#almost an hour past the deadline but

[radioactivetirade]

genuinely the lowest ive been in years rn. one of those extra shitty days where it literally feels like the world is out to get you yknow :/ shit went wrong from the second i started my day to now 18 hours later . god and i cant even do drugs about it

#first i got only a few hrs of sleep bc my friend needed some support last night #dont regret that but doesnt stop me from being shit tired #i had a full on breakdown over having no fucking friends at school #i had webkinz shit blast from my laptop in the middle of uni class truly humiliating #oh and forgot about how since theres 2 busses that are almost the same i accidentally got on the wrong one #which meant i had to get off in wpg winter wind and find a new bus and walked into class late #anyway then my brain just . wouldnt fucking work on the assignment i had due #then i finally after hours finished it only to find out that my new laptop fucked something up #and i wasnt able to upload any of my files anywhere #so i had to copy paste my whole fucking paper into an email to my profs bc i literally had no other choice #like its possible if i gave an excuse w no proof of completion this close to the deadline that it wouldnt be accepted #so uh yah i feel like shit im dumb as fuck im a repellant human being and i . fuck #i have rly truly genuinely never wished more for either the ability to hibernate #or do many many many many drugs about how im feeling #like goddamn i just literally feel like screaming buzzing in my head and under my skin like i feel actually insane #like not ok

[tojipie]

I'm a huge fan of your work and I would love to see a dilf!toji fan fiction where you accidentally walk in on him changing and it goes a bit further while megumi's home🙏🙏🙏

part 1 here

shaking crying and throwing up as the kids say

warnings: dilf!toji x reader, nsfw, almost getting caught, age gap

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“think that’s it for tonight.” megumi mumbles, turning the newly painted mound of clay to the side to gauge your shared work.

it goes without saying that you and your closest friend had spent the weeks leading up to the deadline planning, but not actually doing your final sculpting project, leading to an equally desperate and passive aggressive all-nighter.

you both of you were absolutely caked in paint, but the satisfaction of finally being done was well worth it. you stand up for the first time in over 4 hours, hissing at they way your back protests.

your feet tingle as blood rushes down to your legs, the aches in your body becoming more apartment.

“god, what is it— like 11?” you ask, massaging your neck with the back of your hand.

megumi grabs his phone to look at the time, scratching off a smear of dried pain with a scoff.

“it’s 1 am.” he laughs, tucking the device into his pocket with a sigh. “you ubering home or do you want my dad to take you?”

you perk up at the second option, gathering yourself before you respond.

“i mean yeah i feel like that’d be a lot safer.” you say, only half lying. “is he still up?” you knew he was up, in fact you knew if you hadn’t been practically right outside his bedroom for the past 4 hours he’d be texting you right now.

your sculpting partner motions to the kitchen door with a nod of his head, wordlessly gathering his materials up. “go check, i’m going to bed.”

you laugh, gathering your things and padding out into the hall.

“nite gumi.” you tell him, hoping it wasn’t too late in the night for the both of you to get a decent nights sleep.

———

you secretly hope toji is waiting for you as you fix your makeup in the mirror, leaning down to meticulously washing the paint from your hands and arms in an attempt to look presentable.

megumi hadn’t noticed it was you in his father’s bed the last time you snuck over, taking toji’s sly suggestion to “drive his little friend home” as an ill intended joke.

he opted to drive himself to the concert instead, accepting the ridiculous $100 venue parking fee in exchange for his peace of mind.

you, on the other hand, had gotten the opportunity to wail your lungs out as loud as you needed once the house was empty, going round-for-round with the massive wall of muscle that was your best friend’s dad.

and now, here you were in his bathroom, washing up in the sink as quickly as you could before feeding yourself to the lion.

you slip into the dark hallway as quietly as you can manage, cringing at the stale creak of the bathroom door.

the house is barely lit with the dim light from the kitchen gone. you figure megumi had shut it off before going to bed, thinking you and toji had already left.

you feel your way down the corridor of rooms, silently opening the door to your destination before stopping cold in your tracks.

“you should knock ya’know.” a deep voice crones.

you yelp as you’re pulled into his bedroom, the sound muffled by a solid hand over your mouth.

“shhhhh.” toji chuckles, caging you against the door. the older man leans down to mouth at your neck, feeling you up as you catch your breath.

“you have a real volume problem, pretty girl.” he teases.

you laugh, cradling his head as it settles in the curve of your neck. his shirt is half off already, bunched around his shoulders. you must’ve caught him changing.

“what, were you waiting on me?”

“men have needs don’t they?” he says quietly, leaning in to kiss you.

thick hands settle around the curve of your waist just under your breasts and pull you backwards, leading you towards the bed.

“was—fuck—gonna text you.” toji whispers between kisses, palming your chest underneath your shirt. the older man pulls you into his lap from where he sits on the edge of the mattress, rucking your shirt above your head to mouth at the top of your breasts.

“yeah? why didn’t you?”

“knew you’d come find me.”

your cheeks burn at his admission. he was right, as embarrassing as it was you both knew how often you found yourself under him on nights like these.

and whether or not you’d begun hanging out at megumi’s just to see his dad was a question you didn’t want to address, and one that toji already knew the answer to.

you say nothing, opting to palm the man below you through his boxers while he finally undresses his top half. toned abs clench tight as you squeeze his cock through the fabric, guided only by the small sliver of moonlight bleeding from his curtains.

“harder.” he groans, bucking into your hand.

“miss me?”

“always miss you.” toji mumbles, motioning for you to stand so he can strip you of your bottoms.

you’re pulled on top of him as soon as your shorts hit the floor, leaning in to kiss him again. the older man licks into your mouth with fervor, toying with the waistline of your thin panties.

toji breaks the kiss, snapping the elastic against your hip. you flinch at the sharp sting, whimpering into his neck as he grips your ass

“you wear these for me?” he asks.

you nod, letting him slip them off. he gives them a once over, smiling as he reaches to throw them onto the night stand.

“keeping em.” he laughs, pulling himself free from the confines of his bottoms.

he’s throbbing, steadily leaking onto his own thigh with every passing second. you lean down to accept him into your mouth, pausing when he pulls you back up to him.

“just get on top of me.” he begs, grabbing hold of the backs of your thighs and reclining into the pillows.

“need it that bad?” you ask, genuinely curious. you watch as he grabs hold of his cock, lining it up with ease—practically muscle memory.

“wouldn’t need it this bad—oh fuck— if you hadn’t been busy the entire night.” he groans, complaint interrupted by the feeling of you sinking down onto him.

“could fuck me when the sun’s out, you wouldn’t have to wait all day that way.” you suggest, only half serious.

“the only thing stopping me from doing that is work, pretty girl.” toji mumbles. you gasp as he twitches inside you, sinking down all the way to watch what little composure he still has crumble.

your knees protest as you bounce on the older man’s cock, body still sore from the workload you’d dealt with earlier.

���you could’ve just—fuck— came out and said hi.” you add, noticing the way the scar on his lip contorts when he smiles.

“can’t really walk around with a hard-on.” he admits with a sleazy grin, taking one of your breasts into his mouths for good measure.

your shared moans grow louder with every thrust, the sound of skin-on-skin becoming unmistakable.

“fuck is that noise?” a sleepy voice yells from the hallway.

you freeze. pulling away from toji to gauge his reaction.

“fuck, get underneath.” he chuckles, practically pulling you off of his cock with how easily he manhandles you, making space for you to crawl into the sheets.

you’re struck with what feels like another heart attack as a knock at the door pierces the air.

“do you have another girl over?” megumi scoffs pacing behind the doorway.

“you sleepwalking or something?” toji lies, clearly not considering the consequences of getting caught.

you feel him pull the sheets over your head with a soft laugh. warm hands rubbing over your sides through the thin fabric, a sweet attempt at calming you down.

“i’m not stupid.” his son replies, kicking the foot of the door for good measure. “did you even drive my friend home?”

“she ubered, kid.” toji lies again, groping your breast over the thin sheet. you yelp at the sudden contact, earning a teasing “shhhh” from the man above you.

“fucking knew you brought someone over.” megumi sighs, trudging down the hallway with vague threats of “you’re paying for my dorm room next year.” and “can’t keep it down.”

you emerge from the covers, arms snaking around toji’s shoulders with a sigh of relief.

“what’d i tell you about that volume problem?” he laughs, lowering you onto his still hard cock with a breathy groan.

“fuck, did you get wetter or somethin?” he asks, clearly in disbelief.

“course not!” you mouth, stifling a whimper as he begins to thrust.

“i know honey.” he teases, biting the curve of your shoulder to stifle a groan. “i’m just fuckin’ with you.”

#adah’s asks #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #toji fluff #toji drabbles #toji hcs #toji x reader fluff #toji x fem reader #dilf toji #dilf toji x reader #dilf!toji x reader #jjk #dilf toji x reader fluff #dilf!toji #toji x reader smut #toji x fem reader smut #toji smut

[dumpywrites]

Cat-astrophe - Min Yoongi / Suga

Summary: Your pet cat keeps going to your neighbor’s apartment and it’s a problem. 

Genre/tags: Fluff-ish, strangers to ???, minor mention of anxiety.

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

a/n: cus we're all soft for long haired Yoongi, right? hehe

It had been officially a month since you had moved to a new apartment place. You loved the new place honestly. It was cozy and the neighborhood looked nice. There were many convenience store nearby and the street was always still busy until late at night, making you feel a little bit of secure when coming home late.

While the place was nice it had one tiny downside. It was rather on the far side from your workplace. It took you an hour of bus ride just to get home from the office, so some days could be more tiring than others. And today was one of those tiring days. 

It was around nine at night on a Monday. Having to work overtime for the deadline and missed the bus, really dreaded you out. You were both tired and hungry, arriving home only to find that your pet cat was missing. It really just was not your day.

To say you were panicking would be a bit of an understatement. Cookie was barely a four month-old cat and had a very tiny body. All the negative possibilities start filling your head and you were horrified by all of them. Not to mention how it was basically forbidden to bring pets in the apartment complex. It was one of the policies but you couldn't help it since Cookie was a rescue.

When you arrived at your apartment lobby with a cat snack on your hand, there wasn’t that many people there. You walked past a guy by the front desk, who had medium-length black locks and fair skin, with headphones dangling on his neck. You began to call your pet’s name as soon as you were outside the lobby, but suddenly you felt a light tap on your shoulder. 

“Are you looking for a small black Bombay cat?” It was the same guy who just walked past you.

“Oh my god, I am! Have you seen him???” You said, your voice was a little bit shaky. 

“He’s in my place, I’m on the seventh.” 

“Oh, me too!”

“I know.”

“Oh.” You said, surprised at how stoic he sounded saying that, but didn’t further question him on it. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, can I go get him now?”

“Sure, I was just gonna go up as well.”

When you both entered the elevator, you made a mental note to ask his name or at least introduce yourself. He was a neighbor after all. It was pretty silent inside the lift and you just hoped he didn’t hear your stomach rumbling ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, bearing the hunger for a little while. 

When the elevator door opened you followed him from behind as he led you to his door. When he stopped at his front door, your eyes were widened in shock. 

“You live next to me?!” 

“Yeah.” He said casually and unlocked the door. "I've seen you multiple times."

You chose to not further question and followed him but stopped when you had only took two steps in, because technically, the homeowner had not really officially permit you to come in. The guy seemed to notice how you just stood awkwardly and looked back. 

“You can sit down for a sec, I’ll go get him.” 

“Oh, right… yeah. Thank you.” You said awkwardly and walked to sit on his couch. 

A few seconds later the man came back with your cat in his embrace. Cookie was clinging on his tshirt before he tugged him and gave him onto your lap. 

“Cookie!” You called, almost teary. 

“I think he jumped from your balcony to mine. Make sure to close your balcony door next time.”

“Thank you so much, I owe you… uh…”

“Yoongi.” 

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You repeated and introduced yourself in return. “I’m Y/N, and if you ever need anything please let me now.” You said as you stood up, already making your way out. 

“Also, thank you for not reporting it…”

“No problem.” Was all the guy said and by this point you figured he was not much of a talker. 

You bid your goodbye to your neighbor, which only gained a small nod before he closed the door on you. You walked to your door and let Cookie down as soon as you got inside. Sighing deeply, you began to feel your stomach rumble again, this time it rumbled quite loudly. Your feet were aching from standing on the bus and now your body finally got on how tired you were. 

Cookie meowed and immediately went to his cat bed and laid down. You sighed and smiled at the small creature. 

“You little rascal… you’re lucky I love you.” 

You then went to your kitchen to cook yourself some instant ramen. 

The next day you went to work and had to take another overtime. Unfortunately you had to for the rest of the week until your current project was done. It was exhausting but you had to make it and mostly thinking about the bonus pay from it helped quite a bit. You spent the next few days the same, repeating the schedules, and the tiring work. 

It was almost ten at night that you arrived home and found out Cookie had gone missing again. For some reason your first instinct was to knock on your next door, in hope the neighbor who once helped you, could lend you a hand again, and hoping maybe Cookie just ran to his place again instead of being gone somewhere where it wasn't safe for him.

You knocked on the door and didn’t get immediate answer. You waited for what felt like five minutes, before the door opened and you were greeted with the sight of your neighbor with wet hair. He had a small white towel around his neck and the hoop earring that you saw him with before was absent. His skin looked glowing, you probably needed to ask about his skin care routine later.

“So sorry to interrupt you, I was wondering if Cookie might have gone to your place again?” 

“He’s right there on the couch.” He casually pointed. His expression was straight and had you wondering if he did not mind it, bothered, or simply didn’t care. 

You slowly walked to approach your cat and bent down to its level. “Cookie, you need to stop this…” You tapped the cat's nose, as if scolding the poor cat would do anything. 

“He jumped to my balcony again, did you forget to close the door?” 

“But I made sure to close it this morning…” You looked at your neighbor, who walked closer to inspect the cat. 

“I think he knows how to turn door knobs, since he’s quite a jumper. You need to lock the door.” 

“I can’t believe this little demon…” You sighed, fingers still stroking the purring cat. 

“He’s… alright.” 

You were slightly taken aback by the response and looked up to him, but much to your disappointment, his expression still looked the same. You were about to get up and excuse yourself, but you notice a small steel bowl under his dining table, half full with what you assumed to be cat milk (I mean, it would be weird if it was his, duh!). 

“You also have a cat?”

His eyes followed yours. “Oh, that. I got it the first time Cookie came here, I figured he must be thirsty since he came in around noon time.” 

“That’s… that’s very nice of you.” You looked at him and smiled. Somehow him addressing your cat by his name sounded lovely. 

“You can have the rest of the milk if you want, since you’ve figured out how he escaped and all…” 

“It’s okay, you can keep it! Just in case he ran into you again…” You chuckled but then stopped after realizing how that just sounded like you did not mind troubling him with your cat continuously. “I mean… I’m sorry, I’ll make sure he’ll never escape again.” 

“It’s alright, I’ll keep the milk for now.” He paused for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just in case.”

You looked at your neighbor and couldn’t help but to feel all warm inside. He seemed like a nice person and from the looks of it he also liked your cat. 

“Thank you so much, Yoongi. I’ll be taking this little guy here then...” You smiled at him and stood up with Cookie in your arms. 

“I got some dim sum…” 

You looked at the guy questioningly. 

“Do you maybe want some?” 

“That’d be too much, it’s okay, you go ahead and eat.” You politely declined. Although you were hungry, you could bring yourself to bother your neighbor any more than what you had done. 

“Have you eaten?” 

“Y-yeah?” You asked, afraid you heard it wrong. 

“Have you eaten?” He repeated. “If not, then I insist you take some.”

“I…” You wanted to lie, but at this point it would come off as rude if you refuse him again. “I actually haven’t. Thank you very much though, I feel so bad that you’re being this nice to me.”

“You can just eat them here.” 

“I don’t wanna disturb—“ You were awkwardly cut by the sound of your stomach rumbling. 

“You’re not disturbing me.” He cleared his throat and looked away. 

That was embarrassing. 

And that was how you ended up sitting down on your neighbor’s dining table, eating dim sums. 

In silence. 

This Yoongi guy really did not like conversation it seemed. He was sitting down on his couch and had turned the TV on. The volume was on but not quite loudly, and Cookie was on his lap, sleeping as he occasionally stroked the cat’s head softly. Funny that somehow you could see some resemblance of Yoongi with your cat.

“So… how long have you lived here?” You bit your bottom lip as you waited for his answer. You kind of regretted asking as soon as the words came out from your mouth, afraid it would be awkward. 

“Around ten months or so.” He paused. “No, I think it’s been almost a year cause I spent two months overseas.”

“Really? What were you doing overseas?” You regretted asking again. Looking at how quiet Yoongi was, you didn’t want to ask too much or indulge into too much conversation, afraid it would be too much for him. 

But much to your surprise, he answered. “I’m a producer. I was working for this artist and all the work had to be done in America.” 

“Wow, that sounds amazing!” You said. At this point you no longer were sitting facing the table, but to him. “Who was the artist?”

“Uh… Halsey.” He replied while looking at the TV screen, seemingly to avoid your stare.

“Oh my god???” You gasped. “That’s incredible! So you’re like crazy talented?!”

“I’m alright…” 

“You should show me some of your work someday!” You said enthusiastically. When Yoongi did not reply to it and stayed silent, you cursed yourself internally. “I mean compared to what I do that’s like really amazing.” You chuckled nervously. 

“I’m sure you’re great at what you do.” He looked at you, a small smile was on his lips. 

You realized it was the first time you saw him smile and it made your heart raced rather faster than usual. It was the first time you saw him with facial expression other than his usual poker face. 

“I’m just a normal product designer at a very normal company.” You shrugged. 

“Don’t downplay yourself like that. You work very hard.” 

“Thanks…” You replied shyly. 

After finishing your food, you got up and went to wash the dishes, which immediately got stopped by the homeowner. He politely told you to go back home and rest. Which again, you could not thank him more for. 

You took your pet in your arms and said your goodbyes to your neighbor. Right when you arrived back in your place you came to realize something. Yoongi did not eat with you and there was only one portion of the food. While it could just meant he had already eaten beforehand, you felt giddy, thinking about another possibility. Was this a crush you sense forming? Frankly speaking, you could not care less. You were welcoming the possibility with open arms.

— 

Friday finally came and you were ready to take it in. The days of working with your company project was going to an end, which meant you no longer need to work overtime after this. The thought of it put you in a very good mood. 

This time right after arriving home, you walked to a nearby chicken restaurant and grab some not only for you, but also for your neighbor. You wanted to repay his kindness the past few days. After changing into some comfortable clothes, not to mention the multiple times you had to re-check the outfit in the mirror for some reason, you took your cat in your left hand and the food in the other. You knocked on your neighbor’s door hoping he was home. 

And he was. You were greeted with his silence but he opened the door wider as soon as he saw your face without question. One thing that caught your eyes though was how he was dressed up like he was ready for a night out. He wasn’t in his usual sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, but instead in a ripped wide legged jeans and a light blue shirt, unbuttoned, with a plain white tee underneath. He looked handsome. And here you were, in your so-called comfy outfit that you were starting to regret.

“Before you ask, no, Cookie’s right here.” You smiled awkwardly as you raised the small cat in your hand for him to see. “I’m just here to drop by some chicken I got for you… as a thanks for your help these past few days.” You handed the plastic of food to him. “Alright, that’s all…”

He took the food from you hesitantly. “You don’t wanna come in?” 

“Aren’t you going out or something?”

“I was… but you are here.” He said, sounding unsure. 

“That’s ridiculous, why would I stop you from going out?”

“I was gonna go to your place…” 

Your mouth formed a small O shape, unable to form a word. He was going to your place? But what for??? The butterflies in your stomach were having a blast. 

“But you’re all dressed up…”

“I was gonna change back.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair, which made you gulped at the sight. “I knew this was a bad idea I shouldn't have listened to Hoseok—”

You stopped his rambling. “What do you mean?”

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go eat together at that one Chicken restaurant nearby…”

“Oh.” You widened your eyes.

“Yeah.” He looked at you, biting his cheek in annoyance. 

“This is awkward.” You chuckled. 

“Whatever, just… just come in first.”

You saw Yoongi putting the plastic of food on his table. You offered help after putting down your cat on his couch and walked to his direction. Both of you plated the food in comfortable silence, it felt oddly domestic and you liked it. At this point you were used to him being not talkative and see it as his charm. 

After you took the plates to the living room, Yoongi suddenly came back with cans of beers and soju in his hands. 

“We’re drinking?” You said with an amused grin. 

“You can drink, right?” 

“Sure, but can you?” You playfully eyed him. 

“Don’t challenge me.” 

You could see how he was trying to hide his smile, and it brought colors to your cheeks. 

—

You did not know how you got in this situation. Five episodes in randomly rewatching Avatar The Last Airbender and you both were drunk. You were resting your head on his shoulder as you watch the screen. It seemed like the booze gave you confidence, or made you shameless, or both, but the guy didn’t complain so it could be a sign of a good thing. While you could see Yoongi holding his alcohol better than you, he was not completely sober either. 

It was at this very moment where you saw things through a pink tinted lense. Had Yoongi’s hair always looked that soft? Had he always looked this handsome? You began to question things you should not be questioning.

“Why didn’t you change your clothes?” You randomly asked. 

“Do I look bad?” He replied, eyes still on the screen, hands stroking the sleeping cat on his lap. 

"Of course not, I just feel severely underdressed now..." You chuckled.

He eyed you from top to bottom, which made you nervous, but he shrugged, seemingly to not have any problem with your clothes.

“You look… handsome.”

“You think I look handsome?” He suddenly moved to face you, making you move to look at him as well. The tone of his voice sounded like he was teasing more than asking a question.

You nodded and bit your lips. “And you kinda look like Cookie.” You giggled. 

He raised one of his eyebrows, clearly not satisfied with your answer. 

“Your eyes…” You began to ramble. “They look just like Cookie’s, and when you look annoyed, or just your plain expression… you look like a cute cat.” 

“Really…” Yoongi hummed. 

“Yup!” You giggled like an idiot. 

You failed to notice how at this point, Yoongi has put Cookie down from his lap to the floor. His face only inches away from you as you kept rambling. 

“Your hair look so soft… like a cat’s fur.” You reached your hands closer to his hair, but stopped mid-way, scared he’d get uncomfortable. 

Yoongi surprised you again by grabbing both of your wrist and putting your hands on his hair, letting you stroke his head slowly. You saw his expression softened and as you kept playing with his hair, he closed his eyes. You swore you heard him purr. 

“Pretty.” You said with a drunk smile. 

“Hmm. Pretty.” He mirrored. 

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense. 

Yoongi chuckled. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.” 

—

To be frank, you could not recall what happened after. You recalled some bits of karakoe-ing? Singing random PSY songs in your broken Korean using a bottle of whiskey as your mic. That was probably all? You couldn’t think while the throbbing headache was present in the room with you.

So why were you now in a bed that was not yours, wearing a t-shirt that was too big for you and was clearly not yours, also for heaven’s sake, WHY IS YOONGI SLEEPING NEXT TO ME??? 

You froze. Did you??? There was no way. Sure you found him attractive and all, and you definitely had this huge crush on him, but you couldn’t just sleep with a guy you barely knew. Besides your headache, your body didn’t feel any pain, so that was probably a good sign. What if he was just that gentle? Okay, you need to stop thinking at once before you started a whole fiction about you and Yoongi in your head.

When you turned your back, you felt the other side of the bed shifted as well. 

“You’re up?” He asked with a raspy voice. 

“Yeah.” You said, still back-facing him. “We didn’t… you know…”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Oh, okay good.”

Yoongi did not answered to that, but instead you felt him scooting closer. 

“I’m sorry, this isn’t probably how you’d wanna spend your weekend.” You chuckled. 

Your breath hitched when you felt a hand over your waist. “Is this okay?” He suddenly stopped when your body tensed at his touch. 

You nodded, heart beating too loudly for you to form any sentence. 

“This is nice.” He said, resting his forehead on your back. 

When you stayed silent, he took your hand and turned you over to face him. Heat immediately took over your body as soon as your eyes meet. You noticed he was back in his usual home attire, oversized tee and sweatpants. His hair was messy, but it seemed like universe had its favorite cause he still looked good. 

“You know, I haven’t had good sleep in… weeks.”

You were surprised by his sudden confession.

“It’s half past eleven now, and it’s not even ten minutes after I woke up…” He tittered. “My anxiety has been getting worse the past month and out of nowhere a black cat suddenly jumped to my balcony, meowing non-stop while I was working.”

You looked at him, letting him finish his talk. This was the most words you had ever heard coming out of Yoongi’s mouth and it made your heart flutter. 

“I haven’t been caring. I’ve stopped caring, for a while now. Seeing you care so much for such a small creature… I don’t know, it feels good. It makes me wanna care.”

“Yoongi…” You cooed, caressing his cheek. "It's not true, all you have been since I first met you until this moment, was caring."

"I'm sorry if it feels like it came out of nowhere but I feel at home with you and I don’t know why...” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yet, at least.”

“I… like this too. A lot actually.” You said shyly. 

“I would like to get to know you more if you’d like.” He was being honest and exactly to the point, no flirty bullshit to spice his sentences.

“I’d love that...” 

Suddenly you heard a low meow from under the bed and Cookie jumped into the bed, joining you two. Apparently his bedroom door was left opened and none of you noticed how Cookie had entered. You giggled and he smiled as well, the widest smile and the most genuine you had ever seen from him, as he took the cat and cuddled both of you close.

"I think it's about time you give me your number..." You squinted at him playfully. "You know, so we don't repeat the whole chicken restaurant accident again?"

“Okay, but promise me first you won’t apologize again after kissing me.” He chuckled. 

“EXCUSE ME WHAT???”

— 

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense. 

Yoongi laughed. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.” 

“I can be crazier if you open that whiskey.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

Yoongi just shook his head, smiling at your silliness. He stood up and went to grab his Hibiki anyway, which earned a shout of celebration from you. 

Things escalated quickly after opening the bottle. Somehow you were starting a drunk karaoke session which followed by many dance breaks. You ended up crying when a sad song randomly came up in the playlist and when Yoongi asked why, you replied. You replied with your lips on his.

In your head it just made sense. It was his lips’ fault for looking so juicy. Yeah, totally his fault for looking so hot that it was driving you insane.

None of you moved and it only lasted seconds before your mood turned sour again. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean…” You pushed him gently. “Oh my god, you’re so gonna hate me!!!”

“Hey, calm down…“ 

You started to panic, tears now forming in your eyes again. “Please don’t hate me, I just wanted to kiss you…” You cried. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough drinking—“

And you puked. 

Yes, Yoongi did see your lilac colored bra when he helped you change into his t-shirt. But that’s a secret between him and little Cookie. 

Thank you for reading! 💎

#yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagine #bts scenarios #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagines #min yoongi #bts suga #suga scenarios #suga imagine #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #suga x you #suga x y/n

[folkwhoredoll]

soothing touch - rafe cameron x fem!reader

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

synopsis: after a tiresome week, your boyfriend knows just how to help

word count: 2.1k

warnings/tags: smut! (f oral, unprotected sex, nipple play), soft bf!rafe

a/n: hi everyone! i don't think i can ever say this enough but thank you for your support! however i might be inactive for the next days or weeks because easter break is over :< but i promise to keep writing whenever i can <3 i hope you'll like this one. happy reading!

masterlist

+*:ꔫ:*﹤

“Baby, come lay with me.” You heard your boyfriend whine from the bed.

“Just a few more minutes, Rafey. I need to finish this essay, or I’ll lose my train of thought.” You replied without looking at him, eyes steady between your laptop screen and keyboard.

Rafe groaned, growing impatient after hearing you use the same excuse for the third time.

It had been over two hours since he laid on the bed and over two hours that you refused to join him. The past weeks have made you busy, considering you were a graduating student. There were deadlines here and there, you have experienced sleepless nights for the past few days, and coffee is probably the only liquid cursing through your veins.

Rafe knew it was coming and made sure to help in any way possible, but it doesn’t mean he was okay with it. He missed taking you out on dates and golfing sessions, but it has been almost a month since he was able to do so.

He came to your house a few hours ago and brought you snacks you felt incredibly grateful for. You welcomed and greeted him, then returned to your room to sit in front of your laptop.

