#Click. Count. Cash

[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 2.6k

a/n: ehhhh just a random idea. not too proud of it. listening to cinnamon girl prompted me to write this. ive never written or read anything angsty. its not great, just my first attempt. lemme know your thoughts! would you wanna read more?

I

The hallway stretched before you, dim and silent except for the muffled creak of the floorboards beneath your boots. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something sharper, gun oil, maybe. You exhaled slowly, your breath barely disturbing the stillness.

And then you heard it.

A laugh, bright and effortless, ringing through the house.

You froze.

You didn’t need to follow the sound. You didn’t need to see her draped over Sylus’s arm, her fingers curled around a wine glass, her lips parted in amusement. You knew. You had always known.

Sylus had loved her long before he’d known you. Not in this life, perhaps, but in another, one where they were bound by something deeper than reason. You had sensed it the moment you first saw them together, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke her name.

And you? You had been careful.

You never let your hands tremble when you handed him reports. Never let your voice waver when he stood too close, his presence like a storm pressing against your skin. You were smarter than that. You had to be.

The file in your hand suddenly felt heavy. You set it down on the side table, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the house. 

A few steps farther, and there he was. Mephisto, perched on his stand like a sentinel, his feathers catching the faint glow of the hallway sconces. Sylus’s ever-watchful spy. 

Your fingers closed around the bird’s body before you could second-guess yourself. Cold metal bit into your palm as you twisted its neck, pressing the hidden switch beneath its wing. A faint click, and the red light in its eyes flickered out.

No more watching. No more recording.

You didn’t walk to your room so much as you drifted there. The corner by the window looking welcoming, the floorboards smooth beneath your knees where you had sat so many nights before. You didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Just waited, as if some foolish part of you still expected.

But no. Of course he didn’t come.

Why would he? You were just an asset. A tool. And tools don’t warrant concern when they go quiet. They’re replaced.

The realization settled over you like a weight.

You stood. Your bag was already half-packed from some forgotten mission, duffel shoved beneath the bed, dust clinging to its straps. You yanked it free, tossing in the essentials: cash, a knife, the forged papers you’d been smart enough to prepare months ago. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

You didn’t bother with stealth. Didn’t tiptoe past his study, didn’t glance toward the wing where her laughter still curled through the air like smoke.

He wouldn’t notice you were gone.

***

Two years. 

Two years since you'd walked out of that gilded prison with nothing but a half-packed duffel bag and the clothes on your back. Your plan had been absolute in its simplicity: vanish from the N109 Zone completely. Disappear into some forgotten corner of the world, someplace so remote and inaccessible that not even Sylus with his vast resources would think to look.

But you were never naive enough to believe it would be that easy.

In the silent hours before dawn, when the city outside your new apartment windows hummed ever so softly, the truth would wrap around your throat like cold fingers. If Sylus ever truly wanted to find you, he would. No amount of running, carefully constructing false identities, calculating distance would stop him. 

The realization should have terrified you. Instead, it settled into your bones like an old scar, familiar, aching, but no longer sharp. So you did the only thing you could: you became invisible. Not by hiding, but by thriving in the last place anyone would expect to find you.

EVER Group. Those gleaming letters embossed on every lab door, every piece of correspondence, every business card that now bore your name. Eternity Vanquishes Evolution Restraint. A name as pretentious as it was accurate. They didn't recruit through job postings or career fairs. They hunted. For minds like yours. Sharp, adaptable, willing to dance on the edge of ethics if it meant progress. 

And when they'd found you six months after your disappearance, when they'd slid that first offer across the table with promises of resources beyond imagination and challenges worthy of your mind, you'd said yes without hesitation.

Your new title, Human Augmentation Engineer, rolled off the tongue with clinical precision. The work suited you in ways you hadn't anticipated. Your days were spent in sterile white labs where the air smelled faintly of ozone and disinfectant, your fingers dancing across holographic displays as you designed biomechanical enhancements that pushed the boundaries of human limitation. 

Cardiac regeneration systems that could theoretically keep a heart beating forever. Neural interfaces that blurred the line between human thought and machine precision. 

The ethical implications would have kept a lesser person awake at night. For you, it was just another equation to solve.

The irony wasn't lost on you. EVER was, by any reasonable standard, monstrous. Their research ventured into territories that would terrify most people. Resurrection protocols, memory extraction, experiments that could theoretically stop death. And yet, for the first time in longer than you could remember, you were happy.

Mornings began with the quiet ritual of coffee brewed exactly how you liked it, black with a single sugar, sipped while reviewing data from your latest prototypes. Your colleagues greeted you by name, their respect earned through competence rather than fear. Meetings were lively debates rather than tense performances, your ideas were met with genuine interest rather than dismissal. There was a birthday celebration for you, a real one, with terrible store-bought cake and off-key singing.

Your apartment, small but yours, became a sanctuary. The couch was worn in just the right places, the kitchen stocked with foods you actually enjoyed rather than what was expected. Evenings were spent curled up with research journals or trashy novels, the city lights painting shifting patterns across your walls.

No more straining to hear footsteps in the hallway. No more rehearsing conversations in your head, measuring every word before it left your lips. No more choking on the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes.

You thought about him, of course.

It was impossible not to.

Sometimes when you passed a certain shade of crimson in a shop window, his colour, your breath would catch just for a moment. The scent of expensive bourbon would still make you turn your head. And on rare nights, when sleep eluded you, you'd find yourself wondering. Did he still keep that ridiculous collection of antique pistols? Had he replaced you immediately, or had he waited out of pride, if not sentiment? Was she still there?

But the thoughts came less frequently now. When they did surface, you’d forget about them after a moment or two. Did it hurt? You weren't sure. More importantly, you didn't care enough to find out. This life, this messy, complicated, gloriously ordinary life, was yours by choice. Every late night at the lab, every terrible office party, every quiet evening alone was a decision you'd made for yourself.

And you didn't regret a single second of it.

The past was a closed door.

***

Two years.

Two years of silence.

Two years of waking up expecting to see you in the study, bent over reports with that familiar furrow between your brows. Two years of catching himself turning to make some dry remark, only to remember that there was no one there to hear it. 

He had to admit. You'd outsmarted him.

The realization still tasted like broken glass.

Sylus sat in his office, the glow of a dying fire casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. The room smelled of leather and gun oil, of expensive bourbon left untouched in its crystal decanter. His fingers traced the edge of a file, your file. The one he kept locked in the bottom drawer despite having memorized every word.

Page 37 showed your favorite café, the one with the terrible coffee you pretended to enjoy because the owner reminded you of your grandfather. Page 89 mentioned your habit of humming off-key when working late. Page 203 contained the little notes he’d leave for you around the house. He knew you loved his handwriting. He’d known the moment you asked him to write down everything he needed done instead of telling you. 

He snapped the folder shut.

Mephisto had been his masterpiece. Programmed to follow you silently if you ever left unannounced, to watch over you when he couldn't. A safeguard. A gift, in his own twisted way. But you'd known. Of course you'd known. The way you'd manually shut the bird down with the sole purpose of running away from him, haunted him more than any ghost ever could.

He'd searched every corner of the N109 Zone. Burned through favors, called in debts, even risked venturing into rival territories himself. Nothing. No whispers in the underground, no sightings in the usual haunts. Just empty leads and dead ends piling up like corpses.

His fingers tightened around the glass.

He'd been a fool.

All those carefully calculated moves, every strategic play, and he'd still managed to lose the only piece that ever truly mattered. Standing too close under the guise of examining your work. Leaning down just to catch your scent, ink, gunpowder and something faintly floral. Asking you to move in like some lovesick idiot instead of just saying it.

What kind of boss invites a mere employee to live with him?

The answer burned in his chest.

One who couldn't admit he'd rather die than watch you walk out that door.

His fingers found the scar along his collarbone. Four precise lines from when you'd stitched him up after a job gone awry. You'd been furious he'd gotten shot, even after seeing him heal himself, you still insisted on medical care. Your hands steady but your voice trembling as you told him exactly how stupid he'd been. That was the moment, if he was honest with himself. When he'd known.

Then, a knock came at 2:17 AM.

He didn't bother looking up. "If this is another dead end, don’t bother coming in."

The door creaked open, revealing two familiar silhouettes, tall, lean, their features obscured by those masks they never removed. Even in the dim light, he could tell them apart instantly.

Neither spoke.

Sylus set his glass down with deliberate precision. "Well?"

They exchanged glances, Luke's mask tilting just slightly left, Kieran's right hand twitching toward his hip holster. A full three seconds of silence.

The decanter shattered against the wall behind them.

"Where is she?"

Kieran didn't flinch at the spray of glass. "EVER Group's Bioengineering Division. Senior augmentation specialist." His voice was flat, but the way his thumb rubbed against his index finger.

A long silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock.

The name hit like a bullet. The irony was almost poetic. His brilliant, cautious girl hiding in the belly of the beast itself. His laughter cut through the silence, sharp and humorless. "Of course she is."

Luke’s gaze shifted from Sylus to his brother. Then, all of a sudden he blurted out, "She's happy."

Sylus' cufflink caught the light as he reached for his pistol case.

“Get the car.”

***

The alarm screamed at 5:00 AM.

Your hand slapped over it before the third shrill could shatter the fragile peace of your apartment. For three breaths, you lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling where dawn’s first light painted watercolor streaks through the stained-glass window. The sheets smelled of lavender detergent. Real lavender, not the synthetic crap they pumped through EVER’s ventilation systems.

The shower scalded just shy of painful, steam curling around the bullet scar on your left hip. You scrubbed with a lemon-scented soap, the odour sharp enough to cut through the chemical fog that clung to your skin after long days in the lab. 

The mirror fogged over, but not before you caught sight of the woman staring back. Nearly unrecognizable from the ghost who fled N109 Zone. Your hair was now cropped into a sharp bob, your cheekbones pronounced from actually remembering to eat. Only your hands remained the same. Steady, scarred, capable of both delicacy and breaking a man’s wrist in three places.

You dressed methodically. Black tailored slacks with the hidden knife slit in the right seam, a white blouse buttoned to the collarbones, a lab coat starched stiff as a corpse’s shroud. The ridiculous 3-inch Louboutins Luke stole for your birthday pinched near the pinky toe, but you wore them anyway. The coffee brewed strong enough to dissolve spoons, poured into the chipped World’s Okayest Engineer mug Kieran gifted after your first successful mission.

The elevator to Sublevel 7 smelled like antiseptic and ozone. You balanced the coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, scrolling through today’s schedule when Dr. Cho’s voice interrupted.

“Dr. (reader)!”

He clutched a sealed dossier to his chest like it contained nuclear codes, sweat beading along his receding hairline under the fluorescent lights. “You are reassigned,” he blurted. “Effective immediately.”

The coffee turned to acid in your throat.

Conference Room B smelled like, well, cool, clean air.

Twenty-seven faces stared back as Cho announced Project HDS-7213, EVER’s first live-subject augmentation trial. Your promotion to Lead Biomedical Engineer. The way his voice hitched on live sent a tremor down your spine.

“Congratulations,” Mara whispered, nudging a thicker dossier across the table. “You earned this.”

The file weighed more than it should’ve. Page 1: Subject M-7. Male. 28 years old. Page 3: Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Page 9: Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your thumb left a smudge on the surveillance photo, a blurred figure in black attire. “Why bother with a photo?” Mara commented.

“Mara,” you murmured, tapping the Evol classification. “We never worked with anyone above Class IV.”

Her knee pressed against yours under the table. “Remember those Tesla-looking monstrosities they brought in last week? Turns out they are portable suppression fields.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing to worry about. I guess.”

Frowning, you turned your gaze back to the file. Your mission was clear cut. Suppress the subject’s Evol to null and transfer it to another subject. You gulped. Wouldn’t that kill him? What had you gotten yourself into?

The walk to Lab 7 took exactly 4 minutes and 37 seconds. You counted each step, each sip of now-cold coffee, each erratic heartbeat as clearance doors hissed open before you. The file revealed another horror. Subject resisted standard sedation (they switched to a veterinary elephant tranquilizer).

The final door required retinal scan and voiceprint.

“Dr. (reader), authorization code Rose-9-White.”

The locks disengaged with a sound like bones breaking.

Lab 7 was colder than the morgue.

Your heels clicked against frosted glass flooring as you approached the observation window. The suppression field hummed at a frequency that made your teeth ache. Coffee sloshed over the rim of your mug as your hands betrayed you.

On the other side of the glass was a man. Not just a subject.

Chained in a chair that looked more like a medieval torture device, his bare torso marked with fresh burns where the electrodes bit into flesh. Blood crusted along his split lip. Silver hair matted with sweat and something darker near the temple. His head lolled forward, chin nearly touching chest, but you could see the rise and fall of ragged breathing.

Then, as if sensing your presence he looked up.

Crimson eyes locked onto yours through the glass. Not the dull gaze of a sedated prisoner. Not the wild glare of a feral test subject.

Your mug shattered on the lab floor.

Because the man strapped to that chair, the man whose file now trembled in your hands, was Sylus.

[taeghi]

let's collab | (m)

⇰ summary : you've always vied for the top spot on onlyfans but "hluvsbabes" makes it tough with his undeniable charm and looks. when you unexpectedly meet him you realize he's even more captivating up close. despite the competition, you find yourself unable to turn down his one request.

⇰ pairing : camboy!heeseung x camgirl!y/n

⇰ genre : smut!! masturbation, vibrators lol, dirty talk, oral, throat fucking, unprotected sex, degrading, praise, sir kink, spanking, brief spitting and hair pulling lol.

⇰ word count : 10k (8k of it is just pure, filthy smut) !!!

⇰ taglist : @criminalyun @princeseung @seokseokjinkim @loveydoveyhee @immelissaaa @iselltulips @strxwbloody @ensaz008 @loavibeycipoosan @liwugy @starfallia @you-make-skz-stay @ineedsomezzz @heeshlove @niniissus @mirramirra @skzenhalove @fandom-freak-geek @lilifiedeans @woahhhhaw @cchangli @enhabooks @heelovesmeknot @fakeuwus @soobinsnovia101 @river-demon-slayer @jjklvr9 @hanjisunginc @iamliacamila @jaylaxies

mdni

you started ‘darlingdove01’ when you needed some extra cash in your second year of college. at first you didn’t show your face at all and you were nervous that someone you knew was going to find out. godforbid your parents found out about your sex work. 

over time, you started to get more comfortable in front of the camera and started to show your face. though you never said your real name. you had started to get a close following and were at the top of the creators of the week every week. the way it worked was that the longer you were number one, the more increase of pay you got. though, you had never been number 1 for more than one week at a time. 

all thanks to hluvsbabes. 

it seemed that every week you and hluvsbabes would alternate who was number one. no matter what new things you tried to increase your audience and views, the next week you were back at number two. 

the day that you were fed up with always being put back to second was the day that you would very soon regret. 

you were lazily scrolling through the app when you noticed hluvsbabes had just started streaming, so, you clicked onto the livestream. 

and there he was. hluvsbabes shirtless with his hard cock pulled out of his pants and sitting in between his fist. his pale skin gleamed against his computer screen light, showing off his abs. he had a black mask covering the lower part of his face. his bangs fell into his squinted eyes as he casually pumped his cock up and down in his fist. 

you couldn’t stop your jaw from going slack as you took in the sight before you. you could tell his mouth was in a playful smirk as he watched the comments fly. suddenly a tip of 20$ flew in the corner of the screen : “take ur pants off pls”. 

you could hear his dark chuckle through your speakers, “mmm, only because you said please.” 

you watched him do as the viewer asks. he dug his thumbs into his pants and boxers and pulled them down to reveal his pale legs that matched the rest of his body. 

he seemed so confident and casual as he sat in his chair fully nude, as if 8,000 people weren’t watching him right now. 

“is that better for you?” his voice asked with a tone of amusement. you watched him laugh as all the comments immediately filled with variations of “yes”. “what else do you want me to do? tell me.” the comments were instantly filled with nasty things that you have to admit you also wanted him to do. 

you had figured hluvsbabes was hot since he was always top one or two, but you didn’t think he would look like this. and that his voice would be so seductive. 

“i won’t be taking off my mask, guys.” hluvsbabes shakes his head with a chuckle, he’s just so amused with his fans. along with his fans you also wished he took off his mask. you would love to see the mouth that formed such seductive words. 

suddenly, a tip came up in the corner of the screen of 100$, “start jerking ur cock, baby”. your jaw dropped at the amount of the tip. you had only ever received 100$ worth a few times in the past two years. hluvsbabes didn’t even seem that shocked by the amount as he did as he was told. 

his hand started to move faster up and down his hard cock. the tip of his cock looked so red and swollen in the light of his computer screen. 

“will you spit on it for me, baby?” hluvsbabes whines out and you instantly shut your legs together. 

the comments are gradually picking up pace, commenting demands and praises, asking questions for him to answer. you can hear his deep grunts through your speakers as he keeps his bang covered eyes on the comments. 

a 15$ tip pops up in the corner again; “tell me i’m ur good girl pls”. 

hluvsbabes amusingly shakes his head, “of course you're my good girl. do you have your fingers in your panties? how wet are you? tell me how wet you are, good girl.” 

you’re in shock from his words, the comments, the amount of tips and from how hot hluvsbabes is. 

his deep laugh distracts you from your thoughts. he throws his head back on the chair’s headrest, making his bangs reveal his forehead. even with his mask on, you can tell that his mouth is open agape from the pleasure he’s feeling. 

“fuck, guys. i’ve been thinking about this– about you all day. my dick has been hard since my morning class.” 

the thought of him having to walk around with a hard cock all day because he thought of getting off in front of thousands of people only turns you on more. he continues to move his hand up and down his cock, his grunts getting louder and louder. 

“i-i’m getting close. i wish you were here to taste my cum, shit.” 

it was getting to the point where you couldn’t ignore the tingly feeling starting to increasingly grow in the pit of your stomach. you felt entranced by him, not being able to take your eyes off of your screen. you had only planned to watch a couple of minutes just to see what the hype was about, but now you’ve been watching him for close to twenty minutes. you lean onto your desk uncaringly over your keyboard and your heart stops when you see : 

darlingdove01 : ghj

your eyes widen at your username in the comment section, praying to god none of his 15k viewers notices. 

“oh, darlingdove is in here,” hluvsbabes’s voice speaks suddenly, making you jolt away from your computer screen and grab the handles of your chair. he tilts his head and looks directly into the camera as he continues, “how are you, darling? do you like the show? do you like watching me get off?” 

you are in shock and you can’t think of what to do. you never thought you would be in a situation like this. you notice all the comments start filling up with your name as hluvsbabes is still stroking his cock and groaning. 

“maybe she’s too busy with her hands to type right now.” hluvsbabes jokes in a grunted laugh. you cover your mouth with your hands in shock. and you read one comment that says “who can blame her?”. 

and with that, you immediately leave the one and only hluvsbabes livestream you have ever watched, the embarrassment being almost too much.

a few days and a lot of thoughts of hluvsbabes later, you know you have to get back to livestreaming. you had planned a few things for your next live stream despite being busy with college and being distracted by the memories of hluvsbabes. 

the way ‘darling’ slipped from his mouth so casually and sensual. 

usually, people only referred to you as ‘dove’. you didn’t anticipate for darling to be so efficacious. but maybe it was only because hluvsbabes had said it. the way it sounded in his smooth, mischievous tone. it kept you up at night. 

tonight, you had to live stream on your account. 

you started at your usual time; 10pm, in your usual setting; your bedroom. your nightside lamp was lit behind you, being your only source of light besides your computer screen. your body was covered by an oversized hoodie which covered your panties and the top of your bare thighs. 

“hi everyone,” you spoke into your microphone, looking at the rising amount of viewers on your live stream. the comments started piling in, regular questions about yourself mixed with sexual ones that made you laugh to yourself. “my week was good, thank you. how has your week been, guys?” 

you read some of the comments, recognizing some of the usernames that comment. and when you notice a steady amount of viewers and when the comments start teasing you and begging you to start, you begin. 

“tonight,” you start, and sit back in your computer chair, “i think i’ll have some fun with my new toy.” you reach out of the camera’s view and grab the toy you had bought earlier in the week. it was a long, white vibrator. you take your time to show the camera the entire toy, smiling proud of it. “what should we name him?” you giggle out, reading the comments as they flood with names and praises and begging. 

you sit back in your chair, “he has three settings, should i start with the lowest? see how wet he can get me?” you ask, your voice teasing. tips start to come in, telling you to turn it on, telling you that they want to see you cum. 

with a flick of your thumb you turn it onto the lowest setting. a low buzzing sound fills your bedroom, entering the mic for your audience to hear. you lift your feet so they rest on the chair, your knees up in the air. your hoodie bunches at your waist for your panties and bare legs to be revealed. you press the vibrator against your clit over top of your panties, testing it. 

“oh god,” you moan, “even the lowest setting is good.” you inform your audience, keeping your eyes on the camera and comments. you giggle when you read a tip that tells you to move it in circles. “want me to move it? want to watch me pleasure myself?” the comments flood with yes’s. 

you start to move the vibrator in slow, small circles around your clit. wanting to tease yourself and the audience for as long as possible. you would be lying if you said it didn’t feel good. the feeling of the vibrator against your pulsing clit and the eyes of hundreds of people watching you in real time. 

a tip catches your eye; 

heesacc tipped 50$! : that looks like it feels good, darling. why don’t you move up a setting.

your eyes linger on the word darling and the large tip they gave you. 

“okay, let’s put it up to the medium setting.” you agree, your finger flicking the button up. the buzzing becomes louder as the toy starts moving faster. your hand still moves the vibrator in slow, small circles over your panties. “fuck, this is even better, baby.” 

you read comments that compliment you, that tell you they wanna see you cum right now, that you should remove your clothes. 

“want me to take my clothes off?” you tease the camera, your free hand playing with hem of your oversized sweater. “tell me what you want me to take off.” the comments tell you that they want you naked, that your sweater should come off, that everything should come off. 

heesacc tipped 50$! : take your sweater off and play with your tits, darling. rub your nipples and pretend it’s me.

“wanna see my tits? wanna see me play with them just for you?” you bite your lip at the tip, but do as they said, putting down the vibrator for a second as you pull the sweater off your core. your breasts being revealed to the audience. you look at yourself in the mirror, noticing the large wet stain on your panties from your juices and the vibrator. “oh my god, look wet i am.” you wiggle so your panties can be seen better on camera. the large wet stain evident in the computer screen’s light. “this is how good you make me feel.” 

you read the comments that say they wish they were there beside you, that they want to rip your panties off. 

you pick up the vibrator again, still on the medium setting. your one hand holds the vibrator steady against your covered clit, as your free hand comes up and starts to tweak your nipples. your forefinger and thumb hook your nipple, rolling it. you let out moans at the feeling, your back arching off your chair naturally. 

“fuck, i love playing with my nipples, it turns me on so much.” you state honestly, switching between nipples with your fingers. 

heesacc tipped 70$! : let’s see how swollen your pretty pussy is, darling. 

you gulped as you read the tip come through. just reading the words sent a shiver straight to your core. you swore your pussy got so much wetter as you finished reading it. 

you set the vibrator down again, “you wanna see my pussy, baby? wanna see how wet and swollen you got it?” you tease the camera, your hand dragging across your panties. with the multiple “yes”’s commenting, you start to slowly slide your panties off your legs, showing the camera the larger wet stain on them. 

you lean back in your chair again, the same position with your feet on the chair and knees up, but this time your pussy was visible to the camera. your hand glides down between your legs. you keep your eyes on the camera as your fingers slide through your lips so easily. you whine when your fingers rub over your sensitive clit. “i’m so wet, fuck. you could slip right in. stretch out my tight pussy. god, i need that so bad. need to be stretched out.” 

you reach for the vibrator again, “let’s see how long i can last on the high setting. i’m so close already.” you giggle out to your audience. 

you turn the vibrator to the highest setting, the toy buzzing in your hand as you bring it to your bare pussy. instantly you throw your head back, crying out at the pleasure. your other hand massaging your breast. 

heesacc tipped 100$! : cum like a good girl, darling. 

“oh god!” your eyebrows pull together from the pleasure. your knees start to buckle as the pleasure starts to take over you. “i’m gonna cum! fuck, i’m cumming.” you nod your head and try to keep your eyes on the camera as you hit your high. your bare chest heaves as your orgasm washes through your body, struggling to keep the vibrator on your clit from oversensitivity. 

when your head clears and your body relaxes, you manage to say goodbye to your audience, that you’ll see them again next time. you end the livestream, your eyes reading the tips, resting on the username ‘heesacc’. you had never seen them before, but they tip generously throughout the entire livestream. 

and they kept calling you darling.

you always had to get coffee before class. but your usual coffee shop had a line out the door today, so you had to go to one on campus that you’ve never been to before. though you knew you’d probably be late to class now, you knew you wouldn’t be able to sit through the two hour lecture without your daily coffee. 

you’re distracted by the menu of unfamiliar drinks that you don’t hear the barista question if you’re ready to order until the third time he says it. 

“oh sorry,” you tell him, shaking your head to wake up, “uh, could i get the blonde vanilla latte, please?” you tell the barista. you start to dig through your backpack for some money. 

“darlingdove01?” his voice questions, recognition definite in his voice. 

your head snaps up to look at the barista properly for the first time. your username making your ears and cheeks paint red. “uhh, yeah!” you’ve only been recognized in public a few times, and they’ve usually been at parties or get together, never in a public public place before. 

the barista has dark brown hair that’s covering his forehead. his eyes are big, doe-like and expressive. his features are sharp and delicate at the same time. his complexion is so smooth in the harsh coffee shop lights. “oh, cool.” his voice is smooth as he shrugs, almost impressed. “that’ll be 5.49$, please.” 

so shocked, you scramble to pile some change on the counter, dropping it for him to pick it up. you smile with a faint nod before you walk away for the next person behind you to order. 

you take deep breaths as you wait for your order, telling yourself that it’s okay, that that could’ve gone a lot worse. you weren’t used to people looking at you in public, that’s why you chose to stay behind a screen. 

“blonde vanilla latte!” the barista calls out a few minutes later. you go up and take the cup from him. “have a good day.” he’s polite, and his eyes tell you something that you don’t quite pick up. 

you turn away from the counter, ready to get the hell out of his coffee shop. you glance down at your drink, noticing words written in black on the side. 

let’s collab, hluvsbabes

with his number written underneath.  you turn your head to look back at the barista, but find a woman working the cashier instead. the brown haired boy disappeared from sight. you think back from the one and only hluvsbabes stream you had seen of his. he had kept his bangs over his eyes, hiding how doe-eyed they really were. his mask covered the entirety of his lower face. there was no way to know if the barista was really the hluvsbabes, but his eyes seemed to tell you that he was. that he knew who you were, too.

your fingers hover over your phone’s keyboard. the apparent hluvsbabes’s phone number typed in above, but the message box left empty. you decide to bite the bullet, even if it wasn’t him, all you had to do was block him after and then act like this never, ever happened. 

youhi, uh hluvsbabes? 

only a few minutes pass before you get a response. 

(123) - ***-**** hahaha yeah but you can call me heeseung

(123) - ***-****

hi, darlingdove01!

you

how’d you know it’s me? my name’s y/n btw

heeseung

bc you’re the only one i’ve given my number out to lately

heeseung

and bc i knew you’d text me sooner rather than later ;)

you smile, rolling over onto your back, your phone in the air as you text hluvs- heeseung back. 

you

damn, i knew i should’ve waited a month

heeseung

noooo i’m glad you texted me

heeseung 

i wanted you to text me 

you

righttt, you said something about a collab? 

heeseung

yeahh, i think you should come over sometime soon 

you could hear your heart strumming against your chest at his text. the hluvsbabes wanted to collab with you. you had only been competing against each other on onlyfans for months. and neither of you had done a collab before, solely solo stuff. you wondered if it’d be a good idea or not. 

heeseung

c’mon, you know i can make you feel good ;)

you were leaning towards it being a good one.

later in the week you found yourself outside of hluvsbabes apparent apartment. he had only lived a quick bus ride away from you, both of you living close to your university campus. you were biting your fresh manicure the whole bus ride there. 

heeseung had texted you to make sure you knew he wasn’t expecting anything from you. that he just wanted to get to know you, and hey, if a collab happened then it happened! 

though he was very polite and tried his best to reassure you and make you comfortable, you were still nervous to go to a guy’s house that you had seen masturbate before. you had heard what he sounds like when he masturbates. you had thought about his voice and his moans so many times since the “incident”. you were going to a boy’s house that you had cursed at so many times when you saw that he had passed you yet again in subscribers every few weeks. 

you knock on the apartment number’s door that he had given you. you waited a few quick heartbeats until the door opened. 

there stood the barista you had seen a few days ago. his doe-eyes the same and his long bangs covering his forehead. 

“y/n?” he spoke, a smile on his lips that made him seem even prettier than you remembered. 

you tried to picture what hluvsbabes would look like so many times, and now that you finally got a chance to see him, standing in front of you, letting you in his apartment, you were in shock. 

he was so much hotter than you could have ever imagined– now that you weren’t embarrassed in public when someone said your username outloud. 

“wanna come in or stand in the hall all day?” he spoke again, his eyebrow propped up. 

“oh!” you jolted, “sorry, sorry– i’ll come in.” you tell him, smiling at him as he held the door for you and closed once you were in. 

a quick glance around the apartment and you noticed how clean and home-y it looked. a regular couch, coffee table and tv took up one side of the apartment. and on the other side was a small island in the small kitchen. there was a hall on the far side of the room from you– which you figured led to his bedroom. (the room where he masturbates online for money– oh god!) 

“you can sit down on the couch if you want,” heeseung gestures to the couch, wiping his sweaty palms on his gray sweatpants, “do you want a drink or anything?” 

“uh no, i’m good thanks,” you reply, sitting down on the couch, your hands clasping together in your lap. 

as he sits down beside you on the couch, you think about how after you had texted him the other day you had seen he was live on onlyfans– and how you made sure to not press it. the thought of him seeing you watching his livestream again made you physically cringe. 

“so uh,” heeseung starts, a casual smile on his face as he looks at you, “have you thought? about my offer? about the collab?” 

you nod, “i have,” 

“right, well, we don’t have to do it if you don’t want– like i said. we can just hang out– i just saw you and i needed to give you my number i couldn’t just–,” 

“i wanna do it.” 

heeseung’s eyes widen at your answer, “really? only if you’re comfortable.” 

you nod, “yeah, i want to.” 

heeseung’s body relaxes at your words, “okay, when?” 

“right now?” you shrug at him, “i mean you usually stream soon anyways, right?” 

heeseung thought his mind was gonna explode. the hot girl that he’s competed with for top creator was sitting in front of him on his couch, telling him that she wants to collab with him. she could collab with anyone, but she wanted to collab with him. he couldn’t believe what was happening. 

“o-kay,” heeseung stutters and clears his throat, “uh, is there anything you're specifically into– or not into? i mean i’ve seen your streams so i know some things but i-,” 

“you’ve seen my streams?” you ask him confused and intrigued. 

heeseung fights the urge to slap himself, “i mean, yeah. you’re always top creator right?” 

“right, i just didn’t think that you’d watch them, i don’t know.” 

“why wouldn’t i watch them? you’re hot and you know how to engage with the audience.” heeseung admits honestly. 

you squirm at his compliment. “you’re hot, too.” 

heeseung seemingly relaxes completely at this, finally being able to comprehend what’s happening and what you’re thinking. “thank you, i mean i know you’ve seen my streams before, you commented once.” 

you cover your face with your hands, “oh god.” you groan out. 

heeseung laughs at you, “what? is it bad that you’ve watched me masturbate?” 

“no!” you shake your head quickly, eyes wide, “it’s just– i didn’t mean to comment that time– i didn’t even mean to press it! it’s just, just…” 

“i’m just that hot?” heeseung teases you, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“oh my god, shut up!” you laugh, shoving his shoulder. it’s then that you realize how close you’ve gotten on his couch. 

heeseung laughs harder, his face turning serious again when he speaks, “okay but seriously, anything you are or aren’t into?” 

you settle into your spot on the couch and think, “uh, i think i’m okay with anything.” you shrug, “but no anal though. and i’m more into, it being rough.” 

heeseung smirks and asks, “okay no anal. how about choking?” you nod in response, “slapping?” another nod from you, “how about degrading?” you blush and nod. 

“i’m okay with everything but anal, heeseung.” 

“okay, and if you wanna stop, should we come up with a safe word?” 

you ponder for a second and think, “how about, latte?”

heeseung smirks at you, “latte it is, then.” 

both of you stare at each other, lust and playfulness filling your expressions. somehow, your faces are only mere inches apart now as both of you take in the other’s features. you had only seen each other through a computer screen before. had only read each other's usernames on the top creators list– without even knowing your real names. and now you were about to give each other everything– including your first collab. 

your breath quiets as you look into heeseung’s eyes, scanning the brown in them before glancing down at his pretty lips. your lips are just centimeters away from his when he speaks again, “let’s start.” 

heeseung grabs your hand and pulls you up, guiding you down the hall and into his bedroom. he leans over his computer, setting up his account and livestream. you take the time to look around his room. 

his room is definitely the same one you’ve seen on live steam. the multiple monitors on his computer desk. a basic bed with a black and white comforter. and you recognized the few posters on his walls that he allowed to be seen in his lives. 

“okay, it’s ready.” heeseung tells you, “are you sure you wanna do this? we can stop whene–”

“i’m sure, heeseung.” 

“okay, i’ll press start live then,” 

“wait!” you reach for his shoulder, “what about your mask?” you know he’s never gone live without his mask– it’s the one thing that helps keep his identity unknown.

heeseung simply shrugs at you, “i mean, i can’t really eat you out with a mask on, can i?” 

your mouth drops open, but before you can say anything, the camera light flicks on, signaling that you’re live. the camera is pointed towards heeseung’s bed behind you as heeseung ushers you to sit on his usual gaming chair, he stands beside it. 

“hi guys,” heeseung says cooly to the camera. he lowly chuckles to himself as the comments start pouring in. there seems to be hundreds of comments in a second about “darlingdove01” and heeseung’s face. a lot of the comments are talking about how hot heeseung is and that they “always knew he’d be hot!”.  

“today we have a very special guest, darlingdove01 is here,” heeseung gestures to you. you wave at the camera, watching the viewer numbers grow higher and higher as the introduction continues. “and she told me that she likes anything… but anal.” 

“hey!” you shove him playfully with your shoulder. 

he only chuckles before continuing, resting his arm over the back of his gaming chair behind your head, “so today, i’m gonna do anything to please her.” he takes his other hand and cups your chin so you’re forced to look at him, “does that sound alright, darling?”

“yes,” you tell him, watching his warm brown eyes turn darker as you make eye contact. you can tell he’s no longer heeseung, but instead he’s “hluvsbabes”. 

“yes what?” 

“yes, sir.” 

“good girl,” heeseung leans down and presses his lips onto yours. you don’t have time to register that you are kissing the hluvsbabes. his lips are soft against yours, but their movements are deep and rough. just from the kiss you can tell what direction this live stream is going in. he pulls away too soon for your liking, “pull up your shirt.” 

your hands reach for the bottom hem of your shirt and lift them so your bare breasts are visible to heeseung and the audience. 

“fuck,” heeseung groans, his hands cupping both of them. both of you mentally note how perfectly they fit in his warm hands. he turns to the camera, “doesn’t she have the most beautiful tits?” 

heeseung starts to tweak both your nipples in between his thumbs and forefingers. your hand flies to grip the handle of the chair, your back arches into his touch. 

“that feel good?” he asks you with a smirk, obviously amused by your reaction. 

“yes, sir. they’re sensitive,” you admit. 

“are they?” heeseung tilts his head, “keep playing with them, then.” 

your hands replace heeseung’s. your hands are definitely not as big and as warm as heeseung’s. but you massage your breasts, your fingers playing with your nipples like he told you to. 

meanwhile, heeseung starts to kiss down your revealed torso, his hands unzipping and pulling down your shorts so fast. you watch him get down on his knees in between your legs, his hot breath against your panties. heeseung groans once he’s eye level with your core and can see the faint wet strip on them. he could always see how wet you were on livestream, but now he gets to see in person. 

“i wanna make you feel good,” heeseung says against your skin, pressing kisses on your inner thighs, your legs spread wide for the camera to see. “are you gonna do whatever i say?” 

“yes, sir.” you nod down at him, watching his tongue lick his lips so close to your pussy. ‘i wanna be your slut.” 

heeseung chuckles against your skin, his fingers slip inside your panties as he speaks, “let me feel my slut’s pussy then.” 

you take a deep breath as his fingers start to massage your clit, exploring your pussy for the first time. he’s thought about his fingers touching you so many times before. he could hardly believe that you were actually in front of him right now. 

“you want me to taste your pussy, darling?” 

“please,” your voice sounds so breathy when you speak again, his fingers pressing hard. 

“ask me to.” 

“please taste my pussy, sir.” 

with that heeseung slides his middle finger into your core. it feels so long as it reaches right to your g spot immediately, as if he knew it’d be there. your jaw drops open as he pushes his finger in and out. a whine leaving your mouth as you start to move your hips to meet his finger. his palm is massaging your clit as he moves his fingers in and out of your core. 

heeseung then pulls his finger out of you, “take off your panties, show everyone your pussy.” heeseung leans more to the side as you do what he says. your panties drop to the floor and your legs are on either side of his gaming chair. “fuck, doesn’t she have the most perfect pussy, everyone?” heeseung is staring at the camera as he massages your thighs. 

heeseung’s lips meet your core before you can comprehend. he’s making out with your clit, the sloppy sounds fill your ears and the audience’s as he sucks your clit into his mouth. he reaches his finger up to slide into your core again, so easily. 

“my finger barely fits in there,” heeseung smirks. 

his mouth continues to lick and suck on every part of your pussy. his tongue circles your clit in his mouth. your hand is gripping the chair arm as you watch him, unable to contain your moans. 

“fuck yes, sir.” you cry out, throwing your head back from pleasure. you don’t think anyone has been able to make you feel this good with their mouth before. your ex’s could never make you cum at all. 

heeseung is moaning against your core, letting you and the audience know that he is also enjoying this, “god this pussy tastes so good, tastes better than i’d ever imagined before.” your stomach tightens at his words, feeling high on the pleasure heeseung’s mouth and fingers is giving you so easily and the audience watching you both. “keep playing with those tits, darling.” 

your hands fly up to your sensitive nipples, almost forgotten by how pretty heeseung looks while he makes out with your pussy. your body’s whole senses are heightened. heeseung can start to feel you clench around his fingers as your hips start to buck up to his mouth, wanting more of him. 

“fuck that feels so good.” you whine out, your eyebrows furrowing together at the pleasure. 

“are you gonna cum?” heeseung asks lowly. he watches you nod at him, unable to form words. 

then, heeseung rips away from you. his mouth and finger gone and before you can realize, he’s standing again beside you. his hand wrapped around your neck gently– forcing you to look at him with your legs spread. 

“you have to ask for permission if you want to cum,” heeseung’s voice is stern as he looks you in the eyes, “understand?” 

“yes, sir.” 

heeseung’s smile returns as his hand leaves your neck, “here, taste yourself.” your mouth opens for heeseung to slide his finger inside your mouth. your lips close around his finger, sucking it into your mouth as your tongue swirls around it, wanting to taste yourself. “good girl.” heeseung removes his finger, and instead presses a kiss to your lips, softly, passionately, as if to check in on you. but you’re so hungry for an orgasm that you really would do anything right now. “are you ready to make me feel good?” 

“yes, sir.” 

“get on your knees.” 

you sit up, closing your legs for the first time and feeling how wet your inner thighs were. heeseung pushes his chair to the side as he stands, looking down at you as you kneel before him. “you wanna suck my cock?” heeseung questions you, noticing how you tighten your thighs at his question. his hand slides down on your chin for you to look up at him. you nod in response to him. “ask me.” 

“can i suck your cock, sir?” 

“good girl, take it out.” 

your hands work to unbutton his pants, pulling them down to his upper thigh to release his cock. you just have to stop and marvel at it. there in front of you is hluvsbabes huge cock that you had thought about stretching you out for weeks. it’s much bigger in person you think. it’s hard, and the tip is so pink as some veins swirl down it. 

“open your mouth.” heeseung starts to glide his dick into your mouth. your hand coming up to grip the base of it as your lips close around the tip. “god, keep those eyes on me.” heeseung groans out as you start to such his cock. heeseung keeps his hand on your head, hsi fingers meshing with your hair. 

you do keep your eyes on him with as much of his cock as you can manage in your mouth. your hand jerks what you can’t fit as you moan against his dick. 

“god you’re so big sir,” 

“yeah? think it’ll fit inside your pussy? think it’ll stretch you out so good?” heeseung retorts, watching your mouth work on his cock. he’d be lying if he said you weren’t making him close to his orgasm already, your innocent eyes looking at him as your mouth sucks his soul out. 

“yes, sir, please– want your cock so bad.” you speak before going back to sucking his cock. your tongue circles the hot, pink tip of it before tracing the delicious veins. your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth. 

