placed on your thigh.

Wanda complimented your pretty smiles and carefree attitude. You let her squeeze your thigh under the table and she complimented your pretty eyes. You talked little about the essay you had originally gone to her to discuss.

“So, professor, I was-”

Wanda’s fingers moved forward, snaking around your inner thigh and making you freeze. “Please, darling, it’s Wanda,” she corrected with a sweet smile. 

Despite her proximity that anyone else might call unprofessional, you couldn’t help but give into her advances, letting your professor touch you the way she wanted to. She had even asked you whether or not you had a boyfriend, and like the naive girl you were, you simply drank your iced coffee happily while you discussed everything from a lack of a boyfriend to a disinterest in having one.

“O-Okay,” you hesitated before smiling, your nervousness quickly being overtaken by joy at being so close to your university’s nicest, and prettiest, professor. “Wanda, I was just wondering if we could talk about my assignment a little, if you wanted to.”

With her hand on your upper arm, Wanda replied, “Of course we can, sweetheart. I’ll just drive us back to school and we can go through it there. Does that sound good to you?” You nodded with a happy smile, and Wanda’s hand ran down your arm supportively as she picked up her things. She wrapped an arm around your hips and you walked out with her as if you were a child who couldn’t have found their way out of the cafe on your own without her help. And that wasn’t entirely false.

The soft hum of Wanda’s car as she drove, the warm scent of her enveloping you as you sat in her passenger’s seat, lulled you to sleep. You felt guilty for it, as Wanda had only just extended her hand out to help you, and you were taking advantage of her by nearly falling asleep in her car, but overwhelming fatigue had suddenly come over you.

You sipped at your cold drink periodically to keep you awake, but it had only seemed to worsen the warm sleepy feeling that spread through your body.

Wanda’s hand was placed on your leg as she drove, running her hand up and down your thigh soothingly. You fell asleep within the next two minutes. 

Waking up wasn’t so much of a challenge as it was confusing. Your mind was a complete blur, your surroundings dark and unfamiliar. You knew that you weren’t in Wanda’s car anymore, at least. Had you forgotten the entire day? As you groaned and tried to find your hands, your body twisted to the side, only to be held back up again by your hip. 

Something soft laid atop you, flush against your chest and stomach, and you heard mumbling in your ear. Your head recoiled from the sudden intrusion, but a hand was harshly brought to the side of your head, pulling you against someone’s face. 

“You’re a sweet girl, Y/N,” you made out. The lips of whoever was speaking was pressed against your ear, their breath warm as it blew down your neck. “So sweet to me.” 

The scent of them made you hum with a smile, pleased at the praise. You felt them grin against your ear. It was only when they began grunting softly against the side of your head that you put together what they were doing. 

With one of their hands holding your hip, the other held your wrists up above your head, preventing you from moving out from underneath them. Your ass was exposed, your skirt hiked up to your waist and your panties pulled to the side. 

Then, the walls of a room came into focus, then a headboard. A bedroom that wasn’t yours. 

The familiar shade of your professor’s dark brown hair flashed in front of your eyes, swaying in time with the soft jerks behind you. 

You heard yourself moaning, the rhythmic noise soothing your throat.

With a hand wrapped around your chin, your face was refocused upwards. You were met with your professor looking down on you with a small smile, her eyebrows furrowed together. What was she doing on top of you?

Your eyes travelled down her body. She wasn’t wearing a jacket anymore. Her turtleneck’s sleeves were pushed up her arms. Her slacks… had gone too. 

Her hips were thrusting down against yours. Your eyes widened when a thick glistening strap was pulled from your hole, sticky white ropes connecting her cock and your pussy, before she thrusted back into your sopping hole with force. 

A hard slap came across your face and your hair was pulled into Wanda’s fist to make you look back up at her again.

“Pay attention to me,” she spat, her expression suddenly cold and stern. 

You squinted, your cheek stinging as your professor’s features became clearer. “W… Wanda?” you stuttered out hesitantly.

Her expression relaxed and she let go of your hair, petting your head softly. “That’s right,” she cooed.

