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biteyoubiteme · 1 year ago

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pretty boy; bloody nose

fem!reader x bangchan

synopsis: you're a doctor at a hospital where Chan comes after a fight.

warnings: 🔞!!! boxer!chan, blood, broken bones, bruises, praise, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh riding if you squint, 'pretty girl' used once, choking (m!rec), prob forgot some sorry

wc: 4k

an: all the photos of chan at or for the Fendi show have me gagged lol feedback is appreciated!! :)) [m.list] check out my other chan fic :)) [am/pm]

It was your starting shift when Chan came in. clutching his bloody nose with one bruised hand and pressing his other one to his wounded side. “my savior,” he smiled, dimpled cheek prominent even through the pain. He had blood in his mouth, teeth tinted pink with it.

“Someone had a good night,” you laugh flipping open his chart, “says some minor pain but you seem to have lied seeing as you are currently bleeding right in front of me and you didn’t log it,”

“my nose is fine, it was checked out by my coach, it should stop bleeding soon,” the rag he has to his face soaked through with red. “and I’m not a liar it’s only a bit painful and I wouldn’t have come in if I wasn’t contractually supposed to,”

“uh huh,” you nod, tapping your pen against the clipboard you held. “So your nose doesn’t need to be set because your coach, who may or may not have any medical background, said so?”

his smile widened and the cut on his eyebrow started to leak again from the movement. “exactly,”

“and I don’t need to see what you’re hiding right there,” you point with your pen to his fingers cupping his hip.

“nope, I’m mainly a bit sore around the arms, so minor pain. I am not a liar,” he shrugs and you let yourself fully take him in past his injuries. He's slouched back against the hospital bed, his white tank splattered with his blood, gray sweatpants slouchy on his hips. if you could see his whole face without his hand in the way you’re sure he’s gorgeous essentially with a smile like that. what you didn’t like was to watch someone's cocky ass waltz in and say they aren’t hurt when it’s obvious they are.

“well I am also contractually obligated to give you the best care I can offer and as your doctor, I’m here to say I can’t let you go without an exam,”

“full body?” his tongue running across his teeth as you roll your eyes. it wasn’t exactly professional to let your annoyance show but you didn’t think he would run and tell someone.

“let's start with your nose,” you turn placing your clipboard down and picking up a pair of gloves, “lean your head back,”

Chan follows your orders as you walk around the bed to his side.

“How did you end up here?” you ask, lifting the rag from his face. His nose wasn’t bleeding as much as it must have been earlier but it was still messy. And even with blood smeared all over, he was one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen especially as he grinned up at you.

“fighting,” he shrugs.

“Is this the part where you tell me that I should see the other guy?” you reach over to grab some clean gauze before cleaning up his upper lip.

“Maybe,” he dragged out the word, the smile as flirty as ever.

you lightly press your finger to his nose to check if it’s broken but only feel a little swelling. “keep your head back to stop the bleeding. let's now see your side and then we will tape up your eyebrow,”

“I’m perfectly fine,”

“Not unless I say you are, come on let me see,”

Chan is slow to lift his shirt but when he does his side is covered in deep purple bruises. “you're going in for a CT,”

“what? no, I'm fine it was a few hits nothing I haven't felt before,”

“better safe than sorry I'm sure you've heard that saying before. next time don't go getting into fights,”

“It's kinda my job,”

“pretty boys like you shouldn't be fighters, and they shouldn't be putting their perfectly healthy bodies in distress, we need to check for any internal bleeding,” you peel your gloves off tossing them in the bin along with any bloodied gauze, chan's head still laid back as he watches you, “a nurse will be in to take care of your eyebrow and take you for the CT,” you pick up his chart, penning in the request.

“You're not going to take me?”

“I'll be back in to discuss the results it shouldn't be too long a wait it's slow tonight,” you didn't look up from his chart as you said it but you did when he said, “I want you to take me,” it's not suggestive in any way but the way that he says it is, deep and throaty like an invitation. his head lobbed to one side watching you, eyes leaving a trail of heat up your body as they trace your figure.

“I will see you after your results come back,” you say, rushing to get out as fast as possible. it was frowned upon to flirt with patients no matter how hot they looked or how willing they seemed to flirt back. you went on your rounds before getting Chan's results, the nurse bringing them to you with a smile.

“he will not stop talking about you,”

“What?” but you can feel your heart thumping all of a sudden.

“asking questions and whatnot,” she giggles as you pull out his scans. “Does she usually work Thursdays? Is she seeing someone? going on and on,”

“about me?” You're a little shocked but trying to play it off.

“if you don't give him your number I will hand mine over,”

“We cannot give our numbers out to patients,” but your blush is hot on your face. who would know you gave him your number? no one. “we will both be out shortly please have his discharge paperwork ready,”

“Should I put your number on it?” she jokes and you roll your eyes before pushing his room door open.

“no internal bleeding,” you say once you close the door. “but you should ice your side the swelling will go down soon,”

“I told you nothing was wrong, he couldn’t hit hard enough to cause internal bleeding anyways,” Chans sitting up now with his legs off the bed.

“you should be getting checked regularly for damage that is visible, especially if you have pain,”

“It was only a little pain,” he rolls his shoulders back making his tank top stick to his pecks.

“you should take an over the counter pain med and then try to avoid fighting,”

“Now where’s the fun in that? if I hadn’t been sent here I wouldn’t have met you,” dimples on display just for you.

“uh huh sure,” you wave at him to stand, “Let's get you out of here before you steal the hearts of the nurses,”

“the only heart I’m interested in is yours,” it’s cheesy but you can’t help the smile it gives you. “Let's go,” you laugh, pulling open the door for him. when he walks out he turns to face you moving backwards.

“if I got into another fight would I be able to ask for you specifically or would you need to give me a number to hold onto just in case?”

“flirty and shameless,” you say, walking him to the front desk to check out.

“that did not answer my question,”

“I’m sure you could find me in the hospital directory if you looked hard enough,”

“and if you’re not working? will it go straight to voicemail or will I somehow be able to get you over to take care of me?”

“for someone who didn’t need my help at all for his little bit of pain, he sure is worried for his safety now,”

“I was told by a gorgeous doctor that I should be concerned with putting my perfect body and pretty face in the line of fire,”

“I said you had a perfectly healthy body,” you shake your head at him.

“You did say my face was pretty tough,” he leans against the desk elbow propped up to the perfect height to flex. “And I'm sure I can show you how perfect my body can be,”

“goodbye Chan,” you wave your fingers in his direction walking away before you embarrass yourself in front of your coworkers.

It's only a week later when you see Chan's chart in front of you again. “This one was asking for you by name,” the nurse comments.

“of course he was,” but even as you say the words you can't help but feel the fluttering in your stomach. most people who came in you didn't see again and if they flirted you were happy to see them gone but Chan wasn't making you feel that way.

he was alone in his room when you went in. laid out on the bed with his hand to his nose. It was like deja vu only now his tank was black instead of white. blood dripping down to his lips that smile directed at your heart. his eyebrow looked better but was still slightly discolored from last week.

“I think this time it's broken,” but he's not showing any pain if it's the truth.

“your nose again? you’re too pretty to be taking punches to the face,” you pull on a pair of gloves walking over to inspect him.

“That's why they do it, they are jealous,” he lifts away the gauze the nurse must have given him.

His nose is clearly broken and needs to be set. you press your finger lightly to the bridge checking out the bone. Chan's eyes flutter shut and he lets out a weak moan, so soft that you probably wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close to his face. you try to ignore the sound feeling along his cheekbones but when you press to the corner of his eye he lets out another soft whine.

“I'm going to have to reset it,” you say pulling your hands away from him, “you can set up an appointment-“

“can't you just do it now? I don't think I'll need all the fuss of local anesthetic i think I can handle it,”

“It's going to hurt,”

“it didn't hurt much when I was hit I'm sure it won't be too bad the other way around,”

“You know it's okay to admit when it's painful,” you say, prodding again at his nose, he gives another soft moan at the touch, shifting his hips and leaning further back.

“I like it, so even when it's a little painful I don't mind,”

you move to grab a splint for his nose before preparing him, “I'll be quick so you shouldn't feel much but it will still hurt,” this wasn't the first time you've had to fix someone's broken nose but it would be the first time you were worried about messing up someone's face. you had full trust in your abilities but your anxiety was not helping.

Chan crossed his arms nodding before you pressed the heel of your palm to his nose, “Deep breath,” he followed your instructions and without warning you reset his nose. He flinched knuckles bleached from holding on so tight to himself, moaning as you pulled your hands back. you grabbed the split to finish the job, “see quick and easy,” his voice thick before he clears it. “I think I need a minute,”

“I can get something for the pain real fast,” you say tugging off your gloves already moving to get the meds.

“no no I don't need that, I just need a second,” his head is leaned back, throat exposed, arms still crossed while he shifts his hips again drawing your attention to his waist. you can clearly see the outline of his hard bulge through his gray sweatpants.

“Oh!” you turn around fast to try and give him some form of privacy feeling your face get hot. “I um- I'll just-“ you cut yourself off picking up his chart and moving to the door. you close the door as he tries to say something but you’re already down the hall trying not to think about what you saw. you don’t really care it’s not the first time you’ve seen someone turned on in the hospital although all the other times you rolled your eyes. Now you’re stuttering and trying not to think of Chan in a way that could get you into trouble.

but it’s all you can think about.

how long would he need? would he be actively trying to get rid of his problem mentally or physically? what would have happened if you had stayed? would it have been beyond awkward or would you officially have to resign for having sex while on shift?

you give Chan's chart to another doctor to check over your work and send him off. you didn’t want to go in and embarrass him or embarrass yourself for that matter. so you hid like a coward.

it was a rare night off for you and you took the opportunity to spend it with your old friends.

at a nightclub on a busy strip downtown your friends decide to bar hop. you had a late shift tomorrow anyway and didn’t care about sleeping in. At the third bar, your friend's boyfriend starts talking about a fight happening across the street. “the guy's undefeated I swear I just wanna see the end,”

“If you’re dragging us along you’re paying the entrance fee,” your friend says before another pipes up, “and a drink each!”

“Fine, fine let’s go, it's already started!” all of you rush across the street joining the moving queue as people file into the building.

You can hear the cheering already, the announcer shouting over the speakers, your shoes sticking to the floor as if you were still at the bar. but this is far from it, people are jostling each other around, and the seats all first come already full. it’s not until you’re making your way up the steps of the bleachers that you see who’s in the ring.

Chan is shirtless and glistening with sweat, hair stuck down across his forehead, lip bleeding around his mouth guard. muscles rippling as he delivers a blow to his opponent.

you’re almost shocked still and unmoving in your walk up to a seat. someone behind you tries to move past you and you stumble, unaware of your surroundings.

Chan doesn’t know why he looks up because he always tries to focus solely on the person in front of him determined to beat him. but he does let his eyes flicker up to the stands to see you apologizing to someone moving past you. He's caught off guard by your presence and the right hook that makes his head snap away from you.

the crowd shouts in disapproval as you take your seat. Chan is now bleeding from his nose like every other time you’ve seen him. The droplets of blood fell to his toned stomach each breath pushing the trail of blood further down.

you’ve never been into fighting, not watching or participating but now you’re fully invested. you don’t even want a drink when your friends ask if you need anything. your eyes follow Chan as he delivers hit after hit to the man in front of him. and when they call a winner you’re up out of

your seat cheering along with the rest of the watchers.

“omg is he looking at us? I swear he’s looking right at us,” your friend laughs next to you.

Chan is in fact looking up the stands at you. That dimpled smile on full display after he’s taken his mouth guard out. when he sees you looking back he mouths ‘Wait for me’ and you’re putty. you don’t even try to think that he could have been talking to someone else because you’re delusional enough not to give a fuck.

when you make it down to where Chan is signing autographs you’re a little nervous after how you left things. but that goes away when he grins, split lip reopening. “my favorite medical professional,”

“I thought I warned you not to get your pretty face in the way of someone’s fist?”

“How else am I supposed to see you if I don’t come in needing your assistance?”

the crowd around you is clearing and you’ve already told your friends not to wait on you so when Chan asks, “Can we talk?” nodding his head in the direction of the locker rooms, you don’t turn him down.

He leads you to the hallway just out of the way from everyone else. “I wanted to apologize for the last time I saw you,”

“no no, I should apologize I shouldn’t have given you someone else to work with,”

“no really I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable I swear I was trying really hard not to have any kind of reaction I just-“

“It's okay truly I wasn’t uncomfortable it’s natural although I've never reset someone’s bones and had that happen-“

“I'm sorry,” he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck, arm flexing and you realize he’s still shirtless. all finely toned muscles on display the damp towel used to wipe away any blood and sweat thrown over his shoulder. but a spot of blood had been missed right at the band of his shorts. without thinking you reached out to brush it away with your thumb.

Chan and you stood frozen, his breath shallow as he watched your finger wipe at his skin just low enough to send a shiver down his spine.

“Are you doing anything else tonight?” he asks when you pull away.

“you were just in a fight and you still want to go out?”

“with you? yes. With anyone else? no,” you’re standing close together and when someone walks past to reach the locker room door Chan moves in blocking you against the wall. your hand comes up and rests on his ribs, his bruises gone from his first visit only now to be replaced with fresh ones.

he’s leaning down close to you as another person moves around you two to enter the locker room. Chan's breath fanning your ear before he whispers, “We don’t have to go out, we could stay in…”

he technically was not your patient, you weren’t at work and you weren’t obligated to deny yourself anymore. not when Chan was standing here willing and you were wet from just watching him win his match.

“Okay,” your voice was low and weak but all the confirmation Chan needed to pull you along after him.

past the locker rooms are a few offices and Chan knows there’s a secluded restroom right by there. you don’t even think twice as he shuts the door behind you locking it. you’re both on each other the second Chan turns around. hot and heavy kisses down your neck and over your collar as Chan palms your ass over your short skirt. your hands tugging at his hair but not the way Chan likes, “harder,” he breathes between kisses, “I want it to hurt,” and when you do his moan is music to your ears.

Chan walks you back into the wall pressing you against the tile next to the sink.

“When I thought about fucking you I never imagined you dressed like this,” Chan lifts your leg to his hip, hot hand running under your thigh and up under your skirt.

“disappointed we can’t play doctor?”

“I don’t care as long as I finally get to have you,” Chan's free hand slides up under

your shirt palming you over your bra. his mouth is back on yours as he wedges his knee between your legs. his thigh placed right against your clothed clit.

Chan's hand fits right in the pit between your hip and thigh, fingers digging in as he pulls you forward on his thigh.

your hips start to move against him, moaning into his mouth as you rock back and forth against him. “My pretty girl wants me so bad,” he breathes, planting kisses down your jaw. “I can already feel how wet you are for me,”

with anyone else you would have been embarrassed about how needy you were but you didn’t care with Chan. not when he had been on your mind for weeks now, when every time you got off recently you had been imagining Chan's fingers doing the job instead of your own.

Chan taps your other leg muttering, “Jump,” and you follow his orders, Chan moving to set you down on the sink’s countertop. He pulls away, hooking his fingers in your panties and tugging them down your legs. He stays on his knees leaning over to kiss you on your inner thigh. you tug off your shirt tossing it on the counter next to you.

you cup Chan's jaw letting your thumb run over his bruised bottom lip, your finger moves over his nose brushing down the slope. Chan's smile is lazy, his gaze pouring over you. “you’re healing nicely,”

“to have your hands all over me I’d make a million more visits, and,” he lifts himself until his lips are brushing yours, “I love the pain,”

you slip your hand into the waistband of Chan's shorts wrapping your fingers around his stiff length. He moans loudly against your cheek as you stroke him. Chan's hand pushes under your skirt pressing his thumb into your clit, circling slowly.

“I can’t wait anymore,” Chan grunts pushing your skirt up higher around your hips, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter before you remove your hands from his already leaking cock.

Chan pushes down his pants to free himself before he’s lining up with your entrance.

he doesn’t hesitate to thrust in fully pressing his pelvis to yours. both of you moan out your arms wrapping around his shoulders. chan inches out before slowly pushing back in. You whine, laying your head back until it’s laid against the mirror.

you wrap one of your hands around Chan's neck, “is this okay?”

Chan nods, “Harder please harder,” you squeeze enough to make his eyes flutter, the same way they had when you were back in the hospital fixing his nose, his hips finally picking up pace. every drag of his cock makes a bolt travel down from your spine to your knees. your back arching, Chan drags his teeth down your throat.

your free hand scratches down Chan's back and you move your hips to meet his, trying to build any friction.

“you feel so deep,” your voice not sounding like you as Chan angels himself up brushing against your g-spot. your legs wrapped around him shake at the contact, your walls squeezing around his cock.

“I wanna hear you cum for me,” Chan moves his fingers between you rubbing your clit until you see spots, knowing exactly what you needed.

Chan picks up his thrusting pace, punishing you with his cock, tip pressed right against the deepest part of you. “cum inside me please,” you beg, your nails usually nicely kept for work scratching him like they weren’t shortened.

His thrusts falter at your words, his moan in your hair loud and echoing in the small room. “please I want it, I want to feel it,” your fingers around his throat give a squeeze and Chan knows he won’t be able to deny you.

with a few sloppy thrusts, Chan is coming hard enough that his upper half gives out, laying on you. your hands leaving his throat and twisting in his hair as he shoots out ropes of hot cum inside you, hips jerking.

The feeling of his release and his fingers on your clit send you over the edge, your legs locking around him as you cry out his name. Chan's slow thrusts help you ride out your high. both of you panting arms wrapped around each other not wanting to let the other go.

clarity starts to set in as you catch your breath, your hair sticking to the back of

your neck. chan pulls out, the slick sound making you pulse around nothing. Chan watches as your combined cum slides out. He lifts your leg under your thigh using his thumb to spread your pussy lips apart watching as more comes out. “Next time I’m at the hospital I won't be able to forget this,” he drags his thumb up to your clit making you jump. spreading the slick around, “I might even ask for you to treat me this well again,”

#bangchan x reader #bangchan smut #bang chan #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids bang chan #changbin #hyunjin #lee felix #lee know #i.n skz #seungmin #kpop smut #skzsmut #han jisung #chan x reader #skz bang chan

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no1blacksapphirefan · 3 months ago

Note

What if we mix up a few of the previous asks about the Self Aware CookieRun Kingdom AU, Hmm? And by this I mean: What if instead of the player being jealous of the cookies, the cookies are jealous of us with whatever media we're paying attention to while we idly play their game?

Example: I keep putting CRK in the background while I play other games on my Nintendo Switch b/c I hate waiting for things to produce in this game. I just wanna make enough resources to feed into the Wish Tree and Bear Train, but noooooo... Every item that they need takes a minimum of like, four hours to produce. And yes, I know I could just close the app and wait, but I like collecting other resources while I wait. So as the things that take multiple hours to literal days to craft are cooking, I play Hello Kitty Island Adventure, ignoring all of my little cookies and only occasionally looking down to refill my cue for sugar cubes and cake logs and jellies and all that other nonsense before getting right back to what really matters to my gaming life at the moment: becoming best friends with Sanrio characters.

So I would like to imagine all of my favorite cookies are trapped in mines and factories crafting enough resources so I can continue playing THEIR game stress free just to look up beyond the screen to see me having the time of my life becoming besties with a bunch of cutesy mascot characters on an island of fun and adventure. You can't tell me they wouldn't be at least a little jealous.

I do this a bit too, usually when Im farming like bounties or such. Let them auto as I concentrate on something else. I can tots see some being jealous though, especially if they're just stuck doing their victory pose till you realise they finished their job

Shadow Milk Hey! HEY!! Look at him, pay attention to him. He is so much better than whatever you're playing, you can't just leave him to cut wood for you and only pay attention when he needs to do more.

He wants your attention, almost craves it. He won't fully admit that though. He won't even admit he's jealous that you're happily playing a different game, oh he could keep you better entertained if you just looked at him. Let someone else cut the wood and he'll put on such a fantastic performance for you that any other would look like jokes...just look at him for more then a second please or else he'll be sulking once you finally log off the the day.

Black Sapphire He’s annoyed, but he has ideas on how to get up ur attention back, I mean being a radio show host he needs to be entertaining after all. But if those attempts don’t work he might make a loud sound come from your phone, something that’ll draw your attention to even for a moment but not let you realise it was him.

Like a screech of sorts as if your audio is distorting. He doesn’t mind making whatever you wish but at least give him some attention, especially since he’s been working so hard

Burning Spice Oh how he wants to throw his axe at that other device. You’ve been paying such happy attention to him, why stop now?? Just because you need some sugar cubes??? You’re lucky he likes you and wants to see you smile. He knows breaking that other device will surely upset you but than again…

He can make you happier, he promises!! Just lay off it for a few seconds and let him fight in the arena, let him hear the sweet praises you give him as he does the finishing move after you thought it was a loosing battle. He could never disappoint you. Just have your eyes on him. Though he wants to he won’t break the other device even if he figured out how…not yet anyways…don’t make it a habit

Black Forest She loves you so much please look at her. You’re who she wanted to marry, the witch she chose. Even if you’re technically not. She’s been doing a good job you know!! Tending to those sheep so you have such nice fluffy clouds.