“are you gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth?” 

you nod at him with his cock still fully in your mouth. heeseung moves both of his hands to grip your head as your own hand drops to your thighs, so tempted to play with your clit, but you know sir wouldn’t approve. 

heeseung starts to slowly move his hips so his cock moves in and out of your mouth. he stops when the tip is at your throat– feeling your throat tighten against the tip. he almost pulls out fully everytime, just so that the tip is at your swollen lips before he pushes back in again. 

“oh, my fucking god,” heeseung moans out, looking at the camera monitor to see him fucking your pretty mouth. your mouth feels too good for him to even notice that the viewer count is at 16,000. “play with my balls like a good girl.” 

heeseung continues to fuck your mouth as your hand reaches fro his balls. they are heavy in your palm as you start to massage them gently. tugging on them and moving them around easily with your salvia that has dripped down. 

heeseung pulls his dick fully out of your mouth, letting you breathe for a moment. you could feel your pussy drip down onto his carpet– you hoped it wouldn’t stain. 

“open your mouth,” heeseung tells you. your jaw drops open, revealing your used tongue and mouth. heeseung leans over you and let’s a drop of his spit lands right onto your tongue before he starts to hit his dick against your tongue. he mixes your spit with his on his cock and both of you groan out at that the thought of it. 

heeseung goes back to fucking your mouth. his grip on your head tight as he’s picked up the pace of his hips. his cock sliding so quickly in and out of your mouth. the sounds of your saliva and gurgling against his cock fill the room and microphone. 

“that’s it, like that, like that like a good girl,” heeseung groans out his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he feels his own pleasure boiling. probably boiling too much if he wants this to last any longer. 

heeseung pulls away from you and pulls you with him for you to sit on the floor while he moves back to sit on the edge of his bed, his feet on the ground for you to sit in between them. your chest is heaving from excitement and lack of air. you watch as heeseung pulls down his pants fully and throws them on the floor beside his bed. 

heeseung’s hand wraps around your neck as he looks down at you, “you ready to get fucked, darling?” 

“yes, please.”

“ask me to fuck you.” 

“can you please fuck me, sir.” 

“get up on the bed and turn around.” 

heeseung’s voice is demanding as you scramble to stand up, your knees tired from kneeling for so long. you get up on his bed for the first time. you turn around so your ass is towards him in the air, your face pressed into his bed. 

heeseung pushes your chest further into his bed by placing his hand on your back, “stay like this like a good girl, okay?” 

“yes, sir.” 

“i’m gonna fuck this little pussy just like the slut you are.” heeseung grunts, spreading your ass cheeks more for him to slide his cock right inside of you.

the stretch of his cock is just what you imagined it would be. it’s almost blissful once he’s fully inside. you can feel the tip of his cock basically reaching your cervix. once he’s bottomed out completely, both of you groan out into his bedroom, pleasure taking over both of you. 

“there we go, darling,” heeseung grunts through his teeth as he starts to slide back out of you. both of you feel each and every vein of his cock sliding against your oh, so wet walls. “let sir fuck you like a slut.”

heeseung’s one hand grips your waist as the other one stays on your back. his hips quickly pick up pace, his cock easily going in and out of you due to his saliva and your juices mixing together. your hands grip the blanket on his bed, crying out into the bed as you finally get what you want. 

“oh my god it’s so big!” you whine out, your eyes trying to focus on the camera. 

“yeah? it’s so big and full just for you, it’s all just for you.” heeseung grunts out, his bangs covering his forehead like usual, his eyes entranced only on you. he watches as your entire body jerks forward everytime he slams his cock into you. his hands run down and grab your ass, wanting to finally feel it after he’s seen it so many times on your livestreams. 

heeseung slaps your ass, making you cry out a curse. the pain of it turning you on even more. you can feel the wetness dripping down your thighs as heeseung fucks you even rougher. heeseung’s balls are soaked from your juices. 

“reach down and rub your clit for me.” heeseung demands you, trying to keep his voice steady when he speaks.

you manage to sneak your arm under your body to start rubbing circles on your clit with your index and middle fingers. you instantly cry out. with your fingers on your clit and heeseung managing to hit your g spot with every single thrust the pleasure starts to boil up more and more in your tummy. 

“oh shit!” 

“you better not cum unless i tell you to,” heeseung smacks your ass again, harder, a warning. “you hear me?” 

“fu-fuck yes, sir.” 

heeseung suddenly grabs you up from the bed from under your arms, mumbling a “come here” before he turns you to face the camera. both of you standing now with his cock still lunged inside of you. 

“let everyone see this fucking slut’s body.” heeseung grunts out, staring directly at the camera as he continues to thrust up into you from the back. he reaches over your front, rubbing your clit for you now. your head is thrown back onto his shoulder, trying to keep standing upwards. “you like everyone seeing me use you like this? like using you to get off?” 

“f-fuck sir, can i cum? please?” you whine out, barely being able to keep your eyes open as you look at him. 

“yeah? you wanna cum, darling?” heeseung voice is almost teasing as he doesn’t stop his movements. 

“please let me cum, sir. please i’m so close.” 

“ok, cum for me, do it.” heeseung nods, his grunts loud in your ear as he manages to fuck you faster and faster. 

you can’t lift your head from being thrown back onto heeseung’s shoulder. your body feels weak as heeseung fucks you infront of the camera, probably hundreds of people watching you come undone on hluvsbabes’ cock. you’ve been so close to orgasming for which feels like hours at this point. 

“i’m cumming! i-i’m cumming!” you manage to cry out. your moans get higher in pitch as you finally reach your high. 

if heeseung wasn't holding your body up with his arms, then you wouldn’t fell straight to the floor. the pleasure was almost over consuming. your body was on high sensitivity everywhere. to be honest, it had been awhile since anyone besides yourself or your vibrator had made you cum. that probably not getting any dick for a while and then fucking the hluvsbabes would probably make you feel as lightheaded as you do now. 

heeseung gently pulls his cock from you, his hands slowing down on your clit before pulling away from it. he leads you to lay down on his bed. your head is on his pillow as he crawls on top of you. your bodies are still very visible to the camera from the way his bed is positioned. 

heeseung starts to press soft, gentle kisses into your neck and jaw, letting you calm down from your very obvious, hard climax. 

you hear heeseung chuckle into your ear before he speaks, “is this a bad time to tell you that i donated to you on your livestream before?” 

through your post-nut haze, your eyes widen as you process the information, “what? when?” 

heeseung laughs before he moves down your body, kissing every (sweaty) inch that he could, “a few days ago i guess, darling. i’ve watched your streams quite a lot to be honest.” 

the way the nickname rolls off his tongue so easily makes it click in your head. “oh my god, you were the person who donated like 200$ the other day!” you also start laughing at the realization. who could not believe that hluvsbabes not only watched multiple of your streams, but also donated to you. your competitor for top creator was also boosting your content. 

“yeah, i didn’t know how or if i should tell you that. but i guess now is the better time.” heeseung pulls away from your body so he’s on his knees hovering over you. “now put those legs up, let me see your swollen pussy again.” 

heeseung helps guide you to hook your arms around your knees, holding your legs up, pressed against your chest. your entire core is exposed for not only heeseung’s eyes, but the camera’s and all of the audience’s. 

“god please but your cock back inside of me, sir.” 

heeseung drags his cock through your folds teasingly, “yeah? the slut wants to be stretched out again?” 

“yes! sir, yes!” 

heeseung guides his cock back inside of you with his hand, bottoming out completely in one thrust. your arms stay hooked around your knees, your hands resting on your ankles to keep yourself from squirming from the pleasure. 

heeseung leans over you, his hand coming down to choke you again. his grip on your neck tight as he starts the previous pace he had. rough and hard. your whole body moves with every thrust, his headboard hitting his wall. 

“oh fuck oh fuck!” you cry out, your pussy so sensitive from being overstimulated. 

heeseung could feel your walls flutter around his cock, “you better not cum.” he pulls his cock out again, his hand slaps the tip of his cock over your clit, making you jerk up into his pillows. “tell me you won’t cum without permission, slut.” 

“i-i won’t cum without permission, sir.” 

heeseung slides back into you, his pace rough. the banging of his headboard in rhythm with his thrusts. your cries of pleasure mixing with his grunts. heeseung keeps both of his hands on your waist as he hovers over you. his main focus is to fuck you so good that you forget everything else. and by the way your eyes start to haze over with pleasure he can tell that he isn’t too far from it. 

“keep your legs up,” heeseung grunts to you, reminding you to keep your knees by your face. your swollen pussy is visible to him now. he has clear access to see his cock fucking into you. your lips are so puffy that he can’t help his thumb rubbing your also swollen clit. your head is thrown back into the pillow, his hard, circles on your clit mixing with his hard thrusts are overpowering you completely. 

heeseung leans over you, his hand gripping your neck again. his face is inches from you, his lips almost on yours. his thrusts don’t stop as he chokes you. 

“you like being a good girl for me?” heeseung asks you more quietly, loosening his grip on your neck for a moment to let you speak. 

“y-yes sir, i love it.” you nod up to him, completely submissive to him. 

“turn around for me again, then.” 

although your body felt weak from the pleasure, your adrenaline was rushing enough for you to be able to get up and turn over quite quickly. your ass up in the air as you grip onto the pillow in front of you. you feel heeseung behind you, lining up his hard, soaked cock with your soaked pussy. 

“push back on it, darling.” 

you let your knees push back, feeling his cock insert inside of you, filling you up yet again. this angle made him feel even bigger. his cock pressing into your cervix is only when you stop pushing back. heeseung’s hands land palm down on your ass when you bottom out. the pain makes you jut forward. the moan that escapes your lips as the pain settles on your ass is sinful. 

“god, i love your ass,” heeseung smacks it again, watching it start to turn red, turning him on more he thought his cock was going to explode any minute now. 

with that thought, heeseung starts sliding in and out of you again. his hand reaching over your back to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail, pulling your upper half backward. the pain from his pulling makes you cry out in the best way. all of your senses seem to be overcome by heeseung. your grip on his pillow that smelt like him, tightened. 

“you like being fucked like this? like being used?” heeseung grunts out to you, his own eyebrows furrowing together as your walls clench around him. 

“ye-yeah, sir.” 

“say it.” 

“i like being used, sir.” 

“look at me while i fuck you.” 

with his hand still pulling your hair, you turn your head to look at him. his face is flushed, his lips are swollen from probably biting them so much. there’s sweat dripping down his line of abs that you just want to lick off. his bangs are sweaty and stuck to his forehead. he looks so hot. 

heeseung continues to fuck you until his thrusts get sloppy, his grunts get softer and his headboard isn’t banging against his wall. you turn to look at him, “let me ride you.” 

his hand smacks against one of your ass cheeks, making you cry out, “ask me.” 

“can i please ride you, sir?” 

heeseung pulls out of you, both of you switching places so now heeseung’s head is in the pillow that you were gripping. his legs are flat out against the bed as you crawl over him. both of your knees are on either side of him as you look down at him now. 

slowly, you start to sink down onto his cock. you close your eyes as he bottoms out in you once again. this angle felt entirely different. you could feel how hard and big he was inside of you. heeseung’s hands run up and down your bare thighs, letting you get use to the angle. 

“you good?” he asks from below you, concern on his face. 

“yeah, just sensitive -is all.” you shrug to him and start to move slowly. you start out slow, wanting to build both of your orgasms again. your knees lift your body up and down with the help of heeseung’s hands on your waist, he helps lift you. 

your hands grip your tits, massaging them again. your sensitive nipples hard against your palm. you start to bounce down on his harder, his tip hitting your g spot everytime now. you cry out in pleasure again. 

“fuck just like that,” you tell him, your eyes closed as you nod to him. 

“like that?” heeseung teases you, his cock hitting your g spot again. 

“y-yes,” you tell him, bouncing harder. 

“fuck, i love his pussy,” heeseung grunts to you, “so warm and tight around my cock.” 

“oh my god,” your body falls forward, your hands resting on either side of his head as heeseung takes over the thrusts completely. his hands on your waist as he thrusts his hips upwards into your pussy. “fuck, sir.” 

heeseungs grip on you leaves you to go nowhere. just stay on top of him as he fucks into you. your knees feel weak against his mattress. you can feel his balls slapping your ass every time he bottoms out in you. heeseung can feel your juices dripping down onto his lower stomach. 

“okay turn around, slut, let the audience see you.” heeseung gently pushes your core up and off of him. your mind feels dazed as heeseung has to literally, physically flip you over on him. 

now that you’re in reverse cowgirl, you can see yourself in the camera’s monitor. heeseung lays underneath you still, so just your bare body can be seen completely. you look so different you usually do, you’re glowing. 

your feet and arms hold your body up over heeseung, his hands on your waist as he slides himself up into you. 

“oh fuck!” you cry out, watching heeseung dick disappear inside of you in the camera. you start to bounce up and down on his cock again, though you keep your eyes open to watch yourself. 

“shit, keep going, baby.” heeseung grunts below you, “just like that.” 

with every thrust heeseung’s balls are hitting your clit. you can hear a wet squelch between your bodies everytime you move. your pussy is so wet around his cock. heeseung wraps his arm around your body, massaging your clit with his fingers in a circle once again. 

“yes, sir! rub my clit, sir please!” you cry out to him. your hands sturdy yourself on his chest behind you as you continue to bounce on him. his cock filling you up every time. his hard balls slapping against your pussy. his fingers keep moving against your clit. “i’m so close, sir, so close!” 

suddenly, heeseung’s fingers stop and he’s pushing you off of him. your chest is heaving as you look back on him. your pussy is clamping around nothing, so desperate to cum. 

“lay down,” heeseung is also out of breath when he speaks, “wanna see your face when you cum.” heeseung grabs your forearm and helps you lay down again. he puts your one leg up to your face, allowing him access to slide into your fucking soak pussy again. 

heeseung holds your leg up, while the other starts to rub your clit again. his thrusts continue to stretch you out, to hit your cervix over and over again. you aren’t sure how much longer you can last with this much pleasure he continuously gives you. you’ve never had sex this good before. 

“want me to fill up your little pussy?” heeseung grunts above you. 

“yes, sir.” 

“ask me.” 

“please cum inside of me!” you cry out, heeseung’s hand smacks your thigh before returning to hold your leg up, “own this pussy, fucking own it it’s yours!” 

“oh fuck!” heeseung grunts out, your words making him closer to his own orgasm so quickly. 

“oh my god i wanna feel you fill me up so bad, sir.” you were becoming so desperate, so needy. you wanted to cum so bad. you wanted heeseung to cum so bad. 

“fuck me, keep talking, keep talking, darling.” 

“please cum inside of me! i want it so bad!” you tell him honestly. his thrusts making your whole body move with each thrust. you can feel his cock start to twitch inside of you. his moans getting higher, mixing with your own. 

“fuck, baby, i’m gonna fucken cum,” heeseung tells you, his fingers rubbing your clit faster and harder. 

“me too, me too.” you cry out, your eyes closing as the pleasure takes over you. 

heeseung’s eyebrows furrowed together as the pleasure became too much for him, too. curses and moans fill up his bedroom– entertain the audience that’s watching you through the camera. he feels your walls clench harder around him than ever before as his cock starts to spurt his white sperm. 

heeseung paints your walls with his cum as you grip his forearms tight. your second orgasm making your body feel numb from how good you feel. his thrusts finally stop as his grunts slow down. his cock rests inside of you as he lays on top of you. both of you catching your breaths and coming down from your highs for one second. 

“fuck,” heeseung curses in your ear, his chest heaving against yours. he finally pulls out of you, both of you watching his cum slowly trickle out of your pussy. “god that’s so hot.”  heeseung reaches down to swipe some of his cum. 

you immediately open your mouth, wanting a taste of it. heeseung rests his fingers on your tongue, letting you taste his salty sperm. you moan around his fingers, sucking them dry of his cum. 

“you’re such a good girl.” heeseung grunts out, “you’re gonna make me hard again.” 

you laugh around his fingers, “i wouldn’t be opposed to that.” 

heeseung smirks at you and kisses you deeply. both of your eyes closing as you welcome the other’s lips. the taste of heeseung’s cum not bothering either of you. 

heeseung pulls away from you and is the first to stand up. he reaches over and tosses you his shirt to slip on before he heads back to his computer desk. 

you easily slip on his shirt and pull his sheets and blanket over top of your bare legs. 

“holy shit.” heeseung exclaims, pure shock and what almost sounds like fear in his voice. 

“what?” you sit up in his bed properly, trying to look at his computer screen. 

“there’s 30,000 viewers right now.” 

“holy shit.” you cover your mouth. you had never had that many viewers before in your life. 30,000 viewers, it’s literally like yours and heeseung’s fan bases came together to view your live stream. 

heeseung clears his throat, “uh, thank you guys so much, really. we hope you enjoyed, right?” he looks over at you from his shoulder. 

“right, we’ll see you next time, hopefully. thank you.” 

“right, because there definitely needs to be a next time.” heeseung winks and with a final wave he ends the stream. you notice the red light on the camera turns off. 

you lay back in heeseung’s pillows, feeling tired as your legs gain back their strength. you hear heeseung hum gently as he fixes things on his computer, on his hluvsbabes account. you feel relaxed as you lay in his bed, wanting to sleep so bad. 

“holy shit!” heeseung yells louder suddenly, his humming stopping as he pushes his chair back, standing up in only his boxers. 

“what?” your heart races, concerned from his yelling. “what happened?”

“y/n,” heeseung turns to you with a silly grin on his face, “do you know how much money we made off of that?” 

you sit up straight, leaning closer to him though he’s meters away, “how much, heeseung.” 

heeseung can’t contain his excitement when he states, “15k.” 

“oh my god!” you cover your mouth, not believing what you’re hearing. “you’re fucking lying.” 

“no i’m not! come look!” 

you stand up, legs wobbling a bit, but heeseung catches your arm nonchalantly. bringing you over to sit in his chair again. there, on the computer screen, is the number 15,000$ in tips connected to the livestream you had finished. 

“oh my god, heeseung!” you turn to him, your excitement meeting his. both of you wrap your arms around each other, your squeals filling the room as you rock side to side with excitement. “15k!” 

“15k!” heeseung shouts back as he pulls away slightly, his hands still on your waist. 

“now we definitely have to do it again.” you tease him. 

heeseung smiles, but you notice his shoulders tense, “yeah, but before that,” heeseung swallows harshly, “could we go on a date?’ 

you sit up in his chair, wearing his shirt and nothing else, “wow, the hluvsbabes wants to go on a date with me.” 

“of course, i mean, i recently got a lot of money. so, i can spend it all on you.” 

you shove his shoulder with your hand, “of course i’ll go on a date with you, heeseung.” 

“really?” heeseung asks, his face lighting up so prettily. 

“yeah, but only if you fuck me really good after.” 

“that, i can definitely promise.”

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)

[carnalcrows]

SWEET AS SIN - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x ftm reader

synopsis: A humble baker’s life takes a dark turn when a mysterious customer becomes dangerously obsessed—until one night, he wakes up bound and trapped.

content warnings: 18+, dubcon (borderline noncon), reader has a vagina, gun play, squirting, drugging, kidnapping, dead dove do not eat.

word count: 1.0k

The first time you saw him, he was just another customer.

It had been a slow morning at your bakery, the scent of freshly baked bread filling the air as you wiped down the counter. The bell above the door jingled, and in walked a man in a crisp suit, his slicked-back hair perfectly in place. There was something oddly magnetic about him—the way he carried himself, the confidence in his steps, the way his piercing eyes scanned the shelves like he was hunting for something more than just bread.

“Morning,” you greeted, forcing yourself to break the silence. “What can I get you?”

He smiled—a sharp, calculated thing. “Something simple. A loaf, maybe.”

You nodded, wrapping up a warm loaf and placing it on the counter. He paid in cash, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed over the bills. His touch was cold, yet his grip lingered a second too long.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” he mused, glancing around as if memorizing every inch of the shop.

You shrugged. “Pays the bills.”

His eyes flickered back to you, something unreadable in them. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

It wasn’t a question.

And true to his word, he kept coming back.

Days turned into weeks, and the suited man became a regular.

He never gave his name. Never asked for anything specific. But each visit followed the same routine: a loaf of bread, a polite exchange, a lingering look that made your skin prickle with unease. He never overstayed his welcome, but his presence stayed with you long after he left.

There was something off about him. Something… unsettling.

And yet, you couldn’t deny the thrill that crept up your spine whenever he walked through your door.

One night, you closed up late. The streets were empty, the moon casting long shadows over the pavement as you locked the door behind you. You barely made it a few steps before a sharp prick stung your neck.

Your vision blurred. The world tilted.

And then—darkness.

When you woke up, the scent of flour and something metallic filled your nostrils. Your head throbbed, and as you tried to move, the unmistakable bite of rope burned against your wrists.

Panic shot through you. You were tied to a chair. The dim glow of candlelight flickered around the room, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

And then you saw him.

The salesman sat across from you, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in his lap. He was watching you, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

“Finally awake,” he murmured, tilting his head.

Your heart pounded. “What the fuck is this?”

He sighed, standing up and pacing toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “You must know by now. I’ve been watching you for weeks, admiring you… wanting you.”

Your breath hitched. The air was thick, suffocating.

“You kidnapped me.”

He hummed. “I prefer to think of it as… securing what’s mine.”

Your pulse roared in your ears as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up. His touch was almost gentle—almost.

“You belong with me,” he murmured. “You just don’t see it yet.”

Your lips parted to curse him, to fight back, but then—click.

The cold press of metal pressed against the side of your temple.

A gun.

Your entire body went rigid.

“Shh,” he whispered, his other hand sliding to your throat, his grip firm but not tight. “No need to be scared.”

Scared? You were terrified.

But there was something worse—something worse than the fear, something you hated yourself for. The way his breath ghosted over your lips. The way his fingers pressed into your skin, possessive, demanding. The way the heat between you was suffocating, intoxicating.

And then—he kissed you.

It was slow at first, teasing, testing, his lips moving against yours with a dangerous kind of patience. The gun stayed at your temple, a silent warning, a reminder that he controlled everything. You wanted to recoil, to push him away, but your traitorous body betrayed you.

The kiss grew hungrier, his grip tightening as he deepened it. His teeth scraped against your lower lip, drawing a gasp from you.

He chuckled, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “See? You fit so perfectly against me.”

Your breath was ragged, your mind a whirlwind of fear and something worse.

He roughly tugged down your pants and boxers, leaving your lower half exposed– making you shudder.

“Hm? What’s this?” he questions while his glance moves to your puffy cunt– leaking and gleaming with the dim light of the room. This certainly wasn’t something that he had expected.

Before you could answer– you took a sharp intake of breath. He had slid the gun from the side of your temple all the way to your pelvis– resting near the clit. Your heartbeat thundered in your ear drums, the fear and tension muddling up your brain.

He dragged the gun to your cunt at a painstakingly slow pace, before pushing the tip in. You moaned, your head falling back against the chair. God you hoped the gun wasn’t loaded.

Without waiting for you to take in a breath, the man pushed the gun almost all the way up your hole, making your thighs involuntarily cave inwards. He used his other hand to push your thighs back apart, as he watched with fascination as the dark metal worked its way in and out of your sopping wet cunt.

This was so, so, wrong– but then why did it feel so good?

The hand that was holding your thighs apart made its way to your clit– rubbing circles around the overstimulated bud. You writhed in the rope’s grasp– the pleasure being way too much

Soon– you felt your orgasm (whether you wanted it to happen or not), wash over you like a raging stream. You screamed as you practically squirted your release all over the man’s hand and his gun.

The man adjusted his posture before sliding the gun out of your cunt and pressing it back to your forehead, before bringing his other hand back to your face– pulling you in for another kiss.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, trailing his lips down your jaw. “And I take care of what’s mine.”

The gun pressed just a little harder.

And deep down, you knew—there was no escaping him.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[pseudowho]

"Hey, Nanamin!"

Kento looked over his newspaper, to the bubblegum boy gleaming into the staffroom. Kento hummed, his cover-all noise for greeting, confirmation, disapproval, etc.

"I'm buying us lunch today. Know anywhere good to eat?" Yuuji bubbled, pulling his wallet out with a flourish.

Kento frowned, firm in his chastisement. "You should save your money, Itadori-kun. You don't buy lunch when you're with me. It's wasteful, frankly, for someone with minimal income such as yourself. You should be more sensible with your money."

Yuuji's bottom lip puckered, but he remained bright and doubled down. "It's just, you buy lunch every time I'm on a mission with you, and-- and I'm really grateful, it's just that today--"

"I appreciate the offer." Kento stood, clipped, moving over to you, witnessing the exchange from your place by the coffee machine.

Kento turned away from Yuuji, pouring another coffee. "But it isn't necessary. I don't expect you to be offering to buy an adult lunch, when you should be building some savings. When you have time, I can talk you through what sorts of savings accounts you can--"

"Ahhh no no no Nanamin it's okay, I...I'm good. It's okay. I'm...I'm good." Yuuji deflated, his rainbows muting. "I'll uh...I'll see you after you eat, then, yeah?"

Yuuji closed the door. You tippy-tapped your fingers on the counter, looking shrewdly at Kento as he washed his used mug. You mused aloud.

"Yuuji hasn't got a dad." Silence. Splashing water. You sipped your coffee. "Hasn't got a grandfather either." Kento bristled, wondering as to your meaning, placing his mug upside down to drain.

"I assume you have a poin--"

"It's Father's Day." Kento froze. His brain whirred. "You buy your Father lunch on Father's Day to show you appreciate him--"

"Please excuse me." Kento walked to the staffroom door, frantically paddling below a smooth surface. The door closed, clicking politely. You heard Kento's steps speed up as he ran down the corridor, hearing him growing fainter as he called in the distance:

"Itadori-kun. Come back! Itadori-kun! Buy me lunch!"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento's fingers itched to reach for his card in his favourite coffee shop, clenching his fists instead as Yuuji counted out his cash. Kento couldn't deny, sat at the window with a casse-croute, that seeing Yuuji's face light up with the joy of gift-giving, made it all exquisitely worth it.

Yuuji's joy was fragile. He broke the silence over his panini.

"...I'm sorry it's not much."

"It's perfect. This is my favourite meal. I'm..." Kento broke off, his voice thick, his mind lost somewhere in the bustling crowds beyond the window. Yuuji brimmed with pride.

"...thank you, Yuuji."

[iydiamartinx]

THIS IS WHY THERE'S ONLY ONE BED

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader x Roy Harper

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 4.1k synopsis: Caught in a storm after a mission, you, Jason, and Roy are forced to share a motel room—where they end up helping you sleep in more ways than one.

a/n: It's 3 am and I'm half asleep editing this so I blame that for any errors or if anything sounds weird. To my Anon who requested this, I hope you liked it ♡ To my under 18 readers, sorry guys this one is not for you.

warnings: Dom Jason & Roy, DP...

The rain was biblical. A curtain of water hammered down from the sky as if the heavens themselves had opened up. Your boots sloshed through ankle-deep puddles as you sprinted from the abandoned warehouse to the rusted-out pickup Roy had hot wired earlier. Jason was right behind you, muttering curses under his breath while stripping off his soaked gloves.

“Hell of a storm,” he growled, slamming the door shut behind him.

“No shit,” Roy snapped, wringing out his drenched red hood. “We need to get off the roads before we hydroplane into a ditch.”

You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed, watching lightning carve jagged veins across the sky.

The only open place for miles was a flickering roadside motel that looked like it belonged in a slasher flick. Faded sign. Buzzing neon. A cracked Vacancy light sputtering in the window. The lobby smelled like mildew and nicotine.

“There’s only one room left,” you announced flatly after speaking to the man at the desk, dropping the key onto the table between you three with a dull clack.

Jason blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding, let’s just sleep in the car. and save the cash”

You shot him a look, arching a brow. “You want to sleep in a metal death trap during a lightning storm?”

He didn’t answer, but his scowl deepened. For someone who always claimed being adopted by a billionaire hadn’t changed him, his inner snob was definitely showing.

Roy leaned against the wall nearby, shaking rain from his hair. He let out a sigh as he dropped his soaked cap to his side, water dripping onto the already stained floor. “We’re lucky there’s anything at all,” he said. “I vote we take the room. Worst case, I steal a pillow and sleep in the bathtub.”

Jason’s jaw ticked. “I swear to God, if you snore—”

“Then you can sleep outside, princess,” you snapped, snatching the key back off the table with a roll of your eyes. “Let’s go.”

The three of you braved the torrent once more, pushing through the downpour as you made your way across the lot and veered toward the exterior staircase. Rain lashed at your backs, soaking through already-wet clothes as you climbed up to the second floor, your boots squelching against the slick concrete.

You were halfway down the corridor, counting the faded room numbers, when a figure stumbled toward you from the opposite end.

A man—middle-aged, soaked, and reeking of alcohol—swaggered closer, barely keeping his balance. His grin was crooked, yellowing teeth on full display as his bleary eyes landed on you.

“Well, aren’t you a looker,” he slurred, gaze crawling across your body without shame. “Hey honey, if those two can’t fuck you right, good ole Earl’s just next door.”

Before you could even respond, both Jason and Roy stepped in closer—shoulders squared, jaws tight, their bodies a wall between you and the leering man.

Jason’s glare could’ve shattered glass. Roy didn’t say a word, but the murderous glint in his eyes said plenty.

The man didn’t seem to get the hint—or maybe he was too drunk to care. His gaze dragged over you once more, slow and shameless, before he gave a greasy wink and turned, staggering toward the room directly beside yours.

The second his door clicked shut, Jason muttered, “I’m not above committing a felony tonight.”

Roy cracked his neck, still watching the door. “If he even says one more word, and I’ll help you bury the body.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes, brushing past your two overprotective best friends as you stepped up to your own door. The key rattled in the lock, and the motel door creaked open with a long, miserable groan—hinges rusted and squealing like the place hadn’t seen a maintenance crew in a decade.

You stepped inside first, flicking on the light—and froze.

Jason nearly ran into you. “What—?”

“There’s only one bed,” you said flatly.

Roy squeezed past the two of you, tracking wet footprints across the peeling linoleum as he took a good look around. “No couch either,” he muttered. “Figures.”

Jason scoffed and crossed his arms as thunder rumbled overhead, rattling the thin windows. “Great. This just keeps getting better.”

You groaned and scrubbed a hand down your face. “Okay. Someone takes the floor.”

Jason didn’t hesitate—his gaze snapped straight to Roy. “You.”

“Excuse me?” Roy scoffed. “Why me?”

You arched a brow, unimpressed. “What happened to stealing a pillow and sleeping in the tub?”

He paused. His gaze drifted toward the cracked bathroom door. Slowly, cautiously, he stepped closer and nudged it open wider. The second he got a full look inside, he recoiled in horror and slammed it shut.

“Absolutely not,” he declared. “That tub is fucking filthy. I’m pretty sure it’s harbouring the next stage of biological warfare.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Then floor it is.”

“Like hell,” Roy snapped. “I’m not waking up with roaches in my sleeping bag. Again.”

You looked between them, already regretting every choice that had led you to this moment. One bed. Two stubborn idiots.

Roy huffed and paced a few steps, running a hand through his wet hair. Jason muttered something under his breath that you didn’t catch—but whatever it was, it made Roy’s head snap back around.

Roy threw his hands up. “You always have to make everything harder than it needs to be, man. You’ve been bitching since we started this mission—either deal with it or go pout in the rain.”

Tension crackled in the air again, and then—predictably—the arguing began. IIt went on for over five minutes, neither of them backing down, and when it showed no sign of slowing, you sighed—loudly—knowing you had to step in before someone got thrown off the balcony.

“Yeah? You’ve got a big mouth—why don’t you use that to talk yourself into a better hotel next time?” Jason hissed, stepping forward.

“There was none available, genius,” Roy snapped. “And I didn’t talk to the man, she did!” He jabbed a finger in your direction, then took a step forward himself. “If you’ve got such a problem, go sleep in the damn car like you wanted to in the first place!”

“I don’t have a pillow!”

Roy threw his hands up with a dramatic huff. “You’ve got a bulletproof jacket. Fold it and use it as a pillow. Problem solved.”

You’d had enough.

“Enough!” you snapped, throwing your arms in the air. “Jesus. You’re worse than children.”

They both blinked, caught off guard.

“We’re all tired. We’re all soaked. And we’ve all nearly died at least once in the last twenty-four hours,” you continued, stabbing a finger toward the bed. “We’ll just share the fucking bed.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath. Roy muttered a reluctant, “Fine.”

You gave them both a look—sharp and full of warning—and they wisely dropped it.

Reluctantly, all of you agreed that you needed to wash off the blood and grime clinging to your skin and clothes. There was no arguing about it—just the silent, shared understanding that you couldn’t crawl into bed like this, no matter how dingy the bathroom was.

Jason went first, then Roy, each emerging from the tiny bathroom with damp hair and towels slung around their necks. Steam still curled out behind them in thick waves, spilling into the room. The scent of cheap motel soap mingled with warm skin, leather, and something distinctly masculine.

Finally, it was your turn.

You sighed, grabbing one of the boys’ extra shirts and a clean towel before slipping into the bathroom. The water was lukewarm at best, but it did the job, washing away the dried blood, grit, and hours of sweat clinging to your skin. By the time you stepped out, the storm was still howling outside, thunder rumbling like distant cannon fire—but the room itself had gone still.

Too still.

You tugged at the oversized shirt you’d pulled on—one of Roy’s, judging by the faint cologne clinging to the collar. The hem brushed your thighs, your panties just barely concealed beneath it. Barefoot, hair damp, you crossed the room slowly, wringing out your towel as the air shifted.

You rolled your eyes when you saw the narrow gap left between them on the bed—just enough space for you, if you didn’t mind wedging yourself between two immovable, half-naked walls.

Jason sat propped against the headboard, arms crossed, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, a muscle shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. Roy was sprawled on the opposite edge of the mattress, shirtless, his joggers slung low, hair still wet and clinging to his forehead in messy strands.

Both of them looked up at the same time.

And neither of them looked away.

You felt it—their eyes tracking every step, every slow drag of your legs across the floor. The cling of cotton to your still-damp skin. The subtle lift of your shirt as you moved, just enough to tease the curve of your ass before you dropped your towel on the back of the chair.

Jason’s jaw flexed.

Roy’s eyes moved slowly over you, lingering just a beat too long before flicking back up to your face.

It wasn’t like you’d packed pajamas before this mission. The plan was to get in, get out, and be home in time to crash in your own bed—if the storm hadn’t stopped you. 

Sighing, you moved to crawl between the boys, sliding into the narrow space they’d left for you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, and for a moment, no one said anything. Just the low hum of rain against the windows and the occasional creak of the storm-battered building filled the silence.

But after a few minutes, the cold crept in.

The blanket was too thin to be of any real use, and the motel’s ancient heating system had clearly given up when the power flickered earlier. The chill slipped through the walls and into your bones, slow and merciless. You curled in tighter on yourself, trying to breathe through the shivers—but it must’ve been obvious.

Roy shifted beside you with a quiet sigh. “Please don’t kick me.”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

Before you could ask again, he reached over and gathered you up, tugging you firmly into his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist. The heat of him hit you instantly—bare skin, warm and solid, radiating through the thin fabric of your borrowed shirt. You gasped softly, surprised by the sudden closeness, but he didn’t let go. One hand slid to the small of your back, holding you steady against him.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, the words more to himself than to you. His voice was quieter now, thick with sleep and something else—concern, maybe.

Then, behind you, the mattress dipped again.

Jason didn’t say a word as he moved in, slipping in close and tucking himself against your back. One arm draped over your waist, his palm brushing lightly against Roy’s where it still rested. You were surrounded now—bracketed on either side by heat and solid muscle.

It should’ve felt crowded. Uncomfortable.

But it didn’t.

Between the two of them, the cold started to fade, your shivering easing bit by bit as their warmth settled into you. Roy’s hand remained firm on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your hip. Jason’s chest pressed flush to your back, his breath ghosting across your neck with every exhale.

None of you spoke.

But your heart was pounding now—not from the cold.

From awareness.

From the way Roy’s thumb dipped lower, brushing beneath the hem of your shirt—lazy and unhurried—before retreating back to a more respectful place on your waist. To the way Jason’s fingers curled just a little tighter around you every time your body softened against his

Your thighs squeezed together. You tried to focus on the storm outside, but it was nothing compared to the quiet heat building between the three of you.

You swallowed hard, lips parting. “Thanks,” you whispered.

Jason hummed low against your ear. “Anytime.”

Time passed. Outside, the storm continued its relentless assault, but inside the room, everything remained still—except for your heartbeat, quick and erratic beneath your skin.

Jason’s breathing had evened out behind you. Roy’s grip had gone slack in front of you. For a moment, you thought they’d both drifted off.

But you hadn’t.

Not even close.

Trapped between their bodies—warm, solid, far too tempting—you were painfully awake. Every brush of breath against your neck, every inch of bare skin against yours, kept your nerves lit like live wire. The heat that had started as comfort was now simmering beneath your skin, licking up the inside of your thighs.

You shifted, slowly, unconsciously. Just a little, enough to press your legs together. Seeking relief. Something. Anything.

You nearly gasped when Jason’s grip tightened around your waist with bruising intent.

“Stop moving,” he growled low in your ear, his voice rough with sleep—or something very close to it.

You froze, pulse skittering. “I can’t sleep,” you whispered back.

Jason’s lips grazed your shoulder, and the quiet rumble of his breath rolled against your skin as he leaned in.

“You keep grinding against me like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, darker now, “and you’re not gonna be sleeping at all.”

Heat surged low in your belly, a sharp pulse of desire cutting through the haze.

Your breath caught as you felt Roy stir slightly in front of you, shifting just enough to press his thigh between yours again—close, far too close. You weren’t sure if he was awake. You weren’t sure if you cared.

Jason’s hand spread across your stomach, fingers splayed low, thumb stroking slow against the edge of your shirt. “What do you need, then?” he asked quietly. 

“I—” You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

A beat passed. His lips grazed your skin again. “You want me to stop?”

You shook your head before you could think better of it.

Jason’s breath hitched. “Then keep still, baby,” he murmured, teeth grazing your shoulder now. “Or I’m gonna.”

Behind you, he pressed closer, his body fitting against yours like it belonged there. His hand moved, slipping past the curve of your waist, between your body and Roy’s.

And then under the hem of your shirt.

You sucked in a quiet breath as his fingers dipped lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. The touch was slow—testing, giving you a chance to back out but you only shoved your ass back into him, silently urging him to continue.

Jason groaned low, his lips brushing your skin. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough with restraint. “You’re soaked.”

You whimpered, barely audible, your hips twitching in response—but his hand tightened against you, holding you in place.

“Uh-uh,” he whispered darkly. “I told you to stay still.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, heat pooling deep in your belly, thighs squeezing around the hand still lazily exploring.

And then Roy stirred.

You felt the shift of his muscles in front of you, his hand moving to your waist—just inches from Jason’s—and his voice came low, hoarse with sleep and suspicion. “What’s going on back there?”

You opened your mouth to answer but at that same moment Jason slipped a finger inside of you and all that came out was a breathless sound caught halfway between guilt and desire.

Jason, maddeningly calm, murmured, “Someone couldn’t sleep.”

His tone was casual—too casual—for someone whose fingers were moving so deliberately, stroking you from the inside like he had all the time in the world.

Roy’s eyes opened fully now, sharp and glinting in the low motel room light. He looked down between you, the pieces falling into place with startling clarity. His voice dropped to a knowing murmur. “Well, shit, baby… you need help sleeping?”

Your body jerked when Jason curled his fingers just right, brushing a place inside you that made your head spin with pleasure. 

You whined as Jason curled his fingers towards that soft spongy part inside of you. 

A helpless sound left your lips, needier than you meant.

“Use your words,” Roy said, voice smoother now, dangerous in its ease. his gaze met Jason’s in the dark and Jason immediately stopped moving. 

You pushed your hips back instinctively, trying to find relief—but Roy’s grip held you firm.

Jason’s lips were at your ear now, breath hot. “We’re not doing anything unless you ask for it.”

Your throat worked around the ache building in your chest, in your stomach, between your thighs.

“Yes,” you gasped out, breathless. “Please—don’t stop.”

Jason’s fingers started moving again, slow but deliberate—teasing, then pressing deeper, dragging along every sensitive spot with calculated precision. He alternated his touch, one moment stroking inside you, the next circling your clit with maddening care. 

Your breath came faster, soft sounds escaping before you could bite them back.

In front of you, Roy had pushed your shirt up with one hand, the fabric bunching beneath your arms. He groaned when he got a full view of you in the dim light, his palm splaying across your ribcage, thumb brushing up toward your breast.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice dark and reverent. “You’re so damn pretty like this.”

You squirmed in their grip, overwhelmed and desperate for more, caught between Roy’s roaming hands and Jason’s sinful fingers.

Jason’s mouth was at your ear again, his voice low and rough. “Think she likes the attention.”

Roy leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone as his hand gently cupped your breast. “Think she needs more.”

You whimpered, body caught in a tug-of-war between their hands, their mouths, their voices—both of them touching like they wanted to learn you from memory.

“You still with us, sweetheart?” Jason murmured.

You nodded shakily, voice barely a whisper. “I want…”

Roy smirked against your skin. “Yeah?” he murmured. “Then tell us, baby.”