“I’m sorry, babe. I promise I’ll just finish this essay, and then we can cuddle, okay?” You offered to him softly, feeling bad that you’d ignored him.

Rafe, who has a stern exterior towards other people, is always soft towards you. His eyes softened upon hearing your offer, wanting nothing more than for you two to spend the night together.

“Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

You flashed him a smile, your fingers desperately working to finish your essay.

Around half an hour later, you were typing out the last sentence for your draft. You inhaled deeply and stretched your back before shutting down the computer, deciding that you would just do your revisions in the morning.

“Finally.” You heard Rafe’s voice, making you chuckle, and excitedly made your way to the bed where your boyfriend was adorably tucked in the covers. “Hi, baby.”

You crawled in his arms, feeling extremely relaxed now that you were out of your stiff chair. “Hi, Rafey.”

“What do you want to do now?” He asked you sweetly, letting you decide depending on how you were feeling.

You thought momentarily, looking at the time and realizing it was almost midnight. Yet, surprisingly, you didn’t feel an ounce of sleepiness.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I’m not sleepy yet. You?”

 “Nah. I’m not sleepy, too.” Rafe shook his head before an idea popped into his mind. “You want me to give you a massage?”

Without hesitation, you agreed, nodding your head quickly. “Yes, please. My back hurts so much.”

Rafe gave you a pitied look. “Aw, baby. I got you; go get ready.”

You positioned yourself on the bed, grabbing a pillow where you can rest your head on. You sat up for a while to remove the thin sweater that hugged your torso. Your bra followed after you skillfully removed the clasps on your back. The amount of times that Rafe had seen you naked has made you shameless in making such gestures in front of him.

Meanwhile, Rafe watched your actions as he positioned himself behind you, hungrily eyeing your bare back before reminding himself that he was supposed to help you relax.

“Lay down on your stomach, pretty girl.” He spoke.

You did as he asked, sighing relief when your front side made contact with your sheets.

Knowing your room like the back of his hand, Rafe grabbed a bottle of lavender oil from your bedside drawer. He squeezed out a small amount, only enough to cover your back. Once satisfied, he warmed up the oil by rubbing it between his palms before putting it on your skin.

You let out a soft moan at the contact; the minty feeling from the oil and the feeling of your boyfriend’s large hands on your back made you instantly relax.

Rafe continued to give you a massage until his hands were dry from the oil, giving your back continuous strokes while you were on the verge of sleeping.

Little do you know, your breathy sighs have awakened something in Rafe.

He cleared his throat after several minutes, leaning down to check if you were sleeping. After seeing your opened eyes, Rafe relaxed and gave you a smile. “You feeling better?”

You mumbled a ‘yes,’ groaning as you slowly turned around on your back. “Thank you, Rafe.”

Rafe replied nothing, instead just lowering his face to yours in order to press a kiss on your lips. You smiled into the kiss, making Rafe go crazy. He wanted nothing more than to go further but hesitated as he thought of your tired body.

Unexpectedly, you were the one who deepened the kiss, your hands subtly moving up to his hair.

“Baby…” Rafe gasped, pulling away slightly. “Are you not tired?”

“Not really.” You said honestly as you looked into his eyes. “Feels good, Rafe. Please.”

Your words were confirmation for Rafe, making him press his lips back to yours. You let out a gasp when your boyfriend’s lips went from your mouth to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin softly.

“Hey, no marks.” You reminded him, remembering the time that your parents almost fainted when they saw Rafe’s love marks on your neck and chest.

“Yes, ma’am.” He cheekily smiled.

Rafe’s attention was suddenly on your breasts. He already had easy access to them after you removed your top. You moaned in surprise when his lips wrapped around your left nipple, your back arching as you tried to catch your breath.

“Rafe.” You heaved when his mouth attached to your other nipple, his fingers now working simultaneously as he toyed with the other one. When he was satisfied with the attention that he gave to your breasts, he straightened up his posture, and you took the opportunity to start removing his shirt.

You quickly get rid of his shirt, throwing it sideways as you focus on his shorts.

“Someone’s excited.” He chuckled.

“It’s been a while.” You pouted.

“I know, sweetheart. We have a lot of time.” Rafe replied softly. He pecked your lips once before crouching down. “Lift your hips slightly, baby. Let me take this off of you.”

You obeyed, pushing yourself up from the bed to allow Rafe to pull down your shorts and underwear. You took a deep breath at the realization that you were fully exposed but paid no attention when you caught Rafe eyeing your pussy while licking his lips.

“Well, what do we have here?” He smirked, his right-hand landing gently on your thigh.

“Rafe…” You whined lowly, feeling frustrated as his fingers teased you by drawing random circles along your skin.

“What do you want, Y/n?” He asked innocently.

You groaned. “Stop teasing me.”

He smirked. Rafe loves nothing more than seeing you surrender to his touches. And right now, he’s enjoying the growing smell and wetness of your arousal.

Removing his hand from your thigh, he pressed a finger against your clit. You jolted forward; the pressure alone is enough to stimulate pleasure to your core. “Fuck.”

Rafe’s finger gently circled your clit, both his cock and smile becoming more prominent at the sight of you. He surprised you by pressing two fingers in, his thumb taking over your clit. He began pumping, enjoying your moans mixed with the sound of your wet folds.

“Fucking hell, Rafe. More.” You demanded through deep breaths, your chest rising and falling.

He didn’t respond, pulling out his fingers after a few moments. Your brows pinched together in confusion, looking at him as he brought his fingers to his mouth.

“You taste amazing, darling.” He smirked and watched as you stared at his lips. After licking his two fingers clean, he lifted his hands and brought his thumb to your face. “Open.”

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth and took his thumb in. You sucked, tasting yourself and letting out a moan while maintaining eye contact.

“Fuck.” Rafe spoke, feeling his cock straining. “I was planning to go soft on you. But you seem more eager than I do.”

After you’re done licking his finger, he pulls down his trousers and underwear. Despite seeing him naked multiple times, you still can’t help but be amazed at his size, your thoughts growing wild with desire.

You watched as Rafe kneeled before you, his eyes on the same level as your folds. He pulled you nearer to him, your lower half almost hanging off the edge of the table as he wrapped your legs around his shoulder.

“You gotta keep quiet, baby. We don’t want to get caught by your parents, do we?”

Without any warning, Rafe pressed his face to your pussy, his tongue expertly slipping inside and sucking on your clit.

“Fuck!” You moaned aloud, instantly forgetting his words as you pressed your weight against the bookshelf behind you.

He slapped your thigh softly. “What did I just say?”

You ignored him, too focused on the pleasure that you’re feeling to control the sounds from your mouth. You squirmed against his lips, grinding your hips upwards to get more. Your boyfriend smiled proudly.

“Yes, yes, Rafe…. Shit.”

He pulled one of his hands away from you, lowering it to pump his manhood. His occasional moans caused vibrations throughout your body, your toes curling and your eyes shutting.

Rafe felt your legs shake, and he started to pull away. He needed you to cum, but not yet.

“W-what?” You asked desperately, almost whining at the loss of contact.

He gently shushed you, pushing himself up and lining his cock directly at your slits. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll finish you right here.”

He pushed himself into you inch by inch, your warm folds wrapping around him perfectly. Rafe groaned at the damp and tight feeling surrounding him, head falling back in pleasure as he settled perfectly within you.

You moaned once more, loudly this time as he started thrusting, his rhythm steady yet forceful. You repeatedly called his name, hands gripping the sheets around you as you shook in pleasure. Rafe looked down to watch himself disappear inside you, eyes filled with lust and pride every time his hips meet yours. He grabbed your thighs and pushed your legs forward, almost keeping them against your chest.

“That’s right, darling. Moan my name.” Sweat started to form on his forehead, his thrusts becoming harsher and quicker in desperate need. “C’mon, Y/n. Let me see you cum.”

“Rafe…” You cried, your cunt clenching and throbbing. The bed was creaking slowly, and you could only hope that your parents were currently deep in slumber.

The pleasure was overwhelming as Rafe focused on every part of you as much as possible. Both of you panting and covered in sweat, his hands working wonders on your clit and nipple while he perfectly filled your cunt.

“R-Rafe, I’m…”

“I know, baby. Cum with me. Come on, pretty girl.” He whispered closely in your ear, maintaining the speed of his thrusts as he rubbed your clit faster.

Your heart rate was increasing, and your body was shaking. But it was Rafe’s direct eye contact and sudden pinch on your clit that pushed you over the edge, eyes rolling at the back of your head as you released.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Rafe moaned at the sight, loving the feeling of your tight walls and warm release around his cock.

It wasn’t long until he pumped several more times before he gave in, releasing his juices inside of you with heavy breaths.

Neither of you moved for a while, still breathless and shaking.

Rafe pulled out of you slowly, making you whine. He cooed at you, pressing kisses on both of your cheeks. “Are you feeling better, baby?”

Unable to form words because you were still catching your breath, you just grinned and nodded, your hand rising to cup and stroke his cheek.

“Let’s get you ready for bed now, sweetheart.”

The rest of the night, you didn’t break any sweat. Rafe took charge of changing your clothes and sheets, even giving you a quick bath to refresh you.

On times like these, you thank the heavens for giving you a boyfriend like Rafe Cameron.

#drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader smut

[maopll]

"you should take a little rest"

He looks at you from the doorway of the room. He was leaning on one side with arms crossed and hair in a mess. He was about to go to sleep, but the constant keyboard clicking and you exasperated sighs stirred him from slumber.

"I will after this is done"

you said so after taking a sip from your third cup of coffee. You voice raspy and tired as you survived on that three hours of sleep you got. Amidst countless yawns and you rubbing your eyes in an attempt to stay awake, you were hanging by a thin thread from collapsing then and there.

"It's all going to be a waste if you fall sick from staying awake like this you know"

he walked over with gentle, soundless steps and carefully took the coffee mug to put it in the sink for cleaning in the morning.

You eyes almost dazed over as the words infront of the papers became more and more incomprehensible even if they were written in a language you have spoken since your birth. You attention, long forgotten as the only goal in your mind was to stay awake and complete the works which are way past their deadline by now.

"only a few...pages left" the pauses in your sentences were a dead giveaway of how much you yearned the sweet sleep in that state of yours.

"If I said I feel lonely in bed without you would you then come and sleep?" his hands caressed your shoulders in an attempt to make you feel more drowsy. His hands ruffled your your hair and massaged your scalp which felt so soo good..

"If this is your way of making me sleepy..." You tried to use that little ounce of energy you had left in you to see if you can stay awake, but it seems like you've really reached your limit, "...then you've won..." you shoved the damn work on one side and hastily closed the books that were splayed open.

"Come on, get moving." You dragged him by his hand into the bedroom. He wrapped his arms around your upper body from the back and hugged you while practically leaning all his weight on you because the drowsiness was also creeping up to him, yet it did not feel uncomfortable or something rather it felt quite...homely

"Thank you for taking a rest"

— WRIOTHESLEY, ZHONGLI, kaeya, ayato, neuvillette, kaveh, ITTO, TIGHNARI, kazuha, diavolo, MAMMON, malleus, VIL, LEONA, YUUJI itadori, geto suguru, nanami, YUTA, luocha, GEPARD, JING YUAN, + anyone you wanna add !

a small fic because I'm burnt out as well because of the exams and also to those who are working constantly as well :')

© 2024 maopll. do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #genshin impact x reader #obey me! #kaeya x reader #wriothesley x reader #zhongli x y/n #obey me x mc #jjk x reader #jjk #ayato x reader #tighnari x reader #kaveh x reader #neuvillette x reader #itto x reader #kazuha x reader #diavolo x reader #mammon x mc #malleus x reader #vil x reader #leona x yuu #yuuji x reader #getou suguru x reader #nanami x reader #yuta x reader #jing yuan x reader #gepard x reader #hsr x reader

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley wins a box seat ticket for the first game of the World Series final, he doesn't think his day could get any better. But when he's given a seat in the press box by mistake, he meets a gorgeous sports writer from New York. And he has one of the best nights of his life.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and smut (18+)

Length: 6300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was half asleep, sipping on his coffee while he drove to North Island from his house in the soft pre dawn light. He really hated these early training days that started at six o'clock and didn't end until after dinnertime. He'd be in the air all day, and then he'd probably be too tired to stay awake to watch game one of the World Series. 

Everyone on base was excited that the Padres were playing the Angels. A Southern California showdown for the ages. Tickets to game one in San Diego were selling for almost a thousand dollars per seat, but the sports radio host Bradley was listening to was giving them away.

Bradley yawned as the host asked, "Who was the first major league baseball player to pitch a ball over 100 miles per hour?"

"That's easy," Bradley mumbled. "Nolan Ryan." And then he realized that it was 5:30 in the morning and perhaps nobody else who was listening knew that fact. "Huh," he grunted, reaching for his phone at a red light. He dialed the number and was shocked when he got through to the host. 

"Good morning, caller! What's your name? Where are you from?"

"I'm Bradley. From Coronado."

"Do you have an answer for me, Bradley? Which major league player was the first to pitch over 100 miles per hour?"

"That would be Nolan Ryan."

"You sound confident in your baseball knowledge," the host replied. "Double or nothing? I'll upgrade your ticket to a seat in a box suite if you can tell me which team Ryan was pitching against."

Bradley smiled to himself as he pictured the boxes of his dad's old baseball cards that he still had in his garage. "He was pitching against the Chicago White Sox."

And just like that, Bradley was the proud owner of a suite ticket for game one of the World Series at Petco Park later that night. 

---------------------------

Your flight from New York to San Diego had been delayed so many times, you were a little surprised you managed to get to your hotel in your rental car and then make it to the game on time. At least you'd been able to start writing your article on the flight. Unless the game went into extra innings, you should be able to finish by your midnight deadline. Because if there was one thing the New York Times didn't mess around with, it was the hard cutoff for your submissions. 

As you made your way to the media entrance at Petco Park, you pulled out your lanyard with your credentials and looped it around your neck. As soon as someone learned that you were a sports writer for the most prestigious newspaper in the country, they were either impressed or they did a double take. You were a freshly thirty year old female with a ten year career in sports journalism, and you didn't take shit from any guys about it. 

In fact, you loved it when men tried to one up you. Because they never could. You knew more than they did about sports, you were an amazing writer, and you found pleasure in shutting them down. Preferably in front of their friends. And then they would inevitably try to ask you out. And you would shut that down, too. It was a game that you were very good at now. 

As you were scanned into the ballpark by a security officer, you quickly made your way up to your assigned press box. You expected the heavy hitters to be there. And of course you'd be the youngest, and probably one of just a few women in attendance. As you climbed the narrow stairs and swiped your badge one last time, you opened the door and strolled past a table filled with food and drinks. And then you saw them: Carl from ESPN, Jack from The Chicago Tribune, Harold from the Los Angeles Times, and Quincy from the Philadelphia Inquirer. You would keep your guard up, because it was just a matter of time before one of them made some sort of comment about your ability to do your job. 

The room was already filling up as you claimed a spot on one of the narrow counters where you could set up your computer and get to work. You removed your lanyard and tossed it next to your stuff, and then you waved to Raya from MSN Sports, the only other female in the room. When you turned to grab a drink and some food, you noticed the flash of a handsome face and a mustache. And then you stifled a scream as you saw and felt a plastic cup of cold beer meet your chest before soaking the front of you completely. 

"Oh, fuck!" came the deep, raspy voice of the most handsome man you could remember seeing in recent history as he stared at your chest. You supposed it was a fair trade, because you couldn't look away from his face no matter what you did. He was hot; all tan skin, brown eyes, and wavy, brown hair. And the blush that crept in and colored his cheeks made him look boyish as he glanced up to meet your eyes. "I'm so sorry!"

When he swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted down to your chest again, you looked down as well. Great. Your light blue lace bra was plainly visible through your white blouse, and the beer was even dripping onto your jeans and your new, white Chucks. 

You just shook your head and shrugged. "It's okay. Shit happens. But why did you bring a beer in here?" you asked. But he still looked so embarrassed and flustered, you decided to mess with him. "Who do you write for? I'll send them my laundry bill."

"Write?" he asked, and yep, that was confirmation that he had the sexiest voice you had ever heard. 

"Yeah," you said, feeling a little flustered yourself as you reached for some napkins to dab your shirt dry. "Tampa Bay Times? Boston Globe? Oh Lord, don't tell me you're from Barstool Sports. I don't recognize you, and I'm pretty sure I'd remember you." That was a lie; you would definitely have remembered him.

"No," he said, watching your every move. "I don't write."

You laughed as his gaze flicked up from your chest to your eyes when you looked up at him. "That explains the alcohol, then. But why are you in the press box? Did you get lost up here?"

He smirked at that. "No. I won a radio contest and got a seat in a box suite. But somehow my ticket got mixed up, and they sent me a media pass instead."

"Really?" you asked, eyeing him up and down now. "I had to pay for a four year journalism degree for my media pass, and you're going to tell me I could have just listened to the radio?"

His laugh was infectious and his smile made you a little giddy as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bradley. I don't think I could manage to write an article about sports, even if I was getting paid to do it. You must be very talented." You preened a bit at his words as you shook his hand. "And I'm really sorry about the beer," he added, gesturing to your shirt. "I'd offer to get you a drink or dinner, but the food in here is free, and you're actually working. So, I'll just stand here like an idiot and keep shaking your hand and apologizing until you tell me your name and tell me to stop. I'm really sorry about your shirt." He was still shaking your hand, and now you couldn't stop smiling.

You told him your first name and then you said, "You can stop shaking my hand now, Bradley." 

"Let me grab you some water?" he asked, and when you nodded, he turned toward the bar in the far corner. And you took in his tall frame, broad shoulders and massive biceps which were highlighted by his Padres shirt. 

"Oh no," you whispered to yourself, still mindlessly dabbing your wet blouse with some napkins.

--------------------------

Bradley turned toward you with two water bottles, and thankfully this time he managed to keep the drinks in his hands. You were so fucking cute, and your wet shirt was doing crazy things to him. He couldn't stop smiling, and when you looked up at him and cautiously accepted your drink, you were smiling too. 

"Thanks for not drenching me again," you said, tapping your drink to his. And then Bradley heard an older guy call your name, and you turned in his direction. 

"Nice shirt," he shouted so everyone was suddenly looking your way. "That how you plan on getting an exclusive with one of the players? Sex sells now? I thought this was about the game."

Bradley was appalled that another journalist was talking to you like that, but before he could say that your wet shirt was actually his fault, you were shouting back at the guy.

"Harold, you couldn't even drag your sorry, old ass down to the field fast enough to get an exclusive with the mascot. I don't know how you're not retired or dead yet. Didn't you cover the 1922 World Series?"

Bradley watched Harold purse his lips at you before he turned away and took a seat. And when Bradley glanced down at you as you sipped your water, you looked completely unfazed. And he was ridiculously turned on.

"Damn, nobody should be messing with you," he said, thoroughly impressed. "You're an Ace."

You just rolled your eyes, but you looked very pleased by his words. He already knew he wanted to talk to you all night, but now you were setting your drink down next to your computer and opening it as you sat. "This is a boys club. Just a dick measuring contest. I can't let up for a second or I'll get steamrolled."

Bradley let his eyes dip down to your damp shirt as he asked, "I don't want to commit another beer related crime. You seem to know how this press box stuff works. Mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all," you told him as you licked your lips. "As long as you don't spill anything else on me."

Bradley eased himself down on the stool next to yours, and his knee brushed your thigh. He watched you filling out a baseball stat sheet while you opened up a document on your computer. 

"So what was the trivia question?" you asked as you sipped your water again.

"Trivia question?" he murmured, watching your lips wrap around the rim of the bottle before you took a drink. 

"Yeah, isn't that how you won the pass? For the box seat? Even though you're slumming it with the journalists now?"

"I wouldn't call this slumming it," he said, eyeing your pretty face. "But yeah, they asked who was the first pitcher to throw a ball over 100 miles per hour."

"Oh. Nolan Ryan. Angels versus the White Sox. Nice," you said as you smiled at him. Fuck. You liked sports. You wrote about sports. You were gorgeous, and you knew more about sports than he did. Bradley let his mind drift to peeling off your damp, white shirt and licking the taste of beer off your chest while you moaned baseball stats and ran your fingers through his hair. He could definitely get into that. He briefly wondered if you were going to be at the next game here on Sunday.

And then you were keeping the game stats in your notebook at the same time you typed up notes, and Bradley realized he had missed the first few pitches. "Oof, that was a sloppy curveball," you muttered as you peered down at the field before checking the overhead screen. "He's supposed to be their Ace."

"Nah, you're the Ace," Bradley said, and you turned to grin at him as your fingers brushed against his. There was not a lot of room at this little countertop, and when you tried to nudge his arm out of the way, he wrapped it around the back of your stool. 

"How am I supposed to keep my stats with you taking up so much space?" you asked, but your tone sounded playful, and you leaned a little closer to him. "You're massive."

Those words spoken in your voice had his cock stirring. "Yeah well, not a lot I can do about that, Ace."

That grin was back as you tapped the end of your pencil against your lips, and his gaze followed the motion. "So what do you do, Bradley? I'm going to guess you're not a waiter since you can't walk without spilling drinks. And you're definitely not a writer."

"I'm a pilot. A naval aviator," he told you softly, running his thumb along your back and watching you bite your lip. 

"Fascinating," you told him before returning your attention back to the game and scribbling down the pitch count. And that's when Bradley's gaze landed on your badge which was sitting next to your computer. 

He recognized your full name immediately. "Holy shit. You write for the New York Times."

"Yeah," you replied, turning to look at him before pulling your lip between your teeth again.

"Ace. I recognize your name. You're the best sports writer in the country."

Bradley was blushing, he knew he must be, but your bright smile was focused on him, and he couldn't keep his fingertips from drawing lazy shapes along your back where his hand rested. 

"You know me?"

He nodded and raised an eyebrow at you. "You're famous. I read your articles all the time. I downloaded the New Your Times app solely for you."

When you laughed and gently bit the eraser end of your pencil, Bradley groaned. "You're funny," you told him.

"You're gorgeous." The words were out his mouth before he could stop himself. He thought about apologizing, but then you leaned in a little closer and ran your pencil eraser up his thigh along his jeans.

"Stop distracting me," you whispered, kissing his cheek before returning your attention to your computer. Your lips had brushed the end of his mustache, and he could still feel the soft sensation there as you gazed at him from the corner of your eyes. This was going to be a long night for Bradley.

--------------------------

Bradley had called you gorgeous. He was playful, and he kept a smile on your lips. When he made a comment about the Angels' catcher, you told him, "You're completely right. I'm adding that to my piece." And he blushed that deep shade of pink again. 

"Damn, Ace. I'll be thinking about your voice when I read your article tomorrow morning." 

"Mm," you hummed, marking down another strikeout. "It would be fun to read it to you. I think you'd blush. The whole time." 

His lips were parted, and he looked a little surprised. "It would be the filthiest of dirty talk," he muttered, and when you giggled, he grinned. 

You had to bite your lip against the desire to kiss his cheek again. "World Series articles and pitching stats? That's what's gonna do it for you, Bradley?"

"Shit, how dirty can you make those pitching stats?" he whispered, thumb still skimming along the back of your shirt.

"You'd be surprised," you told him, shooting him an innocent look as he nodded at you.

"I'm sure I would."

The more you scribbled down in your notebook as the game progressed, the closer Bradley got to you. His big palm was warm on your back and you found yourself leaning into him more and more. By the eighth inning, his leg was pressed up against yours and he just kept getting closer. 

"Ace, you're killing me," he murmured, taking your pencil and erasing the sloppy note you had written about the Padres relief pitcher. "Let me help."

You laughed as he rewrote your note very neatly followed by what you assumed was his phone number. Oh, he was a bold one. Very handsome, very funny and very bold. 

Without a word, he handed your pencil back to you. "What am I supposed to do with that?" you asked, tapping his phone number with the pencil.

His breath was warm on your cheek as he said, "Save it in your phone. Call it. Text it. Let it know when you're in San Diego. I don't know, Ace. I just like you."

Your lips parted right as the Padres catcher hit a home run, and as everyone else in the ballpark erupted in cheers or groans, Bradley pressed his lips softly to yours. And then you tossed your pencil aside and ran your hand up along his neck. His lips were soft, but damn, his mustache was rough and you liked it. 

You pulled back a few inches. "And if I text you, you're going to write back?" you asked. 

"Immediately," he promised. 

"Well then maybe I'll save your number."

He groaned softly as you marked down the home run. "Are you covering game two on Sunday?" he asked as the ninth inning started.

"I'm covering every game," you told him, letting your hand rest on his thigh. The soft noise he made had you scraping your fingernails softly along his jeans as he watched your hand instead of the game. "I'll be back and forth between San Diego and Los Angeles for the next two weeks or so, if they go to seven games. Which, in my professional opinion, they will." 

After your fingers grazed his zipper, you watched his head tip back, the veins in his neck working as he swallowed. You were pretty turned on now, too. And the way he was responding to you was making things worse by the minute. 

"I'm gonna have to drop a grand on a ticket to see you back here on Sunday, aren't I?" he asked as you shrugged and ran your finger along his belt loop. Then you released him and turned back to type a few sentences for your article. 

"Listen," you told him without looking at him. "There's no guarantee I'm even going to let you have my number, so I wouldn't worry about that just yet."

He was quiet for a beat as you typed away, and then he said, "How about you let me buy you a drink for real? Right after the game tonight?"

"I have a deadline to meet," you told him, and he looked disappointed as he nodded. "But my article is almost done. And my hotel is right across the street. We could go to the bar there?"

"Absolutely," he murmured, his fingers still at your back. "Anywhere you want."

As soon as the game ended with a Padres victory, you tossed your computer and notebook into your bag, and you were on your feet next to Bradley. "Let's get out of here." 

You took his big hand in yours, glancing up at him occasionally as you tried to beat most of the crowd to the exit. And each time, he was looking back at you, smiling. You led him across the parking lot, and your hotel was in sight when you pushed him up against the brick wall outside of the ballpark. Bradley welcomed your body against his, and he looked at you like he couldn't believe this was happening just before you kissed him.

It was dark over here, even the streetlights were dim. His hands were on your back as your fingers tangled in his hair, and you were rubbing yourself gently against him. 

"Ace," he grunted against your lips. "You gotta let me buy you that drink." 

You could feel him growing harder for you as you kissed him and tasted his tongue. Suddenly the hotel bar was the farthest thing from your mind. It had been replaced by thoughts of your hotel room bed instead. 

"Come on, Bradley," you whispered, linking your fingers with his and leading him further down the sidewalk. He went with you willingly, leaning down to kiss your cheek and your neck as you waited in a crowd of people for the light to change at the crosswalk. 

"You smell good. Like the beer I spilled on you," he groaned, holding you close. The movement of his lips had his mustache prickling your neck. You wanted to feel it on all your sensitive skin. You wanted to see if you could make him blush in bed. 

You and he stumbled across the street and into the hotel lobby where you eyed the bar as he wrapped his big hand around your waist. You looked up at him and asked, "Wanna skip the bar and go up to my room? Find out if I taste good like the beer, too?" 

The sound of Bradley's groan as his hand slid down to your butt had you pressing yourself against his thigh. "Lead the way, Ace."

--------------------------

The elevator ride to the top floor was filled with the sound of kissing as well as the little gasping noises you made. Your hands were at the fly of his jeans as he pushed you back against the wall and devoured your mouth. Bradley was so hard and ready for you, he was honestly surprised. He just met you. This was not a usual occurrence for him. 

"Bradley," you moaned, unbuttoning his jeans as the elevator jolted to a stop. You abandoned his jeans for his hand and pulled him down the hallway, running toward your room and laughing. You stopped in front of one of the doors and started to dig in your bag.

He stood behind you and ran his lips along your neck as you gasped for him. You were so responsive, stroking something deep down inside of Bradley every time you reacted to him. He wrapped his hands around to the front of your jeans and started to play with your button as well. When his fingers met the soft skin of your belly, your head tipped back against him. 

"I can't find my room key," you moaned as he ran his hands up inside your shirt. He watched as you gripped the bag with both hands and let your eyes drift closed. 

"You're not really trying very hard, Baby," he said with a smirk. He couldn't believe you right now. So pretty and so lost to his touch. He was throbbing and aching for you, too. 