At least praise her as she gets back to work but oh she doesn’t mind…well she does, shd feels the growing jealousy as your eyes and attention is on a different game. You really like befriending those sweet animals don’t you? Maybe if she convinces the other cookies, she can make it similar!! Surely you’ll stay longer though right? She doesn’t want to feel like you care more for that game.

Pure Vanilla he knows it’s nothing, that you still love the game and you just need to pay attention to something else but he can’t help the growing jealousy as he works tirelessly during Alliance, only having your attention briefly when you’re moving onto the next difficulty, or when you need him to farm that level again.

He feels bad, especially when he realises he wants you to stop play on that game. He tries to remind himself you still love him but seeing you giggle as you play your other game makes him upset, not at you specifically, he doesn’t even know who he’s mad at. He just wants your attention back on him. He’ll be happy for days when you turn back and happily tap on him like you usually do though

#✦ Zeros Self-Aware AU #cookie run kingdom #crk #crk x reader #crk x you #black sapphire x reader #pure vanilla x reader #shadow milk x reader #Black Forest x reader #burning spice x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom x you #black sapphire cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #Black Forest cookie x reader #burning spice cookie x reader #pure vanilla cookie x reader

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alienzil · 1 year ago

Text

DP x DC Prompt/notion # 5

Bruce finished logging the last details of tonight’s patrol and reluctantly pulled up contingency file PT-961. “Hnn,” he grunted to the empty cave, staring at the folder on screen but making no move to open it yet. His children were all out for the evening with various excuses: doing research on a case, homework, visiting a friend, etc. He knew they were really with Fenton for a movie night of course…the third such movie night in the last several months since they started sneaking over to visit the man.

He'd put this off long enough, making excuses to himself about assessing the situation before coming to any conclusions, it was past time he did something about it.

Cli-click. There. The file was open.

He’d made this contingency plan years ago, creating it only a days after Dick had moved into the manor and updating as needed as the family had grown but it hadn’t been touched for years.

PT-961 In The Event That More than 50% of the Children Form an Attachment to a New Parental Figure (see file HM-962 if less than 50%) 1. Initial Research: a. Attachment levels – see pages 1-36, graphs I-XLVII b. Assessment of New Parental Figure c. Background and character 2. Intentions – harmful a. If wanting money see contingency files (GD-01 to GD-207) b. If mind control – magic see contingency files (SMM-M-01 to SMM-M-508) c. If mind control – science see contingency files (NAM-ES-01 to NAM-ES-904) d. If criminal intentions see contingency files (CAP-C-201 to CAP-C-508) 3. Intentions – positive a. Option 1. Hire them - See Family reaction projections pages 37-75 - See likelihood of job acceptance pages 76-94 - See possible outcome projections pages 95-127 Note: Option 1 has the highest likelihood of job acceptance and a positive outcome in the event New Parental Figure has an annual income of less than $42,300 and/or is greater than or equal to age 57. b. Option 2. No interference/Let the Children decide what to do - See Children’s time projections pages 128-209, graphs XLVIII-LXX - See possible mission/patrol interference scenarios pages 210-293 - See possible outcomes pages 294-362 Note: Projections for Option 2 show a near 100% likelihood of interference with patrols/mission. Note: Interference resulting in increased potential for injury or delay in treatment of injuries estimated to be 68-94% more likely. c. Option 3. Custody arrangement - See potential arrangements pages 363-482, graphs LXXI-XC - See possible outcomes pages 363-401 Note: The majority of projections show Option 3 is unlikely to be successful. Both the children and New Parental Figure are predicted to be uncooperative in time and custody arrangements with no other controlling factors. d. Option 4. Engage in a relationship - See family reactions page 402-481 - See New Parental Figure reactions pages 482-568 - See possible outcomes pages 569-757 Note: For possible romantic or similar relationships see contingency files (DM-401 to DM-879) Note: In the event Option 1 is nonviable, Option 4 has the highest likelihood of a positive outcome. e. Option 5. Arrange for New Parental Figure to leave - See contingency files (ROI-G-301 to ROI-G-809) Note: High likelihood of one or more children discovering the arrangement for the removal of New Parental Figure leading to high likelihood of estrangement. Also likely to be ethically questionable.

Bruce double checked his notes on Daniel James Fenton. He was 2 years younger than Bruce, earned a high income as a freelance engineer and had multiple patents that gave him enough passive income from royalties that he could easily maintain his current lifestyle without working. There were no indications of any criminal history or ill intentions and thus far all of his interactions with the children appear to have been positive. More than positive given that every single one of his kids was now “secretly” (or secretly in so far as they were aware) spending time with him.

He steepled his hands in front of his face and focused on the data displayed on screen. The best option to take in this case was obvious.

*****

Ding-Dong! “I’m coming!” Danny yelled as he dropped the laundry basket on the couch and headed for the front door. “Why is there always a package delivery on laundry day?” he muttered to himself. Well, hopefully the delivery guy wouldn’t mind his no clean laundry ensemble. Surely, they’d seen worse than Danny’s ancient, too small NASA t-shirt and the bat themed pajama pants Sam bought for him when he moved to Gotham.

“Hi there, sorry I was doing laundry and…uhh…you’re not the delivery guy”. Danny stared at a sharply dressed smiling man holding a dozen roses on the other side of his door.

“No, I’m Bruce Wayne. I-“

“Oh, shit”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You know.”

“Umm…” Danny gulped. He was not expecting to deal with Batman on laundry day! “Yes?” He straightened himself, squared his shoulders and looked Bruce Wayne AKA Batman, the father of the kids that his core had recently come to recognize as his own, in the eyes. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I know.”

“Hnnn…” Bruce’s voice dropped a few octaves. Not quite Batman’s signature growl but much lower than he had been speaking. “Well then, that simplifies things. These are for you. Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

“…What?!”

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #fic prompt #so basically bruce has a contingencies in case the batkids found a new mom or dad #and the best option is to marry Danny #it's only logical #he has lists #and charts #they're color coded

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dev-solovey · 4 months ago

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SEEKING TRANSMASC VOICE ACTOR

Hi, I'm an author and I wrote a horror novella about a trans guy main character who gets caught in a cycle of nightmares. I need a narrator for an audiobook version of it.

PLEASE REBLOG, even if you're not a VA - I want to give a creative job to a trans person and in order to do that I need a boost.

Here are the details:

Story synopsis:

Thaddeus Morozov's sister tries to sacrifice him to a dark god, but she doesn't quite finish the job. As he fights for his life in a medically induced coma, the dark god puts him through a gauntlet of nightmares, each more horrific than the last. If he loses, the sacrifice will be complete.

Violent, edgy, and unabashedly queer, Fever Dreams is a biting commentary on the Trans Moral Panic, explored through the eyes of a transgender boy who will fight tooth and nail to survive - with plenty of blood and gore spilled along the way.

Characters you will have to voice:

- Thaddeus (main character), a 19-year-old trans man from Chicago. His voice would be the primary one you use for narration.

- Masha, his older sister.

- The Antler Man, or Chernobog, Russian god of darkness, who has a deep and very creepy voice.

- the Sparrow, or Belobog, Russian god of light, who will primarily be whispering. Should be somewhat raspy and not high pitched.

- a few characters with British accents, specifically John Oliver and Tom Scott. These nightmares get weird. I'm sorry about that.

- Thaddeus's grandma, a very old Russian woman who immigrated to the US during WWII. The accent doesn't have to be too heavy

- Thaddeus's parents. His dad is abusive and transphobic, his mom is addicted to morphine to cope with her husband.

Things you will need:

- an ACX account, since my publisher goes through ACX for narrators.

- good studio equipment. Readers always notice background noise.

- audio distortion may be required for segments where the dialog takes place over the phone or in chat logs. Might also be worthwhile to add some distortion on the Antler Man's voice, to make it sound really deep and creepy. If you are unable to do this, I can find an audio producer to help (or if you know one, you can refer them to me)

Content warnings:

I have to include these since it is pretty extreme horror.

Transphobia, Gore, child abuse, animal cruelty, animal death, substance abuse, vomit, mental illness, mental hospital

Thank you for taking the time to read this!

Again, you will have to audition through ACX - sorry about that, I don't make the rules. If you're interested, you can search for Fever Dreams, published by Baynam Books Press. And if you'd like a sample of the writing, I can provide one as well.

#casting call #voice acting #voice actor #indie horror #audiobook narrator #audiobook casting call #queer creator #transmasc #trans pride

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dhorrl · 3 months ago

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Certified Freak

The LADS Boys and their Kinks

Written for a role play series I worked on and I could not get over how much fun it was. One of my specialties is personality and kink analysis and I feel like I did a pretty good job capturing them.

NSFW Below The Cut

Zayne

Kink: Soft/Light Bondage

Zayne cast a sidelong glance your way, his fingers flying across the keyboard with clinical precision. The glow of the laptop screen lit his features—calm, focused, unreadable to most… but not to you.

He sat perched on the edge of the bed, posture straight as ever, despite the hour. The TV played softly in the background, the movie of your choosing rolling along without much attention from either of you. He'd had it installed in the bedroom months ago—some misguided attempt at compromise, a way to spend more time with you while still keeping up with his never-ending notes and case reports.

He barely blinked when you reached over to poke his cheek.

With surgeon-like speed, his hand caught yours mid-air, his fingers wrapping easily around your wrist. "I need a few more minutes, darling," he murmured, eyes still on the screen. "I'm logging post-op notes from today’s surgery."

His voice was calm, measured, the edge of exhaustion softened by the affection in his tone. But the amused twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed him. He was entertained. You always managed to chip away at his composure, no matter how long his day had been.

You flopped back into your spot with a dramatic sigh, arms crossed, your pout aimed pointedly in his direction. He didn't need to look—he could feel it.

Those 'few more minutes' stretched. Five became fifteen. Fifteen became nearly an hour. Zayne was lost in terminology and timestamps until he felt the distinct press of your fingers sneaking along his side—deliberate, slow, and unmistakably mischievous.

This time, he didn't even glance up. His hand darted out, catching your wrist with an efficiency that should've been unfair.

"Again?" he said, voice low, laced with fond exasperation. He set the laptop aside with deliberate calm, letting it click shut. His hazel eyes finally met yours, sharp and warm all at once.

"If your hands insist on misbehaving…" His fingers tightened ever so slightly around your wrist, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. "Then perhaps I should show you how surgeons tie knots."

A pause—long enough for the implication to settle—before his smirk deepened.

"They're remarkably secure."

Zayne's fingers released your wrist slowly, deliberately, as if reluctant to let go. He shifted toward you, the space between you vanishing in a breath.

His voice dropped an octave, thick with promise. "Lie back, darling."

Zayne moved with unhurried grace, bracing one knee beside your hip as he leaned over you, palms bracketing either side of your head on the bed. His white button-down was slightly wrinkled from the day, sleeves rolled to his elbows—he looked disheveled in the most unfairly gorgeous way.

"Do you know what happens when a surgeon's hands are interrupted mid-report?" he murmured, his nose brushing along your jaw. "We get a little… twitchy."

His hand glided up your thigh, fingers curling possessively, thumb grazing just beneath the hem of your shirt.

"Distracting me is dangerous, you know," he whispered against your ear. "Now I've completely forgotten what I was working on. Do you intend to take responsibility?"

His mouth found your throat, trailing kisses down the slope of your neck. His hands didn't stop moving, slipping beneath fabric, sliding higher, exploring slowly, savoring every inch of your skin like it was a map he'd studied for years and was only now daring to touch.

Zayne was always composed. Controlled. But now… his touch was reverent and hungry in equal measure.

"I'm going to tie your hands," he said softly, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Not because I don't trust you. But because I want you to feel what it's like—without a single distraction."

He sat back just long enough to slide open his nightstand drawer, pulling out a long, red silk sash, as though it had been waiting for this very moment. His gaze met yours, slow and questioning, always waiting for your word.

"Let me properly demonstrate what happens when you interrupt a surgeon's work."

Caleb

Kink: Panty Sniffer/Olfactory

Caleb had no qualms about showing just how much of a pervert he was for you now that you were dating. All those things he'd kept hidden over the years—the times he listened through the walls of your bedroom when you pleasured yourself, the dirty panties he nipped from the laundry when you weren't looking, and the occasional photos he discreetly snapped for later enjoyment—were now out in the open, and he reveled in it.

He'd always suspected that you matched his unique brand of freak. Hell, maybe you were even more depraved—which only made him fall deeper. So, when you teased him on the phone about having a surprise for him, he was already counting down the minutes. Your surprises had a notorious reputation for leaving the Colonel both thoroughly satisfied and incredibly late to work the next day.

You barely made it through the door to his apartment before he was upon you, his lips tracing along your neck as he lifted you effortlessly. His Evol held you aloft, giving his hands the freedom to explore as he began tugging at your clothes.

"So, a surprise, huh? You mentioned it on the phone—whatcha got me? Is it under these clothes, maybe?"

He couldn't help himself, his lips spilling every nasty thought while his hands carried out their mischievous actions. He moved through the apartment like a man possessed, dropping you gently to the bed while his hands made quick work of tugging off your pants.

Then he saw it.

He froze, breath hitching in his throat as his eyes locked onto what you were wearing. A slow, incredulous laugh rumbled from his chest, followed by a growl so low it barely sounded human.

There, delicately stitched onto the waistband of your underwear, was a small red apple… and beneath it, his name.

"Fuuuuuck…" His voice came out in a needy whine, a whimper even, choked out as he dropped to his knees. "You tryin' to kill me?"

His fingers delicately caressing the wet patch soaking into the fabric. "You know what would make this gift even better? Leave 'em on while I ruin them… then let me keep them. You know it gets real lonely in my shuttle during patrols…"

Rafayel

Kink: Voyeur, Semi-Public, Getting Caught

Rafayel's hands had minds of their own.

Or so he claimed.

It was the only explanation he ever offered when his fingers kept wandering—under your shirt, down the back of your pants, slipping between your thighs with maddening precision.

And if those hands ever got caught? Well, clearly it wasn't his fault. The poor things simply had no self-control.

"What? That wasn't me!" Rafayel yelped dramatically as you swatted his thigh beneath the pristine linen tablecloth.

You were seated at an exclusive dinner, arranged by Thomas himself, joined by a small group of very important art collectors who were preparing to purchase several of Rafayel's newest works. It was supposed to be professional, polished.

But Rafayel was bored out of his mind.

His elbow perched on the table as he leaned in close, his voice a sulky whisper beside your ear. "Cutie, I can't help it… You wore that shirt on purpose, didn’t you? You're just begging me to misbehave."

Then—his fingers were there again, fast and shameless, cupping between your legs with practiced boldness. He pressed just enough to make your breath hitch, just enough to draw that gorgeous color to your cheeks.

That blush he lived for—pink to red, from cheekbones to ears, like the blooming sky at dusk.

He'd capture that color one day. Call it 'My Favorite Sin.'

You kicked his shin under the table, hard.

"Ow!" he yelped again, loud enough for every conversation to pause and heads to turn. Rafayel blinked innocently, flashing a sheepish smile.

"Oh—ah. Seems I might've, um… sprained my wrist earlier. Painting accident. Yes, tragic, really."

His hand—very much not sprained—grabbed yours, entwining your fingers.

"Come. I need assistance. It hurts sooo bad."

Thomas, seated beside him, looked like he was two seconds from strangling him with a napkin. He gave the collectors a tight-lipped smile, smoothing things over while Rafayel led you down the hall without a shred of remorse.

He dragged you toward the restaurant bathroom with a purposeful stride. Once inside, he kicked the door open, checked the stalls—and when satisfied no one else was present, he pulled you into the last one.

The lock clicked.

He pinned you to the stall door with a sudden, delicious force, his lips crashing into yours, stealing your breath before you could even scold him. His kiss was deep, greedy, and hungry—like he hadn't seen you in weeks, like he might die if he didn't taste you right now.

"Just a little taste, cutie," he murmured against your lips, breathless, his hands already trailing lower.

"Then I swear—I'll be a good boy… sit still, nod politely, talk about brush technique or whatever Thomas wants."

His grin was wicked, his eyes gleaming.

"But right now? I want dessert before dinner."

Sylus

Kink: Light Submission/Power Struggle

Sylus wasn't the type to submit.

Power clung to him like a second skin—woven into every graceful step, every sharp glance, every word that slipped from his lips like velvet and venom. Control wasn't something he reached for—it was something the world handed him, terrified to do anything else.

But you?

You were the beautiful exception to every rule he lived by.

He had a soft spot for your defiance—the way your eyes sparked when you pushed his buttons, the way you stood toe-to-toe with a man the galaxy feared and dared to tease him. To challenge him.

He loved it.

Feeding that fire in your heart had become his favorite pastime. Anything you wanted, he laid at your feet like offerings to a queen. Riches, silk, silence, chaos—he handed it all over willingly, adding fuel to your every little desire until your hunger matched his own.

And tonight?

Tonight, you straddled him like you ruled him, fingers pressed to his chest as if you could pin him down.

As if you could tame the dragon with just your touch.

A slow, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes gleaming like molten gold in the low light.

"Oh?" he drawled, voice dripping with indulgent curiosity. "Taking charge tonight, kitten?"

He didn't move. He didn't need to. Just lay there beneath you, coiled like a predator at rest, letting you believe—for now—that the power was yours.

He hummed, a sound that vibrated through your skin, dark and decadent. Half-pleased, half-predatory.

"I told you to be greedy, sweetie," he murmured, his voice nothing but honey and threat. "So go on. Take it."

He tilted his head, eyes devouring you from beneath heavy lashes.

"Anything you want… it's yours."

Xavier

Kink: OK let’s see, uh… marking, light voyeur, some edging, some overstimulation, general rough sex vibes… honestly the list could go on, but let’s just say he's very, very primal.

It was honestly easier to list the things Xavier didn't like than the ones he did.

He loved pranks—especially the ridiculous ones. The kind that only his slightly gullible lover would fall for, which made the payoff all the more satisfying. Whether it was switching the sugar with salt in your coffee or a classic whoopee cushion, nothing delighted him more than your flustered reaction… followed by your laughter.

He loved meat. Xavier could easily plow through an entire family-sized bucket of fried chicken solo, licking his fingers clean with zero shame… and then look at you with those soft blue eyes and casually suggest grabbing hot pot immediately after.

And most of all, he loved you. Every word out of your mouth was poetry to him, every clumsy or graceful movement a private performance he never got tired of watching. You were his calm, his spark, his orbit.

But what he hated—with a white-hot intensity—was anyone who tried to flirt with you. Anyone who lingered too long near your side. Anyone who even thought they could draw your attention away. Even himself, if he was being honest. He still resented Lumiere for being too… perfect. Too charming. Too much of a fantasy, even if it was a fantasy designed by himself.

Today, however, was good.

Peaceful.

The two of you spent the afternoon wandering through Linkon, ducking into little shops, Xavier buying you snacks and secretly pocketing a tiny noisemaker he planned to annoy you with later. The kind that made fart sounds, cat meows, and more.

He looked ridiculously proud of himself.

You shared skewers from a street vendor, the sticky glaze clinging to the corner of your lips. He leaned in under the pretense of wiping it away, but his lips met yours instead, tongue flicking softly over the sweetness.

"Mmm," he hummed, smirking. "Tastes better on you."

Everything was perfect—until it wasn't.

"Heyyy!"

Xavier's posture stiffened the second the voice called out.

You turned, hand still linked with his, only to see Charlie—the overly friendly baker from next door—bounding toward you with a far-too-bright smile.

Xavier's expression remained a masterpiece of composure, not a single flicker betraying the murderous thoughts behind his eyes.

"Hi! I'm so glad I caught you guys. I brought some of these new cinnamon rolls for you to try!" Charlie held out a neatly wrapped basket. "We're testing recipes this week before the official opening."

Xavier stepped forward so smoothly it looked choreographed, plucking the basket from Charlie's hands before you could even reach.

"Thanks. We just ate. We'll enjoy these together… later," he said smoothly, voice clipped but polite.

Charlie gave a cheery wave and slipped into his apartment next door—right next door.

You started to raise your hand to wave back, but Xavier's hand was already at the small of your back, guiding—no, directing—you inside.

"Inside. Now."

The front door closed with a click.

The basket hit the trash without ceremony.

And then his hands were on you—urgent, possessive, burning.

His mouth crashed into yours, stealing your breath as he backed you toward the bed—your bed, the one pressed against the wall shared with Charlie's apartment.