But your words dissolved into a moan as Jason’s thumb found just the right spot—and from the way Roy’s eyes darkened.

“Come on, baby, use those words or we’ll stop and leave you all needy and aching.” Roy urged with a croon as he leaned down to a suck a nipple.

Your back arched off the bed with a cry and shakily you said, “I want you both, I want you both to fuck me.”

Jason stilled, his breath catching. Roy’s eyes darkened as he looked up at you with a gaze full of sin, “Then you’re gonna get exactly what you asked for, baby.”

In one smooth motion, Jason hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down. The fabric slipped down your legs, discarded somewhere in the dark. Then he shifted behind you, his hands firm as he guided you up and over, so you were straddling Roy. 

You hadn’t even realized he’d shed his sweats.

The heat of him pressed against you, your thighs trembling slightly where they framed his hips as your pussy leaked all over him.

“Grind down on him—get that cock all nice and wet,” Jason ordered, guiding your hips down against Roy’s throbbing length.

Roy groaned, his hands replacing Jason’s on your hips as he began to guide you, sliding your slick pussy along the length of his shaft. You whimpered, each pass of his crown catching your clit and making your thighs tremble.

Behind you, Jason shifted again, gently pushing you forward, folding you over Roy, and began trailing hot, wet kisses down your spine—deliberately going slow—until he reached the curve of your ass. At the same moment Roy latched onto your nipple, nipping sharply, Jason sank his teeth into your flesh, drawing a cry from your lips.

“If I didn’t want to be inside of you so bad,” Jason muttered, voice thick with restraint, “I’d spend hours marking this body.”

Roy groaned his agreement, mouth full of your tits as he alternated between them—sucking, licking, worshipping each one with desperate, hungry attention. His hands forcing your hips to keep grinding down on him.

Jason pulled back just enough to swipe two fingers through your arousal, then spread it across your tight entrance. He took his time, gentle and slow, as he began teasing you open.

You barely had time to breathe before he pushed a finger inside—right as Roy finally sank into your pussy.

A keening whine escaped you at the stretch, at the burn, as both of them filled you. Your arms shook as you tried to hold yourself up, overwhelmed by the way they began immediately moving—one slowly thrusting in as the other eased out, keeping at least one of them buried deep inside you at all times.

Jason soon slipped in a second finger, slowly stretching you wider. Your lashes fluttered, breath catching with every movement, all thought drowned beneath the mounting pleasure.

“It’s too much,” you panted.

“Come on, baby,” Roy murmured against your skin, his voice thick with teasing heat. “You haven’t even taken Jason’s cock yet.”

“Too big,” you panted, voice breathless and shaky. “You both won’t fit.”

God, Roy was barely fitting already—the stretch had you trembling, every nerve lit as you struggled to breathe through the fullness of his cock and Jason’s fingers.

“You can do it, doll,” Jason crooned, mouthing kisses along your neck before his lips brushed your ear. “Don’t you want to be a good girl and take us both?”

A cry slipped from your lips as Roy suddenly snapped his hips upward sharply. You could only nod—dazed, dizzy on the sudden pleasure—barely processing what you were agreeing to.

You whimpered when Jason pulled his fingers from you, and then Roy eased out too, leaving you feeling suddenly cold and achingly empty.

“Patience, baby,” Roy murmured, gently shushing you. “It’s Jason’s turn to get his cock all nice and wet.”

Jason sank into your pussy slowly, thrusting just enough to coat himself in your slick heat before pulling out again, dragging a moan from your throat.

Roy returned almost instantly, pushing back inside you in one smooth motion, his grip tightening on your hips to keep you still and filled—right where he wanted you.

Your body tensed again as you felt the head of Jason’s cock line up behind you, pressing against your stretched entrance. He went slow, easing in inch by inch.

Your arms gave out beneath you as a cry tore from your throat, the stretch and burn overwhelming. “Oh fuck… it’s too much.”

Roy’s fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, soothing circles as he whispered gently, “You can do it. That’s it, baby… you’re taking us so well. Just relax for Jay, and push out against him.”

You were so tight around him that Jason had to grit his teeth, jaw clenched in restraint, holding himself back from sinking into you in one hard thrust.

All three of you let out a collective sigh as Jason finally bottomed out inside you. You were so fucking full. For a moment, neither of them moved, giving you time to adjust to having them both buried deep inside you.

Eventually, it was you who broke the silence with a low, desperate whine, trying to shift your hips—seeking friction—but failing, too overwhelmed and too thoroughly impaled to properly move.

Jason and Roy shared a grin at your needy state.

“Does our greedy girl need more?” Jason teased.

“Please,” you begged, all but sobbing. “Please, please, please.”

Your eyes rolled back as they finally started moving. They found a rhythm quickly—deep and stead strokes. The friction of both their cocks dragging along your walls was nearly too much, specially as their pace quickened, slamming into you and forcing screams of pleasure from your throat.

“Yeah, there we go, doll,” Jason grunted, his voice rough and ragged. As he hauled your limp body up by the throat. “Scream for us. I want that sleaze next door to know exactly how good we’re fucking you.”

His hand tightened around your throat while his other hand snaked in between you and Roy, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles.

It didn’t take long after that.

Your body stiffened between them as the tightening coil inside you finally snapped. White-hot pleasure surged through your veins, stealing the air from your lungs and washing your vision in blinding light. For a moment, the world slipped away, your awareness fading into static. You barely registered their own release—hot and sticky—painting your skin as they followed you over the edge.

When you finally came to, you were cradled in Roy’s arms, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath you, while Jason knelt between your legs, gently cleaning you up carefully.

“You back with us, doll?” Jason murmured, his voice low and warm.

“Fuck,” you croaked, a tired laugh bubbling past your lips. “This is one hell of a way to help a girl sleep.”

[skzzsya]

my man ?! || lee felix

ᯓᡣ𐭩 felix x fem!reader. genre : fluff & smut.

synopsis. in which your boyfriend gets mistaken for a girl but you're the only one to know how manly he is 𝜗𝜚 ⸝⸝ m.list ♡

You’d lost count of how many times people had mistaken your boyfriend for a girl. Maybe it was his soft features, the way his long hair framed his face, or the delicate way he carried himself in public.

And today it happened again, at a café. The barista, an older woman with kind eyes, had smiled warmly at him. "What can I get for you, sweetheart?" He ordered his usual, then you added yours. But before you could step away, she turned to you with an even bigger smile.

"Your girlfriend is so beautiful!" You saw it happen in real time, the moment your boyfriend’s soul left his body. His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around his wallet. You bit back a laugh, barely holding it together as the woman continued gushing.

"She has such delicate features! You’re a lucky young lady." Your boyfriend exhaled, slow and controlled. Then, without correcting her, he handed over the cash and grabbed the drinks. "Thanks," he muttered, walking away without looking back. You followed him outside, and the second the door shut behind you, you lost it.

"Your girlfriend is so beautiful" you wheezed, clutching your stomach.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "If one more person-"

"But, babe, she wasn’t wrong!~"

His head snapped toward you. "You think this is funny?"

"A little bit." You grinned. "I mean… you are beautiful." His jaw ticked.

“Oh, so you think this is funny?” His voice was dangerously calm, but the way he lifted his eyebrow told you exactly what was coming.

Your breath hitched. “A little bit.”

Felix hummed, tilting his head as he looked down at you. “Alright,” he murmured, fingers curling around your wrist.

"You better make this up to me later," he muttered.

—

The moment you stepped inside, Felix shut the door with a quiet click. The air between you shifted, slowly, he turned, expression unreadable as he gazed down at you.

"Strip." he says. Your breath caught. Felix had always been the gentle type, but when it came to this? He was careful but firm. Always soft, but never hesitating. You swallowed, hands moving to the hem of your shirt. His eyes darkened as he watched you peel it off, followed by your bra, leaving you bare under his heated gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, stepping closer. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

You shivered, nodding as his hands brushed over your sides, fingers ghosting over your ribs before settling at your waist. His lips met yours in a slow, lingering kiss. Not rushed, just deliberate and sweet. His fingers traced lazy circles on your skin, pulling you against his warmth. "You laugh when people call me pretty," he whispered against your mouth, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that made your knees weak.

"But I know what you really think." His hands skimmed down, pushing your pants past your hips until they pooled at your feet. You kicked them off, breath stuttering as his fingers slipped between your thighs, teasing over your clothed heat.

"Already wet," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "You like when I prove myself to you, don’t you?" You bite your lip, nodding.

"Words, baby," he reminded you, his voice teasing.

"Yes," you exhaled.

A pleased hum vibrated from his chest. "That’s my princess."

He slid your panties down, guiding you back toward the couch until the cushions hit the back of your knees.

"Sit my love." And you did as he says. Felix knelt between your legs, eyes locked onto yours as he kissed his way up your inner thigh. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, the strands tickling your skin as he moved.

"You always make fun of me," he murmured, warm breath fanning over your core. "But you love this hair, don’t you?"

Before you could answer, his tongue flicked out, teasing over your clit in the softest, slowest motion imaginable. Your head fell back, a gasp leaving your lips. He chuckled against you, sending vibrations through your body.

"Not so funny now, huh?"

You barely had time to process what was happening before he devoured you. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, tracing and circling with precision. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking just enough to make your thighs tremble.

"Lixie-" you moaned, hands going to his hair.

The second your fingers tangled in his long locks, he groaned, the deep, needy sound vibrating against you. You tugged, just a little, his nails dug into your thighs.

"Baby, mhmm" he rasped, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. "Again."

Testing him, you curled your fingers tighter and pulled, guiding his head where you wanted him. Felix let out a moan, pupils dilating before he whimpered, sinking deeper into your heat. The sound alone nearly sent you over the edge.

"Fuck, Felix ah..."

"That's it, angel," he groaned, tightening his grip on you. "Cum for me."

And with one last flick of his tongue, your body tensed, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your thighs clenched around his head, but Felix didn’t stop, he kept going, drawing out every moan out of your mouth, until you were whimpering from overstimulation. Only then did he pull back, licking his lips as he gazed up at you with a satisfied smirk.

"Still think I’m ‘pretty’?" he teased. Your chest heaved, a dazed smile curling at your lips. "So pretty," you breathed. Felix giggled, shaking his head as he stood.

"You’re lucky I love you."

"Mmh i love you too~." You tugged at his waistband, looking up at him through heavy lashes. "I- need it please." He groaned, already melting as you pulled him down for another kiss. You reached for the waistband of his jeans, fingers brushing over the button. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension in his muscles as he let out a shaky breath.

“You’re impatient, love” he murmured, teasing you again, but the way his hands trembled slightly as he pulled back told you he was just as eager.

“I want you,” you whispered, voice softer now.

Felix groaned, kissing you deeply before stepping back just enough to shed the rest of his clothes. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders as he tugged off his shirt, then pushed down his jeans and boxers, revealing himself fully. Your breath caught. No matter how many times you’d seen him like this, it always stole the air from your lungs. He was beautiful, but not in the delicate, feminine way strangers assumed. He was lean but strong, toned with abs of six pack. His skin glowed in the dim light, a slight flush dusting his cheeks as he hovered over you again. Felix��s hands traced over your body with reverence, fingertips ghosting over your ribs, the curve of your waist, your thighs. He took his time, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then your chest, then lower. “Every single part of you.”

Your fingers curled into his hair again, and he shuddered, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before he met your gaze once more.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, you nodded, heart pounding.

Felix reached down, running himself through your folds, coating himself in your wetness before slowly, so slowly, pressing inside. Your breath hitched as he stretched you, filling you inch by inch, never rushing. His lips found yours again, swallowing the soft moan that slipped past your lips.

“Now, do I feel like a girl to you hm?” he asked, forehead resting against yours.

You exhaled shakily. “N-no.”

Felix nodded, letting out an almost desperate groan before he rolled his hips, pushing the rest of the way in. He stilled, letting you adjust, pressing gentle kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your lips. His hands never stopped moving, caressing your sides, your thighs, grounding you in his warmth. Then, finally, he moved. Slow, deep thrusts, each one dragging along every sensitive spot inside you.

Felix wasn’t fucking you. He wasn’t pounding into you with reckless abandon, he was making love to you. And God, it felt good. His fingers laced with yours, pressing your hands into the cushions as he rocked into you at a sensual, unhurried pace.

“Feels so good,” he murmured against your lips. “You take me so well, baby.”

You whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. The new angle sent a shiver down your spine, pleasure coiling tighter with his slow, precise thrusts. Felix groaned as your walls clenched around him.

“Fuck, angel- just like that.”

His mouth trailed down to your neck, sucking lightly at the skin, leaving faint marks that would disappear by morning. His hips moved in steady, measured rolls, his thrusts pressing so deep, rubbing against that perfect spot inside you. You were falling apart beneath him, he was stretching you so good.

“Lixie-,” you gasped, nails digging into his back. “I- I’m close.”

He kissed you again. “I know, baby. I can feel you.” His pace never faltered, never grew erratic. He wanted you to feel all the love he has for you, to reach your high slowly, beautifully.

His fingers slipped between your bodies, rubbing slow, tight circles against your clit. The added sensation sent you tumbling over the edge, pleasure crashing through you in waves. Felix groaned as you clenched around him, his thrusts growing just a little deeper, a little more desperate as he chased his own release. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin.

“Gonna fill you up, baby ngh...gonna make you feel so good.”

And then, with one last thrust, he broke, spilling into you with a soft, breathless moan. His body trembled, muscles tense as he rode out his high, pressing you firmly against him. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Felix stayed inside you, chest rising and falling against yours, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. His hair tickled your skin as he pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your temple, your lips.

“Are you good my love?” he asked, voice thick with exhaustion and love.

You smiled, still breathless. “More than good.”

Felix chuckled, nuzzling into your neck. “Good.”

He pulled out carefully, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, not letting an inch of space remain between you. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“You’re not laughing anymore,” he teased sleepily.

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Nope heh.”

Felix hummed, already drifting into the hazy warmth of sleep. “Told you I’d prove it.”

And God, had he ever.

─────────౨ৎ──────────

Ehm...this edit inspired me :3

(it's my first time writing this kind of stuff please be nice 🙏🏻😽)

[wandaslovey]

ᴍʀꜱ. ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏꜰꜰ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 7k

authors note: i’m so excited to share this with you guys - this was so much fun to write! i’m planning on writing the first few parts as chapters where one will pick up right after the other and then once i get to a certain point i’ll do random time skips within the same au. oh also! i’m starting a tag list, so comment below if you’d like to be included on the next chapter! enjoy loves! 💕 as usual, this is not proofread.

content warning(s): legal age gap (w=30, n=33, r=23), natasha and wanda being two hot intimidating lawyers (except natasha kinda steals this show in this part, especially in the beginning. don’t worry though, wanda will have her time to shine!), conversation about kinkery and reader knows very little

if you’d like to read the drabble that inspired this series, click here

═════════════

you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your white button-up blouse for the 10th time. you huff, frustrated that your wardrobe just wouldn’t cooperate with you this morning. as you look yourself over in the mirror—the rest of your outfit consisting of a mid-thigh black pencil skirt, some black nylons and black combat boots—you couldn’t help but wonder if your attire was okay for the interview.

the interview…you can’t believe you landed an interview at thee M.R. law firm. you knew how unqualified you were for the position, so you felt extra pressure to compensate somehow with your appearance.

you turn to the side in the mirror, first left and then right, scrutinizing yourself at every angle. you readjust the pieces of hair framing your face that you pulled out of your bun, before deciding you’d done all you could to look your best.

you glance at the clock on your nightstand in the reflection of the mirror, seeing it was time to go. you grab your knock-off brand purse and slip out of your apartment. when you walk down the stairs and open the door to the outside, the noise from the city fills your ears. the sounds of cars, horns, sirens, music and people all blended together, creating a sort of hum all new-yorkers were familiar with. you step out onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding some tourists that were taking a picture in front of the trendy restaurant you lived by. you hail a cab, quickly sliding into the backseat and telling the driver your destination.

now that you were settled in your seat with only the taxi drivers quiet music to distract you, the nerves you’d been attempting to snub out suddenly hit you full force. there was no way you could do this. you were sure you were just wasting your own time and the poor person who had to interview you. you knew your 6 months working as a receptionist at a dentist office nowhere near qualified you to manage things at M.R. law. you mentally curse yourself, thinking you must’ve been half asleep and entirely too desperate when you sent in your application at this place. you needed a job though—urgently. with your roommate moving back home, and no one else taking her place, you were stuck with paying the rent on your own. on top of that, you were still paying back loans for school. you knew you should cut your losses, leave new york and transfer to a much more affordable school, but you really wanted to stay as much as you could help it.

every stoplight you hit along the 20 minute drive only makes you more nervous. the fluttery feeling in your stomach turns into full blown pterodactyls by the time the driver has pulled up to the very tall M.R. building. you pass some folded up cash to the driver, mumbling out a quiet ‘thank you,’ and then step out of the car. you stare up at the intimidating building, the lettering of “maximoff-romanoff law” taunting you—daring you to step inside. you let out a stubborn exhale, squaring your shoulders and walking in with a confidence as fake as grape flavored candy.

you stride over to the front desk, noticing that the only employees in sight are all women.

“hi, i’m here for an 11 o’clock interview,” you tell one of the women behind the desk. she offers you a polite smile, giving you instructions to head into the elevator and up to the 8th floor. you nod your head, thanking her and make your way to your doomsday interview.

as the elevator doors shut behind you, you find yourself all alone in the small space. there was no background music to distract you now. you stare at the floor, noticing a slight glint to the black tiles you were standing on. you listen to the beeps counting up each floor, your eyes dragging up the stainless steel panel when the number reads 8 and the final beep sounds. the doors open and you’re immediately greeted with the sight of more women pacing around the place. some seemed to be in a rush while others were leisurely walking across the floor while chatting with a co-worker. you walk over to the front desk again, repeating what you had told the other kind lady downstairs. she gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the waiting area, letting you know someone will grab you in a few minutes.

you take a seat on the black leather couch, figuring this piece of furniture probably costed more than the rent for your apartment. you cross your legs, interlocking your fingers together at your knee. you glance around the office, taking in the decor. it was very tasteful, some touches of greenery that went nicely with the black and dark woodsy vibe this floor was going for. you try your best to ignore the bile rising in your throat and the pterodactyls still swarming in your stomach. it was a good thing you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

as two minutes turns into ten, and then fifteen, you can’t help but feel the urge to just get up and leave. you felt so out of place here; you couldn’t imagine working at this place with all these women who were so obviously out of your league.

just as you were settling on the idea of ditching this interview, you hear clacking footsteps making their way over to you. you didn’t dare look up yet, pretending to be very interested in the tiny hole in your pantyhose just above your knee.

“miss (y/l/n)?” the most heavenly, sultry voice calls out to you. your eyes slowly trail along the tile, up the woman’s legs covered in black slacks, her blouse and matching black suit jacket, and then finally her face. it was her.

thee mrs. romanoff.

mrs. romanoff was the person who was going to interview you? you couldn’t believe your eyes, or the situation. you clear your throat, realizing you had yet to acknowledge her calling out to you.

“yeah, that’s me,” you reply, standing on slightly wobbly legs. you watch as mrs. romanoff’s eyes slowly take in your appearance, her eyes lingering on your frame. you feel a little scrutinized, wondering if you really did mess up with what you were wearing.

“follow me.” she turns and leads the way. you stumble a bit as you follow behind her, not expecting her to have as long of a stride as she does.

“you’ll have to forgive me for the wait—we had a couple meetings run over this morning,” she talks to you over her shoulder, slowing her walk a little when she notices you’re not directly behind her like she thought.

“oh, no worries. i didn’t mind the wait.” that was technically a lie, but it wasn’t the wait that bothered you as much as the fact that you were left alone with your thoughts a little too long.

she rounds a corner at the end of the hall, pausing and gesturing for you to enter in one of the two doors that were side by side on the wall to the right. you walk through the doorframe, stepping into what you assumed was her personal office.

“have a seat, miss (y/l/n),” she says in a low voice, walking from behind you and around her desk to sit in her chair. you sit in one of the two chairs across from her, your heart thudding violently in your chest from being in such close proximity to her.

you adjust your seating position three times before finally settling in place, forcing yourself to sit still. mrs. romanoff humors you, remaining silent and patient through your nervous fidgeting.

“so, i have to say i was a little surprised to see your application come through to my desk,” she starts and you immediately feel your cheeks grow hot, the feeling of being in a place you don’t belong filling your whole body with dread.

she pauses, and you realize she was waiting for you to respond. right. this was supposed to be where you attempt to prove yourself adequate to work in this position.

“yes, um… well, admittedly i myself did think it was a stretch to apply here, but then i figured, i’m a fast learner, i’m very thorough in all i do and i enjoy learning new things. i thought i’d try my hand at something i haven’t done before.” you rattle off an answer that while it was true, it was also something you rehearsed 20 times in the mirror while getting ready before you got here. you were almost positive the slight robotic edge in your voice was noticeable.

mrs. romanoff hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly at your rehearsed answer. “how well can you handle multi-tasking in a fast paced environment?” her lack of acknowledging your first answer puts a damper on your already fake confidence. you shift in your seat again, finding it harder to maintain eye contact with the sea of green that was her eyes.

“i would say i fare pretty well. i’m usually very good at managing stressful situations.” that was a complete lie—but most people bullshit their way through interviews, don’t they?

“usually?” she echoes, tilting her head to the side. she purses her lips, half attempting to hide a small smirk. she easily picked up on all your nervous antics the moment she saw you. you averting her gaze, walking unsteadily, fidgeting in your seat and the cute rose-y blush currently coloring your cheeks.

you clear your throat, interlocking your hands together in your lap. you notice they’ve already started to feel damp with sweat. “yeah, yeah most of the time i’d say so.”

“well, miss…” she glances down at what appeared to be your application and resume sitting in front of her on the desk. “(y/n)..you don’t sound very sure of yourself.” she sits upright in her chair, crossing her arms and leaning over the desk. your heart beats impossibly faster, the feeling of intimidation settling deep into your bones.

“no, i mean, i am sure—totally 100%.” you try to laugh, but it comes out sounding as nervous as you feel.

“okay, if that’s how you’d like to proceed…” she trails off, looking down at the papers in front of her again. you didn’t know what she meant, but your eyes fall desperately to the same papers she was looking at, as if they could provide some sort of answer to you. “what are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?”

you internally breath a sigh of relief. this was another answer you’d rehearsed in the mirror, it just needed to sound less robotic this time. “i’d say my greatest strengths are, i’m very punctual—i’m always on time if not early—um, i do all things thoroughly, as i mentioned before…i’m very reliable—hardly sick or need time off for family things, and i enjoy a good challenge. my greatest weakness is that i like to be very organized and sometimes i can spend a little too much time completing a certain project before moving onto the next.” you exhale after you finish talking, your eyes flicking across her face to try and get a sense of how she’s taking in your answer.

as you speak, you can’t help but notice that she was watching you so meticulously. it seemed that she was taking in not only your words, but your facial expressions, hand gestures and body language.

she looks at you for a moment as if she’s thinking hard on something. without taking her eyes off of you, she presses a button on her desk, the small ding from an intercom sounding. “joan, please track down mrs. maximoff and have her come into my office right away.”

your heartbeat now thrums loudly in your ears, your breath picking up its pace. you were not only going to be in the presence of mrs. romanoff but now mrs. maximoff too? never in your life had you seen such a powerful couple—and that was only in photos and billboards you’d seen around the city!

“is everything okay?” you ask nervously, feeling the permanent blush on your cheeks travel to the tips of your ears.

“everything’s fine, (y/n),” she gives you a smile but it was anything but reassuring. in fact, there was something about the expression that felt more intimidating with how devastatingly beautiful she was.

she grabs a pen and starts writing something on the paper. whatever it was was brief, but you couldn’t see clearly from your seat.

a quiet knock comes from the door and your posture becomes rigid as you hear who you assume to be mrs. maximoff entering the room.

“you called for me?” mrs. maximoff asks as she walks the length from the door to mrs. romanoff’s side. she walks around your chair and stands next to her wife, placing her palm flat against the desktop and leaning some of her weight on it.

“yes, i wanted you to meet our new interviewee,” she smiles with her lips and gestures to you in your seat. you look between the two beautiful, impeccably dressed women, feeling extremely small and insignificant. mrs. maximoff turns to look at you for the first time, a warm smile gracing her features.

“hi,” she offers simply, extending her hand to shake yours. you sit forward, reaching your arm out to shake her hand across the desk. her hand was incredibly soft and a little cold to the touch, but you wouldn’t expect anything less since the office was kept at such a cool temperature.

“mrs. maximoff is going to sit in on the rest of our interview. is that okay with you?” mrs. romanoff asks, her eyes daring you to object.

you quickly shake your head from side to side, shifting once again in your chair. “no, no that’s perfectly fine,” you reply easily, though you were feeling anything but fine. you notice mrs. maximoff giving her wife a curious glance but she doesn’t otherwise question it.

“let’s move over to the couches so we’re a little more comfortable,” mrs. romanoff stands up and heads over to the long olive green velvet sofa. you follow suit, except you take a seat in the smaller sofa, designed for only one person. mrs. maximoff sits closest to you on the long couch, brushing some of her pretty brown hair behind her shoulder. you watch as she glances back at her wife, mrs. romanoff giving her a certain look that you weren’t sure what it meant.

“so, (y/n), tells us what your career goals are,” mrs. romanoff proceeds with the interview as if the interruption never happened. you find yourself even more nervous to respond now that there were two, hot, older women sitting before you.

“umm…for now i really just need something steady that will simultaneously be giving me good work and life experience.. long term though, i’d like to become a therapist once i finish my masters program.” you bite your tongue once you finish your sentence, realizing this is not the sort of job where you tell your interviewers you’d like to pursue something that has nothing to do with their company.

“what appeals to you about becoming a therapist?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side curiously, just like mrs. romanoff had done earlier in the interview.

you lean back in your chair, a little surprised at her interest in your reply. “well, it’s a cliche answer, but i’m very passionate about helping people. it’s impossible to go through this life without getting seriously hurt and dealing with trauma. the vast majority of us have no idea how to cope or process through our experiences, so just knowing what i know, i’d like to try and be of some help for those who need it.”

the two lawyers look at you thoughtfully, mrs. maximoff nodding her head as you speak.

“that’s a very admirable passion. are you currently enrolled in a masters program?” she asks, crossing one of her legs over the other as she gets more comfortable in her seat.

“i am,” you reply with a shy smile. you never wanted to come across as bragging about your education, so you always sought to speak about it in the most humble way.

“you like school?” mrs. romanoff chimes in, leaning forward as she speaks.

your smile turns a bit rueful as you reply. “yes..i do. i know so many young people my age loathe school and all the hard work that needs to be put in, but…i love everything about it. i love taking notes, making flashcards, studying, taking tests, everything about it, i just love. i know it sounds a little crazy.” you laugh once, suddenly feeling more relaxed as you speak about something so genuinely. you feel a little more surprise again as you hear mrs. romanoff chuckle with you, nodding her head towards her brunette wife.

“sounds like somebody i know. this one here was a school addict. i had to practically pry textbooks out her hands just so we could do anything other than study,” she chuckles again, mrs. maximoff joining in with her.

“i won’t apologize for being so pointed about my studies. we both got straight A’s, didn’t we?” she jokes light-heartedly and you find yourself smiling warmly at their light banter.

mrs. maximoff turns back to face you, a smile still touching her lips. “what else do you do aside from school?” her question makes your face fall slightly as you now had to admit you were technically unemployed. you knew that didn’t look good for potential employers.

“right now, not a whole lot. just keeping busy with my studies,” you respond vaguely to which they both hum in response.

the pair of them continue asking you questions, except they become progressively more personal until they don’t attain to work or working at this position at all.

“do you like living alone? or do you prefer living with others?” was one of the questions mrs. romanoff asks you after you had explained you were currently without a roommate.

even though it was strange, you find that the more you talk about yourself, the more relaxed you feel. mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff both noticed it too. they could see more of your personality showing through as the nerves slowly but surely dissipated.

it had been near 40 minutes by the time mrs. romanoff checked her watch and noticed the time. she looked at her wife, mrs. maximoff seeming to sense her eyes on her as she automatically looked to the side. they shared a look, one of them nodding to the other before turning back to face you.

“well, we’ve kept you here much longer than was intended—i apologize for that.” mrs. romanoff says as she stands, mrs. maximoff following suit. you stand also, smoothing your skirt back over your legs. as you stand so closely to them now, you notice how they were both taller than you by a few inches, making you feel small again like you had earlier.

“it’s no big deal. i’m in no rush,” you smile shyly as you look up at the two of them. you extend your arm out, shaking both of their hands before getting ready to leave. they both give your hand a gentle squeeze and when mrs. romanoff shakes your hand, she grasps on longer than her wife, holding your gaze with a certain intensity.

“we’ll be in touch, miss (y/n),” she says smoothly, calling you out by your first name, and for some reason the combination between her voice and her eye contact made your knees feel weak.

you swallow thickly, nodding your head and thanking them both for the interview before turning away. mrs. maximoff leads you to the door to exit and walks you all the way out to the elevators. you pace the short distance in somewhat comfortable silence. when you turn to face her to say your final goodbye, your surprised to see mrs. romanoff behind her. she was following so quietly that you didn’t notice her presence.

“bye! thank you again,” you smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open. the two women stand side by side of each other, giving you a near identical smile which portrayed some sort of knowing behind it, almost like they were expecting something.

“it was a pleasure meeting you miss (y/l/n),” mrs. maximoff calls out to you as the elevator doors slide closed.

you exhale a breath you didn’t now you were holding, slumping back against the elevator walls.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

that evening, you cook up a box of mac n cheese, too lazy to try and find the ingredients to make anything else. not to mention, your mind was still a little bit jumbled after your interview with thee lesbian power couple.

mrs. romanoff’s words kept echoing in your head.

”we’ll be in touch” she’d said. but didn’t your interview totally blow? especially at the end. it wasn’t so much an interview but rather more like a conversation where people try to get to know each other better. maybe they were looking for a personality hire? you really doubted that though.

you eat your mac n cheese while staring blankly at the wall, thinking over the whole exchange with mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff. as you mindlessly feed yourself spoonfuls of your dinner, you realize you didn’t even know their first names. you remembered you had once seen them on a billboard somewhere but didn’t remember exactly what they were. mrs. romanoff’s first name was natalie or something similar? you were at a loss with mrs. maximoff. you decide to google them to put your curiosities to rest.

pulling out your phone, you google their names and the law firm. after doing just a little bit of digging, you see their full names: natasha romanoff and wanda maximoff. ah, so you were close with mrs. romanoff’s name. you wonder if they only go by their last names at the office. it definitely seemed like their vibe to have things be so professional.

as you go throughout the rest of your evening, showering and getting ready for bed, you continue thinking about them. the longer your mind lingers on them, the less “professionally” you think about them. you couldn’t help but notice how utterly beautiful they both were. they both carried themselves with a confidence that anyone would find intimidating. there was something so forceful about their presences, but not necessarily in a bad way. it seemed like natasha—mrs.romanoff—was a little more rough around the edges, but you could see she easily held a soft spot for her wife and life partner. mrs. maximoff gave off a much more approachable vibe, but she was still intimidating in her own way.

as your mind continues wandering, you find yourself becoming more tired before you finally drift off to sleep, your brain fatigued from all your analytical thinking.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

the first thing you notice when you wake up is the light shining through your thin curtains. you blink a few times, slowly adjusting to the light. you blindly reach over to your nightstand, unplugging your phone from the charger. as you unlock your phone, you notice a missed call from an unknown number nearly two hours ago. you shoot up into a sitting position in your bed, suddenly feeling much more awake. it was just passed 10 am. was the unknown number a call back about your interview?

your fingers furiously swipe on your phone, quickly googling the number for M.R. law. you breath a sigh of relief when you cross reference the digits in your phone and the number online, realizing it was just a random unknown caller. you let your body fall back limply on the bed, your leg dangling off the side as you clutch your phone to your chest. that would’ve been humiliating if they called offering you the job and you didn’t pick up the phone.

as you go about your morning leisurely—not having any classes this day—you try to push the two hot lawyers out of your mind. there was no point in dwelling on them if you’d never hear from them again.

you leave your face bare of makeup, not intending on leaving the apartment and you opt for wearing comfy clothes—or “frumpy” clothes as you called them—instead of something nice.

you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of frosted flakes cereal. you let it sit there for a few minutes to soak up the milk, as soggy cereal was your favorite. you’d argue with anyone who claimed crunchy cereal was best. as you wait, you power up your laptop, intent on working on some homework.

you’re munching on your cereal, blue-light filtered glasses adorning your nose as you work on your computer screen. you were mid-bite when you hear your phone buzzing on the counter next to you. you glance down at your phone and frown slightly when you notice it looks to be the same unknown number from earlier.

you continue chewing your bite, raising the phone to your ear as you accept the call.

“hello?” you ask, your voice mumbled a bit as you still had some food in your mouth.

“good morning, miss (y/n),” you hear a warm, velvety voice greet you. after almost an hour interview with her yesterday, you’d recognize this distinct voice anywhere.

“mrs. romanoff?” you just about choke on your food as you swallow, your body tensing slightly as you feel much more alert.

“that would be correct.” you hear her chuckle softly into the phone, your tone laced with obvious surprise she must have found endearing.

“i’m so sorry! i think i missed your call earlier? i didn’t recognize the number- i had no idea it was you, i’m sorry!” you apologize quickly, thinking that if she was actually calling to offer you the job, you might have just ruined it.

“don’t worry about it. i would be surprised if you recognized it given that this is my personal number,” her voice was low and warm. it was entirely too enticing.

“oh.. umm, right. well, good morning,” you stumble slightly over your words, unsure what else to say to her.

“are you normally a late riser?” she asks with humor in her voice.

“what? oh no, not normally no. i just don’t have classes today,” you explain, a little embarrassed at her having called you out on your sleeping habits.

“i see. well, we just wanted to call and ask if you’d meet us for a coffee,” her question came out as more of a statement and you were left wondering why on earth she would want to go out for coffee with you and…wait.. did she say we?

“we?” the words echo aloud from your mind.

“yes. my wife and i,” she reiterates calmly. you look around your small excuse for a kitchen as if the reasoning behind her posing this question was written on the walls.

“like today?” you ask stupidly. of course she meant today.

“yes - today. can you meet us in 15? we’re going on lunch break. i’ll text you the address.” your eyes zip to the digital numbers plastered on the microwave. you only had 15 minutes to try and look presentable, get a cab and meet them.

“ummm..yeah. yeah sure,” you nod your head as if she could see you through the phone. you quickly hop off the stool you were sitting on, walking briskly to the bathroom with the phone still held firmly to your ear.

“perfect. we’ll see you soon.” she hangs up and you all but toss your phone on the bathroom counter, staring down at the device as if it’s offended you. you quickly snap out of it, only having 5 or so minutes to un-hobo yourself. you quickly apply some concealer on your dark spots, powder on a little blush and brush on a coat of mascara in record time. in your haste, you stumble from the bathroom to your closet, trying to find something to quickly throw on. you grab a simple white baby tee, putting it on and then aggressively stepping into some loose light wash jeans. grabbing your belongings, you half jog out the door, nearly slipping down the last two stairs of your apartment.

you quickly get a cab, thanking whatever higher power there is in your head that there was very little delay in one driving by. as the taxi driver takes you to the address you gave him, you sit forward in your seat, gathering your hair in a pony tail near the top of your head. you secure it with an elastic you always keep around your wrist and pull some pieces out to frame your face. you glance in the cab rear view mirror, seeing you looked fairly presentable. you exhale shakily, sitting back in your seat as the same nerves you felt yesterday on the way to your interview were coming back now.

what was this about? i mean, you knew it wasn’t normal to meet with potential employees for coffee. it was especially suspicious because it was mrs. romanoff *and* her wife.

your thoughts are interrupted as the taxi slows to a crawl and he pulls up to the coffee shop. you’d never been to this one before, granted there were hundreds of shops all over the city so there were probably many you hadn’t gone to. your heart leaps in your chest as you see both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff waiting outside for you.

you pass the driver the money, thank him and slip out of the car. as you step onto the sidewalk, mrs. maximoff greets you with the same warm smile she’d given you when you first met. mrs. romanoff smiles too, though it’s not as wide as her wife’s.

“hello again, (y/n).” your heart skips a beat as you hear mrs. maximoff use your first name for the first time. mrs. romanoff had been calling you by your first name since you’d stepped foot into her office. you liked the way your name fell from both of their tongues.

“hi, good to see you both again,” you smile despite your nerves, making eye contact with both of them in a polite manner.

“shall we?” mrs. romanoff suggests as she opens the door for you, her wife placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. you inhale shakily, the unexpected contact surprising you in a pleasant way.

as the three of you file in behind the small line of people waiting to order, your eyes skim the menu, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted.

“cute outfit,” mrs. romanoff murmurs from behind you. you could hear what sounded to be amusement in her tone but you weren’t sure.

you turn to the side to face her, her being on your left and mrs. maximoff on your right just a half-step behind you. “thank you. i threw it on—literally. i was wearing something a lot less presentable when you first called.” you glance down at both of their outfits. the duality between yours and their outfits was almost laughable. they looked impeccably fashionable and you were just in street clothes.

wanda chuckles lightly at your comment. “what were you wearing before?” she asks.

“just an oversized tee and some biker shorts,” you shrug, crossing your arms casually over your chest. you always felt more comfortable when you had your arms wrapped around yourself.

as the line moves and you’re next, mrs. romanoff quickly stands in front of you, her body moving between you and the counter. “what’ll you have?” she gives you an expectant look, ready to give your order.

“an iced mocha?” you ask a little shyly, her show of putting herself between you and the cash register did something to you for some reason.

she nods, and turns to the barista, repeating your order along with hers and her wife’s. you’re about to protest, wanting to tell her she doesn’t have to pay for you, but you feel mrs. maximoff’s hand return to the small of your back, swiftly maneuvering you away from the line and over to the small cluster of tables.

you sit down in a chair she pulled out for you and you scoot yourself in as mrs. maximoff settles in her own seat across from you.

“you really don’t have to pay for me, you know,” you pipe gently, glancing over at mrs. romanoff who was standing at the counter waiting for the drinks before you turn back to mrs. maximoff.

“of course not, we want to. plus, neither her nor i would ever allow you to pay for yourself even if you insisted,” she smiles winsomely, her eyes gleaming with something warm and bright.

mrs. romanoff returns with all three coffees, somehow handling all three and setting them down in a graceful manner.

“thank you,” you give mrs. romanoff a gentle smile as your fingers interlock around the cup and you drag it closer to you.

they both take a sip from their coffees—which were both hot—before mrs. romanoff clears her throat, her eyes narrowing in on you as she leans forward on the table.

“so, i imagine you’re wondering why we asked you here.” she throws a glance at her wife who was already looking at her speak.

“it may have been on my mind…” you trail off, sounding as innocent as possible.

mrs. romanoff smiles knowingly, her eyes appraising you in a way that made you squirm slightly in your seat.

“it’s not about the job, as i’m sure you might have figured, but rather about offering a different type of position,” she begins. your brow furrows in confusion. what did she mean?

“a different position? like a cleaning job or something?” you immediately go to thinking about jobs that require little to no experience, figuring that might be all they’d have to offer given your background.

they both laugh at your guess, mrs. romanoff being the one to shake her head no.

“no, not a cleaning job,” she pauses, seeming to measure your expression before continuing. “(y/n), have you ever heard the term bdsm?”

your face goes blank and you look from mrs. romanoff to her wife who appeared to be watching you just as carefully.

“um…i think so? i’ve heard the term a few times before.” your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, an unfamiliar pit settling into your lower tummy at the abrupt shift in the topic of conversation.

“what do you know about it?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side which causes some of her neatly curled hair to fall forward.

you look between the two of them, unconsciously shrinking further down into your seat. this was such a taboo subject to talk about it public; you found yourself already growing warm from just the thought of this discussion.

“well, it’s..sex stuff…right? like being tied down and whipped?” you speak hesitantly in a small voice, throwing quick glances at the strangers littered across the coffee shop.

“those things can be a part of it, yes—if all parties discuss that’s something they like to participate in” mrs. romanoff explains and then continues. “what else have you heard about it? or is that the gist of what you know?”

you shrug, your shoulders slumped forward and your head bowed slightly to try and obscure your flushed cheeks. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth—your nervous habit.

mrs. maximoff pipes in again after noticing your bashfulness. “a lot of people have that imagery in mind when they hear the term ‘bdsm,’ so it’s understandable that that’s your impression. there is so much more to it though. really, bdsm is about exploring people’s sexual interests in a safe space. you learn about your limits, what you like, what you didn’t expect to like, and so much more.” you listen to her explanation intently, your mind immediately wandering and wondering where this conversation was going to go.

mrs. romanoff picks up off her wife’s words. “some people simply dabble in certain aspects of bdsm while others treat it more as a lifestyle—and for my wife and i, it is a lifestyle.”

you nod hesitantly as they both pause for a second, watching you digest this information. you’re unsure how to respond, feeling progressively more restless in your seat.

they both give each other a look before mrs romanoff nods and mrs. maximoff speaks.

