#(my energy to write has been awful)

[anto-pops]

The Serpent's Paramour CH 26 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Your mental fortitude is put to the test as you're made to endure the presence of the very men you yearn to kill. When Victor finally clues you in on why you haven't left for the ancient magic site yet, hope sparks anew in your heart... though the feeling is short-lived when you realize Rookwood has other motives for taking so long. Your magic intrigues him and he wants to learn more about it, and he's willing to do the worst to trigger it.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit language, physical/mental abuse/torture, waterboarding, angst

New chapter is up on Ao3 as well :))

It would be inappropriate to say that you fell asleep. You were far too nervous– too on edge to relax enough and let your guard down when you were surrounded by snakes and demons. The rickety cot within the space that had been serving as your room was too uncomfortable, too squeaky, and lacked your preferred amount of pillows for it to be deemed worth sleeping on. 

But seeing as it was either that or laying on the floor, you had laid out on the “bed” and stared up at the ceiling for hours. 

Eventually you had closed your eyes, but your mind was too hyperactive for you to actually doze off. Your senses remained sharp as you picked up on everything happening within close enough proximity to your room; the muffled voices from down the hall, grating laughter that you realized was coming from Henri, and much, much later, the sound of footsteps. Heavy ones.

Someone was coming towards the door. 

Your eyes flew open as you grabbed for your wand immediately– immensely grateful that no one had thought to remove it from your possession. Victor must have thought that since he was safe thanks to his Unbreakable Vow with you, there was no point in disarming you. He evidently didn’t care much for the wellbeing of his associates, because you had no qualms about killing Lincoln or Henri before reaching the site. 

Just as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed to stand, you watched as the doorhandle inched downwards as whoever was on the other side began to open it. You held your breath as the hinges creaked loudly, the entrance to your room swinging open at a nerve-wrackingly slow pace, until finally you were met with the sight of a tall, muscular, broad shouldered individual. 

Sebastian. 

For a fleeting moment, you expected to look into his eyes and find that they were the familiar brown shade you had come to derive warmth from. You wished that he would smile at you– flash you those twin dimples that went hand in hand with the genuine joy he displayed so rarely with others but shared unabashedly with you. You wanted him to rake his hands through the curlier strands of hair at the front of his head as he greeted you with a purred, “Miss me, princess?” before beckoning you forward into those strong, protective arms of his. 

Your heart ached for those things. But the tiny ember of hope that had sparked within you upon seeing him was extinguished the second you took note of the vibrant, green glow emanating from his eyes. He was still Imperio’d. 

And your desires were nothing more than a pipe dream. 

Despite that fact, however, your wand-bearing hand still fell slack at your side, and you exhaled the breath you’d been holding shakily. “Sebastian…” 

You started towards him without a second thought, only to draw up short when you caught sight of movement out in the hallway. From over Sebastian’s shoulder, you spotted Lincoln– his dark, menacing eyes fixed on you as he watched you silently like a ghoul. Of course he would be here. The bastard couldn’t give you a moment of peace. Besides– how else would Sebastian be meandering around the house on his own while still enthralled? 

Even though your mind screamed at you to retreat, you held your ground and scowled. “What the hell do you want?” 

Lincoln continued to watch you through his lashes, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he cocked his head to the side. “Why so hostile, little hero? Shouldn’t you be thanking me for bringing Sebastian here for a playdate? The two of you hardly said three words to one another during dinner.” 

Your scowl deepened immeasurably further, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from stating the obvious. He knew exactly why you weren’t speaking to Sebastian; there was no point. The fact that Lincoln was hellbent on flaunting his mind controlled puppet in your face knowing damn well you could barely stand to look at him… it was cruel. Everything about Victor’s second underling was vindictive and savage. 

Even still, though… you couldn’t help but shift your gaze back to the man you loved. He looked numb– completely out of it as Lincoln yanked on the strings tethering his will to Sebastian’s consciousness. There were no windows in the tiny room you currently inhabited, so the dark shadows streaking across his otherwise handsome face added a degree of inhumanness to his impassive features. The sight of his green eyes glowing ominously as they remained glued to the wall behind you made your heart sink. But it was still Sebastian. It was still the man you adored and treasured. 

Stepping closer to him, you reached down to clasp his limp hand in your smaller one. His skin was cold– so much so that you couldn’t help but cover the back of his palm with your other one to fully cradle it in an attempt to warm it up. Sebastian gave you no hint that he was aware of your presence, however, and in your desperation to derive some sign of life from him, you began tracing your thumb gently over his knuckles. 

It was at that point you realized that they were lightly bruised. When had that happened? 

Lincoln hummed thoughtfully as he stepped into your room, glancing down at where you were looking. His curiosity was evidently piqued in the wake of noticing your frown. “Ah, yeah… the bloke didn’t make it easy to round him up after he stepped through the Portkey. Henri nabbed his wand, but he still managed to land a couple good hits on me. It was nothing we couldn’t handle.” 

Why was he talking? You could feel yourself growing angrier– your dark magic writhing beneath your skin as it festered to life on its own. By now, you had grown used to its sentient nature, all too accustomed to its tendency to seek out the nearest thing you deemed a threat to eliminate it completely. It came as no surprise to you that Lincoln was its target in this case. He was a nuisance that you wanted to burn to cinders. His life essence, his aura… it was all too tangible currently, especially since it seemed to course through Sebastian as well. You could sense it– could almost taste it. 

No, wait… you could feel it. Right there– beneath your fingertips. 

Lincoln’s influence over Sebastian was like a physical thing. Almost in a daze, you reached out with one hand to place it over the man’s chest. You got a stronger feel for the dark magic there, and something else became abundantly clear to you as well. 

His heart was racing. 

Blinking in surprise, you peered up at his emotionless face. He appeared to be calm. Completely impassive as he stood before you with his arms slack at his sides. But despite his outwardly tranquil appearance, Sebastian’s heart was beating insanely fast. 

There was no way it was possible… but then again, it had been for you…

Was he conscious in there? 

The fleeting thought was quickly abandoned the second you heard Lincoln’s grating chuckle again. He stepped frustratingly closer to you– looming within your personal space as though he had every right to– and you almost lost control of your dark magic completely when he smugly perched his elbow on Sebastian’s shoulder. 

“You know, as entertaining as it is reducing Sallow to a drooling idiot, the plan was always for you to touch the Portkey first. Victor wanted you in Sebastian’s position, but I guess this works too…” Lincoln begrudgingly admitted the last part, scowling at the younger man all the while. “Who would have thought you’d both imprint on one another like dogs in heat. ‘Control one, control the other’. That’s what he said after we got here.”

It was a crude, remorseless monologue that you had no interest in hearing. Realistically you should have expected something like this transpiring at the end of the day– Lincoln seemed to really enjoy the sound of his own voice. But despite that fact, all you could truly focus on was the very real feeling of Sebastian’s consciousness lurking deep within him. 

You swallowed thickly as you peered up at him through your lashes, suppressing the wave of nausea that rose up in your throat at the sight of his unnatural green eyes. The hand you held against his sternum spasmed before your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt imploringly, and your other hand slowly crept up to cradle the side of his cheek. The potency of your stare and the minute actions you wordlessly performed were done to urge him with every fiber of your being to look at you– to really see you– but he still seemed as lifeless as ever. “Sebastian?” 

His eyes never wavered from their fixed position on the wall, but his eyelashes– they fluttered. The barely there movement might have been irrelevant, but whether or not it was a mere coincidence, your breath still hitched in your throat. Hope was a dangerous thing to cling to given your current predicament, and yet the tiny spark of it still grew brighter and burned hotter. He might be in there. He might actually be–

Lincoln’s calloused fingers appeared around your wrist in the next second, prying your hand away from Sebastian’s chest as he roughly yanked you away from the brunet. You stumbled back a few steps and managed to regain your balance with your palm braced against the mattress once he let go of you, at which point you glared murderously at him. He had that same smarmy look on his face that he always did, but beneath the confident facade, Lincoln looked… rattled. 

Had he known what you were feeling? How would that even be possible? 

“That’s enough of that,” he mused, patting the spot against Sebastian’s chest you had been touching previously. “Playdate’s over. I suggest getting some rest while you still can. We won’t be staying here for very long.” 

There was a long list of questions you wanted to ask. Why had Victor brought everyone here in the first place? Why was there no one else around aside from the five of you? When would you be heading to the ancient magic site? The unknown aspects of your situation made you nervous, but as much as you wanted to obtain answers, you didn’t want Lincoln lingering in your room for a second longer. The aura he gave off was deeply upsetting, and if he stuck around to push your buttons any more, you couldn’t be held liable for the damage your dark magic might do. 

Lincoln planted his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder to twist the Imperio’d man around, then shoved him towards the open doorway. You gasped as Sebastian stumbled blearily, then slowly made his way out the door and into the hallway. “That’s completely unnecessary! You could just make him walk normally–” 

“Don’t presume–” Lincoln growled, stepping so close to you that his face was mere inches away from yours as he finished, “–to tell me what to do.” His dark eyes narrowed with animosity as he glowered down his nose at you, but instead of shrinking in on yourself like instinct demanded, you held your ground and pursed your lips. “I’m getting rather sick of your attitude. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect your elders?” 

The dark wizard’s hand came into view then as he reached up– maybe to grab your chin, or maybe to yank on your hair– but whatever his objective was, you didn’t let him see it through. The storm of dark magic that had been looming guardedly at the forefront of your mind punched out sharply, striking Lincoln’s hand with enough speed that the effect was akin to a whip. He swore vehemently and snatched his arm to his chest as he retreated a step, at which point you narrowed your eyes and scowled. 

“Respect is earned, not given,” you spat. “The only thing you’re earning is a thrashing. I’ve told you not to touch me already, so get that through your head.” 

The anger that overtook Lincoln’s face after that was apparent. You braced yourself for him to grab you again like he had following dinner earlier– to strike you, or verbally berate you to make himself feel better for everything you had done to him thus far. But the man simply scoffed, waving off your words and rolling his eyes as he pivoted on his heel to head for the door. As he stalked out of the room quietly seething, you couldn’t help but feel more unnerved by his silence. 

You hated all of the villainous men here, especially Lincoln. But as he crossed the threshold of your room and slammed the door shut behind him, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to rein in your temper for your own sake. There was a sinking feeling in your gut that you couldn’t shake, and something told you that the worst you could possibly experience here was yet to come. With Sebastian still under Lincoln’s influence, no one would be able or willing to help you when Victor’s underling finally snapped. 

After what had transpired at the manor, the one thing you could say with confidence was that you were done ignoring your intuition. 

—

Two days, seven hours, eleven minutes, and forty-nine seconds. 

That was how long you stayed locked in your room. Or, your closet. The actual amount of time that had passed was open to interpretation, but with nothing else to do aside from count the ticking of the clock hands that sounded from outside your door, you figured your estimate was pretty accurate. 

The only times you had ventured outside into the dining room was when you were left with no other choice. Unlike your time spent at the manor with Sebastian and Devlin, you didn’t have a say in whether or not to attend mealtimes with Victor, Henri, and Lincoln. Every morning, Victor’s deplorable underling would appear at your door to escort you to the table. Lunch was brought to you– which you were grateful for– but when you had inquired as to why that was the one meal you were omitted from, Lincoln had predictably told you to keep your questions to yourself. 

In a much less polite manner. 

Dinner time was always the worst. In the evenings, Sebastian was present at the table, zoning out with his eyes fixed on the far wall behind you, his expression flat and lifeless. It physically and mentally pained you to look at him, so more often than not, you kept your gaze trained on your lap for the duration of your forced attendance in the dining room. The obvious discomfort you displayed seemed to please Henri and Lincoln to no end, but every time you so much as considered snapping at them or getting up and storming back to your room, you remembered your warning to yourself. 

Don’t lose your cool. Don’t lash out. Bide your time. 

You were getting rather sick of waiting, though. After two days of rotting alone in a hole in the wall, you were agitated beyond belief. That was the only reason you deigned to open your mouth and address Victor for the first time all day. “How long do you plan to stall?” 

The sickly man looked up from his plate with a small degree of surprise flitting across his face. Then it vanished– replaced by cool indifference as he plucked up his wine glass and smirked over the rim. “Come again?” 

“The ancient magic site,” you dug your nails into the tops of your thighs as you lifted your chin to glare at him. “How much longer until we go there?” 

“My, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking forward to helping me claim the relic,” he taunted you dryly before taking a lengthy sip of wine that bordered on impolite. 

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes and shook your head. “Hardly. I’m just wondering why you’re so content to sit on your hands for so long. Are you scared? Nervous? Or is this all some elaborate mind-game you’ve constructed to drive me insane?” 

“You really shouldn’t think too highly of yourself, my dear. Modesty is an attractive trait in a woman.” Rookwood set his wine glass down to drum his fingers on the table, his blue eyes roving up and down your stiff form before sliding over to the giant grandfather clock near the hallway. Around a sigh, he muttered, “I suppose there’s no harm in being transparent with you. We’re waiting until the vermin get flushed out.” 

The– what? “Vermin?” 

“Indeed. Vermin. We’re dealing with a bit of an infestation there at present. Ministry officials have been spotted in the area, and while they’re the farthest thing from a threat, I don’t relish the idea of having my plans interrupted by a bunch of blundering Aurors.” 

It felt like the floor had given out from under you at that moment. Suddenly and harshly, your heart began hammering against your sternum so aggressively that you were certain the men on either side of you could hear it. Aurors. Ministry officials. 

Devlin had done it. 

The elder Ashwinder must have moved startlingly fast in the wake of your departure from Rookwood Castle. He had done exactly what you asked and gone to Ominis, who in turn sent word to London about everything. Merlin. 

But did Victor being clued in on their presence at the site make a difference? Would his men actually be able to “flush out” the people sent to apprehend him? For such a sorry sac of bones, he was annoyingly adept at dealing with things like this. He was like a cockroach; unkillable and scurrying into hiding at every turn. 

You could only hope that Devlin and Ominis remained vigilant. Your Metamorphmagi friend knew better than anyone what Rookwood was capable of, so surely Victor’s efforts at securing the site alongside the appearance of Aurors would be in vain. Somehow, some way, there would be a back-up plan of sorts in place. You were sure of it. 

The relief you felt following Rookwood’s statement was welcome. For the first time in days, you genuinely believed that even if you were dragged kicking and screaming to the site, everything would be okay. 

“I’m curious, girl,” Victor pulled your attention back to him, and you glanced up to find him studying you with a peculiar glint in his eyes. The dark clothing he wore washed him out completely and made his skin look almost green, and you silently prayed to any higher power that might be listening to make the man keel over and die on the spot. “I’m familiar enough with your ancient magic, but that other kind you possess… how does it work? You barely lifted a finger the other day when you attacked Lincoln with it.” 

The man in question stiffened beside you, sneering at you through the corner of his eye in response to the memory. You ignored him and the inquiry completely, though. The last thing you planned to do was disclose any information about your magic to Victor, Henri, or anyone else. That wasn’t part of your deal with the vile wizard. 

Noting your silence with a humorless laugh, Victor leaned forward to perch his bony elbows on the table, the intensity of his stare making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. “Is it that you don’t have to think about it? I must admit, it does feel rather lively for magic.” 

Nosy bastard. You bit down on your tongue and looked away from him, fixing your eyes on the scarcely touched sausage on your plate. After a day and a half of not eating, you had relented and partaken in a tiny bit of the food purely to ensure you didn’t faint. Not much, though. You still didn’t know if you would end up sprouting a second head from any of the morsels served, and you didn’t plan to find out. 

“Most curious…” Victor thought aloud, not at all fazed by your silence. “I would love to see you use it in a controlled environment. For academic purposes, you understand.” 

Not a chance, you responded internally. The only time Victor would be seeing you use Isidora’s dark magic would be after he had his damn relic. At that point, your binding deal with him would be null and void. At that point, you would be free to unleash five years worth of retribution upon him without fear of dying at the hands of your Unbreakable Vow. 

As if he knew what you were thinking, the dark wizard grinned at you– all yellowed teeth and chapped lips that brought a scowl to your face. For yourself, Sebastian, Anne, Nora, and everyone else he had hurt in his lifetime, you would bring about a painful demise for the monster sitting at the head of the table. That was your Vow to yourself. 

You would kill Victor Rookwood with the very magic he was so fascinated by. 

—

Your heart nearly burst through your chest when the sound of loud, aggressive banging woke you from your fitful sleep. There was no way to gauge what time it was– no clocks to read in your room, and no windows to look out of. In the end it didn’t really matter, because you already knew you hadn’t rested for very long. 

Being here hadn’t rewarded you with a decent night's sleep once, and you knew it was starting to show. 

Disgruntled beyond belief, you swung your legs over the edge of your shabby bed and padded towards the door, then unwedged the chair you had tucked beneath the handle for extra security. Everything about your presence here was reminiscent of those first few days at the manor with Sebastian, only significantly worse. 

The banging continued at a steady pace as you set the chair aside and unlocked the door before yanking it open, already preparing to come face to face with Lincoln for the third day in a row. It was always him waiting on the other side of the door to take you to breakfast despite your arguments and protests that you weren’t hungry, or that you just wanted to sleep for longer. The wretch never cared.

Your mind snapped into full focus, however, when you discovered that Henri was alongside Lincoln. The Frenchman had never accompanied Lincoln before– had never once thought to show up outside of your door, which was something you found solace in. As intimidating and volatile as Lincoln was, Henri was worse. You knew what he was capable of, and mind-over-matter had yet to work in soothing your nerves when you were in the old man’s company. 

The sight of the foul duo outside your room had you disregarding any semblance of niceties, your grip on the door handle turning white knuckled as you hissed, “Leave me alone. I’m not interested in going to breakfast with you snakes.” 

Henri’s lip curled, but seeing as Lincoln was already accustomed to your particular brand of ire first thing in the morning, he simply huffed before stepping closer. In response, you stepped back. “Good thing we’re not going to breakfast, then. Put your shoes on– we’re going outside.” 

Outside? Why? “Are we going to the site?” 

“Don’t ask questions,” Lincoln snapped, fixing you with a stern look as he rolled the cuffs of his black shirt up to his elbows. Evidently the poor sod didn’t own anything else, seeing as he’d been wearing variations of black shirts and black pants for the last forty-eight hours. “Just do as you're told. I don’t have all day to entertain your attitude.”

That was the wrong thing to say. You made a show of planting your feet stubbornly and pursed your lips in distaste. “Unless we’re going to the site, I have all the time in the world to argue. Why is he here?” 

Henri narrowed his tawny eyes at you when you jerked your chin in his direction, one beefy hand coming up to thoughtfully stroke his beard. “My patience only lasts for so long, chérie. I have no interest in debating with you– unlike some people.” He cast a wicked look at Lincoln out of the corner of his eye, prompting the younger man to turn a shocking shade of red out of indignant anger. “You will either come outside willingly or unwillingly, the choice is yours– but it will be happening.”

“Hah! Your infamous patience,” you smiled knowingly at Henri, though there was no amusement to be found in the expression. “I remember the last time you mentioned it to me. You had me under the influence of an Unforgivable Curse twenty seconds later. You’ll have to forgive me for being skeptical that it even exists in the first place.” 

“That you are not already being subject to such treatment again proves that it does in fact exist.” 

“Go to hell.” 

Unlike Lincoln– who was loud and obvious with his anger– Henri was the complete opposite. His fury was the quiet kind. It was the type of wrath you could feel so strongly that it set your teeth on edge and gave you a sense of foreboding comparable to impending doom. That, coupled with the dead-eyed stare he fixed you with, made you bristle and reconsider being so obstinate. 

But you didn’t get the chance to acquiesce to his demands. Before you could so much as lift a finger from the door handle, Henri was in your face, burying one of his hands in your bed-mussed hair before curling his fingers around the strands tightly. The sting of his grip made you yelp out in pain, but he didn’t spare your discomfort a second thought. Instead, he dragged you out into the hallway, forcing you to put your balance in his hands as your own hands flew to the back of your head to claw at his unyielding fist. 

“S-Stop! I’ll go! I’ll walk– let go of me!” 

“I don’t think so,” he growled dangerously, chancing a quick look down at your panic-stricken face. “I think you need to cool off before caving to our request, mademoiselle. That temper of yours is running far too hot for my liking.” 

Digging your heels into the ground, all you managed to do was rub the bottoms of your bare feet raw. Henri furiously yanked you along by your hair, leading the way towards the bathroom across the hall instead of the front door like you had expected. You had no clue what he had planned in his corrupted, evil mind, but you didn’t want to find out, so you threw your weight to the side and succeeded in slamming him into the doorframe of the bathroom. Just as you were about to start whaling on him with your legs, he thrust you forward so quickly that all you could do was scream as your arms pinwheeled at your sides. 

You crashed into the bathtub hard, a sharp slice of pain shooting up your spine. The ache was ignored entirely as you attempted to scramble out of the tub, but Henri had already bolted forward, and you only caught a glimpse of Lincoln watching joyously from over his shoulder before the Poacher had moved something and caused a stream of cold, biting water to cascade over your head. 

“Fuck!” you shrieked, clamoring to stand up amidst the slick porcelain. Henri’s heavy hand pressed down on your shoulder, however, holding you as still as he was able as the icy water drenched you from head to toe. “Let me go!” 

The Frenchman said nothing. He just continued to hold you down beneath the faucet, then pushed down harder until the entirety of your face was completely submerged beneath the downpour. Your back screamed in protest at the funny angle you were forced to stay in as Henri restrained you while you simultaneously fought back with every ounce of strength you possessed– which sadly wasn’t much. 

He was going to drown you. That was the only thing you could rationally think as water slipped past your lips and shot down your windpipe in your desperate attempts to break free. Strands of your hair stuck to your cheeks and concealed your vision, and when you blindly reached up to claw at his face, he smacked your hands away with his other arm. 

“Are you feeling more relaxed now, chérie?” Henri taunted from above you, and you could fucking hear the smile in his tone over the rush of water as he spoke. “Shall I stop?” 

“Y-Yes!” Your voice cracked pitifully, your throat raw from screaming and gasping. “Yes! Stop! Please– let me up!” 

Henri’s hands on your shoulders tightened immeasurably further, and for one terrifying moment, you thought he was going to keep holding you under the water. But then his nails dug into the wet fabric of your blouse to haul you out of the tub, letting you go so you could collapse to your knees atop the hardwood floor. Sputtering and wheezing, you couldn’t will your body to do anything apart from breathe. The air you drew into your lungs was inhaled greedily, accompanied by wet coughs that reverberated off the walls of the tiny bathroom. 