"Because you're teasing me!" you complained with a laugh. But then you turned in his arms, and suddenly Bradley's hands were on your bare back. Your eyes were wide, bag clutched between your body and his. "This is... not something that I usually do. Especially not when I'm on the job." Your voice was soft, and as you nervously bit your lip, Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek.

"Same, Ace," he promised with a smirk. "In fact, I've never had a woman seduce me this quickly before. You're irresistible."

Your laughter was the best thing he had ever heard. "I thought I was the one being seduced here?"

"No," he said, reaching into your bag and plucking out the key. "You're in charge." He handed it to you, and you wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him hard before you turned and unlocked the door with your other hand. You pulled Bradley with you as you stumbled backwards into the dark room. 

As you searched blindly for the light switch, you pushed Bradley against the wall. You had your fingers in the hair at the back of his head and your tongue was in his mouth as you located the switch.

"That's better," you mumbled breathlessly as you turned on the light, and Bradley pulled away from you a few inches. 

"You're fucking gorgeous," he whispered as he tightened his right arm around your waist. He wasn't being shy about how hard he was for you, and you weren't being shy either. You whimpered as you rubbed yourself gently against him, and he ran his thumb along your cheek and down to your lips. "I haven't been this turned on in so long."

Then Bradley watched you reach down and pull off your white shirt in one smooth motion, leaving you in that sinful looking blue bra before him. You were stroking him through his jeans with your right hand when you whispered, "I thought you were going to taste me, Bradley." Your eyes were wide and innocent looking as you challenged him. 

He nodded slowly. "I wanna taste you everywhere." Then he scooped you up as you laughed, and he carried you to the king sized bed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "You gonna let me do that?"

"Yes," you whispered right next to his ear, and Bradley eased you down onto the bed with his body weight on top of you. As you started tugging on his Padres shirt, he managed to remove his shoes before reaching down both of your calves and yanking yours off. He tossed them blindly behind himself, wincing as he hit the wall with both of them. 

But you just laughed and pulled his tee shirt up, leaving him in his white tank. You were holding his shirt in your hand as he pressed his lips to yours. "You taste so good here," he whispered, running his tongue along your bottom lip as you wrapped your leg around his hip. Then he kissed your chest before licking a stripe across the top of your lace bra as you bucked your core against him. "Fuck," he groaned. He licked and sucked on the top of your right tit. "Your skin tastes like that spilled beer. I love it on you."

"Well then, you better clean me up with your tongue, since it's your fault in the first place." You tipped your head back, and arched your back off the bed, and Bradley followed your lead, letting his big hands find the clasp of your bra. You moaned softly as he unhooked it and moved his fingers around to ease the fabric away from your body.

"God damn," he groaned before taking your nipple between his lips. Your fingers were tight in his hair as he sucked on you, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against your other breast.

"Bradley!" you cried out when he rubbed his mustache across your nipple. He was dying to fuck you, but you were letting him tease the hell out of you, and he was loving this.

"You like that?" he asked, enjoying all the cues you were giving him. He couldn't stop grinning as you whimpered a soft little yes before pulling his undershirt off. 

When you ran your fingers through his chest hair and down his abs, Bradley swallowed hard. Because you didn't stop there. You reached right for his unbuttoned jeans and eased his zipper down. He held himself over you, looking down into your needy eyes as you ran your fingers along the elastic of his underwear before delving inside. You licked your pouty lips before you wrapped your hand around his cock, and then you closed the distance up to his lips with the softest, sweetest kiss. You stroked him slowly while barely brushing your lips against his, and it was driving him absolutely insane.

"Ace," he grunted, and you squeezed your hand around his cock and giggled while he moaned for you. Then you gasped and let go of him. "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately pulling himself away from you while he panted.

Your eyes looked concerned, so he put a little more distance between your bodies. "I don't have any condoms," you whispered as you eased your hand away from him.

Bradley pressed his lips to your forehead. "I think I have one in my wallet. It's new."

"Oh," you gasped. "Should have known," you told him. "You're pretty gorgeous, too."

Bradley wanted to ease your mind, let you know that he didn't hook up with a lot of women anymore. He wanted to tell you that the condom was there for just a special occasion like this one. He wanted to explain to you that the last few he'd had in his wallet had been sacrificed to Jake when he'd been in a pinch at the bar.

But you were easing him onto his back, and he supposed it probably wouldn't make much of a difference. It wasn't like you were going to want more from him than just tonight. Besides, he hadn't had anything that wasn't casual in a very long time. 

You were on top of him now, straddling his waist in your unbuttoned jeans, and you were reaching for both of his hands. And when you had your fingers laced with his and pinned his hands over his head, Bradley closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch. Your lips were soft on his face and your thumbs were stroking along his palms in a way that was not only turning him on more, but also providing him with some comfort. 

When you whispered his name, he opened his eyes and he felt surprised by the realization that he only met you tonight. 

"Maybe you should get that condom ready?" you asked softly, rolling your hips against Bradley's torso.

"Yeah," he grunted. And then you were easing down his body, taking his jeans and underwear with you. Bradley propped himself up on one elbow as his cock sprang free. You made eye contact with him, lips parted on a soft whimper. 

"Bradley," you sighed, tugging his jeans, underwear and socks completely off. 

Before you tossed everything aside, he mumbled, "Grab my wallet, Baby." Your eyes met his with so much need before you focused on taking the leather out of the pocket of his jeans, it had him reaching for you. 

You shoved it into his hand before you scrambled back up his body and brushed your fingers through his hair, kissing his lips like he was every goddamn thing you wanted.

Bradley removed the condom and tossed his wallet onto the floor. Then he had you underneath him again. You still smelled like the spilled beer as he kissed his way along your chest, and you were trying to wriggle out of your jeans. "I can take care of that," he whispered, pressing the condom into your hand. Then he had every scrap of fabric removed from your body, and he didn't know if he could handle how perfect you really were. "Ace," he groaned when you eased your feet up his biceps and let your ankles rest on his shoulders. 

Bradley's lips found the inside of your right thigh as if he was drawn to you like a magnet. Your eyes were half lidded, and you had one hand in his hair and one on your tits. How was he going to recover from this?

"Let me taste you," he begged, and when you nodded, his lips were on your pussy immediately. He groaned, already addicted to the way you tasted here too. He kissed along your slit and buried his nose against your clit.

"Oh!" you gasped, tightening your grip on his hair and spreading your legs wider for him. Bradley's cock was throbbing against the bedding as he slid his tongue up through your soaking wet pussy until his lips were wrapped around your clit.

"Yesss," you hissed, gently riding his face as you whispered his name. And with each stroke of his tongue, you got a little louder, your fingers pulled his hair a little more. Oh, he was so fucking turned on for you, he wasn't sure he'd last more than a minute once he had that condom on.

"Bradley!" you gasped, pressing your heel into his back while he sucked on your clit. "Put the condom on."

It took him a little bit to get his lips away from your pussy, because he really wanted to get you off with his mouth. But then he rationalized that you wanted him to get you off with his dick instead, and that sounded perfect, too.

"Okay," he panted, brushing his wet mustache against your belly as you opened the condom for him. He rolled it on and kissed your lips as he pressed himself to your core. Now you were holding him in place by his hair as you returned his kisses, softly moaning into his mouth as he pressed his tip into you. You felt warm and tight and perfect, and as you took every inch of him, he stroked his thumb along your cheek.

"Oh god," you whimpered, frantically kissing him and licking his mustache. Your voice was coming in little gasps, and he loved the sound of it.

Bradley withdrew and thrust back inside you, and you rolled your hips with his. "You gotta tell me what you like, Ace. I want to make you feel good."

He watched your eyes go a little wider before you reached for his hand. When you took his index and middle fingers between your lips and started sucking on him while he fucked you, he groaned. "Baby. God that feels fucking great. But don't make me cum yet."

With a soft whimper, you swirled your tongue along his fingers before popping them out of your mouth and guiding his hand down between your bodies to your clit. Bradley had to suck in a deep breath and think about one of his superior officers leading a boring lecture to keep himself in check. He never felt close to the edge this fast, but as he ran his wet fingers along your clit and fucked you into the bed, he knew he could cum if he let himself. 

"Bradley," you whispered, and he buried his face against your neck. "Harder."

He bit his lip and fucked you harder while you whined his name, and he kept his fingers on your clit, trying to work you up. He needed to get you off. He absolutely needed to do this. Because he was hoping you'd call him or text him. He wanted you to save his number and use it. He was already dying for more. 

"Ace," he groaned, pressing his lips to your neck as your fingers drifted down his shoulders to his back. 

You moaned, "I like it when you call me that," so Bradley pressed the nickname against your lips with his until you were gasping and clenching around him. When you came for him, you took his fingers from your clit and laced your hand with his as his movements grew more erratic. 

He was saying something as he came inside you, but he wasn't exactly sure what. And you were looking up at him with a soft, fucked out smile and pushing his hair away from his forehead with your warm hand. And then you let him collapse on top of you while he was still buried inside you, and you ran your fingers back through his hair. 

Bradley settled his cheek against your chest and let himself enjoy the feel of your breathing evening out after your orgasm. You were still making soft sounds as you rubbed your calf along his leg. He could have stayed just like this all night. You felt that good. 

Just as he looked up at you, about to ask if there was any way you'd want to see him again this weekend, you laughed softly. 

"Wow. That was fun."

Fun. He wanted to be more than a fun time. "And good, I hope?" he asked softly. 

"More than good," you whispered, laughing again. "Amazing." 

Bradley smiled at you, and he knew he was blushing. "Yeah. Amazing is the right word for it."

And you were smiling so much, Bradley laughed as you tried to hide behind your hand. He leaned in and kissed your wrist. "Ace, I-"

Bradley jerked away from you as an alarm went off somewhere in the room. When you sat up, he gently eased himself out of you with a grunt.

"That's my thirty minute warning," you told him, scrambling out of bed. "I need to finish my article and submit it."

"Oh," he said, watching you bend to locate your phone. "Right."

You looked at him and licked your lips nervously as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. And then you bent to start retrieving your clothing, and Bradley's heart sank as he stood as well. Wordlessly, he went into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash his hands, and when he came back out, you were dressed in your underwear and the white shirt he had messed up.

"I guess," he whispered, pulling on his own underwear, "I should go then."

You pressed your lips together and nodded slightly. "I guess so."

"Okay," he said, quickly getting himself dressed in everything except his Padres tee. He just held that while he looked at you. "You have my number."

"I do," you whispered. 

"You can use it," he told you with a smile, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek. And then your lips were on his. And then your fingers were in his hair again. 

You moaned and then pulled away from him, and Bradley forced himself to walk backwards to the door, not wanting to take his eyes off you. 

"Bye, Bradley."

He didn't want to say goodbye to you, so he said, "See ya, Ace," and then he was out in the hallway with the door closing behind him.

-----------------------------------

Oh, Bradley! I love Ace, and I hope you do, too! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[dustofthedailylife]

A Gift For You

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Pairing: Alhaitham, Cyno, Heizou x (gn!) Reader

Summary: They plan to give you something for White Day (Info: White Day is the counterpart to Valentine's Day where you usually get the person who got you something, something in return.)

Tags: Fluff, best friends to lovers, pining, mild cursing, very slight angst for Heizou and Cyno at first but also not really, they have good intentions haha!

A/N: This is my White Day gift for @feeblescholarmyass! I hope you like it :3

ALHAITHAM

Two knocks on the door of your office snapped you out of your work-induced haze. 

You’ve been working non-stop on this project for the Akademiya for months now and have only been allowing yourself breaks to eat or sleep. Well, to be fair, sleep was negligible too, seeing as you only got around three hours of it per night for a couple of weeks now. 

What didn’t help was that you just couldn’t get a hold of a super rare edition of a book that was practically essential for this paper. However, the physical copy was lost to the void of the library as it was never returned. And since the Akasha terminal no longer worked you also couldn’t fall back on that.

“Come in.” you answer, rubbing your eyes quickly in a futile attempt to make yourself look less tired. But deep down you knew there was nothing that could hide the deep purple eye bags you’d been carrying around like a designer accessory the past couple of weeks.

You continued to read through one of the many books on your desk as the door was opened quietly and you heard long strides approach your desk.

“Are you seriously still working on this?” a familiar voice asked reprimandingly.

You looked up into the face of Alhaitham who looked down at you in a less than amused and almost accusatory way. You genuinely didn’t have time for this now, as much as you would rather spend every free minute you had with him instead.

“Well yes, I am. Things have been going slower than I had planned and the deadline is breathing down my neck.” you sighed burying your head into the book you had been skimming through prior. “What did you want?”

“You are going to take a break.” Alhaitham remarks. This wasn’t a plea, he was leaving no room for protest. He snatched the book out of your hand and placed it on a table out of your reach.

“Hey! Alhaitham! You can’t do that. I need to finish this.”

“Yes, I can. And I will.” he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “When was the last time you ate?”

Well, damn. There was nothing you could hide from him, was there? He always saw right through you. Always had. One of the perks of being friends with a genius, you thought to yourself. And your silence following his question seemed to confirm his suspicions once again.

“Come on. Let’s go to the Tavern, I’ll treat you to lunch.”

You knew there was no point in resisting so you tagged along and unsurprisingly as always, he was right. Getting out of your cramped office and breathing in some fresh air was balm for your soul.

You sat down outside of the Tavern, both ordering a meal and talking about some recent research you both were interested in. Well, it was mostly just you ranting about your project and the sheer stress the lack of one certain book was causing you, but he listened to everything attentively. 

You once again came to realize what an incredibly calming effect talking to him had on you. Despite how fast your heart started drumming inside of your chest every single time without fail. You suspected that he likely would never be interested in you beyond the friendly relationship you had with him and you didn’t mean to destroy what you both had by laying your feelings for him bare. So you simply kept them locked within your heart and simply basked in his presence whenever you could.

“Oh, since we’re on the topic. I bought something the other day. This is for you.” Alhaitham suddenly pulled a book out of his bag and slid it across the table. You only had to glance at the cover briefly before you realized what it was and your eyes became as wide as saucers.

“Th-this is… the super rare copy of Ancient Nomad Language and Symbolism! How did you–?”

You were awestruck. You had no idea how he managed to get his hands on a copy. It was as if this book had vanished from the face of the earth. Aside from the fact that you could no longer buy it either or just for an extremely inflated price. How in the world did he get his hands on this?

“Let’s just say, I have my methods.” he replied with a hint of a smug smile painted across his lips.

“How much did you pay for this? I promise I’m going to pay it back–”

“No need.” he shook his head to deny your offer. “Consider it a gift.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much! You have no idea how happy this makes me.” you blurt out, almost brought to tears by this act of kindness. With this, your project was saved, and after so long you could finally see a light at the end of the tunnel.

“Well, in fact, I do. Considering that you didn’t shut up about this book for the better half of a month now and everyone you spoke to knew how much you wanted it.” he stated factually.

“Hey! No need to get all snarky with me now, when I just want to express my gratitude!” you chuckle and playfully roll your eyes, prompting him to smile smugly in a barely noticeable way once more.

“It was my pleasure. Besides, today is White Day, so it was only logical to get you something.” he remarks and he continued to drink his coffee entirely unbothered as if he didn’t just insinuate the most unbelievable thing you had ever heard. He surely misunderstood something here, right?

“Uhh–” you pause. “You know what this day is for right?”

“Naturally.”

You felt like your heart was about to jump right out of your chest any second. What did he mean naturally?! Was what you deemed impossible actually true and…

“Do you… like me?” you whisper, too scared and unable to speak any louder because it felt like all air had been knocked out of your lungs.

“Looks like you’ve finally caught on as well. I thought you’d never realize.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think I repeatedly asked you out for lunch or dinner? Or why do you think I keep returning your books for you if you’re very capable of doing so yourself? Amongst other things.” he enumerated.

“Well yes, but that’s what friends do.” you retorted confusedly.

“Then let me spell it out for you.”

He put his cup down on the table and leaned forward. He stared deeply into your eyes before ushering three words you’ve always, deep down, longed to hear from his lips.

“I love you.”

CYNO

Three Matra ringing on your door at 10 in the morning was not what you had expected to see today, but here you were nonetheless. They had arrived just as you were about to head to the Akademiya for work but effectually canceled all plans you had made.

“Good morning?” you questioningly asked, raising an eyebrow at them. “Can I help you?”

“We would like to ask you to accompany us back to the Akademiya.”, they plainly stated, signaling you to follow them.

You quickly grabbed your keys and tracked behind them with unease pooling at the pit of your stomach and a violently beating heart. 

What could the Matra possibly want from you? Did you conduct some illegal research? Did someone turn you in for plagiarism to save their own skin? Or did it have something to do with academic funds? As far as you were aware, the answers to all of these questions were no.

You didn't commit any serious academic offense to your knowledge and never planned to do so in the first place. But being called in by the Matra always had something to do with that, so naturally, you had a very bad feeling about this and couldn’t help but desperately try to find the answer to it in your head before you’d arrive.

You knew your best and long-time friend Cyno, was the General Mahamatra but even he wouldn’t show mercy if you seriously screwed something up. You knew he didn’t take academic offenses lightly - it didn’t matter who it was who committed them. He dealt out punishment equally.

The way to the office seemed like it was taking forever and many people along the way to the Akademiya threw you pitiful glances and were whispering as you were escorted by the Matra.

Once you arrived at your destination you were led into the General Mahamatra’s office. The Matra who had escorted you were bowing their head down once before they left you and Cyno, who was standing behind his desk, alone.

“There you are!” he stated, sounding surprisingly cheerful. Well, at least compared to usual anyway. He certainly didn’t seem sinister or as if he was out for your head.

He walked around his desk and came to a halt just in front of you. You slightly twitched as he put one hand on your shoulder and looked right into your eyes. This entire situation was odd, to say the least.

What didn’t help was that the warmth that radiated off his hand on your shoulder was entirely distracting to you right now and made the blood rush to your cheeks and your heart skitter in your chest.

“U-uhhh…” you stammered, unsure what to say or do.

“Do you still remember the special animated Genius Invokation card of Tighnari you got me last month?”

What? Was something wrong with it?

“Uhm… yes, of course, I do.” you reply, uncertain as to where this was leading.

He nodded as his lips curved into a small smile. “Follow me.”

You trailed behind him out of the Akademiya and along the streets towards the outskirts of Sumeru city. You remained silent the entire way, intimidated and unsure about his intentions. You couldn’t help but wonder where he was taking you and whether he was intending to exercise his judgment where no one was able to bear witness to it.

He came to a halt next to a small, run-down house at the border of the city and leaned against the fence there, crossing his arms over his chest and gazing below himself. You cautiously came to a halt as well, making sure you maintained some distance from him.

“So… w-what did I do?” you carefully inquired.

“Well,” Cyno cleared his throat as if he was struggling to find the right words. He stepped a little closer to you once again, taking your slightly trembling hands in his. “You stole something.”

“What? I did n–”

“You stole my heart.” he interrupted both your words and ability to form clear thoughts.

You parted your lips with the intention to say something but every word seemed to have died in your throat. You knew he was one to often speak cryptically so you were uncertain about the true meaning behind his words.

“What?”

He took a deep breath as if he was preparing to say something impacting before pointing toward the fence he had been leaning on with a dead-serious face.

“I fence-y you!”

At this point, you couldn’t help but chuckle. The hilarity of this entire situation was unbelievable. Not only did he have you worried sick he also chose to confess to you after years of pining with some stupid pun.

“Did you seriously lead me here just because there is a fence here?”

“Curses. I feared you would not understand… see fence-y sounds like fancy which means I–”

You quickly pulled him in by his neck and pressed your lips softly against his, successfully stopping him from explaining his joke. The feeling of his lips on yours was something you had dreamed of for so long. When he slung his arms around your waist the endorphins rushing through your bloodstream made your head swim and you felt as if your heart was about to burst out of your chest. You wondered if he felt the same.

“That was supposed to be my gift to you,” he remarked with a smile, leaning his forehead against yours. “but you beat me to it.”

You playfully punched his chest with a chuckle. “Idiot. You have no idea how much you had me scared to death with this entire scheme of yours. I fence-y you, too”

“Allow me to make it up to you again. Do you like raisins?”

You questioningly raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what he was up to this time.

“No? How about a date, then?”

Someone seriously needed to remind you again why you fell for this guy.

HEIZOU

You were walking through the streets of Hanamizaka to run some errands when you bumped into your long-time friend aka. the best detective in town. Or maybe even in the entirety of Inazuma.

“Would you look who it is!” you perceived the familiar voice coming from your right.

You turned your head only to spot the familiar tuft of auburn locks and the pair of mischievous green eyes that always made their owner look like he was up to no good.

“Heizou!” you cheered, hugging him tightly.

“It’s a good thing I run into you actually. I’m onto something and you’re just the person who could help me out.” he remarked.

“Oh, is that so?” you asked stemming your hands on your hips proudly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Indeed.”

“So, what do you need from me, Mr. Detective?” you tease.

“Alright. So, as you may or may not know it’s White Day. I’m looking for a present for someone since I’m going on a date, and I want to get something for them.” he explained. 

You had to try your hardest to not drop your smile. It almost faltered just now, but you couldn’t let your disappointment show. He didn’t know you had feelings for him, so to him, you were still nothing more than his best friend. Obviously, he would come to you with something like this. It’s also on you for not telling him about your feelings for him, too.

As much as your heart ached while thinking about it, you simply had to try to be a supportive friend in this situation. Even if it would most likely prove to be a challenge. Both for your heart and also to hide your dislike about this from him, since he was generally very perceptive. It was in the job description after all and he was one of the best in his field.

“So what do you say?” he interrupted your train of thought. “Will you help me?”

“Sure!” you agree, faking a smile. 

You followed him through the streets of Inazuma City walking past several restaurants and storefronts continually catching yourself getting lost in your own thoughts while he was talking. 

Your mind was way too occupied with reproaching yourself for not opening up about your feelings. Would you still be able to look him in the eyes when you soon saw him with someone else by his side? Or would you be strong enough to still be as close to him as you are now, despite your aching heart? These were questions the future you would have to eventually find answers to, but for now, you decided you should focus on helping him.

“Which restaurant would be a good option for a dinner date?” he pondered tapping his chin with his index finger.

“Well, I do like Uyuu Restaurant just across the bridge from here. But then again, it tends to be rather crowded on holidays. So maybe Kiminami Restaurant instead? And quite honestly, the food is also better there in my opinion.” you advised.

“I see. Great!” Heizou cheered writing some things down in his notebook.

“So…” he began again after he was done taking notes. “Now for the present. I have no clue what to get them, yet.”

“Well, what a lousy detective you are if you can’t even sneakily ask them about what they would want.” you teased.

He raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms in front of his chest, acting playfully offended at your remark.

“Hey now! No need to get personal! Besides, that would only be the last resort! Anyway, hypothetically speaking. Imagine I’d get you something for White Day. What present would you want?”

For Archon’s sake, did he really have to have you imagine that? Getting a present from him on White Day would be a dream come true so he could practically get you anything and you would be head over heels for him all over again. But naturally, you couldn’t just outright say that.

“I don’t think this should be about what I would want. You should consider what they could want instead.”

“Hmm. I see your point. I could just ask them directly, I suppose?” he proposed tapping his chin as if deep in thought.

“No numbnuts! That’s not something you just ask them. It’s supposed to be a surprise, you know?”

“But then it may be even more important if you could give me an idea knowing what you would want. To gather some… inspiration, basically. I have to consider all possibilities after all.” he lightly bumped his finger on your forehead and smirked slyly. “So what would you want… jewelry? books? something to decorate your home with perhaps? Or maybe–”

“I fear I may not be of much help. I genuinely wouldn’t know what I would want.” you quickly interrupted.

Aside from wishing to be the object of affection of the man in front of you. But it was probably better if you buried that hope alongside your feelings for him once and for all.

What you were dying to say to him for a long time, had died in your throat the moment he told you he was going on a date. And as much as you honestly wanted to help him with this, you couldn’t recommend him something in good faith when it made your heart painfully throb the way it did right now.

“Hmmm.” he pondered looking at the ground with crossed arms. “That’s a shame, I’d immediately know what I’d want.”

“Oh? And what would that be, Detective?” you replied cheekily, quickly trying to distract yourself from the aching feeling in your chest.

“You.”

“What?” you falter.

“Do you happen to be free later?”

“Y-you–?”, you stammered.

“I set you up? Hmm, I suppose you could say I did. Sorry about that, but I had to find something out first.” he hummed, leaning in a little closer with a smug smile before whispering in your ear. “And I’m pretty sure I connected all the dots by now, did I not, sweetheart?”

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #astronetwrk #giwhiteday2023 #genshin fanfic #alhaitham x reader #cyno x reader #heizou x reader #genshin x reader #genshin drabbles #genshin fluff #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin x gn reader #genshin x female reader #🍁 dust writes

[undercoverpena]

4. green smoke

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter four of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.7k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you wear a date outfit but not specified and the shoes have heels but not mentioned what kind. minor discussion of past canon events incl. drugs. no use of y/n. an: if this as a friends episode this would be called "the one where they talk"

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Friday soon arrives.

It comes hand-in-hand with a tumultuous storm, bringing with it ominous rumbles echoing through your house. The air feels charged with tension, wrung tight, all sense—as if it’s holding its breath while the world around seems to retreat into darkness. Even if the time on your laptop says 14:43.

Your gaze fixates on beads of rain running down the window, all racing one another—like you have been for several minutes. The steady patter provides a rhythmic backdrop to your solitude, interrupted only by the occasional sighs that escape your lips and the soft tapping of your pencil against the notebook—a feeble attempt at pretending you’re concentrating.

Pretend is the optimum word.

Merely putting on a show of focusing on the task at hand. In reality, your eyes keep flicking to your phone—the one lying silent on the counter, eagerly anticipating the next notification that’ll make it illuminate.

Your work, the one thankfully with a deadline of next week, continues to sit ignored—barely considered, never mind plotted. Because it isn’t what fills your mind.

It’s him.

Just thoughts of him—mind populated with vivid memories that refuse to fade, unable to stop lingering on the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles or his infectious laugh. The one which has dug itself a place into the walls of your home, lit it up.

Then, you think of his lips, the ones that are purposeful, all heavenly. The mere thought of them sends a shiver down your spine, a longing present, spreading—

Unloading a delivery and you’re falling on me.

It's difficult not to smile at his message.

Something he effortlessly elicits from you now. Has done so since the very beginning. A thing he continues to do so the more the two of you speak.

It's giddy, almost teenage-like, the way your heart scampers to catch itself as your fingers try to pretend they're not darting to reply.

Excuse me? Rain. Oh, that is such a dad joke. It was. I’m pretty proud of it. Bet it made you smile. I will not confirm or deny. So that means it did. Shut up.

Thumbs swirling over the screen, you roll your lips, toes twitching on the floor as you grin.

So, how big is the candle going to be in the middle of the table? Ummm, appropriately sized for a restaurant? Hmm, I have only gone on dates with inappropriately sized candles. Are you flirting with me when I’m at work? Are you saying that like you don’t flirt with me when I’m at work? In my defence, you choose your own hours. Do you mind me flirting with you? Not even a little bit. Good. Because guess what I’m wearing right now? Hopefully nothing. I’m wearing sweats and a baggy T-shirt. Still hot. Get back to work, Butterscotch.

You know it’s not long—a handful of hours until you’ll be across from him.

Likely with your smile hurting your cheeks, eyes unable to stand looking away from him for more than a few minutes. Unable to explain or rationalise how straightforward it is with him, how natural it feels to get swept up in all of this and find yourself wanting to be around him.

Something you try to put to the back of your mind, to not clock-watch, not count down. Doing well at it until you hear your phone buzz and see his name appear on your screen.

The laundry you're putting away ignored, the item dropped from your hand to the floor, before wiping your hands on your thighs, taking a measured breath, then lifting the phone to swipe it.

His voice fills your ear almost immediately. All hello and your name, a can you hear me? following.

And your heart skips a beat—missing a whole thud against your ribs as you stare at the outfit hanging on the closet door.

“I’m really sorry—“

And your heart falls. Descends gradually, like a feather freefalling. Doing so until it has nowhere else to go but sit in the hollow void. Disappointment beating, pulsating.