“normally, for people who live this lifestyle, they draw up contracts between themselves and the person they want as their submissive.. now we know this is all very forward, but there’s just no other way to put it. we’d like to have you as our new submissive.”

your face turns bright red for reasons you’re not fully aware of. you weren’t quite sure what being a “submissive” all entailed, but you couldn’t wipe the imagery of being helplessly tied down and whipped from your mind. you’re silent as your brain flits through one imaginary scenario to the next. you were so clueless though, you weren’t sure if the things you were thinking up were things people actually did or if they were just shown in porn.

“me…? i just..well it’s just that..i’m-i don’t know if i would be your ideal candidate,” you stumble out, your eyes glued to the table as you avoid looking at either of them at all costs.

“on the contrary, (y/n), i singled you out almost immediately at our interview. i knew i wanted you. that’s why i had wanda join us.” her face softens as she notices your slight uneasiness. being a bit of a sadist though, she couldn’t help but find your innocence and embarrassment so incredibly gratifying. it only made her want you more.

your teeth worry into your bottom lip again as you look between one set of green eyes and then the other. “do you guys normally.. share, uhm..submissives?”

“not always, but we do like to when it’s possible,” wanda shares, a reassuring smile on her face. you purse your lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek as more questions arise in your head.

“how does that work? sharing i mean.” you knew there were people who participated in polyamorous relationships, and you had no issue with it, you just had trouble visualizing the dynamic.

natasha grins wickedly to herself, realizing now how truly innocent and unknowing you were. she suspected a little yesterday at the interview, but had no idea the true scope of your innocence. wanda also found herself undeniably more attracted to you after this conversation. her hands twitch in her lap, thinking of all the things she could do to you that you probably haven’t ever dreamed of.

“it works (y/n), trust me…” mrs. romanoff says seductively.

“we know this is all very foreign to you, sweetheart. you don’t have to say yes today, just think about it?” mrs. maximoff reaches across the table and affectionately holds onto your wrist. your stomach does a little flip-flop at the term of endearment paired with the affection.

there were so many thoughts and feelings swirling around you, but one thing stuck out above the rest. you wanted to learn more. you didn’t want to say no and close a door on something that you might enjoy.

“i want to.. i mean, um, i will think about it,” you clear your throat for the umpteenth time that day, pulling your hand back from mrs. maximoff’s light grasp. it was suddenly feeling like her hand was searing your skin.

“you want to what?” mrs. romanoff presses, her eyes looking at you with intensity again.

“i just meant that i want to learn more..about this,” you reply quietly, peeking at mrs. romanoff through your lashes. you notice her clench her jaw and flex her fingers that were resting on the table, but you weren’t sure what it meant.

“well, there’s a lot to learn, but luckily i’d say we’re both pretty good teachers,” mrs. maximoff grins more wickedly this time, her expression giving you a new glimpse into something you hadn’t seen in her until this point.

“why don’t we meet up again sometime this weekend? we can answer any questions you have—help you learn more about what we’re asking from you,” she adds, to which you surprisingly feel eager to agree to the idea. you find yourself already wanting to learn more, especially if the people who were going to educate you were two of the hottest women alive.

“yeah…let’s do that,” you nod once, your blush slowly creeping off your cheeks though a slight honey glow was still present.

you all begin to gather your things, mrs. maximoff noticing their lunch break was just about up. the three of you hardly touched your coffees, the conversation too intense to take swigs of the drinks.

the two of them walk you out of the shop, mrs. romanoff hailing down a cab for you. you turn to say goodbye to mrs. maximoff and find that she’s standing closer to you than expected.

“i look forward to seeing you again so soon, dragotsennaya veshch’,” she murmurs, reaching to give your arm an affectionate squeeze. you smile at her, unsure what she said but not caring much to know now.

you step closer to the cab after mrs. romanoff opens the door for you. before you can slip inside the car, mrs. romanoff leans down, murmuring in your ear.

“if you have any questions before the weekend that simply can’t wait, don’t hesitate to text me. you have my number.” her voice was a little rough which makes you shiver.

you nod slowly, sucking on your bottom lip again. you give mrs. maximoff a shy hand wave which she mimics with an amused grin. you sink down into the car seat, mrs. romanoff shutting the door behind you.

as the taxi drives away, you can’t help but look behind you as the two women grow smaller and smaller on the sidewalk. as the car turns a corner, the couple remain standing there until you disappear. you sigh and turn back around in your seat, resting heavily against the cushion behind you.

what just happened?

——————————

tag list:

@poppyshuman @wandamaximoffsbadgirl @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123 @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha

[cherryite]

barkeep

summary. as a bartender at one of the sketchiest bars in gotham and a med student, you and red hood aka jason todd have a symbiotic relationship. you give him free drinks and patch him up and he makes sure you don't get murdered walking home. at least, thats all you two say it is. (word count. 3.8k)

content. jason todd x reader, gn!reader, bartender!reader, yearning, friends?? (kinda but not really) to lovers, pining, idiots in LOVE ???

warnings. blood and injuries, mentions of alcohol, not proof read oopsie

author's note. why this took me 5 million years to write i don't know, but i'm excited to write more for jason because thats my shawty fr

Working at the sketchiest bar on Park Row, more locally referred to as Crime Alley, hadn’t exactly been your dream gig. But as a med student with a brutal class schedule and rent breathing down your neck like a wild animal, options were slim. And unfortunately, this place paid — mostly in cash, always on time. As much as you wanted out of this part of town, it always had a way of pulling you back in, like an addiction you couldn’t quit.

The bar’s nearly closed now. The lights are dimmed low, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls, and the red glow of the liquor store sign across the street bleeds through the grimy front window like blood out of a wound. All customers and staff besides you have left, leaving the bar quiet — almost eerily so. You’re hunched over the register, thumbing through crumpled bills, when you hear it: the soft click of the front door, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the old floorboards.

You don’t even have to look. You know who it is. Your eyes flick sideways, catching a glimpse of him in your peripheral as you finish counting the ones.

“Trying to sneak up on me, Hood?” you call out, voice dry as you click the register shut and turn around, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

He’s already slumped at the bar, a heavy silhouette of exhaustion wrapped in blood splattered leather. His cargo pants are scuffed and torn in places, the usual overkill of weapons strapped haphazardly across his frame. Classic Red Hood. Classic Jason. The low, rasping chuckle that rolls out of him is muffled beneath the red helmet, but it still manages to sound amused. His head tilts back, the movement slow and deliberate, his neck craning as he looks at you. Even with the helmet on, you can feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and unwavering.

“Key word tryin’,” he says, voice thick with static from the modulator. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, and duck behind the bar. You retrieve the emergency med kit you started keeping there after the second time he stumbled in bleeding all over the bar floor. Sometimes you can’t stop thinking about how lucky he is — to have stumbled into an empty bar, conveniently being manned by a tired bartender who just so happens to be a medical student.

“Rough night?” you ask, circling around the bar and sliding into the seat beside him as you snap the kit open. Without a word, he shrugs off the jacket, grumbling under his breath as if his bones ache from the inside out.

“When isn’t it a rough night in Crime Alley?” he mutters, a tired edge making its way into the corners of his voice.

You wonder—do all of Gotham’s finest have it this bad? But you already know the answer. Crime Alley is his turf, and it chews him up more often than not. You’ve — unfortunately — lived in the Alley your whole life. Not that many places in Gotham are good places to grow up, but the Alley specifically was awful. You can remember nights when you wouldn’t sleep, the sounds of gunshots ringing in your ears, sirens haunting your dreams like lullabies from hell.

He lifts the helmet off and sets it gently on the bar’s freshly wiped surface. You almost scold him for dirtying the bar again but you don’t, you just glance at him. You still remember the first time you saw his face, just a few months ago. He’d come in the same way, trailing blood, a bullet having kissed too close to his jugular. Could have killed him if it had been just an inch closer. You’d needed to remove the helmet to keep him alive, keep him breathing. He’d let you see him. Really see him for the first time. 

After profusely apologizing and praying you wouldn’t ever say anything, he assured you — probably delirious from blood loss— that it was fine. He even tried to make a joke about knowing where you worked and lived if you talked.. You swear you nearly fainted and he had to quickly reassure you that he was joking.

Now, as you glance over, you catch the dark curls damp with sweat, the lone white streak stark against the rest, curling messily against his forehead. He’s handsome, annoyingly so in your opinion, with broad shoulders, a boyish face, and a sharp jaw. There's a crook in his nose, from having it broken one too many times and a thin scar on his left cheek, faded and pale from age. You turn back to the kit before you stare too long, but not before you catch the way his eyes linger on you. They’re blue with tinges of a stormy grey-green, and startling in their clarity. But you don’t have time to be distracted.

“What hurts?” you murmur, fingers sifting through gauze and bandage wraps, already prepping for the worst. He exhales slowly, the sound almost like a sigh, but heavier. You can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, like his muscles haven’t stopped bracing for a fight, even now that he’s sitting here with you.

“Side,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to his ribs. “Took a hit. Might’ve cracked somethin’.”

You wince sympathetically, tugging your stool closer. “And yet you came here instead of a hospital.”

He huffs another half laugh, dry and rasping. “Hospitals ask questions. You don’t. It’s good practice for med school anyway.” 

The silent ‘I’m also legally dead’ hangs in the air between you, so you don't argue. You just reach for the dark fabric of his undershirt, peeling it back to reveal the bruising underneath. It’s already a deep, angry color, shades of violet and black blooming across his side like a storm cloud under his swelling skin. Blood has started crusting over a shallow gash in his side just under it. 

Your hands hover a moment over the worst of it, instinctively gentle, and his breath catches just slightly when you touch him. You press gently, only to assess the damage, he groans when you press near a middle rib. The sound causes you to draw your hands back instinctively.

“Definitely bruised,” you murmur. “Maybe fractured at worst. I can’t feel any cracks and you’re not breathing as bad as someone with broken ribs would be. You got lucky.”

“‘M always lucky,” he says, voice dipped in sarcasm.

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You? Lucky?”

His lips twitch, and just for a second, “Always.” 

You think about how he can’t be that lucky, especially since he’s previously died. You try to not to bring that up, honestly it was an accident you even found out, like most things you learn about him. He had been bleeding profusely from a stab wound in his abdomen, and when you’d lifted his shirt, you saw it. A very real autopsy scar on a very not dead man. 

Maybe it’s the bartender in you that gets people to open up, to spill their secrets. Maybe it was also the high amount of pain meds coursing through his veins. He explained, very vaguely. You didn’t press more after he told you, didn’t ask how it was possible. Yust patched him up, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He doesn’t like talking about it, so you don’t.

You shake your head, grabbing a portable cold pack, cracking it to activate the cooling agent and pressing it against the worst of the swelling. He flinches, not much, but enough to betray how much pain he’s hiding..

“We should wrap this,” you say, nodding toward the gauze. “And you need rest. Like, actual rest. Sleep. More than three hours on a cardboard box somewhere.”

“You offering a bed?” he teases lightly, and the way he says it, soft, laced with something fragile beneath his typical aloofness, makes your stomach flip. 

You look at him fully, something warm curling in your chest as you finally push the words past the knot in your throat. “I’m offering my couch. Don’t push it.”

He chuckles again, and this time it sounds just a little more real. You wrap the gauze carefully around his ribs, your fingers brushing skin, and despite yourself, you notice the way his breathing hitches every time you get too close. When you’re done, you seal the kit shut and lean back a bit, observing your handiwork. 

“You’ll live.” You meet his gaze again, meeting his eyes as they stare down at you, just letting your words soak in. Just him. Just you. Just the quiet thrum of a city that never sleeps, and the two of you stealing a moment of peace in the shittiest part of it.

“Someone’s gotta look out for you,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “I’m serious. You can sleep on my couch tonight. Rib injuries make it hard to sleep, so you should really be resting somewhere safe. And semi-comfortable.”

He opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but ultimately he decides not to fight you on it.

You make sure the kit is fully secure, placing it back behind the bar in its hiding spot. You can feel his eyes tracking you as you move about the bar, going through the motions of closing. He doesn’t ask for a drink tonight. Usually you offer him your shift beer — the one drink you get free per shift — half out of gratitude for walking you home, half because the alcohol helps take the edge off whatever he endured that night.

Trying to ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you wipe down the final surfaces, flip off the neon sign that flashes in the window, and lock up the register. You try not to let your mind wander, try not to peek at the tired man still slumped at the bar as he gingerly attempts to pull his leather jacket back on with a grimace. You hover a bit, watching him to make sure he doesn’t need any help, even if he would never ask for it. He struggles a bit as he slides off the barstool, and he doesn’t stop you when you quietly nudge your shoulder under his arm, easing his weight across you to steady him. Once he’s steady, you slip away from him as you both make your way out of the bar. You lock it behind you, hitching your your bag over your shoulder

“Come on,” you say, your voice has a gentler tone to it now. He doesn’t argue, he just gives a nod quietly and falls into step beside you as you walk. This in itself isn’t new. He always walks you home after stopping at the bar. It’s part of the unspoken arrangement between the two of you: you fix him up and sometimes give him a beer, he makes sure you get home in one piece.

The streets are half asleep, half alive at this hour of the night. The buzz of faulty streetlights and the distant buzz of sirens are the only noise that fills the air, aside from your footsteps. The night air is cold and it bites at the skin of your face as your breath fogs around your lips. Jason’s walking a little slower than usual beside you, his stride careful but still steady, probably favoring his side so as to not agitate his ribs further. His broad shoulder brushes yours now and then as you walk beside each other, close enough that you can feel the rough leather of his jacket where it touches your sleeve.

“Thanks again,” he murmurs as he breaks the silence, eyes on the ground. “For patching me up.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, the corner of your mouth tugging up a bit. “It’s the least I can do.”

“But I do have to —,” he stumbles a bit over his words, his voice partially strained. “Thank you. I mean.”

There’s a beat of silence. He glances over at you, his bright eyes catch the light of the street lights overhead. “And for offering the couch. Thank you— again,” he adds. It’s quieter this time, and you can feel the uncomfortable thump in your chest when you realize he sounds vulnerable.

You look at him, and something in your chest aches a little. He isn’t one for showing his emotions, at least not around you. On occasion you catch him, flushing embarrassedly after he says something a bit awkward, but he manages to mask it well around you at least.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say. “Figured I should keep you overnight for supervision.”

He huffs a tired laugh, but there’s something in his eyes when he looks at you as it lingers—it looks soft. You wonder if anyone’s ever looked out for him like this before. You wonder if he’d even let them. You wonder why he’s letting you.

By the time you reach your building, he’s drifted a little closer. Not quite touching, but the space between you feels smaller somehow, like he’s a shadow attached to your back. He follows you up the steps, like he always does when he drops you off. You can feel his eyes in the back of your head and he just watches your back like he always does. But tonight’s different, because he always leaves you at the door, by the time you’re safely inside he vanishes like he was never even there. 

But tonight he won’t vanish, at least not right away.

You slide your key into the keyhole, trying to ignore his presence behind you. You unlock the front door to your apartment, shoving it open with the usual force because the door catches weirdly sometimes. You leave a mental note to yourself to text your landlord about it (again). The apartment is quiet as you lead him in, moonlight shines through the window in your kitchen, illuminating the small space. 

Your apartment is modest but yours and you’ve found ways to make it comfortable with your limited funds. A plush beige couch takes up most of the space in the living room, a large dark wood bookshelf that overflows onto the floor finds its home on the wall, and a coffee table that’s covered in medical textbooks. Various plants adorn the space, pots and planters scattered over nearly every surface that they would allow. Kicking off your shoes, you hang your jacket on a hook on the wall, turning to look behind you. Jason stands in the doorway, his gaze fixated on the deadbolt of your front door. 

“You should get this fixed,” he comments, opening and closing your door a few times to test the lock, twisting it a few times to investigate. “It’s not safe.” His eyebrows are pinched together, eyes fixated on the latch before he breaches the threshold of your apartment, closing the door behind him.

“I’ve texted my landlord about it like, three times,” you say with a sigh, dropping your keys into a ceramic dish by the door. “Scumlord’s ghosting me.”

Jason doesn’t say anything for a moment, dropping his helmet on the floor with a soft thud, his frown deepening. He shifts on his feet, like he’s weighing if he should say something. You think he mumbles something under his breath as you search for an extra blanket for him, but you opt to ignore it.

Jason almost immediately collapses on your couch once his boots are off, groaning a bit as he makes contact with the plush cushions. The sound is caught somewhere between exhaustion and relief. You have to suppress the small smile that curls at your lips as he sighs, shifting until he finds a comfortable spot. 

You hand him a blanket, before padding over to the small armchair across from him. you curl into the cushions, tucking your knees against your chest. Your fingers play idly with the hem of your sleeve as you observe him quietly. He tilts his head toward you, a few strands of his dark hair fall over his forehead. When he sees you’re already looking at him, his gaze falters. He quickly drops his eyes to the coffee table, like being caught under your attention makes him nervous. Something on the table catches his eye as he reaches out to pick up a book that rests there.

“You read these?” He says, inspecting your worn copy of The Hunger Games. 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft as the day starts to catch up to you. “I’ve read all of them. Started rereading them a few weeks ago.”

Jason thumbs through the worn pages with a surprising gentleness. You can’t help the way your eyes drag to his knuckles, bruised and scabbed over as he brushes through the first few pages, inspecting it.

“I’ve been meaning to read them,” he murmurs, absentmindedly flipping through pages. “Just— haven't had time.”

You nod, stretching your arms up over your head as a yawn escapes you. The motion pulls your shirt slightly at the hem, the fabric soft from too many washes as it exposed your midriff. Jason’s eyes flit to the movement—quick and fleeting—but when he meets your gaze again, he averts his eyes back to the pages in front of him.

“You can borrow mine if you want,” you offer, blinking sleep from your eyes.

His face expression changes a bit, vague disbelief tugs at his brows. “You sure?” he asks, his voice is tentative as his eyes flicker up to meet yours. 

You brush some of your hair out of your eyes sleepily and nod, your gaze steadily trained on him. “Of course. I have all of the trilogy. It’s no problem, really,” you insist. 

Jason’s eyes once again travel down to the book in his hands. His thumb runs down the crease of the spine, his expression muddled. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, though you barely hear it. You hum lightly in response to his thanks. The silence you two sit in isn’t uncomfortable, just peaceful and calm. The city hums faintly outside of your window, muffled now and more distant, like it knows better than to intrude on the moment. 

A yawn draws itself from your throat again, and this time you don’t fight it as you shudder a bit. The warmth of the room has made your limbs heavy, and the comfortable silence only deepens the tired pull of your eyelids.

Jason notices the noise, his eyes immediately finding your form. “You— You should sleep,” he says, gently, and the tone of his voice makes your skin tingle.

“So should you,” you murmur in response, already uncurling from the chair.

He doesn’t argue with you, but there’s a hint of hesitation in his eyes as you move to the short hallway that leads to your bedroom. You find yourself hesitating in the doorway of your room, your fingers brushing against the frame as you glance back at him over your shoulder. He’s watching you again, not bothering to hide it this time and it makes your stomach flip. He hasn’t moved yet—still perched on the edge of the couch, the book clasped loosely in one hand. The soft lamplight brushes over his features, highlighting the purpling bruise on his cheekbone.

“You can take my bed if you want,” you say quietly without really thinking of the implications, your fingers twitch from where they grasp the doorframe. "I feel bad making you stay on the couch."

Jason shakes his head almost immediately, and you think you should actually go to sleep because you swear you see a flush on his cheeks. God, you really should go to bed. “I’m good here. Couch is fine.”

You nod, trying not to let the twinge of disappointment show on your face, but what else would you have expected him to say. Of course he would say no. Still, a part of you wants to insist. Wants to say that he doesn’t have to sleep like a stranger on your couch. Wants to hold him close and protect him from whatever haunts his dreams. But you don’t. You just linger there for a moment longer before speaking softly.

“Goodnight, Jason.”

He looks up at you like he wants to say something more, his eyes searching your face but you aren’t sure what he’s looking for. He looks like there’s something lodged in his throat that he can’t quite swallow down, catching whatever he wants to say. Despite this, all he says is a quiet, “Night.”

You retreat into your bedroom quickly after that, the door left ajar behind you. You lie in bed longer than you mean to as you pull the cool sheets up to your chin, listening for the sound of movement from the living room. Your mind wanders as you allow your mind to drift to Jason, probably thumbing through the book in his hands still. A deep part of you wonders if he’s thinking of you. You wonder if he knows you’re thinking of him, or if he even cares.

For a fleeting moment as you fall asleep, you wish he’s followed you in— not for anything else than to bathe in the feeling of his presence.

When you regain consciousness in the morning, your eyes nearly snap open as you take in the sunlight spilling through your curtains, pale and golden. Immediately thinking of last night's events, you throw the covers to the side. You find yourself quickly padding into the living room, your bare feet slapping gently against the hardwood of your floors.

The couch is empty. There’s a thump of disappointment in your chest as your heart rate slows.

The blanket you’d left out for him is folded neatly on the back of the couch. The spot where he’d laid last night is faintly indented, like a ghost of him lingers in the cushions. The books you lent him are gone, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips.

And when you check the front door out of habit, peering out into the halls of your apartment, as if you will catch a hint of red disappearing from view. Your gaze catches on the lock as you close it, because the deadbolt doesn’t catch like normal.

It’s been fixed.

The lock, the one that’s been broken for weeks, now clicks cleanly into place when you shut your door. The deadbolt slides smoothly, no catch. You stare at it for a long moment, blinking against the sudden tightness in your chest. You don’t have long to bask in the feeling, because your eyes are now drawn to a small pink sticky note that clings to the door. Unsure how you missed it earlier, you pluck it off the wood of the door, examining the neat, small words.

Fixed your lock and thank you again for the books. Hope you sleep better knowing it’s fixed. Someone’s gotta look out for you. - J

[wheeboo]

off the record | kim mingyu {part one}

SYNOPSIS. Kim Mingyu lives a double life. On one end, he’s the perfectly charming yet clumsy coworker at the Daily Planet. On the other, he’s saving the world. But when you–a guarded yet sharp-witted journalist–are paired up with him on solving a mysterious case of kryptonite trafficking, Mingyu finds it harder and harder to keep his secret at bay. And falling for you only makes it worse, when he’s only given two choices: protect his identity, or risk everything by letting you in.  PAIRING. superman!kim mingyu x journalist!fem!reader (ft. editor-in-chief!seungcheol, photojournalist!wonwoo, editor!minghao, barista!seulgi) GENRE. superman au, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, humour, slow burn, suggestive WARNINGS. cursing, suggestive themes (kissing, making out, lil grinding, vague nudity, implied sex, shirtless mingyu ofc), violence, blood, illegal crimes (kryptonite trafficking, robbery, theft, hijacking, bombing, kidnapping), drinking, mention of tobacco, mingyu has hella plot armour, idk how to write a whole crime case for the life of me i was struggling w that whole part so it prob makes no sense lol WORD COUNT. 25.1k (for part one); 43k (in total)

notes: hello everyone it's finally here!!!! we cheered!! sadly i have to separate this fic into 2, but part 2 will either be posted either tomorrow (june 7th) or sunday (june 8th). ty guys for being so patient with me as this is the longest fic i've written so far on this blog. i hope you all enjoy the story! this is my gift to you all for 3k followers!! ty to @tomodachiii and @slytherinshua for reading over this for me hehe. pls don't forget to reblog as well i'd love to know your thoughts 🙂‍↕️

part one | part two

“Surely a young man like you would be settling down with marriage at your age!” 

Kim Mingyu elicits a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he watches Mrs. Moon place a couple of her famously harvested tangerines inside a brown bag. He pushes up the pair of dainty glasses that sit on his face. He flashes the old lady that particular disarming smile𑁋one that seems to win over anyone on the street.

“Ah, you already know me, Mrs. Moon,” Mingyu begins, sending a small wink. “Work keeps me quite preoccupied these days.”

(Yesterday, he had to save this speeding train from derailing off the tracks and crashing into a platform full of people in France. And the day before that, he heard cries from a few families who were trapped within a burning apartment building in Brazil and barely made it out with a little girl clutched in his arms before the top floor collapsed entirely.)

But Mrs. Moon doesn’t need to know that. To her and the rest of the world, he’s just Kim Mingyu𑁋the clumsy, always smiling, ever-so-slightly late to everything Kim Mingyu. But the truth is, between dodging falling satellites in space and struggling to file articles on time, he doesn’t exactly have the time for something as ordinary as love. 

Mrs. Moon clicks her tongue and lets out a cackle, shaking her head while placing the final tangerine in the bag. “Work, work, work. Excuses, excuses. You should find a nice girl before someone else snatches her up! Cherish your youth.”

Mingyu laughs at the woman’s words before opening up his wallet and giving her some spare cash as a friendly tip. He clutches the bag of tangerines in his grasp as he exits the grocery store, his thoughts lingering to Mrs. Moon’s words as he enters back into the regular flow of the city he’s been tasked with protecting for the past few years. 

It’s a relatively peaceful morning so far. The sky is painted in the most perfect shade of blue, clouds lazily drifting across its surface. Mingyu allows himself to relax for a moment as he approaches the incoming intersection, shooting a glance down at his watch to ensure he’s still on the right track with coming into work. 

A breeze brushes past his hair. Passerbys come and go past him, all heading towards their own work duties as he is. He’s gotten the hang of pretending to be ordinary. Just an ordinary guy heading on his way to his desk job. Just another journalist at the Daily Planet. 

But then, he hears it.

A sudden commotion. A shout. 

Sharp. Frantic. Close. 

His head darts towards the source of the sound𑁋it’s right across the large intersection he’s currently standing in. His eyes laser in on focus: a woman across the street, breathless and wide-eyed as another man barrels down the sidewalk dodging people left and right with a worn leather bag clutched in his hands. Her bag.

Instinct takes over.

Mingyu peers around before ducking into a nearby alleyway, his heart already racing𑁋not from fear, but from adrenaline. His glasses are off as he rounds the corner, the brown paper bag of tangerines abandoned on top of a garbage bin as he shrugs off his coat and unbuttons his shirt. 

And within seconds, the familiar sight of a red cape flares into the sky like an open flame. 

You’ve never been a runner. At least, definitely not in heels. Yet you try anyway, bolting forward a few steps to catch up with the thief before nearly stumbling when one of your heels gets trapped in a hidden crack in the pavement. And when you try to move it, you hear the slight sound of a crack, though it’s loud enough to crush your dignity like a slap to the face. 

Frustrating stings at your eyes, because of course, this just has to happen on the first day of your new job. You can still see the damn thief up ahead𑁋with your bag, your wallet, your ID, your everything. 

You don’t even have time to scream.

And then𑁋

A gust of wind rushes past your face. A whoosh so fast it rattles the windows of the nearby stores that surround you. You barely register the colours of blue and red that streaks across your vision, and everyone else around you seems to take a halt all at once, their gazes stalking up at the skies with a mixture of awe and disbelief. 

“Was that𑁋?”

“Oh, my God. It’s him𑁋!”

Meanwhile, Mingyu soars just above the streets, spotting the thief tripping into a narrow alley. A slight smirk crosses his face as he picks up speed. Like the blink of an eye, he cuts the man off at the end of the alley, hovering mid-air with folded arms as his cape behind him lazily billows through the heavy, mildew-scented air. 

The thief skids to a stop, his shoes squeaking distressfully against the ground. “No fucking way𑁋” 

And in an unlucky attempt to escape from the other way, Mingyu appears right in front of him. Again. 

With an almost bored look, Mingyu leans in to snatch the bag from the man’s grasp as if plucking an apple off a tree. 

“Thank you for your service,” he tells the man with a roll of his eyes, showing off the leather bag in his hand. “But this doesn’t belong to you.”

And then, with a flash of movement and a gentle, almost slothful toss, the thief finds himself landing face-first into a nasty pile of garbage cans, only to be surrounded by a few police officers who come dashing around the corner into the alleyway. 

Mingyu casually hovers in place for a few moments, offering a mock salute to the baffled officers before zooming back up towards the sky.

By the time you’ve managed to shuffle your near-broken heel out of the crack and catch your breath, he appears right in front of you.

Superman. The one who’s been plastered all over the news and articles now. The one who lifts buses and stops meteors from crashing into Earth with the simple power of his heat vision. The one your skeptical friend called a “silly government hoax” until she saw the hero in action right before her eyes saving an entire school from collapsing into itself from a record-broken earthquake. 

And now he’s standing in front of you.

With your bag.

“This yours?” Superman asks, holding it out towards you with a certain calmness that highly contradicts the way your heart is practically thundering in your chest.

You stare at him𑁋like, really stare𑁋because there’s no real way for someone to mentally prepare themselves for what it feels like to be face-to-face with him. Superman. Cape, emblem, and everything. He appears almost sculpted by someone with far too much time and a love for perfect symmetry. And gosh, he’s tall. 

You blink. Once. Twice, as if it’ll somehow get rid of whatever illusion your brain is tossing towards you and the sheer embarrassment your morning has been raining down on you so far. But alas, no. He’s still here, with his cape fluttering behind him like a damn Renaissance painting come to life, hair tousled in a perfect way, and his eyes warm like the colour of chocolate, waiting for a response from you.

Letting out an exhale, you grab the bag from his grasp, giving a small nod.

“Yeah,” You say quietly, voice slightly tight. “Thank you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Even in your hunched-over form, you can tell his eyes are roaming over you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head with a particular smile you’re sure many people have fawned over while eating their breakfast. 

“Oh, I’m doing grand, you know,” You respond snarkily. “My heel is probably broken. Mild public humiliation. The usual.”

His smile stretches a little at your words, his eyes glinting with something that nearly resembles amusement. It’s not the kind of politeness someone gives as a way to be nice𑁋he actually seems entertained. Which only annoys you even more, because now you’re hyper aware of how ridiculously disheveled you must look. 

“Want me to fly you somewhere?” Superman offers like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You lift a brow at that, blinking again. Superman is offering to fly you? “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely to the sidewalk. “Well, your shoe is busted. Figured I could help.”

“You mean carry me?”

“I mean, I won’t be dragging you by the ankles, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he affirms, the corners of his lips twitching up like he’s trying to suppress a few laughs.

You give him a long, pointed look. “And you just go around offering free rides to random civilians? Don’t you have galaxies to save or kittens stuck in trees somewhere?”

Superman chuckles at that. “Actually, I did save a few kittens just last week, but I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

You cross your arms together, eyeing him warily. You find your thoughts running throughout your head𑁋how your first day is already going to hell, how ridiculous this entire situation is, how unfairly attractive this literal superhero is up close; and how, despite your guarded nature, you’re almost tempted to say yes. 

But you don’t.

Instead, you straighten your posture and offer a somewhat dry, polite smile.

“Tempting, but I think I’ll pass,” You give him as a response. “I’d rather wobble to work with whatever pride I have left.”

Something flickers across his chiseled features𑁋surprise, maybe? It’s almost as if he’s not used to hearing those words, or being casually declined. But even with that, you catch the way he musters up an accepting look. For a moment or two, your eyes lock, perhaps a bit longer than the two of you intended, and you can definitely tell that he wants to say more. 

And then he just grins.

It’s not the usual professional one he shares within his workplace. No, this time, it’s smaller. Bashful, even. 

“Well, if your pride ever gets too hard to carry,” he starts, voice dropping to a lower, more quiet tone. “This area is my usual route to fly over.”

You nearly snort at that. “I… Are you hitting on me right now?”

“Is it working?”

Your lips part, and whatever witty remark lingering on your tongue swallows down your throat in an instant. Because this was not how you expected your day to go. Not how any day is supposed to go, honestly. 

You can’t help but let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I think it’s concerningly close.”

Then he gives you that smile again. “I’ll take it.” 

And before he can say anything more, you catch the way his expression shifts, switching back to an almost scarily serious look. He shifts his eyes back to you, as if hesitant to move, slowly hovering off the ground. 

“Duty calls,” he tells you, a hint of disappointment in his words. Then he pauses, and adds in, “Take care. Try not to get your bag stolen, yeah?”

And then in an instant, he’s soaring back up towards the skies faster than any jet you can imagine and vanishes between the clouds. The force is enough to send your hair ruffling in the air, leaving you standing on the ground with a few unsuccessful attempts at processing whatever the hell just happened.

You stand there for a few moments, your bag clutched tightly in your hands. Just like everyone else, you know about him. You’ve watched countless clips on the news, read printed articles from other inspiring journalists in your field documenting his adventures. You’ve listened to a variety of debates talking about his otherworldly existence𑁋is he an alien spawn? Some government experiment gone wrong? Is he really invincible? Too many questions; too little answers.

But none of those can remotely compare to the way he simply asked if you were okay, or the way he’s able to effortlessly crack jokes at will. 

Or even the infuriating way he smiled. 

Your bad luck streak seems to have lessened. For now, at least.

The Daily Planet hosts a little coffee shop on the ground floor, and you trudge your way in, heels in one hand, sporting an unflattering pair of loafers you managed to find at a local thrifting place on the way to the office. Your hair is a tiny bit unkempt, your shirt adorning a wrinkle you swear wasn’t there earlier, and you feel all kinds of eyes on you as you stand in line.

The comforting scent of roasted espresso beans and fresh muffins hits you like a warm blanket. You exhale slowly. It helps a little.

When you approach the counter, however, the barista𑁋Seulgi, you read on her nametag𑁋looks up at you with all-too-knowing smirk.

“You’re the bag girl, right?” she asks.

You freeze. “Sorry?”

Seulgi motions towards the ceiling, where a mounted television is currently playing the local news. A paused still frame captures none other than you𑁋well, more like a blurry shot𑁋angled from a store security camera, yet still clear enough for you to recognise yourself. And then right in front of you, of course, is unmistakably the city’s famous heroic heartthrob. 

“You’re practically famous. For a few hours, technically,” Seulgi’s voice pops back in. 

You let out a groan, muttering, “Kill me.”

“Unfortunately, no can do,” she replies cheerfully. “But I can offer you a free drink, courtesy of our friendly neighbourhood superhero.”

You blink at that. “Wait. He paid for it?”

Seulgi shakes her head. “No, but he does come by sometimes and donates some extra cash. Says it’s for ‘emergencies’, so… I guess you abide by that.”

As you open your mouth to protest, Seulgi merely hands you over a warm, fresh cup of espresso. 

You could only mumble a quick thanks as you saunter away, still a bit dazed and confused. The warmth of the coffee spreads throughout your fingers, anchoring you in a way, especially after your whirlwind of a morning. 

You turn around, letting your feet carry you aimlessly towards the lobby. And just as you think you’re starting to relax, it appears that fate has other ideas on its side. 

You bump into something𑁋no, someone𑁋hard. A sharp gasp hisses from your lips as hot coffee stains onto your shirt and the skin of your hand, as well as splashing onto someone else’s literal chest. You stagger back, nearly losing balance, the stranger in front of you letting out a curse of surprise.

“Shit, I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” a man’s voice says, reaching out his hands as if to steady you.

You pick your head back up, ready to release a tumble of apologies as the guilt blooms in your chest, but all that comes out is nothing.

The man in front of you is tall. Broad. Stupidly handsome in a way that makes your brain lag for a split second. A pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses sports over his sheepish face, and you swear his jawline is sharp enough to cut through glass. He’s holding an identical cup of coffee in his own hands, which was now half-full thanks to your ordeal. 

Finally, you manage to speak. “Are you𑁋”

“Burnt?” he guesses, a warm, tiny laugh leaving him, which somehow makes your embarrassment worse. He glances down at the brown stain running over his white shirt. “Maybe a little, but it’s all good.”

Your eyebrows knit together in frustration. “God, I’m sorry, I’m such a disaster right now...”

“No, it-it was me,” the man chimes in reassuringly. “I forgot something in my car and then boom. Don’t worry about it. Are… are you okay? You look kind of…”

You give a few nods of your head. “I’m fine, just, uh… Not having the best day, clearly.”

The man’s eyes wash over you, and briefly, there’s a sparkle of recognition in them.

“Oh! You’re…” His lips tighten inquisitively for a moment. “You’re the, um… girl from the news, right?”

Perhaps sinking into the floor is your best opportunity to escape.

“The one and only,” You mutter with a dramatic gesture of your hands, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

The man continues to loom over you, and there’s a certain genuine, albeit awkward charm that surrounds him. Maybe it’s the glasses or the way his voice doesn’t match at all with his intimidating build𑁋soft, friendly, perhaps a bit shy. It’s sort of refreshing, in a sense.

“Here, uh…” You watch as he strolls away to retrieve some napkins from the coffee shop, handing a few over to you. 

“Thanks,” You mumble, beginning to dab helplessly at your shirt. “Ugh, and this was one of my favourite shirts too.”

“I think it still looks good,” he offers with a shrug, then immediately spluttering, “I mean, not that I was, um, staring. Just𑁋objectively speaking.”

You blink up at him, and even despite the chaos of your morning, a smile finds its way across your lips. “Objectively, huh?”

The man just chuckles, running a hand through his slightly tousled dark hair. 

“I’m Mingyu, by the way. Kim Mingyu.”

You nod at his little introduction, filing the information into the back of your brain, before a tiny bell of recognition dings in your mind. Kim Mingyu. For some reason, the name sounds oddly familiar, perhaps you’ve read it somewhere? Maybe in some news article or𑁋

Wait.

You look back up to meet his eyes. “You’re Kim Mingyu?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen slightly, his body stiffening. “Yeah. Uh… guilty?”

You let out a small breath of relief. “You’re the guy who writes the science features! You just published that piece of the whole… lunar water discovery two weeks ago, right?”

Mingyu blinks a few times. Then he lets out a bashful laugh, the kind of laugh that’s caught between flattered and embarrassed. “No way, you actually read that?”

You arch a playful brow. “Duh, do you think no one reads science journalism anymore?”

“No, no, I mean𑁋maybe a little.” He rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks pinking enough for you to notice. “It’s just nice to meet someone who did.” 

A couple moments of silence pass. You tilt your head to look at him again, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks you look like a creep doing so. Science journalist. Right. That would probably explain the gentle voice and the easygoing tone that’s somehow more comforting than you expected. 

But maybe it doesn’t explain how he’s not built like the kind of guy who sits behind a desk all day and writes about moon water. Maybe. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do I… know you from somewhere?”

Mingyu flinches. Not a lot. Barely noticeable, but you catch it anyway. He pushes up his glasses on his nose awkwardly.

“Uh, no? I don’t think so,” he answers quickly. A little too quickly.

You squint at him.

Mingyu shifts his weight between his feet. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“Have you ever done any modeling?” You ask instead, almost too casually.

His ears grow endearingly red at your words. “Uh, maybe once? My friend Wonwoo needed someone to pose for his photography portfolio back in college, so… Why?”

You wave him off dismissively, crumpling the napkin in your hand. “No reason. Forget I said anything.”

“Well, I’ll take it as a compliment, nonetheless,” Mingyu says brightly, before reaching into his pocket to glance at his phone. “Shoot, I’m late. Got a meeting with the tech editor. It was nice running into you. Literally. Uh…”

“Y/N,” You finish for him. “Y/N L/N. Investigative journalist.”

Mingyu nods enthusiastically. “Right, Y/N. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you around?” His voice carries that familiar warmth, and it sends your head abuzz. “Take care of that shirt too. And sorry for bumping into you earlier.”

Then he gives an awkward wave and one final lingering glance before making a beeline dash towards the elevators. A strange flutter settles in your chest as he runs off.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. What the hell is going on today?

“Choi Seungcheol,” Mingyu deadpans, striding into the private office room of where his editor-in-chief, Choi Seungcheol, resides. “I already got approval to interview that quantum physicist for the piece due next Friday. You can’t seriously be calling another penalty on me right now, or yell at me about another missing Oxford comma.”

Seungcheol doesn’t even look up from his computer as he takes a sip from his mug, steam curling into the air. 

“Good morning to you too, Kim,” he says dryly, scrolling through what looks like an email thread gone to the depths of hell. “And no, this isn’t about grammar. Or physicists. Although, I am impressed you remembered the deadline for once. You’re not in trouble.”

Mingyu lifts a frazzled brow. “I’m… not?”

“Nope.”

A beat of silence. Then Mingyu crosses his arms. “Alright, who died?”

“No one. Yet.” A pleasant hum leaves Seungcheol as he places a manila folder on the table. “New case. Green mineral trafficking, multiple disappearances, possible government cover-up. Sounds like your kind of party.”

Mingyu tenses.

Green mineral trafficking? The only word he could possibly think of is…

Kryptonite.

He attempts to keep his expression neutral, unfazed, but his pulse quickens loud enough to echo in his ears. Most people don’t even know that kryptonite exists, let alone know how dangerous it can be. To anyone else, it’s just a strange name for a rock. To him? It’s a death sentence.

Mingyu clears his throat, stepping forward to grab the folder on Seungcheol’s desk. “Are you sure this isn’t a job for the police? Or the FBI?”

“Nope.” Seungcheol shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “It’s already been classified as a fringe case. Everyone in this building thinks it’s nothing more than just conspiracy fluff, but you’ve been here long enough. You know how we operate. If there’s something to dig, we dig. Besides, your science background is especially helpful.”

When Mingyu flips open the folder, he spots a few grainy pictures. But there’s a particular surveillance photo that catches his eyes. It’s blurry, but his vision is sharp enough to catch the sight of a figure with something glowing in their hands.