Neither Henri nor Lincoln said a word as you heaved violently. Both men just loomed above you– menacing in their own rights as you came to the unfortunate realization that you didn’t stand a chance against them on your own. Even with the repository magic at your disposal, unless you were willing to bring the entire house down on top of everyone– yourself included– you were doomed. 

“Bring her outside,” Henri snapped at Lincoln viciously, wiping the water that had soaked his hands on his trousers. “I’ve had enough of taming beasts for one day.” 

You didn’t have it in you to retort, nor did you have the strength to fight back when Lincoln brushed past Henri to grab you by your elbow and haul you upright. His movements were rushed and jerky, and you nearly stumbled over your feet as he pulled you out of the bathroom and began leading you down the hallway towards the front door. Your teeth chattered uncontrollably the entire time, and it was hard to tell if it was from adrenaline or the cold, but it hardly mattered. The only thing you knew with one hundred percent certainty was that the woman who had the tenacity to spit and hiss at the dark wizards around her had been left behind in the bathroom. 

As Lincoln wrenched open the front door, he exercised more self-control than you’d seen from him thus far as he tugged you down the steps of the porch so you wouldn’t fall. For the first time since knowing the man, you could safely say you were grateful for his caution, because the biting morning breeze made your soaked limbs lock up the second it made contact with your skin. You hadn’t been able to get a good look at your surroundings the night Victor had brought everyone here, so you took care to drink in the area with as much diligence as you were able to muster up. 

The landscape reminded you of the Clagmar Coast; rocky hillsides, overcast skies, and even though your nose was stuffy from your impromptu bath, you could faintly pick up on the scent of sea water. There were no other houses you could see, but that didn’t exactly surprise you when you got a good look at the exterior of the one you had been shut away in for the last two days. It looked rough. Appearance wise, the outside of the abode left much to be desired. 

Lincoln rounded the corner and pulled you away from the perimeter of the house, revealing a large, grassy stretch of land with a group of individuals standing in the middle of it. There were three men you didn’t recognize, and all of them had dark clothes on along with masks. Ashwinders. Sebastian was there, too– still numb looking and planted obediently beside the only man sitting down– and that was only because he couldn’t comfortably stand on his own. 

Victor. 

A tiny, pitiful sound slipped through your lips, but it went unacknowledged as the hound dragging you forward by your elbow made his way towards his boss. Rookwood cocked his head to the side when he caught sight of your drenched, unkempt appearance, then raised a brow questioningly at Lincoln. “Is there a leaky pipe somewhere inside that I should be made aware of? Where’s Henri?” 

Lincoln tossed you ahead of himself and let go of your arm, letting you stumble a few steps and catch your balance by yourself as he snapped, “Henri is the leaky pipe, in a manner of speaking. He’ll be out shortly.” 

“Hm…” Rookwood pursed his lips, swiveling his gaze back towards you to scan your pathetic appearance. “Well, the rude awakening aside, I trust you slept well?” 

Asshole. You wrapped your arms around yourself and looked down at your bare feet, doing your damndest not to shiver too obviously. You were cold, yes, but you were also incredibly nervous. This was the first time you were seeing anyone with Victor that wasn’t Henri or Lincoln, and the added presence of the masked men behind him didn’t make you feel particularly at ease. You couldn’t help but anticipate the worst. “What is this about?” 

He was quiet for a few beats, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his wheelchair before nodding to himself. “I want to see that magic of yours in action. I want to know what it’s capable of, so consider this–” he gestured broadly to the grassy space, “–your controlled environment.” 

As if you weren’t cold enough already, your blood chilled in your veins. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that you visibly blanched, your head snapping up to openly gape at Victor. “But I– you’ve already seen it.” 

“I’ve seen your ancient magic,” he remedied slyly and wagged his finger at you. “Not the dark magic.” 

Shit. Shit! You scrambled for any excuse to deny him– any logical reason that might get you out of having to showcase your abilities to the wicked man seated before you. Grasping at straws, you exclaimed, “But you told me not to use any of it here! The Vow–” 

“The Vow maintains the boundary that you aren’t to use your magic on me. There’s nothing stopping you from using it around me. Don’t be coy, dear– I know you’ve thought about it,” Victor smirked wittingly. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you contemplating unleashing your abilities on my associates. Bloodlust is something I’m very familiar with.” 

“No!” Your voice was shrill and tight, the refusal leaving your mouth before you could think better of it– not that there was anything to reconsider. You didn’t want to use your magic here. Rookwood gaining more insight into what you were capable of didn’t bode well for you in the slightest. And out here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by his lackeys and Sebastian? You wouldn’t do it. Hell no. Firmly, you repeated, “No. I’m not doing this. None of this has anything to do with our arrangement!” 

Lincoln groaned loudly, a loathsome scowl spreading across his face as he glared at you. “Maybe you need another bath.” 

“I don’t care! Torture me all you want– kill me– it doesn’t matter! I’m only here to get you lot into the site and get you that fucking relic. Our Vow said nothing about you using me as some experiment, so the answer is no. I won’t do it.”

Silence once again overtook the outdoor space, the only sound that permeated the air that of the distant rustling of trees swaying in the breeze. You were blatantly shivering now, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. You were scared. If looks could kill, then the glower on Victor’s face would have ended your life on the spot. Whether it was because he wasn’t used to not getting his way or because he knew he would have to force your hand to see your magic, you didn’t know. Either way, you stood your ground and did your best to keep your spine straight in the face of his menacing presence. 

“Very well,” he murmured after a while. Your relief was short-lived, however, when he glanced at his former protege beside him. At that point, unbridled panic began to fester throughout your entire body. “From what I’ve already seen, there are other ways to draw that magic of yours out. Lincoln, if you would.” 

You whirled around to put your front to Lincoln– fully prepared to guard yourself in the event that he attacked you. Because that’s what was happening, right? Victor knew that your dark magic was sentient. He’d figured that much out on his own. He knew that you barely had to think about defending yourself with your abilities in life or death situations, so why wouldn’t he sic his underling on you? 

What happened next was even worse. Lincoln ignored you entirely as he strode towards Sebastian, then reached inside his inner coat pocket to produce the wand Sebastian had been using all this time. The older man squinted as he wordlessly conveyed some kind of order to your lover, at which point the brunet dimly looked down to pluck his wand out of Lincoln’s hand, then shuffled forward so he was roughly ten feet away from you. 

Backing up a single step, you stared wide-eyed at Sebastian as he leveled his wand at you slowly and finally looked at you after days of not being able to. It was ironic; you had tried time and time again to get him to see you despite his Imperio’d state, but your efforts had all been for naught. His thousand-yard stare had persisted no matter what you said or did. 

Until now. 

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t move. You were frozen with fear as you stared back at Sebastian from over the tip of his wand, and your heart plummeted straight through the Earth when his lips parted at a snail’s pace and his deep, familiar voice cut through the air for the first time in days. 

“Crucio.”

[beaniebabs]

therapy is great bc you can make a lot of good progress in a shockingly short amount of time. but also it sucks in a way that you can only work on so many issues at a time so while you’re improving vastly in certain areas, in others you’ve changed basically nothing (yet). healing takes time, devastatingly enough !

[oswaldthatendswald]

I've been run off my feet for the past two weeks (weekends included) and I am so. So relieved. To finally have a weekend off.

[kaleeshbled]

// do apologize to those who have sent messages on here and the sideblog and haven't heard back from me. My health has started to not be so great, so I haven't been active on blogs beside one other one. Hoping things will get better soon, but I'll probably be low activity for a bit

[plantenjoyer]

I SWEAR I KEEP TRYING TO DO ART BUT THEN SOMETHING GETS IN THE WAY AND THEN I PROCRASTINATE AND THEN SIX MONTHS PASS

[swirldmg]

i forgot i made a qiqi starter call last month .......

[byanyan]

thinking that tomorrow i might look around for a silly little meme to reblog to help me get some writing energy back up 🤔

[midnightwind]

parents left on another trip without grocery shopping first so my meal options are: third bowl of leftover soup, an apple, dregs of the watermelon, ketchup, toast

[unluckiestmember]

YAY, YOU'RE BACK TO WRITING FOR ARCANE. How would the arcane characters react (mainly vi, ekko, and jinx because i would marry, marry, and marry them all!!) to a reader who is sooo affectionate and finds every last thing they do so cute they get cuteness aggression and just jump at them like a cuddle bug often? thank you so much!!

Coming right up!

Arcane x Cuddle Bug! Reader

Characters: Powder/Jinx, Violet "Vi", Ekko, Caitlyn Kiramman, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda, Sevika and Ran.

Warning: None really. SFW.

A/N: Am I the only one who wants to snuggle into Caitlyn? Ugh, I love her so much.

Powder/Jinx

“Oh! Hey there, sugar! You want to cuddle? Don’t have to ask me twice! I’ll cuddle you so much that you get tired of me! But you’d never get tired of me, right?”

Jinx is a super clingy person, so for you to be as clingy as her it’s like you two are a match made in heaven. There’s barely any time that passes when you two are not touching each other and she lives for your cuddles. It doesn’t matter if you hug her out of nowhere or she sees you about to embrace her, she is stopping everything she is doing and pulling you into the tightest of hugs.

Most of the time if she isn’t causing mayhem in the streets of Zaun or busy with her inventions, she will spend her time just holding you so close and showering your face with the cutest but most childish of kisses. She doesn’t care if it’s in private or public, she will make it known that you two can’t keep your hands off each other. You are her cuddlebug and she is yours and that won’t ever change.

Violet “Vi”

“Woah there, cuddle bug! You’re gonna make me screw up my workout… Oh forget it. How can I say no to you?”

Because Violet is absolutely touch starved, she will never decline your cuddles, even if you take her by surprise a few times with how you hug her so suddenly. She finds it adorable how you fangirl around her and find everything she does to be awesome or cute. Granted she does wish you’d call her hot or sexy, but knows that isn’t really in tune with your personality.

Regardless, she tries to make sure you know how adorable you are, always telling you while you two are cuddled up together how lucky she is to have you and how you are so adorable. Even when you visit her at work, she’ll try to drop everything and have you run into her arms to pick you up. And every time she’s got time off work or is coming back from a job, she’s automatically looking for you so she could hook you in her arms and never let go.

Ekko

“Y/N, haha! You know we gotta keep this private, babe- The kids are gonna pounce on us any second now!”

Does Ekko love hugging you? Absolutely. The warmth of your arms around his body makes him stop everything he’s doing and just hug you while calling you his firelight or firefly. Unless he’s calling you an angel or lovebug, which never fails to make Scar either look at you two in awe or roll their eyes in mock annoyance. Unfortunately, Ekko does try his best to make sure you two don’t get super affectionate around the children, especially when it comes to hugs.

Why? Because as soon as you hug him, the children find this as an invitation to gather around him and have him nearly die under a cuteness overload of a group hug. It’s nice as a once in a while occurrence, but all the time? Maybe not. Outside of the reactions you two garnish and even the teasing of you being the firelight king/queen, Ekko lives for your cuddlebug energy, wanting to be in your arms after a long day’s work. It’s always the best way to end the night… 

Caitlyn Kiramman

“And that’s why if I am able to block this end of the road, I’ll- Oh!... Oh come here, sweetheart. If you wanted to cuddle so badly, you could’ve asked.”

Caitlyn has always been someone who was more subtle with her love, pulling you into brief kisses, cupping your cheek and holding you by your waist. She usually leaves the more out there gestures like hugging and cuddling for you to initiate. But when you do? It might be harder for you to get her off of you instead of the other way around. It can be at work, in her home, outside of work or at an event. As soon as she feels your arms wrap around her slender body, she’s stopping for a second to hold you back and kiss your forehead.

She will continue working if you interrupt her during a briefing or in the middle of cracking a case, but the entire time, she will have at least one arm around your body and make sure you are comfortable. Her comrades tease her about it and she’ll scowl a bit, but she doesn’t care. As far as she can tell, she’s extremely lucky to have you as a lover.

Viktor

“Ah! Oh, it is just you, zolotse. Remember, you have to warn me of these cute little hugs of yours.”

At first, Viktor wasn’t used to your physical affection and how you were in awe of everything he did. He actually thought you were mocking him at first or being silly. But after a while, especially when the two of you became a couple, he grew accustomed to your affections. He does get a bit startled when you hug him out of nowhere and he does have moments where you cheering him on does make him a bit bashful, but he enjoys your sweet gestures regardless.

He does find it difficult to be as outgoing with his love for you as you are with him, but he does try his best to make you realize he loves you, especially in the form of quality time and calling you by sweet pet names bound to make you blush. Viktor has a tendency to pass out from working too hard and waking up in your arms. And though he’d never say it out loud, you know based on the way he snuggles into you, he adores it and adores you.

Jayce Talis

“I know what you want and I want it too- So bring it in! I’ve waited all day to be in your arms!”

Because Jayce is always out at work, it’s kind of hard for you two to be around one another all the time. That’s why when he does reunite with you after hours or you two can be together on days off, he’s spending the majority of his free time with you or wrapped around you. He sort of craves for your praise and compliments as much as he craves your cuddles.

Many would compare the councilman to a needy dog wanting his owner’s undivided attention and he definitely gets that through you. Though he may try to act all cool or play coy, everyone knows that you mean so much to him and that he becomes putty around you. Even if they don’t, you’re not afraid to say it aloud. Just make sure Jayce isn’t around or that man will become redder than a beet.

Mel Medarda

“What’s wrong?... I know that look. You want to- Ah! Well looks like you beat me to the punch, darling. How about we take this to the bed, hmm?”

Mel wasn’t really given physical affection when she was younger. She was more someone who preferred verbal affection with words of affirmation. So when it came to you and how affectionate you are, she found herself adapting and loving physical affection as much as telling you how much she loved you.

Your cuddles and sweet gestures are her personal heaven she loves returning to after a long day’s work, especially if she can spend an evening with you platonically in your shared bed. In your arms, she feels she can air out anything that’s bothering her or interests her, especially when you admit how cute it is when she does. Though this kind of intimate affection is delegated to private quarters, anyone can know from the way Mel speaks of you outside of home and at events that you mean so much to her.

Sevika

“Yeah! So then I was like screw you, I can do whatever- Hold on. Uh, Y/N. I thought we agreed to not do this at work?”

Sevika is considered the Right Hand of Zaun, a woman who is feared if not respected by her peers. And she’d like to keep it that way. Which means that while you two are at work, she prefers it if you don’t cuddle her around co-workers and give them something to tease her about. You two can only flirt and kiss and even then, it has to be sexy…

But alone, when both of you are away from the public eye, Sevika is at your beck and call wishing for nothing else but to hear your sweet praises and melt into your arms and touch. Expect her to call you the cutest thing ever and tease you on occasion, but afterwards she’s basically a big needy cat, or as she prefers to be called, a panther. It’s moments like these where you can really consider yourself lucky to see a raw side of Sevika. And it was only preserved for you.

If you got any requests for Arcane or X-Men '97, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

[formulafanfics13]

would you write a fuck marry kill for the grid? reader is on the grid and when asked all the others choose marry reader? what would readers answers would be

🎁🎁🎁

🎥 “FUCK, MARRY, KILL” - GRID EDITION

You: Current F1 driver, fan-favourite, paddock princess or prince, chaotic good. Known for wrecking podiums and lives.

The segment was supposed to be funny. A throwaway.

One of those cursed fan-service clips Formula 1 puts out mid-weekend to pad content between FP2 and FP3. Fifteen seconds per driver, one simple question:

“Fuck, Marry, Kill, pick three from the current grid.”

The producers expected chaos. Banter. Maybe a few bleeped-out names. What they got instead? Nineteen separate declarations of intent.

Every single one ends with your name. And not just anywhere. Every one of them wants to marry you.

_____

LANDO NORRIS “Kill Max, fuck Charles, marry Y/N.” Zero hesitation. “She already acts like my wife anyway. Might as well make it official.” He smirks toward the camera. “What? I’d be the fun husband.”

OSCAR PIASTRI “Marry Y/N. For the record.” Then, dry as hell: “Kill Lando. For peace.” He taps the mic. “Seriously. Have you heard her talk about racing lines? Wife me.”

CHARLES LECLERC Immediate. “Marry Y/N.” Blushes. “She’s got... good energy.” Stumbles over the next part. Accidentally says he’d fuck Alex. PR yanks the clip before Charles combusts.

LEWIS HAMILTON Soft smile. “Marry Y/N. No question.” “She’s kind. Smart. Hot. Could teach Roscoe to drive if she wanted.” Adds, with zero shame, “Also has the best ass on the grid. Just saying.”

MAX VERSTAPPEN Quiet. Serious. “Marry Y/N.” Shrugs. “She’s calm. No drama. Doesn’t bullshit.” When the interviewer lifts a brow, Max just smirks. “I’d rather race and go home to someone who actually gets it.”

YUKI TSUNODA “Marry Y/N!!!” Screams it. Nearly tips over his chair. “I’d cook for her every night. I’d learn how to bake. She deserves cookies and hot chocolate and foot rubs.”

CARLOS SAINZ “Marry Y/N. Kill no one. Fuck…” Pauses. Looks at the camera. “Actually, I’d just marry her twice.”

ALEX ALBON “Marry Y/N. Obviously.” Grins. “Have you seen her post-race hugs? Wife behaviour. Don’t be dumb.” Adds, “And she likes spicy food. That’s a green flag.”

GEORGE RUSSELL Deadpan. “Marry Y/N.” Then mutters, “Kill Carlos. He flirts with her too much.” When asked if you’d approve, George raises an eyebrow. “She already calls me her little Victorian husband. I think I’m safe.”

KIMI ANTONELLI Bright red. “Marry Y/N. Please.” Panics slightly. “She smiled at me once. It changed my life.”

LANCE STROLL Shrugs. “Marry Y/N.” “No one else on the grid makes me believe in actual domestic bliss.” Pause. “And she looks good in white. I’ve thought about it.”

FERNANDO ALONSO Smirking. “Marry Y/N.” “I’m old. She’s sharp. She’d keep me young.” Then lowers his voice. “And she’d look excellent straddling a trophy. Hypothetically.”

LIAM LAWSON Flustered. “Marry Y/N. Yeah. Obviously.” “She beat me in karting once and I’ve been in love ever since.” Whispers, “Don’t tell Yuki.”

ISACK HADJAR “Marry Y/N.” Then, sulking, “But only if she stops ghosting me.” (You left him on read after Bahrain. He’s never emotionally recovered.)

GABRIEL BORTOLETTO Grins. “Marry Y/N. Duh.” “She looks like she’d make the world’s best espresso and ruin my life in one morning. I want that.”

NICO HÜLKENBERG Sips water. Stares down the lens. “Marry Y/N. No hesitation.” “She’s got the patience of a saint. And the thighs of a sinner.”

OLLIE BEARMAN “Marry Y/N.” No hesitation. No smirk. Just awe. “She said I drove well once. I’ve been writing our vows ever since.”

ESTEBAN OCON “Marry Y/N. Because she’s the only one who doesn’t call me ‘the French one who isn’t Pierre.’” He laughs. “She brings me snacks. That’s love.”

PIERRE GASLY “Marry Y/N.” Five seconds later: “Fuck Y/N-” Long pause. Blinks. “Wait. I meant marry. I meant marry.” Implodes. Clip goes viral.

FRANCO COLAPINTO Murmurs in Spanish: “Cásate conmigo, por favor…” Translation? “Marry me, please.” Adds in English: “I’d give her the world. Or at least my neck kisses.”

___

Then you walk in.

Media room? In flames. Someone’s already posted a supercut: “19 Drivers Who Want to Marry Y/N — and One Pierre Who Needs Help.”

Max is eyeing you like you’re his next championship. Lando has wife typed into the notes app. George looks like he’s ready to propose. Kimi is holding flowers he definitely didn’t have before. Pierre is missing entirely. Allegedly under a table.

And they hand you the mic. Grinning. Waiting. “Fuck, Marry, Kill. Go.”

You hum. Tilt your head. Lick your bottom lip for drama.

Then:

“Kill: whoever invented this segment.” “Fuck: whoever lasts longer than five minutes.” (pause for carnage) “Marry?” You glance at the camera. Then at the boys. “I guess they’ll have to fight for it.”

—

pure. f1. chaos.

Oscar goes pink. Carlos fans himself. Charles may have cried. George mouths “choose me.” Max? He just whispers, “Soon.”

[amywritesthings]

care. / a levi period comfort fic

pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader word count: 1.4k summary: You have to skip your gym date with Levi due to bad period cramps. Levi, however, isn't going to let you suffer alone.

note: set in the press four for more options / dating on airplane mode universe tags: modern au, neighbors au, menstruation, cramp pain, period talk, doting new boyfriend levi, fluff, adult language, reader has a chronic pms pain

author note: today is my birthday!! my gift to you is this little P4/DOAP one shot. this is a little self indulgent, so i hope this helps anyone else that experiences bad pains like me! i will be writing one shots all month for my endo awareness event, so feel free to send requests if you would like to see more! credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

( Read on AO3. )

You know as soon as you wake up what kind of day it’s going to be.

As you stir from slumber, you’re met with the familiar, unforgiving punch to the gut before you take your first deep inhale. The sharp jab is a tell-tale sign that you should have probably hit the pharmacy when you had the time during your lunch break — yesterday.

You know, before things got awful.

“God damn it.”

Periods have always been a sore spot to discuss in your life. The immense pain that follows the next agonizing few days is not a new occurrence, but knowing them intimately never makes them any better. No matter how many times you’ve prepared, weathered, endured — it’s a gamble whether or not you have the energy to eat today, much less do anything productive.

Dragging your phone off of the adjacent nightstand, your heart sinks when you see your most recent notifications:

Alarm set for 7:30 a.m. (Dismiss?)

Remember to pay credit card bill. (Eventually.)

New text from Levi Ackerman.

Shit.

Opening the third notification first, you read his text from five minutes ago.

[LEVI:] Hey. Still going to the gym this morning?

Self hatred floods your system when you realize there’s no way in hell you’re going to be going to the gym today, much less leaving this apartment. It’ll be a miracle if you can drag yourself to the bathroom.

Missing out on seeing Levi today hurts more than you’re willing to admit.

Tapping the reply bubble, you type in response:

[ME:] Sorry, not feeling well. :( Rain check?

It’s weird to confess why, right?

Everything is way too fresh, much too new, between the two of you.

You can’t burden your newest partner with the—

Another notification pops up immediately.

[LEVI:] What’s wrong?

Double shit.

Sighing to yourself, you type back, hesitate, then send.

[ME:] Don’t worry about it, it’s pretty embarrassing. I probably won’t be able to leave the apartment today. I’m rooting you on from down here!