“—Harold… he had to leave early, his heart was playing up and he said he’d come back. But I can’t make him do that, wouldn’t be able to enjoy ourselves if he just—"

“—Frankie—“

“—And I’ve tried to move the reservation, rang the restaurant. But, they’re booked up and I really want to take you there—”

“—Frankie?”

You brush the fabric, the hanger holding on to the top of the door with sheer will as you do so between thumb and finger. Half-smiling—even still. Listening to the way he takes a breath, to the way he cares so much.

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, swallowing, shoving the dismay down. “I… promise.”

The voice you hear back is soft. So tinged with sadness, and regret, you half-want to call him Butterscotch just to make him laugh. “You sure?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you reassure him, comfort him—voice steady as you do so, "We can reschedule. It's not a problem."

A moment of silence follows, with a sense of letdown settling in the air like fog. It sits there, resting, hanging. Because even if you know it’s just a minor adjustment, a twinge of disappointment still seeps in. Not so much a sharp pang, but a lingering weight that makes your shoulders sag, as though everything had deflated like a balloon slowly losing air.

“Baby… I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, a smile making its way onto your face despite the circumstances. "There's always next time."

“Not drove you away then?” he half-laughs, one you imagine is a little forced.

“Not even a little bit.”

Sighing, you swear you hear him smile with it. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You grin, nothing but light and easy, “Just make sure next time you can show up, that’ll be a good start."

Frankie laughs, it flowing down your ear before it’s joined by a promise that he will and he can call you later, if you like? A thing which sounds like a good idea, even more so when it's followed by the fact he wishes he could stay—talk, but you know. Nodding to no one but yourself as you bid him goodbye, leaning against the wall—hanging up, full of bittersweet.

You let your head fall against it, rolling it there as your eyes flick back up at your clothes, lingering over it.

And an idea appears.

It grows—smothering over sadness before it blooms.

Then, you’re grinning. One almost as large as you do when he makes you giggle. Almost.

You’re thankful the sign still says open when you step out of your car—fingers tugging at fabric, ensuring it sits how it’s supposed to.

Even for a surprise, you wanted to look as picture-perfect as you should have been entering the restaurant. The paper bags catch your leg, noise crinkling against the air as you yank on the handle—entering, being washed in wood chippings, bleach and paint.

For a moment, one stuck between time and space, you look. Glance. Unsure where to find him, until your eyes land on him and find his head lifting at the sound of your entering.

Whatever Frankie had been in his hand dropped, all forgotten. His mouth parting at the sight of you. Taking you in. Sweeping brown, surprised eyes all over you as heat rises up your neck and brushes over your ears.

“I know I’m a little overdressed for buying a hammer, but…”

Mouth falling open, he looks torn between grinning and speaking. “What are you…”

Shrugging, watching his eyes roam up and down the outfit you’d chosen. The one that had been on the hanger for days—one you’d not thought could be replaced by anything else.

“Well,” you begin, smirking, “My date got caught up at work and I’d been really looking forward to seeing him.”

Frankie smiles, hand rubbing along his jaw as he stares.

“But then, someone told me there’s a secret restaurant here. One behind a metal door that says, Staff Only?”

Dropping his hand, and swiping his tongue across his lips—he slowly moves around the register. Coming to join you as you hold the bags up, the heels of your shoes clicking on the shop floor tiles as you meet him halfway.

“I also suspect that you might not have eaten, since you've been alone for most of the day.”

It’s at that moment his stomach roars. It grinds, what you assume is coffee, before groaning inside of him as he claps a hand on his apron.

“The only problem is,” you say, narrowing your eyes, scrunching your nose. “I… I didn’t know what you would like, so I might have bought a ridiculous amount of food.”

Taking a bag, his eyes widen when he opens it. “You’re staying, right? To help me?”

Reaching inside the bag he didn’t take, you pull out a single, battery-powered candle. “It’s a date.”

He gives you a wide smile, his eyes twinkling with happiness. "I just need to lock up," he says.

You watch with a flutter of excited nervousness as he moves around the store, flipping the sign on the door from 'Open' to 'Closed', and then securing the door. The lock clicks into place, echoing in the quiet store. He then proceeds to shut off the lights, plunging the store into a soft, inviting darkness lit only by the glow from the streetlights outside.

Turning back to you, he extends a hand.

"Shall we?" he asks, his voice filled with anticipation. You place your hand in his, feeling the warmth spreading through your fingers.

As you walk together towards the back of the store, a tinge of excitement flutters in the air. The 'Staff Only' sign looms above the door like a secret entrance to a place you shouldn't be, but with a gentle gesture, he ushers you inside.

You don't miss the way his fingers brush your lower back, the heat they ignite up your spine as his chest meets your back, face close to yours. Lingering, eyes sweeping over you.

"Lemme just..." he whispers, elongating it, before he bends to pull you a chair out—one with three wheels, no back—fingers sliding up to brush over your shoulders as you sit down.

“Careful.”

Swallowing, you suppress the effect he's having on you, forcing a smirk. “Oh, I’ll try, Morales. Don’t want you to have to fill out the accident book.”

“Harold would murder me.”

Snorting, you watch him join you—taking the candle from your hand, flicking it on and placing it directly in the middle before the two of you begin taking food out. He gazes at bundled packaged burgers, stealing a fry from the bag before it’s laid out over the desk.

“So, as it’s our third date.” His eyes flick to you, mid-bite of his food as you twirl a fry in your fingers. “I get to ask you challenging questions, right?”

“Fuck,” he says, under his breath. Grinning. “Alright, let me have it.”

Nudging him with the tip of your shoe he laughs. “Okay. You and Luca’s mom?”

“Ah.”

Grabbing a napkin, he wipes his mouth. “You don’t have to worry.”

“And as everyone in history knows, those words are how people stop worrying.”

Smirking, he turns on the wheely stool, facing you, knees abutting yours. “We haven’t been together since he was born—we… we weren’t even together by the time he reached six months. He… he doesn’t know any different. We have things we say, and truly, she’s a fantastic mom, we have a great co-parenting situation.”

“Okay.”

His fingers land on your knee, dancing over them, light and feathery as he sighs. Heavy. Weighted. It makes you swallow, makes you want to dig your fingers into your leg to stop yourself worrying, thinking—overdramatising whatever it is.

Scratching his head, he rolls his tongue from his cheek to the front of his teeth. “I wasn’t a good person then… a lot of shit had happened—I’d left the service, found myself… haunted, I guess? Me and her, we met, we… seemed good. She seemed good. And then, I…”

Your hand slides over his, one of your fries still in hand as you do. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I want to.”

Nodding, he half smiles.

And then he does.

He tells you about his days in the army—and the sleepless nights when he was back home. The sense of loss he felt without it, the uniform that meant nothing when he joined a regular job. How flying helicopters for people with money who had no cares in the world began to make him hollow, carving a piece inside of him that didn’t fill with laughter at barbecues and trivia nights. He tells you how he’d rambled to someone about the lack of sleep, before he found a little white bag in his locker—an opportunity, a chance to not overthink.

That it had stayed there for days, almost a week until there had been news about someone he had once worked with.

Then he explained how it wasn’t a problem, but it also very much was. How he was lost, drowning—that people reached out, but the lights had been on, but no one was home. How it became a coping mechanism, a small dose to take the ache away—before he learnt he was going to be a dad. Her worries about him making her ignore the signs, much further on than they thought—and then, one month later, how he failed a drug test.

Trace amounts, barely anything, but still plenty.

His license, revoked—paused. His future dwindled, a baby due to arrive, one he’d heard the heartbeat off at the same time as he found himself at the threat of being alone. A second chance dangled, offered—do better, Frank. Don’t be selfish.

“—but, I didn’t change. Don’t change.”

Your heart falls, and descends.

Watching him shake his head, grabbing a handful of fries before stuffing them into his mouth as he chews, and you pick at one from your own box.

“Things were good—Luca, he had ten toes, ten fingers. He was great, happy. It made us being good seem real? But, it lingered, y’know? If work kept me later, there was this distrust, this question. And I couldn’t blame her, didn’t. Never would either. I broke that, I know I did. But…”

“It wasn’t healthy?”

Shrugging, he swallows, before nodding. “Then, I helped a friend, one from my squad. Had to… it was dangerous. I was gone longer than I said—and she worried, panicked. I knew before I left that when I got back I’d likely find my stuff packed—not that I blame her. I know we tried. But, I broke it. But now we’re better… better co-parents than partners, you know?”

Nodding, you chew, rolling the salt on your lips together. A beat passes, ice clanging in the drinks, cartons scratching against the table as the two of you eat.

“That was probably a lot.”

“It’s okay. Are you… are you good now?”

Nodding, he chews another fry. “Clean since Luca was born. Five years, fifty-seven days.”

“Well, I know this might be weird to say, but I’m proud of you.”

Smiling, he chews his cheek, meeting your eyes for the first time since he began sharing. “You’re a bit too good for me, you know that?”

Smirking, you steal one of his fries. “Oh, a hundred per cent. You might have a bunch of followers and good taste in paint colours, but did you know that I can sand down a dresser to the point a prominent Instagram DIYer has told me ‘I did a good job’.”

“Doesn’t sound that trustworthy. Bet he doesn’t know what you call wrenches.”

Pouting, you narrow your eyes as he laughs. “Thank you for telling me.”

Nodding, he rolls his lips. “I had to… ‘cause… are we enacting third date-talk honesty?”

“Of course.”

Half-smiling, he nudges himself closer on the stool. “I really like you.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you look up at the ceiling, before grabbing his knees and wheeling yourself closer. “I quite like you too.”

Smile spreading, he places his hands on top of yours. “Yeah? Because I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to… run from all of that.”

Smirking, you try to move closer, even if the wheels of both stools try to prevent you. “Did you know, honesty is really, really hot?”

Brows raising, chin lifting, his lips slide further into his cheek. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’m glad too.”

Swallowing, his fingers slide in between yours, eyes flicking from one eye to the other. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous, that.”

“Well, I’ve seen your house now.”

Nodding, you smile. Feeling it, whatever he’s going to say, ask, think lingering in the silence. His grin widens, a spark igniting in his eyes that sends a rush of warmth through you.

“So, I think it only seems fair you see mine.”

Wiping your hands on your napkin, licking your lips as you cross a leg over the other. “Well, for fair sake I definitely should.”

“Do you want to… now?”

“Tonight?”

Nodding, that same flush of pink rises up his neck, up his jaw.

Smirking, you loosen your hand from his—resting your palm on his cheek, elbow on your knee. “I’d like that.”

The car ride to his should be tense, but it isn't.

Instead, it's filled with soft laughter, teasing comments and shared glances—your fingers twitching, wondering whether a hand on his knee is too soon. Even when everything else feels so normal, natural.

When he pulls up outside his place, anticipation fills the air—a rush of warmth flooding through you, making your fingers clamp together and stare out at the place as he says, this is it.

It’s nice, well-kept—charming, from what you can already tell. Eyes spot chalk drawings on the patio, lit up by the outside lights and a plastic red car close to where he's parked.

“Luca has some good parking,” you smile, pointing to it next to you both. “You learn from him, or?”

Smirking, he undoes his belt. “Maybe, I taught him how to park. I’m very good with heavy transportation.”

You don’t miss the way he emphasises the sentence. Your 'oh' is swallowed by the sound of him opening the door and telling you to wait.

Watching as he moves around the vehicle, his eyes holding yours. Earlier, you'd been thankful that the rain had taken a pause; now you wished it hadn't stopped its lashings that glued clothing to skin, thighs pressing together on the seat before the door beside you opens.

“What a gentleman.”

“Just wanted another chance to chance to check you out, really.”

Swatting him, he takes your hand, his laugh blending with yours as he leads you up to his front door.

If he feels nervous, he doesn’t show it. Finding his keys and slides one into the lock without missing. Opening the door without as much as an awkward shove of the door.

If anything, it’s effortless. It not even squeaking or catching as he pushes it open.

“It’s not a lot…” he begins.

But he couldn’t be more wrong.

It’s cosy and warm. Exuding an unmistakable homeliness that immediately comforts you. Dark woods, off-whites, and splashes of orange, caramel, and greens intertwine harmoniously, creating a space that feels both freshly decorated and deeply loved. A balance you assume exists because of him being the one to bring it all together, knowing from the videos you've seen how talented he is.

As you glance around, you begin to see the traces of the Frankie you’ve been getting to know. Photographs of him at the beach, with his son, with friends and more with Luca at varying ages.

Then, there are the plants. An assorted mix of them, some big that you remember from photos, some greener than others—some tall and in plants with animal faces like raccoons and beavers, others in decorative pots placed on shelves.

As you step in further, you spot furniture you recognise from videos—even noting the stacked pile of books from a photo he’d shared recently and a record player on a side table.

“C’mon, let me show you around.”

He leads you, hand in yours, showing you his well-equipped kitchen, and dining space. Occasionally, he points things out, like the markings on a wall he’s using to measure how tall Luca gets and the scuff marks from dragging the dining table in after varnishing it. Before finally, the two of you are outside the half-open door to his bedroom.

Frankie giving you a wink, bodies almost flush.

“That where the magic happens?”

“Not usually…”

"Maybe that's cause people haven't been saying the right magic words." Shrugging, you lick your lower lip, staring at the beading on the door. "I should tell you, I've heard I'm quite good at magic words..."

You let it linger, sit. Before you turn on your heel, fingers brushing over a table as you head back in the direction of his living room.

He follows, a step or two behind, letting you and your eyes capture all the personal touches before you feel fingers on your wrist, tugging you back, body flush to his.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, you find your throat dry—eyes flicking to his mouth.

“Go take a seat, I’ll bring us a drink.”

It’s soft, the nod you do as he slips his hand from your waist. You move, almost on auto-pilot, to sit down on his sofa, running your fingers over a cushion—one stitched with greens, golds and oranges.

When he reappears, you look up at him, noticing the hint of nerves in his gaze as you plaster on a reassuring smile as he places them down on the coffee table.

Slowly, you reach out, squeezing his hand, "Your home is lovely, Frankie."

He chuckles, a soft blush creeping up his cheeks as he joins sitting down. "Yeah?"

Nodding, you press your knee against his. “So.”

“So.”

With a smirk, you draw a measured breath. “I believe... I want to kiss you now.”

Swallowing, his gaze flickers to your lips, lingering, before snapping back up to your eyes. Warmth spreads over your cheeks, neck and ears. “I believe you should, Rainy.”

A response there, nestled between teeth and tongue, is muffled as his lips meet yours—for the first time in several days.

an: as a warning, the next chapter will include smut. if you wish to skip the smut, you can miss the chapter as there will be no other scenes. the following chapter will pick up the next morning.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy

[steddiehyperfixation]

not so tragic a thing after all (steddie ficlet)

Eddie has an essay due in two days. It’s a big one, the last one of the semester, of the year, the one that will make or break his grade and determine whether or not he finally gets to graduate high school. 

And he can't write it. 

As in, he's been sitting at his desk and staring at a blank piece of lined notebook paper for hours, bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers and twirling his pencil but not producing a single word. It's not that he doesn't understand the prompt or that he doesn't know what he's going to write about, because he does understand it and he does have ideas, he just can't write it. There's some block in his brain, something that keeps him stuck there and anxious, feeling each unproductive second slipping by like a physical thing brushing past him, but still unable to make himself write. 

Eddie's always struggled with essays. Out of all the subjects, he has the lowest grade and the highest number of missing assignments in English Lit. Which is such counterintuitive bullshit because that's his favorite subject, and it's because it's his favorite subject that he's failed it every year. 

It's like this: If Eddie doesn't understand a math assignment, he doesn't care, he'll just scribble in some bullshit numbers or turn it in incomplete and take whatever grade he gets with an impassive shrug and zero damage to his self-esteem. He's just not a math guy, and that's fine. Same with science or history. But he is a words guy. Eddie is a storyteller, a writer, a lyricist; words are his weapons, his outlet, his safe space, his identity. He takes pride in his ability to artfully string his words together, and a shitty grade on a shitty essay is something he takes personally. He'd rather not turn in anything at all than turn in a collection of words he's not proud of. 

Right now the words aren't coming together just right in his head and so his hand refuses to move to write them. He tries to tell himself that it's okay if it's not quite right, that something written, even badly, is better than nothing written, and that he's only guaranteed to fail if he fails to turn this in. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be done. He tries to force his hand to move, to write something, anything, but the signal isn't getting from his brain to his hand because his fingers continue to twirl his pencil between them rather than curl around it and press the lead to the paper like he wants them to. He just keeps sitting there and staring and fidgeting and not writing like he's been doing all day, all week, all month. 

Eddie berates himself for being so stuck, yells and shouts and curses at himself to get his shit together and just write. But he doesn't, won't, can't. The seconds keep pushing past him and the deadline inches closer and closer and his page remains blank and he's so goddamn frustrated he's on the verge of tears. 

There's a knock on the front door that makes Eddie jump and then a knock on his bedroom door that makes him shove his shamefully empty paper under a book and out of sight as Wayne pokes his head into the room to tell him, “Your boy’s at the door.” 

“For Christ’s sake, Wayne, he's not my boy.” Eddie rolls his eyes at his uncle. He drops his pencil and stands, grateful for the distraction. “Told you a million times, he's just a friend.” 

“Uh huh,” Wayne says, which isn't an argument but very much sounds like one, the way he drags out those syllables with a sort of deadpan disbelief. 

Eddie valiantly ignores him and pushes past him to open the front door for Steve. “Hey, Harrington. What're you doing here?” 

“Uh-” Steve shrugs, looking almost like he doesn't quite know what he's doing here himself. “Missed you, I guess? It's been a minute.” 

Eddie's been isolating himself the past couple weeks, canceling on Hellfire and band practices and hangouts, insisting he needs to focus on his essay. He didn't realize any of his friends had taken notice. 

“Oh, and I brought snacks!” Steve adds brightly, holding up the bag of chips in his hands like he just remembered it was there. “Thought you might need a break from your schoolwork.” 

“Oh.” Something warm blooms in Eddie's chest and tugs a smile from his lips as he moves aside to let Steve in. “That's sweet, thank you.” 

Steve returns the smile, stepping inside. “Anytime. So - how's the essay going?” 

“Uh, yeah, it's kind of not,” Eddie admits with a self-deprecating sigh, running frustrated fingers through his hair. He nods for Steve to follow as he heads back to his room and pulls the stupid blank page out from its hiding place to show off his failure. “Been at it for weeks and I still can't seem to get a single goddamn word down.” 

“Hm.” Steve frowns a little at the paper for a second, but his attention appears to be far more focused on the book the page had been shoved under: a well-worn copy of Romeo and Juliet. He smirks as he picks it up and reads the title aloud, teasing, “Didn't take you for a romantic, Munson.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It's what the essay's on.” He snatches the book back before Steve can start to flip through it and read anything he's written in the margins. “And it's not a romance, it's a tragedy - which is exactly what I was going to write about, actually, if I could just write it.” Eddie sits down heavily in his desk chair, glaring at the blank paper. “Was gonna argue that people tend to focus too much on the romance of it all, but they're missing the point entirely, and this tendency to over-romanticize the story completely overshadows and trivializes the actual themes of the play. It’s not about love, not really, or at least not in the ways people think. It’s-” 

His tangent stops short as he notices Steve beginning to rifle about his room - setting the bag of chips down on the nightstand, grabbing a pencil off the desk, scooping a random spiral notebook (his math notebook, as it happens) off the floor. Eddie turns sideways in his chair and looks at him strangely. “What are you doing?” 

Steve turns the notebook to a blank page and sits down on the edge of Eddie's bed, already starting to scribble words across the paper. “I'm taking notes,” he says, like it's obvious. “Don't let me interrupt you.” 

Eddie's eyes narrow. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No, no, of course not.” Steve's reassurance is quick and comes with a rapid shake of his head. He looks over at Eddie, expression earnest and genuine as he says, “I’m just interested in what you have to say. I wanna know what you think Romeo and Juliet is about. If it's not romance, what is it?”

Eddie regards him skeptically at first, answers in a measured tone and glances warily at the pencil continuously scratching ‘notes’ onto Steve's paper. But the more he speaks and the more Steve engages with such honest reactions of interest and encouragement, the more Eddie gives into the tide of thoughts in his head and lets them spill from his mouth with increasing enthusiasm: He describes the inherent tragedy of a life cut short which could've been prevented, rambles about the reality of being young and stupid and consumed by emotion, rants about the mortality rate of blind bigotry and prejudice, and waxes poetic about love itself being something tragic and dooming, occasionally grabbing the book and reading out lines of the actual poetry to illustrate his points. 

When Eddie's well of words on the subject eventually runs dry, Steve continues writing for just a few seconds longer before he glances up with a grin and stands to toss the notebook and pencil onto the desk next to Eddie. “There's your essay,” he announces. “Well, kind of. You might want to rearrange it a little-” 

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off, staring at the open notebook covered in the scrawl of Steve's handwriting with wide-eyed disbelief. He looks back up at him. “You wrote my essay for me?” 

Steve shakes his head. “You wrote it. I mean, it's all your words exactly as you said them, all I did was transcribe it.” He shrugs. His tone and expression are still casual and light, but the hunch of his shoulders and the way he shoves his hands in his pockets now speaks to a sudden shyness as well. “You said you just couldn't get the words down, I know what that's like. I get that way too sometimes - just…stuck - where the thoughts and the intention are there but the action is just frozen. It helps to talk it through, but it also helps to kinda separate yourself from the task a little too. I thought if I could do that first step of getting the words on paper for you, it might make it easier for you to copy some of it down and then start to write it and reorganize it on your own, might get you past that block…” 

Eddie kind of really wants to kiss him right now, feeling young and stupid and consumed by emotion. He leaps to his feet and hugs Steve fiercely instead. “Thank you.”

Steve nearly stumbles from the force of the hug and lets out a startled laugh before returning the embrace. “Don’t even know if it worked yet. Thank me after you finish your essay.”

Eddie shakes his head against Steve's shoulder. “Thank you just for trying - just for being here, even. I’m sure there are much better ways you could've spent your Saturday than listening to me ramble about Shakespeare, but you stayed here anyways and made an effort to help me when you didn't have to. I appreciate it.” 

“Nothing else I’d rather do. I like listening to you talk; I like how passionate you are about your opinions, even if they are a bit cynical.” Steve pulls back with a smile, squeezing Eddie's shoulders for a second before dropping his hands. “It's gonna be a killer essay.” 

Eddie beams at him, the warmth in his expression a reflection of the glow that's unfurling in his chest again.  He plops back down at his desk and picks up his pencil, hovering it over his own blank paper as he looks over the words - his words - that Steve had written. He takes an anticipatory breath…and starts to write. 

Steve was right, restating the words once they've already been written down by someone else does depersonalize it enough to make Eddie finally able to write it and it does get him past that initial block. Soon he's able to move on from simply copying down the words and begins to add new ones and make edits. A laugh escapes him like a cheer, a short burst of something giddy with satisfaction and relief. He's writing, and writing and writing and writing, the words flowing from brain to pencil to paper perfectly and with ease, the way it should've been from the start. 

Steve hangs off to the side at first like he's trying to give Eddie space to work, but ends up slowly drifting closer. When Eddie cheers, Steve's hand goes to his shoulder again, giving it another squeeze, encouraging and proud. His hand then stays there, thumb idly rubbing across Eddie's shoulder blade as he watches the other write. Eddie feels like he's got electricity running through his veins.  

Somewhere within the next hour or so, three pages and two sheets of paper later, Eddie slams his pencil down and sighs with finality, “Done!” This earns him another shoulder-squeeze from Steve and a bright smile when Eddie looks up at him. “You are a fucking lifesaver, Harrington, I don't know what I would've done without you.” 

“Glad I could help,” Steve says, his smile turning sheepish and his hand finally dropping from Eddie's shoulder as he gives a modest shrug and adds, “I’m sure you would've managed on your own, though.” 

“I wouldn't have. I would've failed,” Eddie says seriously. “I was fighting an epic battle against my brain and I would've lost, would've doomed myself to yet another year of pointless high school existence, if you hadn't swooped in and saved me like a goddamn knight in shining armor.” He cracks a grin and stands to dip into a melodramatic bow. “I am forever indebted to you, my liege.”

Steve laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. “You're being dramatic.” 

“I’m allowed to be.” Eddie straightens and grabs his essay off the desk, holding it up and shaking the papers. “This is my golden ticket out of high school, man, you have no idea how much this means to me.” 

“Well then, we should celebrate.” 

“We can finally eat those chips you brought.” Eddie moves around him and reaches to grab the bag of chips on the nightstand, but Steve catches his hand. 

“Screw the chips,” Steve says. “This calls for a proper celebration. How about we go get dinner somewhere? My treat.” 

Eddie glances down at his hand in Steve's. “Are you asking me out, Romeo?” he asks as he looks back up, a teasing edge to his grin so he can play it off as a joke if he needs to. 

“Depends.” Steve rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand, eyes flicking across the other's face almost nervously. “What would you say if I was?” 

Eddie’s smile softens and he finally curls his fingers around Steve's hand. “I'd say yes.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then yes,” Steve says, his face breaking into a bright and beautiful grin, “I am absolutely asking you out.” 

Another cheer of laughter bursts out of him, giddy now for an entirely different reason. “What are you waiting for then, big boy?” Eddie holds Steve’s hand tight, already starting to drag him from the room. “Where are you taking me?” 

Steve laughs as well and lets himself be pulled along for a second before taking the lead as they head for the front door. “You’ll see.” 

To Wayne sitting on the couch watching some game on the TV, Eddie shouts over his shoulder in passing, “Finished my essay, we’re going out to eat!”

Wayne nods in acknowledgement. His eyes flick to the boys’ joined hands, a knowing smugness in his expression as he mouths subtly to Eddie, ‘Your boy.’ 

Eddie just grins in response, and then he’s out the door. 

Steve takes him to a diner, Eddie’s favorite one, and it makes his chest warm again that Steve knows that. They grab a booth in the corner, hidden from prying eyes. Steve makes fun of Eddie for dipping his fries in his milkshake, Eddie makes fun of Steve for covering his directly in ketchup. It’s all talking and laughing and easy banter, same as it’s always been since they’ve been friends, except now Steve holds his hand and hooks their ankles together under the table and peppers smooth compliments into the conversation that have Eddie grinning and blushing like crazy. The famed Harrington charm is in full effect, moves and lines he’s sure Steve’s used hundreds of times on hundreds of girls, but now they’re just for him, woven so easily into the dynamic that already exists between them, and Eddie basks in it. 

It’s the best first date he could’ve asked for. 

Perfect gentleman that he is, Steve even insists on walking Eddie to the door when he takes him home. Steve kisses him on the porch then, soft and sweet and promising, and Eddie’s starting to think that maybe love isn’t so tragic a thing after all… 

Maybe he needs to rewrite his essay. 

#in which i project my own academic struggles onto 3x highschool senior eddie munson #the first 500 words of this is literally just me venting lmao #wrote this instead of an essay if you couldn't tell #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #ficlet #mine #(now also on ao3 under the user brokenfandoms)

[msafterhours]

Saccharine | Act Three

Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi

[Act 1] [Act 2] Act 3 (~16.5k words)

Note: this is not intended as a standalone story. If you haven’t already read Acts One & Two, I’d highly recommend doing so before reading further so that you don’t miss out on important context.

You sit there, alone, sipping on silence long after the bar closes. A little longer. You stay until the sunrise slips past the horizon, shining a light on your sins and reminding you of the responsibilities to come. With a stretch and a sigh, you stand and make your way to the elevator, internally debating whether or not you’d prefer her to be there. Even after you’ve exited the lift, walked down the hall, and turned the handle, you still haven’t come to a conclusion. Luckily, you don’t have to, as the ceaseless stillness of the room confirms your solitary status. A quick check of the bed informs you of her departure; a brief look at the clock tells you a bit more. It’s been seven hours since she arrived, six and a half since the new year began, and who knows how long since she awoke and fled?

It’s a question you don’t expect an answer to, so you do your best to move along, packing up your things and catching an early bus ride back to your apartment. The calendar’s kind enough to offer you an empty schedule and a well-timed weekend, so as soon as you lay your eyes on the beautiful sight of your very own bed, the rest of your body is quick to follow suit. Sleep is all too easy to find as you crash harder than you ever have before. Maybe a minute, maybe a millennium passes in that darkness—you’re far too tired to even try to tell. The first sight that greets you upon your awakening is a familiar one: a singular “four” at the front of the face of your alarm clock alongside those cursed letters “AM” at the end. Nearly an entire day lost—a price paid to the debt of fatigue you’d been so careless in accruing.