Definitely kryptonite.

Finally, he exhales. “Alright, I’ll take it.”

Seungcheol smirks, and Mingyu knows for certain that there is a catch to this.

“Now that that is out of the way.” Seungcheol clasps his hands together and places his elbows on top of the desk. “You won’t be flying solo for this one.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightens at that. “What?”

“You heard me,” Seungcheol remarks with that shit-eating grin. “I’m pairing you up. Joint assignment.”

The folder nearly slips from Mingyu’s grasp at his words. “Since when do I get a partner? You already know I work better alone.”

“You also tend to disappear way longer than you need to be during your breaks,” Seungcheol retorts flatly. “And while I usually could give crap as long as you turn in Pulitzer-worthy articles, I think this case is different. Bigger.”

Mingyu presses his lips together, biting back the million responses aching to jump off his tongue, but he knows Choi Seungcheol all too well. Once he’s made up his mind, there’s no going back from there.

Still, he tries, even if it’s hopeless. “You do know I have a system, right? I research, I write, I investigate𑁋”

“You also vanish every time there’s a major break in the news and then show up three hours later claiming you were stuck in the elevator.”

“That was one time,” Mingyu grumbles.

“It’s always the damn elevator.”

Mingyu lets his head fall to the ground. “I get… claustrophobic sometimes.”

Seungcheol snorts. “Sure you do, buddy. Alright, I don’t care if you need to get yourself a therapy llama or whatever to cope𑁋all I care about is getting to the bottom of this and for someone to keep your ass in check. Now, chop chop. I’ve set up a meeting time for the two of you on Thursday.”

A long, long, contemplative pause. 

“...wait, there are therapy llamas?”

“Kim Mingyu!”

“Okay, sorry! Just𑁋can you at least tell me who my partner is?”

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose, before reaching into a drawer to pull out a file. When he opens it, the first thing Mingyu sees is a photo stapled at the corner of the first page. It only takes a matter of seconds for the recognition to dawn on him, because not only does he know the woman in the photo, the dread that pools in his stomach is something only you could cause. 

Coffee girl. Bag girl. Why-has-your-smile-been-stuck-in-my-head-the-whole-week girl.

“Y/N L/N. Investigative journalist. Recently transferred here from halfway across the country,” Seungcheol explains. “I’ve seen her portfolio. She’s quite good at what she does. I figured she could balance you out, you know. She’s already got the nose for shady ordeals with her exposé on that real estate company two years ago.”

Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, opens it back up, then closes it again. You, of all people. You’re his partner. For a case potentially involving kryptonite. And just last week, he retrieved your stolen bag from a thief; bumped into you and spilled coffee on your shirt; said that your shirt looked good; got flustered like some hopeless nerd. And you… not-so-subtly called him model worthy.

Oh, he’s doomed. The universe truly had a sense of humour, after all.

“Cool. Great. Fantastic,” Mingyu says finally, his shoulders slumping.

Seungcheol shoots him an eye. “What? Refuting already?”

Mingyu’s mind could only race, because he knows how investigative journalists work. They’re always sharp, observant, perceptive, and have those particularly expressive eyes. The kind of eyes that could probably read into him. Past all the words, the excuses… the disguise.

“Nope. No complaints here. Just…” Mingyu bites his bottom lip. “What if she gets too close?” 

Seungcheol lifts up a brow. “Close to what, exactly?”

“To the story.”

Seungcheol watches him for a moment too long. “Then she’s doing her job.”

Mingyu nods slowly, gathering the file in his arms. “Right. Got it.”

A truck hijacking on the highway was certainly not on Mingyu’s to-do list, especially since he has a meeting scheduled with you.

He’s already late, and there’s no way he can simply send a polite sorry, running a little behind and definitely not the a truck was hijacked on I-17 and I had to take care of it email to your inbox, especially when he’s currently hanging off the side of the highway holding onto the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler like he’s helping a neighbour move some furniture.

He grunts, his teeth gritted as the metal steels in his tight hold. The tires of the truck screech loudly against highway roads. The initial driver of the truck is knocked out from the attack by the hijackers, but Mingyu can still hear the faintest thrum of his heartbeat. He overhears another man in the cabin cursing and trying to figure out how the hell this large truck is not moving even with the gas pedal through the floor.

But here he is. Midair. 

His cape flaps elegantly behind him as he carries the truck back to where all the police cars were coming in on the highway. Slowly, he lowers the truck back down onto the ground, a loud slam screaming through the air. At the corner of his eye, he notices one of the hijackers attempting to crawl through the broken window, but Mingyu is faster.

He yanks the man out of the truck by the collar and heaves him to the ground, but there’s something about the man’s close presence that physically makes Mingyu recoil back, and his eyes keenly focus on the faintest glow of green underneath the man’s shirt. 

Is that a… kryptonite pendant?

“Who the hell gave that to you?” Mingyu questions angrily, gripping the man by the collar of his shirt.

“I-I don’t know!” the guy sputters weakly. “I just drive the truck, man! I was supposed to leave it at Pier 13𑁋”

“I didn’t ask where you park the damn thing,” Mingyu interjects furiously. “Tell me who gave it to you.”

“I don’t know anything! I swear, dude!”

Before Mingyu could do anymore questioning, the police are beginning to swarm them now. He gives the man one last glare, and reaches over to grip the pendant in his hand, ripping it from around the man’s neck. A stinging ache settles in his muscles, but it wasn’t any normal kind of soreness𑁋it’s the kryptonite kind. 

Yet with every ounce of strength he could muster, he tosses the pendant into the hands of an incoming officer. He already feels the pain lift off his skin as he bastardly drops the man back onto the ground, a fleet of other police officers coming to apprehend him.

“Put that thing into a lead case and to a lab immediately,” Mingyu groans out towards the dazed officer. 

Before anyone could say another word, he’s already shot himself up towards the skies, leaving nothing but a gust of wind behind.

He’s back in his civilian clothes and landing on the roof of the Daily Planet within a few short minutes. His glasses are on, his tie straightened, hair still a bit windswept which he brushes back with his hands. He wipes away some dust off his clothes before sneaking back into the building, resuming his normal routine.

Mingyu already knows he’s late, and at this point, he’s accepted defeat. He could only hope an extra cup of coffee that he might have put a bit too much sugar in would be enough to make up for his unexpected detour.

When he arrives at the conference room𑁋six minutes late𑁋you’re already sitting there in one of the seats, flipping through the case files with your brows slightly furrowed. A pen is tucked behind your ear, and he swears he can smell your perfume from where he’s standing at the door. It’s like a scent of lavender, and something else. Perhaps warm and sharp, just like you.

Mingyu takes a singular step forward, and your head snaps back up.

“Hey,” You greet him. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Mingyu breathes out, trying to keep casual. “Elevator broke down.”

You chuckle at that, pulling a chair out for him. “Does it break down often?”

He smiles faintly at your gesture, sitting down next to you. “You have no idea.” He slides one of the cups over to you. “For you, by the way.”

You glance inquisitively at the cup. “Oh. Thank you. Trying to bribe your way out of being late?”

“Depends if it works or not,” Mingyu remarks back, and he tries not to notice the way the corners of your lips twitch up into a small smile. 

A soft laugh leaves you, and it makes something flutter beneath his ribs. 

You take a sip from the coffee, and nearly choke it out. “Wow, that is dangerously sweet.”

“Ah, crap,” Mingyu mutters in embarrassment. “Sorry, I wasn’t, uh, paying attention to how much sugar I poured in.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still coughing through a laugh. “It’s all good. I needed the sugar rush anyway.”

“Still,” Mingyu chimes back in. “I’ll get the ratio right next time, don’t worry.”

Next time.

The morning light shining in through the conference room windows shine on your cheekbones, casting flecks of gold across your skin and over the smile you were still wearing. His breath nearly catches in his throat at the sight𑁋the kind of smile that makes Mingyu almost forget he was mid-air just ten minutes ago and lifting a stolen truck with his own bare hands, freaking out about how you’d react to him showing up late. 

“It’s funny, right?” You start, turning your body to face him. “How we went from a stupid coffee incident to being paired up for a case like this. Who would’ve thought?” 

Mingyu hums thoughtfully, taking a sip of his own overly sweet coffee. “If I knew you were an A-list journalist, I probably would’ve risked being late to that meeting when we first met.”

You roll your eyes at him, tiling your head a little. “Why?”

Mingyu swallows a lump down in his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose shyly. “Uh… first impression, you know? It was your first day that week, so… I could’ve shown you the ropes of this place.”

Amusement glitters in your eyes, and you lean in, settling your chin on your hand. “We spilled coffee on each other, then you complimented my shirt. I don’t think anything is salvageable after that.”

“Okay, well, technically…” Mingyu starts, but his resolve falters quickly when he catches your gaze on him. “I didn’t plan to spill it on you. I was just nervous.”

“You? Nervous?” You repeat. “Why would you be nervous?”

Mingyu stiffens a little in his seat. “I mean, not nervous because of you, exactly. I mean, yes. You’re just kind of… I don’t know, intimidating?”

You stare at him.

“I’m saying you’re…” he pauses, knowing all too well he’s digging himself deeper into this hole he’s making. “...very cool. Like, cool-cool. Like, you have that unbothered, domineering energy𑁋okay, let me shut up.”

Your shoulders shakes with a lighthearted laugh, and it seems to fill the large room more than it should. Mingyu only sinks down further into the chair, hoping that it could swallow him whole, as the heat spreads up to the tip of his ears. But even despite the embarrassment radiating off him, he can’t bring himself to look away from you for that long. 

“That was probably the best trainwreck of a compliment I’ve heard ever,” You tease playfully while tapping your pen on the table as if to stabilise yourself.

Mingyu groans into his hand. “Please forget I said any of that.”

“Oh no.” You grin. “Sorry, I’m filing that away in our case notes.”

His mouth flies open. “You’re joking.”

You merely shrug. “You’ll never know.”

That silence that follows after is strangely comfortable. Maybe a bit awkward, but not in a bad way. It’s quiet enough for Mingyu to realise this is probably the most peace he’s felt in a while. The adrenaline from the hijacking and discovery of the kryptonite pendant is momentarily forgotten, dulled by the sunlight falling on your face and a smile that crawls right under his skin. 

“Listen,” You begin, your tone turning a bit more serious, though sincere. “I know how people around here work. Trust is a weird currency nowadays. People hold their cards close to their chest, and sometimes, it doesn’t end well. We don’t have to share our life stories with each other. I just need to know…”

You pause for a moment. Mingyu is still waiting for you to continue.

“...that if things ever get messy, you’ll have my back.”

The weight of your words settle heavily on his chest. And there’s something about the way you’re looking at him𑁋steadily, hopeful𑁋that makes his stomach flutter. The same kind of feelings he gets when he’s flying too fast or perched at the edge of space and staring down at the place he’s dedicated to protect. 

He’s not used to this kind of vulnerability. Not from others, and definitely not from himself. 

“I will,” he finally says, voice low yet certain. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Mingyu notices the way you study him for a moment, as if you’re trying to read between the lines of his words and expressions. But then, the curve at your lips fades into something more softer, less amused, reassured. 

“Good,” You murmur, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Because I’ll have yours, too.”

And in the back of his mind, Mingyu knows one thing for sure: that he’ll protect you. From thieves, criminals, and the quiet threats that no one else sees.

Even from himself, if it ever comes to that.

God, especially from himself. 

“Seriously? You kept this from me for an entire week? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Mingyu’s mouth falls open. “Wonwoo𑁋”

“You touched a kryptonite pendant barehanded and now you expect me to assist you on this report that’ll probably end with a front-cover newsletter covering the untimely demise of Superman,” Wonwoo snaps as he paces across the shared living room. “What part of ‘you’re not fully invincible’ do you not understand?”

Jeon Wonwoo is the only other person that knows of Mingyu’s… extracurricular activities. The man has been for him since the very beginning. It was during a particular night during their college days where he had stumbled upon Mingyu levitating in the middle of their dorm room, freaking out about how he could quite literally see through the wall into the next room, and freaking out even more when he was able to see Wonwoo’s entire skeletal system. 

Wonwoo had the opportunity to probably blackmail him to the entire campus, but all he did was simply sigh, and muttered something about always getting the weird roommates before sauntering back into his room. 

Ever since that night, they’ve been inseparable. Wonwoo had silently mingled his way into the role of confidant, cover-up artist, and occasionally, accomplice. He didn’t ask for the job, honestly. He didn’t even like it half the time. But he does his duties anyway, and he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Mingyu can definitely say that he’s the closest thing to family that he’s ever had.

Wonwoo may not have superhuman strength or have literal lasers shooting out of his eyes, but he had something else: a brain filled with logic, the ability to knock some sense into Mingyu, and a camera always slung around his neck that somehow captured the city more truthfully and beautifully than any headline could ever do. 

“Well, I didn’t plan on touching the kryptonite, okay?” Mingyu defends weakly. “The guy was trying to escape out of the truck! What was I supposed to do? Let him get away?”

“No, you call me, or literally anyone else not allergic to space rocks,” Wonwoo grumbles in response. “You’re lucky it was only a pendant. If it were something bigger, you’d probably be in the ER, and it would be a whole other shitshow when they find out about your weird alien space blood. Or worst case scenario, dead.”

Mingyu flops back down on the couch, running a hand over his face with a heavy sigh. It’s almost as if he’s carrying the weight of the entire planet on his shoulders. 

His mind feels like it’s folding into itself, because he really shouldn’t have accepted this case, yet on the other hand, was there anyone else more capable of handling it? 

Later that week, Mingyu stumbles upon you in the archive room. Your face is practically half-buried in a box full of case files, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your hands rummaging through the box like a raccoon going dumpster-diving. 

He stalls in the doorway for a moment, briefly forgetting why he was coming down here in the first place. 

Then, he clears his throat. “Y/N?”

You spin your head towards the doorway, and the way your face softens at the sight of him makes something ache a little in his chest. His inhuman abilities to be able to discern those little details is either a blessing or a curse. Or both. 

“Hey,” You breathe out, almost as if you’ve run a marathon, brushing away your dusty hands on your pants. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Mingyu slowly inserts himself more into the room, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “Would… you have stopped me?”

Your lips twitch in amusement. “Would you want me to?”

Your words send an abnormal jolt down his spine. Mingyu clears his throat, and shakes his head.

“No.”

“Then you got your answer.” A proud look briefly passes over your features before you turn your attention back towards the box of case files in front of you. “Come here. Found some stuff you might want to take a look at.”

You feel his shoulder brush against yours as he leans over beside you, the warmth radiating through the sleeves of his flannel hitting your arms. He smells faintly like rain and something earthy, as if he was just a step away from being into the clouds, even though the forecast outside has been sunny the entire day. But you don’t comment about it.

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, his attention mainly fixed on the way you’re quietly scanning through the files. There’s a hint of exhaustion plaguing your face, judging by the subtle sag to your shoulders and crease between your eyebrows as you silently scan the words on the files, hoping to absorb them better.

“Have you been down here for long?” he finally asks.

You take that as a chance to straighten your posture, wincing slightly. “Yeah. Long enough for my back to start complaining.” 

Mingyu chuckles softly. “You could’ve called me down here, you know.” 

“I thought I was the investigative journalist in this partnership,” You remark wittily without looking up, continuing to sift through the files. 

“Not necessarily for that stuff, I mean…” Mingyu shrugs sheepishly. “...to just be here with you, I guess. So you wouldn’t be alone.”

His words alone are enough to make you momentarily pause. You glance up at him, and a millisecond is enough for Mingyu to catch that flicker of surprise to your eyes, quickly followed by something softer, perhaps fond, and a pinch of nervousness. But it fades just as swiftly as it came. 

You don’t smile, not exactly, but your features soften noticeably. The archive room suddenly feels as if it’s shrunken three times in size. You clear your throat.

“I’ll make note of that then,” You say quietly, before sliding over a few papers in his direction𑁋surveillance pictures, specifically. “I found something strange while looking at the list of disappearances.”

Mingyu narrows his eyes, studying the photos in front of him. Most of which are simply blurry photos of random civilians he doesn’t recognise, taken in grocery stores, restaurants, or simply walking down the street. 

“These people… They don’t have any background,” You explain. “Some of them don’t have any official documentation in any databases. Only a name, and that’s it.”

Mingyu bites at his bottom lip in thought. “So it’s like they appeared out of nowhere?”

“Exactly.” You brighten from his words. “Which, obviously, can be a motive of some sorts. Whoever is taking them knows that these people don’t actually exist, even though they do, making them easy targets, more difficult to track down and find. Because… they wouldn’t have anybody to look for them. They knew their cases would eventually be dropped.”

His heart sinks at the thought. You slide more photos over to him, looking at him curiously. 

“Do you know anything about what this… green mineral thing is?” 

Mingyu’s brain stutters. 

“There was a biotech company back then𑁋CARAT Corp𑁋which was suspected of using these green minerals in their experiments and machines,” You explain casually. “Then they got accused of several counts of illegal experimentation. Rumours of black-market robotics, AI enhancements, which prompted its inevitable demolition and arrest of the owner. Heard he got bailed out of jail not even a year later and fled the country.”

You motion a finger over some of the photos, and there’s clearly that familiar green glow around some of the blurry figures, and Mingyu immediately recalls the pendant he found on that hijacker. 

“Someone’s been collecting this stuff again. Quietly. Systematically. And selling it off.”

Selling it off. It’s definitely a likely explanation to why that hijacker had a kryptonite pendant on. But the more important question is why? 

“From what I’ve read about this stuff back then, it’s definitely… otherworldly. It reacts differently compared to other minerals on Earth,” Mingyu explains. “It’s supposedly radioactive as well. Definitely not something you’d find on the periodic table, for sure.”

You nod your head slowly, trying to process the information. “That’s… definitely a case.”

“But there’s not much research on it, from what I know at least. Heard a lot of scientists and physicists these days don’t even want to touch that stuff,” Mingyu finishes with a tilt of his head. “Too unstable. Too unknown. I’ll try to look into what this stuff is.”

A sudden, loud click of your pen is enough to make anyone in the room flinch. Mingyu hears a snicker leave your mouth.

“This is definitely something deeper, isn’t it?” You question pensively, mostly to yourself, your gaze lingering over the various photos spread out on the table. 

Mingyu watches you closely. To the way you’re chewing at your bottom lip as you think, to the way your fingers are hovering over the photos, aching to pull the truth out of them. It’s impossible to look away from you. 

“It definitely is,” he mutters, taking in a deep breath. “But we’ll figure it out, right?”

You turn to him expectantly, eyes locking onto him. “Together?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu answers, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Together.”

Your shoulders relax to his words. “Great. Let’s get these things upstairs so we could cross-reference them. I forgot my stupid eye drops at my desk.”

You bend over to lift the box, planting firm hands on both sides, preparing to hoist it up in your arms. The files inside the box shift inside, some of them nearly tumbling out and falling to the floor, but you manage to adjust your position.

Mingyu finds himself reaching over instinctively, but he hesitates for a moment. “Y/N, I can carry𑁋”

“I’ve got it,” You insist cheekily, shooting him a determined look. “Don’t think I can carry a little box?”

“It’s not that𑁋”

But just as you get the box in a comfortable hold, the bottom corner clips against the table, and it shifts your entire balance, making the box tilt violently in your grasp, a rain of documents preparing to dampen the ground. Unknowingly, your foot catches onto a loose folder you didn’t notice had fallen onto the smooth tile floor, and everything happens all at once. A started yelp leaves your lips before you could even register it.

And you’re stumbling backwards, your backside threatening to land on the ground.

Mingyu moves before he even realises it. 

One second, he’s watching you stumbling backwards; in the next, he’s secured the box in his left arm while his right hand rests tightly around your waist. You take a few seconds to blink, suddenly no longer falling but coming back upright𑁋and very much pressed against Mingyu’s broad chest, who was peering down at you, wide-eyed. 

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a slight tremble to his voice.

You could only stare back up at him, suddenly very aware of how close he is as your brain struggles to catch up with what just happened. His hand is still around your waist𑁋warm, steady, protective𑁋and you don’t make any sort of move to shrug it off. And neither does he.

“I𑁋yeah,” You breathe out shakily, clearing your throat loudly. “Thanks.”

You still don’t move. Same as him.

His glasses have slipped the tiniest amount down the bridge of his nose, and his hair has fallen in front of his eyes a bit, but his gaze barely wavers from yours. Finally, after a few long moments, you release yourself from his hold, rubbing away the sweat that has somehow accumulated on your hands on your pants. 

Mingyu steps back as well, giving you some space, and fixes his glasses on his face before letting his hand fall back awkwardly to his side. The tension still makes the air around the two of you heavy, but there’s no sense in hurry between you both of dispeling it𑁋perhaps because neither of you really want to. 

Then, his voice cuts through the air. “I’ll, uh… carry the box, if that’s fine.”

You give a quick nod. “Yeah. Sure. Probably smarter.”

You watch as he carries the box out of the archive room with minimal effort, or no effort, specifically, as if it weighed no more than a paperclip. The two of you file your way back into the hallways of the Daily Planet and towards the elevators. 

As the two of you stand silently in the elevator, your mind can’t help but linger on the way how easily he caught you𑁋how steady his grip was on your body, how warm he felt, how he moved as fast as the blink of an eye. Too fast, maybe. 

“Do you have any plans later?”

You turn towards him, shaking your thoughts away. “What?”

Mingyu keeps his eyes forward, though you notice the imperceptible curve forming at the corner of his mouth. 

“I was just wondering if you… you know, did stuff after working hours,” he says lamely. “Like, any hobbies, or…”

You let out a faint chuckle. “Is this another one of your brilliantly horrible attempts at making small talk with me?”

Mingyu visibly stutters at that, a soft laugh leaving him. “Well, I mean𑁋maybe?” He shakes his head, a little embarrassed. “I just want to get to know you a little bit, that’s all.” 

You tilt your head to the side, studying over him as you both ride up the elevator. It’s somewhat… endearing at the way he looks right now. His posture is straightened like a stick as if he’s attempting to appear cool, but the twitch of nerves to his fingers tapping against the cardboard box is pretty much a dead giveaway. It still makes your heart skip a beat, regardless.

“I knit,” You respond suddenly, making Mingyu shift his attention to you. “On occasion. Badly, most of the time. I also cook𑁋horrible at that too. And I read, probably too much to the point my eyes feel like sandpaper.”

It’s only a tiny sliver of information, but it’s enough to hit him with a wave of relief. It’s kind of absurd imagining you𑁋an A-list investigative journalist who’s always on her feet𑁋to be bad at anything. But he likes knowing you have those sides of you as well. Unlike him, you’re human, after all. 

“Cute,” he mutters quietly without realising it.

You lift a brow. “‘Cute’? Seriously?”

His mouth falls agape. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that𑁋”

“It’s fine, Mingyu,” You reassure him calmly. “I liked it.”

Mingyu swears he feels his heart stop.

“And how about you?” Confidence fills up your voice. “Any hobbies that I should know from you?”

Oh, you know, he answers in his head. I like to fly up to the stratosphere and breathe in space fumes, punch criminals straight to Pluto, and use my heat vision to warm up my cups of instant ramen. 

“I… like to go to the gym,” he answers instead, but it comes out as if it was the only thing he could think about. “Other than that, um… nothing much. Just work and research, you know?”

The elevator dings, signaling that the two of you are close to the floor you’re supposed to step off on. You snicker a little.

“I see,” You say, smirking to yourself. “Keep being your little mysterious self then, Kim Mingyu.”

Mingyu blinks dazedly. “Huh?”

The elevator dings again, and the doors swing open. It’s time to get back to work. 

“But lucky for you,” You continue, stepping ahead of him and onto the floor. “it’s my favourite genre to read.”

Alarms loudly blare out of the Seoul National Bank, their sharp wails cutting through the late afternoon rush of the city. Red and blue lights flash across the marble pillars of the large building, helicopters swerve frantically through the skies, and crowds outside begin to cluster on the sidewalks outside, held back by the barricades and arms of police officers.

Inside the bank, it’s absolute chaos. Frantic and frightened shouts echo from hostages locked inside, scattered with threats by masked figures armed with weapons and bags containing large sums of money. 

Mingyu is already mid-air when the call goes out.

Within seconds, he’s descending from the sky. He slices through the clouds as his cape pillows behind him. The moment he sets foot on the concrete stairs leading up to the bank, the ground itself shakes with his presence. Gasps erupt from onlookers behind the police barricades. Phones are raised, cameras are flashing, news outlets are reporting. The world is watching. Superman is here.

All it takes is a singular inhale before he’s barrelling headfirst through the solid entrance of the bank. Debris flies in all sorts of directions, crumbling down all over the floor. Mingyu spots the robbers immediately: four of them, their identities shrouded with masks and hoods, armed weapons in their hands. Frightened civilians and families all scramble to the corners of the buildings, cowering in fear. 

“He’s here!” a civilian shouts from the side. “It’s Superman!”

Pride swells in his chest as he speeds towards two of the robbers, who were uselessly scrambling for their weapons. With his super-speed, Mingyu swipes the first one and throws away his gun like a toy, and knocks the second one unconscious with the gentlest flick of a finger. 

He dodges a panicked swing of a knife that comes from the third robber, and Mingyu responds with a hard kick to the robber’s stomach. A choked groan leaves the robber’s lips, before he’s completely forced to the ground with a loud thud, and the force of the punch is probably enough to knock some teeth out. 

Just from all that, there were no visible signs of struggle to Mingyu’s body. His fists clench together at his side. All who is left standing is the final robber, who was positioned right at the open entrance to the vault. 

However, as Mingyu trails closer, he finds himself suddenly… disorientated, as if the world has tilted slightly off-axis.

“What the…” he moans out as a pulse of nausea hits him. Tightness coils in his stomach, and his shoulders feel as if they’re carrying the weight of boulders. It’s like his strength is being sucked away from him by the seconds that are passing. 

His vision swarms with a burning, sickly green hue, his knees buckling beneath him. Ahead of him, the fourth robber doesn’t even flinch and simply stands still, calm, too calm, arms relaxed as his sides as if this was just an ordinary day. 

“Fuck…” Mingyu curses, staggering back a step, his breath hitching in his throat.

The metallic taste of weakness is bitter on his tongue. The pain of acid slithers up his bloodstream. It takes every ounce of his strength to focus on the robber looming over him, and he notices it immediately.

The kryptonite pendant. The same pendant from the truck hijacker, and now, this robber was wearing it. But it wasn’t just one robber who has it on𑁋all of them do. The others that Mingyu knocked down earlier all reach inside their clothes, revealing their glowing pendant in their hands, exposing Mingyu to more pain. 

Phones are still rolling. Cameras are still clicking. 

And exposing his pain to the entire world. 

All he can see and hear around him are the loud shutters of cameras clicking, mouths whispering, and sirens booming from outside. News outlets are about to have the absolute field day of their entire careers. 

His stomach physically churns at the sight. 

Then the robber lunges forward, hitting him square in the ribs with the butt of his rifle, and for the first time in years𑁋it hurts. 

The shock in his eyes mirrors the horror in every single hostage in the building. He’s Superman. He doesn’t get hurt.

“Not so tough, ay?” the robber sneers, a malicious smirk forming under his mask. “Looks like everyone’s favourite superhero can bleed after all.”

With a tight purse of his lips, Mingyu fires two rays of heat vision from his eyes, aiming with precision𑁋not directly at the robber himself, but down to the floor𑁋and with a loud crack, the marble floor splits beneath his feet. It’s enough to buy Mingyu some time, especially as he can hear the SWAT team and police force making their way up towards the entrance. 

He grits his teeth, forcing himself to remain upright as he fights the waves of radiation from the kryptonite. Sweat beads down his forehead. The pain is searing and hot, like flames dancing over his skin, but he has to push through as much as he can𑁋he has to. People are watching. People are hoping. 

“You see this here, Superman?” the robber spits hoarsely, appearing above him once again with the pendant in his hand. “You can’t win this one. It’s just the beginning.”

If he had his super-strength, or his super-speed, he would’ve punched this robber straight to Mars at this point. But he can’t, especially not with the kryptonite dangling off the man’s neck, taunting him, painfully blurring and mashing together his mind and thoughts. 

But he also can’t let these people die. He’s made a promise to the world: to protect it and its people. 

Channeling every last bit of his strength, Mingyu throws his weight forward onto the robber, collapsing onto the ground and pinning the man right below him. 

“Tell me… who your dealer is,” Mingyu threatens lowly, his voice weak. “Or I’ll fucking end you right here.”

The robber squirms in his hold, kicking and thrashing, refusing to answer. 

“Answer me, dammit!” Mingyu demands again, harsher this time.

But before the robber can answer, the SWAT force finally enters the bank, their guns aimed and shields positioned. Bullets fire deafeningly through the room as the officers non-lethally shoot at the other robbers, forcing their weapons down to the ground. 

Mingyu only groans to himself, giving the man in his hold one more death glare before letting go, and he could only stand and watch as the robber’s eyes remain on him until he disappears out of the building. He can’t bring himself to meet eyes with the hostages as they’re all escorted out of the bank and back outside. 

Paramedics and firefighters start rushing into the bank as Mingyu finds himself leaning against the crumpled doorway, the remnants of the kryptonite still lingering in the air like a poisonous gas. Even as the robbers are taken away, it still doesn’t rid of the burdened guilt threatening to swallow him whole.

“Superman?” an officer’s voice suddenly chimes in.

“I’m fine,” he lies flatly. “Make sure to take the pendants from those bastards and send them to a lab.”

The officer nods before briskly moving away. He can only watch the scene unfold in front of his eyes in trepidation, a sigh of defeat leaving him. He knows he’s already overstayed his welcome in this fight. 

As he exits the bank and prepares to take off, though, a swarm of reporters come rushing in like a harsh wave crashing onto the shore. Incessant flashes of their cameras surround him as they shout over each other to get a single word in. 

“Superman! Superman! Did you really sustain injuries from today’s robbery?”

“Over here! Superman!”

“Were you affected by the robbers’ weapons? Can you explain why?”

Mingyu’s eyes dart around as he forces a strained smile to the cameras. He tries to search for a chance to escape, but the reporters are relentless. But he knows if he reveals remotely anything, there will be somebody already out there watching, waiting, for the moment to exploit him. 

Until a bombshell is dropped.

“Is it true that you have a weakness? What would that mean for the people? The country? The world?”

The mass crowd of reporters fall silent for a few seconds as they anticipate any sort of answer, like time itself has come to a pause. Mingyu feels his heart completely sink. His secret wasn’t just a risk threatening to be expelled anymore𑁋it was happening right before his eyes. The blood rushes to his ears. Cameras continue to roll. Microphones are thrusted in his direction.

His jaw clenches. The silence is enough to offer an answer to the media.

“Superman! How do we know if you’re still able to protect us?”

He doesn’t say a single word. He can’t. There’s no right answer.

Even if he lies or denies it, the world has seen too much.

Every inch of the footage would be dissected frame-by-frame. Everyone would see the pained expression on his face, to the way he literally fell down to his knees, how he was knocked down by a singular punch to the ribs. Everyone would see the glowing green pendants strapped around the robbers like trophies. 

And in some dark spot in the world, someone would see it as an opportunity. 

His heart races with anxiety as he scans over the crowd one final time. He catches every panicked face, every worried look, every pitiful glance in his direction from children and adults alike. But he also spots anger and fear. 

Then his eyes linger on a particular figure.

It’s a man. He’s wearing an all black suit, which appears pressed to perfection, along with a fedora that creates a shadow to shroud over a good chunk of his face. He’s simply just standing there at the edge of the crowd, watching him amidst the chaos surrounding him. Mingyu squints just slightly, allowing his vision to sharpen in on him, and he catches sight of the cold smirk forming at the man’s jagged lips. 

Mingyu feels his fists clench at his sides𑁋not from fear, but from rage. This wasn’t just a robbery; it was planned. 

The crowd only continues to press him, shoving their microphones and flashlights in his face and yelling the same questions over and over again. 

So he makes the only move he can: he flies off, sending a few people almost stumbling to the ground from the force of the launch. 

The voices of the crowd of bystanders and reports fade away as he takes to the skies, the city blurring right beneath him.

When he lands onto the rooftop of the Daily Planet, he’s already trembling. He thinks about everything: the kryptonite, the robbery, the people…

And his thoughts land on you.

His eyes flutter shut.

Mingyu thinks about you, and for some reason, it’s the only thing that’s keeping him grounded right now. He thinks about that particular sparkle in your eyes when you’re working on the case; he thinks about your laughter whenever he fails in his dumb attempts at talking to you; he thinks about your intimidating passion for justice; he thinks about how when he’s with you, he feels like… he can be himself. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about you. He shouldn’t be feeling this much for you.

But he is.

BREAKING: Superman Weakened In National Bank Heist – Mysterious Green Objects To Be Identified The Re-emergence of Green Minerals, From CARAT Corp to Present Day: A National Security Concern Superman’s Weakness Exposed: What Does This Mean For The World?

“Are you just going to be sitting around moping all day like a lost puppy?” Wonwoo’s voice interrupts.

Mingyu just groans. “What else should I be doing when I’m exposed to the entire world?”

“They still don’t know it’s you,” Wonwoo replies evenly, stepping further into the living room with two glasses of water, offering one to him. “They know Superman got hurt; they didn’t know it was you. Your lucky glasses still work as a disguise, somehow.”

Mingyu only continues to silently brood, taking the glass of water from Wonwoo’s hands and chugging it down before placing it back firmly on the coffee table. 

“They were scared,” he says quietly. “The people. I saw it all in their eyes. They looked at me like I… like I failed them, because I did.”

“No,” Wonwoo retorts sharply. “They were scared because they care. Because they’ve come to rely on you when things go to shit in this cesspool of a city. You’re human, Mingyu.”

“I’m not,” Mingyu snaps back, then falters. “I mean… not exactly. Not completely.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wonwoo shoots him a fixed, stern look. “I mean that you feel things like one. Happiness. Sadness. Everything in between. You care a little too much, and honestly? That’s a good thing, and probably a bad thing.”

Wonwoo’s words settle within the crevices of his bones, because he’s right. He always is. Mingyu isn’t human𑁋he wasn’t organically brought upon this world like everyone else. And yet… Here he is, wearing his sensitive little Kryptonian heart on his sleeve, while feeling guilt, shame, fear, and hurting like any other person would. 

Mingyu slumps further down in the couch, staring at the muted television screen, all of which were constantly replaying the footage of Superman, of him, falling weakly to his knees and grimacing in pain from the kryptonite. There were also several news outlets broadcasting about how Superman seemed to have completely vanished after the incident, and it deepens the fear even more. 

“And what if I can’t save them next time?” Mingyu asks, voice wavering. “What if someone dies because I was too weak enough to save them?”

“Then you grieve, and show up again,” Wonwoo responds like it was the easiest question in the world. “That’s what heroes do.”

Mingyu leans back against the couch and closes his eyes. His mind still aches. 

And then, he hears a soft knock on the apartment door.

He shoots Wonwoo a puzzled look, but Wonwoo only gives him a helpless shrug. Mingyu stands up and heads towards the door, and he feels his heart drop to the floor when he peers through the peephole.

It’s you.

Panicking slightly, he makes sure that he looks slightly presentable𑁋fixing his unkempt hair, putting on his glasses and smoothing out his clothes, even though he sure as hell knows he looks like shit. He clears his throat dramatically a few times and reaches for the lock.

And then he hesitates.

He stares at the door like it’s a ticking time bomb, his pulse rattling loudly in his ears. Why have you come? How did you know where he lives? Either way, you shouldn’t be here. Not now. Not when his weakness is still plastered across every television screen in the country. Not when there’s people out there probably analysing the grainy pictures of his face. And especially not when he’s sure that if you look at him for more than a few seconds, you’ll know that something is off.

But you came anyway.

Mingyu curses under his breath and finally turns the lock, slowly pulling open the door just enough to peek his head out.

“Y/N?”

Your hand is suspended mid-air when the door opens, and you bring it back down to your side.

“Hey,” You greet him all-too-casually, but there’s something else there too𑁋almost like concern.

“Hey,” Mingyu greets back, forcing on a small smile. “How, uh… did you know where I lived?”

You chuckle quietly. “Well, you haven’t stopped by the office to review the case in a few days, so I got… worried, naturally. You’re my partner in this after all. Seungcheol started pestering me about it, and he sort of gave me your address to hunt you down and well… here I am.”

Mingyu’s brows knit together in disbelief. Seungcheol, that bastard. Of course he would be the one to initiate this sort of intervention for him, and of course it would be you who would actually follow through with it. 

“Right,” Mingyu murmurs awkwardly. “That makes sense. Yeah.”

You shift your weight between your two feet, still looking up at him. Mingyu thinks it’s his first time ever seeing you like this𑁋not as the passionate investigative journalist he’s become familiar with, but uncertain and hesitant. You’re not wearing your usual professional and confident front; there’s no sharp gleam in your eye like there is when you’re chasing a lead, no teasing lift at your lips when you’re making fun of him. 

“So,” You continue, carrying your words carefully. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a few feigned coughs. “Yeah, I… I was just feeling under the weather, you know? I know I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want to worry you, I guess.”

You smile at that, and there’s that little lift to your lips. Maybe he’s the only one who could bring that out of you. 

“Look where that worrying has got me then,” You say, motioning towards the empty hallway. “But you’re alive, so that’s good enough for now.”

You try to keep your tone light, like it’s just a simple check-in between co-workers, but it doesn’t seem as hidden with the way you’re fiddling your fingers aimlessly at the hems of your sleeves. And from the way you can’t let your eyes drift away from his face.

Mingyu feels something in his chest ache. You shouldn’t care this much for him. But you do. And he… he shouldn’t want you to. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have come by unannounced, especially if you don’t feel well,” You suddenly say, taking a small step back. “I just thought𑁋Nevermind. I’ll go.”

You turn slightly, already preparing to walk away, when Mingyu opens the door a little farther.

“Wait.”

You stop.

He doesn’t think. He just speaks.

“Do you… want to come inside?” 

Your eyes widen, caught off-guard by the question. “Are you sure?”

Mingyu’s expression stalls for a moment, searching over your face for any unsureness𑁋because if there is, he’ll let you go. He’ll watch you walk away from him even if every fibre and cell in his alien being is fighting to pull you closer. 

But he doesn’t see any of that on you. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.

“Yeah,” he relents. “I’m sure.” 

You fully face yourself towards him. “Okay.”

You step inside his apartment, your eyes scanning around as Mingyu closes the door behind you. It’s clearly lived-in, but tidy. There’s an empty glass and a few cans of beer on the coffee table, a blanket tossed over the couch, and on mute, the TV displaying the information that had taken the world by storm: Superman. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t prepared for any company at all.” Mingyu breaks the silence with an embarrassed laugh. “I live here with Wonwoo𑁋I’ve mentioned him before, he’s over there in the kitchen. He’s on the photojournalism floor. Been helping a little with the case too.”

“Guilty,” Wonwoo adds in while shutting the refrigerator door. 

“Actually, that’s… what I wanted to talk about. The case,” You chime in, turning to Mingyu. “If you have time for it, at least.”

Mingyu hesitates, his fists clenching at his side.

Of course. The case.

“Did you find any leads?” he asks warily.

You smile grimly, clasping your hands together like you’re about to announce a ment, and Mingyu knows that he’s in trouble𑁋not the kind of trouble that involves possible planetary destruction, but the kind that reaches in, pulls at his ribs, and settles somewhere quietly in his heart. 

Or in other words, he may or may not be screwed. 

“After those robbers were arrested, I ran a background check,” You explain. “Found some sketchy things in their financial histories, all linked to the same offshore account. Someone must be literally selling and manufacturing these things like they’re goods. It might explain the pendants they were wearing during the heist.”

Mingyu stiffens.

Wonwoo chimes in from the kitchen. “You believe that someone is possibly selling them to the public?”

“More likely to criminals,” You say with a sigh. “Probably embedding them in cheap-looking metal and selling it under the guise of crystals or pendants. Who knows how many people are wearing this stuff without fully knowing what they are.”

“And they do now.” Wonwoo points towards the muted television. “and they know what it does.”

“Which makes them all the more dangerous,” You continue affirmatively. “And get this. There’s a place that’s been popping up in these records. Pier 13. Do any of you know about that place?” 

Mingyu and Wonwoo exchange a particular look between each other. 

“It’s where CARAT Corp was originally established before it got demolished,” Wonwoo clarifies. “Place has been off-limits for years, but that wouldn’t stop people from snooping around.”

You nod. “I figured as much. They had all kinds of unconfirmed rumours. I pulled up old building records and chemical logs. Whatever they were doing there before it went under, they left behind traces. And someone is deciding to keep it alive.” 

Mingyu bites down at his bottom lip. His eyes are still on you as you continue to explain the leads and information you found, speaking with the confidence of the journalist that the world knows and admires. 

“I don’t think this was just a robbery,” he mutters under his breath.

You glance at him, brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

“It was… too deliberate. Coordinated. I don’t think they were there just for the money. Who shows up to rob a vault in broad daylight wearing experimental pendants?” Mingyu questions, voice tight with the barest hints of restraint. “They wanted Superman to show up.”