Or up here, technically, if he’s going to be at the gym.

(Dumbass.)

You drop your phone to your mattress, slowly easing yourself out of bed. You check the sheets behind you to make sure you didn’t ruin them — thank god, there’s a singular win for this morning — before waddling to the bathroom.

Grabbing a new pair of underwear and a pad, you sit on the toilet with your head in your hands, taking some time to breathe through the initial cramps.

A few days.

Just a few days and you can—

It’s faint, but you hear it.

Three raps at your front door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Perking your head up, your brows furrow as you finish up, tug your pajama bottoms back on, and wash your hands. Crossing the living room to the front door, you use the peephole to see who’s waiting outside.

For the briefest moment, you forget your cramps altogether.

“Levi?!” you yelp, shocked by his presence.

“Hey,” he states, arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing his typical white workout tank, displaying his lean arms in the fisheye lens of your doorframe. “You okay in there?”

“I— yeah, I’m okay!” you lie, higher pitched than usual. “Sorry, I can’t let you in.”

You note how his chin tilts, contemplating your brevity. 

“You come down with some shitty cold or whatever?”

“No, it’s—”

“Stomach bug?”

“No, not at all, it’s just—”

“I can wear a mask if you got something catchable.” He shifts, thumbing back to the hallway behind him like he knows you’re watching. “I have a bunch at my place.”

“Levi, no,” you blurt, getting frustrated. “I have my period!”

The dark-haired man stops.

His brows furrow, contemplating with evident confusion on his face.

“...I’m confused, a period of what? Fucking dysentary or something?” When you’re about to argue, he pointedly glances at the peephole. “Can you at least open the door for a sec?”

Reluctantly you agree to his request, unlocking the door and swinging it open. You feel immense shame standing in front of your new boyfriend looking messy and make-up free.

There hasn’t even been time to at least put on some moisturizer, damn it.

When he finally sees you at your worst (or so you perceive to be your worst) he doesn’t even bat an eye.

The stormy grays just stare into your own, brows rising expectantly.

“What do you need?”

You lean against your doorframe, trying to breathe through another wave of cramps. “What?”

With a tsk, he steps a baited sneaker into the threshold of your apartment. When you don’t push him out, he fully enters your apartment and beelines to your kitchen.

(Right. Same layout, just a couple of floors higher.)

“Get comfy on the couch,” he states like he’s a coach again, devoid of nonsense. “You have any tea lying around?”

“I don’t understand,” you state, only then closing the door to your apartment. “You were about to go to the gym—”

“Yeah, and now I’m not.”

“Levi.”

“Couch,” he counters, plucking the kettle you had sitting dormant on your stovetop to fill it with water. “Or your bed, if that makes you more comfortable.”

You can’t really argue with that, not when your cramps are making you dizzy.

Hell, his insistence on helping is making you even dizzier but in an entirely different way.

When you dated Porco, he never extended help beyond some comforting words and a stray pint of ice cream. Levi looks natural rummaging around your kitchen as if he’s been spending time here for months.

“You really don’t have to babysit me,” you try to reason, though you find yourself slowly shambling towards your couch anyway. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, well, my mother used to have a lot of really bad months when I was growing up.” Levi starts the stove, heating up the water. His eyes briefly flicker to you. “My friend, Hange, doesn’t exactly have a walk in the park with this shit, either. They left an arsenal of supplies at my place whenever they come around. Can’t imagine they’ll care if I borrow some of it.”

So Levi has period supplies at his apartment for friends and family?

That…

You’ve never heard of any man who has something like that.

“Supplies like what?”

“Admittedly it’s a bunch of stuff we used to offer people at our gym in case they were having a rough week,” he explains as if this is nothing while he watches the kettle grow hot. 

Then again, periods are supposed to be nothing.

They’re natural and half of the planet go through them monthly, and yet —

“Heating pads, two different sizes. Mint and ginger tea are soothing for cramping. I’ve got a decently fresh stock of those leaves. Not sure if you’re out of sanitary products, but I got some of those in a cabinet, too.”

You stare dumbfounded, your heart skipping a beat.

(As if this man couldn’t be any more attractive.)

When you don’t respond, he turns around to look at you. His eyes soften as they search your face.

“I’d ask how your pain is right now, but I take it it’s high?” You nod. “Alright. Mind if I keep the door unlocked? I’ll run upstairs and grab everything.”

“You don’t have—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, but it isn’t firm like before.

Levi walks across the room towards you. As he bends at the hip, his dog tags slip out of his tank top.

Gentle lips press to the crown of your head.

“Let me take care of you, alright? You’re my girl. That’s my responsibility, especially when you’re feeling like shit. I can do push-ups anywhere. Gym’s not a necessity.”

Melting at his reassurance, you can’t help but tease. 

“So I get pampering and a show? Talk about high-class service.”

The lips on your head curve to a smirk before pulling away, his eyes meeting yours. His hand raises to cup the side of your face adoringly. An absentminded thumb strokes your cheek.

“Yeah, well, you know me. High fucking class or whatever.”

When you laugh, the corner of his mouth twitches again. He lifts your chin and leans forward, kissing your lips. You return the gesture, warmth spreading throughout your body.

“I’ll be five minutes,” he whispers against your lips.

“It only takes you five minutes to run up six flights of stairs and back?”

“You can time me if you think I’m lying.”

“Deal.”

[moonstruckme]

hiii bb

first off all GURL YOUR WRITING IS LITERALLY TOP TIER I CANNOT WITH IT—

and second, i saw you had your requests open and while i’ve never done this before i really, really would love it if you could write a poly!wolfstar with reader coming from a pretty similar family background as sirius and gets triggered by loud noises and remus is in a bad headspace because it’s just a few days before full moon and he accidently yells at her and reader just shuts down and tries to brush it off because she thinks she’s being dramatic and tries to act unruffled but sirius sees through it and overall just hurt/comfort, pretty please? ILY

Awe thank you lovely! For both the sweetness and the request <3

cw: migraine, reader panics because of shouting/aggression

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Remus has told you to leave him alone more than once. You know that you should, that you really ought to make yourself scarce because these moods before the full moon almost never yield good things. The issue is that you care about Remus more than consequences, and as a result you’re not very good at doing what you should. 

“Hey,” you say gently, when he passes you by on his way back to his desk with another cup of tea. “That’s too much caffeine, lovely. You’ll make your headache worse.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Remus grunts. He continues on his way, and, despite Sirius’ look, despite knowing better yourself, you give chase. 

“You’ll regret it if you have another,” you reason, following him to his work-cluttered desk, which has been shoved temporarily into the darkest corner of your bedroom. “I know some caffeine helps, but too much—”

“I know how it works.” Remus’ voice is low. Low, but not thin. He doesn’t look at you as he sits down. “I need it, alright?” 

You take a breath. Yes, you can see how you explaining Remus’ own migraines to him might not be well received. But it’s not easy to watch your boyfriend act against his own self-interest. 

Remus has described the feelings leading up to a full moon to you before. He said it feels like something sizzling under his skin, or crackling. It’s not entirely pleasant, but it gives him more energy than he ever has otherwise. Makes him restless, productive, lively. Eventually, though, that energy builds into something he can barely tolerate—that’s when the migraines usually start. Remus gets irritable, his joints ache, it’s like his body is trying to hold something no human can, waiting for the full moon and the chance for Remus’ not-human body to expel it all. 

When you think about how much energy he’s storing, that electric sizzle under his skin, caffeine hardly seems necessary. Until you take into account that Remus has hardly slept for the past three nights. Then you wonder if perhaps his brain can no longer keep up with the tireless dynamism of the rest of him. 

“Maybe you should rest for a while instead,” you try. 

“I have work to do.” 

“It’ll still be there after a nap.”

“And I suppose I may as well just wait until after the full, then, yeah?” 

“I mean, maybe.” You pick up on Remus’ sarcasm, but you don’t disagree. “You can’t be expected to just power through when you’re having such a hard time.” 

“Really?” There’s bite in your boyfriend’s voice now. Enough that you retract the hand you were about to set on his shoulder. “I can’t be expected to? That’s exactly what’s expected of me. I don’t just get a week off every month.” 

You push out a frustrated breath. “I know, and that’s not fair—” 

“None of this is fair.” Remus turns in his seat, glowering with such virulence it shocks you despite the argument you’d thought you were prepared for. “There aren’t allowances made for lycanthropy. If I told my boss that I need a lighter workload and he made the connection, he could report me to the ministry. I can’t afford to complain about how my head hurts or indulge in naps and breaks when everyone else keeps working.” 

His voice rises, and he’s suddenly taller than you, looking down on you. He stood up. Your ears are ringing. 

“If everyone else is able to handle their workload during the full, I have to, too. Do you understand that?” 

You find you can’t speak. There’s a horrible ache sitting in the base of your throat which won’t let anything out. You nod. 

“Do you?” Remus seems exasperated. Baffled by your naïveté. “I don’t want to be told that I shouldn’t be working. I don’t want to be told that I can’t have caffeine to get through it, because I know what I have to do, and that’s not something you can understand. Alright?”

“Alright,” you choke out. 

“Do you get that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Remus,” says another voice. You don’t turn, but you don’t need to; Sirius always follows the sound of shouting. It’s habit for him. “That’s enough, love.” 

“I was done,” Remus snaps. 

Sirius’ hand wraps around your elbow. His fingers feel cool, or maybe you’re only hot. You feel very, very hot. 

“Hey,” he prompts softly. Now you look at him. Sirius’ expression is all tenderness, and it feels like whiplash. “You okay?” 

You dismiss the question with a shake of your head. Your ears are still ringing. “Yeah.” 

You look back to Remus. You can’t help it. You want to fix, and to leave, and to dissolve. But Remus is the epicenter of everything, and you feel as though taking your eyes off him even temporarily is a danger. 

“Let’s be done squabbling for now,” Sirius says, his voice unnaturally light. “We’ve all said our piece, yeah?” He gives your arm a gentle tug, and you take a step back. You’d been nearly right up against Remus, you realize. Frozen to the spot where you’d gone to rest your hand on his shoulder. Sirius runs his thumb over your skin before asking again, “Are you okay?” 

Tears invade your eyes without warning. Your face burns, and you feel it screw up in an attempt to keep them from falling. “Yeah,” you say unsteadily. “I’m just—so—sorry.” 

Two things happen seemingly at once: your voice fractures, and Sirius crushes you to him. 

Remus exhales. You hear the creak of his chair taking his weight again. “Shit.” 

“Shh, I know,” Sirius murmurs, petting your head while your tears spill over to wet his jumper—Remus’ jumper, which smells like both of them and probably also you. “I know, baby, it’s okay. You’re safe here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Remus says. His voice sounds muffled, as though he’s speaking into his hands. 

“No, it’s—I’m sorry.” You sniff, trying to wipe under your eyes. Sirius keeps you held to his front. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is my fault.” 

“I believe I said we were done with the squabbling.” Sirius kisses your head firmly. “What do you need, sweetness? Some quiet? Time to breathe?” 

“I’m okay. Really, I’m fine.” You give Sirius a grateful squeeze before letting him go. He lets you, but watches you concernedly as you swipe a knuckle underneath your eyes. The ringing in your ears has faded to near nothing, aftershocks trembling through your fingers in its wake.  “I’m fine. I just—needed a second. Sorry.” 

Sirius makes a quiet sound. “Stop that. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

Remus nods his agreement. His head is in his hands, you can see now, but he lifts it up to look you in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you.” 

You shake your head. “You were right. I was insensitive. And I don’t know why I reacted like that, I’m just being dramatic.” 

“Oi,” Sirius cuts in sternly, though half as stern as he’d usually be even to tease you. “I’m dramatic. Get your own personality.” 

That gets your lips to twitch a little. You watch as Remus sends him one of his fond, exasperated looks. 

“You weren’t being dramatic,” Remus says to you. “I shouted at you. However angry I was, that’s not alright. I’m sorry I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me.” Your eyes are beginning to burn again. You try to blink through it. “It was just—it was—” 

“I understand,” he says, softly. His expression is still taut with pain, but some of the harsher lines have melted away. “I’m sorry anyway. Do you want to come here?” 

Sirius hums satisfiedly when you go sit across Remus’ lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He draws his hand up and down your back slowly, with enough pressure to ease away any lingering tension coiled around your spine. You breathe out. Sirius doesn’t hold out long before he’s there too, curled around the two of you and squeezing heartily. 

“You two aren’t allowed to fight,” he mutters, kissing your head and Remus’ in turn. “In order for me to be petty and vain, I need you to be the sensible ones, understand? This is a delicate ecosystem.” 

“I don’t know,” you hum. “I think Remus should get breaks some way or another around the full moon. Can’t you take a sensible shift once a month?” 

Sirius lets out a sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but you hear the gentle sound of him pressing another kiss to Remus’ head. “Suppose so. Only once a month, though.” 

[jungkoode]

OUT OF LINE | 01

“gominola”

"Some people are immune to charm, allergic to arrogance, and completely uninterested in your particular brand of expensive chaos. Today you meet one of them."

next | index | wc: 8.4k

↦author's note : Okay. Okay. I really went and did it with this one. And I regret absolutely nothing. First of all. Just had to make that clear up front. No apologies will be issued at this time, thank you for your concern. Second of all—and this one's been cracking me up for days—I've been texting Vani like "I'm so sorry. I fear this is my Wattpad fic." Because... it is. Like, it really is. I've gone full ✨she's unimpressed, he's cocky✨ and I need you all to understand: I am aware. I see the trope. I live the trope. And I embrace the trope. This is not innovative. It's not genre-defying. It is what it is, and I'm standing ten toes down in it. Sometimes life sucks and you deserve to indulge in a fuckboy right-back getting stonewalled by a girl in a hoodie and a death glare. Guilty pleasures are called pleasures for a reason. Let me live. That said... this is still a Kiki fic. So yeah, it's Wattpad-coded, but it's also packed with trauma, psychological complexity, and enough repressed emotion to make a therapist cry. Because I can't write fluff. I can't write people who fall in love cleanly. I can only write emotional warfare and painfully specific coping mechanisms. So if you're looking at Taehyung like "he's insufferable," just know that's the point. He is! He's also deeply lonely, emotionally stunted, and addicted to being wanted because he thinks admiration equals worth. (Spoiler: it doesn't.) And her—god. She is not here for the male ego parade. She's grown up in Spain, she's grieving, she's displaced, and she has zero energy for Real Madrid's locker room of dopamine-deficient mascots. That hoodie isn't just a hoodie. It's distance. It's defiance. It's a tether to a home she was pulled from too fast, and a warning sign to anyone trying to get too close. Don't get me started on the symbolism because this will get way too long. Vani knows firsthand. Now. Leo? Oh, Leo. He's the Real Madrid maknae and a walking cautionary tale. He wants to belong so badly he'll mirror whatever's around him. Which, unfortunately for him, is Taehyung and Marco. He's twenty. Impressionable. Already being warped by the dynamic of party-first, care-later. I love him. I want to save him. I might not. Also, let's talk about Jesús—because I had to sneak that conversation in. Chapter 1 is heavy on Taehyung's POV, which means you get all his projection and testosterone-induced decisions and derailed internal monologue. But the dad scene was non-negotiable. I needed you to see her from the inside. The quiet way she's holding herself together with routines, ferrets, gominolas, and the desperate need for control. She's not cold. She's scorched. And her dad? He's trying. He's trying so hard. And maybe that's the saddest part of all. Also—linguistics side note because I'm annoying—I very intentionally wrote her dialogue with Jesús in Spanish (with translations) because I will die on the hill of language realism. It would make zero sense for them to speak English to each other at home. She's grown up in Spain. Her dad's Spanish. That's their intimacy language. Meanwhile, the Real Madrid players default to English—the club is international, and not everyone speaks Spanish fluently (Taehyung included). So yes. In this fic, she's the one speaking a different language. And yes. He's going to learn. Because nobody does language kink intimacy like I do. 🫦 So yes. He's awful. Intentionally. Aggressively. Satirically. This is not a "he's so cool because he's toxic" situation. This is "I am raw-dogging you his character flaws on a silver platter so you can watch him fumble in real time." Let's all unpack that together. Anyway. Welcome to Out of Line. Vani's Between the Lines sister story. My trauma-coded cliché monster. My ode to messy boys and girls who pretend they're fine until they implode. Please buckle your seatbelts. Hold each other's hands. Consider investing in therapy. I know I am.

The new physio better be hot.

That's the first coherent thought Taehyung has after forty-five minutes of mindless drills. Not that he's complaining about the mindless part—muscle memory's doing all the work while his brain checks out, cataloguing last night's blonde (Marta? Maria? Started with an M, ended with her screaming his name, details irrelevant).

The September sun's brutal on the pitch, turning the grass into a furnace, and Coach keeps barking orders like they haven't run this same formation a thousand times.

"Fucking hell," Marco grunts beside him, bent over with his hands on his knees. "If I have to do one more suicide drill, I'm actually going to commit one."

Leo laughs—that nervous kind of laugh he does when he's not sure if Marco's joking. Kid's still too green, still thinks there's some magic formula to fitting in. Taehyung remembers being twenty and giving a shit about what the older players thought. Now he's twenty-four and the only opinion that matters is his own.

And right now, his opinion is that training's boring as fuck.

"New physio starts today," Leo offers, like that's supposed to make the sweat stop pooling in uncomfortable places. "Jesús something. From Barcelona."

So… A man. Boring.

Marco spits on the grass. "Great. We now got a Barça prick to tell us we're stretching wrong."

Taehyung's about to add his own commentary—something about how Barcelona's medical staff couldn't fix their players' egos, let alone their hamstrings—when movement in the bleachers catches his eye.

Hello.

There's someone up there. Female someone, from the shape. Not unusual—girlfriends, agents, journalists, they all hover around the complex like expensive flies.

But this one's different.

This one's got nose in a book (okay, miss 'not like other girls'), completely ignoring the show on the pitch.

And that's…

Interesting.

He shifts his stance, trying to get a better angle without being obvious about it. Hair pulled back, oversized university hoodie despite the heat, legs crossed at the ankle. Can't see your face from here, but the way you're sitting—spine straight, pen moving across the page in quick, efficient strokes—suggests you're not here for the view.

Which is fucking absurd, honestly.

He's shirtless. Marco's shirtless. Hell, half the team's shirtless, and you're more invested in whatever's on that page than twenty-two professional athletes in peak physical condition.

"Oi." Marco's elbow catches him in the ribs. "You checking out the competition or planning to actually train today?"

"Who's that?"

He doesn't point—he's not twelve—but tilts his head toward the bleachers.

Marco squints, then grins. That specific grin that means he's already mapping out his approach strategy.

"Oh shit. That's the new physio's daughter."

So a man—with a daughter.

The information slots into place like a puzzle piece.

Barcelona physio. Daughter in tow. Probably forced to tag along while daddy gets settled into his new job, bored out of your mind, killing time with—he squints—whatever the fuck that textbook is.

"Dibs," Marco says automatically.

"You can't call dibs on people," Leo protests, still adorably convinced that ethics apply to their world.

"Watch me." Marco's already running a hand through his hair, activating what he calls 'the panty-dropper smile,' which Taehyung's seen work on models, actresses, that prosecutor who definitely should've known better. "I give her two days before she's begging for a private tour of the facilities."

Taehyung watches you turn a page, pen tapping against your bottom lip. The gesture is unconscious, academic, completely unaware of the attention you're drawing.

Something about it makes his mouth quirk up.

"Hundred euros says she doesn't even give you her number."

"You're on." Marco's already moving, that swagger in his step that says he's never met a woman who didn't eventually cave. "Watch and learn, boys."

But Taehyung's not interested in watching Marco crash and burn. He's already moving, cutting his friend off with the kind of casual interception that works just as well off the pitch as on it.

Marco's protests fade into background noise—something about fair play and bro code and other shit that stops mattering the second Taehyung gets a clear view of your face.

You're pretty.

Not Instagram pretty, not 'done up for the cameras' pretty. Just… pretty. The kind of face that probably looks the same at 6 AM as it does at midnight. No makeup that he can see, just skin and eyes and a mouth that's currently frowning at whatever you're reading.

He leans against the barrier separating the pitch from the stands, letting his weight settle into the metal. Close enough now to smell something sweet—not perfume, something else. Candy, maybe. The artificial cherry kind kids eat.

You don't look up.

He's standing three feet away, shirtless and sweaty and radiating that post-workout testosterone that usually has women tripping over themselves, and you don't even glance his way.

What the fuck.

He raises an eyebrow, even though you're not looking to see it.

Clears his throat.

Nada.

You make another note in the margin of your textbook, and he catches a glimpse of the page—medical terminology, diagrams that look like someone exploded a knee joint and tried to map the debris.

A physio's daughter studying what looks like physio stuff. Following in daddy's footsteps. Cute.

He waves a hand in front of your face. Not aggressive, just enough movement to break your concentration.

And finally—finally—you look up.

Your eyes are darker than expected, the kind that turns black when annoyed.

Which, judging by the expression on your face, is exactly what you are right now.

He smirks. Can't help it. It's automatic at this point, the expression that says 'yeah, I'm that guy, you're welcome.'

"Hey."

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Then go back to your book.

What.

"Studying?" He tries again, because maybe you're one of those delayed reaction types.

Maybe the neural pathways from eyes to brain to mouth need a second to fire up.

Nothing.

He glances at the textbook again.

The words swim in front of him—Spanish, mostly, medical Spanish at that. His comprehension tops out at ordering beer and asking where the bathroom is. Carmen tried to teach him once, spent hours conjugating verbs while naked in his bed, but all he remembers is that 'cama' means bed and 'más' means more.

"I guess you already know my name."

He leans harder against the barrier, angling his body to block the worst of the sun from your page.

See? Thoughtful.

"But it's Kim. Taehyung. First name Taehyung."

You raise your eyes from the textbook. Slow, like it's costing you effort. The look you give him is so flat it could resurface a parking lot.

"And I should care because…?"

It's not quite a question because you clearly don't expect an answer. Or want one. You're already turning back to your book, dismissing him as efficiently as a referee's whistle.

He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

"Tae!" Marco's voice cuts across the pitch. "Coach wants us back!"

But Taehyung's still processing. Still standing there like an idiot while you scribble another note in that incomprehensible textbook.

You've got a red pen now, underlining something like nothing else matters in the world—not even him.

That makes him frown.

The barrier digs into his forearms but he doesn't move. Can't quite figure out why you're not looking.

You're just… sitting there. Ignoring him. Like he's furniture.

Sweaty, expensive furniture that you have zero interest in purchasing.

"Taehyung!" Marco again, louder this time. "Unless you want extra laps—"

Right. Training. The thing he's paid millions to do.