He pulled back just long enough to growl against your lips, "Do you like the attention? Do you like seeing me like this?" he asked, voice low, trembling with restraint as his fingers slid beneath your clothes and made quick work of removing them.

His gaze pinned you—dark, hungry, feral.

"I don't like sharing," Xavier muttered as he dragged you down with him onto the mattress. "Not even a glance."

His lips were everywhere—your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your stomach—as if he could replace every second of Charlie's interruption with himself.

Jealousy was a rare look on Xavier, but when it came, it wasn't cruel. It was consuming. Worshipful.

"You're mine. You always will be."

Xavier was, in his own possessive way, preparing to mark his territory. Loud enough that a certain someone was sure to hear.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace rafayel #lads rafayel #lads caleb #lads zayne #lads xavier #lads sylus #lads headcanons #love and deepspace headcanon

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mywritersmind · 8 months ago

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hey girl! are you writing for franco atm??? if so I wanted to see if you could write smth like fluff or reader and franco get in a fight maybe bcs of the time zones and races and he surprises her one night before race weekend like he catches a flight to see her but she still won’t budge on talking to him xxx

YELL AND FLY - FC43

listen up : just arguing but ending in comfort. thanks for the request this lowk almost made me cry

word count : 877

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I can hear him pacing, the sounds of drilling and tires in the background, “I’m just tired, Franco.” We’ve been like this for an hour, I keep hearing him swear in spanish and making sure everyone leaves him alone.

“You don’t think I am?” he groans as someone tries to speak to him again, “Fuck, obviously I’m tired! You’re not the one working every weekend.”

I scoff and sit up in my bed, the sun not even up yet, “That's unfair and you know it, Franco! I work! I work even more when you’re away!” I say sarcastically, “But I'm sorry that you have to do the job you chose and you love!”

I shake my head as he responds, “I didn’t mean that, love.”

“Yes you did. And that’s fine but don’t push your anger onto me. You always do shit like this.”

“Like what?” His voice raises.

I run my hand into my hair, “You don’t think I support you.”

“Well it’s hard to think that when you’re not here supporting me.” I want to hit him, then myself. How could he think that? After I said I wanted to be there but couldn’t because I was fucking working. He takes it back quickly, “I’m sorry i’m just overwhelmed-”

“Franco. I’m tired.” Tired of this. Tired of waking up so early and staying up late for a ten minute call where we just fight, “we should talk about this later.”

He still sounds angry, “I’m busy all day.”

I stay silent. What am I supposed to say? Cry and tell him to not be? I have no choice but to nod.

“Good luck.”

He sighs, I hear the ruffling of his hair, “I’m sorry. I wish you were here.”

“Me too.” He’s mad at me and I’m mad at him. I’ve been with Franco long before his F1 debut, but us yelling over the phone every weekend isn’t something I expected with the job.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I watched his race, texted him, and logged off social media for the day. He’s off to Mexico but I just can’t leave right now. I’m sitting in the kitchen, eating my cereal and leaning over the counter while listening to Taylor Swift.

There’s a knock at the door, I groan. I’m in the same pajamas as two days ago and my hair is in the messiest bun I've seen in a while.

When I open the door, my jaw actually drops.

“Franco?” I poke him as if I think he’s some figment of my imagination. Have I really gone that crazy that I'm imagining my boyfriend at my door?

“Hi, love.” He’s real. He walks in, shutting the door softly. I want to cry as he slips his arms around me, “I’m so sorry.”

His voice washes over me and I hug him tighter, breathing him in and realizing how much I missed how he smells.

“I’m mad at you.” It comes out as a whisper, my voice broken and sad.

“You can be.” I pull back a bit, his hands in my hair, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Why are you here?” I cross my arms, stepping back.

Franco looks nervous, a bag by his side, “I wanted to see you. I thought you wanted that too…”

“Of course I did!” I sigh dramatically.

He smiles at my anger, “So, I'm here for you.”

I shake my head, going to the kitchen and cleaning up my breakfast. I don’t know how to feel. I’m so happy he’s here. But then what? He’ll just leave again and I’ll watch two second clips of him on the TV?

He follows me into the kitchen, “Love… Let me do it.” I let him because I hate the dishes.

I sit on the counter, watching him gently washing the bowl with his sleeves rolled up. He drys his hands, then looks up at me.

“I’m sorry for being mad.” I look at the floor but he steps in between my legs so I look at him, “It’s just hard.”

“It’s hard for me too. I want you there all the time but I'm so proud of you!” he puts his hands on my outer thighs, “Time Zones suck.”

I laugh, wiping my eyes from the tears that spill down my face, “I’m proud of you too. Shit, you’re so amazing. I hate working.”

“Quit.” He says it so fast.

“Franco!” I swat at his arm, letting out a sort of sob laugh.

“Okay, you can quit when I get a full time seat.” I laugh as he smiles softly up at me, “I know it’s rough right now.”

“We can work through it. We’re us.” His thumbs smooth over my cheeks.

He nods, “We’re us.”

“How long are you here for?”

He frowns, “I leave tomorrow night.” I frown with him, “But I'm here now.”

I sigh, knowing he’s right. I look up at my boyfriend, his hands on me. I know I need to live in the moment now.

I kiss him softly and he pulls me into another hug, his arms around my waist, “I love you.”

I run my hands through his hair, “I love you too. We can do this.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto angst #franco colapinto fluff

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str4wb3rrysw3etheart · 3 months ago

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HII!!

SOOO.. i decided to start writing!! For the eltingville club! (They would hate me but shh..) I ran out of fics in a day.. so I'm doing God's work and supplying 🫡 (i actually have experience writing fics but got logged out of that accouht... and it was a different Fandom so good luck)

Anyway enough of my background stuff, here's fem! dating headcannons for all of the eltingville boys, plus a poly one 👅

Cw! SFW BUT SUGGESTIVE STUFF SAID BEYOND THIS POINT! Like lowkey could ne nsfw to someone but not to me.. Bill is still kinda a misogynist, but nicer. Pete is a little freak. I have a small preference for writing bill ... so sorry if his is longer 💔 pete has little siblings , poly is shorter bc I ran out of ideas 💔

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.

Bill

♡He .. to put it nicely sucks at most things. He's never done this before! Give him a break.. he gifts you small things from time to time that corelate to your interests, saying something like "here women god .."

♡He hates the club seeing you. He'll brag about you sure, but he doesn't want their filthy eyes to see you. He knows where they'd be looking

♡He isn't the best at affection so he'll normally just keep his arm around you, or hand on your thigh. He doesn't know what women like be nice to him

♡Will rant for HOURS about his interests, if you share some, he'll then quiz you about the lore , calling you fake if you mess up. He's a "Name five characters" type of man..

♡He starts to shower and use chapstick more, brushes his hair, the whole nine yards. But only if he knows you're coming to see him. He doesn't find showering necessary

♡Tries to be a manly macho man (he's failing). He wants you to rely on him because "that's a man's job" , even if you end up having him rely on you..

♡He dreams about you. In starteck outfits, in starwars, saving you from the big bad guy, he can't stop! Sometimes, if he's feeling nice, he'll look away from any boob's that the guys end up showing on movies.

♡Has a small staring problem.. he can't help it! Tits that are all his? And aren't imaginary? Jackpot! He's a pervert I'm sorry!

Pete

♡He is definitely always horny.. groping is his love language.

♡Shows you SO many horror movies, and purposely tries to scare you so he can seem 'manly' and cuddle you better

♡He LOVES watching you squirm, knowing you're so vurnable and grossed out/uncomfortable, it does something, but he will stop whatever movie he's watching if it gets too far

♡Will struggle with romance, like he doesn't wanna be seen doing basic normie shit. He wants any gifts or romantic gestures to be special... which normally ends up with a concerning amount of fake? Blood covering the both of you.

♡Loves to watch you cook, and I mean LOVES it. He loves watching you in an apron or even just clothes doing things like a house wife, he loves it.

♡Good with some kids.. (ex his little siblings) but leave him alone with them and you're ASKING for trauma for those poor kids.

♡If you're mentally ill? Great! He loves it, He's into some weird things.. but if you genuinely need comfort he'll try

♡Halloween is sacred to him and you WILL do matching costumes or he will ignore you for the whole night

Josh

♡One of the softer ones out of the boys

♡Everything and Everyone else is so mean amd rough , that he just wants both of you to be sweet and cuddle, he wants you to love him just as much as he loves you

♡He'll banter with you, but will never try to go too far, insecure that you'll leave him.

♡He only yells if he's very mad, he sucks at apologizing though.. so good luck on that part

♡He is so used to everyone being against him, that if you are just on his side, he's head over heels

♡He can't fight for the life of him, the other boys being the only thing that's as weak as him. But he will certainly threaten anyone who's mean to you

♡Gets embarrassed very easily, and tries to best to hide it, point it out and he gets even worse.. he was probably staring at your tits or something

♡He actively tries to have better hygiene for you, and his mom LOVES you for it. She thinks your a saint sent to help her son, and so you are very loved in that house.

Jerry

♡He is definitely the nicest out of all the boys, being gentle, almost treating you like a figure, something to be protected, but one that actually is a person!

♡Definitely rants about future plans in D&D to you, however if you play, he tries not to spoil it, push him and he'll crack though.

♡Loves for you to help him act out the scenes he plans , so he knows if they flow right

♡He loves to get you little gifts, and hide them around where you'll find them.

♡He may be sweeter but he's still like the other boys , has a tendency to whine when under pressure, and a HORRIBLE decision maker, just make them for him atp

♡He tries to be respectful about you and your body, not wanting to upset you, this is the only girl who has ever looked at him, he's so glad for this

♡Cosplays couples with you, like link and Zelda, peach and Mario, ect ect

♡Blushes easily, but LOVES to see you blush, just watching your cheeks tint from something he did? Exhilarating

Poly

♡I imagine, they all date you, they are NOT dating eachother, that's gay. (I'm bi dw)

♡Giving attention is like rolling a dice, get a low roll and they all decide that now NEED attention or they will DIE.

♡They all love to make you voice whatever girl they end up saving in d&d

♡They all will whine like toddlers if you can't make it to a meeting

♡If you all are watching a movie, you will be in the middle, no ifs, ands, or buts, about it.

And suddenly my ideas ran away

#bill dickey x you #bill dickey x reader #josh levy #josh levy x reader #bill dickey #pete dinunzio #eltingville club #the eltingville club #pete dinunzio x reader #jerry stokes #jerry stokes x reader #jerry stokes x you #Pete DiNunzio x you #Josh levy x you #welcome to eltingville #Eltingville fanfiction #headcanon #Dating headcannons

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orellazalonia · 7 days ago

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The Hard Truth

Summary: An investigation occurs that uncovers the woman they trusted for years was never officially cleared and may have manipulated her way into their ranks by gaining their trust and blending in.

Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: Sorry for the shorter chapter, I wanted something in between the next part for a better transition. (Granted, I’ve had shorter sections in previous parts lol.) Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

The alarms had stopped, but the tension hadn’t.

The command room felt smaller than usual. Dimmer, even with the lights on. The feed from the lower level played silently in the background. Doors swinging open, timestamp blinking, empty cells.

Sam stood near the window, arms crossed so tight it looked like he was holding himself together. Clint paced. Wanda sat with her elbows on her knees, hands pressed together under her chin. Bucky hadn’t said anything since coming back upstairs. He stood in the corner like a shadow. His mind racing with the woman who he had let into his life so easily, who has now confirmed his recent suspicions.

Tony leaned forward over the table. “This isn’t just a leak. It’s an inside job.”

“She’s still here,” Bruce said quietly. “Never left compound range. She was in the kitchen, admin wing, at one point she was in the library.”

“Because she’s not running,” Natasha finally spoke. “She doesn’t have to.”

Steve frowned. “We don’t have proof it was her.”

Sam let out a sharp breath. “We don’t have proof it wasn’t.”

“She’s helped us for years,” Wanda said softly. “You know that. She’s not… she’s not some enemy plant.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked. Not cruel. Not angry. Just… tired. “Because I’ve been in those roles. Done what she might’ve done. And nothing hides guilt better than familiarity.”

“She saved my life during the Jakarta op,” Clint said. “Broke protocol to do it. That wasn’t for show.”

“Or it was the perfect show,” Tony muttered, rubbing his temples. “God, we always give the benefit of the doubt to the ones who smile the most.”

“She didn’t just smile,” Bruce added. “She was kind.”

“Kind doesn’t mean clean,” Natasha said.

Steve held up a hand. “Okay. Enough. We investigate properly. No assumptions. Full audit.”

“She was cleared when she came in,” Sam said.

Tony looked up. “Yeah, but who cleared her?”

No one answered.

Natasha already had her tablet out. “I’ll pull her recruitment files.”

“And I’ll start backtracking movement logs,” Bruce added. “She might’ve used ghost codes. Might’ve had help.”

“And the other problem?” Clint asked. “The one still sitting in our holding room?”

They all went quiet.

You hadn’t moved since the alarm. Hadn’t reacted when the red lights flashed in the vents. Just sat there, the same way you had the day they brought you in.

Like none of it mattered anymore.

You knew something was wrong the second the air changed.

It wasn’t loud. There were no blasts, no running footsteps, no smoke. Just a shift. A stillness. And then the red lights began to blink in the hallway, casting slow pulsing shadows against the cold walls of your cell.

An alarm. An evacuation, maybe. A breach.

You didn’t move. Didn’t stand. Didn’t press against the glass to see who was coming. You already knew no one was.

Eventually, you heard voices that were muffled through layers of concrete and soundproofing. Rushed, angry, and familiar. The Avengers. Probably cursing at security feeds and trying to figure out what happened.

But the door to your cell stayed shut.

You remained on the cot, knees drawn up to your chest, fingers curled tight into the fabric of your sleeves. Your heart didn’t race. Your breathing didn’t spike.

Because this?

This was expected. Not the break-in. Not the escape.

Being forgotten.

That part wasn’t new.

You weren’t surprised when the people who called themselves your allies had left you behind weeks ago. And you weren’t surprised now that the ones who’d promised you freedom and recognition had done the same.

You were useful until you weren’t. Valuable until the real pieces needed moving.

They took the scientists. The tacticians. The charismatic ex-leaders and the secret-keepers. But not you. Never you.

Still, something small and pathetic inside you had hoped, in that flicker between silence and sirens, that someone would open the door. Even if it wasn’t to let you go. Even if it was just to say we didn’t forget you.

But no. It seemed both sides were incapable of such a thing.

You leaned your head against the wall, cheek pressed to the cool cement. The red light blinked across your face again. Then again. Like a metronome marking time you didn’t ask to sit through.

How ironic, you thought.

You’d been the one person caught between both worlds. The ghost in the hallway. The one who never quite fit in at the tower. And supposedly never quite belonged at the organization either.

You weren’t trusted enough to be freed. You weren’t important enough to be taken. You were just… there.

Something to clean up later. A problem for another day.

Your eyes stung, but you didn’t cry. You’d wasted those tears before. Back when you still thought loyalty meant something. When you still believed if you worked hard enough, if you were good enough, someone might look at you the way they looked at her. With warmth. With ease. With interest.

But they never did.

Not Bucky. Not Steve. Not Natasha. Not anyone.

And now?

Now, they had to decide what to do with you. Not help you. Not understand you. Just… assess you. Like a threat.

You curled tighter into yourself, resting your forehead on your knees. At some point, the alarm went silent.

But it didn’t matter. Because you weren’t escaping. You weren’t going anywhere. You were just one more locked door no one bothered to open.

The table was scattered with files from the breach. Footage frozen mid-frame. Timelines drafted and crossed out. A whiteboard bore questions no one had been able to answer hours earlier.

Until now.

Natasha entered first, tablet in hand, with her movements clipped and deliberate. Bruce followed, paler than usual, carrying the weight of what he’d helped uncover.

Steve looked up immediately. “Tell me you have something.”

Natasha didn’t sit. “We do. But you’re not going to like it.”

That made the room go quiet. Wanda leaned forward. Clint folded his arms. Sam stilled his bouncing knee, Tony turned away from the monitor, gaze narrowing.

Natasha tapped her tablet, and a profile hovered into the air.

Her profile. The one you had always envied. The one who could make Bucky smile in the way you couldn’t. There she was, her picture smiling and official.

“This isn’t her original clearance file.”

Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

Bruce stepped in. “What we’ve all been looking at, the file we’ve used for years, it’s patched. Rewritten. Spliced with data from at least three separate sources. Her full psych eval? Missing. Background check? Incomplete. And the worst part? The approval logs are gone.”

“Gone?” Sam repeated.

“Wiped,” Natasha confirmed. “Not sloppy, either. Whoever did it knew exactly how to make it look like standard intake.”

Clint’s brows drew together. “But she’s been here for years. No red flags?”

“She never accessed anything she wasn’t given access to,” Bruce said. “No poking around in classified servers, no bypassing clearance. Everything she knew, we gave her.”

“She earned it,” Wanda said softly, but the words sounded uncertain now.

“Or we thought she did,” Natasha corrected.

Steve stared at the screen. “So… she walked in the front door with someone’s permission. But no one knows whose.”

“Someone scrubbed the trail,” Bruce said. “And unless we dig deep into archived logs, we’re not finding it anytime soon.”

The silence settled heavy after his last words.

The woman’s profile still hovered midair. Bright, clean, professional like it had nothing to hide. Like she belonged.

Wanda was the first to speak, barely above a whisper. “I used to tell her things. Not missions or codes, just… things… about my past. My fears. I thought she understood.”

“She did,” Tony said, voice flat. “That was the point.”

Wanda flinched, just slightly.

Bruce looked down at the terminal. “She remembered names, asked about our families, brought coffee when someone was exhausted. She wasn’t invisible, she blended in.”

Steve exhaled slowly, like the weight of it was finally hitting. “We let someone embed herself this deep… and we ignored the signs.”

“There were no signs,” Tony snapped, suddenly frustrated. “That’s the damn problem. She played it safe–played us safe. No hacking, no sneaking around, just friendship.”

“Manufactured friendship,” Bruce added quietly.

Wanda swallowed hard. “I thought she was my friend.”

Sam leaned forward, looking across the table at Steve. “So what now? We keep watching her and pretend none of this happened?”

“No,” Steve said. “We find out who she really is and what she wants.”

“And if she already got what she came for?” Bucky asked, finally pushing off the wall. His voice was low, tight, raw at the edges. “What if we’re just… leftovers?”

“She was close with you,” Natasha said carefully.

“I thought so,” Bucky answered, but his voice was distant now. “But I think I was just another door to walk through.”

No one knew what to say to that. The woman hadn’t stolen secrets or set off bombs.

But she’d done something worse, she’d made them trust her.

Meanwhile, time passed.

You didn’t ask how much. You didn’t care. No one had spoken to you. No one had come anyways.

The lights had returned to normal, the sirens cut off, and what remained was silence. Not even a damn explanation. You were just… here. As always. Present, but invisible.

You laid back on the cot eventually, staring at the ceiling. You found cracks in the cement. Water damage in the corner. A flickering bulb that buzzed faintly, like a whisper in the back of your skull.

Your limbs ached from how still you’d been, but you didn’t move. You didn’t see the point.

What would it change?

What was left to be gained by trying?

You’d done everything right once. Quietly filled in where others fumbled. Took notes no one asked for. Cleaned up messes without credit. Stayed late. Showed up early. Bit your tongue when they overlooked you. Smiled politely when you were excluded.

You’d never been chosen in any room or in any war. But you’d stayed anyway. Waited, hoping one day they might turn and see you standing there and realize what they had. What you could be.

But they hadn’t. Not until it was all too late.

And when the world fell sideways and you were dragged into something darker, you’d believed for one stupid moment, that maybe they would want you. The people in the shadows. The ones who said you were smarter than the rest. That you were necessary, sharper, wanted.

And you were, for a while. But that was the thing about being useful. It didn’t mean you were valued. It just meant you were used.

You rolled onto your side.

They had left you behind. Not by mistake. Not by oversight. Deliberately.

And maybe that was worse than being hated. At least hatred meant you mattered enough to be a problem.

This?

This was nothing.

You heard footsteps echoing down the hall at some point. Someone doing a sweep. A brief glance through the glass, but there wasn’t a pause or comment. The steps continued on as your throat tightened.

But you didn’t cry. You still wouldn’t give them that. Instead, you laid still with your back to the door.

You weren’t sure who you were anymore. You weren’t their administrator or analyst. Not anyone’s asset. Not even the villain they were trying to convince themselves you might be.

You were… what? A loose end? Maybe.

Or maybe you were just the reminder of everything they didn’t want to see: How easy it is to lose someone who was never really seen to begin with.