It’s almost as if a bombshell had dropped to the floor. It all makes sense now. 

The news of the heist and Superman has been dominating the news for the past few days. It’s all everyone at the office has been talking and publishing about. You admit that it’s been sticking in your mind as well, especially the footage of him𑁋of Superman, knees down to the ground, breath laboured, the face of fear he wore𑁋collapsing. 

That image hasn’t left your head since you saw it. 

“Superman has always been quite the phenomenon, hasn’t he?” You murmur, more to yourself. “I mean, I’ve hardly ever been interested in writing pieces about him𑁋I usually leave those to the cocky columnists. He’s done a lot of good things, for sure. People idolise him. His name would always top the headlines for even the smallest things.”

In the background, Mingyu chuckles nervously. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a grudge against him.”

You look over at him, quirking up a brow. “Not a grudge. Just a healthy level of skepticism. Comes with the job, you know? Even when he saved my bag from being stolen that one time, I’d never put him on a pedestal like that𑁋never wrote his name in glittering gold like the rest of the city does.”

Mingyu snorts at that. “You’re different.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. Well… Everyone I’ve ever talked to has always looked up at him in that way𑁋like he’s some sort of god. Untouchable. But you…” Mingyu trails off, eyes flickering to yours for just a second before looking away. “You don’t see him that way.” 

You tilt your head, watching him closely. “And is that a bad thing?”

Mingyu pauses. Considering. Hesitation and awe spiraling around him. He shakes his head.

“No,” he answers meekly. “I don’t think it is.” 

You smile at that, and Mingyu thinks he could kiss you right now. His chest aches, and it’s ridiculous to think that it feels more painful than damn kryptonite radiation.

“Good,” You muse softly, then you add in playfully, “Besides, if he were perfect, I think I’d hate him a little bit. It’s the flaws that make people interesting, anyway.”

The two of you exchange a bit of laughter at that, and it’s almost as if for once, the world feels at peace. And it doesn’t help that you’re looking at him with such an easy smile as well. Gosh, the things he would do to just rip his glasses off right now and confess everything to you, and yet, he knows that he has to protect you.

Even if it meant hiding the biggest secret of his life right in front of you. 

“Well, I… I should probably get going now. I’ll head to the office and update Seungcheol with everything,” You say. “I already got some people working on trying to trace a source for these accounts. I’ll call you if I get any more leads.”

Mingyu clears his throat, snapping himself out of a daze, scrambling to go open the door. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

When you step back into the hallway of the apartment building, you turn back towards him.

“Take care, alright?” You tell him, and the way you say it so sincerely, so softly, undoes something in him. “Come back when you’re feeling well. Just… don’t disappear on me like that again, okay?”

Mingyu watches as you start walking down the hallway, your back facing him as he feels his throat tighten. A defeated sigh leaves him as he steps back into his apartment, closing the door with a quiet lock. He stares at it for a few moments like it held all the answers to the universe.

Wonwoo appears behind him, arms crossed.

“She’s going to figure it out eventually, you know.”

Mingyu hopelessly rests his forehead against the cold door. “I know.”

“Then what?”

A simple question. A difficult answer.

“Then I just hope… she still sees me.”

Even if the world doesn’t know his identity, Mingyu swears he can feel every pair of eyes on him in the room.

The entire morning he’s been hearing all the mutters about Superman’s lack of… presence lately, to put it lightly. He hasn’t exactly shown his face to the public, or done any of his classic superhero deeds ever since the heist at the bank, and it’s obvious that it has been taking a toll on people, on everyone, on him. 

The world is losing faith in Superman. In him. 

He finds himself staring anxiously at the two cups of coffee sitting on his desk𑁋one for himself, and one for you. His eyes flit to the clock that’s sitting intimidatingly on the wall of the office. You seem to be running a few minutes behind𑁋not that he’s counting or anything. It’s only the fifth time he’s checked the time in the last three minutes.

The elevator dings.

Mingyu’s posture immediately straightens at the sound, and he looks up sharply, just as you step through the doors. Your coat looks slightly askew, your hair somewhat tousled, as if you failed at fighting the wind on the way here. A small stack of folders is tucked underneath your arms. You look a little frazzled. Still, when his eyes land on you, he doesn’t realise he’s already smiling.

Your eyes glance around the room, and then you spot Mingyu immediately𑁋of course you do. It’s hard not to miss him. The sunlight cowering in through the windows shines a faint halo around his head, and he wears that familiar, stupidly nice smile you can’t unsee once when it’s aimed directly at you. 

“Hey,” You breathe out as you approach, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, I was late. Heavy detour from a car accident on 17th. City traffic was hell.”

Mingyu simply shakes his head, already offering your cup of coffee. “It’s all good.”

You raise a brow as you take it from his hand, fingers brushing against his as you take the cup. “For me?”

“Who else would it be for?”

You roll your eyes at that, taking a sip. Mingyu watches you carefully. 

“With all your trials and tribulations,” You start, taking another sip of the coffee. “I’d say you got the coffee-to-sugar ratio about sixty-five percent correct. Well done.”

Mingyu lets out a relieved sigh. “Sixty-five is a passing grade, you know.”

“According to your terms.” You flash a smile behind your cup, and it makes his chest thrum unevenly. “On mine, it’s barely passing.” 

“So, technically, I still passed,” Mingyu remarks playfully, leaning against the side of his desk.

He’s gotten more confident around you, you consider. It’s cute. 

“Barely,” You shoot back again. “but I’ll let it slide for now. You’ll have to work a little harder.”

Mingyu laughs, and it comes out so effortlessly, so genuine. It’s enough to momentarily silence all the worry that’s been swirling around his head the past few days. You do that to him𑁋ease the tension, smooth the sharp edges with your natural brilliance and determination. He’s painfully aware of the irony: the only person who makes him feel human is also the one he has to keep the biggest truth from. 

Before he can say anything else, a voice booms across the office. It’s Seungcheol. 

“Y/N! Mingyu! Office in five!” 

You give Mingyu a look. “Guess that’s our cue.”

He nods, reaching for his own notes as he falls in step beside you. The two of you wordlessly make your way over to Seungcheol’s office, shoulder-to-shoulder. He hopes you don’t mind the closeness. And upon entering, Seungcheol gestures for you both to sit down. Sunlight bleeds across the table as the two of you take a seat. 

At the corner of Mingyu’s vision, he spots something pulled up on Seungcheol’s monitor: pictures of Superman, of him. His blood grows cold. 

“I’ve been going through your latest reports,” Seungcheol begins. “Both of you have been neck-deep in the green mineral case, and I’ve gotta say, I’m impressed. The idea that whatever this is being sold and distributed like cheap souvenirs is insane. Dangerous. And if it’s true… it could change everything.”

You nod slowly. “I’ve got people trying to work on confirming a direct supplier and checking out Pier 13. There’s definitely a trail somewhere. Hopefully we’ll mark it down without losing it in all the noise recently.”

Seungcheol leans in from his chair, stapling his hands together. “Exactly. Which brings me something I wanted to run by with you.”

The air takes in a visible inhale.

“No one’s seen or heard from Superman since the heist,” Seungcheol starts to explain, and Mingyu sure as hell doesn’t like where this is going already. “No appearances. No saves. The car accident from this morning? When it happened, the peoples’ first thoughts started with Superman. But now? They think he’s abandoned them. Fear is turning into anger.”

Mingyu shifts beside you, his heart plummeting and racing at the same time. You clear your throat loudly.

“Alright, what are you proposing?” You ask curiously.

“There’s the golden question,” Seungcheol says with a smirk. “I want an interview with Superman, and I want you to do it, Y/N.”

Mingyu chokes on air from that, nearly dropping a pen he’s been nervously fiddling with between his fingers. His eyes quickly dart to you, then back to Seungcheol, wondering if he even heard the man correctly.

You blink. “You want… me to interview Superman?”

“I want you to try,” Seungcheol replies ardently. “We don’t know where he is. He’s gone quiet. People are starting to panic. This green mineral situation isn’t helping in the slightest. We need answers, his insight about what this stuff is, and you’re one of the few people I trust to ask the right questions.”

You give a brief pause, unsure if you should feel flattered or not. “I’ve never even talked to him before. Not really.”

Seungcheol lifts a brow. “Didn’t he save your bag once?”

“That doesn’t exactly make us close friends. I had to suffer through an entire day’s worth of being referred to as ‘bag girl’. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

Mingyu feels a little guilty for that. He slumps even deeper in the chair, trying hold himself back from saying something𑁋to tell you and Seungcheol this is a terrible idea, that maybe Superman isn’t ready to face the world like that, to face you like that. But, instead, he chooses to say nothing. 

He’s too deep in his head to notice the way you sideways glance at him. 

“How would I even get in contact with him?” You ask. “It’s not like he has a press secretary or a hotline I could call.”

Seungcheol leans back helplessly, though his lips lift up into the kind of smile that always spells trouble. “That’s the thing. We don’t know. But if there’s anyone who can figure out how to get his attention, it’s you.”

You raise your brows at him, mouth parting in disbelief. “What, you just want me to shout into the sky and hope he hears me?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried it,” Seungcheol says jokingly, before his expression turns back to serious. “Look, I get it. It’s a shot in the dark. But the Daily Planet is trusted, more than any government agency and broadcast network these days. And you’ve gathered yourself a respected reputation already. Maybe if you write a column, an open letter, or get your bag snagged again, he’ll show.”

You chuckle at the last idea as your tongue presses into your cheek, thinking, thoughts already joggling through possible ideas without even meaning to. That always happens when a story itches at the back of your brain. You hate that Seungcheol𑁋and this ridiculous suggestion𑁋might be right.

Beside you, Mingyu remains unusually quiet.

“Let me sleep on it,” You finally say after a long moment. “I’m not saying no. Just let me think it through. But if I do this… I want full independence. No one breathing down my neck, no pre-written questions. If he even agrees to the interview, it has to be on his terms. Not the Planet’s.”

Seungcheol nods, as if he was already half-expecting for you to suggest that. “You’ve got the microphone.” Then his eyes flicker to the clock, and he claps a hand on the desk. “Alright. Meeting’s over. We’ve got a story to chase. Keep me updated, you two. You’re doing great.”

As you and Mingyu gather your belongings and exit out of Seungcheol’s office, you turn to him with a sigh.

“So.” Your shoulders relax. “Guess I gotta dress up pretty for a date with the Man of Steel.”

Mingyu chuckles softly at that𑁋almost too softly that he nearly regrets it. A reluctant smile stretches across his face, a glimmer of panic flashing behind his eyes that you miss as you face forward to place your cup of coffee and files on your desk. 

“A date, huh?” he says, an attempt at lightness, though his chest tightens at the word.

You shoot him a teasing look. “What? Jealous already?”

He clears his throat. “No. Just… didn’t expect you to call it a date.”

“Well,” You muse with a shrug. “I mean, if I’m risking my career and sanity tracking down a metaman who doesn’t even have a phone number or any line of contact, I should at least get a drink out of it, don’t you think?”

Mingyu fixes his glasses, heat rushing up his neck. “Right. Drinks. Maybe he’ll fly you to Italy for an espresso.”

You grin lightly at the thought, sliding back into your chair, and he tries his best to pretend his entire world isn’t crumbling by the seconds that tick by. There’s no good way to stop this now, and the worst part is that he wants to be interviewed by you. He wants to know how it feels to sit down with you as himself𑁋or, rather, his other self𑁋and answer all your questions, the easy ones and the hard ones, just to see that admiring sparkle in your eyes when you’re in your element.

Just to be with you. 

“You’re considering it, aren’t you?” Mingyu asks after a second.

You glance over at him as you power on your computer, offering a shrug. “If it helps the people, and helps us get more information, then it might be worth it.”

Mingyu takes a nervous sip of his coffee. “Do you think he’d say yes?”

“To the interview?”

“Yeah.”

You cross one leg over the other, rotating your chair to face him. “Well, if you were Superman, hypothetically, would you say yes?”

He stares at you𑁋really stares at you𑁋catching sight of that intimidating fire behind your eyes, the curve of your smile, the slight lift of your brow as you wait for his answer. 

“If I were Superman…” he echoes slowly, dragging his words carefully. “...and it was you asking?’

You nod. “That’s the premise.”

He pretends to think. Pretends to put his own thoughts into the person who is him. Pretends to not already know the answer, despite the hammering of his heart in his chest telling him to avoid the topic altogether. 

“If it’s you asking,” Mingyu begins, eyes locking with yours. “I don’t think I could say no.”

There’s a quiet stillness that follows. No one else in the office seems to notice it but him, and maybe you do too, because your lips part𑁋maybe to tease, maybe to question𑁋yet nothing comes out of it. 

However, a smile, one full of amusement, blooms across your lips.

“Then I hope Superman is as receptive as you are, Mingyu.”

Hope is Missing: An Open Letter to Superman By Y/N L/N Investigative Journalist, Daily Planet 

The wind is cool tonight. Brisk enough to have the loose ends of your clothes ruffle through the night air, but not so cold that you mind waiting. You’ve been sitting at the rooftop of the Daily Planet for over an hour at this point, way longer than you had intended, as the clock dials close to midnight. A notepad and recorder sits in front of you, empty just like the seat across. 

You glance down at your shoes, then back up to the darkened sky.

No sign of him. Of anything, really. 

The open letter had been published yesterday morning, a few days after Seungcheol had proposed the idea. It had gone viral almost instantly. People talked, speculated, wondered. And yet here you are, alone on the rooftop, and talking to the stars.

There’s a part of you that feels rather foolish. If anything, at least the view of the city is decent enough to fill you up with a sense of peace𑁋you hardly ever come up to the rooftop, and you think there’s something quite beautiful about seeing the world asleep beneath your feet. You wonder if Superman feels this way when he flies through the skies. 

You click your pen shut as you pull your coat tighter around you, a sudden rush of wind running past your skin. The feeling leaves as fast as it came in, and the sigh that escapes your mouth follows along with it. 

You should really go home. 

But you don’t.

Because as you start to gather your things, there’s another near-silent whoosh that stops you in  your place. It’s subtle, yet far from natural, brushing against the nape of your neck like the ghost of a caress. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

You nearly jump from the voice.

It’s soft, deep, and so alarmingly close that it has you whipping your head around, your notepad clutched at your chest like some makeshift shield. 

And there he is.

Superman. In the flesh, standing with that iconic posture and wearing the famous colours of red and blue of his suit, cape fluttering behind him in the wind. Moonlight drapes over his figure, and he appears almost otherworldly. Somehow, it’s different from the last time you saw him that morning when your bag got stolen. 

That time, he was confident and poise𑁋you briefly recall the moment he shamelessly flirted you too𑁋as if the world was his greatest trophy. But now, there’s something… softer, fonder.

Vulnerable, even.

“Hi,” You manage to croak out, because it’s the only word your mind is able to process at this moment. 

Superman smiles. It isn’t the big, flashy one that the tabloids like to plaster across every news article, but a small, almost boyish curve of his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You feel a strange buzz underneath your skin.

“Hello, Miss L/N,” he greets back calmly, taking a few steps towards you, eyeing the empty seat at the table. “This seat taken?”

You blink, before it all registers back. “Oh, no, it’s not. Here, um, let me𑁋” You quickly scramble to pull the seat open for him. “Take a seat.”

You watch as he gives a short laugh before moving to the empty seat. He moves with grace, with purpose, with power; and yet, there’s something oddly humble in the way he folds himself into the chair, like he’s trying not to take up too much of your space. 

When you take the seat in front of him, his eyes briefly shoot down at the recorder that you place between the two of you, but you don’t hit the record button yet. 

“You picked the weirdest time to show up for an interview,” You remark lightly as you prepare your notes. 

“And you picked the most obvious location to have it in,” Superman declares back as he lets his gaze drift down to the constellation of city lights below. “It’s nice, though. I’ll give you credit for that.”

You glance up, the corner of your lip twitching at the comment. “Figured out it was symbolic, you know. Being high up, close to the stars. Maybe you’d feel more at home.” 

Your eyes are drawn back to your notepad of questions, scanning over each one slowly and carefully. You don’t catch the way his gaze locks back onto you. 

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly. “Home.”

As you finish reviewing your notes, you pick your head back up. “Alright, before we start, are there any boundaries you want to set? Anything in particular you want me to not ask?”

Superman considers your words for a moment, tilting his head. “Not exactly, I would say. But if I did want something… what is it that journalists say again? If I want something𑁋”

“Off the record?”

“Right. Off the record,” he echoes back proudly. “If I wanted something off the record, you’d respect that, right?” 

“Of course,” You answer as you nod without hesitation. “I’m not here to trap you, don’t worry. I’m here to understand you.” 

He hums amusedly, a gentle sound that slips from his throat like a sigh of relief. Then, he offers you a nod of his own, signaling that you could start. 

You reach over tentatively to hit the record button on the recorder. A click reverberates through the air. 

“Time is… 11:43PM. This is Y/N L/N, reporting for the Daily Planet, speaking with𑁋well, I suppose you don’t need an introduction, do you?” 

Superman chuckles at that, a bit raspier at the edges like he’s been holding it in for a while. His hand brushes over the table briefly, before it stills.

“I guess not,” he murmurs. “But you can call me Superman, if it’s easier for you.”

You force yourself to bite back a smile at that, before returning back to the task at hand, adjusting your posture just slightly. Across from you, he mirrors the movement without even thinking. 

“Right. Well, tonight I’ll be speaking with Superman.” You lock a steady gaze on him. “First off, I wanted to thank you for agreeing to this, considering the circumstances lately.”

“It’s a pleasure to be speaking with you, Miss L/N.” Then his eyes soften𑁋the way he addresses you sends a flip to your stomach. “I should be thanking you. I… read the letter that you published. Every word. It was honest, and I owe the people an explanation. An apology, perhaps.” 

You lift a brow at his humility, the tip of your pen roaming over the surface of your notes. “Some might say you disappeared when people needed you most. After the heist at the National Bank, your absence wasn’t just felt, it caused panic. Do you regret it?”

There’s a pause.

His gaze drops to the space between you, hands clasped loosely in front of him on the table. His thumbs brush together in slow, deliberate circles, and when he lifts his eyes back up again, there's something unguarded in them.

“I do,” Superman answers quietly. “I didn’t plan to disappear. I wasn’t trying to… abandon anyone. But during the heist, I was hurt. The green minerals used by the robbers is called kryptonite. And it isn’t just dangerous𑁋it weakens me, my strength, my powers.”

You swiftly write on your notepad as you ask the next question, “What can you tell me about kryptonite? Its origin? What does it do to you, exactly?”

His brows furrow slightly, trying to find the right words. “It’s… hard to describe. It originally came from my home planet, Krypton. Its fragments of what’s left of it after it ceased to exist, scattered it all over space. Your earth’s sun makes it radioactive to me. When I’m near it, the radiation simply… strips those powers away from me. It’s like breathing in poison.”

You take in his words carefully, writing down the information on your notes with cadence. He simply observes you as you write, with your head bent over the paper, lips pursed in concentration, your hair slipping endearingly over your forehead. It’s almost too much to you have this close, yet he could only admire you𑁋this is probably the closest he’ll ever have you, anyway. 

“Krypton… is your home planet, you said?” You glance back up at him for confirmation, and he forces himself to concentrate back on the interview.

“Correct,” Superman affirms, his features wistfully fading into something sad, nostalgic. “I crash-landed here on Earth after it was destroyed. From what I know, not… not one of my people had survived, except me. I was just a baby, so Earth is the only home I really remember. Raised here, pretty much.”

Your pen hovers over the paper hesitantly, considerately. “Do you miss it?”

An unscripted question. 

Mingyu𑁋no, Superman, he mentally reminds himself𑁋hesitates for a few seconds. Not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because he knows how much of himself he potentially risks giving it away. 

“I… don’t know, honestly,” he starts, voice lower now. “I guess you could say I miss the idea of it sometimes. But I’ve found my home here with people I care about. There’s something about this city that makes it hard not to love, you know?”

He looks at you when he says it.

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and weightless all at once. 

You don’t write that one down; instead, you file it into a safe space in the back of your mind. 

“Never picked you to be the sentimental type, Superman,” You tease lightly with a pleased shake of your head. 

A playful glint catches in his dark eyes. “You bring that out of me, I suppose.” 

“Do I now?” You counter back playfully, clicking your pen shut. “And do you always flirt with every person you save?”

Superman grins cheesily at that. “Only certain ones, especially if their bags get stolen.” Then his eyes brighten up mischievously. “Keep that off the record, though.”

Petals of warmth bloom throughout your chest at that, and gosh, you already know you would have to cut out so many parts in this recording when you update Seungcheol about the case, because you really don’t want to be accused of fraternising with Superman, as ridiculous as it sounds. 

It’s strange, really𑁋how you’re casually sitting here interviewing a literal alien superhero with powers that defies the laws of anything, and yet, the two of you are sitting here like you’ve known each other for months.

For a few moments, you don’t know how to respond to that, and the only thing you can do is to clear your obnoxiously dry throat. You partly blame the cold air for it.

“Anyways, well𑁋next question.” You snap your pen open again. “The kryptonite. We’ve received multiple sources proving that it’s being distributed in bulk to criminals around the city under the disguise of those pendants from the heist. Criminals are wearing them when committing their crimes. Do you have any insights on that?” 

He sobers up instantly, expression turning serious. 

“My only guess is that they’re using the kryptonite to bring me down.”

You hum approvingly. “And do you have a reason why they would want to bring you down?”

He stills briefly, then answers carefully, “For power. For leverage. Fear. I’m the biggest obstacle between standing between them and their ambitions, so getting rid of me would offer less resistance. Fear is easier to spread when hope is chipped away.”

You give a thoughtful nod as you digest his words. Your pen scratches softly against the paper as you scribble down his responses. When you pick your head back up, he holds a steady gaze on you already, and it’s making it harder and harder for you to stay objective. 

“Is that what you consider yourself, Superman?” You ask lightly. “A symbol of hope?”

Something flickers across his eyes, before he shakes his head.

“Not exactly,” he responds quietly. “I think people deserve hope. I just want to remind them it’s still there.”

Those words seem to hit you𑁋an unexpected vulnerability from someone who appears untouchable to anything. The answer makes you smile, however, although very faintly. 

“Some people argue that the world is too dependent on you. That humanity relies on you too much to fix things when we should be fixing it ourselves,” You begin to ask. “What is your response to that?”

Superman doesn’t answer right away. His head hangs low, but it’s not from defeat. Far from it.

“I want humanity to fix itself. I’ve never wanted to stand above anyone else. My role on Earth has… never been about solving problems.” He looks back up, eyes shining with something fierce, passionate, and kind. “It’s about standing with the people. Reminding them that they can fight. I don’t rescue people because they are weak𑁋I rescue them because they deserve a chance to keep going.”

“Then why stay?” You press a little more, writing as you ask. “Why keep risking yourself if there’s no realistic way for humanity to fix its own issues? Doesn’t it ever make you feel… hopeless, in a way?”

The silence stretches a little. The only sound comes from the recorder whirring between the two of you, recording every word. 

“I do have days where I wonder if I’m really making a difference,” he admits. “But then I see a firefighter run up to a burning building without hesitation. I see a kid stand up to a bully. I see people love each other, even through the messiness and brokenness that comes with it.”

He leans in slightly, folding his arms across the table. 

“You don’t have to be indestructible to protect people. You just have to be willing. Courage doesn’t come from having powers𑁋it comes from choices and actions. I didn’t choose to have these abilities, but I did choose what I wanted to do with them. Which, to answer that, is doing the greater good.” 

Quietness floats through the air as you write down his answers. You can barely feel the cold on your skin anymore. When your gaze roams over the next question, you nearly debate skipping it entirely, but that wouldn’t be honest𑁋not as a journalist. And not with him.

You take in an inhale. “Superman.”

“Miss L/N.”

The corners of your lips quiver from hearing him call you that. 

“How do you choose who to save?”

His face doesn’t change. But if you looked at him even closer, the stillness that settles over him is a different kind. More heavy. 

“I mean,” You continue carefully. “When the world is falling apart in five places at once, when lives are on the line in different corners of the city… how do you live knowing you can’t be everywhere? How do you pick? And how do you carry the burden of the ones you don’t get to in time?” 

It’s probably the toughest, most human question you’ve asked this entire night. You watch him closely. 

“Sometimes, when I fly, I can hear almost everything,” Superman begins. “Sirens. Screams. Prayers. I hear them all. At times, it becomes overwhelming𑁋sort of crushes me with all this pressure. And it hurts physically, emotionally, mentally.”

You say nothing, letting your pen stay still to listen.

“It’s unbearable knowing I can’t reach them all. There are times where I’m five seconds too late.” His voice is tighter now. “I don’t choose who to save based on who matters more. I pick because someone needs help, and I move as fast as I can, wherever I can. But it doesn’t make the ones I couldn’t reach any easier to forget.”

The way he’s looking at you while answering almost makes you feel like you’re being stripped bare. It’s not invasive, but honest. Raw honesty. 

“But here’s what I believe,” he continues modestly. “Even though I can’t save everyone, I know I saved someone. And maybe that person goes on to save others, and those others save more. That’s how hope survives𑁋it spreads, even in the places I can’t reach. And that… that��s worth the burden.”

You hardly notice how close his hand is to yours on the table now, but you can’t will yourself to move. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of the way he speaks so achingly human about the way he carries his pain, about the way he speaks not like some saviour or god𑁋just as a man learning to navigate with the weight of the world on his shoulders constantly. Just a man trying to do what’s right. 

It makes your curiosities wander as well, because who exactly is Superman? 

“So, um, in light of all things,” You begin, readying your pen up once more. “What is your plan? How do you intend to stop the kryptonite distribution around the city?”

He shifts in his chair, his body language becoming more focused, determined, while the city lights dance across his eyes. There’s a pause as you observe the way he searches for the right words, his jaw tightening a fraction as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ll stop them, no matter what it takes,” he answers with certainty. 

You jot all of this down on your notepad. Then you gaze back up at him, and you feel a pinch of worry. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?”

He laughs halfheartedly at that. “I’ve handled worse things.”

Yet your face remains steady with concern. “What about the kryptonite? What if… it doesn’t go your way? If they succeed, what happens then?”

Mingyu𑁋no, Superman, shit𑁋feels an odd tug at his heartstrings at the way you ask it. It’s unsettling, yet comforting all at once. Because you care, the same kind of care you expressed to him when you showed up at his doorstep the other week as he gave you the lame excuse of being sick for his absence. You’ve shown care to both sides of his coin, even if you don’t fully realise it, and that means something.

It’s so, so hard. He has to constantly remind himself that in moments like these, he’s supposed to be Superman, not Mingyu, even if his instincts ache to scream at you. 

“No matter what happens to me, or how dark it gets,” Superman finally says after a long beat, his tone bittersweet. “I’ll never stop fighting.”

With a final, firm nod, you document down his responses and let the silence settle between the two of you. You managed to cover a lot of ground, and there’s definitely a lot of information you can work with for the case as well as the article that you plan to write surrounding the interview. When you finish writing, you reach a finger over to click stop on the recorder. 

“Right. Thank you for your time, Superman. I believe that’s all the questions I have for you for tonight,” You say as you close your notepad and begin to gather your things.

“For tonight?” he repeats with a sly look. “So there will be… other nights?”

You scoff at that while shoving your notepad and recorder back into your bag, but the warmth blooming in your cheeks betrays you. 

“Don’t push your luck, Superman,” You say teasingly, slinging your bag over your shoulder, already taking a few steps towards the door back into the building. “I’m going to start thinking you’re interested in me.”

“And what if I am?”

You freeze in place at that, your grip tightening around the strap of your bag. When you turn around, he’s already stood up, his red cape flying behind him in the cool, nighttime breeze. Despite the banter, there’s something about the way he’s looking at you𑁋something soft and devastatingly earnest. 

“There’s a city that needs saving out there,” You assure him as calmly as you can be. “I’m sure you have better things to do than to entertain… this. Don’t put me on your priority list.”

And yet, some deep part of your heart aches at your own words.

Superman only steps closer to you. Your feet stay planted heavily on the ground. 

“Five minutes,” he says.

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Five minutes. That’s all I ask for,” he mutters, quieter this time. “The city can wait five minutes, can it?”

This earns him a narrowed gaze from you as you peer at him carefully. You could leave. You could leave this moment behind and carry on with your life, investigate and finish the case, and forget the fact that a man who has the power to wield the Earth in his own hands is standing right in front of you, asking for something as simple as five minutes of your time. 

You know what you’re getting into if you allow your feelings to get the better of you. You can’t possibly be this careless with your heart without knowing all the pieces of who he is. It’s risky𑁋so, so risky. 

But the other part of you, the part that’s been slowly falling into his orbit, tells you to stay. It’s just five minutes. Only five minutes. 

“Five minutes,” You repeat softly. “No more, no less.”

Superman grins knowingly from where he stands. “You have my word.”

You watch as he takes a few more steps towards you, and suddenly, without warning, he extends a hand to you. An open invitation. You stare at him in disbelief for a few moments.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he says with confidence, his hand unwavering in the space between you. “Do you trust me?”

You stand there in hesitation, the question lingering in the air, as your eyes flicker between his outstretched hand and the twinkling lights of the city skyline. When your gaze flits back up to him, he’s still waiting, eyes hopeful but not demanding. It’s crazy how easy it is to get swept up in the charm of a superhero. 

But… there’s more to him, isn’t there?

Taking a deep breath, you meet him halfway, and let your fingertips graze against his palm, before your hand finally settles in his. The warmth from his hand sends a strange wave of flutters throughout your body, and it’s almost as if the world around the two of you softened into something more… safer. 

You catch the way he smiles at the contact, and he lets his own hand fully embrace yours. With a gentle tug, he drags you towards the end of the rooftop. The wind kisses your face a little harder, the sleeping city stretching beneath your feet. 

You stiffen instinctively when your toes reach close to the edge, but you feel his grip tighten in your eyes. 

He turns to face you, and even under the sliver of moonlight that casts on his face, you still see the softness in his expression.

“Ready?” he asks.

You shoot him a flat look. “Define ready.”

All he does is chuckle. And before you can second-guess yourself, he steps off the edge. With you in his arms. 

A sharp yelp leaves you as the wind roars past your ears. Your free hand shoots up to grasp onto the front of his suit so tightly you swear you could probably tear it. Your heart slams against your ribs, nothing but pure fear spreading through your veins. 

Then you feel the sudden shift in air, a rush of gravity failing away𑁋and then, impossibly, you’re rising.

Flying.

Beneath you, the city starts to blur into nothing but tiny pinpricks of light. The feeling that your feet are touching virtually nothing is enough to send a wave of adrenaline crashing through you as you realise how high you’ve gone, and you cling to him even more, completely afraid to let go.

“You’re okay,” Superman reassures you, voice nearly fading in the wind. “I’ve got you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, nails digging helplessly into his suit. “That’s easy for you to say! You’re used to flying!”

Even with your eyes closed, you swear you still know that he’s smiling. The gusts of air rushing past your ear start to slow, and you feel his hand begin to snake around your waist to secure you even more. Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he could hear it. You stay clamped against him, too afraid to open your eyes, too aware of how close he is to you without fully seeing it.

“Hey,” he coaxes gently. “Open your eyes.”

You shake your head furiously. “No way in hell. I’m good here, thanks.”

“Come on, you’re missing the best part,” he says, laughter tucked in his voice. “Just trust me.”

With gritted teeth, you peek open one eye. Just barely.

And you gasp.

Below you, the city sprawls out in a blanket of gold and silver. You can’t even tell the buildings apart since they appear mashed together. Above, the stars are so much closer than you could remember𑁋close enough you could probably touch it if you’ve reached for them. It’s breathtaking, overwhelming, dizzying, and yet, you don’t have it in you to look away.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you𑁋that we’re𑁋” You purse your lips together for a moment, unable to form proper words. “You’re insane. Absolutely, recklessly, insane.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches painfully in your throat at his words.

You blink up at him in surprise. Superman’s eyes𑁋no, Mingyu’s eyes, but you don’t know that yet𑁋are trained on you, disarming you from the fact that you’re suspended probably thousands of feet in the air that death is beyond inevitable if there’s even one wrong move. He can see the way your heart is racing in your ribcage, the way you’re shaking in his grasp. But none of that matters because you’re in his arms, and you don’t feel like you’re going to fall.

You don’t even realise that you’re staring at him, attempting to decipher through every detail of his face that seems so familiar, and yet so different.

However, your thoughts are clouded the moment he tilts his head slightly, and naturally, your eyes briefly shoot down at his lips before immediately snapping back at his eyes. But he notices. Of course, he notices. 

Then, he leans in closer, and you feel the slightest touch of the tip of his nose onto yours, and he pauses. He’s giving you the opportunity to pull away, to tell him to stop and that this was a bad idea. But you don’t. You can’t.

And then, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft, so soft, like he’s afraid of breaking you, afraid of letting you go more than you letting go of him. It starts off slow, questioning, asking for permission. And the second you kiss him back, he pulls you closer against him and deepens the kiss just slightly more, your chest meeting his. He’s warm. Solid. Real. 

It’s exhilarating, albeit terrifying in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re hovering in the middle of the vast, endless night sky. The stars above burn a little brighter, the wind hums around you in quiet awe, and for the first time tonight, you feel weightless not because you’re flying𑁋but because you’re his; at least, for however long this five minutes will be. 

You’re kissing Superman𑁋the thought is as ridiculous as it sounds𑁋but with the stars and sky as your witnesses, you don’t care.

When the kiss breaks, you’re met with his unsure gaze, like he’s waiting for something, anything, to give him a sense of what you’re thinking. His shaky breath fans against your warm skin. He’s still so close to you.

“I…” His voice trails off. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You’re still clinging onto him, his hand is still on your waist, and the world is still somehow spinning on its axis like everything about this moment is normal. But it’s not. 

Your mind races too fast to be able to catch up with it the more you stare up at him. There’s something, just something about the goddamn way he’s looking at you that feels so familiar. 

There’s something about his eyes.

About the curve of his lips, the slope of his cheekbones, the warmth of his voice, the care in his touch. 

There’s something about him telling you, merely screaming at you𑁋that you’ve seen his face before. The thought is gnawing at the edges of your thoughts like a parasite, refusing to let go. It won’t stop.

And then it hits you. You probably stop breathing altogether.

Because if you focused with whatever strength you have, you’ve seen that face. You’ve seen it nearly every day ever since you started working at the Daily Planet, sitting across from you at the office or next to you in the conference room while you’re neck-deep in case files. You’ve seen it wear that particular lopsided smile whenever you tease him. You’ve seen that face whenever his glasses accidentally lower too much on his nose. You’ve seen him.

You almost want to laugh𑁋because that’s absolutely absurd, right? 

But it could be him. If you imagined him without the glasses, with his hair slicked back perfectly, then it could be him. If you focused on the voice, his large build, his hands…

God, the hands.

You swear your heart trips over itself.

“Yeah, I’m…” You mutter, voice unsteady, trying to pull yourself together when you’re everything but okay. “I’m okay.”

An exhale of relief leaves him.

“Okay,” he whispers, pulling you a little closer again. “Five minutes are up. Here, let me… Let me take you back down.”

As the wind starts rushing through your hair once more, you find yourself descending back onto the rooftop of the Daily Planet. Your feet land back on the ground with the lightness of a feather. Superman𑁋no, Mingyu?𑁋doesn’t let go of you right away, but when he reluctantly does, the cold that replaces his touch instantly hugs around you. 

He steps back just slightly, and you watch him with uncertainty, confusion tightening its knots in your chest. Your heart wants to say something, and maybe he does too, from the way his expression softens into a bittersweet look. 

His back is almost turned towards you when you finally call back out to him, “Wait.”

He pauses, stiffening, and turns back toward you. 

You swallow a thick lump down your throat. “Will I… see you again?”

There’s a beat𑁋a long, torturous beat𑁋where you think you may have said something wrong. Maybe you shouldn’t want this, whatever this is supposed to be. Maybe you’re so stubborn to think you could be with someone like him. Maybe Superman isn’t supposed to belong to anyone but the world. 

But then… he smiles. You know that smile, you swear you do.

“If you need me,” he starts quietly. “I’ll be here.”

It’s not much. It’s barely even an answer.

Before you can say anything more, he’s bending his knees and pushing up towards the sky. You watch as he turns into nothing more than a speck in the clouds as the night and stars swallow him whole.

The rooftop feels a lot emptier now as you’re left standing alone. 

If your speculations are right, and you’re not just losing your mind over stress and a severe lack of sleep, then what the hell does that even mean?

For the investigation?

For your partnership?

For… you?

“These were images taken from Wonwoo in photojournalism and… See?” You motion to the grainy picture in front of you on Seungcheol’s desk. “Shipments were reported to have an odd green glow around them while being transported to Pier 13. These guys aren’t slick at all.”

Seungcheol squints down at the photo. “That is definitely kryptonite alien tech right there.”

“Exactly,” You affirm with confidence. “I’ve already cross-checked all the logs from the pier’s cargo records for the past six months. There isn’t any official documentation, no scheduled deliveries, or inputs from customs. It’s all ghost shipment.” 

“And you pulled all these conclusions just from that interview with Superman alone?” Seungcheol questions, clearly impressed.

You nod once. “You could say so. The pieces started coming together after that night.”

That night. You don’t elaborate, and Seungcheol doesn’t press any further about it, thankfully. He’s already heard the recording of the interview𑁋the blatant, cut version, of course𑁋so he knows the basics. He doesn’t need to know all the nitty-gritty details of what happened after the recorder clicked off. 

“Good work, Y/N,” Seungcheol says with a look of approval. “Draft up all your findings that you got from the interview. I want it on my desk by the end of the day. Then we’ll pitch it to the evening editors. Superman seems to be back in business because of you.”

Superman, Superman, Superman. You remember walking into the building and seeing the news playing on the television, detailing live about Superman saving an elderly pedestrian in danger from walking into oncoming traffic. Your thoughts drift back to Mingyu instinctively. 

“On it, sir.” You nod again. “Do you also want me to𑁋”

The door to Seungcheol’s office suddenly bursts open with a loud thud, cutting you off and making you and Seungcheol simultaneously jump in your seats. The sound of heavy breathing, and an unmistakable mop of dark hair stumble in all at once. 

Mingyu. He looks absolutely winded, as if he had just run an entire marathon through the city just to get here. 

“Sorry𑁋I’m so sorry for being late,” he sputters out all-too-quickly. “Morning rush was… insane. Total nightmare.”

You blink.

Seungcheol also blinks.

“Don’t you live, like, five blocks away, Kim?” Seungcheol asks with his arms crossed.

Mingyu freezes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something clever, before shutting it close again. You notice a thin layer of sweat on his brow, like he preferred to sprint up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. His tie hangs loosely off his neck as if he gave up mid-tying it, and his glasses are slightly askew, which he adjusts swiftly. 

Right, You think. The glasses.

“Anyway, other than being…” Seungcheol briefly checks his watch. “...thirteen minutes late, you’re here in one piece. Better than some of the interns this week.” The man gestures towards the seat right next to you. “Sit down. Don’t sweat on my carpet, please.”

Mingyu gives a short, apologetic bow before sliding into the seat right next to you. 

You stiffen when his arms momentarily brush against yours. It’s not the first time he’s sat beside you, obviously𑁋but this is the first time since, and your body is reacting like he’s never been this close to you before, when he definitely has. 

He grows unusually quiet as Seungcheol starts talking about the case𑁋about writing up an article based on the findings the two of you have gotten so far, integrating everything together into one sharp exposé, potential ideas for headline titles, and expectations from the editors. He merely nods here and there as you and Seungcheol exchange ideas back and forth.

You can feel his presence at your side. Familiar, too familiar.

You try not to glance up at him. But you can’t help it.

“Y/N, you’ll write up a narrative draft,” Seungcheol’s voice chimes back in. “Mingyu, I need you to get me more details on the kryptonite samples that got sent to the lab for analysis. Cross-reference them with any other materials if needed. I want all these pieces put together by this evening. Got it?”

Mingyu’s lips form a thin, contemplative line. “Are you sure that Y/N should… publish the article?”

The question slices through the already-thick air of the room like a knife. 

Seungcheol lifts his head up from his notes. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Mingyu knows you’re already staring at him, and he tries not to meet your eyes. He tries to focus on Seungcheol instead, with his tense jaw and knitted brows.

“It’s… it’s dangerous,” he mutters. “She’s exposing an illegal black market deal involving risky alien tech. People don’t just walk away from that kind of exposé.”

Beside him, your breath hitches. He’s not wrong. You know that. But he also knows you. He knows exactly what you signed up for when you walked through the doors of the Daily Planet with nothing but your half-empty cup of coffee, your pen, your spine, and your unbridled passion in exposing corruption. 

“I’m not walking away from this, Mingyu,” You add in, voice more sharper than intended. “You can’t just pull me away from uncovering the truth that easily.”

Mingyu finally turns to look at you, and in that moment, you swear you see his mask falter a little. His eyes are desperate. Not angry, nor dismissive. Just desperate. Like he’s silently begging for you to read between the lines of his concern.

“I know,” he says softly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The honesty in his words hit you like a wave, and you don’t know what else to say.