He pushes off the barrier, but not before catching one last detail—a small bag of those candies peeking out from your hoodie pocket.

"Any day now, princess," Marco calls, and that gets a laugh from the others.

Taehyung flips him off, and he knows, technically, the smart thing would be to walk away. Get back to training. Forget about the physio's daughter who clearly has better things to do than stroke his ego.

But Taehyung's never been particularly smart about these things.

"You know," he says, loud enough to make sure you hear him, "most people at least pretend to be interested when someone introduces themselves."

Your pen stops moving. Just for a second. Then continues its path across the page.

"Most people," you say without looking up, "introduce themselves when there's a reason to."

It's so casual, so dismissive, that it takes him a second to realize you've just called him irrelevant to your existence.

Him. Taehyung Kim. Real Madrid's starting right-back. A hundred and thirty-six million Instagram followers. Face of three luxury brands and that unfortunate cologne campaign his agent swears was artistic.

Irrelevant.

"Taehyung, I swear to god—"

"I'm coming!" He shouts back at Marco, then his eyes move back to you.

He glances at your hoodie pocket again, at the candy, sweet-shaped things you're chewing.

"What's that?"

You look up slowly, like you're completely done with this, and he kind of likes the little groove appearing between your eyebrows.

"What's what?"

He nods at the small red jellybean thingy between your fingers.

"That."

"It's called gominola," you say, flat as concrete, like you're explaining colors to a toddler.

Gominola. Spanish word.

He's heard it before, maybe, but Spanish flows past him like water most days.

"Right." He nods like he totally knew that. "Gominola."

You're already deep in your textbook again, like the last two minutes didn't happen. Like he didn't happen.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting salt and something sour. When he finally turns back to the pitch, Marco's wearing that shit-eating grin that means he watched the whole thing.

"So," his friend says as Taehyung jogs back to formation. "How's that hundred euros looking?"

"Shut up."

"No, really. I want to know what kind of flowers to send to your funeral. Roses? Lilies? Something that says 'here lies Taehyung Kim, murdered by a girl who didn't give a fuck'?"

Leo's trying not to laugh and failing. Even Diego looks amused from his spot near the goal, and Diego hasn't been amused by anything since 2018.

"She's playing hard to get," Taehyung says, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long drink.

The sun's turned brutal while he was standing there like an idiot, and his shoulders are probably fried.

"Right." Marco stretches the word into three syllables. "And I'm playing hard to get with Scarlett Johansson."

"Different game entirely."

Taehyung caps the bottle, eyes drifting back to the bleachers. You're highlighting something now, yellow marker moving in precise lines.

"Trust me."

"Oh, this is gonna be good." Marco's practically bouncing on his toes. "Taehyung Kim, rejected by the physio's daughter who'd rather read about—what was that, tendons?—than talk to him."

"I wasn't rejected."

"You literally just stood there while she acted like you didn't exist."

"She was just busy."

"That's what we're calling it?"

Taehyung grins, and it's the one that usually makes Marco nervous. The one that appears right before he does something spectacularly stupid and somehow makes it work.

"I'm calling it round one."

Because here's the thing—he's been bored. Genuinely, mind-numbingly bored.

Same training, same parties, same faces in his bed.

Madrid's full of women who know his name before he opens his mouth, who laugh at jokes that aren't funny and pretend to be fascinated by stories they've already heard from three other players.

But you? You looked at him like he was blocking your light.

So he spends the rest of training with one eye on the bleachers, and you don't look up once, not even when Leo completely botches a penalty kick and Marco screams creative Italian profanity at the sky.

You just keep reading, occasionally popping one of those gominolas into your mouth, completely absorbed in a world that has nothing to do with the spectacle fifty feet away.

By the time Coach calls it, the sun's turned the pitch into a sauna and everyone's dragging.

Taehyung grabs his shirt from the bench, pulling it on while trying to look like he's not watching you pack up your things.

You move like you have all the time in the world—book into bag, pens into case, everything in its place.

Then you're walking down the bleachers, taking the steps two at a time like you've got somewhere better to be.

"So what's the plan?" Marco appears at his shoulder, following his line of sight. "Flowers? Jewelry? Groveling?"

"Don't need a plan."

"Everyone needs a plan."

"No," Taehyung corrects, watching you disappear through the exit without a backward glance. "Everyone else needs a plan."

Marco laughs, but it's the kind that suggests he thinks Taehyung's lost it.

"She didn't even tell you her name."

True.

But he noticed the way your fingers tapped against the book when you were thinking.

Noticed the three different colors of highlighter in your bag, organized by size.

Noticed how you bite your lip on the left side when concentrating, leaving the faintest indent in the pink.

Details.

The kind that matter when you're mapping out a challenge.

"She will," he says, and means it.

Because Taehyung Kim doesn't do rejection.

He does persistence, charm and strategy wrapped in a smile.

And you, with your medical textbooks and gummies and complete inability to give a fuck about his existence?

Oh. You're gonna be fun.

Nube’s stealing your socks again.

You watch her drag the pink cotton across the hardwood floor of your bedroom, tiny paws working overtime to claim her prize.

She’s gotten bold since the move—probably stress-induced kleptomania.

Can’t blame her. You’ve been stress-eating pikotas like they’re a food group.

"That’s my good pair," you tell her, but she’s already disappeared under the bed with her treasure.

Hari’s less ambitious in his criminal endeavors. He’s sprawled across your stomach like a furry hot water bottle, occasionally chittering when you stop petting him. The sound vibrates against your ribs—small, warm, alive.

Better than the silence that fills this house most days.

Your phone’s face-down on the nightstand because checking it leads to Barcelona rabbit holes, and Barcelona rabbit holes lead to wondering what Dani had for breakfast or whether Jungkook’s figured out how to use the coffee machine without flooding the kitchen.

Pointless thoughts. Dangerous thoughts.

The knock on your door is soft, tentative. Dad’s signature.

Mom used to say he knocked like he was apologizing for existing.

"¿Sí?" (Yeah?)

"¿Puedo pasar?" (Can I come in?)

Hari perks up at your father’s voice, whiskers twitching. Traitor. You scoop him up anyway, settling him against your shoulder before nodding toward the door.

"Adelante." (Come in)

Dad enters like he’s entering a crime scene—careful, observant, ready to back out if needed. His hair’s still damp from the shower, smelling like that medicinal soap he uses. The scent of competence and sterile environments, you figure.

"¿Cómo van los estudios?" (How’s the studying going?) He settles into the chair by your desk, the one that’s supposed to be for studying but mostly holds laundry you’re too lazy to put away.

"Bien." (Good) You scratch behind Hari’s ears, feel him melt against your palm. "La anatomía es anatomía. Da igual si estás en Barcelona o en Marte." (Anatomy’s anatomy. Doesn’t matter if you’re in Barcelona or Mars)

He smiles at that, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Never does anymore.

Not since the move.

Not since Mom.

"Bien. Eso está bien." (Good. That’s good.) His fingers drum against his thigh—nervous habit he developed after Mom died. "Oye, sé que este cambio ha sido… difícil. Para los dos." (Listen, I know this change has been… difficult. For both of us.)

Here we go. The conversation you’ve been avoiding for three weeks. The one where he apologizes for taking the job, for moving you from everything familiar, for choosing survival over sentiment.

"Papá—" (Dad—)

"No, escúchame." (No, listen to me.) He leans forward, elbows on knees. The posture of a man confessing sins. "Sé que no querías irte de Barcelona. Sé que esto te parece una traición." (I know you didn’t want to leave Barcelona. I know this feels like betrayal.)

Betrayal’s too strong a word. Abandonment fits better.

But you don’t say that because he already carries enough guilt for both of you.

"No pasa nada." (It’s fine.)

"Sí que pasa." (It’s not fine.) His voice gains edge, that firmness he uses with players who claim they’re not injured when they’re obviously limping. "Pero era necesario. Y a lo mejor… a lo mejor es bueno. Cambio de aires. Nuevas perspectivas." (But it was necessary. And maybe… maybe it’s good. Change of air. New perspectives.)

New perspectives. Right. Because what you really needed was exposure to Madrid’s particular brand of arrogance and entitlement.

Hari shifts against your shoulder, tiny claws pricking through your shirt.

Even he’s unconvinced.

"¿Y los jugadores?" (And the players?) The question comes out careful, as if he were asking about your opinion on the weather rather than your thoughts on his new colleagues. "¿Qué te parecen?" (What do you think of them?)

You consider lying. Consider diplomacy. Consider all the ways you could soften the truth to make it easier for him to swallow.

Instead, you shrug.

"Pues qué voy a pensar, papá. Son gilipollas." (What would I think, dad? They’re jerks.)

He barks out a laugh—sharp, surprised. The first genuine one you’ve heard from him since you got here.

"Joder, hija." But he’s grinning now, shaking his head. "No te cortes." (Shit, sweetie. Tell me how you really feel.)

"Me has preguntado." (You asked.)

"Es verdad." (That’s true.) He sobers slightly. "¿Todos?" (All of them?)

You think about it. Really think about it.

Xavi seems decent enough—quiet, professional, treats staff like humans rather than furniture. Diego’s got that aggressive competence thing going on, but he’s respectful. Even Marco, for all his obvious fuckboy tendencies, at least has the decency to say please when he wants extra ice.

Then there’s… him.

Taehyung.

With his lazy smirks and designer everything and complete inability to understand that the world doesn’t revolve around his stupid abs.

"La mayoría." (Most of them.) The admission feels like charity. "Algunos son simplemente… más gilipollas que otros." (Some are just… bigger jerks than others.)

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand. Face still down, but the vibration makes both you and Hari jump slightly.

Ignore it.

It’s probably Instagram telling you Dani posted another story, or your university group chat discussing assignment due dates, or some other notification designed to pull you back into a world you’re trying to navigate without drowning.

It buzzes again.

"¿No vas a mirar?" (Won’t check?)

"No es nada." (It’s nothing.)

But your dad’s looking at you with that expression. The one that says he knows you better than you know yourself, and lying to him is like lying to a mirror.

You flip the phone over.

@𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐨: BOMBAZO: 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚎 𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚝, ¿𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚟𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚓𝚊? 𝙻𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚊́𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 (BOMBSHELL: BarcaBarbie and Blake Scott, new couple? The pictures that confirm the romance)

The thumbnail is grainy, paparazzi-quality garbage, but unmistakably them. Blake’s hand around Barbie’s waist, pulling her close. Her face is hidden by her hair, falling between them and the camera.

They’re close. Too close.

The kind of close that could be a kiss or could be an almost-kiss or could be nothing at all, but the angle makes it impossible to tell and that’s exactly what sells magazines.

You stare at the screen longer than necessary. Feel something twist in your chest that you refuse to name.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not longing. It’s just… surprise.

Because Blake is a Barcelona player, and Barbie is Dani’s sister—and the implications are already enough without you having to explicitly connect the dots.

Your thumb hovers over Dani’s contact. The urge to text him hits like muscle memory—does he know about this? how’s he taking it? is he okay?—but then your heart does that thing. That stupid, treacherous thing where it speeds up just thinking about typing his name.

Because he has a girlfriend now.

Carla. Sweet, pretty Carla who met him with a press badge slung around her neck and a voice recorder in hand. Who writes match reports and profile pieces that are perfect and looks genuinely happy in her soft-filtered couple photos.

Of course he would fall for her. 

Of course she’s the kind of girl who gets the story and the guy.  

Carla who never had to compete with a dead woman’s memory or a teenage crush that should have died years ago.

You swallow the impulse. Bury it under three layers of rationalization and practical thinking.

Instead, you open Jungkook’s chat.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍? 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙱𝚊𝚛?

You wait 2 seconds max before the response makes its way through the chat. Well, of fucking course. It’s no secret Jungkook's always been surgically attached to his phone.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙��𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚜

Relief floods your system before you can stop it.

Which is stupid.

Why should you care if Barbie and Blake are together? It’s not like their relationship status affects your life in Madrid.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒? 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕

The response comes quick. Too quick. Like he’s trying to move past the topic before you can dig deeper.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚋𝚝𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍?

And there it is. The subject change.

Jungkook’s always been good at reading minefields and stepping around them.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚍?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚘𝚘𝚏

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, because…

You could tell him about Taehyung. About the smirk and the shameless showing off and the way he looked genuinely confused when you didn’t fall over yourself to talk to him.

But that would require admitting you noticed him at all.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛? 🤔

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊��𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚜

Despite everything, you smile.

Because he’s not wrong.

Barcelona players at least have the decency to look good while being insufferable.

"¿Todo bien?" (All good?) Your dad’s voice pulls you back to the room, to Hari’s warm weight against your shoulder, to the conversation you abandoned to spiral over Barcelona gossip.

"Sí. Solo… amigos siendo amigos." (Yeah. Just… Friends being friends.)

"¿Amigos de Barcelona?" (Barcelona friends?)

The question lands heavier than it should.

Because yes, Barcelona friends. The ones you left behind.

The ones who are moving on and coupling up and living their lives while you’re stuck in Madrid petting ferrets and avoiding eye contact with shirtless footballers.

"Sí." (Yes.)

He nods, understanding more than you wish he did.

"Está bien echarlos de menos. Es normal." (It’s okay to miss them. It’s normal.)

"Lo sé." (I know.)

"Y está bien… hacer nuevos amigos aquí. Aunque sean gilipollas." (And it’s okay to… to make new friends here. Even if they’re jerks.)

You look at him then, see the worry lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders carry tension like a physical weight.

He’s trying so hard to make this work. To make this place feel like home instead of just a house where you happen to sleep.

It’s not fair to him, to make it feel like it’s all his fault.

"Tal vez algunos sean menos gilipollas que otros," you concede. (Maybe some are lesser jerks than others.)

He smiles. "Sí, tal vez." (Yeah, maybe.)

Your phone buzzes again.

More Barcelona updates, probably.

More reminders of the life you’re not living anymore.

You let it buzz.

Because right now, in this sterile Madrid bedroom with your stress-thieving ferrets and your guilt-ridden father, you’re exactly where you need to be. Even if it feels like exile.

Even if every instinct tells you that Madrid players are trouble, and certain shirtless right-backs are the worst kind of trouble.

Even if your heart still does stupid things when you think about blue and red jerseys and boys who used to treat you like family.

"¿Cena?" (Dinner?) Your dad stands, stretching joints that probably ache from years of fixing other people’s bodies. "Estaba pensando en pedir de ese sitio argentino de la calle." (I was thinking of ordering from that argentinian place down the street.)

"¿El de las empanadas?" (The one with the empanadas?)

"Ese mismo." (The very one.)

Hari chirps at the mention of food, because ferrets are basically tiny, furry garbage disposals with boundary issues.

"Vale. Pero mañana cocinas tú. Esto de la comida a domicilio se está poniendo caro." (Okay. But you’re cooking tomorrow. This takeout thing is getting expensive.)

"Trato hecho." (Deal.) He pauses at the door, hand on the frame. "Y cielo…" (And sweetheart…)

"¿Qué?" (What?)

"Dale una oportunidad a Madrid. Solo… una pequeñita." (Give Madrid a chance. Just… a small one.)

You scratch Hari’s head, feel him purr against your palm. Outside your window, the sun’s setting over a city that still feels foreign, painting everything in shades of gold and possibility.

"Ya veremos." (We’ll see.)

It’s not a yes. But it’s not a no either.

And for now, that’s enough.

Twenty-two minutes and she hasn't cum yet.

Not that he's counting. Except he is, because Marco's got a thousand euros riding on twenty minutes max, and Taehyung doesn't lose bets. Especially not when the evidence is currently wrapped around his cock, lips stretched wide, dark eyes looking up at him through thick lashes like she knows exactly what she's doing to him.

Fuck.

Her tongue does this thing—this swirl around the head that makes his thighs tense—and he threads his fingers through her curls. Not pulling. Guiding. There's a difference, and he's not an amateur. The curls are soft, springy, wrapping around his fingers like they belong there.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Screen lights up with Marco's name and some emoji combination that probably means he's balls deep in his own conquest downstairs.

Good for him. Great. Love that for him. Now fuck off.

He swipes at the notification with his free hand, types back without looking. Whatever he sends, it's probably not words. Doesn't matter. Marco speaks fluent 'leave me the fuck alone' by now.

She hums around him and his hips jerk. Shit. He tosses the phone somewhere—bed, floor, shadow realm, who gives a fuck—and gets his other hand in her hair. Both hands now, cradling her head like she's precious cargo. Which she is. Absolutely fucking is when she's doing that thing with her tongue again.

"That's it," he breathes, helping her with shallow thrusts.

Nothing too deep. He's not trying to choke her. Not unless she asks, and even then—

The phone buzzes again.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He ignores it. Focuses on the wet heat, the way her nails dig into his thighs when he hits the back of her throat.

She's good at this. Really good.

Like, 'might actually get her number after this' good. The kind of good that makes him forget about—

Another buzz. Another. The screen keeps lighting up like a fucking disco.

She pulls off with an obscene pop, lips swollen and shiny.

"Popular tonight?"

"Always am."

He guides her back down before she can respond, and she goes willingly. Eager, even. Takes him deeper this time, nose almost touching his pelvis, and he has to close his eyes.

Close, close, close—

The orgasm hits like a penalty kick to the gut. He spills down her throat with a grunt that's probably too loud for a hotel room with thin walls, but that's what they get for booking cheap venues for these sponsor parties.

He wipes it away with his thumb (gentle, see? he's a gentleman), and she catches his wrist, sucks the digit clean.

Yeah. Definitely round two with this one.

The phone starts actually ringing this time. Marco's ringtone—some reggaeton bullshit that makes him want to throw the device out the window.

"You need to get that?"

She's already climbing onto his lap, straddling his thighs like she owns them. Her dress rode up during the festivities, bunched around her waist.

No underwear. Smart girl.

"Nah."

He grabs her hips, pulls her closer. She's warm and soft and smells like coconut oil and that floral perfume every girl in Spain seems to own.

"Got better things to do."

She grins, reaching between them to wrap her fingers around his cock. Still sensitive, but already showing interest again. Twenty-four years old and blessed with the recovery time of a teenager.

Thank fuck for good genetics.

"Another round already?" She strokes him slowly, base to tip, twisting her wrist on the upstroke.

He smirks up at her, lazy and satisfied. She's gorgeous like this—dark skin gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, curls wild from his hands, lips still swollen.

The belly dancing show earlier didn't do her justice. All that hip movement on stage was just advertising for this, for the way she rolls her body like water.

"Hmm." He nips at her shoulder, tastes salt and coconut. "Think you can handle it?"

She laughs, breathy and confident, already reaching for the condoms on the nightstand. His mouth finds her shoulder, teeth grazing the skin as she rolls the latex down his half-hard cock. Already getting there. Give him two minutes and—

The phone buzzes again. Then again. Then—

"Jesus fucking Christ." He snatches it up, ready to block Marco's number permanently.

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝙲𝙾𝙳𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙳

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙��𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

She's positioning herself over him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other guiding him to her entrance. Wet. Ready.

Twenty-three minutes and counting, but who's keeping track?

"Ignore it," he mutters, tossing the phone aside again.

His hands find her waist, her lower back, steadying her as she sinks down.

Tight. Fuck, she's tight. Or maybe he's just bigger than her usual.

Either way, the way she gasps and digs her nails into his shoulders suggests this is working for both of them.

"Fuck," she breathes, bottoming out. "You're—"

"I know." He rolls his hips up, cutting off whatever compliment she was about to give.

Doesn't need to hear it. Knows exactly what he's working with.

She starts moving, slow at first, finding her rhythm. He lets her set the pace initially, hands roaming her back, her ass, her thighs. Cataloging reactions.

She likes it when he grips her hips. Loves it when he scrapes his teeth across her nipple.

Mental notes. He's nothing if not a student of the game.

The phone won't stop buzzing.

Fuck Marco, fuck Carlos and fuck the universe, honestly.

Change of plans.

"Gotta make it quick."

He grabs her hips, flips them in one smooth motion. Her back hits the mattress with a soft gasp, legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Better angle anyway.

He braces one forearm next to her head, uses the other hand to push her thigh back toward the mattress. Opens her up just right. Deep. The way he likes it.

"Oh fuck—"

She arches under him as he starts moving. None of that gentle buildup shit. They're twenty-four minutes in and he's got places to be, apparently.

He finds his rhythm quick. Hard, deep thrusts that have her gasping with each one. The headboard's probably banging against the wall but that's what happens when you book the cheap rooms for overflow guests.

Should've sprung for the suite.

One of his hands slides between them, finds her clit. Circles it with his thumb in time with his thrusts.

"Come on," he mutters against her neck. "Come on, come on, come on—"

She's close. Can feel it in the way her pussy flutters around him, the way her breathing goes ragged. Her nails rake down his back, probably leaving marks his physio will question tomorrow.

Whatever. Battle scars.

"Tae—" She can't even finish his name, too busy falling apart underneath him. Her whole body goes taut, cunt clenching around him like a vice.

Twenty-five minutes.

He'll tell Marco nineteen.

He fucks her through it, chasing his own release. Three more thrusts and he's done, spilling into the condom with a groan that's mostly relief.

Mission accomplished. Everybody wins.

No time to bask in it. He pulls out, ties off the condom, and makes the perfect throw into the trash can across the room.

Three points. Still got it.

"I gotta—"

"Yeah, I figured," she says, already reaching for her dress.

No hurt feelings, no "will I see you again?" Just a woman who got what she came for and seems pretty satisfied with the transaction.

He loves Madrid.

He's dressed in record time. Shirt half buttoned but who's checking? Shoes untied. Wallet, phone, keycard. The holy trinity of hasty exits.

The elevator ride down is a lesson in personal grooming. He tries to fix his hair in the mirror, gives up. Checks his phone instead.

Fifteen texts from Marco. Three from Carlos. One from his brother asking if he's seen the news.

What news?

The elevator dings at the lobby and Xavi's right there, still in his training kit because he's Xavi and probably sleeps in it.

"Bro." His teammate's eyes go wide. "Carlos is pissed. Like, nuclear pissed."

"Yeah, I got that from the fifty fucking texts." He's already moving toward the conference room Carlos commandeered for these lectures. "What's his problem now?"

"Check your Instagram."

"What?"

"Just check it."

He pulls up the app while walking.

A ferret account pops up on his discovery page first—weird? Then he checks his last IG story—mirror selfie, hair slightly wet at the tips after showering, navy sweater, gold and white make-shift belt around the loops as a wink to his team—has blown up.

Then his notifications, DMs…

@𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞: 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚘𝚘

Taehyung flicks his eyes upwards, seeing the story attached in the group chat he has with Marco and Leo in their private accounts.