It is what it is. The second sight that greets you is a calendar event on your phone, reminding you of the upcoming deadline of your quintet interview piece in twenty hours. With a resigned sigh, you set about your routine, teeth grinding into your lower lip as the shower reminds you of your multitude of misdeeds. A bit of coffee and a metric fuckton of determination are all it takes you to get through the day, allowing you to submit your composition to your editor minutes before midnight.

With that out of the way, you return to your bed once more, mustering up some semblance of motivation to march onwards towards a new day. Almost immediately upon the morning’s dawn, you’re unnerved by just how irregular your everyday routine suddenly feels. There’s a sense of anxiety—anticipation?—in the air, as if you’re waiting for someone or something to burst through the door and denounce your wrongdoings. Ultimately, there’s basically no media coverage of the party, leaving you to post your piece and enjoy the peace granted by publishing your work. It receives mostly positive, complimentary feedback, primarily through proximity as love is heaped upon the idols, but that’s anything but a surprise. Considering the sensitive nature of the subject matter discussed, you make sure to keep it strictly vanilla: looking to the future without lamenting the losses of the past. Things really only get interesting when a remarkable message arrives in an inbox normally filled with unremarkable shlock:

A memorable account name? ✔

A multitude of comments and original posts across its very active existence? ✔

An unending array of likes and comments on every one of her posts, all of them singing her praises? ✔

Oh, and of course the message itself:

noodle.zip: Oh come on, you and I both know that the conversation wasn’t anywhere near that boring

Check.

This time, wanting to avoid any unnecessary heat, you respond directly:

inkingship: Maybe, but wasn’t this for the best? noodle.zip: I wouldn’t say so noodle.zip: In fact, I might even say you’re actively avoiding the most important parts inkingship: Are you judging me for being a professional? noodle.zip: Not exactly noodle.zip: I’m just saying you might have missed out on a chance for more fun for all parties involved noodle.zip: Or something like that inkingship: You’re definitely judging me noodle.zip: And if I am? inkingship: Then I might like you even more than I thought I did

And just like that, the new norm forms and what was once routine becomes forgotten. You continue your writing, covering comebacks from Changwon to Kwangya and conversing with your contacts, Miyeon chief among them as she compliments your recent work and you praise her performance on the Moonshine OST. All in all, it’s a calm, quiet time, especially compared to the cacophony that’s comprised the previous couple of months. But, as always, the perfect weather never lasts, and signs of the storm are swift to show themselves just beyond the horizon.

You know well ahead of time that their comeback is soon to be announced and as soon as the album is teased, you cut all contact—refusing to read or respond to any of Miyeon's messages. Part of you can't help but wonder if she's wondering why you ghosted her, but every fiber of your being knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would know exactly why. It’s made even worse when you see the concept teasers—see the way she looks over her shoulder, face framed in shadow as those piercing eyes stare down upon your paltry soul, and—fuck—the bare skin of her back, acting as an enticing invitation to all who've yet to witness her in full. Then the second teaser drops, and then the third—each communicating the slightest hint of how dangerous she can truly be. In your well-respected opinion, it’s the hottest she’s ever been, and it’s not close. She knows full well the things she does to you, and she’s daring you to do something, anything in response.

It drives you fucking insane.

As soon as you receive early access to the album, you give it a full listen. Even as your head sways in sync with the songs, you cast aside your compliments, instead choosing to pen your words with a different kind of ink—searing the page as paragraph by paragraph, you pick your poison. Once again, all five of the names atop the page should matter to you, but only one of them does. It’s not Miyeon’s. Word after word is penned and written with venom in your veins, delivering the hatred from your heart to the page. For once, you’re finished well before your deadline, giving you the rare chance to reflect and, more importantly, convince your editor to go along with the sudden change of direction. It’s a simple task for someone as attuned to the environment as you, simply necessitating a promise to write a favorable review for his girlfriend’s group’s next release. Granted, you were already likely going to, but there's no reason the truth can't get you what you want.

This time, you’ve elected to take the time to cover each of the members, giving high praise and harsh critiques of each of their contributions to the album. Your criticisms for the auxiliary trio range from their vocals to choreography to even their styling, but admittedly, they aren’t the stars of this story. For Miyeon, you bend the knee to your heart slightly, deciding to blame the utilization of her vocals outside her ideal range and general chosen image across her portrayal in the promotions—just about anything to avoid laying the fault directly at her feet.

Things get truly interesting when you arrive at the final member, as your review of her performance can fall anywhere between nuanced and dismissive, depending on perspective. “Yuqi, as always, provides her unique vocal color that contrasts against the other members and their performances. However, I can't help but wish that she had reached deeper, displaying more of herself and taking this opportunity to truly showcase her individuality.”

While there's no questioning your confidence in your abilities, it’s undeniable that this is the biggest risk you've ever taken. For the record, it's not even close. By putting yourself out there in this way, you're effectively stepping directly into the line of fire, all but taunting the legions of stans to take their best shot. Even with all that in mind, it's still a risk you're willing to take, one largely fueled by spite simmering inside you at the sight of her transgressions. She knows what she's done. Now it's time for you to respond in kind. Worst case scenario, everything you've ever worked for crumbles into ash; best case scenario, she fucking suffers. But no matter what happens, you both know that the other won’t go quietly into the night. If one of you burns, you'll burn together. All the more reason to add fuel to the fire.

Their first studio album and your first scathing critique hit the market in swift succession and initially receive a wildly different reception. The first wave of fan backlash is fucking brutal, but perspectives swiftly change, likely swayed by your masterful weaving of words that convey a tone of disappointment instead of hatred or vendetta. You watch on in glee as the narrative is quick to shift, especially once fans begin to passionately parrot your critiques as if they were gospel, slowing any surging momentum the album might have built. The snowball melts under the heat, and you see it reflected in the sales, the view milestones, and even the results of music shows as surefire victories turn into losses by the slimmest of margins. Videos of the members discussing their disappointment occasionally pop up on your timeline, threatening to tug at your threadbare heartstrings, especially as they discuss the stress they felt when returning as a five-member group for the first time on the biggest stage. You force yourself to cast those thoughts aside, too intrigued by the inconspicuous intentions of a certain someone. While four face the music, the last piece of the puzzle remains cloaked in shadow, broadcasting nothing but radio silence on the matter. In your mind, her lack of a statement speaks volumes—especially when considering the critical context of those titillating teasers.

Regardless, as you return to your routine responsibilities, you’re confident that your hand as the author will be largely invisible. To the average reader, the article simply seems like a bold, honest critique of a group you have high expectations for. But for your target audience—the only one with the cipher and context necessary to see below the surface—it's nothing but gloating. A statement of victory and a reminder of her failure. In another world, the song might have become a massive success, but in this one, the tale of “Tomboy” comes to an unexpectedly swift end. And the blame lies solely at a certain someone’s feet.

Man, does it feel fan-fucking-tastic to win like this, and the best part is, it doesn’t stop there. Shortly after, you’re contacted by a larger company and extended an offer to do more video-related content, allowing you a greater opportunity to grow your brand. You’re shown that your choice to take a risk and put out something this strong is viewed favorably by those in upper circles, and your just reward is a landing pad for your leap of faith. Not only do you accept their job offer, you even bring your editor along with you as you mutually agree to keep silent about the skeletons in each other’s closet. 

You debut under this new company in spectacular fashion, writing a shining pair of favorable reviews for two groups on the fast track to superstardom, then doubling down on your newfound fearlessness by refusing to shy away from the flaws in another big group’s “experimental” title track. Somehow, you even manage to regain a bit of goodwill from the group’s fandom, Neverland, by penning some well-deserved praise for Miyeon’s debut mini album.

You get nothing from Miyeon.

From debuts to disbandments, you cover as much as you reasonably can, and then a bit more. Your coffee consumption skyrockets while your sleep schedule craters, but you convince yourself you’ll be fine. The most important piece is the present, and you’ll allow yourself to rest at the end—not in the middle. Too much progress is being made, and you’re finally reaping the rewards of all the seeds you’ve sown over what feels like a century. You’ve yet to experience the full ecstasy of celebrity—the celebrations and approbations. All of it and more, and it’s all for you. As it should be.

Which is why the email that arrives in your inbox in late September hits so fucking hard.

You get a better explanation later in the day via a face-to-face meeting, but the assignment still sends your mind into a spiral. A full suite of video content with the (G)I-DLE members shot across the two weeks before their comeback, with filming beginning two days after the last stop of their world tour. The selling point is tied to the EP’s title “I Love”, with the temporary tagline being “If these girls can make even him fall in love, what can’t they do?”. It’s sickening. You hide the worst of your feelings in your reaction, but show enough for them to note that your “history” with the group was a determining factor when pitching the idea. If only they knew.

You, of course, accept the project and promise to produce some initial ideas for the content and execution by tomorrow, then stumble out of the meeting room before collapsing into your chair. Your body capitalizes on this perfect moment to take a bit of petty revenge, slamming you with every ounce the fatigue you’ve taken on over the last few months. It’s a sobering thought, realizing that your selfish ambition didn’t actually lead you to success, just into the gaping maw of an even bigger fish. Truly an unfortunate roadblock to run into midway through your victory lap.

Considering this is your first major project at the new company, it’s something you desperately want to succeed at; considering it’s your first interaction with the two most impactful people in your life since you more or less ruined their hard work, it’s something you need to avoid failing at. So, you get to work. You fire up every synapse into a flurry of inspiration, fervently exploring every possibility you’ve ever seen or concepted. A straightforward series of video interviews? Too standard. A documentary style behind-the-scenes? Too impersonal. An all-out variety show style series of games and gifts? Too shallow. Your trash can quickly fills to the brim with page after page of mosaics of discarded inspirations. You decide almost immediately that if you have to stick your neck out like this, you’re going to make it personal, powerful, and a peek into the people behind the personas.

You do your due diligence, poring over hours of live performances, TV appearances, interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, and anything and everything in-between. Aside from their quirks as a collective, each member brings their own unique color to the table—something you want to showcase for fans old and new. You start with Minnie’s unending positive energy, note the dichotomy between Soyeon’s personal and professional interests, eagerly include Shuhua’s absolute refusal to give a fuck, and of course make room for Miyeon’s delicate princess personality and her chaotic character breaks. Then, you arrive at the exception. There are many sides to the enigma that’s eluded your understanding for far, far too long. She’s a contradiction—the brightest star outshining the spotlight while still a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at the slightest hint of heat. It’s impossible to think of her without feeling her warmth on your skin, remember the fire in her eyes as you held her close; ironic, considering that your coffee grows cold while you struggle to plan around her professional side without letting your personal dynamic bleed into things. You ultimately decide to focus on the sentimentality hidden beneath the shamelessness, thinking it ideal to allow her the chance to show her best self.

You meet the next morning head-on without a minute of sleep to your name, fueled solely by the significance of the undertaking and a medically inadvisable amount of caffeine. Once it’s time for your meeting, you stride in with a self-assured swagger, presenting your bosses with an astounding arrangement of activities and ideas, as well as a pair of significant stipulations. Make sure the idols know ahead of time that the expectation is to shoot more than we need, and that both CUBE and I have veto power on any content we want cut. It’s a potentially perilous power play, but one you feel you need to make considering the circumstances of the engagement. 

The surprising answer you receive is, for once, a pleasant one, as they approve the project with no further changes. With their blessings and their budget in mind, you walk out of the room and finalize the plan to descend into the lions’ den. The rest of the week flies by in an instant, leaving you winded yet wound up the night before shooting starts. The hardwood beneath your feet emanates an unending chill as you pace around your apartment long after the sun descends beneath the horizon, mind teetering on the precipice of insanity, as you rehash each detail of the project—every potential pitfall. In the empty silence of your apartment, your heart pounds like the beat of a drum, echoing in your ears and drowning out the quiet passage of city life outside your window. For the first time in forever, you stop by the aforementioned opening, peeking past the curtain and staring out across the twinkling cityscape below. The steel and glass structures glitter like stars against the darkness of the night, projecting a damned good recreation of the maze your thoughts are lost in. A long sigh escapes you, fogging up a small circle on the glass as anxiety gnaws at your gut like a rabid animal escaping its bindings. The constant ticking and tocking of the clock on the wall certainly doesn’t help your mentality, serving as an ever-present reminder of the sands of time’s flow and the speed at which the dawn approaches.

Somehow, someway, you make it back to your bed. In this space, with the curtains drawn and the lights dimmed entirely, your mind paints your thoughts across the darkened canvas—disordered and chaotic as an artist’s palette. The possibilities of what the future might hold in two weeks’ time are literally endless, but you swear to yourself that you’ll give everything to make sure the story doesn’t end here. So, for once, you deviate from your late-night norm, and force yourself to get some much-needed rest. You know you’ll need to be at your best when the consequences of your actions come calling, and the very next morning, they do exactly that.

-x-

On the other side of the sunrise, you stand amidst a larger production crew than you’ve ever been responsible for, discussing procedure with a production assistant when the universe calls “Action!”.

“I guess we can start with—”

Even under the unmarred sky of the sunny Seoul morning, it’s a crack of thunder that brings your sentence to an abrupt end. There’s a moment of shock before the ripples of pain spread and the realization hits your mind, but as everything clicks, there’s no stopping the twisted smile from spreading across your face. On your right cheek lies a freshly hand printed mark, perfectly mirroring a ghost of your past.

“Hey, you,” you call, nodding apologetically at the stunned production assistant before turning and confirming your suspicions.

“You didn’t say goodbye properly last time,” Miyeon grumbles, gritted teeth grimacing at the pain clearly radiating out of her hand. “I wanted to make sure you’re nice and awake today.”

“I get it, you’re extremely upset with me and it’s for all the right reasons,” you admit, wincing slightly as her words cut deeper than her hands ever could. “But we’re both professionals, right? Things will go much easier for everyone if we play nice, at least for the cameras.”

Miyeon pretends to contemplate your offer, but you can see in her eyes that it’s nothing she hasn’t already come to terms with. “I think I can manage that.”

“Thank you,” you say softly. Sincerely. “You just do your best, and I’ll try my hardest to stop giving you reason to keep hating me.”

“Wow, you really don’t get it, do you?” she asks, laughing sardonically as she wears the type of smile that’ll never reach her eyes. You can’t help but freeze—uncharacteristically unsure of what she means—but you barely have to wait before you receive the answer that chills you to the bone. “I never even started.”

It’s somehow even more brutal when she walks away, leaving you speechless and in serious need of caffeine. After a brief excursion to the break room, you return with a steaming mug of caramel coffee, ready to face just about anything … anything except the person sitting atop the audio equipment before you. Her tired eyes tell quite the story, but between the lines you see the smolder, ready to alight at the slightest provocation. When her stare meets your own, you see her form tense, fists clenching in anxious anticipation as you close the distance. Both of you knew this was bound to happen; neither of you could have expected what comes next.

“Here,” you say, offering her your mug as a substitute olive branch.

Surprisingly, she takes it, her rich voice reverberating through your entirety as she asks, “Still no poison?”

Hints of a smile breach your defenses, adding a lightness to your tone that surprises even you as you respond, “Not today.”

“Good,” she grumbles, finally taking a sip and sighing in satisfaction. “This too.”

“Glad to hear it,” you say, leaning against the wall next to her as you look out across the sound stage. “Rough turnaround?”

“Quite.”

“Brutal.”

“...”

“...”

“Tight schedule,” she says, gesturing to the flurry of activity before you two.

“Very.”

“...”

“...”

“You ready?”

You see her glance at you out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your stare locked in place, pointing solely towards the production crew that’s somehow become your responsibility. “Have to be. For them.”

“Yeah.”

“You?”

“Same.” This time, you let your eyes wander, following her stare until it rests upon the other members of (G)I-DLE, where Miyeon and Shuhua animatedly argue in a way your research has made you all too familiar with.

“For them,” you say once more, barely catching her movement out of the corner of your eye. It’s not much, but it’s a nod of gratitude. It’s enough.

You remain there in silence, side-by-side for a short while before someone calls for you, asking for a bit of clarification about something on the schedule. You walk away from her once again, spending the next hour or so in a flurry of activity that finally culminates in the start of the actual day. Just before the cameras roll, you quickly introduce yourself to the group, meeting the remaining members for the first time. It doesn’t take an empath to recognize the instinctive distrust, but over the course of the conversation, the combination of your earnest energy and Miyeon’s shining smile manages to thaw the ice. With that out of the way, you confirm everything with your production crew one last time, then call for the cameras to roll.

The moment the red light flickers on, a palpable shift takes place in the room. While not your first time on camera, it’s your first time doing so while juggling the needs of an entire group. After a deep sigh and an extended exhale, you begin, introducing yourself, the series concept, and finally, the girls themselves. One by one you go down the line, providing a stage upon which they can display their charms. Initially, their responses are brief, rehearsed—clearly favoring professionalism over genuine enthusiasm. Shuhua gushes about spending the holidays with Tzuyu but seems unsure of herself when asked about her aspirations for this comeback. Soyeon displays a rare moment of timidness when she can’t find the right words to describe Marilyn Monroe as the inspiration for the album’s concept, but instantly provides you with a ranked order of her favorite choices from the vast array of anime she watched during the lockdown. You can feel the progress you’re making, but you know you’re not quite there.

Things finally click midway through—when you get to Miyeon and lean on the rapport you’d been so quick to establish. Questions come to you far more easily, and you finally make some actual progress when you ask her about the differences between promoting as a soloist versus working as the host of M Countdown. You’re further elated as she elaborates, beginning to ramble about the ways she tries to be a good representative for the group while also shining as an individual. You can’t keep the smile on your face as she tells her tale, nodding in excitement as you finally get the first hints of the genuine introspection you want so badly to inspire in this series. From there it’s far too easy to foster a connection with Minnie—one built simply upon your shared passion for music as you find a profusion of shared loves among each of your lists of favorite artists.

You reach the end of the line. Inspiration strikes and you act before you can overthink it, shading your eyes from the bright lights bearing down from overhead as you pretend to search around the room for the final member.

“Oh, come on!” she pouts, playing her impromptu part perfectly. “Just because Minnie’s a giant doesn’t mean I’m that short. Soyeon’s literally right there!”

“Of course, I merely jest,” you say, smiling all too brightly as you stare into her eyes. “Would you be so kind as to introduce yourself to the unfortunate few who don’t know who you are?”

Yuqi does exactly that, deep voice carrying across the entire sound stage as she greets the camera. Her eyes meet yours once more and it’s almost concerning how familiar the conversation feels. You’re quick to reignite the conversation about corgis, complimenting her addition of paw prints to her tattoo as you grant her the platform to explain their significance. It’s barely any time at all before you’re just as enthralled as the rest of the audience, lost in the heartfelt retelling of her journey to Korea alone and the difficulty of working to achieve her dreams step by step. You can relate to the feeling all too well, and it nearly makes you question everything you’ve ever thought about her. But as her story finishes and she looks to you to continue, you package it up into the back of your mind, intending on returning to it later. Right now, you have a job to do.

You’re quick to move the topic forward, finding yourself pleasantly surprised as the six of you get into a comfortable rhythm, progressing from topic to topic with a surprisingly swift pace while keeping the number of mistakes reasonable. You’d be delusional to view it as anywhere near perfect, as there are plenty of instances of a joke not landing or a miscommunication or a moment of hesitation leading to an awkward pause that’ll have to be cut in post. But when the cameras cut and the conversation continues all throughout the lunch break, you finally allow yourself to relax, even if it’s only the slightest bit.

The first couple of days fly by in a dazzling blur of lights, camera, and action. One minute, you’re heading a hectic pre-production meeting, the next, you’re standing still amongst the silence of a scene about to roll. Confusingly, the most chaotic cacophonies can be found amidst the members themselves as they grow to trust you. Your initial fears are quickly quashed as the seemingly demure Shuhua quickly displays her unperturbed sense of humor, firing off jokes and threatening to peak out your audio equipment at the drop of a hat. The atmosphere further improves when you introduce a bit of competition into the mix, allowing Soyeon to showcase her leadership skills as the group’s superlative strategist. While admittedly a bit of a risk, your choice to lean into a shoulder-to-shoulder style of interviewing rather than the face-to-face norm ends up paying off, allowing the audience a rare opportunity to peek behind the curtain and watch the girls share their thoughts in a far more comfortable setting amidst the variety of challenges and contests. It’s quite the ideal arrangement, especially since it leaves you with the perfect seat to spectate everything they choose to share.

You’d readily admit your eyes are all but glued to Miyeon for much of the shooting schedule, which is potentially the only reason you catch on to the fact that she’s playing a game of her own. From a surface-level standpoint, she seems like a perfectly pretty professional—dancing from scene to scene with all the grace you’d expect of a self-proclaimed princess—but it takes only a bit of reading between the lines to unveil the true story. While you might not expect an angel to need a guardian, Miyeon seems absolutely shameless with how frequently she taps into your prior history of working together and plays the “favorite” card. She milks that status for all that it’s worth, hiding behind your leg at the slightest hint of adversity and being concerningly quick to jump ship when it comes time to separate into teams of two. To her credit, none of it crosses into unprofessional territory—only a brief wink in your direction or a playful nudge as she passes by—but it’s definitely blatant enough to raise an eyebrow or two.

To her credit, there’s no such subtlety with Minnie. Minnie remains a beacon of smiles and sincerity throughout the entire shooting process, happily gushing about her increased involvement in the production process alongside the ever-spectacular Soyeon and, of course, the final member of the main cast, Yuqi. Somewhat surprisingly, she does a phenomenal job of actually being the consummate professional Miyeon pretends to be, although she takes advantage of every opportunity to compete against you, acting as the mirror to Miyeon’s tendency to join your side whenever possible. Facing her from the opposite side of the battlefield—sometimes more literally than others—you’re grateful for the chance to observe her reactions. You see the subtle furrow of her brow every time your team claims victory, see the tightening of her smile whenever Miyeon’s quick to find you to celebrate with. Admittedly, you probably enjoy it more than you should. Even then, you’re shocked by the sides she’s willing to show, stunned by the sight of the quiet resilience in her eyes as she navigates each day of shooting while fighting back fatigue. It’s a painfully potent subversion of your expectations, leaving you utterly unsure about the truth in stories you’ve been told and the significance of the scenario burned into your mind so many years ago. But again, those questions can wait until you’re done finishing the shoot. Until then, you add a fourth item to your morning coffee runs.

-x-

After three days of filming, you finally get your first round of feedback from your higher-ups. Somehow, it’s simultaneously better than you could have hoped for while still sending a chill down your spine:

Great start so far, seems like the content is really starting to click and we are yet to receive any complaints from CUBE. One small suggestion: you should try to engage with Yuqi more. There haven’t been too many interactions between you two thus far, but every time it’s happened, the chemistry has been clear as day. Try focusing on her a bit more; you might end up liking what ends up happening.

Oh. Yeah. Sure. Fine. That’s a totally reasonable thing to ask of nearly anyone. Nearly.

It’s a damned shame, but it’s also literally your job to make this work. So, you fire off a quick email, thanking them for their feedback and promising to implement their suggestion in the upcoming shoots. For once, you stay true to your word, doing so the very next day. “The Thursday of Truths” shoot starts off strong, with candid conversations carrying out throughout the day at the idols’ behest instead of the demands of the script. Everything’s going absolutely great … until they steer the ship down a path you’d rather not follow.

Ultimately, you are the one to blame as you’re the one who asked, “Everybody always asks about your biggest dreams, but what about your weirdest ones? Any insane dreams recently that you couldn’t help but remember?” The first couple range from harmless to hilarious, the highlight of it all being Miyeon’s astoundingly detailed description of her fantastical life as a college student and its associated escapades. But once again—like they always do—things change when the spotlight shines on Yuqi.

“There’s no better way to describe it; it was an inferno,” she says, lowering her voice as she captivates the audience. “I was trapped, drawn in by a sort of magnetic pull towards the center. The weirdest part though was that even though I couldn’t get through the fire, I kept having this dream over and over and over again. Eventually, I gave up and tried to walk away, but then a figure—someone somehow familiar even though they were completely featureless—dragged me back in. It’s probably been a couple of years since I’ve had the dream, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

With her final statement made, ten eyes turn to you, only to find your own unfocused pair staring into the distance. Once again, it’s the specificity of her words that’s affecting you so deeply, stunning you into inaction as you desperately scramble for the right words to continue the conversation. “It must have been a year ago now?” you say, pretending to wonder as if the memory hadn’t been seared into your mind. “I woke up on a beach and heard a voice, kind of like a mermaid or something. And the way it sang, it was oddly familiar but like nothing I’d ever heard before. I couldn’t help but walk out into the ocean to follow it.”

“And?” Minnie asks, eyes bright with wonder. “Did you find out what it was?”

Your eyes drift, searching for a solution and finding anything but as you make the mistake of meeting Yuqi’s eyes. “I don’t know,” you respond, uncharacteristically unsure if you’re telling the truth. “But I’d give anything to figure it out.”

From there, filming continues fairly normally, but anyone with the slightest semblance of sense can see that both you and Yuqi are clearly unsettled. Giving credit where it’s due, both of you are fine when you’re not directly interacting, but things change when your dialogue becomes direct. You try to crack a joke you’re sure she’ll smile at, but the laugh you get in response is performative at best, and even that’s grading on a curve. When she later asks you a question, you do your best to remain unaffected, but aiming for a casual response results in you missing by a mile.

The sighs of relief echo throughout the sound stage as shooting wraps and you bid the group farewell, wishing them the best as tomorrow’s Friday of filming will be spent not with you, but on their latest music video. With a warm smile sent especially Miyeon’s way, you take your leave and depart into the oncoming night. As you navigate the streets of Seoul, the ever-present endless lights and symphony of sounds fade into white noise as they speed past you. Your body remains on-edge the entire way, wracked with tension as whispered words and murmured melodies dance across the forefront of your mind.

For once, you find the expectant silence of your apartment foreign and unsettling. While normally you crave the uninterrupted train of thought, tonight you wish for something, anything, to derail it. You spend the evening attempting to distance yourself from the day’s events, distracting yourself with the everyday chore of eating and even turning on the TV until that too joins the white noise framing the canvas for your ceaseless contemplation. One uncharacteristically good decision later, you find yourself in your bedroom, cradled by your comforter as the darkness beckons you. Once more, as you close your eyes and allow your consciousness to roam, you give in to delusion, hoping that your dreams might grant you an answer to the questions haunting your mind, and as you drift off into the soft embrace of sweet oblivion, you can’t help but wonder if someone somewhere wishes the same.

As it turns out, you may never know the answer to any of your questions as you awaken the following morning after a night of total darkness and unending silence. After a scream or seventeen, you force yourself to get up and prepare for a day of further research and revisions to your planning for the following week. You’re lucky enough to fall into a rhythm, allowing your mind to narrow in on work and work alone all the way through the day and into the afternoon. The monotony is mercifully broken as the sky darkens into a tapestry of stars, upset by an unexpected notification flashing across your screen.

ASong4You: I never thought I’d enjoy hating someone so much

Somehow, the message makes more sense than it should. You can’t help but chuckle at the fact that even now, you’re still chatting through the burners. Even after all this time, you’re both still resolutely clinging onto something—a secret neither of you is willing to give up so easily.

TurnThePage: Hate’s a strong word, don’t you think? ASong4You: I didn’t hate you before ASong4You: Things changed pretty quickly TurnThePage: They always seem to TurnThePage: Maybe we both have a knack for stirring up trouble ASong4You: It certainly seems to follow wherever I go

Once again, you barely have to read between the lines to catch the sadness simmering beneath the sarcasm embellishing her words. It reminds you of the smile you’ve seen her wear on stage, the one where she doesn’t have to think—only feel. Unfortunately, the flip side of feeling so intently is what happens when her heart is filled with hatred instead of happiness. It’s a compelling thread to pull, but with no tangible benefit for doing so, you choose to toss it into the pile of unresolved issues you’re sure to find time to address later.

TurnThePage: Careful now TurnThePage: Someone might make the mistake of thinking you enjoy it

A brief pause.

ASong4You: And what if I do?