Seungcheol clicks his pen loudly, disrupting the tension. “We’re not a daycare centre. We don’t back off because something might be dangerous, and if things do go south, we have authorities we can work with. We triple-check our facts, and make sure to shine light in places where others don’t.” His daggered eyes cut back to Mingyu. “If you’ve got a problem with that, Kim, then I think you’re in the wrong department.” 

Mingyu just straightens up his posture, his jaw still tense. “No, sir. I’ll get you those lab reports.”

With a dismissive wave, Seungcheol turns back to his computer to write up a follow-up email to the editorial team, and you stand up from the seat to begin gathering up all the materials on the table. Mingyu leaps from his seat as well, and after a hesitant second, he starts helping you gather up the scattered papers, yet you can tell his movements are a little too careful.

Your hands brush when you both reach for the same file, and you flinch just slightly. It’s instinctive, and maybe stupid, but you do. Mingyu notices.

It’s awkward. Not unbearable, per se𑁋but definitely noticeable. At least to you.

He doesn’t know what you know. Or rather… what you think you know.

Because how do you even bring a topic up like that? That you kissed Superman? That you probably kissed Mingyu? And that you’re 90% sure are the same person? 

Did you say something such as, Hey, remember that interview I did with Superman the other night? Yeah, I kissed him and his cheekbones look a lot like yours. What a funny coincidence, right? 

Yeah. No. That isn’t going to work at all. 

“Thanks,” You murmur as you grab the last folder from Mingyu’s hands. 

Mingyu nods, and for a second, your fingers linger a little too long in the handoff. His brows twitch faintly like he wants to say something, yet he presses his lips into a straight line as you saunter out of Seungcheol’s office. You feel your pulse thrumming a little too fast in your ears when you brush past him.

He follows right behind you, just a step behind. 

You try not to look at him as you head back to your desk, seemingly too busy straightening out the files next to your computer. Mingyu’s desk is only a few cubicles away from yours, but he doesn’t go to it right away. Instead, he finds himself slowly trailing over to you.

“Y/N?” 

You look up, and the moment your eyes meet, something falters between you.

“Do you…” he starts, rubbing the back of his bashfully. “Do you wanna grab coffee later? After we finish things up?” 

A small, thin silence threads along in the space between the two of you.

Your fingers subtly tighten its hold around the edges of the folder in your hands. You pretend to think about it, and maybe you are thinking about it. Coffee, just normal, harmless coffee between coworkers. It would be nice. But nice isn’t exactly what this is right now. Not when you’re still staggering on the edge of some truth you haven’t confirmed yet. 

You glance at him, and you swear, just for a second, there’s that same look again. The one that Superman gave you back in the sky and the stars were just a touch away from your fingertips. 

God.

A forced, polite smile stretches its way across your face. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“Actually, I… have some errands to run tonight,” You say, fighting away the flutter in your chest. “Stuff I’ve kind of been putting off for a while, you know?”

An imperceptible flicker runs across Mingyu’s eyes, the corners of his mouth dipping just a fraction. It’s gone before it can fully land on his face, replaced by that practiced, soft grin of his.

“Ah, right,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Totally. No worries.”

You nod apologetically. “Rain check?”

“Yeah. Rain check,” he echoes back, stepping away slightly. Though when he’s half-turned away from you, he shifts back around to face you one more time. “And just… Be careful, alright?”

He walks away before either of you can say anything else, and you hate how your eyes follow him. Hate how conflicted you feel when he throws one last look over his shoulders before disappearing back into the crowded newsroom, leaving you with your unanswered questions and a story that won’t write itself. 

Slumping back into your seat, a sigh escapes your mouth. You’re really not ready for this at all.

“I can’t believe she’s going to publish that article,” Mingyu says, gritting his teeth in frustration. “It’s going to put a target on her back.”

Wonwoo adjusts himself where he was leaning against the windowsill, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. “You do know that’s part of her job as a journalist, right?”

Mingyu raises an agitated hand through his hair. “I know that’s part of her job. But this𑁋this isn’t some corporate fraud exposé or a fluff piece about city hall mismanagement. This is about kryptonite. Organised criminal trafficking of alien tech that shouldn’t even exist here. When they see she’s the one who wrote it, she’ll be next on their list.” 

“And you didn’t think to stop her?” Wonwoo asks, taking a sip from his tea. 

“I tried to! Her and Seungcheol were dead-set, and you know I’m scared of that man𑁋of both of them. She barely even looked at me the entire day,” Mingyu retorts with a groan. “And that’s what makes it hard, because everyone knows how she works. She’s… she’s passionate, and once she believes in a story, there’s no talking her down from it.”

Wonwoo exhales, watching the steam curl satisfyingly from his mug. “Yeah. That’s what makes her so good.” He pauses, giving Mingyu a particular look. “And what makes you a damn idiot.”

Mingyu shoots him a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “What, did the wind blow too hard and your lips accidentally crashed onto hers?” 

“It wasn’t𑁋I didn’t plan that! It just𑁋it happened, okay?” Mingyu runs his hands over his face. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh, I have the faintest idea,” Wonwoo deadpans. “Hormones. Delusions. And wack-ass impulse control.”

“God, I know… I know it was dumb.” Mingyu fixes his eyes down to the ground in guilt. “I just𑁋She looked… beautiful, okay? Like really beautiful. And confident. And every other synonym of that. I wasn’t thinking straight.” 

Wonwoo snorts into his cup. “You’ve dodged missiles and can eat bullets for breakfast and yet can’t spare a single ounce of common sense around a girl. They should’ve written that your weakness is hopeless infatuation instead.”

Mingyu only groans at that. 

“But I’m not judging you for kissing her,” Wonwoo continues. “I’m judging you for not telling her.”

Mingyu’s shoulders slump into the floorboards. The truth of who he is weighs heavier than any concrete wall he’s ever lifted, more suffocating than any collapsing building he’s ever flown into. 

“I want to tell her,” he says, almost too quiet for even himself to hear. “God, you have no idea how much I want to tell her. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t,” Mingyu responds sharply, his fingers digging into the armrest of the couch, deep enough to cause a tiny laceration in the leather. “I can’t. Not until I know she’s safe.”

Wonwoo lets out a helpless sigh. “Then I hope you’ll be ready to face her when you do.”

“See? Your shit is going viral. Again. The internet is going wild from your exclusive interview with Superman,” one of the evening editors, Minghao, points towards his computer screen where your exposé on the kryptonite trade is on display. “You’ve even got retweets from some politicians.”

“It sounds like you’re envious.” You smirk lightly while hovering over Minghao’s shoulder as he scrolls through your article.

On the screen, the title of your article is screaming at you in its large bold letters: Kryptonite on the Black Market: The Alien Arms Race Hiding in Plain Sight. It was published by the start of this morning, and you’ve already garnered a massive amount of attention for it. Yet, there’s still a strange swirl of pride and dread that courses through you. 

“Envious? Please,” Minghao says with a playful scoff. “I just can’t wait to watch the shitshow of law enforcement and our government fighting over jurisdiction on this. It’s practically a reality show! You should charge admission fees. You’d be a millionaire by tomorrow morning.”

You laugh quietly at that, but it doesn’t quite feel as genuine when it leaves your mouth. You fold your arms across your chest as you lean against the corner of Minghao’s desk. The article is trending, the story is out, and your name is plastered at the top of it just like you wanted. You wrote a story that matters. A story that tells the truth. 

Then why does your chest still feel heavy?

Maybe it’s because you don’t know the kind of people you’ve probably pissed off. Maybe it’s because the names you didn’t print are more than likely the ones coming after you. 

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” You murmur, leaning away from Minghao’s desk.

Minghao raises a brow. “You sure? Heard there’s some celebratory pizza or whatever being delivered for you.”

You’re already sliding on your coat as you shake your head amusedly. “Save me a slice, yeah?” 

“For some reason I’m not feeling generous tonight,” Minghao responds wryly, before waving you off with a dismissive hand. “Night, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes. “Night, Xu.”

The office is basically empty at this point in the day. The only ones working being the evening team hammering away at their keyboards, too engrossed in their own deadlines to even notice you quietly slipping out of the cubicles. The fluorescent lights hum overhead as you walk down the hallways and into the elevator, the silence oddly comforting as you drift down to the ground floor. 

The heel of your shoes click down against the tile floors as you head out of the building, the cool air hitting you square in the face. For a moment, the relaxation in your bones is swiftly replaced by the chill of the night, whispers of the breeze sending tense shivers down your spine. You glance between your left and right sides, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, just the streetlamps flickering overhead. 

But the uneasy feeling still refuses to leave you.

Your fingers curl around the strap of your bag, and you let out a sigh. You start your walk down the empty sidewalk. You’ve done this a hundred times before𑁋walking home from a late night at the office. But tonight feels different. The kind of different that clings stubbornly to your nerves. 

Halfway down the block, you swear you hear it. Footsteps. 

They’re steady. Measure. And they don’t belong to you. 

You pause, and turn around. For a fleeting second, there’s a shadow that disappears quicker than you could process. Your heartbeat is still punching maniacally at your chest. 

You shake your head anxiously, swallowing thickly. Maybe you’re just imagining it. Maybe you’re just paranoid after everything today. God, maybe you just need to get home and crash on your bed and forget about the world you live in. 

Your pace becomes faster, but the whispers of the breeze in your ears is adamant, almost mocking. But you can’t turn around. Not like this. 

However, the breeze that caresses the back of your neck when you turn the corner makes you pause again. It sharpens suddenly, a gust of wind that whips your strands of your hair against your cheek. At the corner of your eye, a shadow crosses the streetlight shining above you. It’s fast, silent. Too big and quick to be a bird. 

And then it hits you. Relief, out of all things.

“You know,” You start, straightening your posture. “for a superhero, you’re awful at stealth.”

The unmistakable sound of a foot touching down on the ground echoes behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is. The familiarity of the sound, the rhythm of the steps coming closer to you𑁋it’s him. 

Taking in a breath, you finally turn around, and there he is. Superman. His tall figure is outlined with an angelic glow under the streetlamp, his red cape trudging calmly behind him. You find it hard letting your eyes meet his, your gaze merely lingering on the familiar lines of his face. It’s almost as if he belongs in this scene, like he’s part of the night itself.

His gaze is fixed on you, but there’s a soft hesitation in it, like he knows he’s intruding in your space but can’t help it. 

“Are you stalking me now?” You ask with a small laugh. 

His lips form a thin line. “Not stalking. Just… watching. Nightly duties.”

“Right,” You deadpan, a disbelieving twitch lifts at the corner of your mouth. “Well, carry on, yeah? I appreciate the well-being check.”

As you’re about to turn back around, Superman steps forward, his voice stopping you before you can take another step.

“Wait.”

You halt. You don’t know why you do. Because you shouldn’t feel this way, but the softness dripping down from his tone is enough to make your heart skip a beat in a way that’s both infuriating and comforting. It’s like a suspiciously sincere knock to your guarded walls, one that you shouldn’t fall for yet here you are𑁋letting him in anyway. 

“I’ve read it, you know,” he says quietly. “The article you published.”

You cross your arms together. “If this is your tactic to get me to revoke𑁋”

“It’s not, I promise,” he chimes in adamantly. “I’m just warning you.”

You huff out a sigh. “Look, Superman, I’ve dealt with threats ordering my death before. I’m not exactly a stranger to this kind of thing. If I didn’t think I could handle this, I wouldn’t have written it, or interviewed you, for that matter.”

The half-smile that you give him is far from convincing, even you know it, despite your best efforts at masking the fear with feigned confidence. He notices it, of course. He always does. He probably knows you more than you know yourself. 

“I know you can handle yourself,” Superman reassures calmly. “I’ve never doubted that fact; if anything, I admire it. But there’s a difference between being able to handle it and handling it alone.”

You scoff at that. “So what, you’re going to babysit me now? Hover outside my window while I sleep at night?”

“I mean, if it has to come to that…”

“You don’t have to protect me.”

“I know.”

You pause, unsure of what to respond. You hate how your chest tightens at his words. Biting your lip, you avert your gaze back down to the pavement, because you can’t possibly fathom the way he’s looking at you right now. Like you’re something fragile. And maybe that’s the problem. You don’t know how to navigate whatever this is between the two of you, whatever this that has been brewing since you first met. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” You mutter, voice tight. “It’s not fair.”

He’s quiet for a moment, before asking, “What’s not fair?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You snap back bitterly. “I know what I’m doing. I knew even before the moment I published the article. You don’t get to swoop in at the eleventh hour and fly to me like I’m some damsel in distress. I don’t need your pity, Superman.”

“I’m not pitying you, Y/N,” he says roughly, voice trembling like he’s holding something back. “God, don’t you see that?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze with sharp, glaring eyes. “Then what is it, huh? Why are you here, really?”

“Because I care about you!” Superman exclaims, hands curling into fists at his sides like he has to restrain himself from reaching out to you. “And it terrifies me how much I do. I’m not asking to stand in front of you for this𑁋I’m asking to stand beside you.”

You freeze at that. For a moment, there’s only the rustling sounds of his cape and the distant whoosh of a car passing by on the other side of the road. 

You shut your eyes, shaking your head. “You shouldn’t.”

He takes a step closer. “Why not?”

“Because you’re𑁋” You pause, struggling to find the right words. “Because you’re Superman, for God’s sake, and I’m just… me.”

The words leave your mouth as quiet and hesitant as a whisper. You hate that they’re true. You hate how small it sounds. You’re just a journalist. A damn good one, sure𑁋but still just a singular person trying to survive in a world that’s far more dangerous than it lets on. And him? He’s him. Faster than the speed of light, stronger than fate, and holding up the world with just the tip of a finger. 

Superman’s eyes noticeably soften, his jaw loosening away the tension as he gazes at you. 

“Don’t say that,” he says gently, and his voice is steady, quiet, firm. “Don’t talk about yourself like you’re less.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not trying to be self-deprecating. I’m being realistic.”

His lips quirk up into the faintest smile. 

“Realistic or not,” he murmurs, taking another step. “You’re more than you think. You always have been.”

You find yourself staring at him like he’s a puzzle, heart threatening to pierce through your chest. Because God forbid, the pieces that he lays around has you feeling more conflicted than ever. You can’t help but wonder why a superhero like him would stubbornly care for a human like you𑁋why he would put all this time and effort into worrying for someone who should mean nothing more than a speck of dust in the grand scheme of the universe he watches over. 

There’s a name that lingers in the back of your throat, and it burns. A name you’ve stated a hundred times in casual settings. A name that seemed to have found its rightful place in the depths of your mind and has you smiling like a fool as you sit in your cubicle at work. A name you refuse to believe to be true ever since that kiss in the sky, yet it fits all too well. 

It’s been threatening to spill out of you. The days you see him in the office brings out those urges𑁋to accuse him outright, to demand if this is true. A part of you wants to deny it entirely; and the other part wants to believe it. 

But before you can spiral any further, Superman takes another step closer to you.

“Let me fly you home,” he offers casually. “You’ve had a long day, and you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” 

You give him a pointed look. “You’re quite the idiot, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “but only for you.”

With that, he extends his hand toward you, and for a few seconds you can’t help but think back to the time on the rooftop.

You shake your head in disbelief, yet you still step closer to reach for his hand. “God, the things people will say if they find out Superman is taking me home.”

Superman laughs fondly at that, already naturally pulling you closer like he’s done this a hundred times before with you. “Wouldn’t be the worst rumour someone has spread about me.”

When you tell him where you live, it isn’t long before the two of you are back up in the sky again. The height doesn’t seem to scare you as much as it did before. Mingyu𑁋Superman, remember!𑁋shoots a glance at you. You’re staring down at the world with that particular gleam in your eyes that the stars rival, a loose grip clutching at the fabric of his suit. He smiles to himself briefly, before looking back forward. 

The two of you don’t say anything more as the wind rushes past your faces. He’s flying slower than usual, wanting to savour these moments with you. As you come closer to your building, you tell him where to land𑁋on the balcony of your small apartment on the fifth floor. 

He touches down with the softest thud, feet barely grazing against the concrete floor of your balcony. You step away from him slowly, wobbling slightly as the gravity catches up to you. 

“Thanks,” You mutter, brushing away the dust from your clothes. 

He lingers by the railing, watching you closely. “Anytime.”

“Don’t make it a habit.”

“Too late for that.”

Your keys jingle as you take it out from your bag, but you pause right before sticking it into the door. You turn back to him.

“How do you do it?” You ask vaguely. 

He looks at you puzzledly. “Do what?”

“This.” You motion at the space between you. “Is this another one of your superpowers that I’m not aware of? Because you make it hard, you know, to stay… detached.”

His expression falters a fraction at your words. Barely noticeable, but you see it anyway. His lips part for a moment, but then they curl into a small, almost rueful smile.

“Is that what you want?” he questions unsurely. “To stay detached?” 

You freeze in contemplation as his question hangs in the air, the words pressing against your chest and knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“I…” You begin, but your throat feels tight. “I should want that.”

“But you don’t.”

You let out a small, defeated laugh.

“No,” You admit softly. “No, I don’t.” 

His eyes search yours like he’s afraid to believe it, like the smallest breeze can carry your words away and leave nothing behind. He takes a slow step closer, crossing over the tiny space that separates the two of you, his warmth encircling around you as if it’s a selfless hug from a lover. You don’t back away. You can’t. 

He hesitates, lifting his hand, fingers trembling slightly as they hover near yours. Like a magnet, your hand draws near his𑁋and before you even realise it, your fingers are brushing, then intertwining, fitting together so naturally. 

It’s gentle. Peaceful. Quiet. Intimate in a way that makes your heart ache. You focus on the feeling of this thumb stroking softly across your knuckle, as if he’s trying to memorise the shape of it. If only you could stay in this corner of the world until the end of time, ignoring all the possibilities of danger and death looming at your front door. 

If only you could stay in this corner of the world with him. 

“You should go,” You whisper quietly. 

He looks at you, brows knitting together. “You’re sure?” 

“You’ve got a whole world out there that needs you,” You say, managing a wry smile. “And I’m sure you’d rather be in the comfort of your superhero lair or whatever than my tiny balcony.”

An impossibly fond, boyish grin stretches its way across his face. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Before you can even ask what he means, before you even get the chance to breathe, he lifts your hand closer to his lips. His eyes never stray away from yours as he presses the softest kiss against the back of your hand, lingering there for a few fleeting seconds. 

You still feel the ghost of his lips on your skin when he backs away, reluctantly releasing his hand from yours. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he tells you. “I’ll be around. Stay safe.”

And with that, he steps away from you. In the blink of an eye, he’s shot up towards the skies, his silhouette growing smaller and smaller until nothing is left behind but the warmth of his kiss on your hand. 

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head, and you wonder how the hell you got yourself in this kind of situation.

“Goodnight, Superman,” You mutter as you unlock your door. “Stubborn bastard.”

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[whitedarkmoonflower]

Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Authors note: Yeah, I know – the trope’s older than time and cheesy as hell, but I’m too in love with a certain supersoldier to care 🥰

Warnings: smut, fluff, a bit of angst, mentions of blood, pain, bruises and wounds, implied domestic abuse in the past

Word Count: 9K

Summary: It’s been another rough day, one too many, and Bucky’s just looking to forget. No comfort, no connection, just something simple, physical. You weren’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to want more. It wasn’t supposed to get complicated. But it did. It's what happens when neither of you know how to say what you feel.

Bucky stared at his reflection and muttered a curse.

Fresh bruise blooming high on his cheekbone, a split above his brow, still bleeding a little and that dull, familiar throb where metal met muscle at his shoulder. He looked like shit.  Lately, everything ached more. Took longer to heal. Everything just... dragged.

He splashed cold water on his face and gripped the sink.

You’re getting too old for this shit, he thought and not for the first time. He’d never wanted to be anyone’s savior, never wanted to be a hero, that had always been Steve’s thing. Steve saved the world, Bucky just tried to stay upright.

So how the hell did he end up here again?

Steve. Steve was gone. And in the silence he had left behind, something flickered, something Bucky never said out loud. That quiet itch, that voice that whispered what if...

What if he could’ve had it too? The normal life with morning paper, school drop-offs, shitty traffic, an office job. Coming home.

Home.

Weird word. As much as it might seem it didn’t mean walls or clean sheets or expensive furniture. He had all that now, but it still didn’t feel like anything. Still didn’t feel like home.

His phone buzzed.

A message. She’s downstairs.

He let out a sharp breath, straightened, wiped his face. He hadn’t been drunk when he booked it, just unraveling like every time he did. This wasn’t about sex, not really, it was about forgetting. For a little while, at least.

He’d picked the agency for a reason – discreet, top-tier, no questions, no judgment. That’s why he always paid extra. Still, he braced himself.

Same old pattern: a glance at the arm, the polite step back, the smile that didn’t quite hide the unease or worse, the disgust.

He’d seen it all before. It’s why he stopped dating, why he didn’t even try anymore.

Who the hell wanted a hundred-year-old mess with more baggage than a freight train?

You were used to nerves, used to that thick tension just before the door opened.

Actually you didn’t take new clients anymore, not after that incident a few months back.Too much risk, too much cleanup when someone forgot the rules or worse, decided they didn’t apply.

But this one came recommended with double pay and half the demands.

Your boss swore up and down he was a regular, quiet, predictable, not a single complaint from the other girls. Wanted one thing, didn’t want it for long, no talking, no touching unless necessary, no eye contact if he could help it.

You told yourself that was fine, perfect, even. You weren’t here to fix anyone. You weren’t peeling back trauma or saving souls. You were a body, a balm and gone before the sheets even cooled.

Still, as your hand lifted to knock, something twisted in your gut.

The door clicked open before you touched it.

He stood there – tall, broad, bruised, wearing a scowl like armor, but the exhaustion in his eyes bled through.

He opened the door like he was expecting a fight, eyes scanning, shoulders tense. He glanced over you once, then stepped aside without a word, like letting you in was a task on a list he hated checking off.

You catched a quick glimpse of the spacious hotel suite: dim lights, curtains drawn tight.  An untouched whiskey bottle, neatly folded cash on the table with a combat knife beside it.

You turned as the door shut behind you and the shadows shifted just enough to see him better.

His leather jacket was heavy, tactical, too much for a spring night, but it fit him – the weight of it, the coolness. Blood stained cuff. You furrowed a brow but didn’t ask. You never did.

You knew who he was, of course.

Congressman Barnes, you reminded yourself, alias James Buchanan Barnes, alias Bucky, former assassin, ex–Winter Soldier, newly minted Avenger – whatever that meant.

But he didn’t look like a superhero, he looked like a man one breath away from falling apart.

His face was a slow car crash with a fresh bruise blooming across his cheek, a split in his brow still faintly red, and dark circles deep under his eyes.

But it was the eyes that caught you, not just blue and deep. Soft, wrecked, as if sleep hadn’t come in days, and peace hadn’t come in years.

He looked wrecked, not just on the outside – bruises, blood, the usual – but deeper. He looked like someone who’d stopped believing the pain would ever end and just learned to carry it.

“Mr. Barnes?” you said gently. “Or do you prefer James?”

He hesitated. “Doesn’t matter.”

His voice was low, rough as if it hadn’t seen daylight in days.

You slipped off your coat and stepped further inside.

Why did he always get nervous when it came to this? He should have been used to it by now. He paid, they obeyed.

Bucky dragged a hand through his hair, jaw tight as he watched you scan the room, the dim light, the drawn curtains, the untouched whiskey, the knife he had forgotten to hide.

You didn’t blink, the heels, the coat, the way your gaze swept the place, it was all effortless as if none of this fazed you. Like he didn’t faze you.

You turned back to him, eyes pausing on the blood drying at the cuff of his jacket.

Yeah, he knew how he looked. Bruised, exhausted, a little too close to unhinged, still dragging half a mission behind him. You didn’t ask, didn’t even flinch.

“Rough night?” you said softly, not really a question, just acknowledgment.

He gave a small nod, almost grateful for it, for your calm, your lack of judgment, for your normalcy.

You stepped in closer, slow, deliberate, watching him.

“I read your preferences,” you said, gently, slipping off your heels. “You want control. Minimal talking, nothing soft.”

He flinched, just slightly, not enough for most to catch, but you did. 

There was something in his eyes, in the way he held himself, tight as a drawn bow, chest rising just a touch too fast, trying to mask his nerves, that made you question it.

On paper, it sounded like dominance, detachment, but standing here, face to face, it didn’t read like control. It read like fear. 

Fear of himself, of what he might feel, of what he might need.

But you didn’t push, you didn’t challenge the rules right away, you just softened your posture, eased your tone and stepped a little closer, slow enough to give him space to retreat if he needed it.

“You know,” you said, voice low and calm, “people ask for rough when they’re scared soft might undo them.”

His eyes snapped to yours, startled and a little wary.

“You think that’s me?” he asked with a sort of a bite in his voice, but it cracked at the edges.

You gave a small smile. “I don’t think anything yet. I’m just here, however you need me.”

You stepped in closer. “You know the rules?”

He nodded, stiff and tight. “I know.”

“My safe word is silver,” you said, voice even. “If I say it, everything stops.”

Another nod, quick, automatic, like a box he was checking off, but his jaw was tight, and that flicker in his eyes hadn’t left since you walked in.

“And yours?” you asked, stepping back slightly to give him room.

“I won’t need one,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, eyebrow lifting just a little. “That’s not how it works.”

“I can handle it.”

You paused, eyes flicking to the faint tremor in his left hand, the flesh one, not metal.

“Even soldiers bleed,” you said, gently.

That landed, his throat bobbed with a swallow he didn’t mean to show and after a beat, he murmured: “Winter.”

“Alright,” you said softly. “If I say silver, you stop. If you say winter, I stop.”

He gave a small, tense nod.

You could see how tightly wound he was, shoulders coiled, muscles locked, he wasn’t looking at you anymore, eyes gone distant, like he was already halfway out of the room, halfway numb.

You kept your voice easy. “And where would you like to have me?”

You glanced around the suite – the leather couch looked inviting, the bar counter could work too – but before you could suggest anything, he looked at you, surprised, as if no one had asked before.

He blinked, then nodded toward the bed, the only real softness in the room.

You nodded back, walked over to your bag, pulled out an unopened pack of condoms, a small bottle of lube and placed them on the nightstand.

You could feel him watching, tracking your every move.

Then you turned, crossed the room, stopped right in front of him and reached for the hem of your dress, slow and steady.

“Let’s begin.”

There was still no eye contact, but you swore you saw him exhale.

You pulled the dress over your head and let the fabric fall.

He watched, not hungrily, not with the usual detached interest of men who paid for the illusion of closeness, but rather as if he had no idea what to do with softness.

You stepped in, close enough to feel the heat coming off him. He didn’t move.

His chest rose a little too fast under his shirt, but his hands stayed at his sides, one flesh, one metal, both clenched like he didn’t trust them if they strayed.

“You can touch me,” you said, quiet.

Still, he didn’t, just stared at your collarbone like it was safer than your eyes.

It was. Your eyes were too steady for Bucky, they didn’t search for threat, didn’t calculate, didn’t judge, they just saw him and that scared him more than a loaded gun.

He’d been clear about what he wanted – brief, physical, detached. Everyone before you had stuck to the script, no softness, no lingering, no emotional weight, no invading into his space. Just friction, silence, then the door.

That’s what he thought he needed, what he thought he deserved.

But you didn’t follow the script, you looked him in the eyes, you didn’t rush or flinch, or retreat, you met his gaze head-on. No flicker of fear, no forced kindness, no wide-eyed recognition, or false, rehearsed sympathy, just calm, steady presence so close that he could smell the fresh mint in your breath.

It seemed you didn’t see the assassin or the walking weapon, not even congressman or the Avenger or Thunderbolt or whatever title was bestowed upon him again. You looked at him as if he wasn’t a ghost wearing a body, but just… a man. And he didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

All the anger, all the tension that had hardened in his body like concrete started to leak out, slow and silent, like you’d found the wound without naming it.

“Start where you want,” you told him. “However you need to.”

You reached out, slow. No touching, echoed in your mind, but you didn’t give a damn about it now. You’d been in this work long enough to know: it was never really about the spoken rules, it was always about what went unsaid.

You knew too well that look in his eyes – like he’d simply forgotten what it was to be touched without consequence, without hurting, without breaking, or maybe he’d never had it to begin with.

He wasn’t here for control or power, he was here to feel. Something. Anything. He just didn’t know how to ask, didn’t know how to let himself want it.

You gave him a soft smile and reached for his hand – the flesh one – lifting it gently until it rested on your waist. His breath caught, rough callused fingers brushed your skin. He wasn’t trembling, but he was close.

With your other hand, you touched his jaw, softly, almost asking, your thumb skimmed the edge of it. He didn’t pull away, just clenched tighter, the metal fist still locked at his side like it might betray him if he let it move.

You rose onto your toes, slow and careful, giving him every chance to back out.

He didn’t.

The second your mouth touched his, he went still, like you’d hit him, but then your breath brushed against his lips, and something cracked. He kissed you back like it hurt.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t sweet, it was mouth and teeth, and desperation, raw, hungry. Like he was punishing himself with it, like he needed to forget or maybe remember, maybe both, like he was drowning, and your mouth was the only way he could breathe.

He backed you into the wall with force, his hands suddenly everywhere – pulling, gripping,  yanking your underwear down in a few rough motions. 

You didn’t resist, you let him take. There was no finesse in it, but there was also no cruelty, no deliberate roughness, just raw, unfiltered need. 

He ripped off his jacket, flung it aside. You caught a glimpse of blood at the seam of his shirt. 

His mouth crashed back onto yours, messy and demanding, but under all the chaos, something trembled. You kissed him back just as fierce, your fingers twisting in his hair, yanking, reminding him you were here, you were real. He moaned into your mouth. 

His hands moved faster now, dragging you toward the bed with that same wild urgency. He spun you around and shoved you onto the mattress like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts. You landed face-first, caught yourself on your palms.

The sharp clink of his belt echoed behind you.

You turned quickly around and pushed up onto your elbows. No way were you just giving him your back, you wanted to see him.

He didn’t even bother taking off his shirt, pants shoved just far enough down to free his cock, already thick and hardening in his hand as he stroked it to readiness.

Then his eyes met yours – surprised. You shook your head and reached for him.

He climbed onto the bed, pressing you flat beneath him in a rush of heat and breath, the mattress dipped hard under his weight.

One hand gripped your hip, bruising, the other braced beside your head, breath ragged, body tense and hovering.

You slipped your hands under his shirt, tugging gently, and he stilled. You met his gaze, calm and steady and kept going.

After a long second, he finally let you. You pulled it over his head slowly, your fingers brushing down his shoulders, his arms – flesh and metal. He flinched when you touched the cool vibranium.

You didn’t stop, you trailed your hand over his chest, down his taut stomach. God, he was solid.

Your fingers found the edge of his pants, you looked up and for a second, what you saw wasn’t lust – it was grief, hunger, not just for your body, but for comfort, peace, for something he didn’t even know how to name.

You reached up for him again, your hand cupping his jaw, thumb brushing the stubble on his cheek. Gently, you guided him toward you and kissed him, slow and searching.

He groaned into your mouth – a wrecked, low sound – and you wrapped your legs around his waist, arching into him, your hands sliding over the hard lines of his back, not teasing, just caressing, grounding. 

And he melted, not completely, not yet, but enough that you felt the tension begin to bleed from his muscles and you felt the shift – his grip loosening, not desperate anymore, just there.

He kissed you again like he didn’t know how, seemingly bracing for you to vanish if he let himself want it.

You leaned up, lips near his ear.

“I feel you and I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, your breath warm on his skin.

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more like a reflex he hadn’t used in years.

“That’s what everyone says,” he muttered. “Right before they figure out who I really am.”

You pressed your lips to the edge of his jaw.

“Then show me,” you whispered. “Show me who you really are. You know who I am. You know why I’m here. It’s easy. You don’t have to pretend, not with me.”

You started to tug his pants down, his breath hitched, but he didn’t stop you. 

His flesh hand moved first, slow and unsure, tracing up your side like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you.

The other – metal – stayed frozen, fingers twitching just a little, like he didn’t trust it, like he didn’t trust himself.

So you reached down, took the cold, heavy hand in yours, and gently placed it on your thigh.

“Touch me,” you said, voice low. “All of you.”

His breath caught, you felt the hesitation ripple through him, the metal fingers were stiff, tentative, like he thought this might be the moment you flinched, pulled away, changed your mind, but you didn’t.

You kept your hand over his, guiding it slowly up the curve of your thigh, the cool glide of vibranium over warm skin. You pressed into his palm, letting him feel you, letting him know it was okay.

His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “It doesn’t feel… natural.”

You smiled, lips brushing along his jaw, your fingers traced his metal forearm, slow and soft.

“It feels like you,” you whispered. “Strong. Steady. Careful.”

He shuddered.

You took his metal hand and pressed it to your stomach, let it rest there as your hips rolled gently beneath him. Then you found his other hand, guided it to the soft curve just beneath your breast.

“Touch me like I matter,” you said. “Not like you’re afraid I’ll break.”

And slowly, haltingly, he did.

You guided his hands as they moved over you, not with hunger this time, but with awe. You felt it in his breath, in the way his touch lingered, fingertips trailing across your ribs, the dip of your waist, mapping your skin like it was something almost sacred.

You kissed his shoulder, his collarbone, the scar beneath it, then lower, down his chest, your mouth slow, gentle, your tongue lingering on his skin, tasting him, teaching him the difference between surrender and trust.

Your hands followed your lips, gliding over firm muscle and warm skin. You caressed the planes of his abdomen with open palms, feeling the way he tensed under your touch, not from discomfort, but from the unfamiliarity of being handled with care.

He was solid, strong, perfectly built, but as your fingers traced a scar, skimmed the curve of his waist, and pressed a kiss to the hollow between his ribs, you didn’t think of strength, you thought of restraint, of loneliness.

“Like this,” you whispered, lips brushing his skin, sliding lower, palms skimming down his back, easing the tension from every knot and scar. “This is how it’s supposed to feel.”

Both his hands trembled now as they roamed over you, he lowered himself again, slower this time, his eyes locked on yours. And when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate anymore, it was human.

Your hand wrapped around him, warm and steady. You took your time, stroking the thick length of his cock with slow, fluid movements. Your thumb slid over the head, gathered the slick precum, and spread it down his shaft in long, smooth strokes.

His breath caught, jaw slackened and a low groan escaped him, wrecked and involuntary, like your touch was almost too much.

You reached for the nightstand without looking, tore open the foil packet, as you held him in your palm, hot, heavy, pulsing, and he exhaled, shaky and uneven, one hand fisting the sheets. 

The other hovered midair, like he didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know if he was allowed to want this and have it, too.

You stroked him slowly, fingers gliding from base to tip before rolling the condom on, confident, unhurried, letting him feel everything. He moaned, low, broken, head tipping back as you guided him between your legs, letting him feel the heat of you, the slick glide of your folds against his cock.

You were more than ready. The lube stayed forgotten.

You angled your hips, guided him in, breath catching as the thick head pushed past your entrance with a deep, stretching burn. 

He thrust into you hard. Deep.

A broken sound escaped both of you, your bodies slamming together with force that echoed through your bones. You rose to meet him, thighs tightening around his waist, pulling him in, your nails dragged lightly down his back.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I can take it. I can take you.”

He moved fast at first, frantic, unfiltered, all sharp hips and reckless rhythm, like he needed to burn something out – anger, guilt, need.

His grunts were rough, each thrust punctuated by the sharp slap of skin on skin.

And you took him, legs wrapped around him, hands roaming his back, feeling every tremble, every breath he tried to hold in.

You kissed his neck, soft presses of your lips against his hammering pulse, your hands never stopped, smoothing over his skin, grounding him, and slowly, it shifted.

His rhythm faltered, thrusts slowed, got deeper, less punishing, more present.

He was still panting, still shaking, but now he was listening, to your body, your breath, the way your hands guided him, the soft pull of your hips inviting him closer, deeper, not just into your body, but into the moment.

And even if you hadn’t expected it – pleasure bloomed low in your belly, coiling slow and hot.

You didn’t fight it. You didn’t want to. 

Your breath hitched every time he hit that perfect angle, deep, just right, making your fingers dig into his back. And then it happened: a moan, raw and real, ripped from you like it had been buried too long.

His head snapped back, he stared down at you, stunned, eyes wide, mouth parted, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

You were trembling beneath him, clutching at his skin, and your pleasure was impossible to fake.

“I…” he choked out, voice cracking. “You’re…fuck…,” the words died, his hips faltered, rhythm falling apart and with a hoarse groan he came hard, his whole body shuddering, breath panting.

He collapsed against you, breathless, shaking, forehead pressed to your collarbone, his chest heaved with each ragged inhale, like he didn’t know how to come back down from wherever you’d just taken him.

You didn’t speak, didn’t move, you just held him, fingers threading through his damp hair, the other hand at the back of his neck, brushing the tight line of his spine, feeling the stutter of his heart.

It was way past the paid hours when you finally let go and sat up to dress.

He didn’t say anything, just watched from the bed as you pulled your clothes on. He sat up, the sheet slipping down his chest, and slowly stood, dragging on his boxers and jeans.

He picked up the folded cash you’d already seen waiting on the table, wordless, he stepped over and held it out.

You took it gently. He held on a moment too long.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out, so you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

A goodbye.

Then you turned, your heels clicked against the hotel floor as you walked to the door.

He just stood there.

Just another job, you told yourself as you stepped out and closed the door behind you. But somehow, it didn’t feel like one.

It was two weeks before you heard anything.

You hadn’t expected to.

Men like him, closed off, broken in ways they didn’t want to admit, rarely asked for seconds, especially not when you touched something they weren’t ready to admit.

The message came through the agency. 

James Barnes. Requests the same companion as last time. Exclusive. No substitutions.

You stared at the screen longer than you wanted to admit, heart skipping for reasons that had nothing to do with professionalism.

You didn’t answer right away. 

You’d crossed a line last time, held him too long, let yourself feel too much. It all had felt so painfully familiar, an almost long-forgotten image emerging in the back of your mind like a jagged shard of glass. He had reminded you of someone. 

You saw her clearly, that young girl with wild hair and desperate eyes, broken and aching, thinking she didn’t deserve any other treatment, convinced it was all her own fault. You thought you had buried her long ago.

You shook your head as you read the message again. Feelings, attachment, empathy, hope – those were dangerous in this line of work, they made you soft, exposed.

You told yourself you were not taking him, you were not going back, then your boss called the next morning.

“He asked explicitly for you,” she said. 

You hesitated, tried to say maybe it wasn’t a good idea, that maybe someone else…

“Look,” your boss cut in. “He’s paying triple. No special requests. Just wants a repeat. You’re one of the best. Handle it.”

You agreed before you could talk yourself out of it.

The hotel was the same, the suite too – dim lights, curtains drawn, untouched whiskey on the table and him.

“Mr. Barnes,” you tested, slipping off your coat.

“Bucky,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor. “You can just… call me Bucky.”

He looked nervous, but not like last time, different.

“So,” you said, turning to face him, “you asked for the same setup. No talking. Rough. Detached. Right?”

He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck again, avoiding your eyes. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I did.”

You waited.

He exhaled sharply, almost annoyed with himself. “It’s just… what I know how to ask for. Easier that way.”

You nodded, watching him fidget with the seam of his sleeve like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

“But is that what you want?” you asked, tilting your head. “Or just what you’re used to getting?”

Long pause, then a small, one-shoulder shrug. “I don’t know. I just… didn’t think I could ask for anything else.”

You stepped closer, close enough for him to feel your warmth. “You can,” you said quietly. 

One more step, slow and deliberate, your hand lifted, no pressure, no rush, and when your fingers brushed his jaw, he didn’t pull away, he leaned in, eyes fluttering shut.

Your thumb stroked the edge of his cheek, rough stubble scratching your skin.

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this?” you asked softly. “Not just contact. But this.”

He was silent for a while, brow furrowed like he had to dig for the answer.

“Besides you?” he asked.

You nodded.

His eyes opened, barely, a small, bitter smile ghosted across his lips. “I don’t know,” he said. “Can’t remember.”

You didn’t let go, just held him there, your hand on his jaw like it belonged then you leaned in and kissed him – slowly, easy, no urgency, just warmth.

He kissed you back, hesitant and uncertain, like he was relearning how, his hand settled lightly on your waist, not quite holding. You covered it with your own, pressed it closer, his breath caught, and slowly, bit by bit, you felt him start to relax.

You pulled off your shirt, casual, unhurried. He watched you like he was seeing you for the first time.

You helped him undress too – shirt, jeans, layer by layer—fingers brushing over warm skin and old scars. You kissed his shoulder, let your lips travel down his chest, he shivered, but let you.

This time it was you to guide him to the bed. Both of you sank into the mattress and he crawled over you carefully, like he still thought he might break something.

You pulled him closer, legs parting easily around his hips, hands sliding up his back, settling between his shoulder blades. 

His hands moved with a reverence that caught you off guard, fingers trailing slowly up your sides, along your ribs, like he was memorizing you by touch. He dipped his head, lips brushing your collarbone, then lower, kissing a soft path down to your breasts.

His mouth was gentle there, almost shy, as if he didn’t want to take too much.

His tongue circled your nipple, slow and careful, followed by a soft kiss, then again and again until your breath caught and your fingers tangled in his hair.