“What’s happening?” you asked, tears forming in your eyes at the sheer confusion that had come over you. You felt so dumb and small. 

“Nothing you need to worry about, dear,” Wanda reassured, slightly breathless. “Nothing your stupid little brain could understand even if I tried to explain it to you.” Her words should’ve stung, should’ve made you cry harder, but you simply sniffled and nodded at the soft coo of her degradation.

Her head was thrown back as your hips bucked upward into her instinctively, making the harness of her strap make harsh contact with her clit. 

Wanda’s hand slipped between your stomach and hers and she looked down at you again. Her fingers were pushed through your folds. She parted them, letting you hear how they parted stickily. “Your tight little cunt is taking my dick so well,” she said. 

You flushed at the praise though you felt dirty for it. 

Her hand slipped out from between the two of you and her palm was stuck across your face again without warning. You whimpered, writhing beneath her. 

“Mommy… please stop,” you begged tearily, the harsh pain making your cheek sting. “You’re hurting me.”

Wanda took your chin again. “You think that’s something to be proud of, puppy?” she asked. “That filthy little pussy is nothing to be proud of. You’re such a braindead fucking slut.” She spat at your face and you recoiled. “You don’t deserve mommy’s cock.”

She moved to slip off of you, but your arms raised and wrapped around her waist. “No, mommy, I’m sorry!” you cried, tears spilling down your reddened cheeks. “I’m so sorry, mommy. I want your cock. I feel so icky. Please help.”

Your professor leaned back down against you. “Don’t cry, baby,” she hushed. She kissed your tear-stained cheeks. “You want my help?” 

You nodded.

You flinched at the raising of Wanda’s hand, but it came down to cup your cheek instead, her thumb rubbing her saliva into your skin. 

“That’s a good girl,” she said. You whimpered at the praise, suddenly feeling the need to cry even at that. “You’re just mommy’s sweet little cockwhore, hm?” Wanda asked, kissing your forehead. “You like getting your tight little pussy fucked by mommy’s big cock?”

You closed your eyes and nodded again “Yes, mommy,” you answered obediently. 

All of your classes were missed that day, but you spent not even a moment thinking about them. Wanda fucked your tight pussy all day until you’re too fucked out and dumb to protest to any of her advances. At one point, you got on your knees while she fucked your throat until you were crying. She spanked your pussy until it was puffy and red. 

All the while, you mumbled out how happy you were to be mommy’s little fuckhole. You were so happy to be her little girl, so happy to have her cock fucking your tight cunt. 

When Wanda eventually unfastened her strap, she gave you a shower, holding your abused little body up while she washed your hair. She dried you up with a towel after having you sit up on the washroom counter. She rubbed lotion onto you, massaging your sore body comfortingly, then dressed you up like her little doll, all cute and sleepy in her soft clothes. With a kiss on your forehead, Wanda tucked you in under her blankets.

You fell asleep in her bed dreaming of her pretty green eyes while she gave you full marks on your unfinished assignment online. Afterwards, she made you dinner- hot soup and baked bread. She woke you up, peppering your face with soft kisses. With your arms wrapped around her waist dependently, Wanda led you downstairs to the kitchen.

You were just as happy to have dinner with Wanda as you were at the cafe earlier, swinging your legs in your seat and blabbering off joyfully about miscellaneous topics. 

Once cuddled upstairs in bed with her, Wanda led you down between her thighs, gripping your head between both hands as she guided you through eating her out. 

“Faster, whore,” Wanda commanded. Her grip on your hair tightened, her nails running down your scalp. “Eat my pussy out just like that.” She came into your mouth and pulled you back up to run her tongue up your coated cheeks.

With you pulled against her chest covered in blankets and embraced tightly in Wanda’s arms, you fell asleep once more, not having questioned for a moment being at your professor’s place being cared for like her sweet doll. 

Perhaps that was why Wanda took you home to begin with, and why you fell asleep nuzzling your face into her breasts.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #marvel smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #requested fic #mommy wanda maximoff