Another.

TurnThePage: Then I might like you even more than I thought I did ASong4You: Careful now ASong4You: We don’t want things getting too hot next week ASong4You: Especially with your special someone around

Some twisted middle ground between a grimace and a grin graces your visage, shining on the screen as you compose your response.

TurnThePage: I thought you were the one trying to keep her from getting involved ASong4You: Well it’s not my fault that the pretty little powder keg jumped into the open flame TurnThePage: Your words, not mine ASong4You: Maybe, but you were thinking the same TurnThePage: How would you know? ASong4You: Dude, I just do ASong4You: Ask Minnie or something, she’s the one into zodiac signs and shit TurnThePage: Yeah, that tracks ASong4You: How would you know? TurnThePage: I literally write about you maniacs for a living TurnThePage: It’s my job to know random shit like that ASong4You: Oh yeah? ASong4You: Then what do you know about me? TurnThePage: Way too fucking much

You hesitate for a moment, but your heart supersedes your mind once more and sends one more message.

TurnThePage: And nowhere near enough

The conversation lapses into an uncomfortable silence, leaving you staring at the screen as you wonder whether you’ve crossed a line. In the moment just before turmoil overtakes you, you force yourself to step away, going into the kitchen and grabbing some water before returning to a newly received response.

ASong4You: Says the guy interviewing us on camera for four days straight TurnThePage: Fair TurnThePage: Maybe after I’m done farming you for content, I’ll give you the chance to bridge the gap ASong4You: That’s cute ASong4You: I’m supposed to be pretty busy this month TurnThePage: So am I ASong4You: And? TurnThePage: I can make time TurnThePage: I’m willing to bet you can too ASong4You: You willing to go all in on that bet? TurnThePage: Maybe once all the cards are revealed TurnThePage: Deal? ASong4You: Deal

The conversation continues well into the weekend as you banter back and forth, firing shots and sharing thoughts as each of you prepares for what’s to come. She shares snippets of the behind-the-scenes chaos that is the last week of comeback preparations, and you respond by keeping her up to date with the shooting plans as weather related complications appear upon the horizon.

-x-

Sunday's open schedule allows you a rare moment of reflection, one you spend entirely on the previous week and how so much can change in so little time. Without even realizing it, you realize you're wearing a smile—the rare type that's spawned organically rather than painted on for the day's performance. It puzzles you for a moment, just long enough for you to realize how much fun you're having. Somehow, some way, the project you'd feared might ruin your life has been fun. It's fun brainstorming ideas with Soyeon in between takes. It's fun getting Shuhua to begrudgingly admit she's having a great time. It's fun seeing Minnie’s smile shine that much brighter every time music plays. It’s fun watching Miyeon panic and hide behind your leg for safety. And believe it or not, it's fun getting to compete with Yuqi in a lower stakes environment. It's a fun project that gets you into bed early so you can be energized for the next morning of shooting.

Which makes it such a damned shame when that all goes away one sweltering morning when the sun lights a long-forgotten fuse. In the aftermath of Monday’s outdoor shoot being canceled because of the rain and Tuesday’s shoot ending early thanks to audio issues, Wednesday’s atmosphere is restless at best as everyone suffers the stress of the time crunch. The residual humidity fuels the frustrations, and by the time an early lunch break is called, everyone seems grateful for the chance for tempers to settle. Your focus waxes and wanes as you dip in and out of conversation, indulging each and every one of your crew’s curiosities rather than getting a bite to eat. Amid one of those low points, your eyes dart over to a situation brewing in your peripheral vision. It’s her.

She’s arguing with one of the lighting techs, and from each of their respective postures, you harbor a guess that she’s blaming him for something. What might appear like a mostly harmless altercation to some instead sounds the warning bells in your mind, as you immediately recognize the danger lurking in the way her muscles tense and her hand balls into a fist, arm shaking as if she’s barely holding back the urge to strike. Barely. You see her self-restraint slipping.

But you cross the line before she gets the chance to.

“Yuqi.” Your voice echoes throughout the enclosed space, reaching the ears of all and resonating up the spine of your intended recipient, clearly shaking her to her core as you speak her name aloud for the first time. “I wanted to get your thoughts on the next shooting block. Do you have a moment?”

Immediately, suspicion overtakes her visage, but she retains enough sense to recognize the out you’ve given her and begrudgingly follows you. You lead her into one of the break rooms—one of the few places you can have some semblance of privacy—then turn to face her, but she speaks before you get the chance to.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I just—”

“No, not fucking now! You are going to shut the fuck up for once and listen,” she grows, still clearly seething. “I still don’t understand what you want from me, and you know what? Fuck it. I might never figure it out. But that’s just fucking fine. You can try to harm or help me, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t fucking need you. If I want to ruin someone’s life, I can. And there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it, okay? I …” Her voice trails off, mind finally catching up with her heart as she realizes what she just said.

“Okay,” you say, voice straining as you keep your response painfully monotone. “I get it.”

“I—”

“One more day,” you interject, each word piercing another self-inflicted wound into your seeping heart. “One. More. Day. For them. That’s all I ask. Let’s finish this filming, then I’ll fuck off out of your life like you’ve wanted all along. Deal?”

“I …” she tries again, voice failing her as she looks away. “Yeah. Deal.”

“...”

“...”

The silence stretches between you two, merciless even in the face of your misery.

“You go out first,” you say, offering a sad attempt at a smile. The type that’ll never reach your eyes. “Wouldn’t want people to get the right idea about us, would you?”

A lone finger is all you receive in response, a simple thumbs up as she walks away. Not for the first time. Maybe for the last. Something aches within you, grasping at the sense of superiority you should be feeling. Because you won. You were right about her all along.

So why does everything feel so wrong?

Your train of thought is derailed by the insistent buzzing against your leg, your alarm warning you it’s time to get back to filming. With a heavy sigh, you step back out, running on fumes and struggling to stay afloat throughout the rest of the day. The humidity becomes the least of your concerns as the atmosphere turns icy over the last day and a half of shooting, leaving you with plenty of painful content that your editor can hopefully make palatable in post. But hey, that's his problem. This Thursday's been terrible enough without you trying to make it worse.

That afternoon, you say your goodbyes, wishing them well as you swear—under a debatable amount of duress—to write the glowing review their comeback deserves. You shoot three of them smiles in farewell and offer the same to another, but before you know it, you're pulled into a hug—one you're painfully hesitant to return. Fighting your instincts, you hold Miyeon tight, whispering all your kindest compliments into her ear before pulling away. Last, you offer her a nod—perhaps one of thanks for the professional courtesy, maybe one of regret; undeniably, it's one of a far from fond farewell. You tell her goodbye. And then you walk away.

That evening, you reflect—honestly, earnestly—for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. About how far you’ve come. About where the fuck you’re going. The tranquility of your apartment masks the turmoil within, amplifying your inner monologue as you cast your mind back to that fateful day a half decade ago. A grimace graces your visage as you think back to your heart of stone and see how the pressure it’s withstood; how it’s produced not diamonds, but despair. At the center of it all, what image graces you? Far be it from the eye of the storm, no, what awaits you is the heart of the tempest. Images of her scowling, temper flaring as her fists clench in anticipation flash through your mind like a litany of lightning bolts. But maybe that’s just part of her appeal. She’s all thorns and no roses, yet you’re swept up by her all the same.

You’ve covered idols before, been on sets and seen the different parts they play … but the way she wields words sharper than any knife, you know she’s different. You know from experience that when she’s backed into a corner, she’s quick to let the claws come out and flash her fangs, so maybe that’s where you went so wrong. By authoring the article, you lost what little you could hold over her. You lost your leverage—the invaluable currency that drives the entire industry; you realize the threat of telling stories of her misdeeds falls flat when she seems so eager to write many more. So, what are you supposed to do now? Maybe you’re meant to play the long game—rely on patience and wait for her to make the first mistake. She’s done it once before, literally walking through your door when the opportunity to walk away was less than an hour away. You have no reason to believe she won’t come running back once again.

You also have no reason to believe she will.

So maybe the play is to reach out first, take a risk like you did when writing the article. Maybe the play is to take that chance, even if there’s a possibility you’ll get burned. Because there’s a chance you won’t. Because there’s a chance you forge something beautiful in the heat you two seem to ignite so easily. But in a rare moment of wisdom, you decide to sleep on it. You know better than to risk such a message getting lost in the darkest hours of the day; the universe has convinced you nothing good ever happens after midnight.

That night, you dream. Unlike in previous outings, there are no beaches or blazes in sight. Instead, a heavy darkness obscures everything in the vicinity. All you can see are the jagged planks laid atop your body, each with a name of an idol you’d forgotten or a friend you’d discarded scrawled across the wood; all you can feel is the chill of the chains wrapped around your limbs, shackling you in place as your sins are literally held against you. The soft sound of a spark steals your attention, and you lift your eyes to see a single match illuminating the darkness. Behind it stands a familiar figure—the one that’s haunted your dreams for years—staring at your unmoving form. Your breath catches, but they remain motionless, ever vigilant as you strain against your bonds.

“Do it!” you challenge. “I know you want nothing more than to watch me burn, so just fucking do it. Put an end to this. If you’re not the one with the key to what’s holding me down, the least you can do is set me free. Isn’t that what we both want?”

From the blank canvas of her countenance, her first feature forms as her lips appear for the briefest of moments. Just long enough to blow out the flame, plunging you into darkness. As you thrash against your bonds, a faint hint of cherry wafts past you and sends your mind into a spiral. An eternity or eleven pass and you find yourself hating the silence, yet surprisingly finding a familiar solace in the darkness you'd feared you'd lost. You may not know what the future holds, but at least here, where you’re most comfortable, you’re willing to face it.

-x-

That Friday, a message is sent … and read. It has only a single line of text: an address. That Saturday, its recipient follows the directions, its desires, and definitely not its mind as it drives down the bustling streets that so closely resemble the veins of the nation's beating heart. Their pulse pounds with a similar rhythm, thumping against their chest faster and faster as the remaining distance grows ever smaller. They make a stop, desperate to delay the inevitable. Sooner than they’d like, they arrive, reaching the base of the building. From within the cabin, they look up and see the profusion of floors staring back. Watching. Waiting. They step out into the night.

-x-

You close the door behind you, a pair of steaming hot coffee cups in hand as you navigate towards the address you'd been given. After a brief conversation with the doorman, you enter the elevator and let the door close behind you, allowing it to lift you into the endless night. The soft melody reverberating throughout the enclosed space provides a nice rhythm for your bouncing foot to harmonize with, anxiety rearing its ugly head at the worst of times as the intended floor grows ever closer. You can’t help but shake your head in disbelief at the absurdity of the situation you find yourself in once again. Somehow, she’s convinced you to walk headfirst into the lion’s den, and you’re the one bringing her a gift in thanks. But then again, you think to yourself as you hear the bell’s chimes and doors open. It’s probably more about practicality than pleasantries if we’re being honest. It’s going to be a long night.

A step forward, and then another. More, enough to bring you to an intersection where you make the right choice. You continue forward step by step until the door in question appears on your left. As soon as you stand before it, your body goes rigid, frozen into inaction. A million unknowns await behind that door, but you can always choose to walk away now. The one known option lies back at the base of the building. Maybe she's right—maybe trouble really does shadow her wherever she goes. Maybe that means you shouldn't follow in its wake.

Maybe it means you should.

In this split second of hesitation, you’re suddenly reminded of an old quote you've always liked: Opportunity knocks softly at your door; temptation leans against the doorbell. Even here, on the steps of her home away from home, you have the opportunity to leave. You check your phone, desperate for any excuse to continue stalling, and note your time of arrival: 1:57AM. Just enough time to do the responsible thing of wishing her farewell and leaving; just enough time to—lean in.

Moments later—as if she knew to expect you—she opens the door, wearing the most casual clothes you’ve ever seen her in and staring up at you with tired eyes before flicking them down to the cups in your hand and smirking slightly.

“Whichever one you got for me,” she says, smile barely reaching her eyes as she steps aside. “I want the other one.”

“Damn, and I really thought I'd get you with the poison this time,” you reply, smiling slightly as you step inside and remove your shoes. “Any particular reason why?”

“Wanted to try something new. Seems like that kind of night,” she says, shrugging as she shuts and locks the door behind you.

“Maybe it is,” you murmur, extending both cups to her and allowing her to take her pick. “Is this your home?”

She pauses for a moment, then takes the drink from your left hand. “I guess it is,” she responds, smiling softly as she takes a sip. “It’s weird to say considering how many of my relatives are in China, but … yeah. I guess a lot of my family’s here, too.”

“That’s cute,” you say, smiling as sweet as the honey you sip from your cup. “Are you all ready for your comeback?”

“Wasn’t I the one supposed to be asking the questions once we finished filming?” she asks, earning a shrug from you in response before continuing. “But yeah, I think so. As long as nothing unexpected comes up this time.”

You’re grateful for the lid blocking her view of your smug smirk as you ask, “Are you saying you didn’t expect me to keep my word?”

“I was hoping you’d had a change of heart,” she corrects you. “But as soon as Miyeon asked if I knew why you ghosted her, I knew that wasn’t going to happen.”

“You didn’t tell her why.”

“Of course not!” she exclaims, laughing ruefully. “I pulled a page out of your book and lied to cover my ass. And guess what? It worked … until it didn’t. It worked all the way until I had to hold her as she cried in frustration at the negative reception.”

“Good for you,” you say, somehow keeping your voice steady even as you struggle to smother the swell of emotion. “It was the right thing to do, especially since you caused it.”

“I had to!” she fires back, flashes of fury flaring in her flaming eyes. “You were just as much to blame, but everyone knew that there was no chance of you caring for anyone other than yourself!”

“You’re partially right, but also so, so very wrong,” you say, pausing as you finish your drink. “Unfortunately, it really was all your fault.”

The silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment before her whispered words float over to you. “Why are you like this? I don’t understand.”

Her shift of demeanor is so sudden, it shakes you to your core. You know full well she has a tendency to get loud, especially when frustrated, but as her voice dips and her eyes darken, it tells an entirely different tale.

“What do you mean?” you ask, volume rising as she puts you on the defensive. “You knew damned well exactly what you were doing when you walked into my room that night.”

“No, what I don’t understand is why you act like I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you when I haven’t fucking done anything!” she yells back.

“Wow, you really don’t get it, do you?” you respond, dropping your voice back to a dull quiet and laughing emptily as you wear a familiar sad type of smile—the one that dies before ever reaching your eyes. “You are. And the worst part is that I can’t even escape you if I try.”

This time, your words are the ones that chill her to the bone, leaving her unsteady as she asks, “What do you mean?”

“You’ve had them too, right? The dreams about the inferno? The ocean? The others?” You wait for a response and receive nothing in return, but in the absence of a no, you continue on. “Somehow, you’ve gotten into my head, so deep that I can’t even escape into my dreams without being reminded of you. Don’t lie to us both and say you aren’t the same.”

“No,” she declares, shaking her head. “Fuck that. I’m nothing like you. And I never will be.”

Her words are stuttered, dipping into whispers, voice shaky as she spits them at you. She must be furious, unable to control her hatred as she refuses to match your stare, shoulders heaving as her eyes tremble and search for solace in any direction other than yours. You’ve never seen her like this, never seen her so open … so openly inviting you in so that she can pounce on your overreach and capitalize on your vulnerability. Every thought you’ve desperately clung to over the years surges back to the forefront of your mind, reminding you of the truths you’d gleaned long before you’d ever met her. It’s a dangerous game you two are playing, and it’s one you’d rather lose than allow her to win.

But before you can cut in, she continues. “I matter. I mean something to the people who mean so much to me. And I know that you don’t.”

“I don’t think you ever will.”

Her words finally cut deep enough, sparks igniting a fire far more ferocious than any fury you’ve felt before. You. Fucking. Snap. “You’re right, we’re not alike,” you agree, voice deep and dangerous as you take your first step forward. “That’s the difference between us. I have something to lose. You have someone to lose. Multiple someones, in fact.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but another thunderous step silences her as you continue. “And that’s the worst fucking thing about you, isn’t it? That you’ve found a home—a family—here in a foreign country, but you keep risking it all because you can’t keep your fucking temper in check.”

Another step, another crack of thunder reverberating off the walls of the room. “But you just can’t do it. You want so desperately to be kind, to be someone who deserves all the love and support you've been given, don't you? But you can't, because it's too hard to break the habit, isn't it?”

One more step and you find yourself in front of her, staring down into her hate-filled eyes as hints of tears threaten to spill from the corners. Once again, you see her muscles tense and her arm rise, but this time, you stop her, snatching her wrist out of the air before the slap can connect. This time, you’re the one who lights the spark.

“Let. Me. Go.” Her growl grates against your ears as she makes a token attempt to pull away, but your grip holds firm, even as the pounding of her pulse pummels your inner palm; even as the heat rises.

“What, so you can try to slap me again?” you retort, snatching her other wrist. Continuing to fan the flames. “Fucking look at us. How many times have we found ourselves here, screaming and at each other's throats?"

A quick flash of fury flickers in her stare, but it’s quickly replaced by something far more potent. Desire. “One too few,” she responds, smirk as lopsided as the tilt of her head as her wild eyes stare back at you and further proof of arousal pokes through the soft fabric of her oversized shirt.

"I agree," you say, smiling wide before latching your lips onto the base of her newly exposed neck.

Her growl gives way to a gasp, goosebumps swiftly spreading over her skin as you suck at the sensitive spot you’ve come to claim as your own. Her nails dig into the soft flesh of your wrists, threatening to draw the blood from your veins as you rip the whimpers from deep within. You can feel their hum reverberating across her chest, demanding more from you with each pass across the base of her neck. Her pulse quickens under your lips, hammering in sync with your pounding heart as her legs shake under the weight of ecstasy.

Just like always, her very existence burns away any inhibitions, causing you to crave even more of her even as you’re granted unrestricted access. Your earlier exposure to her has been a series of microdoses—either interrupted or forced to end earlier than intended—but with all those excuses lost to the flame, you’re forced to admit the truth. You’re addicted to her. Everything about her, from her smile to her scent to her taste to the way she clings to you when you make her quiver, all of it's intoxicating and quickly becoming a fix you can't live without. The only consolation you find amidst this revelation is found when you pull away the slightest bit and stare into her eyes, the only place you find your feelings mirrored, like some fucked up representation of reciprocal craving.

Even this tiniest bit of distance proves to be too much for you both, as you meet in the middle and crash your lips together. The kiss is harsh, messy, maybe a bit brutal, sure to leave bruises that’ll have to be explained away somehow. It’s unbelievable really—she's so much smaller than you, so much more delicate, yet her mouth is so demanding on yours. Your gift has left her tasting like caramel and coffee—your favorite combination—but even then, there’s a hint of the cherry flavor you know so well. Leverage becomes the least of your concerns as you release her wrists, hands instead sliding up her body until they’re tangled into the golden strands flowing down her shoulders, gripping her hair with intent as your tongues clash. Her newly freed fingers find a home atop your chest, forming fists in your shirt’s fabric as she pulls you even closer. Somewhere hidden below the cloud nine you’re on, you’re sure that your malnourished conscience is crying out at the hypocrisy of showing such vulnerability to the root of all your problems. It might even be right, but honestly, who could blame you for getting hooked when the very sight of her was your gateway drug?

So yeah, you’ll admit to yourself. Maybe I’m just another one of her victims, unique only in the words they’ll write on my tombstone. But if the way her body melts into yours is any indication, you can find solace in the fact that while she might have you wrapped around her finger, at least the feeling’s mutual. Unfortunately, the need for an entirely different chemical—that pesky “oxygen” thing—deprives you of the dopamine high you’re both riding, demanding a moment of pause amidst the pleasure. You’re the first to speak up, laughing softly as you comment, “This is too familiar for my tastes; I thought we were supposed to be trying something new tonight.”

"I agree. Which means the real question is: are you such a man that you want to fuck me right into this table—fuck me so hard that we break through it—or are you going to be gentle," she sneers, "and take me upstairs and romantically fuck me on my bed?"

"Neither," you say as you roughly push her back, protecting everything but her from harm as she stumbles backwards and you follow closely behind. "I'm gonna pin you against this fucking wall and see how many noise complaints your neighbors file. How's that sound, darling?"

She responds, but her words are shaky, shortened as she catches the breath taken by the impact of her crash against the wall. "That - that doesn't sound - like a very gentlemanly thing to do at all."

"Maybe not. But you don't seem like the type who deserves a knight in shining armor, do you? Princess."

"Fuck you," she spits, eyes reignited as your words pierce through her faux composure.

"Oh baby," you drawl, blissfully unbothered by her venomous words and burning stare, "When you beg so nicely, how could I not give you everything you've ever wanted?"

"I—" A single syllable is all that escapes before you have your knee between her legs, grinding against her sopping heat and eliciting the foulest of symphonies from deep within, yet even as you cup her breasts, even as she writhes under your touch, you both know you’re standing safe in the storm’s eye. So, when hers finally open and stare daggers into your own, you decide to take the leap.

You drop to your knees, nothing but the worst of intentions in mind as you tear open the button on her sorry excuse for a pair of shorts. Your fingertips are quick to hook into the fabric and harshly pull them past her knees, exposing her glistening sex to you like a gourmet dish. From there, it’s all too easy to tease her with an appetizer of what’s to come, licking at the outer edges of her lips and the insides of her thighs as your breath delivers hints of heat onto her core. Even without looking, you can feel the fire in her eyes as her heated stare threatens to bore holes into your head, though the fingers gripping your hair pose a more immediate threat. You remain unphased as you continue your explorations, tracing intricate patterns up and down her smooth skin with the lightest of touches while your tongue continues its dance across all the places that deny her the satisfaction she so badly craves. It’s an exquisite form of torture, one you revel in and one she wants so desperately to despise, yet can’t help but delight in.

“Fuck you,” she growls, grasping at both strands of hair and metaphorical straws as her voice betrays her building sense of exasperation and ecstasy alike.

You chuckle, a deep laugh rumbling out from low in your throat as you rest your hands against her thighs, impeding her impatience as she attempts to squirm closer. “Is that a promise or a plea, princess?”

“It’s a fucking warning,” she tells you, though the threat’s hollow amid the lack of heat in her words. Instead, the note that rings in your ear is one of need, one of a near peak and a prayer that you’re willing to push her over that edge. Because here’s the thing you’ve learned about her: even though she’ll never admit it, she’s obsessed with the game. You know better than anyone that she loves being riled up as much as possible because it makes the drop that much more intense when she falls apart. So, when the muscles in her thighs finally start to tense and press against the sides of your head, you’re kind enough to give her the nudge she needs.

You dive in deep, tongue finally flicking against the hardened nub of her clit as you plunge a pair of fingers deep into her folds, finally freeing her hips to buck against your face. Raw ecstasy rings out from her very soul, enchanting your ears with her song of bliss and blessing your tongue with the lingering taste of ambrosia as you fully devote yourself to her desires. You remain relentless, keying in on her keening as you single out her most sensitive spots and sending her into a ruthless spiral of rhapsody and suffering.

“Nonononono, oh god—oh FUCK—oh please,” she whimpers between breaths, pleading for mercy even as her entire body begs you for more. Passion overflows from you both—a bit more literally in her case—as your movements harmonize, elevating both of your experiences in this hunt for euphoria. For once, she’s being so good, asking so nicely, and the best part is that none of it even matters, because when she looks and sounds and smells and tastes and feels like this, you’d give her everything—no questions asked.

All the signs suddenly start to show, and you know exactly what’s about to happen next. You wrap your free arm around the back of her thighs, holding her even closer as you heighten your pace just the slightest bit. In your embrace she is unmade, absolutely lost in the throes of paradise as her whimpering turns into wails of pure, unfiltered pleasure. Your sadistic side celebrates as you refuse to cease your assault, prolonging her peak until her legs threaten to give out from under her. While you're kind enough to keep her from falling, you're also cruel enough to progress without giving her any respite.

You pick her up, easily handling her small frame like putty in your hands as you lay her atop the table, garnering a gasp as her back makes contact with the cold glass. As she attempts to regain her senses, you free yourself from the confines of your clothing, finally stripping away the last barrier between you and the satisfaction you deserve. Before you she lies in a daze—somehow free of her shirt—still drunk off the sensation she’d sought so desperately and you’d delivered so skillfully. Now, with your inhibitions forgotten somewhere in the fog filling the periphery of your vision, you step up, rock hard shaft in one hand as you pull her closer with the other.

My fucking turn.

You push yourself inside of her, fighting the friction as your shared groans of ecstasy echo against the walls. Her fingernails drag against the glass as she claws for something, anything to hold on to, but is ultimately left wanting. The thrill of triumph rushes through your veins as you progress ever deeper, coating the entirety of your shaft with her wetness until you’re buried to the hilt. While your initial foray is necessarily slow, stretching seconds into eternities, you're quick to establish an unyielding pace, demanding the attention of every fiber of her being as you punish her with pleasure. With every reaction you rip from her—ceaseless blushes of red and continuous ragged breaths—you write another page in the tale of your magnum opus: your grand victory over her everburning heart. In this sonata, you're the sole composer and her body is the instrument you play so masterfully, perfecting your angles and amount of pressure on the fly. Every single time you thrust inside her, you seek only the sweetest song and are only satisfied as she sings her symphony of sighs and screams.

Even here, amongst the winces and whimpers of pleasure, her undying flame burns bright, reminding you that this duet demands a duo. Despite her shudders of satisfaction, she finds time to disrupt your rhythm and threaten to remix the melody entirely, mercilessly using your reactions against you. She’s quick to hook her ankles around your back, pulling you deeper inside of her right mid-inhale and sending a shock of surprise up your spine. It’s a push and pull, a battle back and forth that reignites you both, leading to a further escalation of an already brutal pace.

“Don't tell me you're burning out so quickly,” she taunts, twisted glee glimmering in her eyes. “I was expecting so much more from you.”

“Listen babe, I promise, I’m going to give you everything you need,” you promise her. “But first, I’m gonna take everything I want.”

With that vow made, you crank the dial all the way to eleven and then further still, the rough pad of your thumb finding her clit as your hips piston in perfect tempo with the pounding of your heart. The dual stimulation draws out high-pitched moans from her, exactly what you’re hunting for as you echo them with your own growls of satisfaction. Every time her breath hitches, every time a curse tumbles from her lips, it's music to your ears, reminding you that this idol to so many becomes your toy so easily.

Thrust after thrust, you explore her further, like a wanderer lost in a labyrinth of pleasure. Like the twists and turns of a maze, your bodies weave together in a performance of sin, feeding off each other as you bruise her skin and her clawed hands dig into your arms. It’s an overwhelming experience, unlike anything you’ve faced before, and somehow—somewhere amid this aurora of anticipation and the unthinkable tightness she grips you with—something trapped within the deepest parts of you slips out.

“You're mine,” you whisper, getting close enough that your words barely have to travel from your lips to the deepest depths of her soul. “At my beck and call, so fucking desperate for my touch”—you pair this with a drag of your nail against her clit, sending her into screams of pleasure—”that you can't muster the strength to walk away. Hell, when I'm done with you, it'll be days before you're able to walk at all.”

“You … you fucking w-wish,” she pants out between moans, jaw clenched as her lust-filled eyes still glint with that sense of stubbornness that makes her who she is. But even as she denies your words, the arching of her back and rolling of her hips tell a different story, one where you're the only one who can give her the happy ending she so desperately desires. Everything else around you fades into nothingness, suspending you both in an endless abyss of night where you can focus on the only thing that matters: each other. Every grunt you make is matched by one of her gaps; every roll of her hips is mirrored by a thrust of your own. She's relentless and so are you, but while you’ve perfected the performance of a lifetime, she’s lived hers being so unapologetically her. You’re different in so many ways yet you’re both here, together, and as you stare into her eyes, you’re left wondering whether you're looking into a mirror or a window to your future.

“What if I do?”

She’s slow to respond, lips parting in silent pleasure as another wave hits her. Your words hang in the air before you—taunting you with the impossibility of taking them back—but just as you're about to dismiss your question entirely, Yuqi finds the answer she's been looking for. “Then maybe that means you're mine, too.”