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @avivarougestan @saoirses-things @itsmejen @saucysasha2035 @smokescreen1000

#The One You Don’t See #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fic #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fic #chapter 10 #angst

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linaslivery · 10 months ago

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౨ৎ PLAYING FAVORITES ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ Oscar’s daughter has favorites. And sadly, he isn’t one of hers, in fact her favorite happens to be her favorite American, Logan. He says it’s fine and that he doesn’t care… but actions speak louder than words.

PAIRING ౨ৎ Not really a pairing, but reader makes multiple apperances 🩵

WARNINGS ౨ৎ Sadie being a menace

A/N ౨ৎ got requested more sadie, the more sadie you shall receive. i was writing this before the logan news and i’m absolutely distraught. i decided to start from the group up and include logan to feel a bit better hurt ❤️‍🩹

Part of the Dad Oscar mini-series 🩵

“Sadie, are you ready to see Dad drive fast?” You asked, adjusting her little McLaren cap as I held her hand to the garage.

“No.” Sadie says bluntly in her toddler way, her lips forming a small pout as she clutched the tiny stuffed koala Oscar had bought her from her a year ago from Australia.

You couldn’t help but blink at her straightforwardness, crouching down to be at eye level with her. “No? Not even to cheer him on?”

Sadie shook her head with determination. “No. Wanna see Logan.”

Sadie’s pout deepened, and she hugged her koala closer to her chest. “Logan’s funny.”

“Yes, he is. But you know who else is funny? Daddy. Remember when he made silly faces during breakfast?” You suggested.

Sadie tilted her head, considering this for a moment, before shaking her head again. “Logan’s funnier.”

Before you could respond, you heard footsteps approaching, and there was Oscar, already in his race suit, with a forced grin on his face, clearly overheard the conversation. “Hey, little miss,” he greeted giving a kiss on your cheek before crouching down beside you and holding out his arms for a hug.

Sadie looked at him for a moment, then back at you, before finally deciding to toddle over and give him a quick hug. It was short, sweet, but not as enthusiastic as the ones she usually reserved for Logan recently.

Oscar’s smile faltered for just a second, but he quickly recovered, lifting her up in his arms. “Guess I’ll have to up my game if I want to be the favorite, huh?” he teased, though there was a trace of something more behind his words.

“Daddy’s funny,” Sadie said, almost as if she was trying to console him.

“Yeah?” Oscar’s eyes lit up with hope, but Sadie quickly added, “But Logan’s funnier.”

You winced, but Oscar just laughed it off, giving her a playful tickle. “Well, Logan better watch out then, because I’m coming for his title.”

This was going to be a long day for Oscar.

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

The buzz of the McLaren garage was background noise to Oscar as he watched his Sadie, toddle around with a bright smile on her face. It was a year after her first ever Grand Prix… and safe to say you and Oscar have definitely learned a lot from it. Normally, her little smile would make his heart swell with pride, but today, it was bittersweet. The reason? Logan Sargeant was the source of her joy, not him.

Logan, Logan, Logan. that was the name coming out of her mouth the past month.

Sadie had been enamored with Logan since the first time she was born. Who wouldn’t when their godfather was her dad’s best friend who happened to have the same job?

She would light up at the sight of him, smiling at every chance she could excitedly in her toddler way, always eager to be scooped up into his arms. And Logan, the ever-charming American, was more than happy to oblige.

Oscar leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching as Logan lifted Sadie into the air, eliciting giggles that echoed around the garage. He tried to convince himself that it didn’t bother him. So what if Sadie liked Logan more? It wasn’t a competition. He was her father, not Logan. Surely she likes him more.

…

Right?

“Hey, mate. You good?” Lando’s voice snapped Oscar out of his thoughts. His teammate had appeared beside him, eyebrow raised in concern.

Oscar forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

Lando followed his gaze to where Logan was now letting Sadie play with his cap, much to her delight. “Looks like someone’s got a new best friend.”

Oscar’s smile faltered slightly. “Yeah… guess she does.”

Lando didn’t miss the hint of disappointment in Oscar’s voice. “You know she still loves you, right? Kids go through phases.”

“I know, I know,” Oscar replied, trying to sound nonchalant as he rolls his eyes. “It’s just… I didn’t think I’d be playing second fiddle to Logan, of all people.”

Lando chuckled. “Well, at least she has good taste. Logan is fun… in his weird American way. Baseball, football, hotdogs and stuff like that. But you’re still her dad… no one can take that from you.”

Oscar nodded, though his eyes were still glued to the scene in front of him. Logan was now teaching Sadie how to high-five, her little hand smacking against his with enthusiasm. The sight should’ve made Oscar laugh, but instead, it made him feel… left out.

“Maybe,” Oscar said quietly, “…but sometimes it feels like I’m just not enough for her.”

Lando looked at him, surprised by the admission. “Oscar, she’s a 2-year-old. It’s not about you being enough or not. She just likes Logan because he’s fun and new. Trust me, when she needs comfort, when she’s upset or scared, it’s you she’ll run to.”

“Did you indirectly call me old and boring?”

“You know what I meant!”

Oscar wanted to believe that, but watching Sadie beam up at Logan made it hard. He knew he was being irrational, that he shouldn’t let a child’s innocent preferences get to him, but the sting was still there.

“…Zak is calling me over.” Lando gave a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he spots the CEO waving a hand over. “Just keep what I said in mind. She loves you Oscar. Sadie’s just happy to see a face she rarely sees. Good luck in quali, yeah?”

Oscar nodded as Lando walked away, but his focus was still on Sadie and Logan. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—jealous of his best friend, of all people. It was silly, really, but he couldn’t shake it.

As the preparations for Qualifications continued, the garage was abuzz with activity. Oscar was trying to get back into the right mindset when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

“You look deep in thought,” You said, coming up beside him with a warm smile.

Oscar turned to her, managing a half-hearted smile. “Just thinking. You know how it is.”

Your eyes followed his gaze to where Sadie and Logan were now playing with a small toy car. “She seems to be having a blast with Logan.”

Oscar sighed. “Yeah, she’s been obsessed with him lately. It’s like I’m invisible.”

Your expression softened. You wrapped an arm around him and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not invisible, Oscar. Kids can be unpredictable. Logan’s just the new fun thing right now. It doesn’t change how much she loves you.”

Oscar looked at you, the weight of your words hitting him. “I know you’re right. I just hate feeling like I’m second place.”

“Oscar,” You said, lifting his chin with a gentle touch. “Sadie is 2 years-old. I think you need to remember that Sadie’s attachment to Logan doesn’t diminish her love for you. She’s just interested in her godfather she rarely sees. If anything, it just means she’s comfortable with the people around her, and that’s a good thing. Remember how she went from hating everything Lando did in the free practices to loving him at the end of the day? It’s the same thing. You’re her dad, and that’s a role no one else can fill.”

Oscar took a deep breath, letting your words sink in. Your gentle touch and reassuring smile helped ease the knot of insecurity that had settled in his chest. He glanced back at Sadie and Logan, and the sight of his daughter’s unrestrained joy started to warm his heart, even if the jealousy still lingered a bit.

The buzz of the garage continued around you both, and Oscar gave a thoughtful exhale, a much needed one. “Thank you, lovely. I guess I needed that.”

You gave him a soft smile, then glanced over at Sadie. “Logan might be fun for her at the moment, but remember that she’ll always be the one calling you dad.”

Oscar’s lips curved into a grin at your comment.

Yeah. Dad does sound pretty nice.

“Dad!”

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sapphicscholar · 1 month ago

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Needed a live reaction cam set up panning to everyone’s reactions when Deborah quits and announces her love for Ava on live television like

Josefina: nodding with a glass of wine, turning to someone we’ve never met (bc at least one of them learned to have a social life outside of work) like “finally, I’ve been telling her this for four years, but does she listen? No!”

Marcus: texting water cop “do we think she’s allowed to go back to making gay jokes now?”

Damien: totally missed it because it’s just on in the background at Deborah’s insistence to log another live viewer

Kiki: hopping immediately into the group chat like “good for you two! I knew you’d work it out. Btw can we still do celebrity strip poker next week? I was really counting on seeing sally fields topless to make up for having to sit through parent-teacher conferences. They just don’t recognize Luna’s brilliance. She colors outside the lines for a *reason*!”

DJ: cooing at AJ, “would you look at that, little man? Would you just look at that? Tells the whole world she loves her head writer before I get one single product placement for D’Jewelry”

Nina: excitement that goes way too high about an Ava mention immediately gives way to panic that also goes way too high about Ava being out a job, and of course it happens the *moment* she spent that vibamix money on windsailing equipment

Mayor Jo: leaving a drunk voicemail for someone who is definitely not Deborah “god, Deb, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Now be honest: is that why you two got arrested? I won’t tell anyone I won’t. But I have a Zamboni for rent if you’re interested. Spice it up a little.”

Melissa Etheridge: huh, would you look at that? There was a reason for all those jokes after all.

Winnie (ok this one mostly works if you’ve read my fic dirty work) : texting Ava “guess you and the missus made up then”

Marty: going back through his text history with Deborah copying and pasting every single joke she’s made about his 20-something girlfriends into a novel-length message to Deborah

Ruby: sitting in bed with her new girlfriend, about to embark on the world’s longest backstory to explain her reaction

Emily, Dev, and their new +1: “did we tell you about the time Deborah Vance bought us the entire dessert menu and tried to have a foursome?”

Aiden’s parents: “I knew she wasn’t Catholic.”

#hacks hbo #ava x deborah #crack #hacks 4.09

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leychin · 1 year ago

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All of it.

part 2

Tomura is due for his procedure in one week.

You don't bother trying to talk him out of it. Whats the point. His brain is too clouded by his hatred and rage towards heroes, towards his master, towards everyone around him.

It overpowers anything he feels for you.

You want to believe he hates you so it can be easier, but its never easy with Tomura. He knocks on your door at night so gently as if he isnt the most feared man in all of Japan, sits on your bed as if it's a rocking ship, and asks you to hold him like he's made of glass.

But Tomura wouldn't say it, he can't, he doesn't know how. He's lived with this hate for so long that loving you isn't something that comes to him naturally, in the mornings you don't exist. Just another League member with a job to fulfill, so why is he here with you like this?

It's because he's scared. His entire body is going to be ripped apart and then put back together for months, who wouldn't be scared? You're scared for him, he comes into your room at night and you press sweet kisses to tear sodden cheeks as he truly realizes what hes going to do. He knows hes going to leave. Its going to hurt. But it's something he has to do.

Not for his master, but for you.

He could never say it though, because how could he expect you to understand? Would you believe him? He knows you would try and convince him to stay how he is, he doesn't need to he stronger.

But Shigaraki needs to, he has this overwhelming urge to protect you, the one good thing in his life. He needs this power to keep you from disgusting people like master and the heroes. He wants to keep you in this room right here, with the minecraft music playing softly in the background as you ask him for more iron for some lanterns.

Its things like this that Shigaraki is fighting for, His hatred overshadows everything but you've lit a candle in his heart. When you fall asleep with your controller in your hands he's taking it from you and tucking you in, ghosting his lips over your head in his own form of a kiss.

God, he really does love you.

But it's never said, it can't be said. It's too late. Shigaraki will be gone for months and he'll be different, All for One will have everything he's worked for and he'll take your Tomura from you, and you'll be nothing to him as he moves to things much larger than the two of you in this shared space that's littered in old wrappers and empty cup ramen.

Eventually though, you wake up one morning and Tomura is gone, the menu music still playing softly in the background, the pause screen only showing one player showing he's logged off long ago.

Though, you unpause for a moment just to take a final walk around the world you two created. Beautiful cherry blossom trees lining a pathway to the updates village you made, ugly creeper holes Shigaraki didn't bother to fill up. You keep them uncovered, as a way to permanently mark the time spent with him.

You decide to log off and never play this game again, to never let yourself feel this hurt again, to never love again. But theres a spot in your enchantment room you've never seen before, Its hidden by clever bookshelf and stairs placements but theres a button wedged between the blocks, and when you press it you hear pistons whirr and open to what looks like an armory.

Theres an empty armor stand and one thats in full enchanted netherite armor, its his armor. The chest next to it is full of valuable items but one stands out to you; a signed book.

The glow makes you quickly add it to your inventory and open it yourself.

"It's all for you. Everything." -T.S.

That fucking idiot.

#tomura shigaraki #x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #fanfic #tenko shimura x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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lov3lycosmos · 2 months ago

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"𝑹𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑨 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓" 𝑨 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 💐⋆.ೃ࿔*: 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 1

Chapter Genre: this chapter consists of fluff!

Synopsis: You’re a freelance artist struggling to pay bills when your best friend signs you up (without asking) for a new dating app service: Rent-A-Date — where people can 'rent' a pretend lover for weddings, events, holidays, etc. You’re furious... until your first renter is Hongjoong — a charismatic, mischievous guy who hired you to be his fake girlfriend for an important family event.

Wc. 10k

💌: this is the first chapter of my new hongjoong series, this series consists of fluff, smut, and a bit of angst! Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist! (Sorry about the multiple timeskips!)

Series Masterlist 🌷 My Library🌷 (NOT PROOFREAD! LET ME KNOW IF YOU SEE ANY HUGE ERRORS)

The worst part wasn’t that you were broke.

The worst part was that you were broke and getting fake-hired as someone’s girlfriend on an app you’d never even signed up for.

Your phone buzzed again on the kitchen counter, the screen lighting up with a notification that might as well have been handwritten by the devil himself.

“Your Rent-A-Date profile is LIVE! Clients are browsing now.”

Brows furrowed, you stepped toward it as though it might explode. Rent-A-what?

It only got worse from there.

On the screen, your face stared back — slightly crooked smile, the subtle remnants of glitter under your eyes from that party last winter, and a caption underneath that made your soul leave your body:

Freelance artist. Introvert with a bold streak. Great with parents. Can fake-laugh at bad jokes.

Underneath: Best friend submitted profile.

You made a strangled noise, your mouth falling open in shock.

“No. Nope. No, no—”

Your fingers flew across the screen, unlocking the app with shaking hands, heart pounding like you were about to be sentenced to death. It was sleek — all pastel pinks and lavender swirls, with soft music playing in the background, like this was some dreamy, magical matchmaking world instead of… whatever hell this was.

Rent-A-Date, the bold bubbly font read. Need a plus one? A pretend partner? Someone to survive a wedding or win your ex’s jealousy? Rent your perfect fake partner today!

You stared blankly at the screen, processing the absurdity of it all.

There were five glowing stars next to your profile — five glowing stars. Had someone actually rated you?

And there, sitting like a neon sign mocking your existence, was a pending request.

Your jaw dropped.

“Pending—? Someone actually booked me?”

And there it was. The job you didn’t ask for, the nightmare you didn’t sign up for:

Client Request: Kim Hongjoong

Event: Cousin’s engagement party (family present)

Dates: Friday–Sunday (includes hotel accommodations, transportation provided)

Role: Girlfriend (must be convincing)

Rate: $1,200 + bonuses for realism and extended stays

Your eye twitched. You couldn’t even form words. Was this a joke?

You hit call, but your heart was already sinking.

The line clicked twice before the bright, chaotic voice of your best friend — the only person in your life you would actively consider murdering — answered.

“Helloooo, newly employed fake girlfriend!”

“You have five seconds to explain before I call the cops.”

“Oh, come on! I did you a favor!” your friend laughed, entirely too pleased with herself. “I saw the app and immediately thought, you know who needs cash and has serious girlfriend material? My best friend.”

“You submitted my face,” you snapped, pacing the length of the kitchen, your mind spinning. “You put my photo and name on a dating-for-hire app without even telling me.”

“Technically, they ask for consent when you log in. Which you did. Yesterday.”

“I thought it was for art commissions!” you barked, incredulous.

Silence.

“Okay, that’s on me,” your friend admitted, sounding far too calm. “But still. It’s a brilliant idea. You need money. And now you’ve got a high-paying gig with a really hot guy. A rich, hot guy. I mean, hello?”

“I don’t want to fake-date anyone’s rich ass,” you hissed, slumping onto the couch and dragging your knees up to your chest. “I want to make rent without being someone’s trophy girlfriend for the weekend.”

“Well, it’s not like you have to actually do anything,” your friend said, almost too cheerfully. “You smile, hold his hand, make his grandma think you’re dating. It’s not illegal. It’s barely even acting.”

“It’s completely humiliating,” you muttered, dragging a hand over your face.

“It’s twelve hundred dollars,” your friend corrected, voice syrupy and teasing. “Plus bonuses. You could buy, like, actual groceries. A new stylus. Coffee that doesn’t taste like burnt tears. That doesn’t sound like humiliation, does it?”

“I hate you.”

“You’ll love me by Sunday,” she promised in a sing-song voice. “You always do.”

You were quiet for a long moment, staring at the booking details again, biting the inside of your cheek like you could physically will the words to vanish from the screen.

Rent-A-Date.

Kim Hongjoong.

Fake girlfriend.

Twelve hundred dollars.

You groaned, dropping your head back against the cushion like you were suddenly too tired for this.

“What’s his deal anyway?” you asked, defeated.

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you asked,” your friend said, her voice going all excited and dramatic.

There was a flurry of rapid typing. The next thing you knew, she gasped like she’d discovered the Holy Grail.

“Okay, so… he’s a creative director at a music label — don’t ask me which one, he’s secretive. Really artsy, kind of cocky, but in a flirty way. Think charming menace but, like, the good kind of menace? His Instagram looks like an indie fashion magazine. Anyway, he apparently needs a girlfriend for a big family weekend or his aunt will set him up with someone again. He’s desperate. And picky. But he picked you.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered dryly.

“I saw a picture of him. You’re gonna be mad.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“You do, and it’s mischievous jawlines with too many rings.”

You groaned and collapsed back against the couch, eyes drifting shut for a moment. Mischievous jawlines with too many rings.

Your friend’s voice continued, syrupy sweet. “Just meet him. One coffee date to discuss the job. You don’t have to sign your soul away — just feel it out. You know, for the sake of... potential true love.”

“You already confirmed the request, didn’t you?”

“…I sure did.”

“I actually hate you.”

“Love you too,” she chirped. “Wear something flirty, but not desperate. First impressions matter. Especially with future soulmates.”

She hung up before you could scream.

An hour later, you sat in front of your mirror, glaring at your reflection.

This was not a date. It was a fake job interview for a fake relationship that you didn’t even want.

And yet… you’d changed outfits three times.

You settled on something casual but cute — a dark cardigan over a tank top, jeans with just the right amount of “I’m not trying too hard,” and your favorite boots. Just enough to feel put together. Not enough to look like you cared.

Which you didn’t.

Definitely.

Outside, the sun was just starting to fall behind the buildings as you walked toward the café where the meeting was scheduled. Your hands were cold in your sleeves. A fall breeze rolled down the street, biting but kind of refreshing. You tried not to think about what was waiting on the other side of the glass.

Just coffee. Just business.

Just pretending to be someone’s girlfriend for a weekend.

Totally normal.

The café was warm, a soft, amber glow of lights spilling across the worn wood floors and faded brick walls. Indie music floated lazily through the speakers, mellow tunes with gentle guitar strums and mellow percussion, creating a cozy cocoon around you. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans mixed with the faint sweetness of baked goods. You scanned the room, looking for your supposed "client," half-expecting some unremarkable office-type with a clipboard or a disinterested phone-call kind of guy.

That was, until your eyes locked with his.

A guy in a black beanie, seated by the window, caught your gaze. There was something magnetic about him — the sharpness in his eyes, a hint of mischief in the curve of his lips. His rings caught the light, gleaming as he turned his head to meet you, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

Before you even had a chance to blink, he was standing up. His movement was fluid, confident, the kind of natural grace that only comes with years of practice — like he'd done this a thousand times before.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and effortless, the smirk never fading. "You must be the storm I hired."

Your brows shot up, a mix of surprise and confusion washing over you.

He chuckled at your reaction, not waiting for a reply before he reached out a hand. "Kim Hongjoong. And you must be the reluctant fake girlfriend who didn’t sign up for this."

His gaze didn’t waver as you hesitated, sizing him up. For a moment, all you could do was stare at his hand, his skin warm against yours when you finally took it, shaking it with caution. His grip was firm, steady — not the kind that you’d expect from someone trying to fake their way through a situation.

You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the strange feeling crawling up your spine. The fact that he was already throwing out lines like that had you on edge. You slid into the seat across from him, trying not to think about how annoyingly attractive he was. His jawline was sharp, like it could cut glass, and his earrings sparkled under the dim lighting. His eyes, though — they weren’t just looking at you like he was sizing you up. They were focused. Interested. Like he could see right through the fake smiles and the exterior you’d perfected.

"So," he began, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table, fingers playing with the edge of his coffee cup. The soft clink of his rings against the porcelain broke the otherwise quiet space. “How fake are you willing to go?"