Some girl from the party, video of him in the background. He's clearly drunk, clearly has his hands on C-something's ass, and clearly doesn't give a fuck who sees.

But that's not the worst part.

The worst part is the red lipstick mark on his neck that's visible in HD clarity. The same one he's sporting right now. The same one that makes it very fucking obvious what he's been doing while Carlos texts and calls and slowly loses his mind.

He swipes at his neck, fingers coming away red.

"Fuck's sake."

"Yeah, it's not looking too good, disappearing from your own sponsor event to—" Xavi gestures vaguely at Taehyung's everything. "—whatever this is?"

"It's called having a good time." He spots the hotel bar, makes a beeline. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

"I have a good time. With my fiancée. Singular. Who I've been with for eight years."

"Boring."

"Stable."

"Same thing."

Marco appears from nowhere, blonde still attached to his arm like a designer handbag. His best friend takes one look at him and whistles low.

"You're fucked."

"Thanks for the insight." He nods at Marco's companion. "Mind if I borrow him?"

She pouts but detaches, wobbling away on heels that should require a license to operate. Marco watches her go with the satisfied expression of a man who's had a very good night.

"Isabella know about your extracurriculars?" Taehyung asks, still trying to rub the lipstick off his neck.

"Isabella knows what Isabella needs to know." Marco produces a tissue from somewhere—the man's always prepared. "Here. You look like you got mauled by a Sephora display."

"Fuck off."

"I'm serious. Carlos is going to have an aneurysm. Something about brand image and Nike and I stopped listening after he mentioned lawyers."

Great. Fantastic. Another lecture about representing the club and thinking about his future and all that shit that goes in one ear and out the other.

He's twenty-four, not forty. If he can't fuck random chicks at hotel parties, what's the point of being famous?

"How bad?"

"Scale of one to ten?" Marco grins. "Fifteen. He used your full name. Twice."

Shit.

"Did you at least win the bet?"

Taehyung grins. "Nineteen minutes."

"Bullshit."

"You don't know how to count."

"I have a fucking engineering degree."

"From where, clown college?"

The conference room door is closed but he can hear Carlos pacing inside, the aggressive click of designer shoes on marble.

Taehyung takes a breath, straightens his collar, and tries to look less like he just railed someone into a mattress.

"Good luck," Marco says, already backing away.

"Fuck you."

"Love you too, princess."

He pushes open the door to find Carlos mid-rant on his phone. His manager—all 5'9" of stress and designer suits—spins around and actually growls.

"Finally! Do you have any idea—" Carlos stops, takes in his appearance, and closes his eyes like he's praying for patience. "Is that lipstick?"

"No?"

"Kim Taehyung, I swear to God—"

"Okay, yes, but—"

"Sit. Down."

He sits. Carlos continues pacing, phone clutched like a weapon.

"Do you know what I've been doing for the past hour? Damage control. Do you know why? Because my client—my professional footballer client who makes seven figures a month—decided to get filmed grabbing ass at a party where half of Madrid's press was in attendance."

"It's not that bad—"

"Nike called." Carlos cuts him off. "They're concerned about your 'brand alignment.' Do you know what that means?"

"That they're uptight?"

"It means," Carlos says slowly, like he's explaining to a child, "that they pay you three and a half million euros a year to be a role model, not Madrid's most notorious fuckboy."

Fuckboy seems harsh. He prefers 'socially active'.

"I'll do an apology post," he offers. "Something about focusing on football and growth or whatever."

"No, you won't. Because that admits wrongdoing. We're going with 'private moment taken out of context.' Maria is drafting it now."

Of course she is. Carlos has contingencies for his contingencies.

"Fine. Can I go?"

"We're not done." Carlos finally stops pacing, fixing him with that look that means a PowerPoint presentation is coming. "This is the third incident this month. The referee thing, the Instagram live disaster, and now this."

"The referee deserved it."

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is the point?" He's getting irritated now, the post-orgasm calm evaporating. "I'm not breaking any laws. I'm not missing training. I'm playing the best football of my career—"

"The point," Carlos interrupts, "is that you're one scandal away from losing everything. Nike, TAG Heuer, the Korean skincare deal—they all have morality clauses. And you keep pushing boundaries like you're trying to find the limit."

He doesn't respond to that. Mainly because it's true.

"I need you to be smarter," Carlos continues, voice softer now. "I know you're young. I know you're having fun. But this isn't sustainable."

"Noted."

"I'm serious, Taehyung."

"So am I." He stands, ready to end this conversation. "I'll be more careful. Scout's honor."

Carlos doesn't look convinced, but he waves him off with a sigh that's more a cry for help than anything.

"Go. And for God's sake, wash your neck. You look like a crime scene."

He escapes before Carlos can launch into lecture phase two.

The hotel bar's still going strong—Madrid doesn't sleep, just shifts into different versions of awake.

He needs something to wash down the taste of Carlos's disappointment. Not whiskey though—that’s what old men drink when their wives leave them.

Vodka and tonic. Clean. Sharp. Doesn't linger.

The bartender's already pouring before he reaches the counter. Benefits of being recognized everywhere—people anticipate your needs, or at least pretend to.

He knocks back half of it in one go, ice cracking against his teeth.

There's a brunette at the end of the bar. Legs for days, red dress that he bets would look amazingly good on the floor of his bedroom.

She's been tracking him since he walked in—he can feel it without looking, the weight of female attention.

He's already mentally prepping—three minutes of conversation, five if she plays hard to get… His place or hers? Hers, probably. Easier to leave when—

"Tae!"

For fuck's sake.

Leo stumbles out of the elevator looking like someone killed his puppy. No, worse—like someone killed his puppy and posted it on TikTok. The kid's got his phone clutched in both hands, that specific brand of panic that only comes from relationship drama.

Why. Why can't the universe let him get his dick wet in peace? Just once. Just one fucking night without—

"Bro, I need your help." Leo shoves his phone in Taehyung's face. "Sofia saw—there was this brunette—someone posted—"

Instagram story. Leo with his tongue down some brunette's throat, hand up her skirt, zero subtlety. 47 views and counting.

He takes another sip of vodka, holds up a finger to the red dress at the bar—one second—and turns to Leo with what he hopes passes for sympathy.

"Breathe."

"I can't breathe! She posted a story. There's a hand. On her thigh. In a car. A man's hand!"

Leo shoves his phone in Taehyung’s face again.

Instagram story. Some girl’s thigh in a car, masculine hand placement that’s definitely not Leo’s. Caption: upgrade season 💋

"Okay."

"It's not okay! And the girl from tonight, she wants breakfast. Breakfast, Tae. Like, together. In public. She's talking about some place that does açaí bowls."

Christ. Açaí bowls. The official food of women who think one hookup equals a relationship contract.

"And Sofia's probably with that guy right now, and if she finds out I'm getting breakfast with—"

"You're not getting breakfast with anyone." He smiles to the brunette with gritted teeth. "Rule one: never do breakfast."

"But I already said—"

"Rule two: your word means nothing after 2 AM."

"That's fucked up."

"That's reality."

The brunette’s definitely listening now.

Great. Nothing kills the mood like babysitting a teammate through his first real fuckboy crisis.

He catches her eye, mouths "work emergency" with an apologetic shrug. She smiles. Understanding. Patient.

Fuck, she’s perfect, and he’s stuck playing guidance counselor to Spain’s most panicked midfielder.

The bartender slides him a fresh drink. Stronger pour this time. Bless.

"Where is she?"

"Room 412. She wants to leave at nine for this place in Malasaña that apparently has the best—"

"Stop." He's getting a headache. Or maybe that's just the vodka hitting an empty stomach. "You're going to go up there—"

"I can't, man. I can't face her. What if she cries?"

Jesus. Was he ever this young? This fucking soft?

"She texts asking where I am every five minutes." Leo shows him the screen—twelve messages, escalating from casual to concerned to the early stages of psycho. "What do I say?"

He looks at Leo—really looks at him. Sees himself at twenty, before he learned that feelings are just chemicals and breakfast is just carbs.

Before he figured out that the only way to win is to always play defense.

"Give me your room key."

"What?"

"Your key. I'll handle it."

"You'll—how?"

"Just trust me." He stands, checks his reflection in the bar mirror. Lipstick's gone but he still looks freshly fucked. Perfect. "What's her name?"

"Natalia."

Of course it is. It's always Natalia or Valentina or some other name that sounds like a telenovela character.

"You owe me." He grabs Leo's shoulders, makes sure the kid's paying attention. "You owe me so fucking big."

"Anything, man. Anything."

"In five minutes, you go wait in the lobby. And try to look heartbroken."

They need Marco. Marco’s good at this shit—turning disasters into comedy, making women laugh when they should be throwing drinks.

So he texts him.

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚋𝚊𝚛. 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏, 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚕𝚎𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙. 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: …𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚊𝚍?

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚍

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭👼: 𝚓𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚜. 𝟸 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜

Marco appears exactly 4 minutes later (see, he can’t count for shit)—shirt half-buttoned, hair suggesting recent activities.

He takes one look at Leo’s face and laughs.

"Breakfast? Really?"

"Her name’s Natalia," Leo defends weakly.

"They’re all named Natalia." Marco claps him on the shoulder. "Alright, wait in the lobby. Look heartbroken."

"That’s exactly what Taehyung said."

Marco lifts his eyebrows and then smiles at him.

"Great minds think alike."

Room 412 is four floors up.

They take the stairs because Marco insists—‘builds character’—but really it’s to workshop the lie.

By the third floor, they’ve got it sorted.

"Family emergency," Marco’s saying, taking the steps two at a time. "Classic. Timeless. Nobody questions sick grandmothers."

"Too heavy." He’s already winded. When was the last time he took stairs? "She’ll want to comfort him. Send flowers or some shit."

"Work emergency?"

"At 5 AM?"

"Good point." Marco pauses at the landing, finger to his lips like he’s contemplating world peace. "Ex-girlfriend."

"That’s what I was thinking."

"Specifically, ex-girlfriend in the lobby with new boyfriend. Leo sees them, gets emotional, can’t possibly do breakfast while having a mental breakdown."

Sometimes he forgets why he keeps Marco around, but then shit like this happens, and it all makes sense.

The knock on 412 is soft, nothing about it screams ‘your hookup sent his boys to break your heart.’

She answers in a hotel robe, hair already curled for this breakfast that’s never happening. Of course she’s exactly what he pictured—pretty in that forgettable way, hopeful in that dangerous way.

"Leo?"

Her face falls when she sees them.

"Where’s Leo?"

"Downstairs." Marco’s got his concerned friend face on. Oscar-worthy. "Having a bit of a moment."

"A moment?"

"His ex." Taehyung leans against the doorframe, lets exhaustion sell the story. "She’s here. With her new guy. Showed up right as we were leaving and just… yeah."

"Oh." Her expression shifts from confusion to sympathy.

Incredible, how women always want to fix broken men.

"Oh god, is he okay?"

"He’s…" Marco glances at him, perfect comedic timing. "Processing."

"He wanted to come up himself," Taehyung adds, "but he’s not really in a state to see anyone. You know how it is. First love and all that."

She nods like this makes perfect sense. Like Leo—sweet, fumbling Leo—is the type to have dramatic ex-girlfriend encounters at 5 AM.

Though, considering the whole Sofia bullshit, that might not be too far-fetched.

"Should I go down? Talk to him?"

"No." Too quick. Marco softens it with a sympathetic head tilt. "He’s embarrassed. Grown man crying in a hotel lobby isn’t exactly his finest moment."

"Tell him…" She’s twisting the belt of her robe, searching for words. "Tell him I understand. And last night was really special."

Special. What a powerful word. One that turns hookups into expectations.

"We’ll make sure he gets the message," Marco promises, already backing away. "So sorry about this."

They maintain the bullshit until the elevator doors close.

Then Marco breaks, laughing so hard he has to brace himself against the wall.

"Did you see her face? ‘Last night was special.’" He wipes his eyes. "Fucking hell, Leo really stepped in it."

"He owes us."

"He owes us his firstborn. His kidney. His—" Marco stops. "Is that brunette from the bar still down there?"

"Probably." He checks his phone. 5:23 AM. The night’s officially crossed into morning, that grey area where bad decisions start looking like destiny. "Why?"

"Because you’ve got that look."

"What look?"

"The ‘I’m going to salvage this night if it kills me’ look."

Is he that predictable?

Don’t answer that.

The lobby’s thinned out—just the diehards and the professionals now. Leo’s slumped on a couch, still clutching his phone.

"Natalia?" Leo jumps up when he sees them.

"Sorted," Marco says. "Told her you’re emotionally compromised. She sends her understanding."

"You’re both lifesavers." Leo looks between them like they’ve just cured cancer. "I don’t know how to thank—"

"Learn from this." He claps Leo on the shoulder, harder than necessary. "Next time, no names. No promises. And definitely no fucking breakfast."

"But what if I actually like—"

"Then you’re in the wrong profession."

He can see the exact moment Leo’s moral compass realigns. The kid straightens up, nods like he’s just learned something profound.

Another one corrupted. Madrid’s finest at work.

"Thanks, guys. I mean it."

"Don’t thank us." Marco’s already eyeing the exit. "Thank Sofia for posting that thigh pic. Girl did you a favor."

Leo’s face falls. "Shit. Sofia."

"Tomorrow’s problem," Taehyung says firmly. "Tonight, you go home. Alone. Post nothing. Like nothing. Become invisible."

"But—"

"Go." He sighs. "Now."

Leo goes. Thank fuck. One crisis managed, one brunette to salvage—

She’s gone.

The barstool’s empty except for lipstick traces on her glass. When the fuck did she leave? He was watching her the whole—

No. He was playing mentor to Madrid’s most incompetent Romeo.

"Brutal." Marco murmurs at his shoulder. "She was hot too."

"There’ll be others."

"Always are." Marco stretches, joints popping. "I’m out. Got a hot thing waiting who thinks I’m getting ice."

"It’s been thirty minutes."

"I’m a very thorough ice-getter." He winks and disappears, leaving Taehyung alone with the growing certainty that tonight’s cursed.

But he’s Kim fucking Taehyung. He doesn’t accept defeat.

He spots her immediately—the blonde from earlier? No. Different blonde. Taller. Legs for days in a silver dress that catches light like a disco ball.

She’s typing on her phone, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

He doesn’t think. Just moves.

"Lost?"

She looks up. Blue eyes, the kind that photograph well. Her smile’s immediate, recognition flooding her features.

"Just waiting for my Uber." American accent. Of course.

They always love the accent combo—Korean face, Spanish lifestyle, English to make promises he won’t keep.

"Cancel it."

"Bold assumption."

"Safe bet." He leans against the pillar beside her, close enough to smell her perfume. That floral thing again. "Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be?"

She studies him for a long moment. He knows what she sees—designer clothes, professional athlete build, trouble written in every line. Her thumb hovers over her phone screen.

"I don’t even know your name."

Lie. She knows exactly who he is.

But he plays along because that’s part of it. The dance. The pretense that this is spontaneous rather than inevitable.

"Taehyung."

"Sarah." She cancels the Uber. "So what now?"

"Now?" He grins, the one that usually seals deals. "Now we get better drinks than whatever shit they were serving upstairs."

By 7 AM, he’s learned three things: Sarah’s flexible, she’s got a tongue piercing, and she looks fantastic in his sheets.

He’s also confirmed what he already knew—he’s still the best at this. Even when the universe tries to keep him in line, he finds a way.

She’s tracing patterns on his chest, already talking about breakfast, when he deploys the usual.

"Early training. Coach will kill me if I’m late."

"On a Sunday?"

"Every day during season." He kisses her forehead. Gentle. Final. "I’ll call you."

He won’t. They both know it.

But she gets dressed anyway, calls her own Uber, leaves with the kind of dignity that makes him almost respect her.

The sun’s coming up, painting his bedroom gold.

Two hours until he has to be human again. Two hours to sleep off whatever tonight was.

He’s already drifting when his phone buzzes.

𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨🍗: 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛

𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨🍗: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚜?

He doesn’t respond. Leo will figure it out. Or he won’t.

Either way, that’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight—this morning—whatever the fuck this is—he’s done.

Won a black girl, played mentor, lost a brunette, found a blonde, maintained his record.

The universe tried to knock him off his game and failed.

Because he’s Kim Taehyung.

And he’s simply the best at everything.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[jarofstyles]

Allure

Hello my lovelies. I’ve been writing this on and off for a lil bit but I figured I’d give it to you guys as a treat since I’ve been slacking a bit with updates 😔 we’ve got a dark sugar daddy/psycho Harry and soft y/n who is completely enamored with him. This is a toxic relationship for sure but he is very soft for her- soft as hell, really.

Check out our Patreon for Early access and 190+ exclusive writings.

WC- 10k

Warnings- oh boy… weapons, murder, Harry has no regrets at all, sugar daddy behavior, big dick energy, mention of blood, blood play, daddy kink, spit play, impact play, slight breeding kink, housewife(??) kink, controlling h, toxic relationship, age gap, Harry is not a good person in general but he does love her, sweetie pie y/n, use of slut and bitch, creampie, cum play, unprotected sex, mention of anal, etc… I probably forgot some 😆

—————

Her smile was sweet as she looked up at him. God, always so fucking sweet. Far too sweet for him, he knew. Her hand placed against his arm, she looked up at him, trusting him enough to keep her safe even when she probably shouldn’t. Most people wouldn’t, but Harry always did keep her safe. “Are you okay?” She peeped up at him, fingers gently rubbing over his arm.

"M'fine, my Angel." He mumbled, eyes sharp as they looked over the room. Always on alert, he had a hard time relaxing at any stage- but the soft hands on him reminded him why he especially couldn't let his guard down at the current moment. Harry was the only one who could hurt Y/N, and that was usually in the name of pleasure and pretty marks for them to admire the next day. "You're gonna behave for me tonight, yeah?" The words were slightly sharp on his tongue, but he needed that promise.

She blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden change in tone. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the implications of his words, but she didn’t look away from her boyfriend. Weirdly, it gave her one of those familiar tingles in her stomach that she knew all too well to be the first seedling of arousal. It wasn’t time for her to question it. Instead, she gives him a small nod, a determined glint in her eyes. “Of course, H.”

“I know y’will, lovely. You’re always good for me… but s’extra important tonight.” Harry had been gone for two weeks working on… things… and Y/N had been the good girl she always was, waiting for him diligently. He knew she hadn’t expected to come out with him tonight, but he also knew she couldn’t say no to him. Her dress that she had thrown on in haste was covered by his jacket that she was sort of swimming in, but it soothed the possessive beast in him. “Don’t let go of me, and stay close.”

She nodded, her fingers gripping the man’s hand tightly. “I won’t move from you. I promise.” Her heart raced. In her chest as she felt the serious demeanor radiating off him in waves. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he’s always on edge. She did her best to always do as she was told when it came to Harry’s business. Never sticking her nose into anything that wasn’t for her, not eavesdropping, listening when he said to drop it- tonight wasn’t going to be any different. One thing she was good at was listening to him- something they both benefitted from.

Weaving through the crowd of people, he finally made it to the dingy back room of the club. Dark and ugly with god awful gaudy plates on the door, he rolled his eyes as he approached the one he needed to go into. It wasn’t the way he wanted to spend a night back, not when he had Y/N’s pretty face and petal soft thighs he wanted to focus on, but duty called. And duty sort of pissed him off. Y/N knew that very well. His fist slammed on the door in three knocks, stepping back and shooting her a look. “Y’know the drill, hm? Keep that pretty mouth shut while I do business.”

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. The anticipation of what was to come had her heartbeat quick, but there was no questioning she was safe. Harry was the safest man to be around- for her- and that wasn’t debatable. She knew this was part of his life, and she had to accept it – even if it made her stomach churn with nerves.

The girl kept her gaze focused on the ground – not wanting to meet anyone’s eye for fear of giving something away. Her fingers played with the hem of her dress, a nervous habit she couldn’t shake.

“Gentlemen.” Harry nodded, walking into the room with Y/N on his arm. “I hope you have what I was promised.” It was immediately that he noticed their eyes on his girl, his angel, and that didn’t make him very happy. With a sigh, he took the gun out of his waistband and fired into the wall, making all of them jump, features blanching. “I’m really not in the fucking mood for this tonight. Keep your eyes away from my woman if you want t’keep them. I asked a fucking question, so answer it.”

Y/N flinched at the gunshot, her eyes wide with terror. She had only seen him like this a few times before, and it was terrifying each and every time. Her handed tightened her grip on his arm, trying to ground herself and offer some sort of comfort- if she could. Harry was different in this sort of scenario.

She silently cursed herself, her heart hammering out of her chest. Of course didn't like the attention from these men- it felt icky and objectifying, not in the way she liked either- but she didn't like seeing Harry resort to violence. Part of her was still sort of in denial at times about the different sides of him. Her sweet boy turned into this hardened man, it was always off putting her to see. The reminder of how dangerous the man was, despite how much she loved him, always had her knees feeling shaky.

No one spoke, making Harry exhale slowly. “I gave you a month. Plenty generous, I think. Sent my guys over here every week for updates. They said y’had it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know know better than to bullshit me?”

“It’s almost done, I promise. We just, we had an unexpected expense and we had to pull some of the funds-“ Harry didn’t think twice before he aimed the gun, placing a bullet in the guy’s shoulder. His face cold, unfeeling as he looked borderline bored. “I fail to see how that’s my problem. You borrowed from me, it was expected back now. I was the priority.”

Y/N gasped as Harry shot the man, her eyes fixed on the blood soaking through his shirt. She knew Harry had a temper, but seeing him this way was something else entirely. The calm, collected way he acted as if he had just done the most mundane thing in the world, it was chilling. No matter how many times she heard him talk about it, heard it in passing, it still shocked her each and every time it happened in front of her.

His irritation grew as he felt Y/N hide her face in his arm, lip twitching in a snarl. the first sign of emotion he’d had since walking in. “See what you’ve done? Made me shoot you, and now my girl’s uncomfortable.” Sharp eyes looked over to the head of the table, keeping his weapon out. “So do you magically have my money now? Or am I gonna have t’kill that son of a bitch and come back to pick you off one by one until I’ve got it?”

Y/N slowly pulled her face away from Harry, her ghroat thick at the tone of his voice and the pure irritation bubbling under the surface. She took in the scene before her, the man on the floor writhing in pain, the others around the table all stiff, their faces frozen. She was praying that for their sake, they had the money. Harry was notorious for not liking his income fucked with- even if he had millions that people had no idea about.