Immediately, the air shifts, sharpened somehow as every gasp, every shiver of pleasure becomes magnified a million times over. The peak of the precipice of pleasure you’d been ascending somehow seems so much nearer, barely seconds away as you feel weak in the knees. This demanding dance suddenly becomes much more dangerous as you both teeter on the edge, so close that a single push would send either of you spiraling over, yet you hold back, unwilling to break this spell just yet. Instead, you stay here, in this spectacular space where the line between pleasure and pain blurs into nothingness, focused solely on fulfilling your promise.

You give her everything she wants, bruising the creamy skin of her thighs with the slapping of your hips as you overwhelm her with simultaneous assaults on her breasts and clit. Her legs are the first to succumb to the shaking, going slack and releasing their hold around your waist as she’s sent soaring into bliss. With a herculean effort, you free yourself from the death grip she has on your arms, leaving behind trails of fire that’ll burn well into the night as you pull out of her. Her hard-earned abs act as the perfect canvas for you to paint white as your own orgasm overtakes you, dotting bits of black across your vision as pleasure overwhelms your senses.

Shot after shot fires out from you, each a unique brush stroke as they streak across her skin. All the way until you empty the magazine, you aim for her heart, shooting higher and higher until even her breasts are covered. Your heart pounds as you finally pull away, forcing your eyes shut for a moment as you arduously attempt to regain your breath. Once you reopen them, your attempt is proven futile as you’re met with the intensity of her stare, holding unwavering eye contact with you as she runs a pair of fingers all the way down to her messy little cunt before bringing them up to scoop your cum into her hand and let it drip into her mouth.

“Holy fuck …” you say, voice failing entirely as you stagger a step back, desperate to regain some semblance of balance as the very sight of her threatens to upend your entire existence. It’d require the performance of a litany of lifetimes to lie to her here, so instead putting your acting chops to the test, you let the truth slip again. “You’re insane. Incredible, but utterly fucking insane.”

She seems too preoccupied with her current focus to immediately respond, but once she does, her expression makes it blatantly clear that her recent consumption was nowhere near enough to satiate her appetite. “You’re looking at me like I’m the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.”

A laugh—one deep and genuine—rips itself from your throat, ringing out across the stillness of the silence as you’re caught somewhere between disbelief and delirium. “I won’t lie to you, Yuqi, it’s because you are.”

Once again, intentionally or otherwise, you cross the line, and the effect of your voice delivering her name to her eardrums hits in a way she’s utterly unprepared for. “Come here,” she calls, beckoning you over as she sits up on the edge of the table.

You’re quick to comply, stepping forward and beginning to formulate your response when she catches you completely off-guard, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close enough that you can feel the persistent pounding of her heart.

“I can’t keep fucking doing this,” Yuqi murmurs into your chest.

“I know,” you whisper back, wrapping your arms around her as you pull her even closer.

“No, not the sex,” she quickly clarifies. “I mean this, the back and forth, push and pull shit we have going on right now. I literally just finished a twenty-one stop tour and immediately started preparing for our latest comeback, but this is still the most exhausting thing in my life … what I mean is—”

“Yuqi,” you say, cutting her off. “I know.”

She pauses, sitting in stunned silence for a moment before asking, “How? How would you know?”

All you offer is a shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you, honestly. I just do.”

While it’s far from a perfect answer, it seems to suit Yuqi’s tastes just fine, allowing her to relax a bit—just enough to lean that little bit closer, hug you just that little bit tighter as you sink into each other’s embrace.

“You know, the responsible thing to do here would be to call it here, let you get some much-needed rest before your comeback tomorrow,” you offer, unable to stop the smile that spreads across your face as she pulls away and scoffs in disbelief.

“Oh, yeah?” Yuqi fires back, quirking an eyebrow as a smirk appears to mirror your own. “And what’s the irresponsible thing?”

You shudder in mock horror as you answer, “Probably fucking in the kitchen; I’m kinda terrified by the thought of you with a knife.”

The laugh that rings out is crystal-clear and so quintessentially her that you’re left wanting for breath once more. “As you should be,” she says oh so sweetly, shaking her head slightly before meeting your eyes once more. “But you also don’t seem like the type to make the responsible choice two and a half hours after midnight.”

Under the weight of her intense gaze, the air in your chest feels uncharacteristically heavy, but you force it out of your lungs as you respond, “Maybe I’m not. And I’m guessing you aren’t either, so what would you suggest?”

You see the spark of inspiration you know and love glimmer in her eyes, joyous anticipation in each of her words as she suggests, “Maybe my bed wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep your voice steady as you release your hold on her and reply, “Then lead the way.”

Yuqi is more than happy to do so, hopping off the table with ease as she captures your hand in her own, nearly dragging you across the room and up the stairs with her characteristically surprising strength. Step by step you follow, framed photos and memories passing by in a blur as she races forward. It’s only once she darts past the door that Yuqi lets you go, allowing you a moment to survey the fan gifts and hints of past experiences that create such a fitting mood, one you’d immediately associate with Yuqi.

Your eyes quickly drift back to her—as they always seem to do—and you’re met with the sight of her bent over the bed, shaking her cute little ass in the most unfair way as she looks back at you with invitation clear in her eyes.

“For the record, I’m not expecting anything romantic,” Yuqi clarifies as you close the distance.

“Good to know,” you respond, roughly grabbing a hip with one hand while the other hand positions your cock as inspiration strikes and you begin to tease both entrances. "So … exactly how many new things are we trying tonight?"

"Another time, I still need to be able to dance tomorrow,” Yuqi replies with the deepest of sighs, like she's even more disappointed than you are. “You've already got me wondering if I'm even going to be able to walk.”

“I understand,” you say, lining yourself up with the sopping heat of her pussy. “Maybe I’ll just leave you with a sore throat from all the screaming.”

You cut off her chance to reply with a thrust of your cock, penetrating her fully as you both shudder and shake at the sudden sensation. Her breath hitches at your entry, then is spent on a strangled moan as you pull out only to slam back into her. From the first note, you’re perfectly in sync, establishing a raw, primal rhythm as the sounds of collision fill the room. The heat of her body—the way she tenses, then relaxes only to tense in anticipation again—only serves to amplify the maddening desire pounding through your veins.

“God, the way you make me feel …” you rasp out, voice trailing off as the rhythm leaves you breathless.

“Stop being nice,” Yuqi admonishes, but the lack of bite in her tone tells you she’s not demanding an end to your words, only an escalation of your actions.

“Make me,” you retort, punctuating your point with a slap of her ass so hard that it leaves her desperately clinging to the bed frame for support. The curse she throws back is filthy, but the sight of Yuqi so beautifully undone sends your heart into a flutter. Because here’s the thing: there’s still obvious hints of reservation from each of you, both sides unwilling to reveal all your cards yet; but there’s also something sweet about the way she tries to stay aloof while creaming all over your cock, something endearing about the beginnings of a genuine laugh right before you cut the sound short with a thrust at the perfect angle. Of course, the obsession goes both ways, and every single time her eyes meet yours, you feel like you’re about to melt under the heat of her gaze, absolutely at her mercy even as you drive the air from her lungs and make her scream your name.

“I fucking love the sound of your voice,” you growl, voice heavy with lust. “Ever since I heard it live that night in China, I knew that one day I’d hear it screaming my name.”

Her eyes widen as yet another unanticipated admission slips past your lips, but once again she’s kind enough to spare you the shame of your confession, instead simply demanding, “Fucking do it then. Make me scream.”

The challenge hangs heavy in the air between you, like a curtain awaiting its inevitable fall. Her words contain no malice, but amidst the undercurrents of craving seeping through, there’s an element of expectation, like Yuqi knows what you can do to her and how badly you want to do exactly that. So, without an ounce of hesitation, you oblige.

Immediately, there’s a shift in the way you move against each other—a new level of determination as each of your bodies demands everything the other can give. This time, you’re the one to up the intensity with a hand wrapped around her throat as the other grabs a fistful of her hair. As your hold on both tightens, you feel the thrum of her pulse quicken and pound unceasingly against your fingers. With a harsh tug, you pull at her hair, forcing Yuqi to arch her back as you look into her shining eyes and find all the motivation you’ll ever need. There’s a level of desperation in the darkness of her irises that dares to exceed your own, driving you to the brink of insanity and threatening to send you careening into the abyss. You’re enraptured by the sight of those chocolate eyes fighting to stay open even through the tears threatening to form, begging you for more even as you overwhelm her in a way she’s never felt before.

Your world goes dark as you close your eyes and capture her lips with your own, allowing your other senses to overwhelm you as you cherish the way she moans into the kiss. And overwhelm you they shall: you feel the softness of her pillow lips against your own insistent pair, taste the hints of salt from the beads of sweat beginning to drip from her brow, smell the scent of the combination of her cherry lipstick and your caramel coffee, and hear the sound of slapping skin as you fuck away the silence normally accompanying these dark hours of the night.

“Faster … FUCK—I can’t, just please, please fuck me faster,” Yuqi hisses through gritted teeth, barely slipping her message through the pained gasps that escape in rhythm with your frantic thrusts.

“Of course,” you murmur, instinctually finding the curve of her ear and gently nibbling at it. “I’m gonna take good care of you, I promise. I just—god you’re so fucking beautiful it hurts—just need you to stop holding back and scream for me. You can do that, right babe?”

Your words are like a bolt of lightning down Yuqi’s spine, sending shockwaves throughout her entire body as the storm overtakes her and those threats of tears start raining down freely. As always, the crack of thunder is soon to follow, and it manifests in an ear-piercing wail as she’s overwhelmed by pleasure, screaming your name in the most intoxicating way—in a way that sends you to a high you know you’ll never be able to get enough of. With the help of that jump start, you crank things up to a new gear entirely, ratcheting up the intensity of both your thrusts and your hold on her body. Her cries go silent—stolen from her by the way you’re leaving her breathless—but if the price you’re paying makes her look like this, you’d sell your damned soul to have the sight of Yuqi seared into your mind one last time.

The signs of her unraveling are quick to follow, her body tensing and her quivering heat around your shaft clenching down even tighter. Your hold on her hair, neck, and heart never wavers as her cries reach a new octave and you lead Song Yuqi through the opening notes of a ballad of bliss. You slow your thrusts—partially intentionally and partially out of necessity—keeping up just enough stimulation to carry her through the strain but not enough to overwhelm her. In this moment of vulnerability—this culmination of desire—her raw self is radiant, stirring up something buried deep within as you ride her through the rhapsody.

It takes just about everything you have to keep from reaching your own crescendo, but with the knowledge that this isn’t the note you want to end the night on, you manage to pull out. With a far gentler grasp, you lift her unsteady body into the security of your embrace, holding her for a moment so you can throw aside the covers before placing her on the bed. You’re quick to climb atop it alongside her, laying an affectionate hand on her cheek as you turn her to face you. “Hey gorgeous, you alright?”

“Dude, what the fuck?” Her question catches you completely off-guard, sending you into a fit of laughter as she shakes her head in disbelief. “No, but like seriously, how are you still hard after that?”

“As if you don’t know why,” you scoff, punctuating your point with a dramatic roll of your eyes. “You just want me to call you beautiful again.”

A cheeky smile graces the face of Yuqi at your words and she responds, “You’re not wrong. But I don’t think I have the energy to go like that again.”

You nod in understanding, then pull her close against your chest before planting a far gentler kiss than usual atop her lips. “Then maybe we could try something new,” you offer.

“Like what?” Yuqi asks, attempting to play coy even as the intrigue in her eyes betrays her.

You allow your actions to be your response as you pull her atop you, placing her in the perfect position to rest her forehead against your own. “Let’s try taking it slow for once. Maybe not slow enough to be romantic,” you joke, nearly melting at the warmth of the smile that spreads across her face. “But slow enough to savor the moment.”

“Okay,” Yuqi whispers, nodding resolutely. “Let’s take things slow.”

With those loaded words placed securely at the forefront of your mind, you reach down, taking your hardened cock into your hands and teasing her soaked entrance. In a rare moment of consideration, you lock eyes with her, awaiting confirmation before crossing the threshold once more.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” Yuqi murmurs. “Like, so fucking much.”

“Yeah, we do,” you whisper back. “But for now, just let your body tell me everything I need to know.

With a final nod, Yuqi extends the invitation and you’re happy to accept, slipping inside her and groaning in ecstasy as her pristine body fits around you so perfectly. Slowly, steadily, you begin to thrust in and out of her, savoring the depths you reach as her breathy moans of pleasure cascade across your face. 

“I want you to do something for me, Yuqi …” you whisper, words trailing off as you experience the euphoric effects of what you speaking her name aloud does to her. “I want you to tell me absolutely everything; I want to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before. Can you do that for me? Please?”

Even as she shudders, Yuqi still manages to wear a lopsided smirk so fucking well as she fires back, “Sure, but only because you asked so nicely. And only if you do too. Deal?”

“Deal.”

With declarations made and promises sworn, the experimentation begins in full. Even through her fatigue, she takes on the challenge in earnest, exploring every inch of your body and mentally noting the spots you react to most strongly. Of course, you’re just as active, refreshing your list of known sensitive spots—her ears, the base of her neck, and her inner thighs—creating a list of her least favorite spots—Yuqi stops entirely and literally threatens to punch you after you boop her on the nose—and create a whole new list of wholly unexpected favorites—apparently the skin between her breasts and at the bottom of the sides of her ribs. It’s an experience unlike any you’ve had before, though you’d admit the strength of your reactions is likely amplified because it’s Yuqi you’re holding in your arms.

“Look at me,” Yuqi says, voice low and smooth as satin. As you do, you’re met by her dreamy eyes as she stares right back, hair glowing in the dim light in such a striking way—almost like a halo. Instinctually, you wrap your arms around the small of her back and pull her body against yours again, pressing her breasts against your chest as your hearts beat in synchronized rhythm. Her hips leisurely rock against you, each movement calculated for maximum pleasure rather than desperate fulfillment as you match her pace to perfection. Even amidst this melody of movement and symphony of sin, the pleasure coursing through your veins seems to melt time itself away, leaving you lost in thought as you lose yourself in her eyes.

“Tell me,” she purrs, the typical fire in her eyes replaced by a warm glow, one shining a unique light that seems so uncharacteristically vulnerable as her soft hand caresses your face. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“Yuqi …” you start to say, eventually losing your words halfway through as the sight of her utterly derails your train of thought. After a second, you somehow piece something together, just enough to tell her, “I feel like I’m dreaming right now … but even my dreams can’t compare to you.”

Your words do the unthinkable: leaving the seemingly unsilenceable Yuqi utterly speechless. In a rare moment of shyness, her lips come down on yours, ensnaring them in an impossibly soft kiss. The heat is gentle at first, just enough for you to savor the sweet sensation, but it quickly grows in intensity, demand sparking and burning hotter with each passing second. In this shared space—one where every breath you take is filled with Yuqi, every sound you hear being entirely Yuqi—the best of intentions are quick to burn away. The smooth, steady pace you’d previously set is set aside as your bodies’ demand for release becomes more urgent and every repetition becomes even more impactful.

In each other’s arms, you each give everything you have left, culminating in a climax neither of you has ever even come close to. Her arousal coats your shaft and floods down your thighs as your orgasm shoots deep within her, finally satiating your urges. There’s a moment of near silence broken only by desperate panting as you both attempt to recover. With what little strength remains, you pull yourself out of her and gently lay her down beside you before laying on your back. As you stare up at the ceiling, attempting to catch your breath, you try to piece together the puzzle—try to figure out the perfect words to say—but you pause as you note the sudden quiet.

You turn over to look at her and see that she’s gone, drifted off to dreamland, taken by tranquility. The sight of her curled up like a kitten, facing you without fear leaves you short of what little breath you’d regained, blinding you with her beauty as her chest rises and falls in sync with the soft breaths drifting across your skin. As you pull the covers up over your bodies, worry strikes you, makes you wonder if your pounding heartbeat will wake her. You desperately try to slow its pace, even as your mind races through realizations, chief among them that you once viewed this sliver of divinity as the devil herself. It’s a shocking notion, one that’d hit much harder if it weren’t for the fact that a part of you still believes this angel fell long ago. For now, this seraph dreams. As the darkness clouds the corners of your vision, you know you’ll join her soon. You wonder if you’ll find her there, in a pocket of consciousness that you two seem to have shared for much, much longer than either of you could have possibly imagined. Answers may never come, but the dawn always will.

When Yuqi wakes, she’ll find you beside her. For the first time. Maybe the last. It’s one of many truths only tomorrow can tell. In another life, you might have left by now, might have played it safe, listened to your head instead of your heart. Maybe you might have even been the one to tell the tale of her misdeeds to the world; maybe she might have been the one to shine a light on your darkest wrongdoings. But here, now, in this moment? That’ll never happen. She’ll always be the sin you’ll never confess. You’ll always be the secret she’ll never let slip. No, today is best spent reveling in the heat found solely in the spark you ignite in each other, consequences be damned.

If you burn, at least you’ll burn together.

The End

(Thank you for reading my story. I know it was a significant investment of time and I couldn’t be more appreciative of your choice to spend it here. My final, sincerest bit of gratitude is dedicated solely to @majorblinks, this fic’s endless source of inspiration and infinite hype. If you haven’t already, go read “hard to break the habit” parts one & two (my primary reference when crafting Yuqi’s character) and if you’re still hungry for more, go read “for all the right reasons” parts one & two (home of the hottest clapback in human history). It’ll be a while before I attempt another project of this scale, but as a consolation prize, my next story is intended to arrive slightly sooner this time. See you in late May!)

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #yuqi smut #yuqi fanfic #idol x reader #idol x male reader #gidle yuqi #gidle #yuqi #song yuqi #slow burn #gidle miyeon #miyeon

[wonderthor]

idk why these nasty thoughts come to me in the middle of homework induced stress but … being married to college professor gojo?

-

you’re beyond frustrated.

your husband had you sitting on his insanely hard cock for the past hour. you weren’t sure how he was able to manage but there he was, sitting up in his office chair grading papers while you were spread on his lap, huffing and puffing and squirming for relief.

he was so immersed that it seemed that nothing was bothering him, only concerned about making the grading deadline that was about to come to pass in less than 20 minutes. he didn’t even bother to take off his white dress shirt and his black dress pants, his sunglasses still over his sensitive eyes to block the glare from the computer screen.

he didn’t seem to care that your juices were ruining his pants and that you were trying to oh so softly grind against him and sink down on him even deeper. not until you ground a bit too hard.

“hang on a second baby, i’m almost done okay?”

he brushed his hand over your head and stilled your hips as he spoke. his voice was so soft and unbothered, you wondered if he even felt your cunt around him at all. it made you angrier and needier for whatever reason and you ground down on him again, a bit harder this time.

his focused eyes stayed on the screen as he whispered, “i wonder why my students even use the word consequently when they don’t even know how to use it right.”

“satoruuuuu”. you huffed and moaned out in annoyance, digging your nails in his pants.

he laughed, your frustration bringing him amusement. “i know baby i know, i’m almost done okay? i promise. this is the last one and then i’ll let you have it, can you just wait a little longer for me?”

you nodded and he hugged his arms around you, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“good girl”

you straightened up at that as he turned his attention back to his computer. he whispered more nonsense to himself as he read and typed, somehow soothing you and firing you up at the same time. you looked over at his bright eyes glowing in focus, getting lost in them before he slammed his laptop closed, making you jump a bit.

he leaned back in the chair and sighed, a smile on his face. he turned you around in his lap to face him, making you clench around him a bit.

“alright baby”

he slapped his hand against your ass, his wedding band causing a slight sting even through your panties.

“go ahead, take it”

#i’m literally in the middle of writing a paper that’s due in 3 hours #this popped into my head randomly and i had to write it #can someone write my paper for me i wanna sleep #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru smut #anime #anime smut #jjk fic #wonderthor writes #late night quick writes #anime fic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #anime x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #satoru x you

[btsvt-bar]

I’m imagining Hoshi sneaking under your desk at work to eat you out while you’re still trying to work. Bonus points if he keeps going even when another member shows up to your office looking for him!

i actually went insane while writing this. i hope you like it ♡

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

you work in the creative team at hybe, that's how you first met hoshi.

of course you knew who he was, you're always into kpop. so you tried not to freak out and played it cool when he approached you and your older sister, who worked there too.

"noona! long time no see!" he greeted her happily. "i'm hoshi, nice to meet you." he bowed a little when talking to you.

you mimicked his actions. "Y/N, nice to meet you too." "hoshi, this is my little sister. she's working with us now." your sister said with a proud tone, making you blush. "oh, that's nice! welcome to the team." "thank you!"

you felt really shy talking to an idol, but hoshi was always sweet and he kept greeting you every time you met. he introduced you to other members and, eventually, you started to have coffee together.

you never imagined that two years later, you'd be dating him.

and you also didn't expect that he would show up to your office, after hours, and beg you to eat you out.

"soonie, we're at work." you ponder. it's past 11pm and almost everyone went home by now, but you can't risk it. "also, i have to send this in by 12."

"baby, please. i'm really horny and i need to taste you." he just finished practicing for seventeen's new comeback and came straight to you. "i promise it'll be good."

you give in when he gets on his knees. hoshi approaches you with a wicked smile and hides under the desk. you slide down your chair and he opens your legs with his warm hands.

"keep working, baby. you have a deadline to meet." he smiles smugly at you when you tilt your head back as he distributes small kisses and licks on your thighs.

you bunch your skirt up and help him take your panties off. you're trembling in expectation, thinking you actually went insane by allowing him to do this.

but then his tongue licks on your clit and your mind goes blank.

he licks and sucks your wet cunt with passion. you buck your hips and your thighs involuntarily close around his head, so hoshi grips the flesh so hard you're sure you'll have bruises.

every time your eyes meet hoshi's, you feel more slick pouring out of your hole. and with every flick of his tongue you have to stop yourself from screaming.

he drags a finger over your slit and you tremble. his tongue worked you up enough that he easily slips two fingers into you, lips wrapping around your clit.

that's when someone knocks on your door, and you gulp down the loud moan trapped on your throat.

"tell them to come in!" hoshi whispers and goes back to what he was doing. you try to look like you were working, yet you're sure you just looked messed up.

"co-come in!" you shout and Woozi appears.

"hey, Y/N! have you seen Hoshi? he's supposed to give me a ride home." the man smiles at you.

you grip the edge of the desk, trying to keep yourself grounded. your heart is beating so fast and it seems like hoshi only works faster. he keeps alternating between fucking his tongue into you and sucking your clit into his mouth.

"I'm n-not sure." you stutter, afraid of talking more and end up moaning.

"hm. weird. I assumed he came to see you, but maybe he's waiting for me in the team room." he comments and you nod, wanting him gone. "are you ok? you seem a little pale."

of course Hoshi doesn't let up, instead he starts to caress the soft spot inside your pussy. you take a deep breath before answering. "Ju-just tired."

"it's late, you should go home. and that's coming from me." Woozi chuckles and you try to follow along. "anyways, whoever finds him first, calls the other."

"yeah, will do." you reply and he leaves, remaining unsuspicious that his friend was right there.

Hoshi detaches from your pussy as soon as the door closes. "you heard him, baby. can you cum for me, so we can go home?"

your entire body feels like it's melting. Hoshi starts to fuck you with his tongue and uses his fingers to play with your clit. soon enough, you allow the knot on your stomach to be untied and cum all over his face, thick globs of arousal coming out for him to lick and gulp down like it's the best drink ever made.

his mouth is glistening when he comes up for air, his lips sporting a proud and satisfied smile. you pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

"let's go home so i can fuck you." Hoshi declares and you whimper, wanting him immediatly. "Jihoonie's waiting, and you need to finish your e-mail."

you never typed so fast in your life.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

© btsvt-bar, 2024

#seventeen smut #hoshi smut #seventeen fanfic #hoshi fanfic #seventeen scenarios #hoshi scenarios #seventeen x reader #hoshi x reader #seventeen hard hours #hoshi hard hours #my works #anon request

[aicedcoffeeandtea]

📣 Spotter Cheerleader!Abby x Flyer Cheerleader!Reader

ingredients: sugar cubes and honey (fluff!)

a/n: maybe im a bit biased as a former cheerleader (slightly self indulgent) but i need yall to get on the spotter abby cheerleader train with me. let me set the vision for yall PLEASE.

imagine getting TOSSED around like a rag doll like this by abby

ngl im a bit disappointed that after all the times we saw abby lift people in the game, nobody thought of this idea??? smh‼️‼️ fine i’ll do it myselfs in thanos

The minute you started your freshman year of college, joining the cheer team was never a question for you. Cheer has been the primary sport that’s been a part of your life for almost forever. From middle school all the way through high school, you’ve gone from a shy and timid girl who could barely do a cartwheel, to a confident cheerleader who flips and soars through the air as instinctually as a bird would.

You would spend almost as many hours on the football field as you did doing homework. And when applying for college, a big factor in your decision making was influenced by whether or not the university had a commendable cheer team. If oxygen was what you inhaled, cheerleading was what you exhaled.

Now for Abby, the complete opposite was true. For most of her life, Abby was revered for her strength, so it was only natural that she’d gravitate towards brawn emphasized sports such as football or rugby. Not once did cheerleading ever cross her mind.

She, like most people who weren’t familiar with the world of cheer, thought cheerleaders were just there to look pretty for the football or basketball team. She wasn’t even aware that competitive cheerleading was a thing.

It wasn’t until one of her academic meetings with her counselor when she was suggested to branch out of her comfort zone. Out of curiosity, Abby walked past the gymnasium during a cheer practice just to see what cheer was actually about. She had to admit, she was impressed watching you all do complex flips, and throwing other human beings feet into the air. Having an open mind, Abby thought it wouldn’t hurt to try it out.

During her audition, all it took was for the team captain to take one look at Abby and already made up her mind before Abby even opened her mouth. Those arms have spotter written all over them, she thought.

On her first day of practice, Abby walked into the gymnasium and swore she could hear the sound of her own heartbeat with the way everyone got silent. There was only one thing going through each of your heads when you saw her.

God fucking damn.

It’s not that much of a shock that it did not take long at all for Abby to become one of the more popular cheerleaders on the team. Granted, her hulk-adjacent physique is what grabbed most of your attention of course.

Some of the men on the team who may or may not (they absolutely were) intimidated by her tried to get a feel of her energy by doing what men do best— trying to do a one-up on her ego.

“I see you missed the deadline for the football tryouts over the summer?” one of them playfully jeered at her.

Luckily for Abby, she was used to sports banter, so she wasn’t offended at all.

“Got told I was overqualified,” she responded. “What happened to you, though? Didn’t make the cut and that’s why you’re here?”

Taken aback for a moment, he clasps the back of her shoulder with a laugh.

“I like you, Abby.”

But what really sealed the deal was how much of a team player Abby is.

Underneath her initial appearance, she was a very gentle person who somehow knew exactly how to interact with her teammates. Someone messed up during the routine? Abby’s the first person to reassure them that it was just a simple mistake. Someone finally nails their tumble pass that they’ve been struggling to perfectly execute? Abby’s hoisting them into the air and cheering for them. She knew how to make people feel comforted and special, and that’s one of the reasons her team loved her.

The juxtaposition between her physical strength and her emotional gentleness made her all the more attractive to some of the girls on the team who were already eyeing her. You were no different.

Every time a new stunt formation was formed, every flyer secretly hoped it was Abby they would be teamed up with. Who wouldn’t want to get tossed around by her?

At the beginning of the cheer season, the main focus was preparing for homecoming games. But once homecoming finally passed, now your team started to really get to business– preparing for cheer competitions.

Per usual at the start of a new competition season, your captain creates an entirely new routine that’s not only separate from the ones you performed for homecoming, but also meaning that this was the same routine you’ll be using for the rest of the season.

After working on the cheer and tumbling formations, you then moved onto stunts.

Your captain lets you know that you’ll be doing a one man stunt for this part, so you’ll be in pairs instead of your usual groups of 4-5.

She begins calling the pairs up to the floor to take formation, and you don’t miss the way your heart flutters in your chest when yours and Abby’s names are called together.

You and Abby glance at each other for a brief moment before you shyly break eye contact.

You also didn’t miss the way some of the other flyers were glaring daggers at you, wishing it was them that Abby would be effortlessly throwing in the air instead of you.

As you take your stance in front of Abby with your back facing her, your nerves amplify and you struggle to calm them down.