You blinked, thrown off by the question. You weren't sure if you should laugh, be offended, or just leave. "Excuse me?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

"I mean," he continued smoothly, his smirk never wavering, "are we just holding hands and laughing at my jokes, or are we doing the whole rom-com experience? You know — fake dates, accidental kisses, spontaneous declarations of love?"

You narrowed your eyes, unsure how to respond. "I don’t… do rom-coms," you said, shaking your head, already regretting the words. This was going to be a disaster, wasn’t it?

He leaned back in his chair, his grin never fading, and shot you a playful shrug. "Shame," he said, almost wistfully, like it was a personal loss. "You’ve definitely got that main character energy."

Your eyes narrowed even further. "Are you always like this?"

"Only with people I pay," he said with a wink, voice dripping with teasing arrogance.

For some reason, you almost fought a smile. Almost. But you couldn’t let him get the satisfaction.

"I’m not kissing you," you said bluntly, letting the words land with as much finality as you could muster.

"Noted." He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. In fact, he just gave you that infuriatingly confident grin. "Unless it’s, you know, absolutely necessary."

"It won’t be," you retorted firmly.

"Still noted," he replied casually, like he’d just made a mental note in a list of things he would absolutely ignore later.

You sighed, sinking back into your chair, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to maintain some semblance of control in this situation that was already starting to spin out of your hands. "Why not hire someone who actually wants to do this?" you asked, genuinely curious. Maybe you’d get a straightforward answer.

"I did," he said, his voice smooth, confident, almost mocking. "You just didn’t know it yet."

Your mouth opened, then closed, your mind reeling at the implications. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, unsure how to respond to that. The nerve of this guy. The audacity.

Okay — fine. Maybe he was charming. In an infuriating, smug, weirdly endearing way. The kind of guy who could easily win people over without even trying. The kind of guy who could lie to your face and make you feel like he was telling the truth.

And the thing that made it worse? He didn’t feel fake. Not yet. That was the most dangerous part.

There were few things more awkward than standing in your living room while a man you barely knew scrutinized you, sizing you up like you were a piece of fragile glass. Then, he hit you with the bombshell: “So… how do you feel about PDA?”

Your posture stiffened instinctively, arms folding across your chest, a small, incredulous laugh escaping your lips. “Uh, we haven’t even fake-hugged yet, and you’re already jumping to PDA?”

Hongjoong, unfazed, smiled like he had just asked you the most natural thing in the world. “I just want to know your boundaries. We’ll be around my extended family in Busan for two days. They’re nosy, affectionate, and they love to assume things. If we act like two bricks sitting next to each other, they’ll know something’s up.”

You exhaled sharply, suddenly feeling like the walls of your tiny apartment were closing in around you, like the air itself was thick with an unspoken tension. This was why he had asked you over tonight — “rehearsal,” as he had called it. His idea of preparing you for the whirlwind that was meeting his family, and it felt weirdly intimate, even though it was fake.

“Okay,” you muttered, forcing a smile as you adjusted the hem of your shirt nervously. “Where do we start?”

Hongjoong stepped closer, just a foot away now, but not enough to touch. “Let’s begin with hugs.”

You blinked, staring at him. “You’re serious?”

He tilted his head, expression playful. “What, you think I’m gonna take my fake girlfriend to meet my grandma without at least practicing one solid hello hug?”

He had a point. But it still didn’t make it any less weird.

You sighed and nodded, taking a step back to adjust your posture. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

The first attempt was painfully awkward. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Your arms hovered uncertainly in the air, while Hongjoong stepped in, wrapping his arms around you loosely in what could only be described as a half-hearted attempt. It felt like a third-grade slow dance — stiff and uncomfortable, with no rhythm.

As soon as you pulled away, both of you muttered in unison, “That was horrible.”

And then, you both burst into laughter, the tension breaking for a moment. Hongjoong waved his hand, signaling for a redo.

“Okay, again,” he said, clearly amused. “This time, just… let it happen. Don’t overthink it.”

Easier said than done. You closed your eyes for a brief second, steeling yourself to try again. This time, his arms wrapped around your waist, firmer but not too tight. You cautiously looped your own arms around his shoulders, feeling the heat of his body close to yours. His scent — something warm and woody, with a subtle sweetness — lingered in the air, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

The contact was… not terrible. Not as bad as you had expected, at least.

“Better,” he murmured, voice muffled slightly by your hair, the sound of his words sending a ripple through your chest. You pulled away quickly, feeling an unbidden warmth creep up your neck.

“Yeah. That was… fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

His grin was wide, clearly amused. “You were blushing.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your discomfort. “Shut up.”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you flirting with me right now? During boyfriend bootcamp?”

Hongjoong’s eyes danced with playful mischief. “Nope. This is fake affection practice. Totally professional.”

Groaning, you flopped back onto the couch, the pillow beneath you soft and a little too warm. “You’re gonna make this harder, aren’t you?”

He joined you, sitting just close enough that your knees brushed together. “Probably.”

The next module was “how to sit together in public,” or, according to Hongjoong, the “let’s make people believe we’re actually dating” training. He scooted in next to you, close enough that your shoulders were brushing, and his knee bumped against yours.

“This okay?” he asked casually, as if he were asking if you liked the weather.

You hummed noncommittally. The proximity made you feel oddly self-conscious. It wasn’t just the fact that he was close, but the fact that you barely knew him — and now you were supposed to pretend to be a couple? Your body felt stiff under the weight of his presence.

“Should I back off?” he asked, eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort.

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine.”

His lips curled into a soft smile, then he relaxed slightly, slouching a little as if making himself more comfortable. “Now we’re just chilling at a friend’s party,” he continued, his voice smooth. “You’re tired, and I’m rubbing your back or something. What would you do?”

You turned to face him, eyebrows raised. “Rub my back?”

He chuckled at your reaction. “Not like that,” he corrected, laughing again. “Just like… comforting.” He placed his palm gently on your upper back, his thumb lazily making slow circles. “Comfort.”

Okay. You hadn’t expected that. The motion was gentle, deliberate, and for a moment, you almost forgot it was all part of the “practice.” His touch, while casual, sent a small shiver down your spine. It was surprisingly relaxing, the way his thumb glided slowly across the back of your neck. Until you realized how still the room had become, how aware you were of every little movement, every little shift in his hand.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus on anything else but the warmth of his hand. “This is weird.”

“You’re stiff,” he pointed out, his voice light but knowing.

“No, I’m not,” you muttered, trying to stay relaxed.

“You’re sitting like I’ve got a knife to your back,” he teased.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Sorry if I’m not used to strangers petting me.”

His smile softened, gaze growing a little warmer. “We’re not strangers anymore, though. Are we?”

You froze, unsure how to respond. You’d known him for less than a week, but in that time, you’d learned things about him — his family dynamics, his quirks, the things he liked and didn’t like. And now, here he was, sitting on your couch, touching you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…I guess not,” you said, your voice softer now.

The next lesson came unexpectedly — hand holding. You reached for your water, but before you could take a sip, Hongjoong’s hand slid into yours, his fingers curling around yours without warning.

You froze, looking down at your joined hands. “What are you doing?”

He smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Pretending we’re walking down the beach at sunset,” he said smoothly. “You look at me with those big heart eyes, and you say, ‘Oppa, I’ve never felt this way before.’”

You snorted in disbelief, feeling your face flush as you tried to pull your hand away. “You are the worst.”

He just laughed, eyes twinkling. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. Hold it like you mean it.”

With a sigh, you adjusted your grip, curling your fingers tighter around his. His hand was warm, his skin rough in a way that felt solid and grounded, and his thumb brushed gently against your knuckle. You refused to look at him, focusing instead on the sensation of his hand in yours, trying to push away the feeling of heat rising to your cheeks.

“You’re blushing again,” he commented quietly.

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” you shot back, though the words felt weak compared to the sudden rush of warmth that spread across your skin.

With a soft chuckle, he released your hand, and for a moment, you missed the contact more than you expected.

“I like flustering you,” he said, standing to stretch, his voice low and teasing. “It’s fun.”

You threw a pillow at him. He ducked, laughing all the while.

Later that night, when things had quieted down, Hongjoong’s expression shifted, becoming more serious.

“There’s one more thing we should go over,” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft.

You were curled on the edge of the couch, sipping tea, trying to ground yourself after the whirlwind of practice you’d just gone through. “What now? Practice baby talk?”

He chuckled at the idea, walking over to sit beside you again. “No. Kissing.”

You nearly choked on your tea. “Excuse me?!”

“Fake kissing,” he clarified quickly, sitting just a little too close again. “We don’t have to. But if someone asks us to kiss — or we get pushed into one — we should know how to handle it.”

Your throat felt dry. “I—I don’t know, Hongjoong…”

“We won’t do it unless you’re okay with it,” he added gently, the serious tone in his voice making you pause. “We can stop the second it feels too much.”

You found yourself looking down at your hands, unsure. The idea of kissing someone for “practice” was a lot harder to swallow than you’d thought. But some part of you was curious. What would it feel like? Would it be as fake as this entire arrangement, or would it be something more?

“…Maybe we just pretend.”

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Pretend to pretend?” he teased. But there was no push, no pressure in his tone.

He leaned in slowly, eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was soft, lips slightly parted, and for a moment, everything around you fell away. He was close — close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin, smell the same warm scent that seemed to follow him around. His presence was overwhelming, and your heart began to race.

You didn’t move. Not until the last possible second, when panic shot through your chest like a warning bell. You turned your head abruptly, flinching away. “I—I can’t.”

He stopped immediately, pulling back, his expression softening.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm and understanding. “It’s okay.”

You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, the words “I’m sorry” slipping out before you could stop them. You were embarrassed. More than that, you were overwhelmed by the whole situation.

“Don’t be,” he said gently, his voice quiet. “That’s the whole point of practice, right? We figure out what works and what doesn’t.”

You nodded, feeling the heat in your chest slowly fade. His smile was soft, almost reassuring. “We’ll skip that part. For now.”

His gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long, and in that look, something unspoken passed between you.

You didn’t know what was happening between you two. But you knew one thing for sure — pretending was starting to feel a whole lot more real than you had expected.

Packing for a wedding was already stressful. Packing for a wedding where you had to fake-date your mildly infuriatingly attractive pretend boyfriend? Next level.

You sat cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by piles of rejected outfit combos. Dresses too plain, dresses too tight, shoes too high, shoes too boring — nothing felt right. The pressure of being arm-in-arm with someone as effortlessly cool as Hongjoong made every outfit feel like a potential disaster. He was always so composed, his style sharp and effortless, like he’d been born with a natural flair for making everything he wore look like it came from a high-end magazine. And here you were, tangled in fabric, unsure of how to match his vibe, or worse, how to stand next to him without looking like you didn’t belong.

You weren’t dressing for him, of course. Not really.

Just for the relatives. The photos. The illusion. The act. But no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t matter, your heart still fluttered when his name flashed across your phone. His message read: “Be there in 10 to help pack. Don’t panic.” You couldn’t help it — your chest tightened in that familiar way it always did when you saw his name. The fluttery feeling you’d sworn wasn’t there took hold again, and you found yourself lying down on the bed for a moment, trying to shake it off.

“Professional,” you whispered to yourself. “This is strictly professional.”

You almost believed it. Almost.

Hongjoong showed up exactly ten minutes later, as promised. He stepped into your room, and his gaze immediately swept over the chaotic scene of clothes and half-packed bags scattered across your bed and floor. The way his eyes narrowed slightly, that trademark half-amused, half-exasperated expression on his face, only made him look more... irritatingly perfect.

“Wow,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You really weren’t joking.”

“I hate you,” you muttered, still tangled in a particularly troublesome dress that refused to hang right.

He grinned, taking his time walking over and flopping down on the bed beside you, knocking a few items to the floor in the process. “You love me.”

“Fake love,” you shot back, throwing a crumpled shirt at him in frustration.

“Love is love,” he said nonchalantly, like he had all the time in the world to indulge in this ridiculous charade. He kicked his feet up, completely at ease, as if he weren’t in the middle of your personal chaos. “Alright, what’s the crisis?”

You threw your hands up in frustration, gesturing to the sea of rejected outfits that seemed to mock you. “Nothing fits the vibe. I don’t know how to look like someone you’d date.”

He didn’t respond immediately, the usual teasing grin replaced with a quiet contemplation. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and you couldn’t tell if he was focusing on your clothes or what you’d just said.

“…What does that mean?” he asked, his voice softer than you expected.

You looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes. “You’re just — cool. Sharp. Confident. I don’t look like I belong next to you in photos.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning your face with a seriousness that made your heart beat faster. “Hey,” he said, the usual playfulness gone from his voice. “Don’t say that. You’re beautiful. And anyone would be lucky to be seen next to you.”

The sincerity in his tone stopped you dead in your tracks. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe. You stared at him, trying to find something — anything — to respond with, but your words caught in your throat.

“…You’re just saying that because we’re in character,” you managed to say, your voice quieter than usual.

“No,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I’m saying that as me.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you. It was like a sudden shift in the dynamic, something that caught you off guard and left you feeling exposed, like he’d just taken the mask off and let you see the person behind the act. And you didn’t know how to handle it.

Before you could say anything else, he waved it off, his usual easygoing demeanor slipping back into place. “Alright, let’s get back to the task at hand. What do you want to try next?”

You blinked, unsure of what just happened. But you nodded, forcing yourself to focus on the mission at hand.

You reached for the nearest dress, holding it up for his inspection — a soft, pastel wrap dress with flutter sleeves and a modest neckline. It was pretty, sure, but simple. Maybe too simple. It screamed “safe” more than “stylish.”

Hongjoong tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning the dress before he gave a casual nod. “Cute. Very girl-next-door. I like it.”

You frowned. “Too safe?”

“Depends,” he said, leaning back against the bed. “What do you want to say with your look? ‘Don’t look at me, I’m taken’? Or ‘Yes, he did pull someone this hot, and no, you can’t have me’?”

Your lips curled in a smile despite yourself. “I want to say, ‘This is a lie, but I refuse to look bad doing it.’”

Hongjoong burst out laughing, catching a sweater you had thrown at him without even trying. “In that case, try the black one.”

You narrowed your eyes, already dreading the suggestion. “The tight one?”

“It’s elegant,” he said with a grin. “And it’ll match my suit. Coordination is key, babe.”

You grimaced. “Don’t call me babe.”

“Sorry. Sweetheart?” he offered, giving you a playful wink.

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” you muttered, grabbing the offending dress and heading to the bathroom.

You slipped into the black dress he’d suggested — sleek, off-the-shoulder, hugging your curves in all the right ways without feeling overly revealing. The fabric felt like confidence itself as it skimmed over your body, making you stand a little taller, feel a little stronger. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a long moment, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirl inside you. The dress made you feel like a different version of yourself — the one who didn’t second-guess her choices, the one who knew how to own a room.

You stepped out of the bathroom slowly, your pulse quickening as you saw him lounging on the bed, his phone in hand. But when he looked up and saw you, everything shifted. His eyes moved over you, slowly, deliberately — from your collarbone to the hem of your dress and back up again, as if he was trying to memorize every detail. His expression was unreadable at first, but then something changed. His mouth parted, his posture shifted as he sat up straighter, his eyes locked onto yours.

“…Whoa,” he breathed out, his voice low and surprised.

You swallowed, nervous. “Too much?”

“No,” he said quickly, his tone serious for the first time. “Perfect.”

You couldn’t tell if he was still in character or if this was the real Hongjoong, but the way he was looking at you made your heart race. There was something raw in his gaze, something intense that you hadn’t expected. The air between you thickened, and you couldn’t look away.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching for your shoulder to adjust a stray wrinkle in the strap of your dress, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. “You’re gonna make everyone jealous,” he said, his voice a little rougher than before.

You glanced up at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Of me? Or you?”

His lips curled into a slow, teasing smile, but there was something else in his eyes now — something darker. “Both.”

The tension between you two was palpable, and you felt yourself being drawn in, as if his gaze alone had the power to pull you closer. Your heart raced again, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the thrill of the moment or something else entirely.

You turned quickly, pretending to look through your suitcase for shoes to break the heavy silence. “Heels. Somewhere,” you muttered, hoping the sudden change in focus would settle your racing thoughts.

“Want me to help you try them on, Cinderella?” he asked, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

You threw a shoe at him, but he dodged it with ease, the same smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth.

An hour later, the room was finally organized. Your suitcase was packed, everything was in its place, and you were standing in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth while Hongjoong stood behind you, effortlessly fixing his hair as if this were just another casual hangout.

You spat into the sink, glancing at him in the mirror. “You’re really comfortable here.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, glancing at his reflection. “You’ve got good lighting.”

“…You ever fake-date someone before?”

He paused, looking at you through the reflection. “Nope.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He met your gaze directly, his eyes softening just a little. “You’re my first.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t tell if he was being serious, but the way he said it felt too real, too personal. You didn’t have time to process it, though, because he quickly added, “Don’t worry, though. I’ll be a great fake boyfriend.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You’re kind of annoying.”

He smirked, crossing his arms. “You love it.”

“…Fake love it.”

He turned to face you fully, his playful expression slipping away to be replaced by something quieter, more earnest.

“Listen,” he said, his voice suddenly low and steady. “Just so we’re clear — you get overwhelmed, uncomfortable, need a break — you tell me. I don’t care if we’re mid-toast at the reception. I’ll make an excuse, and we’ll leave.”

You stared at him, the seriousness of his words settling into your chest like a weight you hadn’t expected. That wasn’t playful Hongjoong. That was the real him, the one who cared.

“…Okay,” you said, your voice softening. “Same to you.”

His smile was different this time — softer, more genuine. “We’re a team.”

You nodded, the word settling in your mind. Team. It felt safe. It felt like something you could handle. Even if it didn’t explain why your pulse still spiked every time he looked at you like that.

After what felt like a grueling 14-hour flight, followed by a 25-minute drive that felt even longer, the car finally came to a stop in front of a picturesque two-story house nestled between towering pine trees and neatly manicured white garden walls. The home had a quaint, traditional charm—nothing overly extravagant, but there was a warmth to it, a sense of being well-loved and well-kept. The front yard was immaculate, with smooth stepping stones winding up to a wooden gate that looked like it belonged in some old fairytale. The quiet serenity of the place almost seemed intimidating—like it had its own life, its own pulse.

You shifted in the backseat, your stiff legs protesting after the long flight, and a slight buzz of jet lag making everything feel a little hazy. All you wanted was to collapse into a soft bed and let the world fade away for a while. But as the car slowly rolled to a stop, you forced yourself to sit up straighter, adjusting your coat tighter around your frame, feeling your nerves kick in. This was it—the first time you were about to meet Hongjoong's parents, and your heart was a chaotic mix of excitement and dread.

"You okay?" Hongjoong asked from beside you, his voice carrying a soft concern. His eyes, dark and full of that easy charm you were still getting used to, studied you intently.

You nodded, offering a small, tight-lipped smile. "Just nervous. This is the first 'fake girlfriend meets the parents' I've ever done."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Same here."

You gave him a sideways glance, raising a brow. "You mean to tell me you haven't had a dozen girlfriends fly across the country for you before?"

His grin widened. "Nope. Just one very lucky artist."

You rolled your eyes, but a soft laugh escaped your lips. His playful banter was a welcome distraction, helping to ease the tension in your chest—just a little.

The door opened, and a cool rush of coastal air greeted you, sharp and refreshing. Hongjoong stepped out first, stretching his long frame, his dark hair falling just right, effortlessly messy. He looked at you, an amused glint in his eyes, before offering you his hand. It was warm and steady, his grip reassuring as he helped you out of the car.

You glanced up at the house one last time before following him toward the front door, which had already opened. And there she was—Hongjoong's mom—a whirlwind of energy, a bright smile lighting up her face as she rushed toward him. Her apron was still tied around her waist, her hair clipped back in a messy bun that only added to her effortless charm. She practically tackled Hongjoong into a hug, knocking the air from his lungs, and for a split second, you couldn’t help but smile at how at home he looked in her embrace.

"Joongie!" she squealed, her voice high-pitched but filled with so much love. You stood back, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and slight anxiety.

Hongjoong returned the hug, laughing softly as he ruffled her hair. "Mom!"

Then a taller figure appeared at the door. His father—more reserved, but you could still see the warmth in his eyes. He nodded at you, his greeting short but genuine. "Son."

"Hey, Dad," Hongjoong responded with a quick bow, showing respect, then pulling him into a hug, brief but filled with familiarity.

And then his mom turned to you, her eyes wide with obvious excitement. "You must be the girlfriend! Oh, you’re even prettier than the photos!"

For a second, everything inside you froze. Smile, you reminded yourself. Smile, even though you could feel your heart racing in your chest, your palms suddenly clammy.

You stepped forward, bowing slightly out of respect. "Thank you so much for having me. It’s so nice to meet you both."