“We don’t have it yet, but you don’t have to kill anyone! I swear, next week-“ the man was cut off by the gun firing off again, finishing off the man on the ground. His struggles froze, his body still as the bullet took him out. Harry didn’t care. He had been lenient enough. “So have it next week, or one by one you’ll each end up like him.” Motioning to the body with his gun, he narrowed his eyes. “And if you have the stupid idea of running, don’t. I have you all surveillanced.”

Y/N felt her heart sink as she watched the man on the floor die, his life slipping away in a pool of his own blood. She glanced up at Harry, seeing the cold, calculating gaze he was giving the others. She knew he wasn't bluffing, he would do exactly as he said. Sometimes it was moments like this that made her understand exactly who she was with, made her wonder if it was worth it- but only for a mere moment. Realistically, she knew no one else had ever or would ever make her as happy as he would.

As soon as she was pulled out of the room, Harry led them out the back exit and gently pushed her into the waiting car, barking at Adam to drive. “M’sorry you had to see that, my angel.” His hand stroked her cheek softly. And there was the switch. The man she knew. the cool mask slipping off and the warmth gliding up his features, the fingers that had just pulled the trigger curling under her chin and those hard eyes looking so adoringly. it was hard to believe that just moment ago, he had killed someone in cold blood. “I know y’dont like that. I didn’t want our night out to end that way… was hopin’ they had the money so we could go get you something pretty.” His frown was laced with irritation before it softened again, lips twitching up. “Mm.. too bad. Guess we’re gonna have t’use some of Daddy’s other money, hm?”

Y/N's eyes welled up with tears as she looked up at Harry, his hand on her cheek was warm and gentle, a stark contrast to the cold brutality he had just displayed. She felt unsettled seeing this side of him, hated the way it made her feel so small and helpless. He wouldn’t stop and she knew that, but she also knew she couldn’t try and change him. "Harry, please..."

“Oh, baby…” He cooed, wiping over her chin. “Don’t cry, my love. Breaks my heart.” It wasn’t that he didn’t understand how it must affect her, but he simply didn’t think of all of it as devastating. The people in that room were bad people. They didn’t deserve mercy. Y/N was a sweet little thing, she saw the good in everyone. She saw they probably had families or lovers and all of that and cared for that rather than the fact they were bad people.

It was endearing, but he did worry for her.

"I know, I know." She sniffled, leaning into his touch. "It's just... hard for me to see you like that. You're always so kind and caring with me. It's hard to reconcile the two."

“Mhm. I know that, my heart. But you’re the only one who gets that side of me. S’all for you, yeah?” It wasn’t a secret. Harry was known for being cold blooded in the underground, and Y/N like a soft, fuzzy little bunny. She’d fallen right into the big bad wolf’s jowls and made a home there, submitting happily and stroking his teeth. He’d never seen himself as a relationship type of man, but the moment he saw her shy away and get flustered from him, he knew she was his. “Don’t need to shed any tears for that man. We’re gonna go get you somethin’ pretty, okay?” Tilting her chin up, he forced her gaze. “C’mon, baby. Give me those eyes.”

"Harry... I-" She swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in her throat down. Her eyes met his and she was met with a sense of warmth and safety. She didn't understand how he could be so violent and yet so gentle with her, but she couldn't deny it made her feel weirdly special.

“Alright. C’mere.” He sighed, pulling her into his lap and tucking her face into his chest. Sometimes it was hard for him to understand how she was so tender hearted and why he of all people had her love, but he had her now and he was selfish. There was no chance of letting go. “Tell me about what you did when I was gone, hm?” In reality he knew almost every detail. His girl was watched 24/7, protected, but she didn’t need to always be aware of it.

"W-well... I mostly just worked at the bakery." She murmured, feeling a sense of comfort in his embrace. She knew he had people around her, but she never felt threatened by them. Instead, she saw them as her protectors.

“Yeah? What did you make?” Even if he had insisted she didn’t need to work, she liked it. He was allowing it for now. She liked to bake and make treats, though he knew she would have been a little sad he wasn’t there to eat them. “Anything new?”

"Um, yeah... I tried making some new cupcakes. Chocolate peanut butter and strawberry basil- not all together though, cause that would be a little cross." She said, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the buttons on his shirt. The girl loved baking new things, but she always hoped he would like them too. It made her happy to see him enjoy her creations.

“Oh, wow. M’a little sad I didn’t get to try them.” His lips ghosted over her forehead, letting his facial hair tickle her skin. “Do you think you’ll be especially nice t’me this week and make them again so I can try?” His attempt of cheering her up was working, thankfully, because he wanted that smile after the bloody week he’d had.

"Maybe... if you beg." She teased, a small smile appearing on her lips. She looked up at him with a sparkle in her eyes, the stress from the day already seeming a little lighter. "But only if you promise to give me a kiss as soon as you get home tomorrow."

His eyes flashed, eyebrow high as she teased him. This was one of his favorite parts of her- how easily she gave into him and his love. Never once did she take it for granted. “Oh, I’ll give you far more than a kiss, little miss.” He purred, thumbing over her lip and watched it snap back into place. God, he loved that fucking mouth. “Daddy’s missed his angel. Been missing you so much while I was away..” Lightly pinching the plump bottom lip, he gazed over her face and saw that she was early getting the message. “Did you miss me too, my heart?”

She nodded eagerly, her heart skipping a beat at the possessive nickname and the gentle pinching of her lip. "I missed you so much, Daddy," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She loved when he called her his angel or his heart, it always made her feel so cherished and loved. She felt her body relax as she felt his gaze on her, his touch on her face, her lips. She couldn't believe she could miss someone so much, but she did, and his touch was slowly making her calm. There was no doubt in her heart that she could never deny him.

“How much, baby?” He crooned. “How much did y’miss me?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears as she looked up at him. "I... I missed you so much, Daddy," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I couldn't sleep at night without you, I couldn't eat without thinking of you, I just... I missed you so much."

Harry grinned widely at her emotional display, smug that he had gotten her here. As fucked up as it probably was, he wanted her to need him. Wanted her to be just as needy for him, crave him, never want to leave him- because there was no way in hell he was letting her go. Y/N belonged to him in every sense of the word. “Oh, my girl.” He chuckled. “I missed you too. M’glad that you think of me while I’m away.. but you don’t need to cry.” His voice was soft just for her, though he didn’t really care if Adam overheard. “S’so nice to have my girl miss me while I’m away. Gives me something to come home to.”

She nodded, wiping at her tears as he chuckled at her. There was nothing more she loved more than she loved that sound. It made her heart soar and her body shiver, it was her favorite sound in the whole world. Being one of the very few people who could make him react like that made her feel special. She loved him so much, and now that he was back, she could just relax in his presence.

“Now… do you want a necklace?” Moving forward, he wanted to spoil her some more. Give her a reward for listening to him while he was away, keeping herself safe. Just like he asked. “A bracelet? Earrings? Mmm… maybe some clothes? What does my angel want me to buy her?”

Y/N sniffled and looked up at him with shining eyes, her smile forming at the prospect of a reward. "A necklace, Daddy," she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. She loved getting jewelry from him, it made her feel like a job well done. Getting to wear something he had bought just for her had been the best part.. "Something pretty, please?"

“I doubt I can find anything as pretty as you, my heart… but we can try.” His lips pressed against her cheek, before tapping her nose. “Anything for you.”

——

Harry let her pull him around the shop, looking at the glittering jewels and precious stones. His hand firmly in hers, he watched with contentment as she looked over the selection, trying to understand which piece it was that she wanted. “Have you got your eye on anything?”

She shook her head, still staring at the necklaces. None of them seemed good enough for his money- or so she thought. Suddenly, her eyes lit up as she spotted a dainty gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant hanging from it. "Look at this one!" She squealed with excitement as she pulled him over to the necklace display, her hand tightly gripping his. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she pointed at a dainty gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant hanging from it. "Look, Harry! Isn't it perfect?"

“Absolutely.” His grin was gentle as he felt fondness take over his chest. This was the only time he felt this way. The only time he felt gentle and sweet and yearning to feel that all encompassing warmth, it was Y/N that made him happy. It was no wonder he was obsessed with her. Her joy and gratefulness were genuine. There was no hint of being spoiled even if he bought out a whole store. She would take anything, a rock even, and coo over it. He didn’t know much about or have much of an opinion about jewelry, but he did want her to make her feel happy. “There’s a matching bracelet too, you see it? would you like that too?” His fingers ran over her back as he looked back at her pretty face.

She nodded eagerly, feeling his fingers tracing over her back, sending a wave of warmth down her spine. "Yes, please!" Watchin on with glittering eyes as he picked up the matching gold bracelet with a small heart charm, she bounced on the balls of her feet. She watched as he paid for the necklace and bracelet, taking care of it without blinking an eye. There was no second thought as she wrapped her arms around his, tilting her chin up to look at him. The way he looked at her made her feel like the most precious thing in the world.

“You happy, love?” His other tattooed hand stroked over her hair as the sales assistant wrapped up the boxes. “We can do a proper shop later this week and get you some new clothes… know you’ve been good all week, so I think you deserve more than just some pretty jewelry. I’m just a little selfish with my alone time with you tonight.” The man had spent enough time away from her and having to control his hands.

She beamed up at him, nodding her head eagerly. "I would love that, H." she replied, letting out a little sigh of contentment as his hand ran through her hair. The way he pampered her and took care of her made understand just how much he adored her. For a man who could clear a room with a single glare, he sure as hell made it no secret how much he loved her. Spared no expense in taking care of her.

“Good. It’s settled then.” Harry kissed the top of her head before taking the bag holding their purchases. “Let’s get you home so I can see you put them on for me.”

—

When they arrived back to his place, he was quick to scoop her up in his arms. Jewelry bag hanging off his wrist, he held her bridal style as he climbed the staircase. In all honesty? He needed to be truly alone with her for a little bit. The whole time he had been away had been brutal, and to come home and have to go do some work had really fucking irritated him. He wasn’t bothered by the people he’d killed in the last few weeks, but he was bothered by the fact it had taken precious time away from spending with his girl.

She giggled as her body was bounced with each step he took, letting herself lean into him. Y/N safe in his arms, nuzzling her face into his neck as he carried her up the stairs, no complaints as she let him do as he pleased. She could sense the hint of tension in his body, the slight tightness in his jaw, and she knew exactly what it meant. He was stressed, and he needed her. She would never fully grasp the reasons why he did what he did, nor did she ever want to. He was a dangerous man, a killing machine, but he was hers and she loved him regardless. If he was flawed, so was she. Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as she breathed in his scent deeply, her fingers tracing small circles on his shoulder.

“Alright, my heart.” He started lowly, placing her down on to the bed. “Why don’t you put these on for me… and something else pretty.” He tilted her chin up to look at him. Yes, he towered over her, but he liked it that way. Harry liked to be in charge. “Something that shows that gorgeous body, how much of an angel you are. I missed my slice of heaven while I was away.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, her heart racing with excitement at his request. She loved when he talked to her like this, when he made her feel like a treasure to be admired an cherished. Like he didn’t have access to all the other luxuries in the world, and she was the only one he indulged in. She obeyed, slipping off the bed to go to her dresser.

Harry took the moment to go into the bathroom, freshening up. Taking his shirt off, washing his face and hands, cleaning up whatever could stain his precious girl. The only marks or stains he wanted on her were to be put in by him. Bite marks, mottled bruises from sucking or his thumbs or striking her plush flesh, he’d welcome those and those alone. Leaving the gun in his waistband, he strolled back out of the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe, looking over his pretty girl.

She had listened.

“Oh, sweet little thing. You know how to make me happy.” Lingerie, soft looking and a light blue. his favorite.

Y/N smiled shyly, the grin deepening on her cheeks at his praise. She turned around slowly, giving him a full view of the lingerie he had requested. The light blue material contrasted her skin beautifully, almost making her glow under the room's lighting.

“God…” He sighed, pushing off the doorframe to approach her. “You are my gift. Someone sent the little angel down to hell for me, didn’t they?” Y/N was too bright for his world, but he made sure she knew she was the most important thing in it. “You are so gorgeous, my girl. Makes me so happy…” His fingers brushed the strap of her little babydoll top. “N’You love to make me happy, don’t you?”

Y/N bit her lip softly when he drew closer, a small whimper escaping as his fingers grazed her top strap. Her eyes half-lidded with the desire that he brought her, a soft smile gracing her lips, "Of course, I do... I love you."

“I love you more than you could ever fathom.” He whispered. “I’d kill armies for you. If it wouldn’t upset you, I’d gouge the eyes out of any man who looked too long.” Harry would shed liters of blood for her if need be. “But you’re my personal angel, sent t’make me happy. Sent to show me love… to help me.” his fingers trailed up her throat, gently clasping it in his grasp. He felt her swallow against his palm, a dark smile raising on his lips. “Are you going to help Daddy, baby?” Applying a tiny bit of pressure on the sides of her neck, he watched her eyes get hazy. “Hm? Gonna get on your knees for me and make me feel better?”

Y/N felt herself lean closer to him, the possessiveness and the darkness he exuded was addicting. His pet names for her, so sweet but borderline condescendingz she loved it. The way he touched her making her head feel so empty, but so alive at the same time.

"Yes, Daddy..." she whispered, eyes hooded with her arousal. She'd help him in any way he wished, even if it meant getting on her knees for him. It was what she was made for, his love for her pure and true but his actions wildly darkening that love.

“That’s my girl.” Keeping his hand around her throat, he kissed her hard. He’d been holding back most of the day, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from letting loose the moment he truly allowed himself to kiss her.

She moaned into the kiss, her hands instinctively going to his chest, nails scratching lightly into the tattooed skin. She could feel the tension radiating off him, his kiss hungry and bruising. It was moments like this that Y/N felt like she truly belonged with him.

The way his hand tightened around her throat made her tummy clench in the best way, the possessive hold sending a thrill down her spine. His lips were demanding, taking everything she could give and more. A metaphor for him. She felt herself getting lost in the kiss, her mind going blank as she gave into him completely.

“Open that mouth.” He demanded darkly. “Stick out that pretty tongue for me, baby.”

Y/N complied immediately, her lips parting and her tongue sticking out, trembling slightly as she looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes. She loved when he spoke to her in that commanding tone, it made her feel so small and helpless in the best way possible.

He groaned deep, pursing his lips and spitting onto her tongue. Y/N knew better than to move, and when he spit a second time, he felt his cock stir as she whimpered for him. “That’s it. Swallow.”

She swallowed his spit as he commanded, not even bothering to close her mouth. Y/N could hear the praise in his tone, and that alone made her heart skip a beat. She would do anything for him; she'd proven that more than once.

“You’d do anything for your Daddy.” Harry crooned, taking his thumb and running it over her tongue. “You filthy little bitch. I love you so much.”

Y/N's eyes welled up with tears at the endearment, her devotion for him more the evident. She loved being called his dirty girl, his filthy bitch, his everything. She nodded eagerly, her mouth still open as she awaited his next command, her tongue still wet from swallowing his spit.

“Get on your knees.” he pulled his touch away momentarily. “Get my cock out. I’m pent up, my girl. Need you to get me relaxed before I take that pretty cunt.”

Without a second thought, she lowered herself down onto her knees as soon as he pulled away. Like the habit it was, she reached to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, taking a deep breath before grabbing the gun he had tucked in there and looked up at him in question.

“Safety’s on, sweetheart. Put it on the bed.”

Y/N carefully placed the gun on the bed, hands slightly shaking before reaching back into his pants to pull out his hard cock, stroking it a few times before looking back up at him, awaiting further instructions. She loved how big and heavy it felt in her hands, and she knew just how to make him relax. He’d taught her just how he liked it. Her plump lips were slightly parted, ready to wrap around his thick cock as she looked up at him, momentarily biting at her bottom lip. Her fingers gripped him tightly as she waited for his permission to worship him.

“Go ahead, pet. Show me how much you missed my cock.” Lazily he wrapped his hand in her hair, pulling her face closer. “Give it some kisses.”

She moaned softly at his dirty words as he pulled her closer to him, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock before parting her lips wider and wrapping them around his hardness. Slowly, she sucked on the tip, her mouth stretching wide to accommodate his thick girth before popping off and making her way back down. She kissed and licked every inch of his cock, making sure to pay special attention to the head. Her hands fondled his balls, gently rolling them between her fingers as she pulled the tip back into her mouth again, keeping her eyes on him for his approval.

“That’s my filthy girl.” He laughed under his breath, slowly pulling her further down his cock. “Y’don’t know how badly I needed this all week. It was so fuckin’ annoying, y’know that?” Shaking his head, he felt her take what he fed into her mouth with no complaint. “Got half of my clothes soaked in blood… ruined my appetite half the time. And then, when I got back t’my room afterwards I didn’t even have my precious little cunt to fuck afterwards. Wasn’t fair.”

Her lips stretched further down his cock as he pulled her head down, her tongue lapping at his hardness as she listened to Harry's musings about his gruesome work week. She let out a soft, muffled moan around his cock, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him.

Her mouth felt like a warm, wet heaven on his cock. Every inch that disappeared between her lips was met with a satisfying suckle and the soft cushion of her tongue l. The velvety interior of her mouth enveloped him, her plump lips stretched around his width as her head bobbed up and down ever so slowly. Her saliva coated him, adding a slick layer to her movements as her tongue danced along the underside of his shaft.

His reaction was a pleased groan, his eyes rolling back in his head as he savored the feeling of her mouth on him. Hands tightened in her hair, guiding her head up and down his cock at a pace that was both slow and relentless, giving her time to breathe between sucks.

“Fuck… I needed this.” He sighed, slowly pulling her head off to let her take a breath before pushing her back down, making her take it further. “This perfect mouth. This is the only cock it’s ever gonna take.” He muttered darkly. “Right? You’re mine to fuck?”

"Yes," the gasp was wet in agreement, sound muffled with his cock still filling her mouth. She pulled back to look up at him, eyes wide and pupils dilated with lust. The possessiveness in his voice only made her hotter, making her core clench with want.

He groaned again, the sound deep and guttural as he felt her mouth envelop him again. His eyes glazed over with pleasure, a lazy smile crossing his lips at her words. He tangled his fingers back in her hair, encouraging her over and over again to take him as deep as she could. The room was filled with the sounds of his pleasure. The wet slurping of her mouth on his cock, the occasional moan escaping past her lips. His deep sounds of pleasure, punctuated by occasional curses as she took him deeper than before.

“You love it, don’t you baby? Love taking this cock down your slutty little throat.” He breathed hard, pushing her down until her nose brushed the thatch of groomed hair at his stomach. “Yeah… you do. That’s fucking perfect, choke on it. Choke- yeah, that’s my girl.” he growled, pulling her back and watching the strings of spit web from her mouth to his cock.

She coughed at his words, pulling back to take a much needed breath, but she didn’t stop. She kept her glazed over eyes locked on his, sucking him again as he pulled her back down on his cock, helping her take what they both needed over and over again.

Her chin was a mess, spit stringing from her mouth to his cock with each pull. Her lips were puffy and swollen, her mouth hanging open as she gasped for air between sucks. His cock was glistening with saliva, his balls heavy and slick with each thrust of her head.

“Fuck, yes.” He hissed, feeling his cock pulse inside of her mouth before finally pulling her off. “Need t’be in that cunt. Bend over the bed.”

As usual, Y/N did as she was told, still gasping for breath. She leaned over the edge of the bed, her ass in the air as she braced herself with her arms, spreading her knees wide. Arms shook slightly as she held herself up, her back arched as she presented her ass to him. Her pussy was dripping, the juices running down her thighs and pooling on the bed. Her hole was puffy and slick, the lips slightly parted to reveal her clit, already starting to swell with need.

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, the sight of her pussy nearly making him cum right then and there. She was so open, so vulnerable, and it was all for him.

“You are a vision.” he murmured, brushing his hand over her. The little angel had forgone panties under her babydoll, the smartest choice when it came to his tendencies. “Poor little pussy… did it miss me, too?” His fingers slid down and over her slippery slit, spreading her open. “Did you touch it while Daddy was gone, getting all the money so he can buy you pretty things?

She let out a soft whimper at his touch, her hips bucking slightly as his fingers spread her open. "Y-yes, Daddy." Shyly, she admitted it, her voice a hesitant whisper. "I missed you so much, and my pussy kept getting wet thinking about you."

“Oh, darling.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he looked down at her. “You know you’re supposed to wait for me…”

She sniffled, her face pressing into the bed as she felt his fingers teasing her entrance. "I'm sorry, Daddy... I just couldn't help it. Every time I thought about you, I would touch myself and imagine it was your fingers inside me..."

“Yeah?” His tone was painted with intrigue. “And what exactly did you dream about Daddy doing to your little holes, hm?”

She let out a soft little moan, her body trembling beneath his touch as she felt his fingers teasing her entrance. "I… I dreamed about you taking me roughly, Daddy. I imagined your thick cock stretching me out and filling me up completely… N’I dreamed about you punishing me for being a bad girl, Daddy," she continued, her voice breathless. "I imagined you spanking me until I cried, and then taking me hard from behind... It made me so wet..."

Harry let out a deep sigh, stroking his cock with his other hand as he admired her bare pussy, glistening and wet. “You know… This is why you’re perfect for me. Such a sweet, angelic little thing most of the time… but let me move wrong, and your filthy cunt is weeping and you’re ready to be a proper whore for me.”

She shivered at his words, her body responding to the word she had been waiting all week to hear. Sure, she knew he wouldn’t be fully pleased at the idea of her touching herself but she knew he would understand this instance. "Yes, Daddy… I can't help it. You bring out this side of me that no one else does. Wanna be your little whore, Daddy, please…” She backed into him. “Use me however you want." Her voice cracked with desperation. "Spank me, choke me, fuck me rough... Just please, make me yours completely. I'm your girl, your little fucktoy... Use me however you see fit."

A chuckle sounded in the room as his hand pulled back, smacking against her wet cunt. Sharp and stinging, he watched her cunt get slicker, ass pushing into him as he did it again. “There she is. There’s my slut.” He sighed in relief. “You know I love you… but you know how much your little holes love to be filled.”

She squealed and writhed at each blow, but her legs apread wider and her moans grew louder. She craved his roughness, craved his filthy words and his cock. All she had been wanting to do was make him feel good, and there was no doubt that they’d both get what they wanted. "Yes, Daddy." She mewled, her body aching for him to continue.

With each slap to her pussy, Y/N's eyes rolled back in pleasure. She was completely at Harry's mercy and she reveled in it. Her body was racked with shudders as he continued to spank her, and her hand snaked down to rub her clit.

“Who told you to do that?” The man scoffed, pushing her hand away. “You had enough self pleasure. Think you forgot about the fact that this cunt belongs to me.” His hand sharply smacked her clit again with his fingertips, watching her body jolt. “Played with this little button while Daddy was out there, covered in blood. All so you can be a little princess at home.”