Your captain calls the ready signal, and you feel cool, rough hands grip the sides of your waist from behind. You attempt to push past your dysregulated heartbeat as you grab ahold of Abby’s wrists.

“FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT-”

The planes of your feet transition from the floor to the palms of Abby’s hands in a millisecond as she lifts you up into the air with ease. But as easy as it was to get you up there, it took just as fast for you to come crashing down.

Luckily for you, Abby's arms enveloped your torso before you could meet the floor.

“You okay?” Abby asks.

“Yeah. Thanks,” your face is hot from the embarrassment of falling.

“Let’s go again,” your captain announces to the team.

You go again, and just like the first time, you find yourself in Abby’s arms yet again from not being able to stay in the air.

You go again.

And again.

And each time, the same outcome is met.

Your captain calls for a 5 minute break. You can see that she, along with the other stunt pairs are tired of repeating the same movement over and over again.

Abby’s not the problem here, and you’re aware of this. You don’t know why you can’t seem to get the fucking stunt together. You’re one of the best, if not the best flyer on the team. So why are you suddenly acting like a fish out of water?

Witnessing you getting visibly frustrated at yourself, Abby tries to talk you through it.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I can’t get it the fuck together.”

“It’s okay. I got you. ‘M not letting you fall, yeah?”

As your eyes lock into hues of sincere icy blue, you feel the anxiety in your nerves begin to subside. “Okay...” you softly say as Abby gives you another reassuring nod.

Once the break was over, you try again.

Feeling a bit calmer after Abby’s talk, this time when she hoists you up into the air, you’re back to being your natural self. Once you finish the stunt, you quickly turn around to face Abby with excitement.

Abby was already waiting for you, proudly smiling with both of her hands up. You both high five each other.

“See? I knew you could do it.”

The feeling of your face getting flushed happens yet again, and you hope Abby doesn’t notice.

Oh, fuck. You feel the crush beginning to develop. And knowing that she’ll be your partner for the rest of the season, you know it won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

As for Abby, after many practices she’s now certain she loves cheerleading. I mean, what better way to put her strength to use than getting the chance to lift pretty girls into the air?

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #the last of us #tlou2 #tlou2 abby #abby anderson x female reader #abigail anderson #ai’s tea

[ezelium]

IF THIS IS WHAT YOU CALL DEPENDENCE : dazai o.

⟡ CONTENT : your lover who abandoned you in the PM and avoided you for 4 years finally finds you in a familiar back alley.

⟡ WARNINGS : gn!reader , dazai is kinda head over heels , unhealthy (past) relationship , unhappy ending , one sided pining , slight spoilers , open ending , slight ooc , implied major character death/major injury , i didn't keep track of the wc but it's probably around 2k , lowercase writing , probably light angst , not proofread , mentions of alcohol .

⟡ GENRE : gen → oneshot (?)

⟡ A/N : man i used to write good like 2 years ago what happened to that.. i think i need to practice more (。＿。")

also this is SHORT but who cares

you weren't exactly sure what you would do after you lover's disappearance, but it was too late when you were notified of the news anyway. dazai osamu had disappeared on a random day, with no warnings nor any goodbyes.

4 years later, you've been greatly promoted to one of the executives of the port mafia. all your hard work and efforts were paid off. it really wasn't the worst, but you really couldn't excuse yourself for the most crimes you've committed. why were you in the mafia? why did you abandon your past life at the ripe ages of teen years? you weren't exactly sure. the underground wasn't a horrible place for you though.

you've loved many people, you've loved many individuals. 'why was he any different?' you might ask, he wasn't. at the end of the day, he's just another person, another man, an "ordinary" man. the difference was that he held a place in your heart.

to be exact, used to. after his bestfriends death, you never found him again.

he left.

it felt somewhat empty. maybe it was your heart missing the way he held you so tightly, or perhaps it was you missing the way his lips brushed against yours. in the end, your heart still longed for him. or did it? or did it want to fill in the gap? whatever it was, it sure did feel miserable.

chuuya was there for you, yeah, but it's not like you liked him romantically. he's your friend, not lover. you couldn't just get with anyone like that now, could you? you were getting carried away with your thoughts as usual. how lovely, when you had pillars of paperwork to work on. he never left your mind. you didn't like the fact that this topic always made you drift away.

your hand lazily grabbed the pen sitting near your said hand, and grabbed another papersheet to sign, fullfill, or whatever. what was this anyway? 7 sent e-mails were still waiting to be replied from your subordinates, it was almost the deadline. you had a long night in for you. the mafia wasn't exactly all about killing or so, it also came with other "irrelevant" work. luckily for you, you could easily get them done quickly. if only your subordinates weren't lazy jackasses that couldn't get something done ...

needless to say, you were tired. exhausted, even. after hours of non-stop work, you got out of the building to visit a certain street. a street you and he used to go to. that was a long time ago of course. but nevertheless, it still brought you comfort. when it rained it didn't bother you, when it was windy, gloomy or foggy, it never bothered you. the missing piece in your heart couldn't be returned, but at least this odd and dark alleyway could make up for it.

dazai too, was missed you from time to time. you were one of the only people that brought some light to his miserable and pathetic life, it felt stupid to just disappear. he was happier in the armed detective agency than he was in the mafia, but he felt like he didn't belong. was he a burden to them? he didn't want to burden them.

they were better off without him, right? but he couldn't go back to the mafia, right? he should keep his promise, right? he will tire them out someday, right?

this is how he thought most of the time. he felt like an idiot to to leave a person that "actually" wanted him. his self confidence was at low levels today for sure. there was no use crying over spilt milk, either. was he to follow his guts or was he to follow his head? or even his heart, in that matter?

these thoughts repeated over and over and over. it was repetitive, and boring. he was sick of it, he felt sick to the stomach when he thought of you. not because of you being yourself, but because of his past self. he swears he changed though.

the way he used to use you for his gain and his own selfishness back in the old days, made him feel disgusted. how did he not see your worth? you made him eat his heart out. he loved you. he loved you and he didn't recognize your worth. was it too late to fix his mistakes? slacking off today wasn't a great idea perhaps, considering he had to face his thoughts like this.

the couch felt soft and warm as he laid on it with fewer bottles of heavy alcohol sitting next to him. it was nearing midnight, stars were shining the best they can. nights of yokohama were always unsettling and comforting in the best way possible, or maybe that was just the weight he had on his shoulders for years now.

finding a purpose wasn't easy. nothing was. this world was too complicated for a logical man like him. he didn't see the meaning, it was absurd, annoying, and whatever else. he tried to fit in.

no matter how bad he felt, you always found a way to make him feel better. oh, how he missed your soft hugs, your sweet words, your gentleness with him. you were patient and willing to go through all this with him, but that was not the case. he felt as if he was in a daze, and alcohol wasn't helping. if anything, it made him think of more absurd things, which I'm sure nobody would want.

again, he left because of oda's wishes, yes. he promised to change, to protect, to be better. however that meant leaving you in the dark. he didn't think twice before leaving, and remorse was all he felt. he could've thought about it a few times, but maybe in another universe you two are together..

now no need to go over the same thoughts and points over and over again, it makes the story boring doesn't it? — he wasn't sleepy at all, and he definitely wasn't in the mood to go out from some alcohol at all. whatever he could do, maybe he could calm his longing heart by going to that old passage.

you on the other hand, were already there while he was thinking of coming. what a coincidence; though you were unaware of that. your hair fluttered as the wind slowly picked up; black, dusty walls looking as grim as ever. nothing really had changed over the years. the same boxes, the same webs, the same rats never disappeared, it was a home to them as much as it was a home to you. that was lovely, at least it wasn't a bleak situation. you weren't alone.

your feet dangled slowly as you sat on one of the said boxes, not caring of the dust that'll catch on your clothes. who cared anyway at this point? you just needed comfort for once. at least this street was calmer than your workplace, nobody was here to disturb you.

or so you thought. after 20 minutes after you arrived, some light footsteps were alerting the presence of an "intruder". you were quick to catch on and put on your guard; silently getting behind those old pieces of wood. yes the mean the boxes.

and dazai, was quick to catch on that somebody was there. his footsteps faltered for the minute being, sensing and looking around before continuing walking. after he turned the corner, it was a surprise to see him all up in your face.

He. he was here. the shock on both of your faces were evident and you both saw each other's expression, there's no purpose to play around after that. he stopped in short surprise as he saw you, muscles tensing as he acknowledged that it was actually you.

"Ahh, ah. My sweet [name] is here?" he snickered, his words were nothing but meaningless. his voice was as sweet as sugar, but the depth was as hollow as ever. he didn't mean anything to you. no, he didn't, nope. no way. you can't forgive him after what he's done, can you.

he slowly moved his hand upwards; the slow movement indicating nothing but his hesitancy. but you weren't going to let him do whatever you want. just with the blink of an eye — a cold metal piece was against his chest. upon realisation, he took a very, very short step back. he still wasn't sure what to make of the situation at hand.

you got out of the shadow of those boxes, making a small wood bar fall in progress. it hit the ground, making a noise that's louder than it should make. he brought his hands to the silver plate of your gun, his smile not faltering as he looked at you. he was tipsy, but he was still aware of his surroundings. and he was going to work this out.

his eyes weren't giving away anything, no, far from that. he seemed.. happy. he opened his mouth to say something; but you swiftly cut him off. you had better stuff to do than get distracted by his sweet nothings. perhaps he really didn't change. perhaps it's futile.

"i won't hesitate to pull," you warned, pushing the muzzle harder into his chest and steadying your finger around the trigger. your expression was blank, your teeth were clenched. you were angry at him, and had every right to be angry at him. his teasing smile faded the moment your finger tightened around the trigger. a hint of alarm and wariness took over, briefly clouding his bravado.

he wasn't sure if he was facing the same old you. the same old you would be kinder, more softer to him, your older self would be more tolerant to him. he was expecting the same treatment out of his selfishness. yet he wasn't sure what to do after you didn't, so he asked: "what happened to you?"

"what happened to me?" you quickly repeated, not sure what to make of his question either. the question made no sense overall, you just had grown is all. how could he not expect a change after 4 years? at the end it's finally done. actually maybe even he was late; maybe you two just showered each other in lies.

dazai paused for a few seconds, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought of what to say. there was no smile, no nothing. "you weren't like this. this isn't the [name] I know." he said, features changing into dour ones. he thought this would be a more calm talk, a more civil one. yet there he was, with the muzzle of a gun against his heart, by his past lover.

you didn't even want to associate with him anymore, it felt oddly pointless. as if you wanred to give up on him. "i'd call that an achievement. yet you're the same osamu I know." ouch. that hit a little too close to home, didn't it? he was trying to change, but he wasn't sure himself if he was putting any effort. and that sentence you just uttered out of your mouth, reminded him of that.

he knew you wanted to give up on him. he knew it. he knew it. he knew it. despite this, he still loved you. he did. he knew. he did. he knew he did. he still screwed this up.

he felt miserable like this, he knew he fucked up. he knew he messed up real bad this time, and you weren't showing him mercy anymore. he wasn't deserving of another chance anyway. "just hear me out- please." he pleaded, his voice softening. he wanted to be close to you, a gentle expression was all he could make. his hand, ignoring the gun, tried touching yours for the briefest of moments.

you clenched your teeth even harder, just how desperate could he get? "there's no point, dazai." he hated it when you called him by his lastname. it felt as if you were getting further away from him. he didn't want that— the opposite. this really turned out bad. this isn't what he expected, at all. on situations like this, it usually would go like how he wanted it. but this wasn't it. nope, no way. that took a wrong turn, just because he was surprised for a minute.

now that just confirmed how hopeless of a situation it was. he just wanted you back, but you weren't even letting him explain. no, he didn't seem panicked. that's far from the truth. his words were straightforward as they can be, as if they were scripted to come out that way. his hand was on yours now, "you aren't even letting me make amends." his thumb brushed your hand, the bandages adding in extra texture. he wasn't in the mood to deal with this today.

you huffed in response. you were fed up. you were doubting if you actually loved him. you may need to think this over again, now was the time that you're sure you didn't miss him, but rather- your heart just wanted the missing piece inside of it filled. you were sure you weren't blind to love a bastard like this. "you could've at least said goodbye. i was miserable, and yet i still loved you. i knew you were using me. i honestly regret that i ever loved you. why would i let you make amends?"

as much as emotions clouded his judgement, your anger was clouding your own judgement too. the last thing you wanted for him to do now was to try and win you over again, which he was most likely about to do if you didn't intervene. but he was idiotic and selfish right? you couldn't trust him, you couldn't trust such a manipulator who used you in the past.

"[name], my love, it's—"

"don't call me that." you retorted, voice dropping. those words contained nothing but disdain at him.

he paused, "don't tell me things that you don't mean."

"i do mean them more than you think."

"oh really now?"

agghnttmh thank you for reading everyone! <3 i wrote this in 2 days, something i thought was impossible really.. im sorry if its shorter towards the end, i started with so much motivation but finished with so less. therefore, it's kinda short and messy :(

please do tell me if i should write a second part for this, im actually invested but this is all that was supposed to be in this part!

© ezelium 2024 ⭑ I do not consent to my work being plagiarized, translated or reposted without permission. Doing so is theft.

#⟡ ☕ ─ archive #bsd #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x you #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #x reader #bsd fic #bsd fanfic #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs dazai #dazai x y/n #osamu dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #do you ever get embarrassed to post something #cause i do #ESPECIALLY WHEN THINGS FLOP #osamu x y/n #dazai x you #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x y/n #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x y/n #bungou stray dogs x y/n #bungou stray dogs x you

[wildestdreamsblog]

Nothing was gonna stop me

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Summary: Trying to break up with the Jeon Jungkook was no walk in the park.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

You wish you could say being with Jungkook was like a walk in the park, like a dream come true, like everyday was full of butterflies… but it wasn’t. His love was, for the lack of better word, obsessive. Behind his angelic face and childlike smile lurked someone dark.

You met him during work, or more accurately after work. It was yet another late night when you decided to go home. Your company was busy with the new campaign including the famous group, BTS. Your normal eight-hour work stretched to a fifteen-hour workday just to meet the deadline. Your eyes were almost dropping when you entered the elevator. Your floor was on top of the meeting area strategically to avoid disturbing the employees. Whenever campaigns happened, famous actors, singers, and groups go in and out of the building for endless meetings. Your eyes were closed when you heard the elevator door opened. You paid it no attention and instead, looked down on your phone. The door closed once again. Seconds passed when there was a sudden lurched on the elevator. The lift suddenly stopped. It was not the ground floor yet, and the lights flickered.

In a state of increasing panic, you repeatedly clicked the emergency button and asked the operator what happened. Apparently, there was a problem with the lift, yet he assured you that they would soon resolve it. With nothing better to do, you sighed and looked up in exasperation. It was just your luck, you thought. Just when you wanted nothing better to do than to sleep and this happened.

A crinkling sound of bag of biscuits opening woke you from your thoughts. You had forgotten someone was stuck with you in the elevator. You turned to look behind you and saw a man munching on his food, around his neck was a headphone. He was wearing all black, his long hair falling freely on his face. He was wearing a matching black backpack. He looked like he was enjoying his food, too, by the looks of it.

You probably stared too long because the young man looked up at you with his doe, dark eyes, all while chewing. The piercing on his lip glimmered from the overhead light. Slowly, he extended his muscular arm to offer you the food. It must have been your exhaustion and the fact that it was past midnight and yet, you still haven’t had dinner that made you accept the food from a stranger. The two of you found yourselves sitting on the floor, munching on the endless food the man had on his bag.

“Seriously, how many food do you have in there?” You asked as he passed you a fruit this time.

He smiled cheekily before showing you the contents of his bag. Apparently, all he had in there were food.

When the maintenance said that it was going to be resolved soon, what he meant was it would be over an hour and you and the man all but finished the snacks he had. That was how they found you, sitting on the floor, eating and exchanging corny jokes.

That was how you met Jungkook.

The beginning of your relationship was peculiar, yet it was a breath of fresh air. He was amazing, he was a caring boyfriend and he was so smart. He was so intelligent that there was never a boring moment whenever you two talked. His love language was act of service, which meant picking you up on your work every night, cooking you food, and driving you anywhere you needed to go. He took pride in taking care of you. He was full of surprises, loving, and he was proud of you. Perhaps, extremely too proud that within a month of dating, he announced subtly thru his social media that he was now in a relationship. His hyungs couldn’t be more proud of him. They thought he was matured now. Everything happened so fast.

And maybe, that was why you didn’t have time to think the relationship thorough.

Maybe that was why you didn’t know him better before entering into a relationship with him.

Being with Jungkook was like a breath of fresh air, yet that air caused you suffocation. He was an idol, you knew that. But the way he demanded your attention made it seemed like he had a lot of free time when he didn’t. Suddenly, you couldn’t go out without telling him even if it was to meet with your friends. You did that one time, missed a call from Jungkook, and you went home to your apartment and saw him sitting on his motorcycle outside the apartment with his head hanging low. You worriedly went to him, and when you did you saw his doe eyes were filled with tears. Once you wrapped your arms around him, his shoulders began shaking as he cried. You said you were sorry, and when he didn’t say anything, you promised that you would never go out without telling him, that you were sorry you met with your friends.

That night was the first time Jungkook emotionally manipulated you.

Your world started to feel smaller. You haven’t seen your friends in months. Whenever Jungkook had his free time, he always went to you. He was somehow expecting that you’d spend all your days with him, becoming quite closed off and emotional whenever you said you had other schedule that day. And you did try, at first. You figured he was way busier than you and even he could make time for you. So why shouldn’t you?

But it was exhausting. It was taxing to you.

And so you started refusing to see him because you still had your life outside him and you couldn’t and shouldn’t turn your back on it just because you loved him.

You loved him…right? This was more than just a crush…right?

This was the Jungkook, for heaven’s sake. The third time you cited work as to why you couldn’t make time for him, he finally snapped. You opened your twitter the next day, idly scrolling down when you saw your boyfriend trending. This was not a surprise to you, he was always trending for whatever reason. However, this was not what you expected. Fans were speculating about Jungkook’s state, retweeting pictures and videos of him during the group’s appearance on a show where he was clearly not himself. He was not the smiling, lively golden maknae everyone knew. During the appearance, he was reserved, he was quiet despite the energy that the other members had.

Was it because of you? It couldn’t be…right?

But it was because of you. A week went by with you barely replying to his messages. Now that you had more time away from him, you were starting to see that this was not the life for you. You were an independent woman before you met him, yet now you needed to ask for his permission to go out with your friends otherwise he would be an emotional mess. One night after work, you were shocked to see none other than the leader of the group, RM himself. He was waiting for you outside your work, sporting a cap that made him not stand out. He smiled at you once he saw you, his expression friendly when he said you two needed to talk.

He said he was worried about Jungkook, said that he had known him for almost a decade and yet this was the lowest he had ever seen the man. This was so unlike Jungkook, the leader claimed. He said that they were all concerned because for more than a week, Jungkook had barely talked nor smiled. RM said that only you could pull him out of his misery.

And so, with guilt hanging on your shoulder, you knew what you had to do.

RM drove you to your boyfriend’s place, even went up with you to his fancy apartment. He thanked you profusely for coming with him, and your smile must have been strained because RM nodded and bid you goodbye after he knocked on Jungkook’s door repeatedly and the man opened the door. “Fix this,” RM said, looking intently at Jungkook.

RM hadn’t even left yet when Jungkook pulled you in his muscular arms, his head buried on the crook of your neck.

“We have to talk,” you said quietly.

He merely blinked at you after you explained your side, stating that this was no longer healthy for the both of you, that your lives were too different to survive together. That you were thankful for the time you two spent together, but this was no longer something that served the two of you. He bit his lip, his posture rigid, his legs spread. You were seated in front of him. It pained you to do this, but this had to be done. As soon as you said your piece, you felt like you could breathe again. Minutes passed by and he still didn’t say anything, it was becoming uncomfortable that you unconsciously looked at the door.

“Stop looking at the door. I don’t want to feel like you’re desperately wanting to run away from me,” he finally said in a monotonous voice. He stood up calmly and walked to the back of the sofa you were sitting on. “No one makes me feel this way. I refuse to lose this. I refuse to lose you.”

You didn’t see him turned his camera on behind you, his little something that he could hold over your head should you decide to still leave him after this. “This is just a drawback in our relationship, Y/N. Surely, we’re better than that, right?” He leaned to you, his mouth almost touching you ear, “Surely, you love me, right? You want me…right?”

And when you turned your head to look at him, he kissed you with so much passion, with too much passion. His hand snaked on your waist, pushing you on the sofa as he settled himself on top of you. That night, you didn’t leave his apartment. Jungkook looked satisfied as he watched you sleep, your neck marked from his kisses. He grabbed your hand gently and kissed your palm. He smirked, now more than ever assured that you were never going to leave him. He had to be the bigger man, right? He had to make sure that the two of you would have the happy ending you and him deserved. He did this out of love, after all.

You didn’t have to know that he staged everything- from your company winning the contract to you being stuck in the elevator with him. You didn’t have to know that he saw you before you saw him, that he was already so enamored by you. You didn’t have to know.

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fic #jungkook fic #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #yandere jungkook

[samandcolbyownme]

Sam had been focusing too much on working that he had ended up neglecting his relationship. You guys had planned to go out on a movie dinner date weeks in advance and already had dinner reservations set, he is too busy working to realize that the reservation was 30 minutes ago. Should you have reminded him? Yes. But you also feel like you shouldn't have to because if he cared then he would've put his work aside for a few hours to spend time with you. ANGSTTTTT but also fluff or smut at the end, dealers choice 😏

Warnings: Slightly angsty, strong language, reader breaking down, crying, yelling, suggestive language, kinda sad but happy ending

Enjoy!

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Sam has missed reservation times. He’s been late to pick you up sometimes. He’s even had to cancel last minute, but you understood. For the most part, at least. You knew he had deadlines to make, people to update, plans to make, and flights to book.

Once the number of times he’s practically bailed on your reaches double digits, that’s when you really started to get mad. His reasonings, you’re sure were valid at the time, but you would get so mad you thought it was a bullshit excuse, so that just made you pissed.

You said something, you had a long talk one night, got on the same page again and everything was good, almost seemed better.

But only for a short while until things started to gradually trickle back into its cursed routine. You’d say something to him again, then it would just repeat the cycle. Back to square one with it. Finally, maybe after one or two more times, you gave up on what you felt like you just wasting your breath.

One night, while you’re laying in bed getting ready to go to sleep, Sam comes in after edited his one video for hours of the day. You feel the bed dip down and his body slides up against yours.

“I made us reservations at the Mitz, they couldn’t get us in until three weeks from now, so figure out what you want to do before or after and we can do that.”

You stay silent for a second before speaking. Your voice is in a very low whisper, “You promise?” He kisses your shoulder and nuzzles his head into your neck, “I promise. I’m sorry I haven’t been with it lately.”

“You and Colby have been busy. I get it.” You roll over to face him, “I guess.. I just feel like you forget I’m here sometimes.” He shakes his head, “I’m sorry I make you feel that way.” He kisses your forehead and you close your eyes, “I love you.” He rests his forehead against yours and lets out a quiet sigh, “I love you so much.”

Over the last three weeks, Sam and Colby surprisingly didn’t have much going on, so it worked out in everyone’s favor. You and Sam pretty much stayed home, and when he did edit, he made sure to include you.

Which is why, when that certain Thursday evening rolled around, you were absolutely crushed. It felt like, in a weird way, a betrayal. It really wasn’t that deep, but to you it was.

You scoffed as you hear the front door open, rolling your eyes as you look to the small clock on your vanity.

07:30 PM - 30 minutes past your set reservation time.

You drag the makeup wipe down your face, wiping away the hope you had painted on earlier in the evening. You can feel the burn growing in your eyes as you try not to cry.

You may think that two times isn’t bad, but it’s not really about the amount of times it’s happened. It’s more about how Sam doesn’t realize it’s happening. He doesn’t put up a fight, he just gradually buries you under all of his paperwork.

You hear him making his way up the steps and you know in your heart that it’s not going to be good. You take a deep breath, wiping over your face one more time with a clean wipe.

“So guess where Colby and I get to go next month.”

“Hmm?” You hum lowly, but loud enough for him to hear. You keep your stare fixed on yourself in the mirror in front of you. Sam walks closer and you feel every muscle in your body tense up.

You really didn’t want to fight with him - again.

“What’s wrong,” He asks, laying a hand on your shoulder. You were so mad at him, his touch only made the urge to cry even harder to fight back. You shake your head, “N-nothing.” You stand up, “I think I’m just gonna go get a bath and then go to bed.”

You grab a clean change of clothes and before you walk out, it’s hits Sam. He lets out a sigh, “Oh fuck.” You turn around, “Congratulations.” You give him a fake smile, “You figured out what’s wrong.”

“Y/n.” Sam calls out but you walk away. He follows after you, “Waitwaitwait.” He grabs your arm, pulling you towards him, “I am so.. so… sorry.” You tilt your head back resting it against the wall as you let out a slight laugh, “It doesn’t matter Sam.”

You look at him and his face falls, “W-What do you mean by that?” He stands up a little straight as you just simply shrug.

He shakes his head, “No. don’t say it. Please.” You chew on your lip as you feel the tears well, “I’m not..” you quickly swipe away the tears dripping down your flushed cheeks, “I’m not leaving, Sam. I just..”

You let your hands fall to your sides, and you just crack, spilling all of your emotions, “I need more, Sam. I-I know. I know that me getting upset over dates might be silly, but they’re important to me, Sam.” Your voice cracks and you look into Sam’s glossy eyes, “You’re everywhere, Sam. But you’re not here.”

You sniffle, voice cracking quietly, “And it’s hurts.”

He scrunches his nose and nods. You blink and the tears fall, “I shouldn’t h-have to be the one to remind you, fuck Sam. I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

“You’re right.” He mumbles quietly as he nods. You look up, sighing, “I do not want to end us, Sam. Please know that.” His hands slide to your waist, but you speak before he can, “We need alone time. We-we need time to just be a normal couple sometimes.”

You bring your hands to your eyes and just sob.

Sam pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you as he whispers how sorry he is, “You are the most important thing to me, okay?” He presses his lips to your temple and you nod, mumbling, “Mhm.” You’re trying to get your crying under control as Sam continues, “I’m so sorry I missed tonight, baby.”

He sniffles and that makes you cry harder, “I’m sorry.” You sob out and Sam cups your cheeks, “Hey.” He raises his voice slightly, catching your attention. He raises his brows and leans in, his voice calm, “You don’t ever need to be sorry about anything, okay?”

You nod and Sam shakes his head, “You did nothing wrong, okay? I deserve to be called out on my bullshit. You did the right thing.” He kisses your cheek, “You’re my number one priority, from here on out I promise I’m going to prove it to you every. Single. Day.”

You smile slightly and you feel yourself gradually calming down, “I just didn’t want do make you mad.” You sniffle out, gasping out for air because of how worked up you had yourself.

You were slightly embarrassed, but Sam really doesn’t seem like he’s judging you at all. He laughs slightly, “Trust me, it would take you doing something a lot more stupid than getting upset over me being a dumbass to be mad at you.” He smiles and rubs your cheek with his thumb, “I love you.”

You smile, looking up at him, “I love you, too.” You lean in, pressing your lips to his and you feel him smirk. His voice is quiet against your lips as he mumbles, “Is this a bad time to tell you that Colby and I want to bring you on to the channel. Take you with us on every investigation?”

You lean back, looking up at him, “What did you just say?” He scratches his forehead, “When I got home, I was going to tell you that Colby and I were talking and we both agreed that when you’re on investigations with us, they turn out so much better than when it is just us, so with that.. we did a little poll thing in XPLR club and it turns out that the fans want you to join us. just as much as Colby and I do.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before you gently push his shoulder, “you couldn’t have just led with that, babe?” You laugh, “I embarrassed myself infront of you for absolutely no reason.”

He shakes his head, “First off, don’t be embarrassed. Second off, you calling me out on stuff that bothers you shows me you care enough to communicate with me, and I honestly cannot tell you how much that means to me.”

You bite down on your lip, “You might not be able to tell me, but I think you just might be able to show me.” You raise your brows as you look up at Sam and he smirks, instantly lifting you up against the wall, “Where to?”

You smile, “Take me to bed.”

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Thank you so much for reading! As always, let me know what you thought! I love you all! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

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