Before you could finish your sentence, Hongjoong's mom was pulling you into a hug, her warmth engulfing you in the most welcoming way. "You must be tired, dear! Come in, come in. I made yubu chobap just in case you two were hungry."

You exchanged a quick look with Hongjoong, who gave you a subtle thumbs-up behind his mom's back. You smiled faintly, appreciating the small gesture of support as you followed them inside.

The house was everything you'd expected—warm and inviting, with polished wood floors and soft rugs underfoot. The walls were decorated with family photos—so many memories of a life well-lived. Your eyes caught a few pictures of Hongjoong as a teenager—awkward, yet endearing in his younger years. One photo showed him at graduation, and another had him grinning widely with bleach-blonde hair, looking like he’d just cracked a joke. It was odd, in the most comforting way, to see him like that, so human, so... real.

His mom led you upstairs to a guest room on the second floor. "You two will be staying here," she said with a smile, like she was inviting you to stay for a cup of tea rather than a few days.

You nodded, giving her a grateful smile. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, the weight of everything—the travel, the nerves, the situation—finally hit you. You collapsed onto the bed, face-first into the soft pillows.

"She hugged me," you groaned, voice muffled into the fabric. "Like, full-on hugged me."

Hongjoong laughed, his voice light as he rummaged through his carry-on bag. "That means she likes you."

"I swear, she’s got enough energy to power the whole neighborhood," you muttered, still half-buried in the pillows.

Hongjoong chuckled softly, tossing you your charger before flopping down onto the bed next to you. "You get used to it."

You sat up slowly, running your fingers through your hair. "She thinks we’re really dating," you said, the words feeling surreal as they left your lips. "That’s... wild."

"We are, remember?" Hongjoong said, his voice teasing as he shot you a wink.

You rolled your eyes and, without thinking, grabbed a pillow from the bed and tossed it at him. He caught it easily, grinning all the while.

A few hours later, the house was buzzing with energy. The sound of voices and laughter filtered through the walls, and you could hear the clinking of pots and pans from the kitchen. Family members continued to trickle in, and you could sense the excitement building in the air. Tonight wasn’t just about meeting the parents—it was a pre-ceremony gathering for a wedding, a celebration that was already setting the tone for the days to come.

You stood in front of your suitcase, staring at the dress you’d brought for the occasion—simple, elegant, yet undeniably flattering. The same black dress you’d worn earlier. It felt more real now than it ever had before.

You were mid-way through changing when a knock tapped lightly at your door.

"Yeah?"

"It’s me," Hongjoong’s voice came through, soft but deliberate. "Need help with your zipper?"

You hesitated for a split second. Then, almost instinctively, you replied, "...Yes, actually."

The door opened a second later, and there he was—Hongjoong, looking impossibly good for someone who’d spent the past half-day in airports and airplanes. His white button-down shirt was tucked in neatly, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the strong muscles of his forearms. A simple chain hung from his neck, and he looked every bit the man who had his life together—something you were still trying to figure out.

He stopped when he saw you, his gaze trailing over the way the dress hugged your frame. There was a moment of complete silence—heavy, charged—before he stepped closer, his fingers brushing the zipper of your dress with careful precision.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, his voice low, just for you.

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone. You met his gaze in the mirror, a quiet heat spreading between you.

"Thanks," you murmured, heart skipping a beat. The way his eyes softened when they met yours—it was hard to ignore.

He adjusted the strap of your dress on your shoulder, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that made your breath hitch slightly. Then he stepped back, clearing his throat, as though trying to push away whatever unspoken tension had settled between you.

"Ready to make our grand entrance?" he asked, his usual easy confidence returning.

You nodded, your nerves creeping back in, but this time, you were a little less scared. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Downstairs, the house was already alive with people. Aunts and uncles chatting, cousins catching up, a sea of familiar faces all eager to meet you. Their laughter and conversation created a comforting hum in the air, but even with all the noise, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being on display. Everyone seemed to want a piece of you, to get to know you, and you did your best to meet their expectations.

You smiled brightly, laughing when necessary, your attention shifting between the various conversations that seemed to pull you in different directions. Hongjoong was by your side most of the time, his hand gently brushing against yours, giving you that reassuring sense of stability in the midst of the chaotic family gathering. You let yourself fall into the rhythm of the event, trying to ignore the nerves that lingered in your chest every time his hand settled lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. His touch was warm, deliberate, like he was always just a step ahead of you, anticipating your every need.

When his mother asked for a photo, you didn’t hesitate, slipping your hand into his as if you had been doing it for years. His mother beamed at the sight, the camera capturing the perfect moment. And even though it was all just part of the act, a little voice in your head couldn’t ignore the way Hongjoong’s smile seemed to reach his eyes when he glanced at you.

As the night wore on, you began to feel the weight of the act you were playing. It was exhausting, and while you weren’t exactly complaining, you couldn’t help but feel like you were pretending to be someone you weren’t. But despite that, something about it felt… right. His presence, his warmth, his charm — it was like you were already part of the family, like you were always meant to be here. The deeper you got into the role, the more your heart thudded in your chest, and it was hard to tell whether it was just nerves or something more.

Eventually, the crowd began to thin out, and the reception shifted into something quieter, more intimate. The music drifted softly in the background, a gentle melody weaving through the air, setting a calm atmosphere. The moment you and Hongjoong found a secluded corner, you let out a sigh of relief, leaning against him as the tension you hadn’t realized you’d been holding onto started to dissipate.

"I deserve an award," you muttered, taking the glass of juice he handed you, grateful for the brief respite.

Hongjoong chuckled, his lips curling into a soft smile. "You’re killing it. My uncle already asked if we’re thinking about marriage."

You nearly choked on your drink, eyes wide in surprise. "You didn’t say yes, right?"

His grin widened, and the mischievous glint in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. "I said it’s too early to tell, but I’m hopeful."

You buried your face in your hands, mortified. "Oh my god, Hongjoong."

He chuckled, nudging you gently with his knee. "Relax, you’re doing great."

You peeked at him from behind your fingers, your heart still racing, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. "You’re actually pretty good at this," you admitted quietly.

Hongjoong’s gaze softened as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping into something tender, almost serious. "Maybe it doesn’t have to be fake. Not all of it."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, and for a moment, everything else in the room seemed to blur into the background. His words, so casual but so sincere, struck a chord deep inside you. You looked away, your heart pounding, because that warmth in your chest? It wasn’t fake at all. It was real, undeniable, and it terrified you.

The wedding, which had begun as just a role to play, had already begun to feel like home.

It wasn’t a lavish affair — no towering chandeliers or grandiose displays. Instead, it was simple, elegant, and effortlessly beautiful. The venue had an intimate charm, the soft candlelight casting a golden glow over everything, filling the space with a warmth that made you feel like you were in a dream. The air was thick with the melody of gentle music, the kind that made you want to close your eyes and let the notes wash over you, grounding you in the moment. It wasn’t just the setting, though. It was the people, too. Every single person here felt like a familiar face, like family. Their warmth, their genuine smiles, made it feel less like a wedding and more like a gathering of people who had known each other for a lifetime.

You had come to this wedding thinking you were just playing a part — pretending to be Hongjoong’s girlfriend for the evening. But as you found yourself surrounded by people who embraced you like you were already one of them, the lines between reality and performance began to blur.

As the night wore on and the reception took on a more playful tone, the tension between you and Hongjoong continued to shift. It was subtle at first, a playful glance here, a teasing word there, but you could feel it — that invisible thread that seemed to pull you closer to him, binding you together with every passing minute. And when the music shifted, beckoning the guests to the dance floor, Hongjoong leaned in, his voice low and teasing.

"You sure you don’t want to dance?" he asked, his breath warm against your ear, sending a ripple of excitement through your body. There was something about his proximity, the way he was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, that made everything feel heightened.

You shook your head, eyes still fixed on the glass in your hand as you tried to keep your composure. "I told you. I can’t dance."

His smile widened, his amusement clear. "Well, you never know unless you try, right?" His voice dropped, sending a thrill through you. "What’s the worst that could happen? You’ll have a blast. Trust me."

You hesitated, your eyes flicking nervously to the dance floor where other couples swayed effortlessly to the rhythm. The thought of joining them made your stomach flip, and a wave of self-doubt washed over you. What if you embarrassed yourself? What if you couldn’t keep up?

Before you could voice your hesitation, Hongjoong’s voice lowered again, this time just a whisper, the promise of safety laced in his tone. "I promise I’ll protect you from any bad dancing."

There was something in his words, a softness that made the butterflies in your stomach settle into something warmer, more comfortable. It wasn’t just a playful tease; it was a reassurance, a subtle promise that he would be there, grounding you when your nerves threatened to overtake you.

A soft laugh escaped you, your nervous tension easing just slightly. "Fine," you relented, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. "But if I trip, I’m blaming you."

Hongjoong laughed, the sound deep and soothing, as he took your hand, leading you toward the dance floor. His touch was light but firm, guiding you through the crowd with ease. The moment you stepped onto the floor, the music slowed, and everything seemed to fall into place. He pulled you close, his hand resting at your waist, his touch gentle but secure, and the world around you seemed to disappear. His heartbeat was steady beneath your palm, and for a moment, you forgot about the crowd, about the nerves, and simply focused on him — on the feel of his body next to yours, his warmth, his presence.

"Relax," he murmured, his thumb brushing softly over the waistband of your dress, sending a shiver of warmth through you. The simple gesture, the way he made you feel grounded, was like a reassurance that you weren’t alone in this. "I’ve got you."

You nodded, focusing on his touch as he guided you through the steps. His movements were fluid, confident, while yours were less sure. But with every step, every shift of his body, you found yourself relaxing more, your nerves melting away under his steady gaze.

"You’re doing great," he whispered into your ear, his words like a balm, soothing the last traces of hesitation that lingered. The praise was soft, genuine, and it made something inside you flutter. His hand on your waist tightened ever so slightly, and you couldn’t help but smile, the last of your self-doubt slipping away as you moved with him.

As the song came to an end, Hongjoong’s parents erupted into applause, their cheers sincere and filled with pride. "Perfect! You two were wonderful together!" his mother called out, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

Hongjoong shrugged modestly, but his gaze softened as he caught your eye. "Guess we make a good team," he said, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

The compliment made your heart skip a beat, and before you could respond, his mother teased again. "Well, since you two are already dancing, why not continue? Maybe even show some of the other couples how it’s done!"

His father agreed enthusiastically. "That’s a great idea. Come on, show us your moves!"

Hongjoong laughed, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "I guess we’re stuck here for a little longer."

You smiled, even as your nerves flared up again, but his hand in yours was a steadying force. "Guess so," you replied, trying to mask the nervousness that crept back. But as he led you back into the dance, his touch unwavering, you couldn’t help but feel a little less self-conscious, as though, with him by your side, you could face anything.

The night stretched on, with every glance, every touch, every word exchanged between you and Hongjoong making the connection between you feel more real, more undeniable. And as you stood beside him, listening to the gentle rhythm of the music, you found yourself wondering just how much of this night was real. How much of this feeling between you, this warmth, was something that could last beyond the wedding?

And when Hongjoong suggested a walk, you eagerly agreed, stepping into the cool night air, your hand still firmly in his. The streets of Busan were quiet now, and as you walked side by side, the world around you seemed to fade into the background. All that mattered was the quiet conversation, the softness of his gaze, the way he made you feel like you belonged.

"You did amazing tonight," he murmured, his voice low and sincere, sending a wave of warmth through you.

"I survived," you replied, trying to downplay the emotions swirling inside you, but the warmth in your chest gave you away.

Hongjoong chuckled, his grip tightening slightly around your hand. "You did more than survive. You were amazing."

His words lingered in the air, and for a moment, everything felt a little more real, a little more solid. The evening had brought you closer to him, closer to something that was beginning to feel like it could be something more than just a role.

As the night wore on, you both continued to walk, the quiet streets of Busan stretching out before you, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone.

After the wedding festivities had come to a close, the night air felt cool against your skin as you walked back with Hongjoong, his hand casually brushing against yours as you made your way to the car. His parents had bid the two of you a warm farewell, headed off to their hotel room, and now it was just you and Hongjoong, the last leg of the night before you could finally get some rest.

The car ride was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional comment from Hongjoong about how the night had gone. You couldn’t help but feel a small sense of contentment in the back of your mind. The wedding, the dancing, the moments of shared laughter—it had all felt so... right. But now that the night was winding down, there was a new wave of nerves settling in your stomach.

The drive was short, only about 25 minutes from the venue, and soon enough, you arrived at Hongjoong’s family’s house. It was a beautiful, well-maintained home with a cozy feel to it—soft lights glowing from the windows and the faint sound of music still playing in the background from the celebration.

Hongjoong opened the car door for you, offering his hand to help you out. You took it with a soft smile, grateful for his constant care throughout the day. It wasn’t long before the two of you were inside the house, standing in the entryway, with the scent of dinner still lingering in the air.

Hongjoong’s parents were already heading up to their room for the night, leaving the two of you to head up the stairs to the guest room. The tension in the air wasn’t heavy, but you could feel it—it was the same tension you’d been navigating all night, only now it was slightly more intimate, slightly more real.

“Alright,” Hongjoong said, pausing at the door to the guest room. “This is where we’ll sleep.”

You nodded, taking in the soft, elegant room. A queen-sized bed was neatly made, the bedspread smooth and inviting after a long day. There was a couch in the corner with a fluffy throw blanket draped over it, and the soft light from a lamp by the bedside gave the room a calm, warm ambiance.

“Nice,” you murmured, your gaze flitting from the bed to Hongjoong. The thought of sharing a bed with him, even though it was for the sake of the charade, still made your heart skip a beat.

Hongjoong glanced back at you with a smirk, his hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket. “I’ll let you get changed first,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “Just… try to be convincing, okay? If my parents come in—”

“I know,” you interrupted, your voice quieter than you intended. “Act like we’re a couple.”

He raised an eyebrow, his teasing smile widening. “Right. We’re pretending to be in love.”

You turned your gaze to the bathroom door, suddenly feeling more self-conscious. The thought of changing into something more comfortable, then lying next to him as though everything was perfectly normal, made you anxious.

“I’ll just… change, then,” you said, and before he could respond, you quickly made your way into the bathroom.

Inside, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You could do this. You had to do this. Just act like it was nothing. Act like everything was completely fine. You quickly changed into a simple set of pajamas—a loose, soft shirt, and comfortable shorts—and tried to calm your racing thoughts. The last thing you wanted was for this to feel awkward.

When you stepped back into the room, Hongjoong had already changed into a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, checking his phone, but as soon as he saw you, he raised his eyes with a slight smile.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice calm, but you could see the subtle way he was studying you.

You nodded, hesitating for just a second before joining him at the edge of the bed. It was a moment of pause, the kind where both of you were trying to figure out the unspoken rules of this situation—how to lie next to each other and still make it look real.

Hongjoong stretched out on the bed, making a show of fluffing the pillows. “You want the right side?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was an underlying playfulness in his voice.

You nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

He shifted so that he was lying on his back, the space between you on the bed feeling almost too large for comfort. You sat on your side, pulling the covers up over yourself, but you didn’t dare turn away from him. Not yet.

The silence stretched between you for a moment, before Hongjoong shifted again, this time moving closer. “You know, it’s funny,” he said, his voice almost contemplative. “I’ve never had to pretend to be in a relationship before.”

You chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. “Well, you’re doing great.”

His eyes glinted mischievously as he slid his arm behind your back, pulling you closer until your shoulders brushed. The touch felt warm and surprisingly comforting, though you were still acutely aware of how close you were, how the bed seemed too small for the both of you.

“I think I can handle it,” he said, his voice low. “We just need to be convincing.”

You shifted awkwardly, then hesitated before settling your head on the pillow. “Right. Convincing.”

Hongjoong let out a soft laugh, his hand gently resting on your waist. It wasn’t a tight grip, but it was firm enough to make your heart flutter. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just kept his hand there, letting the quiet fill the space between you.

Then, as if to break the silence, he asked, “Are you comfortable?”

You nodded, despite the way your pulse was quickening. “Yeah. Just a little… weird, you know?”

Hongjoong’s hand slid gently up your back, giving you a light squeeze. “I know. But it’ll be fine.”

His reassurance, coupled with the fact that his hand stayed there, grounding you, made the nerves slowly dissipate. The room was quiet again, save for the distant sound of his parents moving around downstairs, settling in for the night. Hongjoong’s breathing was slow and even, his warmth seeping into you as you tried to relax.

And for a moment, it felt easy. Like you could breathe without overthinking everything. But as the minutes ticked by, and the potential of his parents walking in hung in the air, you both shifted, moving closer under the covers, until your bodies were almost flush against each other.

His hand found yours, fingers interlacing naturally. The touch was soft, almost intimate, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized that even though this was all part of the act, the act was starting to feel a little too real.

"Just like this," Hongjoong whispered, his thumb brushing against your hand.

You nodded, biting your lip, trying to hold back the butterflies. “Yeah, just like this.”

And as the night stretched on, you both lay there, the intimacy of the moment hanging between you like a secret. It felt fragile. But with Hongjoong beside you, you couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, just maybe, this act might be something more than either of you had planned.

Taglist: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @psychicyouthfox @pixie-felix @angel-writes-here @heechwe @galaxy4489 @minniesverse @ateezswonderland @spenceatiny18 @ewsnup @jilxxasu @justjj97

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furioussheepluminary · 3 months ago

Text

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab! reader, partners in crime

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Chapter Synopsis: the charity event holds lots of secrets, familiar faces and tense moments Chan and Y/N need to get out alive..

Warnings: TENSION, violence, tiny mentions of Chan's past, in a way

A/n: the plot unwinds here I ain't gonna say much but...pay attention! If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't

previously... next...

The moment Y/N and Chan stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The grandeur of the venue was almost overwhelming an opulent ballroom bathed in golden light, the soft glow from towering crystal chandeliers casting delicate reflections across the marble floors. Everything about the space exuded luxury, from the sheer height of the arched ceilings adorned with intricate gold detailing to the cascading floral arrangements decorating every table. The air carried the faint scent of fresh roses and expensive perfume, blending seamlessly with the subtle notes of aged wine and gourmet cuisine.

Elegant couples glided across the room, draped in designer fabrics and priceless jewelry that caught the light with every graceful movement. The hum of polite conversation filled the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter from clusters of high-profile guests. Waiters, dressed in pristine white uniforms, weaved expertly through the crowd, silver trays balanced effortlessly in their hands, offering glasses of the finest champagne and hors d’oeuvres that looked almost too exquisite to eat. To the left, a grand stage stood in the spotlight, framed by velvet curtains and a sleek podium. A large screen behind it displayed images of past charity projects, highlighting the impact of the evening’s donations. Beneath the stage, members of the press loitered subtly, their eyes sharp, scanning the room for anything worth reporting.

The crowd itself was a curated mix of the elite—business moguls, celebrities, influential politicians, and heirs to empires. Men in sharply tailored suits stood in small groups, discussing investments and alliances, while women in elegant gowns adorned with shimmering embellishments whispered secrets behind glasses of imported champagne.

In the farthest corner, a live jazz band played a smooth, rhythmic tune, the soft saxophone melody adding a sultry undertone to the night’s proceedings. There was a certain finesse to the way the guests moved, as if they all belonged to an exclusive, unspoken world where power and wealth were the only currencies that mattered.

As Y/N and Chan took it all in, a faint crackle came through the small earpiece tucked discreetly behind her hair. Jisung’s voice came through, casual but laced with curiosity. “Alright, lovebirds, tell me what’s it like in there? Are we talking stiff businessmen or some Great Gatsby type of madness?”

Y/N’s lips quirked up slightly at Jisung’s question, knowing he’d get a kick out of the details. She subtly turned her head, pretending to adjust her earring as she whispered into the hidden mic, “A bit of both. Picture a ballroom dripping in gold, chandeliers the size of small cars, and enough expensive cologne in the air to suffocate a lesser mortal. Everyone here looks like they own an island or at least know someone who does. It’s luxury at its finest, Ji.”

Jisung let out a low whistle through the comms. “Damn. Sounds like I’d stick out like a sore thumb in my hoodie and ripped jeans.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly. “Yeah, you definitely would. It’s like stepping into a movie.”

There was a pause before Jisung hummed. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.” A few seconds passed, followed by the distinct sound of keys clacking in his background. “Logging into the venue’s camera feed now… Got it.” Y/N resisted the urge to glance around for the cameras, knowing it would look suspicious. Instead, she let her eyes flick toward Chan, who was scanning the room with that quiet intensity of his. The moment Jisung had full access, his voice came back over the line, now tinged with amusement.

“Ohhh, yeah. This is straight out of a spy movie. I see you two, looking all fancy. Damn, Y/N, you clean up nice.”