Her voice was breathy and full of desire as she pleaded with him, "Only because you were gone so long. I needed release, Daddy." She spread her legs wider, silently begging him to touch her again. "Please, forgive me."

“God, you really are a desperate little thing.” He laughed in awe. “If it didn’t drive me mad, I’d leave more often. Make you this desperate for me when I come back… Make you beg and cry for my cock.” The taunt had her shaking her head as he slipped two fingers into her cunt, curling them slightly as he began to fuck them into her. “Tell me you love me.”

"I love you," The girl whimpered, her hips thrusting back to meet his fingers. She was so wet and ready for him, her pussy clenching around his fingers as he fucked her harder. "Please, daddy, I need you so bad."

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.” He pulled his fingers out, teasing his cock over her clit. Using the arousal left in his fingers and the spit as lubrication, he nestled the tip of his cock at her entrance. “Tell me that you’re going to be my little angel forever, and I’ll give you that cock.”

"I'll never leave you," she promised, her voice shaking with need. "I'll always be your little angel, Harry. Forever and ever." She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, desperate for him to claim her as his own. "Please, daddy, fuck me. Need it."

“Never fucking forget it.” His cock was thick, achingly so, as it began spreading her open as he pushed it inside of her. Y/N was always tight, always hot for him, and it never wavered. He let out a little groan as he felt her cunt flutter around him as he pushed himself further inside, wrapping a hand around her hair and tugging her up further. “You’ll never leave me, because m’not gonna let you. M’gonna make you my wife, make you mine in every fucking way possible.” He shallowly jumped into her as he worked his length in.

Her back arched, the stretch feeling oh so good. She moaned and bit her back lip as he pushed the rest of himself inside of her, completely filling her up. His words made her heart surge and tears appeared in her eyes, knowing how hard it would be to remain his calm and rational force.

"Y-yes, daddy," she stammered out, her voice trembling with desire. "Make me yours." She spread her legs wider and pushed her hips up to meet his thrusts, taking him deeper inside of her.

Harry's grip on her hair tightened as he heard her agree, a sly smirk appearing on his face. His thrusts began, deep and slow as he bottomed out each time pushing her further onto the bed with each push inside. His eyes were wild with desire, watching as Y/N submitted to him so readily. It was exactly how it should be, how they both wanted it. “Think we need t’make it official now.” He breathed, hand brushing over as ass. “Think we need to ink my name on this pretty skin. Where should we do it?” Watching his cock sink into her over and over had him worked up. “Should we put it right above your ass, hm? so there’s no doubt I own it?”

She gasped as his hand brushed over her ass, the idea of having his name permanently inked on her body making her shudder. "Yes daddy, I want that." Maybe she was mindlessly agreeing from how good it felt, but she felt slightly crazy for liking that idea. A small moan squeaked out as she felt him thrust deeper, her body aching for more.

"Above your ass, right where I can see it every time I spank it," The man agreed, his hand leaving her ass to reach up and grab her chin, forcing her to turn to look at him. "And maybe a permanent necklace on your neck with my name, so everyone knows you belong to me. Get a nice little lock that only I have the key to." Harry's fingers dug into her chin, his grip unyielding as he held her gaze captive. His other hand never left her ass, occasionally giving it a firm slap as he spoke. "I want to see my name on you, skin or necklace, marked as mine for everyone to see."

She was too good to let go of. He never knew of someone who was so good at keeping him calm and yet able to elicit such extreme reactions from him. He’d always been cold and calculated- it’s how he was good at his jobs- but something in this woman had melted the ice around his heart. Lit him on fire. “Fuck, this ass is mine. This cunt is mine… No other cock is ever going in there again.”

Y/N's cheeks flushed at his possessive words, her body aching for his touch once more. She never wanted to be with anyone else, as Harry had somehow managed to break down the walls she once had up. "Only you, daddy." She arched her back, pressing herself further against him with a soft moan. He has always been a little rough with her, but she loves it, loves him. "Do you want me to say it again? How you’re the only man I want."

Again- she was perfect. He nearly laughed at how she knew exactly what he wanted, making him push her back down so her cheek was on the mattress. “Yeah. Tell me, baby. Need to give your cunt a better fuck.”

Y/N’s heart raced as she felt his strong hands grip her hair, pushing her face into the mattress. She loved when he was rough with her, it only turned her on more. She opened her mouth, speaking softly into the pillow as he demanded. "My cunt belongs only to you, daddy."

She felt his hand run down her back, grabbing a handful of her ass. She was glad she had worn something that showcased her assets for him. "I'm the only one who can make you scream my name, the only one who will ever be deep inside you."

She felt his hand leave her ass, only for it to return with a firm slap. The sting of pain made her gasp, but only served to heighten the pleasure coursing through her body. "Yes!" She cried out as he entered her once more, filling her to the brim.

She shifted her hips down to meet his thrusts, desperate for more contact. "Daddy, deeper. Please, fuck me deeper." She pleaded with him, gripping the sheets tightly as her body arched against him. "Are you going to fill me up, give me what I need?"

“Greedy.” He snarled, picking up the pace. “Greedy little bitch for my cock. For my cum…” The little whimper she let out at the mention made him chuckle. “Yeah… I know what my sweet little whore wants. Jus’ needs my load dripping out of that puffy hole…” He groaned as she clenched around him. “Thought about it when I was gone. How it’s time to make you permanent. Make you my wife…” He felt her buck back into him. “Can quit the job and bake just for me, be a good little housewife for me.”

Y/N's eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he spoke those words. The thought of being his in that way, his wife, it was everything she wanted. She loved the idea of quitting her job and dedicating herself entirely to him, being his perfect little housewife.

"Yes, Daddy. I-I want to be yours like that, wanna be your wife. I'll quit my job and be your perfect little housewife. I'll cook, clean, and bake just for you. I'll wear the clothes you like and do whatever you say. I'll be yours completely. Never wanna to be free from you." She moaned as he slammed into her with renewed vigor. "Do whatever you want with me, as long as you never stop fucking me."

“Fuck… I knew you were meant to be mine.” The answer stroked something in him, a new level of obsession breaking through. He’d known she was going to be his since he set eyes on her, but hearing such a needy and solid agreement to what she should want made his life easier. It was her path, the one he carved out for her. “Oh, baby… m’never gonna stop using your pussy. And that ass…” His thumb rolled over it. “But right now M’gonna focus on that pussy. Think it needs practice for when m’ready to knock you up.”

Her breath hitches at his words, a new surge of pleasure flooding her system. The idea of him breeding her, of making her pregnant with his children, was the most erotic thing she'd ever heard. "Yes- fuck. Please, fill me up with your cum and make me pregnant." She cried out as she felt him thrusting harder and faster, his thumb rubbing her ass as he spoke. The thought of carrying his child was the hottest thing she'd ever imagined. "H-Harry."

The idea was enticing. Even further trap her with him, add another layer to it… He would deliberate later. “Mm.. Just practice for right now, my angel.” His voice softened. “Want t’have you as my pretty little housewife for a bit before I knock you up full, but I’ll give you my cum….” His smile returned. “If you really think you deserve it.”

She nodded eagerly, her eyes wide with desire as she looked up at him. "Mhm, daddy, I deserve it. I'll be such a good little housewife for you. I'll cook and clean and take care of you, anything you want. Just please, give me your cum and practice breeding me."

Harry pulled out of her, grabbing her hips and tossing her into her back before slipping back inside of her. He wanted to see her face, watch her as he said these things and filled up that perfect cunt that was so snug around him. “I’ll kill anyone who wants you.” He murmured. “Gun, knife, my bare hands. I’ll kill them for thinking about you.” His hand collared her throat as he gave slower thrusts, a contrast to his brutal words. “I’ll make it clear to anyone who has the privilege of looking at you that they can’t have you, even in their thoughts. Because you belong t’me, my angel.”

Her face flushed with a mix of arousal and adoration as she looked up at Harry. She knew he would protect her, keep her safe and loved. The possessiveness in his words only added fuel to her desire for him, her body trembling beneath his touch as he choked her gently.

Her eyes watered slightly from the pressure of his hand on her throat, her body squirming and arching towards him with need as he thrust into her again and again.

Nails dug into his back, leaving crescent moons in their wake as she moaned and gasped for breath, her body trembling with pleasure and need beneath him. "Harry..." She whimpered softly, her voice strained and needy as she begged for more. "Please..."

“Yeah? You’re okay with that, my heart?” His eyes were dark and hot, staring into her own. “You don’t mind if Daddy kills for you? Because I’m looking forward to their blood on my hands.” He purred, the deep thrusts getting harder, full balls smacking against her ass. “Won’t mind being pretty in our kitchen, me coming home and washing the blood off my hands before I use them to make you cum?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head as he spoke, the dark promise of his words sending shivers down her spine. She loved how possessive and protective he was, how he would kill for her and make a mess in their home. It was so wrong, so fucked up, but it was everything she craved. That dark piece of her that he had exposed and had embraced was something he cherished, made her feel normal.

Her back arched against the bed, pushing her breasts out and up as she felt herself crawling closer to her climax, every smack of his balls against her ass making her whimper and moan. "Daddy..."

At her plea, Harry's expression twisted into something feral and possessive, his eyes burning with an unholy hunger. He leaned forward, his teeth sinking into the side of her neck as he fucked her harder, his thrusts becoming brutal and punishing.

Y/N's back arched off the bed, her breath hitching at the mix of pain and pleasure. He wanted to claim her, mark her as his while he fucked her to the edge of no return and back.

The bite on her neck made her let out a strangled whimper, a sound filled with pained pleasure and submission. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her nails digging into the fabric as Harry fucked her relentlessly, her body bouncing on the bed with every hard thrust. Blood dribbled from the bite on her neck, trailing down her skin as Harry continued to fuck her with vicious abandon. His balls slapped against her ass with a sickening smack, the sound echoing through the room along with her desperate moans and his growled curses.

“That’s fucking right.” He grunted between thrusts. He knew she liked a bit of pain but how tight she had gotten around his cock, how she had gushed, it made him understand that his angel was more of a masochist than he had ever realized. “You’re gonna happily take my dick in those holes whenever I want, because you love me, don’t you? You’ll let me fuck away all my anger and be the sweetest place to unload my cum…” He wanted to hear it again, even with his fingers pressing into her throat. “Tell me, my heart. Use that gorgeous mouth.”

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head as Harry's words washed over her, his fingers tightening around her throat, smearing the blood on her skin. She struggled to breathe, her vision blurring at the edges as she fought to gasp out air. "Y-yes... I love you... I'll take your dick anywhere... anytime...” It was hard to think straight with his cock hitting her perfectly. "I'll be your toy, your angel, your wife, your everything," She choked out, her voice barely audible over the sound of their harsh panting. Harry's fingers squeezed harder, cutting off her air supply until he let her breath, the rush of air making her shudder. “Wanna cum. Wanna cum, please, H. Please make me cum.”

Harry's reaction was immediate. His thrusts became erratic, his hips slamming against Y/N's ass with feral force as he chased his own release. He released his grip on her throat just long enough to grab her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck, the teeth marks from the bite, the blood smeared on her skin. She was the prettiest picture, bloody skin, hazy eyes and swollen lips. His personal angel under him, letting him sin with her body. Letting him corrupt her, dragging her down to hell with him. Leaning down, he nuzzled his nose against hers before pulling back. “Cum. Cum for me, make a fucking mess."

As Harry’s release built, so did hers. She could feel the warmth spreading between them, slicking her thighs as she writhed under his grasp. Her whimpers turned into gasps and desperate pleas as he brought her closer to the edge. “Yes, yes...” Y/N could hold back no longer. As her orgasm broke, she arched her back, her nails digging into his arms as she called out his name. The intense pleasure rolled over her again and again, a blinding tidal wave crushing down on her.

Her entire body trembled, shuddered, spasmed as Harry fucked her through the first orgasm as it rolled into another orgasm. The pleasure was overwhelming, the building pressure suddenly released and Y/N’s mind went blank, senses heightened as she experienced a pure moment of ecstasy.

As Y/N's orgasm subsided, Harry let out a guttural moan, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he chased his own climax. His hands tightened around her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as he fucked her harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. “Beg for my cum.” He demanded, slipping his hand up to hold her jaw. “Beg me to make you mine, for me to keep you, and I’ll give you my load.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, his grip on her jaw tightening as she looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. “Please...” she whispered softly, the single word filled with meaning and need. “Make me yours, Harry. Keep me for your own. “I beg you, Harry...” Her voice was a soft murmur, barely audible as she whispered her plea. “Please cum inside me, make me yours. I want to feel you fill me up, I want to bear your mark.”

Harry's eyes squeezed shut as he reached orgasm, his body tensing and freezing as he released inside Y/N with a groan. The grip on her tightened, fingers digging into her skin as he felt his orgasm tear through him, so much pleasure that he almost felt pain.

Thick ribbons of cum shot deep inside her, coating her insides and marking her as his own. Harry's hips continued to jerk, his body shudders with each pulse of his release, as if he couldn't get enough of her, couldn't get deep enough. His cock throbbed and spasmed, pumping out an endless stream of hot, sticky cum into her waiting cunt. The room filled with the sound of his grunt, the slap of his hips against her ass, and the gush of his seed inside her. He felt her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him deeper. A satisfied groan escaped him, a sex drunk smile raising on his face as he kissed her deep, messy, but he didn’t care. He was happy for the first time since he’d left her side to go on ‘business’.

Y/N's arms wrapped tightly around Harry's neck, holding him close as he continued to fill her with his cum. She kissed him back just as deeply, her lips moving against his in a sloppy, loving mess. She moaned into the kiss, feeling so full and satisfied, so loved and cherished. Even with how rough he got, how dirty their need was, there was no doubt in her mind how he felt.

“There you go, my heart. Take every drop.” He murmured, slowly fucking the cum into her. “Practicing making it stick. This is how M’gonna knock you up, when I feel the time is right.” He brushed the hair out of her face, body feeling lighter and head less cluttered. Y/N was his medicine, his heart. “I love you. You’re never leaving me.”

A blush spread across her cheeks at Harry's words, a soft smile on her lips. "I love you too," She whispered back, pulling him closer for another deep kiss. She could feel the warmth of his cum inside her, a reminder of how much he had craved her.

“Good.” He stroked over the bridge of her nose and down to her lips, smearing their spit around. “M’gonna make that appointment for my name right above your ass. You’re going to quit that job and be my little housewife, and you’re gonna love every bit of it.”

She giggled at his words, her heart swelling with happiness. "I'd love that," she replied, her voice soft and full of affection. She could already imagine it, waking up every morning to make him breakfast and taking care of their future children.

“Yeah? That’s my girl.” He didn’t mention that now that his mind was made up there wasn’t much room to move the plan, but she knew that. Y/N knew that Harry loved her, but he was in charge. “Gonna take you on a shopping spree tomorrow, get you that ring…” It wasn’t the most romantic proposal but it didn’t need to be. Harry had decided she was going to marry him, and she would do it because she was good and she loved him right back.

She nodded excitedly at the thought of a shopping spree and a new ring. She knew that Harry wasn't the most romantic man, but she didn't need grand gestures to know that he loved her. The fact that he wanted to marry her was enough for her. "Anything for you, Daddy.”

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

may I request another Luffy x fem reader please. Where Luffy is always picking up y/n like anywhere and everywhere they go (they aren’t dating or anything yet either) and he’s just always carrying her. Maybe even one day she’s wearing a skirt and so she freaks out when Luffy goes to grab her but Luffy holds her skirt down while carrying her. I don’t know I feel like it would be cute. Thank you!

Carried Away - Luffy x Fem!Reader

Hey! This was SO FUN to write! I spent too long trying to avoid it because I was overthinking, but it's been sitting in my drafts just haunting me. Here it is! Hope you like it!

Tags: SFW, use of y/n, platonic, pre-relationship, gunshot, Marine shenanigans

Check out my masterlist if you like stuff like this!

~1.7k

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident One - The Thousand Sunny, noon

“Luffy, you can't be serious.” Nami sighs. 

The ship has been sailing a course towards - well, you can't remember. Nami's the one who handles the navigation, and quite honestly, you didn't hear where she said you'd be going. Something about the logpose, needing to restock - the usual. The point is that it's meant to be an easy journey. 

So, everyone's a little surprised to see a random, abandoned dingy in the middle of the ocean. With a treasure chest in it, no less. 

“Yeah - duh! We can't just leave that there!” Luffy whines, gesticulating his hands at Nami. “We're pirates - remember? That's treasure!”

“We don't know that, idiot!” Nami snaps, reaching a hand up to smack at Luffy's head. “It could be explosive, like that barrel was forever ago! Remember that?” 

He's already barreling near the edge of the ship, though, eyes widen with excitement. You can't help but giggle at the energy he has. 

“Aw, come on! Let me go over and take a look! I'll be real quick. Besides, what if it is treasure? Don't you want the money?”

Nami seems to pause at Luffy's comment. Everyone looks between her and Luffy, before she lets out a very long sigh. If you look closely enough, you're sure you can see berrie signs in her eyes. 

“Fine. But seriously, only real quick. And bring someone along with you so you don't get stuck in the water. Like Zo-”

“Alright! Let's go!”

Your eyes widen the moment Luffy's arm snakes around your waist, rotating around it over and over again in rubbery fashion. You weren't even close to him, but for some reason, you're the one he's selected. 

“Wait!” You screech, your hands grasping at his arm, but it's too late. 

Laughing wildly, Luffy backs up, rearing his other arm before launching you against his side and sending you both over the edge of the Sunny. 

“Luffy!” You scream, but the sound of the wind passing by is too loud in your ears. And so is Luffy's laugh. 

You land on the dingy with a thud, your arms still grasping onto Luffy tightly. His arm retracts from the rotation around your waist, and while you breathe heavily to calm your racing heart, Luffy is already marching towards the treasure chest in the small space. 

“What the-” You start, but Luffy's quick to wave you over.

“Nami said I needed someone to come with. Here, check this out with me!”

Your head aches, and all you can do is stare at him as a groan slips past your lips. Well, you can't argue with that logic. 

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident Two - A Nearby Island, morning 

Yesterday, that treasure chest proved to not have treasure itself, but some kind of treasure map. The crew was mixed. On the one hand, it seems like an obvious trap. On the other hand, money. Money won out. 

Much to everyone's relief, the map has led to a nearby island. The one the crew was headed to, anyway, so it was really of no inconvenience. There's the opportunity to restock, to fix gear, to get a bite to eat. It's a much needed respite after the long journey everyone's just had, so why not add a treasure hunt?

No one is more excited about this than Luffy, Chopper, and Usopp. 

“Treasure hunt!” They gleefully cheer, leading the charge down the gangplank. 

The ship is docked off the shore, hidden away by large trees and surrounding cliff sides. So long as everyone is careful, there's no reason to believe there should be any danger. 

You're gathering your things, sorting through them on the deck. Getting a free day with some berries in your pocket is rare enough as is. It'd be preferable to make the most of it. Maybe some new boots? Oh, or something to take up your free time! Knitting?

It’s while you're lost in your thought bubble that you feel something grab at you. Looking down, your wrist is clamped by - is that a hand? Attached to-

The rubber arm is long, outstretched from the bottom of the gang plank, and you let out a gasp as it reels you quickly away from where you're standing. 

“Luffy!” You whine, as exasperated now as you were yesterday. 

You're snapped to Luffy's side, pulled with such a force that your feet fly off the ground until you crash into his body. Luffy beams, moving his hands to straighten you up properly. You blow some hair from your face, jerking forcibly from his grasp. Even though he's strong, it seems to have taken him off-guard. 

“Seriously, what was that for?!” 

“Didn't want you to get left behind! We're treasure hunting!” Luffy grins.

“You can't just-!” You start to argue, but you're too flustered to really finish your statement. He's beaming at you too brightly, and that smile is too damn infectious. 

With a sigh, you pull away, walking down the hill ahead of the group. 

“I'm going clothes shopping!” You exclaim.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident Three - Town, noon

This is getting out of hand. You're aware of how much Luffy likes to grab at the crew, throw them around, and it's no secret that he prefers it to finding another route to having people do as he says. Luffy's impatient. Impulsive. Reckless. It's grown on you, sure, but there's something about the way your stomach lurches every time you're tossed around that leaves you uneasy. 

But you've planned for this. It was a decision made out of necessity, nothing more. A cute skirt purchased in town, too short to really significantly cover anything if you were moved around. Sure, Luffy is…well, Luffy, but he's still a guy. At the end of the day, there's no way he'd risk your modesty. Right? He could respect that. 

That's the idea, anyway. 

Your shopping trip has ended, and you're sporting your new skirt, holding a bag of clothes casually in one hand. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining brightly on the town, birds are chirping, and there's an arm around your waist. 

Wait.

Your eyes widen as you're pulled back forcefully, soaring several feet backwards into the air. A scream rips from your throat as you're pulled into Luffy's arms, and the rubber man is running with impressive speed through town. Your arms wrap around his neck tightly to hang on, and everything is whirring by so fast that you can't figure out what's happening immediately. All that you know is you're moving, you've lost your bag of clothes, and Luffy is the culprit. 

“Hey, (Y/N), good thing I found ya! I lost Chopper and Usopp, but they'll catch up. We're gettin’ outta here!”

“Monkey D. Luffy, what the hell are you-?!”

Gunshots. You screech, scrambling as you shift in his arms. Luffy groans with mild irritation, adjusting his hold on you tightly as he sends an arm onto a nearby pole. He launches you both up, and you bury your face in his neck. 

“Marines?! How did that happen?!” You exclaim, and your face turns red as your skirt flies up. An arm moves from his neck, quickly scrambling to pull the fabric down.

“Oh - yeah! Turns out that treasure map was left by them! Funny, right?”

“Funny?!”

"Well, kinda." He shrugs, before turning his head out to the Marines. "Stupid jerks! We wanted our treasure!"

"There's Straw Hat!" A Marine yells, followed by several loud bangs from their guns.

You gasp as he jumps between buildings, and bullets are ricocheting off of stone structures you both pass, nearly grazing you. You're pretty sure some hit Luffy, bouncing off of his rubber legs and sending them off every which way. But your skirt keeps threatening to creep up, and you're not sure how tightly you can hang onto him with just one arm. Luffy can feel you bouncing in his grasp, and he glances down at you with a look. 

“What's wrong? Put both arms around me or you're gonna fall!”

“I can't, my skirt!” You whine. “I'm gonna flash everyone!”