She smirked. “Was there ever a doubt?” Jisung chuckled. “Fair point. Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for anything shady. You two just keep up the ‘happy couple’ act.” Chan, who had been silent until now, finally spoke—his voice low enough that only Y/N would catch it. “You sure you can handle this, Jisung?”

A scoff came through the comms. “Please, this is child’s play. Just don’t do anything that’ll make me have to hack into another system to cover your ass.” Y/N exhaled softly, steadying herself. The night had only just begun.

Jisung’s voice crackled through the comms, his usual playfulness laced with something sharper. "Well, well, well… Look who decided to make an appearance." Y/N resisted the urge to look up immediately, instead reaching for a champagne flute from a passing waiter to maintain their cover. "Who?" she asked, bringing the glass to her lips.

There was a brief pause as Jisung zoomed in on the feed. "Our guy is at the far end of the room, near the bar. And guess what? He’s talking with a bunch of suits. But here’s the fun part—Reynolds is among them."

Y/N’s fingers tightened slightly around the delicate stem of the flute. "You’re joking." Chan, who had been scanning the room himself, stilled. His jaw clenched slightly before he turned his body just enough to look in that direction without drawing suspicion. His grip on Y/N’s waist tightened subtly. "I see him," he muttered under his breath.

The same Reynolds who had made their lives hell before disappearing into the shadows. And now, here he was, laughing, drinking, looking completely at ease among the city’s elite as if he wasn’t a snake in a tailored suit.

"This just got a whole lot more interesting," Jisung murmured. "What’s the play? Do we engage, or do we keep our distance?"

Y/N felt Chan’s fingers twitch against her back, a silent war waging within him. Whatever they did next could change the entire course of the night.

Petrov stood near the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling the amber liquid as he engaged in conversation with the other elites. His sharp gaze scanned the crowd lazily until it landed on her. Y/N had only meant to take a fleeting glance, just enough to confirm Jisung’s intel, but the moment their eyes met, she knew she had made a mistake.

Petrov smirked. It was slow, deliberate, the kind of smirk that made her stomach churn with unease. He took his time raking his gaze over her, eyes dark with amusement as if he could already sense her hesitance. Chan, who had been watching closely, moved in an instant. His arm curled around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into him, his grip just firm enough to make a statement. The shift was subtle, but effective Chan was no longer just an escort or an arm candy date. He was a man who was staking a claim.

Y/N felt the tension roll off him as he leaned in, voice dropping low, meant only for her. "You need to find a way to get him alone." She blinked up at him, taken aback. "Why me?"

Chan exhaled sharply, his jaw ticking as if the answer was obvious. "Because you’re a woman."

She stared at him, incredulous. "That’s it? That’s your whole reasoning?"

Chan gave a small, almost exasperated smirk. "That means no further explanation."

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She knew he wasn’t wrong Petrov was the type of man who saw women as easy distractions, someone to toy with. That was exactly the kind of arrogance they needed to exploit.

Jisung’s voice crackled in her ear. "Damn, Chan, that was the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard also, he’s still staring. Do something before he walks over."

Y/N barely had a second to react before Chan’s hold on her tightened. His arm stayed firm around her waist, his other hand rising to gently grip her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes, dark and unwavering, bore into hers.

"I have to kiss you."

Her breath hitched. "Excuse me?!"

Chan didn’t flinch at her reaction. If anything, his grip remained steady, unwavering. "If we want him to come to us, we need to make it look like you're someone worth stealing attention for."

She scoffed, eyes narrowing. "So your grand plan is to put on a little show?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Y/N." His tone was firmer now, a quiet warning. "You have to be serious about this. You saw how he looked at you he’s interested. And the only thing that will make him act faster is competition."

Her lips parted, ready to protest again, but she had nothing to fire back with. Chan was right. Petrov wasn’t the type to sit back and wait. If he saw something—or in this case, someone—he wanted, he’d go after it. And right now, Y/N was about to become his next pursuit.

She inhaled sharply, her pulse racing. "This is a terrible idea."

Chan’s thumb brushed along her hip, his voice low and coaxing. "Then let’s make it count."

Before she could talk herself out of it, Petrov’s gaze landed on her once more. The moment Chan noticed, he wasted no time.

In one swift motion, he pulled her flush against him, his hand slipping from her waist to cradle the back of her neck. And then, he kissed her.

But God, it wasn’t just a kiss. Chan kissed her with a purpose; hot, possessive, consuming. His lips moved against hers like he was proving a point, like he was branding her with his touch. The world around them blurred, the soft hum of music, the murmurs of the gala guests all of it faded into nothing. Y/N barely had a moment to react before she melted into it, fingers instinctively gripping the lapels of his suit. His other hand tightened against her waist, pressing her closer, deepening the kiss like he was daring Petrov to do something about it.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were putting on a show. She knew this was for the mission, for baiting Petrov.

But the way Chan kissed her slow at first, then rougher, hungrier made it dangerously easy to forget.

As their lips parted, Y/N barely had time to catch her breath. Chan didn’t move away. His forehead rested against hers, his breaths slightly heavier than before, his hold on her lingering. His fingers stayed at the curve of her waist, his touch warm and possessive.

The air between them was thick, charged with something neither of them wanted to name. Y/N’s heart pounded, her lips still tingling from the kiss. Then, in a voice low enough for only her to hear, Chan murmured, “Look at him.” Her breath hitched. She didn’t need to ask who.

“Slowly,” Chan instructed, voice like silk laced with quiet dominance. “Teasingly.”

Y/N swallowed, gathering herself before her gaze slid past Chan’s shoulder.

There Petrov stood, watching. His smirk had grown, intrigue flashing in his eyes. Exactly what they needed. Chan’s grip on her waist subtly tightened, his lips ghosting over her ear as he continued giving quiet directions.

“Now, kiss me again,” he murmured. “Soft. Just a peck. And whisper something romantic. Make me smile.” Her fingers curled slightly against his suit. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before tilting her head up and brushing the softest kiss against his lips.

Chan barely reacted, only his hold twitching slightly.

Then, her lips moved near his ear, whispering, “We should do this more often.” She felt the sharp exhale against her cheek, the subtle curve of his lips as he fought back a smirk.

She pulled away, giving him the smallest, knowing smile before finally slipping out of his hold.

And just like that, Petrov took the bait.

Y/N made her way to the bar, her pulse still thrumming with the lingering adrenaline of the kiss. She could still feel Chan’s lips on hers, the heat of his hands at her waist, the way his voice had dropped into something dark and commanding. It had been a kiss meant to lure their target, but it had done something entirely different to her.

She exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away as she leaned against the bar, ordering a drink to steady herself. The air in the room felt warmer now, buzzing with the energy of the gala, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clinking of glasses.

As she reached for her drink, her gaze instinctively searched for Chan. He had blended into the crowd effortlessly, now engaged in casual conversation with some wealthy-looking businessman. The way he carried himself—relaxed, confident—made it seem like he belonged in this world, like he wasn’t currently running an undercover mission.

But then, a voice crackled in her ear.

“Y/N,” Jisung’s voice was low, but there was an amused lilt to it. “Your guy is on the move.”

She stiffened slightly, adjusting her grip on her glass.

“How close?” she whispered, tilting her head just slightly so it wouldn’t look like she was speaking to herself.

“Hmm,” Jisung hummed, clearly checking the feed. “About fifteen feet. And closing.”

Her stomach twisted not with fear, but with anticipation.

“I hope you’ve figured out a way to lure him,” Jisung added, and she could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Good luck.” With that, the comms went quiet, leaving her standing there, heartbeat loud in her ears. She took one last, slow sip of her drink before setting it down.

Then, she turned. Y/N's fingers wrapped gently around the chilled glass, but she barely took a sip. Her heart was still racing from the kiss with Chan. Her eyes flicked across the room until she spotted him. He was blending easily into a nearby conversation, laughing at something someone said, but she could see how his eyes still tracked her through the crowd. Then came the quiet shift. The presence.

“Miss,” a low, accented voice purred beside her.

Y/N turned slowly to find herself face-to-face with Petrov. Up close, he was just as imposing tall, refined, charming in a dangerous way. His suit was custom, expensive, and everything about him screamed power. But it was the glint in his eyes, that predatory edge, that reminded her exactly who he was. “You’ve been catching my eye all night,” Petrov said, stepping closer, his tone smooth. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d let me introduce myself.”

Y/N smiled, soft and shy playing the part. “It seems I’ve caught quite the important man’s attention, then.” Petrov chuckled, eyes raking over her slowly. “You’re not just beautiful, you’re quick with your words. I like that.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “And I like women who aren’t afraid of power.”

She let her lips twitch upward, keeping her breath even. “Do you say that to all the women you meet at these things?” “Only the ones who look like trouble,” he said, sipping his drink. “Who’s the man you were with?”

“Just a friend,” she replied smoothly, brushing her hair back. “Someone who keeps me out of trouble.”

“Hmm,” Petrov said, clearly not convinced. “That kiss looked a little too convincing for ‘just a friend.’” He arched a brow, studying her. “But perhaps trouble is more fun, no?” Her pulse jumped, but she kept her tone playful. “Maybe. Depends on the kind of trouble you mean.”

He smiled at that. “Why don’t we find somewhere quieter? I’d love to hear more about you… without all the noise.” In her ear, Jisung’s voice crackled to life. “This is it, Y/N. He’s biting. Keep going let him chew. Just a little longer.”

Y/N gave Petrov a soft, teasing smile. “Lead the way.”

Petrov’s presence seemed to swallow the space around Y/N, but she kept her expression soft, coy—like she was flattered but not overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, Jisung’s voice crackled quietly in Chan’s earpiece. “Hey, you good?” he asked, a note of teasing curiosity in his tone. “That was… some performance.” Chan cleared his throat and subtly stepped away from the small circle of idle socialites. His gaze flicked to Y/N and Petrov at the bar, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

Jisung chuckled. “Yeah, sure you are.” Then his tone shifted, more serious. “Alright, focus up—change of plans for you. So quit drinking. There’s a guy two tables from your nine o'clock, navy suit, thinning hair, holding a scotch. He’s got a keycard clipped inside his inner pocket. We need that.” Chan’s eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on the man in question. “You want me to pickpocket him.”

“Bingo,” Jisung replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll need that card to access the west wing security panel. You’ve got one chance so make it clean.”

Chan exhaled slowly, brushing his hand down his lapel to center himself, then started moving through the crowd with quiet precision, eyes trained on the mark. Chan drifted through the crowd with practiced ease, a champagne flute in hand and his expression cool, unreadable. The ballroom shimmered with the glitter of crystal chandeliers and opulence, masking the tension that simmered beneath his calm exterior. His eyes landed on the target, a middle-aged man in a dark navy suit, his badge glinting faintly against his lapel. The key card.

“Chan, twenty degrees to your right,” Jisung’s voice whispered through the comms. “That’s our guy. The access badge is clipped to his inner coat pocket. You have a sorta ten-second window while he’s distracted.”

Chan moved in, just another face in a sea of luxury. He approached the man, bumping into him ever so lightly, the clink of glasses a convenient cover.

“Apologies,” he said smoothly, laying a steadying hand on the man's arm while his other slipped into the inner coat pocket with deft precision. A flick of his wrist—clean, practiced, invisible. The key card vanished into Chan’s palm before the man even realized he’d been touched. “Got it,” Chan whispered. “Nice,” Jisung muttered, sounding genuinely impressed. “Tuck it into your belt loop, just in case. Now…”

A pause. “Switching focus. Y/N, Petrov’s leading you somewhere. I’ve got eyes. You’re heading down a private hallway on the east side. Could be a terrace or a VIP room.”

Y/N followed Petrov’s lead, heart still echoing with the memory of Chan’s kiss. Petrov’s presence was commanding, smooth in a way that made her both alert and oddly calm like stepping into enemy territory wearing silk and confidence.

“You handle him like a charm, Y/N,” Jisung said softly in her earpiece. “But stay sharp. If he offers you a drink—don’t take it. And stall as long as possible. We need to find out where he keeps his passcodes.”

Petrov led Y/N with a confident, knowing gait his hand hovering just close enough to her lower back to signal dominance without touching. His cologne was thick and intoxicating, and every calculated step of his reeked of money, power, and danger. She kept her pace languid, careful to play the role, coy but not naïve, inviting but not desperate.

They stopped just outside a private lounge, its door guarded by a sensor. Petrov glanced at her, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You don’t seem like the usual charity types,” he said in that thick accent, tilting his head with amusement. “Who sent you?”

Y/N gave him a subtle smile, stepping closer, allowing the soft glimmer of her gown to brush against him. “A girl can’t enjoy an expensive evening without a reason?”

He chuckled lowly. “You look like you enjoy more than expensive evenings. But you… you’re hiding something, no?” She tilted her head, her lips barely parted. “Aren’t we all?”

Jisung whispered in her ear through the comms.

“Keep him talking. You're doing great. Try to steer him toward Nightfall. Slowly.” Petrov leaned against the wall now, eyes tracing every inch of her face. “Tell me something… Do you believe in noble causes?”

Y/N swallowed subtly, then nodded. “I think the world needs people willing to do difficult things. Unseen things. For the greater good.” He raised a brow. “That sounds like something I once believed.” He paused, staring at her more intently now. “Have you ever heard of Operation Nightfall?”

Bingo.

Y/N hesitated, lowering her gaze just enough to seem cautious but not shocked. “Wasn’t that some old military intel drop or something? A failed coup?”

Petrov gave a low chuckle and shook his head. “That’s what they called it on paper. But in truth, it was something else entirely.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “It was an experiment… on loyalty. On silence. On what people would kill to protect. And what they'd destroy if it meant being remembered.”

Y/N's pulse raced. “Why are you telling me this?”

He leaned in, lips near her ear. “Because I want to see what you'll do with it.” Before she could respond, he tapped the scanner and the door opened with a soft click. He gestured her in.

“I’ve got visuals,” Jisung told them. “Chan, you’re clear to approach the west wing once you secure the card. Y/N… keep him talking. Let’s see what secrets our charming Russian might spill.”

Y/N nodded subtly, stepped inside with measured grace—and the real game began.

Chan ducked behind a column, out of sight of the main ballroom. He slid the stolen keycard from his coat pocket and held it up to a wall panel tucked discreetly beside a locked hallway. It beeped once—access granted.

“Jisung?” he murmured, eyes scanning the hallway beyond.

“Yup. That hallway leads to a private server room. That’s where the encrypted drive’s supposed to be. We need a full download of Petrov’s files if we want dirt on Nightfall’s remnants.”

Chan moved fast and low. Inside the server room, ambient red light pulsed over rows of machines. He located the correct terminal, slotted in a tiny black device Jisung had prepped, and tapped the interface.

“Download in progress,” Jisung confirmed, typing on his end. “Keep it running. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

Back in the lounge, Petrov poured two glasses of brandy, handing one to YN. He stared at her with growing curiosity, suspicion laced with intrigue. “So tell me…” he said, swirling his glass. “Why do you really care about knowing Nightfall? It’s been buried for years.”

YN took a sip, eyes meeting his. “Because the ones who buried it never paid for the lives they ruined.” Petrov stared at her silent for a beat too long. Then he smiled faintly. “You're dangerous.”

She smiled back. “Only when I need to be.”

Petrov leaned against the velvet wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on Y/N like a panther cornering prey. The low lighting carved his face into harsh angles. Her drink sat forgotten on the ledge beside him as he spoke, his voice smooth but laced with something biting. “You know…” he drawled, stepping slightly closer. “I swear I’ve seen your face before. Not here, of course. Somewhere more… volatile.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten subtly beneath the silk of her dress. Her lips parted, but she kept her smile practiced, soft, flirtatious. “I get that a lot,” she said lightly, brushing a curl from her shoulder and avoiding direct eye contact for just a second too long. Her heartbeat started to race.

Petrov smirked, noting her hesitation. “Do you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because I never forget a face. Especially not ones that make my instincts twitch.” She chuckled, smooth on the outside but screaming inside. “Then I hope your instincts are saying I’m just a pretty face with a taste for expensive wine and dangerous men.”

Jisung’s voice crackled. “He’s testing you, keep your cool. You’re doing good.”

But she could already feel it, Petrov was circling in, mentally, emotionally. Slowly twisting suspicion into something darker. She tried to reel it back with subtle confidence, touching his sleeve lightly, letting her voice drop. “You’re curious. I like that. Curiosity means you’re smart… and smart men, they’re the kind who know things others don’t. Like secrets. Like… what Operation Nightfall really was.”

His expression barely twitched, but his eyes flared like lit gasoline. The air thickened.

The whirr of the data drive hummed behind Chan as he crouched over the rack of blinking servers, fingers moving across the compact keyboard like water, fast, deadly. The room was cold, sterile, dimly blue-lit. “Jisung,” he hissed, “how much longer is this going to take?”

“Couple more minutes. Just keep the line open and stay quiet.”

But then—click clack—footsteps.

Several.

Chan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t turn, not yet. Instead, he pulled a micro-blade from under his sleeve and slipped it between his fingers, body half-shadowed. Two men appeared in the doorway—security. Heavyset, armored, rifles slung and ready. They stopped when they saw him, confused, then suspicious.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” one barked, stepping forward.

Chan stood slowly, slipping his blade back into his coat and plastering on the dumbest grin he could muster.

“Room service,” he said, gesturing to the servers. “You guys are out of data… figured I’d refill it.”

“Wrong answer,” the taller one muttered and lunged. Chan ducked, instantly pivoting and slamming his elbow into the man's gut. The guard staggered, and Chan used that split-second to swipe the pistol from his hip. The second guard fired but Chan was already moving.

He dropped low, sliding behind a server tower as the bullet cracked through plastic. He returned fire once non-lethal round hitting the second man in the knee. The man crumpled with a cry. The first guard was up again, charging, Chan grabbed a network cable and yanked it hard, whipping it across the guard’s face before driving his knee into the man’s ribs, then slamming his head against the wall with a brutal thunk. The guard collapsed.

“Gee Jisung,” he grunted, sliding the pistol back into his waistband. “Would’ve been nice to know I had company!”

“You’re welcome,” Jisung replied lazily. “The download’s almost done. Try not to die before it finishes.”

Chan exhaled sharply, sweat dotting his temple. He glanced back at the server the drive was at 87%. He turned toward the door, locking it with a quick override, and returned to his crouch.

“Come on… come on,” he murmured. “Y/N better be buying me a drink after all this.”

The echo of heavy boots down the hallway grew louder then came the pounding.

BANG. BANG.

Chan’s head snapped toward the locked door as it shuddered with the force. He muttered, sweat sliding down his temple as he kept an eye on the loading bar on the screen 92%…

“Jisung,” Chan hissed into the comms. “How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here?” Static. Then Jisung’s voice, painfully casual.

“Through the door, obviously. Or, you know, out the window—do a little parkour.”

Chan’s jaw clenched. “You’re a menace.”

95%… 98%… 100%. The console pinged.

He yanked the drive from the terminal just as the door burst open with a bang. Two armed guards stormed in. “Hey! Hands where we can see—”

But Chan was already moving.

He ducked the first swing, slammed his shoulder into the guard’s gut, sending him crashing against the server rack. The second drew a stun baton, swinging for Chan’s head. Chan caught the man's wrist mid-air, twisting it with a brutal torque that forced the baton to clatter to the floor. He landed a hard elbow to the guard’s throat, kicked him square in the chest and then took a punch to his ribs from the first guy, who’d recovered.

He staggered, wheezing, but used the momentum to swing a spinning back kick into the first guard’s knee, buckling it with a sickening crack.

Blood smeared across his knuckles, pain throbbed through his side, but Chan didn’t stop. He shoved the last man against the server, slamming the butt of the stun baton into the side of his temple, and watched him crumple.

Breathing hard, he stumbled toward the exit, clutching the drive.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Jisung chimed in.

“Fuck you.”

“You good?”

“Peachy. Bleeding, but peachy. What about Y/N?”

The air was warm and musky with aged whiskey and cologne now. Petrov sat back on the plush leather sofa, his fingers idly rolling the rim of his glass. Y/N, she sat next to him now, leaning closer, her knee brushing his, her lips curled in soft intrigue.

“You’re a hard man to get alone,” she murmured, tilting her head coyly.

He grinned lazily. “That’s because I enjoy being chased.” Y/N gave a breathy laugh, masking her nerves. Inside, her pulse was still scattered from Chan’s kiss, her thoughts fractured but her mission came first.

“I heard you were in Havana last year. Around the time of Nightfall?” she asked, feigning ignorance. That hit the nerve.

Petrov’s gaze sharpened—just for a second—before he masked it with a smile. He leaned in, his voice lowering. “You’ve got interesting sources. Not many people even know about that name. Let alone dare speak it.”