“Hm?” Luffy tilts his head, furrowing his brows as he looks down at your lap. Noticing your hand pinning your skirt down, he doesn't think twice. He reaches to grab your hand, pulling it around his neck. 

“Luffy!” 

“Stop whining, just hold on!” Luffy groans, and one of his hands moves to the fabric of your skirt before it can fly up any further. He holds it down, one hand on your skirt and the other wrapped around you tightly. 

Your face flushes, and you gasp as he jumps from the roof of a building down to a tree, and then to the ground. You jostle with every move, but your arms have secured you to his body. You're safely nestled against him, and you don't think twice about moving. 

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident Four - The Thousand Sunny, evening

The ship lurches as it lands in the ocean far from the island the crew was on. You all let out a collective sigh of relief as the sails carry you far, far away from that Marine trap. By the time you and Luffy had arrived on the ship earlier, everyone else had barely made it, and Franky had already loaded up the cola to coup de burst the crew to safety. 

It's only now, in the aftermath of the fight, that Luffy's grasp on you loosens. He had been too caught up in punching and tossing Marines away to even think about letting you go. Your feet touch the deck carefully, and Luffy's rubber limbs retract as they snap back into place. 

Your hands immediately move to straighten out your skirt, and you hear a huff from your Captain beside you. Glancing up, you take notice of the way he adjusts his hat, looking at you with a tilted head and a confused expression. 

“Why're you wearin’ somethin’ like that, anyway? Makes it harder to fight, right?” He asks, and his tone is genuinely dumbfounded. 

Your face flushes, and words die in your throat. What explanation is there? I didn't want you to toss me around? Clearly, that didn't work, and it feels a little embarrassing to say as much. You're not sure why, but telling Luffy you bought a skirt because of him feels weird. So, you clear your throat, leaning back against the railing of the ship behind you. 

“Oh, um…just thought it was cute.” You lie, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I didn't think we'd be running from Marines today.”

Luffy's quiet for a moment, and his eyes flicker to your skirt only briefly. He still looks dumbfounded. 

“Huh. M'kay. Just don't complain when I grab ya next time that your skirt’s goin’ up.” He responds with a grin, a playful chuckle sounding from his chest. 

This son of a-

"Sanjiiii! I'm hungry! Whadda ya got?” Luffy exclaims, turning away from you decisively. 

“Can it, Luffy, we just got out of port! I need to unload the groceries!” Sanji shouts from across the deck.

Even though you're still annoyed, and your skirt is still riding up, you find yourself laughing. Maybe the Captain grabbing you for adventures isn't the worst thing in the world. 

[emmiesoverthemoon]

GIRL your writing is ama-ZING!!! i need answers of why you arent like globally FAMOUS by now like—-

if youd like, could you maybe do something like headcanon-y?? like bigbang as your bf doing __ or something idk!

i know u will spit out something incredible like you always do ;) THANK U SO MUCH ☺️

that is so nice of u to say tysm! ill try my best to do as u wish:)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ he’s so boyfriend

Pairings: choi seunghyun x reader / kwon jiyong x reader / kang daesung x reader

Word Count: 4,315

Summary: just cute little scenarios between u and each guy as requested :)

part two part three

note: i purposely didnt include taeyang because he’s married and it felt weird to me so sorry about that! pls forgive me🙏🏻

pov: you got a haircut

seunghyun: nonchalant teases

You walk into the living room, your newly styled hair catching the light just right, feeling a little nervous but hopeful. Seunghyun is lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone, looking effortlessly relaxed. You stand there for a moment, waiting for him to look up, your hands fidgeting slightly as you wait for his reaction.

"Hey, Seunghyun," you call, your voice a little unsure. "Notice anything different?"

He does not look up immediately, his thumb scrolling lazily across the screen. "Hmm? What, did you get a new outfit?" he asks nonchalantly, as if he doesn’t even notice how different you look. You feel your stomach flutter nervously, unsure if he’s joking or actually hasn’t noticed.

You were about to say something when he finally looks up at you, his eyes scanning your appearance. "Ohhh wait... I know," he says with a teasing smile. "You got your hair done, didn’t you?" His voice is full of feigned nonchalance, like he’s somehow too cool to be impressed. Your face flushed in embarrassment.

Then, Seunghyun’s grin widens, and you catch the gleam in his eyes. "You look gorgeous," he says, his voice soft and sincere, but there is a hint of mischief in his smile. "I just love seeing you all flustered for a second."

You blink, realising it was a playful tease. Your heart skips a beat as the realization dawns on you, and a small laugh escapes your lips. "You’re awful," you say, shaking your head in mock exasperation, though you can’t help but smile.

He chuckles, standing up and walking over to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I know. But you look amazing, really," he adds, his tone softening, and you can’t help but melt at the sincerity in his voice.

jiyong: private hairdresser

You sit in front of the mirror, fingers gently running through your hair, wondering whether it’s time for a trim. Jiyong, who has been quietly observing you from across the room, catches your gaze and flashes a knowing smile. You both know well that when it comes to your hair, you can be particularly picky. He had learned this first-hand after the time he dyed your hair for you for the first time—meticulously mixing the colors, then giving it a gentle trim. When he finished, you were thrilled with the result, and his confidence as a stylist only grew from there.

"You want a trim, don’t you?" Jiyong asks, his tone light yet sincere, his gaze fixed on you with an almost intuitive understanding.

You nod, not even needing to say anything further. He had always been attuned to what you need, especially when it comes to something as personal as your hair. After that first experience, where he’d so carefully tended to your hair, you’d grown to trust him with it completely. And, as it turned out, his skills were impeccable. From that day forward, whenever you wanted a trim—or any little change to your hair—you knew you could rely on him. No appointments, no salon waiting rooms. Just him, a set of scissors, and a calm, focused energy that made you feel completely at ease.

With a soft chuckle, he pats the chair beside him. "Come here, I’ll do it. You know I don’t mind. Just tell me how much you want off."

You smile, feeling a wave of warmth. It’s one of those simple, intimate moments—where he not only remembers the little things about you but also goes out of his way to make sure you feel cared for in the most thoughtful ways. Jiyong is not just cutting your hair; he’s taking care of something precious to you, and it’s that quiet, gentle understanding that makes you appreciate him even more.

daesung: loving overthinker

The moment you step through the front door, Daesung’s eyes immediately light up, his smile widening in delight. “Wow, your hair looks incredible!” he exclaims, practically bouncing on his heels. His enthusiasm is so genuine that it almost feels like a celebration of your new look. “It looks so beautiful on you! I love it!”

For a split second, he pauses, his gaze flickering between your face and your hair, as if considering the implications of his excitement. The realisation hits him like a wave: he does not want you to think that he is implying you looked bad before. His hands fly to his face, and a flurry of nervousness floods his expression. “I mean, not that you didn’t look amazing before! You always look great, but this… it’s just so fresh, you know?” he stammers, trying to assure you that it’s not a comparison, merely admiration.

You can’t help but laugh at his adorably flustered reaction, a soft warmth blooming in your chest. He is certainly the type to pour all his love and affection into every moment, and right now, his heart is spilling over. Without a second thought, he moves closer, running his fingers gently through the ends of your hair, as if savoring the feel of the fresh cut. “It just feels so new,” he says, almost in awe. “I think I might be in love with it.”

Every touch, every word, is soaked in pure affection—Daesung never holds back when it comes to showing how much he adores you, and this is no exception. He cannot help but marvel at how something as simple as a haircut can make you even more radiant, and he has all the love in the world to give.

pov: helping yourself to his wardrobe

jiyong: fashion cultivator

Jiyong’s eyes light up with that signature gleam whenever he sees you in his clothes. It’s a small thing, but to him, it feels like a sweet, intimate form of affection. One evening, after an effortlessly casual suggestion, he tosses you a selection of designer outfits he believes you will stun in. "Hey, try these on," he says, his voice light but filled with fondness. "I think you will look amazing in them."

You raise an eyebrow, amused, but decide to indulge him. Stepping into his clothes, you feel the fabric hang differently on you—larger, looser, but somehow more comforting. You do a little walk across the room, giving him a playful twirl.

Jiyong watches with that same adoration in his eyes, his mouth slightly parted as he takes in the sight of you in his clothes. His voice, low and teasing, fills the space. "Wow, you look so hot, so gorgeous in my clothes baby," he says, the words slipping out in a way that only makes you blush more. You laugh, shaking your head, your cheeks heated from the flattery. "Oh my gosh, Jiyong, stop."

He doesn’t stop, though. In fact, he grins wider, clearly enjoying every second of it. But it is not just about how good you look; it is the way he can see how much you enjoy the moment, how you trust him enough to play along with his little games, that makes his heart swell.

Although Jiyong absolutely loves seeing you in his clothes, there is a small, playful part of him that finds even more delight in the moment when it is time to take those clothes off. The teasing glint in his eye when he tells you, “But, between you and me, I think I enjoy taking it off you just a little more,” makes the room feel warmer. You roll your eyes, laughing but secretly enjoying the playful flirtation.

A balance between admiration and affection, between the thrill of seeing you dressed in his things and the even sweeter joy of undressing you, not just physically, but in every other way, too. With each moment, he makes you feel not only loved but like the most important person in his world.

daesung: returns the favour (tries to)

Daesung’s eyes widen the moment you step out wearing his new jacket. His reaction is immediate, his mouth parting in surprise. “You look better than me in that,” he exclaims, his voice soft but filled with genuine awe. Without missing a beat, he adds, “Please, have it. It suits you so much more than it ever suited me.”

You watch as he freezes in place, his cheeks flushing a soft pink, as if the realization of how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life just hit him all at once. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, the admiration in his eyes clear. “I really scored,” he mutters under his breath, almost in disbelief, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. His heart swells with affection for you, and his shyness only adds to the sweetness of the moment.

Unable to resist the playful urge to return the favour, he opens one of your drawers and retrieves a shirt, grinning. However, once he attempts to slip it on, it becomes immediately apparent that the shirt is much too small— his muscular frame is too broad for the fit of your top.

Daesung freezes once again, his face going an even deeper shade of red as his biceps stretch the fabric to its limits. His arm muscles are so defined that they make the shirt look comically small, and the sight has him utterly flustered. “Ah, uh… maybe not,” he says with a sheepish laugh, trying to adjust the sleeves with a nervous chuckle. “It seems like I’ve made a bit of a mistake there. My muscles might’ve just ruined this.”

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, still blushing, but he cannot hide the fact that he finds the entire situation endearing. It’s moments like this, small and tender, that remind him just how much he treasures you in his life.

seunghyun: playful annoyance

Seunghyun has this endearing way of acting “annoyed” whenever you casually grab one of his clothes, but anyone who knows him well can tell it is just an act. The moment you reach for one of his favorite jackets, his eyes narrow playfully, and he crosses his arms with a mock sigh. “Princess I just washed that. I didn’t even get to wear it yet,” he says, his tone dripping with exaggerated annoyance, though the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips betrays him.

What he doesn’t admit, however, is that he purposely places his items—especially the ones he knows you adore—in the most obvious spots. His shirts, jackets, and accessories are always within easy reach, as if he’s leaving little hints for you, an unspoken invitation for you to take whatever you like. It’s his subtle way of telling you that you can have anything, without ever needing to say the words aloud.

While he may joke about it, there is something profoundly genuine behind his actions. Seunghyun is the type of man who believes that actions speak louder than words. He doesn't need to express his affection through grand gestures or declarations. Instead, it’s the small, everyday things—like leaving his clothes lying around for you to claim as your own—that convey just how deeply he cares for you. His playful “annoyance” is just a cover for how much he loves the idea of you wearing his things, a silent yet meaningful gesture that shows how much you mean to him.

pov: missing you while you’re at work

daesung: a little clingy

As soon as you step into work, Daesung begins to text you, his messages coming in rapid succession. “I’m withering away without you,” he writes first, followed almost immediately by another: “Answer me now or I’ll die.” His playful exaggeration masks the truth—he misses you deeply. Every minute that passes without you feels a little too long for him. He can’t help but send these messages, his affection for you pouring out in the most dramatic, endearing ways.

By the time you return home, if you’ve had a good day, you can expect Daesung to greet you with a flood of warmth. The moment he sees you, he is all smiles, his arms opening wide as he practically envelops you in a tight embrace. “You’re finally here,” he murmurs into your hair, holding you with a kind of quiet intensity. “I missed you so much.”

If you hadn’t had a rough day, he would refuse to let go, his arms locking around you as though afraid you might slip away again. It’s not a possessiveness, but rather the deep affection he holds for you—his desire to keep you close, to feel the comfort of your presence. His playful texts earlier were just a small indication of how much he cherishes you, how the simplest moments without you feel incomplete. If you had had a bad day, expect a bath if your preferred temperature drawn for you, equipped with anything you could him for to help you relax. Massage? Solitude? Wine and a meal? Daesung has got you covered, no questions asked.

seunghyun: subtle but sweet

Seunghyun is the epitome of calm when you’re at work, sending the occasional text or casually checking in, but never overwhelming you. He is cool and composed, his messages lighthearted and easygoing, giving you the space you need during your day. It’s clear, however, that he misses you. The moment you walk through the door, the change in his demeanor is subtle but undeniable.

Without saying a word, he takes a few steps toward you, his hand brushing gently against yours as if confirming you are really there, as if his mind needs a little reassurance. He does this repeatedly, not in an overwhelming way, but with soft, fleeting touches—his fingers grazing the back of your hand as you walk past, a hand resting lightly on your shoulder as you take off your coat, or the softest tap on your arm as you sit down. They are brief moments, just enough to remind both of you that he is there, that you are there.

It’s his way of showing affection, of expressing how much he missed you without saying a word. There’s a tenderness in how he keeps his touches gentle and brief, knowing that you’ve been working all day and don’t need any added pressure. But the more he touches you, the more his fondness for you is revealed—his quiet way of letting you know he is happy you are home, and that his world feels a little more complete with you in it.

jiyong: bragging rights

While you’re at work, Jiyong is never far from your thoughts, and he makes sure you know it. He sends you playful pictures throughout the day—pictures of the cats in their most mischievous poses or snapshots of him pulling silly faces. “You could be having so much fun with us right now,” he teases in one message, “but you're at wooorrrkkk ha ha ha.” His lighthearted tone brings a smile to your face, and even though you’re busy, it’s hard not to feel warmth from his affection.

By the time you return home, the energy shifts as Jiyong greets you with that familiar, cheerful smile. “Yay, you’re home!” he exclaims, as though he’s been waiting for this moment all day. He’s already thinking of ways to unwind with you, his favorite part of the day. “Let’s have a nap, or something,” he suggests softly, his tone filled with a kind of quiet contentment. His hands gently pull you toward the couch, and you can’t help but melt into his embrace.

It’s in these moments, when the silliness and sweetness merge, that you realize how much he treasures the simple time spent with you. It’s not about grand gestures—it’s about the little things, like sending silly pictures to brighten your day or wanting nothing more than to curl up together and rest. In his eyes, being with you is the most natural and beautiful thing in the world.

pov: a person talks about wanting you when you’re not around to him

jiyong: secure and confident

Jiyong is the kind of person who exudes nothing but pure confidence, especially when it comes to you. It’s not arrogance; it’s the unshakable security he feels in your relationship, the deep trust and certainty that you two are exactly where you're meant to be. When someone mentions you in his presence while you're away, his smile turns just a bit smug—he can practically feel their gaze lingering, but he knows better.

"She’s amazing, isn’t she?" someone might say, a hint of something more than just respectful admiration in their voice. Jiyong’s response is immediate, dripping with confidence. “You wish she would look at you like she looks at me,” he says casually, the words smooth but laced with a subtle challenge. He knows that no one can take your attention away from him—not even if they tried.

"Want her?" Jiyong continues, his tone almost mocking now, his confidence radiating like a shield. "Get in line. You’ll be waiting for a long, long time." His smirk deepens, and there’s an almost playful menace in the way he claims you. It’s not that he’s territorial; it’s just that you’re his, and he’s fully aware of it. No one else stands a chance, and he has no qualms about making that clear.

He’s secure, so secure in the bond you share that he doesn’t even need to raise his voice or act possessive. His quiet self-assurance says it all. You are his, and there’s no room for doubt. Even when others try to make their presence known, Jiyong’s smirk tells them everything they need to know—he’s not worried, not jealous. He’s too busy being confident in the fact that you chose him, and that’s more than enough.

daesung: chaotic and lighthearted

Daesung’s reaction to jealousy is a little more chaotic, a lot more playful, and full of the kind of silly energy that only he could pull off. When someone dares to show interest in you while you’re out, he doesn’t hold back. The moment the interaction happens, he’s already making his presence known, albeit in his own quirky way.

“You want her?” he says loudly, with a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Well, that’s too bad! She’s already spoken for… by me!” His voice rings with exaggerated confidence, a mix of playfulness and possessiveness, though it’s all in good fun. It’s clear to anyone within earshot that he knows you would never leave him, and he’s just having a bit of fun with the situation. He’s not worried, but he sure does like making his claim known.

But it doesn’t end there. After the interaction, Daesung can’t resist sending you a message, a mix of amusement and endearing insecurity creeping into his words. “Someone told me this, can you believe it?” he writes, adding a string of laughing emoticons. “Tell me I’m your favorite right now.” His playful tone betrays how much he craves that reassurance, even though he knows you’d never even consider anyone else.

It’s in these moments that Daesung’s bright nature shines through—he’s not afraid to be a little extra when it comes to you, and he loves making sure you know just how much he values you. There’s something so charming about the way he mixes his lighthearted teasing with his unwavering affection for you.

seunghyun: collected and soft

Seunghyun, ever the composed figure, handles the situation with a quiet, collected air. When another man makes his interest in you known, he stands firm, his demeanor cool and dismissive. “Cute,” he might say, the words measured and calm. “But she’s happily with me, so I’d rather you didn’t say all that. It’s disrespectful.” His voice remains steady, his expression neutral—he has no need to raise his tone or escalate things. He’s confident in your relationship, and he knows that no one can truly take you away from him.

But as he returns home to you later, the interaction lingers in his mind. Seunghyun has always been secure in your love, and you make sure he knows you choose him every day. Even so, there’s still that fleeting, subtle twinge of insecurity—something he won’t fully admit but can’t quite shake. It’s the way his mind keeps replaying the encounter, and despite his outward calm, he can’t help but feel a little put off by it all.

When you greet him, sensing something is off, you offer the reassurance he needs in your usual way. “That guy was probably ugly as hell anyway,” you tease with a playful smile. “I hate him.”

In an instant, Seunghyun’s posture shifts. The slight tension that had been pulling at him dissolves, replaced by a softer, possessive warmth. His gaze softens, and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he takes a step closer. “You are so wanted by many,” he murmurs, his voice tender, but with that unmistakable edge of possessiveness that only he could express so gently. His hands wrap around your waist, tugging you flush to his torso, a smirk spreads across his face. “But you are all mine. I don’t like to share.”

His words, though possessive, are laced with affection and a kind of quiet pride. It’s not about control or doubt—it’s about the way he cherishes you and the security he finds in knowing you are his, always. With that, the lingering insecurity melts away, and all that remains is the warmth of his love for you.

pov: you have a moment of insecurity

seunghyun: actions are louder than words

There’s a moment, one of those quiet, unspoken instances, where Seunghyun sees a part of himself in you. It’s subtle, but it cracks his heart just a little bit—watching you wrestle with your own insecurities, feeling that weight of self-doubt that he’s familiar with all too well. He’s not one to say much about feelings, preferring instead to show them through actions. So, when he sees you struggle, he doesn’t need to fill the space with words right away.

Instead, he pulls you closer to him, his arms wrapping around you with that quiet certainty you’ve come to know. His hands slide through your hair gently, the motion soothing, a physical reassurance that he’s here, that you’re safe, that you are seen. He lets you vent, allowing you the space to voice your frustrations, your fears, whatever is troubling you in that moment. He listens intently, his touch a grounding force, offering nothing but patience and understanding.

When you’ve said everything you need to, and there’s a fragile silence between you, Seunghyun’s voice breaks it softly, but with an undercurrent of sincerity that can’t be denied. “You don’t need to be perfect,” he says, the words carefully chosen, weighted with meaning. “I love you exactly as you are.”

It’s a simple statement, but it carries the weight of everything he feels for you—the love that doesn’t demand perfection, the acceptance that goes beyond superficial flaws, the devotion to the real, raw person you are. In that moment, his words are not just reassurance; they are a promise. A promise that no matter what, you are enough for him, just as you are.

daesung: pure loving disbelief

Daesung is completely astonished when he hears that you’re feeling insecure. To him, you are nothing short of perfection—an angel sent from heaven, someone so effortlessly radiant that the very idea of you doubting your worth confounds him. He can’t fathom it, and his heart aches at the thought that you might not see yourself the way he does.

Without a second thought, he showers you with affection. His voice, warm and genuine, fills the air as he starts to heap compliments upon you, one after the other, each word more sincere than the last. “You are incredible,” he says, his tone full of admiration. “No one could ever compare to you.”

As if his words weren’t enough, Daesung’s hands are all over you, not in any overwhelming way, but in a gentle, comforting manner. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose—each kiss infused with love and tenderness. The rhythm of his affection is steady, like a gentle reassurance that you are more than enough, more than what you give yourself credit for.

And, slowly, as his kisses and words sink in, you begin to feel it—his love, his unwavering belief in you. “Don’t let anyone make you feel less amazing than you are,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice full of certainty. The softness in his voice carries a deep, protective warmth, and as you look at him, you can’t help but smile. His ability to see you as perfect, just as you are, fills you with a newfound sense of confidence. In his eyes, there is no one better than you.

jiyong: tender, simple yet meaningful support

In your moment of vulnerability, Jiyong’s presence is a steady, calming force. He’s not one to rush in with words; instead, he allows the silence to stretch between you both, giving you the space to gather your thoughts or share whatever is on your mind. His quiet understanding fills the space, an unspoken comfort that lets you know he’s there, ready to listen if you choose to speak.

When the silence lingers, he finally reaches for your hands, his touch warm and gentle. His fingers move in slow, soothing circles, a soft reassurance that grounds you. He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with sincerity and a depth of affection that words could never fully capture.

"I’m not going anywhere," he says, his voice low and steady, the promise wrapped in every syllable. "You are the best thing I could ever ask for."

His words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything he feels for you—his unwavering commitment, his deep love, and his absolute certainty in who you are. In that moment, his reassurance is all-encompassing, easing the weight on your heart, making you feel cherished and secure. With Jiyong, you never have to worry. He is there, always, loving you exactly as you are.

i hope you enjoyed reading those! my requests are open if you have anything you’d like from me

thx for reading!