Y/N blinked slowly, her fingers ghosting over his wrist. “I like danger.”

He chuckled, letting the silence hang for a moment. Then he leaned back, sipping his drink, eyes never leaving her. “It was a slaughterhouse. That palace… you know the one in Cuba? Belonged to a general’s mistress. They were housing something there something classified. And then someone leaked intel, and boom… everyone died. Friendly and enemy. Fire, steel, and screams. Left no one standing.”

Y/N’s hand froze slightly. That aligned with what Jisung suspected. Operation Nightfall was a setup and someone made sure there were no survivors.

She swallowed. “And you walked out of that alive?”

Petrov smiled wider, colder.

“Barely. But I never forget a battlefield. Or the faces I see there.” His gaze locked on hers. “Like yours.” Her stomach flipped. Shit. The tension snapped in her spine, but she forced a laugh.

“Are you saying I look like someone you left behind?”

“Maybe.” He leaned forward. “Or maybe you’re just not as much of a stranger as you pretend.” She covered her pulse with her glass, trying to steady her breathing. And through it all, Jisung’s voice buzzed softly in her ear:

“That was way too close. Stay with him. I think we’ve found the missing link.”

Petrov's eyes danced over her face, predatory and amused. “You have a lovely way of speaking,” he said, voice deep and accented.

Y/N's heart skipped. She let out a soft, throaty laugh and tilted her head coyly. “I get that a lot. Must be the bone structure.”

Petrov narrowed his eyes, but just as he was about to press deeper—

A firm knock. The heavy wooden door creaked open and one of his security men stepped in briskly. His suit was ruffled, and he was slightly out of breath. “Sir,” the guard said in hushed urgency. “There’s been a situation. One of the restricted zones was triggered.”

Petrov’s brows tightened. “Where exactly?”

The guard leaned in, whispering something too low for Y/N to catch.

Whatever it was, it worked.

Petrov straightened with a grunt and set his drink down. “Forgive me, darling,” he said, voice clipped and irritated. “Duty calls. We’ll pick this up later.”

Y/N nodded, feigning a disappointed smile. “Of course. I’ll be right here.” He didn’t wait to respond, already halfway out the door with his guards in tow.

The moment it shut—

“Y/N,” Jisung’s voice filtered into her ear. “Time to move. Meet Chan at the eastern balcony third floor. Now.”

She rose, heart still buzzing with the closeness of danger, and silently slipped toward the hallway, heels quiet on the marble as she vanished from the lounge and into the shadows of the corridor.

The air outside was cooler, tinged with the faint scent of high-end cigars and champagne flutes discarded by the edge of the railing. Soft jazz floated in from the ballroom below, muffled by heavy glass doors that clicked shut behind Y/N as she stepped onto the marble balcony. Her heels echoed faintly against the stone, slowing when she spotted him.

Chan leaned against the balustrade, slightly hunched, his tux jacket wrinkled and one sleeve stained with something too dark to be wine. His knuckles tinted red, and there was a tear at the edge of his dress shirt where it had clearly been grabbed in a scuffle.

Y/N blinked. “Why do you always end up getting beat up the second I’m not around?”

He turned his head toward her, breath still uneven, but smirked dryly without answering. Instead, he pulled the drive from inside his jacket and held it up between two fingers, its metal case glinting under the city lights. “Let’s just hope this little guy has what we need.”

Y/N stepped closer, her tone dropping. “I managed to get something too.”

That caught his attention. Chan turned to face her more fully, eyes scanning hers.

She kept her voice low. “Petrov mentioned Cuba. The palace. It wasn’t just a base it was a front. Something happened there during Operation Nightfall, and it involved you. He didn’t say what exactly… but whatever it was, it was big enough to make him stop talking when a guard interrupted us.”

Chan’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes a ripple of unease or something buried deeper. He nodded once, jaw tightening.

Just then, Jisung’s voice crackled through their comms. “Okay lovebirds, time’s up. I’ve got cameras blinking red on your floor and guards getting way too curious about who’s missing from the charity bingo.”

Y/N glanced back toward the ballroom. “So what now?”

“Now,” Jisung said, “you leave. Subtly. Because if anyone figures out you’re not here to sip overpriced wine and fund endangered birds, this whole thing goes to hell.” Chan exhaled heavily, slipping the drive back into his pocket. “He’s right.”

He offered her his arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Y/N looped her arm through his, masking the adrenaline still coursing through her veins with a soft smile. From anyone watching, they were just another power couple leaving early maybe to avoid the press, maybe to steal a moment alone. But beneath the surface, beneath the lights and silk and music, the real mission had just begun.

And the ghosts of Cuba were no longer buried.

😤

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lilhoneybeesworld · 2 months ago

Text

Such a Good Girl

Pairing: Mid Honor! Arthur Morgan x Reader

Warnings/Need to Know: AFAB Reader with she/her pronouns, porn with very minimal plot, Corruption kink, PIV, Vaginal Fingering, looooots of teasing, Arthur's filthy mouth

Word Count: 3.4k

Note: This did have multiple rounds, but I was like..... idk. If there's enough demand, I could release the extended version, but I felt this was a good way to start and reintroduce myself to fic writing.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

The campfire crackled in the distance, the warmth of the flames licking the cool night air. Arthur leaned against a nearby tree, his hat tilted low, casting shadows over his rugged features. His eyes, usually steady and calm, flickered with something deeper tonight—something not quite so familiar.

You, sitting by the fire, felt it too. The way his gaze lingered on you, the tension thick between the two of you as the others faded into the background. The usual teasing, joking, and casual conversations had quieted, leaving room for the unspoken, a magnetic pull you couldn’t quite explain. The connection between you and Arthur always held tension of some sort, but you could never quite place it.

You had decided to also turn in for the night, rising up from the log you were perched upon. Even as you began making your way to your tent, you felt an almost predatory gaze on you. It wasn't the uncomfortable one Micah often gave, it didn't feel the same. It was softer. Arthur began making his way towards you, hoping to stop you by his tent before you had passed it to get to your own, and by the grace of God or some other divine power, he did.

“Y’know,” Arthur said, his deep voice low, just above a whisper, “I don’t usually do this kinda thing.” His words hung in the air, his eyes studying you like a prized jewel, every inch of you, yet there was something warm, almost comforting in his gaze. The dynamic between you two had shifted recently, but in a way you never could explain. One day you were normal camp mates, then you did a job together that you really bonded on, and now the tension between you both could be cut with a knife.

Your breath hitched slightly, unsure if you’d heard him right. You shifted, the firelight casting a soft glow over your features. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely audible. Arthur took a step closer, his boots crunching softly on the ground.

“I mean... you’re different.” His fingers brushed against yours, the subtle touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I don’t wanna run you off, but I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you a lot since we came back from that job a few weeks ago.”

The air around you seemed to heat up as your heart raced in your chest. His words, combined with the warmth of his hand, made something inside you stir, a curiosity, a desire you hadn’t quite allowed yourself to acknowledge. The sweet innocence you’d held onto started to falter, a crack in the wall you’d carefully built around your heart and mind.

Arthur’s lips curved into a half-smile, noticing the shift in your posture. “You’re not like most women here, y’know? Too sweet for your own good sometimes... But that don’t mean you can’t learn a thing or two from someone who’s been around.” His voice was low, coaxing, his lips just inches from your ear now.

You swallowed hard, caught in the pull of his presence. “I... I’m not sure what you mean,” you said, though your body betrayed you. Every instinct screamed to inch closer, to explore that forbidden path you’d always wondered about. Arthur chuckled softly, his fingers now trailing down the side of your neck, sending a jolt of heat through you.

“I think you do. Just let go a little... I promise, you’ll enjoy it more than you think.”

His lips found yours then, tender at first, but soon deepening, coaxing a soft sigh from deep within your chest. His hand slid down your back, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cool night air. He began backing you up into his tent where the flaps had already been pulled down. You werent entirely sure what he meant by his words, but you trusted him fully.

There was no room for hesitation now, just the thrum of desire, the urgency of something unspoken.

Arthur broke the kiss, his breath ragged against your lips. “You trust me?” he whispered, his hand resting at your waist, fingers pressing lightly against the curve of your hip. You nodded, your heart hammering harshly in your chest.

“I do,” you replied softly.

His eyes darkened, that familiar mischievous glint dancing in them.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m about to show you what it means to really let go.” He rumbled, pushing you onto his cot in a less than graceful fashion.

Arthur’s kiss grew rougher as he climbed on top of you, demanding, but never careless. Despite the intensity, he still made each brush of his lips feel special. His hands roamed with purpose, fingertips tracing patterns into your skin as though he was branding you with the sensation alone. You gasped against his lips, each touch burning hotter than the last. Each one sending a new shiver up your spine.

He pulled back only enough to look you in the eyes, holding your gaze intently as his fingers slid lower—testing how far you’d let him go. He began bunching your skirt up around your thighs, his fingers beginning to tease further and further along your legs until he's right at your heat.

“You feel that?” he asked, his voice low and wolfish. His hand dipped between your thighs, cupping you through the thin fabric that's barely concealing your leaky cunt through its shear visibility.

“This is what I do to you. This is what need feels like.”

You whimpered at his words, your body trembling and pliant beneath his touch. His words—so confident, so sure—sent a thrill through you. You had never felt so exposed, so known, and yet, in his care, it wasn’t frightening. It was liberating.

“I ain’t gonna stop,” he murmured in your ear, “not till you’re cryin’ for it. You hear me, Darlin'?” His fingers pressed more firmly, teasing you through the fabric, the pads of his caloused fingers now getting damp.

“So sweet and shy on the outside… but this?” He leaned in, his breath hot on your neck. “Oh, Sugar, this tells me everything. You like bein’ touched like this. Like bein’ ruined by my hands.”

You nodded, too breathless to speak. Your hips rolling against his hand involuntarily, chasing the friction you didn’t even know you needed, craving more.

“That’s it, good girl,” he said, that praise like honey pouring right into your bloodstream. “You listen real well, don’t you?”

The sound that escaped you wasn’t a word—it was the sound of pure arousal. Arthur’s mouth returned to your neck, biting and kissing his way down, dragging the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders and down your body. He made a show of it, moving torturously slow, letting you feel the weight of every passing second.

“You’ve never had anyone touch you like the way I'm 'bout to, have you?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer, but no less intense.

“N-no,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Only you.”

His groan was low, almost primal.

“Damn right. And I ain’t lettin’ anyone else have you after this.”

Then he was stripping the last few garments you wore from your body, leaving you bare beneath him, laying you out like something precious—something his. His hands splayed across your thighs, spreading you open as he settled between them, and the way he looked at you then… it wasn’t just lust. It was reverence, like you were the first woman he’d ever really wanted to keep.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You don’t even know what I’m gonna do to you. But you’re gonna learn. And you’re gonna love every second of it.”

And you believed him—because your body was already singing under his touch, surrendering to every word, every kiss, every command. He didn’t need to force anything. He simply led, and you followed willingly, breathlessly, as he pulled you deeper into the kind of pleasure you never knew existed.

Arthur’s calloused fingers slipped inside you, slow and deliberate, stretching you, filling you, and your back arched off his worn down cot with a broken moan. His other hand gripped your thigh, holding you open, watching the way your body responded to every curl of his hand.

“So damn tight,” he muttered. “ Gotta stretch this pretty little thing out, gonna make a mess of her.... Gonna be even prettier when I’m inside you.” His blue eyes flicked up to your face as he said it, feeling you clench around his fingers at his words. His promise.

His fingers pumped painfully slow inside your aching pussy, pulling out to the tips of his fingers, then stuffing them deeply inside your pussy with long languid motions. His thumb slowly came to your little bundle of nerves, gently circling. He could feel each little flutter of your walls around his long digits.

His pace stayed slow, teasing you to the edge over and over, never giving you quite enough. “You want to come?” he asked, watching your expression twist with frustration and need.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please—Arthur—please—”

His eyes darkened, and he leaned down, lips brushing your ear again.

“Then beg.”

Your words caught in your throat as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm, pushing you higher but never quite letting you fall. His words had your face flushing and ears running hot. Arthur’s voice was right at your ear, all gravel and heat.

“Come on now,” he said, his lips brushing your skin. “Theres no more room for embarasment, sugar. I wanna hear you say it. Ask me nice.”

You were trembling beneath him, hips rocking with every stroke of his fingers, but the way he was holding back—teasing, toying—made your head spin. You’d never begged for anything like this before, never imagined you could. But with him—under him—it felt so natural. So right.

“Please, Arthur,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please let me come. I need it. I—need you.”

That was all he needed. His eyes lit with a dark sense of pride as he pressed his forehead to yours, the rhythm of his fingers deepening, curling just right.

“That’s my good girl.”

The praise hit you harder than you expected, warmth blooming in your abdomen and spiraling straight to your weeping core. Arthur knew exactly how to undo you—how to pull apart your shyness, your modesty, and replace it with something raw and blasphemous.

Your moan broke free as your body finally tipped over the edge, thighs clenching around his hand as pleasure surged through you. He didn’t stop—he worked you through every pulse and shudder, eyes on you the whole time, watching the way you came undone on his fingers.

“There she is,” he murmured, his voice full of heat and something dangerously close to affection. “Did so good f' me.”

You were still trembling, breath shallow as you blinked up at him, dazed and spent.

But Arthur wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

He kissed you again, slower now but deeper—possessive in a way that made your toes curl. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to the way your body still twitched beneath him, legs still open, still wanting.

“You’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he said, sitting up just enough to unbuckle his belt with one hand. The clink of metal, the sound of leather sliding free—it made your stomach tighten all over again. “I’ve been real patient with you. But now it’s my turn.”

You watched, heart pounding, as he slid his pants down just enough to free himself. The sight of him—hard, thick, heavy in his hand—made your breath catch in your throat. He grinned at the way you looked at him, your eyes wide and full of that same mix of awe and innocence that had been driving him wild the past few nights.

“You’re gonna take me like a good girl,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Gonna learn how to be mine. Gonna learn how to take my cock. Every. Single. Inch.” That earned a whine from you.

He leaned in close again, dragging the tip of himself slowly through your slick heat, teasing your entrance, just like he had teased every other part of you. “And once I’m inside you, sweetheart,” he growled, “there ain’t no going back.”

Your body responded before your mouth could—hips lifting, thighs spreading wider, your need laid bare. You wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted his cock. The ache between your legs was unbearable, but the anticipation, the way he made you wait for it—it was just as mind numbing.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you want me to ruin you.”

“I want you,” you whispered, dazed and desperate. “Ruin me, Arthur. Please.”

And with that, he pushed forward—slow, steady, filling you inch by inch until you were gasping, your body stretching to take him.

“That’s it,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “Takin’ me so well. You feel that, sugar? That’s what bein’ mine feels like.”

Arthur buried himself fully inside you with a deep groan, his arms braced on either side of your head, holding himself back with a tension that trembled through his shoulders. You gasped, eyes wide, mouth parted in silent shock at the sheer fullness—how he stretched you, how he filled places you didn’t know could feel this much.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, breath hot on your cheek. “You’re doin’ perfect. Just breathe for me.”

You tried—but every breath caught, your body frozen in the haze of sensation. It was too much. Not in a painful way—but in that incomprehensible way. The kind that shattered whatever quiet expectations you’d ever had about what this was supposed to feel like.

You’d only learned what sex was a few years back—fumbling explanations from other girls at camp, old overheard stories laced with shame and mystery. You were taken in by Dutch at a young age, and nobody ever explained the birds and the bees, so you had to find out everything on your own.

Even in the privacy of your own mind, the thought of doing this had seemed far-off. Unreal. Something for women unlike you—more experienced, more confident. Not you, who blushed at the mere idea of being touched. Not you, who fumbled around cluelessly for your first and last time over a year ago.

But now Arthur was inside you, slowly moving his hips in shallow, careful rolls, watching your every reaction like he could read your mind. His gaze dropped to where your bodies met, groaning low at the sight. “You feel that, darlin’? How you’re takin’ all of me, so warm and tight—fuck, like you were made for it.”

You whimpered, your face burning at the words, but they struck something inside you. A switch. That part of you that had been hidden all your life—shielded, maybe even afraid of being known like this—was now wide open beneath him.

“I never thought…” Your voice trembled as your hands grasped at his biceps, needing something to anchor you. “I never thought I’d be like this. With anyone.” Arthur’s face softened—but his hips didn’t stop. The movement grew deeper now, more fluid, dragging another cry from your throat.

“I know,” he murmured, kissing your cheek, then your temple. “Knew it the second I looked at you. All sweet and shy, like no one had ever shown you how good this could be.” Your head turned, your lips finding his in a kiss that was more desperation than technique. He groaned into your mouth, picking up his pace as your body began to yield, your hips instinctively rolling up to meet his thrusts.

“But I saw the way you looked at me,” he said between kisses. “Like you wanted to be taught. Wanted someone to make you feel things you didn’t even have names for.”

You let out a broken noise, fingers clutching at his back.

“I didn’t know it could be like this…” You whined, one of the prettiest sounds Arthur ever heard in his lifetime.

Arthur’s hand found yours, tangling your fingers together and pinning it above your head. “You don’t gotta be the good girl tonight, sugar,” he whispered. “You just gotta be mine.”

And with that, he started really moving—thrusts deeper, harder, rhythm steady and sure. The pleasure exploded, no longer a gentle simmer but a wildfire. You cried out, head tilting back, nails digging into the skin on his hands. Every stroke pushed you closer to something intense and terrifying and beautiful.

“You love this,” Arthur growled, his mouth on your throat now, biting gently. “All that innocence, all that sweetness—and look at you now. Spread out and takin’ every inch of me.” You whimpered, overwhelmed, overstimulated—and yet, needing more.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you love bein’ ruined.”

“I love it,” you gasped, dizzy and breathless. “I—I love what you’re doing to me.”

Arthur growled against your skin, thrusts growing ragged as your words spurred him on. “That’s my girl.”

Arthur was pounding into you now—steady, deep, relentless. The kind of rhythm that left no room for doubt. No room for innocence. Just the wet slap of skin, the heat of his breath against your ear, and the broken moans you couldn’t hold back if you tried.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he growled, voice rough with restraint, like he was holding back from absolutely wrecking you. “All wide-eyed and sweet a few days ago—and now? Now you’re takin’ my cock like a fuckin’ dream. Like you were born for it.”

You sobbed under him, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs and filling it again with nothing but him. His scent, his heat, the filthy things he whispered as his body claimed yours.

“You remember the way you used to blush just hearin’ folks talk about this?” he hissed, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling it up high around his waist so he could drive in deeper. “Now listen to you. Drippin’ down my cock, beggin’ for more like a goddamn angel gone rotten.”

You moaned, hands fisting into his shirt, your head spinning.

“Arthur—God—it’s too much—”

He chuckled darkly, slowing his thrusts just enough to make you feel every goddamn inch.

“Ain’t no God here, darlin’. Just me. Just this cock stretchin’ you open, turnin’ my sweet thing into a pretty little mess.”

Your eyes rolled back, the pressure building again with frightening speed. Arthur could feel it—he knew. His hand left your thigh and found its way between your legs, fingers circling that aching bundle of nerves, slick with your arousal.

“Oh, you’re close again, ain’t you?” he murmured, watching you fall apart. “Gonna come all over my cock like a good girl? Like the filthy little thing you’ve been hidin’ inside?”

“Please—please, Arthur—” You didn’t even know what you were begging for. You just needed something—relief, release, him.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled. “Come for me. Let it happen. Show me what I fuckin’ did to you.”

His fingers worked you faster, and when he slammed into you just right—deep and hard—you shattered again, your whole body locking up as pleasure hit like lightning. You screamed his name, your voice ragged, lost in the white-hot wave of release. Your walls clenched around him, and Arthur hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so tight—shit, girl, I ain’t gonna last much longer—”

Still trembling, dazed from your second orgasm, you managed a breathless, “I want it. Inside. Please.”

Arthur cursed low under his breath, his rhythm faltering now, becoming erratic, desperate. “Goddamn it, you’re gonna make me lose it—fill you up real good, fuck it all into you—”

You felt the exact moment he came—his body tensed, his breath caught in his throat, and then he was spilling inside you with a groan so deep and raw it made your toes curl. His hips ground into yours, slow and forceful, like he was trying to bury every last drop inside you.

He collapsed over you, breath heaving, his weight heavy and solid and comforting. You were both slick with sweat, shaking, ruined.

And God, you loved it.

Arthur didn’t pull out right away.

He stayed buried deep inside you, his weight warm and heavy as he caught his breath. The world around you was spinning, your body boneless and soaked, the ache between your legs a delicious throb that hadn’t faded—if anything, it was building again. And he could feel it. Knew you weren’t done. He wasn’t done.

“You think I’m done with you?” he muttered against your neck, voice hoarse but hungry. “Not even close.”

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