He glanced up, quick, uncertain, checking if he was doing it right. The hand at your waist gave him away, thumb brushing back and forth, soothing, trying, not just to please you, but to feel you.

When he pushed into you, it was deep and careful. He groaned, not just from the pleasure, but from the way you looked at him while it happened. 

You stroked his hair back, kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I…,” he started, voice shaky, moving slowly like he didn’t want to mess it up.

“Schhhh,” you cut him off with a smile. “You’re doing fine.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hips moved in a lazy rhythm that made heat curl low in your belly. 

You moaned softly into his mouth.

He froze – just for a second – like he couldn’t believe it, like he wasn’t sure you were really enjoying him, then he moved again, steadier now, bolder, still gentle, but with intention. He was there, present, wanting to feel you, stay with you, soak in the warmth and store it as if he didn’t know when he’d get it again.

“You okay?” you whispered against his neck.

He nodded into your shoulder, voice low and tight. “Yeah. I just… didn’t know it could feel like this.”

You smiled, kissed his jaw, fingers tracing lazy lines down his spine.

“Now you do.”

The next request came just two days later.

You didn’t even think, you accepted the moment you saw his name, before your brain could catch up and tell you not to.

It wasn’t until two weeks later, after pacing the same bright hotel stairs almost every other night, that it finally hit you.

You barely made it through your apartment door, keys dropped from trembling fingers onto the table. Your heart was pounding too hard and too fast, something between wanting to burst or break.

You kicked off your heels and leaned back against the door, trying to breathe.

You’d done this long enough to know the rules. Keep it clean, keep it clear, draw the lines and don’t cross them. You were good at it, good at making men feel seen without giving them anything real, a few hours of connection, good sex, a bit of warmth, sometimes softness, sometimes something else - anything they needed. You knew how to play the game, how to remain in control.

It always ended with the door closing behind you, but this time…

His eyes, his shaking hands, the way he held you after, like he didn’t know how to let go. You felt it. All of it.

The way he softened under your touch, the way he looked at you, like maybe, just maybe, you were something worth holding on to.

Shit.

You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to push the feeling down, will it into something smaller, safer. It didn’t work.

The softness had rooted itself, the lines were gone, and you weren’t sure anymore where the job ended and you began.

You didn’t sleep that night.

The office was quiet, soft morning light slipping through half-open blinds.

Your boss didn’t even look up at first, fingers still tapping at the keyboard. It wasn’t until the door clicked shut behind you that she glanced up.

“I’m not taking him again,” you said, before even sitting down.

That got her attention, she leaned back, arms crossing, brows raised. “Okay... wanna tell me who him is?”

“James Barnes. Bucky.”

The name felt weird in your mouth, too personal, too real.

She leaned back further in her chair. “He do something?”

You shook your head. “No. That’s the problem.”

Silence.

You rubbed your forehead. “Look, I’ve been doing this a long time. I know how to keep it clean. I don’t cross lines. But with him…”

You hesitated, then made yourself say it.

“I let it get too close. He got too close.”

She narrowed her eyes, not harsh, just reading you. “So are you telling me, you caught feelings?”

You gave a humorless laugh. “I don’t even know what to call it, but I can’t pretend it’s nothing. I thought I could keep it professional, but I can’t. Not with him.”

She watched you a second longer, then gave a small, slow nod.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll handle it. I’ll take him off your list. If he tries to book again, I’ll let him know it’s not happening.”

You exhaled. Something in you unclenched, but something else twisted tighter. The weight of it settled fast – this is it, no more hotel rooms, no more late-night requests.

No more him.

Fuck.

How did you let this happen?

First three times there were just polite answers, saying that you were unavailable, but after his fourth attempt to book you again, the agency finally called Bucky back. 

“She won’t be available,” the voice said flatly. “Not now. Not ever.”

He blinked. “What do you mean not ever?”

“She’s declined further bookings. With you, specifically.”

There was a long silence.

“We can offer others,” the voice continued. “Discreet. High quality. Same experience.”

“No,” he said immediately.

“Mr. Barnes…”

“No.” His voice cracked, then dropped lower. “I don’t want anyone else.”

They paused. “Understood.”

Click.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed for hours, staring at nothing. The phone was still in his hand, screen long gone dark. His metal fingers flexed against the edge of the mattress, making the sheets crinkle like paper.

“Idiot,” he muttered. “Fucking idiot.” 

What the hell had he expected?

Love ‘til the end of your days? From a prostitute?

The word made his stomach twist, not because of what you were, but because of how small it made everything feel. 

But that was the truth. He paid. You came. You touched him like no one ever had and he let himself believe, just for one night, then another, that it meant something more, that maybe he wasn’t just a job, that maybe you saw him, not the Winter Soldier, not the weapon, not the broken thing trying to pass as human.

And now? Everything was over, like it always did.

His jaw clenched, a burn crawling up behind his eyes as his hand twisted into the sheets.

You knew better than this.

You’re not built for softness. You’re a machine with a man’s name stapled to it. Why would anyone want more than a few hours from you? A few paid hours.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room, then stopped, frozen mid-step and just stood there, numb and hollow, except for that one place inside him that ached like mad.

He thought of your hand on his jaw, the way you’d guided his metal hand to your thigh like it didn’t matter, the way you looked at him when he came in your arms.

None of it meant anything.

His eyes landed on the glass beside the whiskey bottle. The sharp crack of it shattering echoed in his ears, the shards scattered across the floor like broken thoughts. He flinched, staring at the mess like it hadn’t been his hand that hurled it at the wall.

He didn’t sleep, he just sat in the dark, back to the cold wall, bottle of whiskey in hand.

He didn’t want the burn.

He just wanted you.

But he drank anyway.

The med bay was a blur, too-bright lights, sharp voices, the sting of antiseptic. Bucky barely remembered how he got there, blood crusted on the side of his face, pain ripping through his flesh shoulder like fire.

Damn it. Two metal arms hadn’t exactly been on his bingo card, but he’d come close, too close.

Now he was laid out on a gurney, the sterile white sheets sticking to his skin, wires clipped to his chest, IV half-started in his arm. Overhead light buzzed.

A doctor’s voice cut through the haze: “You need stitches. And your shoulder! Christ, Barnes, it’s a mess.”

Bucky didn’t answer, just stared at the ceiling like it was pressing down on him. It was all his own fault, he had been distracted.

He didn’t want stitches, didn’t want rest, didn’t want someone checking his vitals every ten minutes and pretending that meant he was going to be okay. 

Of course, the shoulder would heal. It always did.

What didn’t heal was the hole in his chest, it just grew bigger with every damn day.

The doctor moved in with a needle, and that’s when Bucky snapped upright, ripped the wires from his chest, not paying attention to the shriek of the monitors, and yanked the IV from his arm. Blood spattered across the floor.

“Jesus…Barnes!” someone shouted, reaching for him.

He shook off the hand like it burned. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not…”

“I said I’m fine.”

His voice was low, cracking underneath like glass under pressure.

He yanked his jacket on with a grunt. 

The doctor stepped in front of him again. “You walk out like this, you could bleed out. You need treatment…”

“I need air,” Bucky muttered, brushing past him.

The door slammed open as he walked out, ignoring the calls behind him and the red smears he left on the floor.

It wasn’t the first time he’d stood here.

Truth was, he’d been coming every night since he figured out where you lived – an info pried out of a reluctant CIA contact who owed him a favour. 

But that wasn’t the only thing he had done. He wasn’t proud of it, wouldn’t even admit it to anyone.

The young agent hadn’t asked questions, just lit up like it was an honor to be given a task by Bucky Barnes. The file he handed over before the last mission wasn’t long, but it had been enough to throw Bucky off his game. Almost got the whole thing compromised.

You had moved to New York five years ago. No close family listed, both parents deceased. A trail of medical records stretching back for years – bruised ribs, concussions, two broken wrists, one collarbone. All logged as accidents. 

Slipped down the stairs.

Fell on ice.

Walked into a door.

You must’ve been real clumsy.

But Bucky knew better, knew what those reports meant, knew the patterns, the silence between the lines. Someone had hurt you. Repeatedly. And no one had stopped it.

Then the trail went dark, two years of nothing – no address, no job, no medical history, like you’d dropped off the face of the earth, and then suddenly, you reappeared in New York. 

Clean slate, new name, job at an escort agency.

He dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his jaw like he could grind the guilt out of his bones.

And he’d thought he was the only one with ghosts, the only one carrying pain he didn’t talk about.

But you... you'd crawled out of hell, too.

And he’d been so wrapped up in what he was feeling, he hadn’t seen it, hadn’t asked. 

He’d let your presence become routine, a comfort he thought he could keep buying. He hadn’t asked how you were, hadn’t even tried.

He knew every line and curve of your body, but he didn’t know if you liked coffee, didn’t know what music you listened to or what kind of day you’d had before walking into that hotel room.

And now?

Now he stood outside your building like some damn ghost, night after night, too broken to leave, too ashamed to come closer.

Maybe you were asleep. Maybe you were awake, just too busy to notice him.

Maybe you saw everything and just didn’t care.

Still, he kept showing up, across the street, in the shadows, watching your second floor windows light up. Watching them go dark. 

He didn’t even know what he was hoping for – a flicker of your shadow, the sound of your laugh through an open window, just proof you were still there, that you hadn’t vanished for good.

The last entry in the file had actually been the most unsettling.

Target terminated the job contract with the agency. Seen at the train station multiple times this week.

The train station. Were you leaving again? Running?

His chest tightened, breath caught, heart stuttering in his ribs.

Were you already gone? Was tonight too late?

The light in your window was still on, the curtain half-drawn.

And for the first time in weeks, Bucky moved off the curb, across the street, up the steps.

It was close to panic that carried him now – if he didn’t knock now, he might never get another chance.

He raised his hand to the buzzer, it hovered, hesitated, faltered, then, heart pounding, he pressed it.

And waited.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

That was the first thing that hit you when the buzzer rang, slicing through the quiet of your apartment. You froze on the couch, eyes flicking toward the door.

You hesitated, nobody buzzed this late unless it was an emergency or a mistake, or… 

Crossing the room cautiously, you checked the security feed and your breath caught.

Bucky.

He looked like hell, blood dried on the side of his face, a split brow, and a strange stiffness in the way his flesh arm hung at his side. He wasn’t even looking at the camera, just standing there, head bowed slightly.

You should’ve walked away, pretended you weren’t home, let it ring. That would’ve been the smart move, the safe one.

You owed him nothing, he wasn’t supposed to be here, wasn’t even supposed to know where you lived.

But you just stood there, frozen in front of the screen, and stared at him, your hand hovering near the intercom. 

Don’t do it, a voice whispered. Close the panel. Walk away. He’s not your responsibility.

Then he looked up, just for a second, right into the camera as if he knew you were there watching him. And that was it, you muttered a curse under your breath, called yourself a goddamn idiot, and hit the button. Then you opened the door and waited.

The hallway was empty, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. He took the stairs. Why the hell did he take the stairs and not the elevator? He emerged from the staircase and neared your door slowly.

You took him in – torn skin, blood dripping down his fingers and smeared across his temple,  half-wiped like he’d tried to clean up and couldn’t finish.

“Jesus,” you breathed. “What happened to you?”

He didn’t answer right away, just stood there a second longer, then let out a rough exhale.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t know where else to go.” 

It was such a cliché to say, sounding like something out of a moody, old romance movie, but he didn’t have anything better. 

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Honestly, he hadn’t even believed you’d open the door, let alone talk to him. He’d taken the stairs just to buy himself a little extra time, to get his head straight, but the second he tried, his thoughts scattered, flapping around his brain like panicked chickens.

You didn’t move. 

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he said. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried. I swear I tried.” 

There was something oddly sweet about the way he stared down at his boots like they were the most fascinating thing in the world and scratched the back of his head with his metal hand. Grown up man looking like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t.

You let out a slow breath, then stepped aside.

“Come in,” you said. “You’re bleeding all over the hallway.”

He followed, quiet.

The kitchen light was soft, the air still warm with the faint scent of tea. Bucky hovered in the doorway, shoulders tight, eyes flicking over everything but you.

You nodded toward the chair by the table. “Sit.”

He did, lowering himself with a wince.

You grabbed the first-aid kit, a damp cloth, and a bottle of vodka from your secret stash.

Bucky gave the bottle a look.

“What?” you said, catching his glance. “You think I keep medical-grade disinfectant around just in case some supersoldier shows up bleeding on my doorstep?”

Bucky gave a half-shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching like he almost smiled. “Would’ve been convenient.”

You rolled your eyes and set the bottle down beside the kit. “You’re lucky I had vodka at all. I was saving it for a shitty day.”

He glanced down at himself, bloody and slouched in the middle of your kitchen. “Guess today qualifies.”

“Take that off,” you said, nodding toward his jacket.

He shrugged out of it with a wince. The T-shirt underneath had definitely seen better days, it was torn, soaked in blood and clinging to the wound at his shoulder.

You grabbed a pair of scissors, knelt beside him, and carefully cut the shirt away, then you soaked a cloth in vodka, wrung it out, and reached for his face.

He flinched.

“Hold still,” you murmured.

He hissed through his teeth when you pressed the cloth to the gash above his brow.

“I thought you were a supersoldier, or something,” you muttered under your breath.

“Doesn’t mean I enjoy vodka facials.”

You rolled your eyes but kept dabbing carefully. 

“You showed up bleeding on my doorstep, you don’t get to complain about my methods.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes searching yours. “Yeah, but I get to be grateful for them.”

You blinked at that, caught off guard for a second, but you recovered quickly, giving his good shoulder a light nudge. “Just shut up and let me finish saving your life.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with something very close to a smile on his lips.

You cleaned the blood from his temple, careful around the split in his skin. He kept shifting, eyes darting away, like being under your hands was harder than the pain itself.

“You’re not good at this,” you said softly.

“At what?”

“Letting someone take care of you.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, but wasn’t. “Don’t really get the chance.”

You didn’t say anything, just focused on the cut above his brow, patched it up, then moved to his shoulder. It wasn’t as bad as it looked, already starting to heal, but he still tensed every time your fingers brushed his skin and groaned when you pressed the vodka-soaked cloth to it.

You folded the gauze, pressed it gently to the wound, and taped it down with steady hands, or so you thought.

When you finally packed up the kit and snapped it shut, your eyes landed back on the vodka bottle. That’s when you noticed it, your hands were shaking like hell.

“You’ll live,” you muttered, grabbing the bottle and taking a long, burning sip, before holding it out to him without looking.

Bucky took it slowly, fingers brushing yours, he hesitated a second before tipping it back for a sharp swallow, then set it down with a quiet clink on the table.

Neither of you said anything for a moment.

The room was suddenly too quiet, you could hear the tick of the old clock on the wall and the soft hum of traffic through the window. 

“In truth I didn’t think you would let me in,” he said finally, his voice rough from more than just the drink. 

You leaned back against the table, arms crossed tight over your chest like you were trying to hold yourself together.

“I didn’t come here expecting anything,” he added. “I just… I needed to see you, make sure you were okay.”

You gave him a look. “You’re the one bleeding all over my furniture.”

That almost got a smile, almost, his lips twitched before falling back into a line.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

Then slowly, he moved, reached out and gently took your hands in his. You froze, caught off guard.

He turned your wrists over with care, thumbs brushing the faint lines of your skin and without rushing, he lifted them to his mouth and kissed them, first the right, then the left.

You didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” you asked, voice barely above a breath.

He held your gaze, searching for words that wouldn’t sound too small or too late.

“For letting you walk away,” he said finally. “For pretending I didn’t care. For caring too much and never saying a damn thing. For not asking about you, not once.”

You didn’t speak, just looked at him, your wrists still resting lightly in his palms and a lump forming in your throat.

“When you stopped seeing me, I told myself it didn’t mean anything,” he went on, voice rough. “Tried to believe it was just a job, just time I paid for.”

He paused.

“But it wasn’t, not to me. Every second with you felt like… like breathing again.”

“I didn’t come here to make things harder,” he continued. “I just... I needed you to know, even if you slam the door in my face after this – I had to say it.”

He swallowed hard, his grip loosened, just slightly, giving you space to pull away, to run, to reject him like he half-expected.

You didn’t move, your eyes filling before you could stop it.

You blinked fast, trying to hold it in, but the tears came anyway, quiet and unexpected.

“I didn’t leave because I didn’t care,” you said, voice catching on the words. “I left because I did, because I couldn’t go on like that anymore.”

You covered your mouth with one hand, shaking your head like the words were spilling too fast and you couldn’t stop them. “Because it didn’t feel like a job and I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything like that again.”

He stared at you, breath held, like even breathing too loud might break the moment.

“I spent years building walls, Bucky,” you said, voice unsteady. “Telling myself I’d never fall again. Never let anyone in, because the last time I did, it wrecked me and broke me in ways I’m still crawling out of.”

You let out a soft sob, almost a gasp, and he moved without hesitation, pulling you into his arms, warm and solid. You didn’t flinch, if anything, you melted into him.

“I wasn’t scared of you,” you whispered, voice raw. “I was scared of how much I wanted to stay. Of how badly I wanted this to be real and something more … more than just… just fucking for money.”

He exhaled, slow and shaky, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“I might be a damn idiot when it comes to feelings,” he murmured, “but I’m not here to break you, I swear. And I won’t hurt you. Ever.”

“I believe you,” you breathed, barely a whisper. “That’s what makes it so terrifying.”

You didn’t speak after that. There was nothing else to say, nothing that words could carry. You were not sure what this was, neither of you were, but it was something. Something unnamed, delicate and a little messy but nevertheless real and beautiful.

Bucky’s forehead stayed pressed to yours, his breath warm against your cheek and his hands cradled yours like they were the most fragile things he’d ever held.

Eventually, you pulled back. 

“You should lie down,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over the bruised line of Bucky’s jaw. “The bleeding hasn’t stopped yet.”

He looked like he wanted to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance, you took his hand and led him to the bedroom, switching off lights along the way.

He sat at the edge of the bed like he wasn’t sure what to do next. You handed him a clean T-shirt, one of yours, oversized and soft, and he took it without a word.

He tried to pull it over his head on his own but winced halfway through, his shoulder clearly still aching. You stepped in, brushing his hands away gently. “Let me,” you murmured.

Carefully, you helped guide the shirt over his head, easing his arms through the sleeves. As the fabric settled over his chest, you bit back a smile. It looked oversized folded in your drawer, but on him, it clung just enough to stretch around his shoulders, riding up slightly over his abs. 

He didn’t complain, just looked up at you and you shrugged, lips twitching. “I think it suits you.”

Bucky kicked off his boots, then shot you a sheepish look as he reached for his jeans. His fingers fumbled at the button, cheeks going pink like this was the first time he was undressing in front of you, which, considering everything, was kind of ridiculous.

He averted his eyes and turned slightly, like that would somehow make it less awkward, then shimmied out of the denim, keeping his boxers on, and slipped under the blanket like he was trying to outrun the embarrassment.

You didn’t laugh, didn’t tease, just watched him for a second, heart aching a little, for all the muscle and the myth, there was something so soft in the way he still got shy when it wasn’t just about sex, when it was something more, something new.

You slid into bed beside him, quiet, not touching, letting the moment breathe.

Then his hand found yours under the blanket, uncertain, careful, and your fingers curled around his without thinking.

You shifted closer and placed your cheek on his chest. His heart was racing.

A second later, his arms came around you, hesitant at first, then stronger, and when Bucky exhaled, it sounded like he hadn’t breathed easy in weeks.

You didn’t protest, just stayed like that, no words, no labels, just warmth, just this, whatever it was. 

Bucky closed his eyes, breathing in the faint scent of your hair, it wasn’t his place, wasn’t even his bed, but somehow strangely it felt like… like home.

[formulafanfics13]

Feral & Factory-Tuned - Mercedes

Masterlist

summary: You’re not on the payroll, not in the paddock guide, not technically on the team. But somehow, you’re always in Mercedes hospitality — eating crisps, stealing hoodies, and driving Toto Wolff to the brink of insanity. They should kick you out. Instead, they feed you cut fruit and call you family.

warnings: fluff, chaotic humour, found family dynamics, unhinged energy, upside-down lounging, light emotional softness, implied long-term friendship with the team, Toto being an exhausted father figure, George and Lewis being your favourite menaces

You're in Lewis's driver room, lying upside down on his sofa with your legs hanging over the backrest and your head almost on the floor. There's an ice cube melting in your mouth and someone's hoodie wrapped around your waist like a blanket. You're not entirely sure if it's George's or Lewis's, or maybe it's Toto's, because it smells expensive and stressful.

George is in the corner FaceTiming his mum. You keep hearing snippets like "Yes, she's still here, Mum," and "No, she hasn't been a nuisance," and "Honestly, I think Toto likes her more than me at this point."

You flash him a peace sign and stick your tongue out. He flips you off. With love.

Lewis walks in a minute later, towel around his neck, shirt half-buttoned, hair damp from a quick post-race rinse. He freezes in the doorway when he sees your position. "You good?"

"Peachy."

"You're upside down."

"I'm rebirthing."

George snorts from the corner.

Lewis drops the towel on your stomach like he's throwing a blanket over a stray cat. "You're unhinged."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately," he says, and ruffles your hair. "You want anything from catering?"

"I want your entire career earnings in cash, a pet goat, and some nuggets."

"I'll see what I can do."

George clicks his phone off. "Mate, she's been like this all day."

"She needs a nap."

"I need a raise," you mutter.

Lewis leans down and kisses your forehead. "You need therapy."

"I have Toto."

That's when Toto himself walks in. On the phone. In a black Mercedes tee, sleeves rolled up, face stormy like always, except the second he sees you, upside down and wrapped in God-knows-who's hoodie, he reaches over and flips your legs down so you're sitting normal again.

He doesn't say a word about it. Just pats your head like you're a feral pet he's begrudgingly come to love.

"Yes, I'll call you later," he says into the phone, and hangs up. Then to you, "Did you eat lunch?"

"Yes, Dad."

He narrows his eyes. "Real lunch?"

"Define real."

Lewis raises a hand. "She stole my protein bar. That count?"

Toto sighs like you're the reason his blood pressure is high. "She's more work than the car."

George grins. "But she's faster in the simulator."

You gasp. "George."

"Lies," Lewis says. "You barely use the brake pedal."

"That's because braking is for cowards."

Susie walks in right then, perfect timing as always, holding a glass container full of cut fruit and a bottle of water. "I brought you something," she says, pressing it into your hands. "Because I know you've eaten nothing but crisps and vibes today."

You blink up at her. "Mum?"

"Don't call me that," she warns, but she's smiling.

Toto looks at her like he's been proven right. "See?"

"She's sweet," Susie defends. "She's just... feral."

"I'm a Mercedes puppy," you say proudly.

"You're a tax write-off," George mutters.

Lewis pulls you up off the couch, drags you into a side hug, and says into your hair, "We love you, you little disaster. Just don't break anything, yeah?"

You eat your fruit in Lewis's room, curled between him and George like some weird, chaotic sibling sandwich. Susie sits in the corner with her iPad. Toto's on the phone again, pacing. Someone starts throwing grapes at you and you don't even notice who, because this is just normal.

You don't work for Mercedes. But Mercedes works around you. And that's enough.

[gloomwitchwrites]

I absolutely love your stories they’re so amazing! Can I please request the task force and pranking them by telling them a guy did your Brazilian wax

Thank you! I can't take all the credit. I might be the writer, but the Imagines Series couldn't be what it is without all the amazing ideas people have submitted. I'm honestly blown away by the amount of creativity and ideas sent my way. My inbox is full of wonderful requests, and while it's going to take me a bit to get to them all, I'm eager to complete them!

The amount of prank requests I've been getting has been so fun. Not just this one, but telling mom to shut up, and the premium air prank, etc. All of these make me giggle and have been a blast to work on. Thank you so much for sending this in!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, established relationship, pranks, non-descriptive nudity

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John briefly licks the pad of his thumb before counting out the appropriate amount of pound notes.

“This enough?” he asks, presenting it to you.

It’s more than enough. “Plenty. Thank you, John.”

He leans forward a bit, and you eagerly greet him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Drawing back, you give him your best smile. But beneath the grin is a trick.

You want to mess with him a bit.

“I have a new waxer,” you shrug, adding the cash to your wallet. “Cheryl put in her notice.”

Cheryl did not put in her notice. That woman probably won’t retire until she dies.

John inclines his head, already turning away. “That’s too bad. You liked her.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, grabbing your purse. “They’ve put me with someone new. A Mark? Mike? No—Marcus? I think.”

John freezes. He slowly turns back, cheeks bright red. “What?”

“It starts with an ‘m’,” you muse.

“Your new waxer is a man?”

“Yes,” you shrug. “And?” John’s face resembles a beet. “Everything good?”

“Where does Cherly work now?”

“John—”

He grabs his phone from his pocket and starts tapping away at it. "I want to know if she accepts walk-ins."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle's hand slowly runs over your newly waxed skin. "Look at you. So soft and smooth." His touch makes you shiver.

"You paid for it," you murmur.

"I did," smiles Kyle, head dipping.

His tongue makes contact, and you release a moan. It’s slightly distracting, but not enough to detract from you poking at him.

“Had a new waxer,” you sigh as Kyle goes in for another taste.

“Did you?” he asks absently, more interested in your new smoothness.

“A man, actually. Undergoing training. There were two of them in the room.”

Kyle's head snaps up. "What?"

"Why'd you stop?" you whimper.

"There were two men that waxed you?"

“No, Kyle. Just one.”

A series of emotions pass over Kyle's face. His mouth opens. Closes. And then his hand forms a fist, fingers flexing and relaxing as he mulls over something.

"Everything okay?" you ask, suddenly worried.

“Can’t be that hard.” Kyle pushes away from the couch and reaches for his phone. “Or expensive.”

“What can’t? Kyle. What are you talking about?”

You lean forward and see him adding a waxing kit to his online shopping cart.

“No,” you say firmly. “You’re not putting hot wax anywhere near my vagina.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Oh, what's this?"

Johnny's hands are on your thighs and then beneath your skirt in a moment.

"Johnny!"

"Is this for me? You don't have to. You know I like a good adventure through the woods."

"Johnny!" you say again, slapping his arm playfully as his fingers lightly squeeze, making your squirm in his grasp.

"Was this on my dime?" he asks.

"Maybe."

"Oh, aye. Am I gonna find an unknown charge?"

"With a tip. A large tip. My waxer deserved it. He did a good job."

"Oh, they—he?"

"Yes. That a problem?"

Johnny's hands don't retreat but he's staring at you—hard. You arch an eyebrow and he finally speaks. "Your waxer is a man?"

No.

"Yes."

Johnny nods and then he leans in, lowering his voice. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m—”

“I saw your location. I checked it out. They don’t have a single male employee in that place.”

Your face grows hot.

Johnny’s hands squeeze a bit harder, and then he lands a brief smack against the curve of your ass. “Lying to me, love?” Johnny tsks. He palms the curve of your ass where it stings. “Suppose I should punish you.”

“Maybe you should.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You reject the call and clutch your phone to your chest. You've messed up. Royally. Pranking Simon is always a terrible idea.

The texts were just a tease. Just a way to push Simon’s buttons.

I have a new waxer.

I thought it would be one of the other ladies.

But no!

It was a guy!

Your phone buzzes again and you nearly throw it across the room. It’s Simon. You decline the call. Everything is quiet for a few brief seconds before a text message from him comes through.

Answer your phone.

You click out a reply.

I'm in the car!

His reply comes instantly.

You're at home. I know your location.

Another incoming call. This one you answer.

"Simon,” you say flatly.

"What location did you go to?" he asks, voice rough with tension.

"Why?" you counter.

"What's his name?" he snaps.

"I know what you're doing, Simon.”

You always forget just how deep his possessive streak goes.

Silence. Then, "I just want to talk."

"Simon.”

He growls your name in warning.

"You don't need to go there. Just...come home. You can see the results for yourself."

He sighs. "I'll be there in ten. Be ready for me."

[creamiecoups]

conditioned - seungcheol x reader

↠  pairing : seungcheol x reader

↠  summary : you were too naive, too sweet, and seungcheol had to be the one that gets to wreck and destroy you… and also make sure you were conditioned enough to never dare to leave him.

↠ word count : 5.1K words

↠ warnings :  swearing, drinking/getting drunk, dom!seungcheol, noncon/dubcon, use of pet names, mentions of past cheating, rough fingering, slight choking, drugging

↠ author’s note : heyy guys sorry about the delay on this i was busy with new years stuff and i realised that this was wayy too long and also wanted to make it a series so this is just part 1! i hope you guys like it so far and lmk what you think :) also happy new year !! i hope this year is filled with happiness and love for each and every one of you 🫶🏼

part one part two part three

It all started on that rainy night.

You still had half an hour until closing time, when you could finally go home to your warm and cozy bed.

The cafe you recently started working at was in a busy part of Seoul so it wasn't much of a shock to you that it was bustling at 7pm on a Friday night. But with the looming worry of your piling assignments and all the bills to your tiny apartment, you just really wanted to go home. Even with so many worries and stress, you were never one to show it too much, preferring to keep it within you while you be the best version of yourself while talking to others.

And so, when the tall and extremely handsome man came to the cash register, voice dripping in honey as he ordered from the menu, you still maintained your good behaviour.

"Is that by cash or card for today?" You asked, not paying much mind to his observant eyes scanning over you as you clicked away on the screen.

"By card, sweetheart, thank you."

You looked up as soon as the word fell from his lips, but all he did was flip open his wallet, pulling out the sleek black card before pushing it towards you with a cute smile, his eyes mimicking crescent moons.

After taking the card from his hands you hovered it over the pay screen, suddenly feeling small as he watched you before you gave it back to him.

Working at a cafe in the city means you always serve cute customers, but this one just felt different.

"I'll sit by the back... can you bring it out for me when it's done?" He asked, taking you aback as you just stared at him like he grew ears and a tail.

"Hello? Did you not catch that?" He asked again, honeyed voice still gentle as he tilted his head to the side slightly, causing you to shake your head.

"S-Sorry um... I'm a-actually just a cashier, my co worker will bring it out—"

"Do you know who I am darling?" He cut you off, causing you to crease your eyebrows.

"N-No—"

"Oh my god...M-Mr Hong, I'm sorry Sir, she's new to Seoul and only recently started here, I'll make sure I teach her well."

You watch in shock as your usually strict and nonchalant manager stumbled over her words, bowing down repeatedly before your eyes trail back to his, as he eyed you down.

"That's alright... when my order is done, make sure she is the one that hands it to me."

You both watch as he walks away without another word, before Soyeon, your manager, all but drags you into the kitchen area, shutting the door behind her rather loudly.

"Where the fuck is Yugyeom? I told him to watch the newbie for a bit while I was on break, didn't I?" Soyeon spat as she stormed around before a confused Yugyeom walked in through the staff room door.

"Oh shit my bad, I went to drink water," he mumbled, clearly confused as Soyeon rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure you were. Mr Hong is here, alone it seems...and this girl spoke to him like a normal customer! I don't have the time to explain anything right now but from now on, no one leaves her to the cash register alone...Yugyeom take over for a bit he requested her to bring his order," Soyeon went on before looking towards me as I looked around at all the people in the kitchen that stopped upon hearing that guys name.

"I'm s-sorry did I do something wrong? Is he-he like political or—"

"Political," Soyeon scoffed, shaking her head before leaving the room as everyone slowly went back to what they were doing, except Yugyeom.

"Hey don't stress, I'll explain after we close.... I'll cover for you until you get back but, don't talk to him too much okay? Only answer whatever he asks, nothing more, and definitely nothing less....he's dangerous."

Yugyeom pushes the tray in front of you before walking away soundlessly, as your left stunned.

He's dangerous.

Yugyeom words rang in your mind as you carefully walked past the tables to the very end of the store, where there was a couple of booths.

"Here's your iced americano... I-I hope you enjoy—"

"Where you running off too that quickly? Come sit," he spoke, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly before you could've ran back. You hesitantly nodded, before sitting opposite him as he took a sip of his drink, eyes still trained on yours through the rim of the transparent glass.

"Your manager said you're new....where are you from?" He asked innocently, although he already knew almost everything about you.... the rest you would have to fill in for him.

"Y-Yeah....I'm from Iksan actually....came here for....for university," you answer truthfully, although you felt wary talking about yourself in detail to him.

"Oh? What are you studying?" He asked again, as you looked towards the front of the cafe.

"I-I think I'll have to head back I'm sorry—"

"Darling you're with me, your manager won't mind, now answer me," he shot, causing you to swallow thickly.

"I-I study psychology," you almost mumbled, before his pretty face was contorting in interest.

"So you like studying how minds work, huh? That sounds cool," he says, taking another sip of his drink before you both turn to see Yugyeom telling a customer that they're closed now so they can't order.

"Oh pity, you guys are already closed," he says, making you turn back to look at him.

"W-Who are you?" You muster the courage to ask, mostly the curiosity getting to you.

"I never introduced myself, I'm Joshua sweetheart, I work nearby."

"It was nice meeting you, but I think I'll have to help close," you said, almost getting annoyed of the man in front of you.

He was gorgeous, there was no doubt about that...but everything about the way he was acting along with your co workers, held up red signs in your mind.

You swore he almost rolled his eyes, before he was standing up and walking towards the front cash register as you followed behind him in confusion.

"I'm sure you guys can manage a close right? Y/N looks really tired today she's going home," He blatantly said, before looking towards you again.

"Go get your things."

You don't know what it was, but you found yourself complying to his words as you walked into the staff room to get your bag, Soyeon no where to be seen. Yugyeom looked horrified when you came back out, his eyes looking at you as if trying to convey that he hopes your safe.

You slightly nod his way before looking back towards Joshua.

"Thank you," you mumble, before quickly speeding out to the car park outside as he followed you out.

You don't really know why you said thank you, or why you even listened to his words but you deemed it a good idea considering Yugyeom did mention he was dangerous.

Fishing out your keys from your tote bag you quickly got into your car, pushing the key in to start your car as you noticed he was just standing not too far from your car almost expectantly.

And as expected, your car made no effort to start up even as you turned the key, your eyebrows furrowing as you cursed under your breath. After trying a few more times you gave up, letting out a deep sigh as you exited your car again before shutting the door.

"What's wrong?" Joshua instantly asked as you shrugged.

"My car is dead, I don't even know why," you mumble, trying to walk past him before he grabbed your arm again.

"Where are you going?"

"Inside, im gonna ask my co worker for a ride," you answer, pulling your arm out of his grasp as he shook his head.

"No need, just come with me, I can drop you off."

"What n-no," you instantly deny, staring up at him in shock.

You didn't even know him, why did he think you'd say yes?

"Do I look like a murderer Y/N?" He asked, tilting his head to the side as his big doe eyes stared at you.

"N-No but.... but I don't know you and it's fine you—"

"I'd love to, really..... do you live far?"

"No just a few minutes away," you answer, slowly realising it might not be such a bad idea.

If you waited for a co worker you'd have to stay back closing, and you were beyond tired to do that.... and Joshua, although slightly weird, didn't give you any doubt to think he was a threat.

Even though Yugyeom had called him dangerous....

"If we're not far than just come, the longer you take your losing time sleeping," He stated, as you bit your lip in thought.

You guessed it wouldn't be so bad.

"Fine yeah," you mumbled, nodding at him as he flashed you that charming smile that had your stomach doing flips.

"Good, follow me."

You followed behind him, completely unaware of the smug smile on Joshua's face as you both passed your old car.

It wasn't too hard for him to make sure it wouldn't work, but that battered car was hanging by a thread anyways.

Your mouth hung open once you saw the black Porsche parked not too far from the entrance, as he opened the passenger door for you with a chuckle leaving his lips at your reaction.

"Are you gonna get in?"

"S-Sorry," you mumble awkwardly, before quickly sitting inside as he shut the door.

You knew he was probably rich as fuck, if anything that ironed to perfection suit with a Chanel pin gave it away, but being inside such a luxurious car made you feel sick.

This was definitely worth more than a whole year of your college tuition fees.

"Can you put your address in for me?" Joshua asked, pointing towards the huge tablet in the middle as he started the car.

You nod shortly before typing away, still not being able to shake away the utter shock you were feeling sitting in such a nice car.

"Do you like working there?" Joshua suddenly asked after a few minutes of silent driving.

"Yeah I do, it's fun," you say, playing with your fingers nervously as he hummed.

Thankfully you saw your apartment complex come into view, making you let out a sigh without even realising.

"It was really kind of you to offer me a ride, thank you," you say politely, as he smiled at you warmly.

"Of course, get home and rest up you've had a long day.... your cafe is my usual so, I'll see you around," he says, giving you a small nod before you thank him once again before getting out of his car.

The whole elevator ride up to your apartment and for the next two hours laying in bed, all you can think about is that mysterious but kind man. It's as if all the sleepiness you felt throughout the day disappeared, your mind running with so many thoughts. You thought back to how Soyeon and Yugyeom acted around him, and how odd you found him when he asked you to sit with him. Although you knew it was very sweet of him to give you a ride, you were a stranger to him too, his aura was comforting almost, and something told you that was definitely not the last time you'd see him around.

And you were right.

Something you were terribly wrong about though?

There was nothing comforting and sweet about Joshua Hong.

———————————————————————————

A few days passed since your first encounter with Joshua, and almost every one of those days in between he was at your cafe, ordering the same thing and having conversations with you.

One iced americano, bring it out for me.

Although you still found that weird, you kind of enjoyed his company. You soon found out he worked at a law firm, he lived alone but was thinking of adopting a puppy soon, and he was so interested in your studies and out of work lifestyle.

Lies, lies, and more lies.

But you didn't need to know that yet.

You tried keeping your words on the low though, not giving away too much about your not so pretty life at the moment and how you manage to make a living. Yugyeom and Soyeon had become rather silent everytime you interacted with them.... and Yugyeom never explained to you what he wanted to say about Joshua the first time you saw him.

"He's cool, just really intimidating cuz he's like a law dude y'know?"

"Gyeom you called him dangerous.... I don't really believe you would've used that word so lightly without a reason," you had said, to which he just shrugged and brushed off to another random topic.

Anyways that was over a week ago, and for now you just wanted to let go of every thought for the night as you enjoyed some drinks with a couple of uni friends at a club of their choosing on a Sunday night. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't get wasted since you had work the next morning, but alas one drinking game bled into another and by 11pm you were already nearly gone.

You didn't feel like going home anymore, not that you could until all your friends tapped out since you guys promised to Uber together, but eventually the games got boring so you excused yourself to go sit on one of the stools in front of the main bar, chin in your palms as the cute bartender came your way.

"Can I get a cosmopolitan, please," you say politely before running a hand through your hair.

"A cosmopolitan? Thought you'd choose something more sweeter," a voice from next to you spoke, making you whip your head to look at the man.

Your mouth slightly hung open, staring across at who you were sure was the hottest man to grace the world, all the alcohol in your system making you much more bolder than your usual quiet self.

"And why do you think you have a say in what I order? It's my favourite," you huff, as the man's eyebrows go up in amusement.

"Now, now....no need to be snappy, I was just curious.... think you'd like an expresso martini more," he chuckled, tongue swiping across his red plush lips as he eyed you up and down.

"Alright, let's see," you say, as the man smiles your way before calling over the bartender.

"Swap that cosmopolitan for an expresso martini, and get me my usual."

"Usual? Do you come here often?" You pique, resting your chin on your palm as you look at him.

"Something like that... I've never seen you here before though? I must say.... this doesn't seem like your setting," he smiles again, before the bartender was sliding your cocktail in front of you.

"Enjoy your drinks," he bows before running off, his playful smiles and comments completely gone.

"Come on, have a taste."

You slowly bring the glass rim to your lips, before opening your mouth.

"Oh shit, it's so good I can't believe I've never tried this before," you gleam, eyes sparkling as you quickly take another gulp.

"I'm surprised you haven't as well, so now you can stop having boring old cosmopolitans," he said, as you watch him drink an almost brown liquid.

"That however does not look inviting," you say, as his eyes flicker to yours.

"Wanna try? It's my personal favourite."

You hesitantly grab his glass, if anything the strong whiff you get should've thrown you off but you take a sip anyways, instantly gagging and coughing as he chuckles.

"How are you drinking that? It's horrible," you whine, drinking your martini in hopes of flushing that horrid taste from your mouth.

"It's whiskey darling, should've known you might not be able to handle it actually," he chuckled again, making you knit your eyebrows together.

"What is that supposed to mean?" You question, as he smiles widely, dimples sinking into his cheeks as you felt like your knees would've given out if you weren't sitting down.

god. he was an eye sore.

"Nothing, sweetheart.... now tell me your name?"

"Y/N, L/N Y/N.... and yours?" You ask, trying to ignore the set of butterflies that were released in your stomach from his pet names.

He leaned forward, tucking your hair strands behind your ear as his soft brown eyes were glued to yours.

"Seungcheol, Choi Seungcheol."

You probably should've just ended the conversation there and gone back to your friends, but hours pushed the night deeper, a couple more cocktails with Seungcheol listening to him tell you all sorts of stories as you swore you've never gotten so drunk to the point where you couldn't think anymore.

"It's really no big deal for me," he pressed on, opening the back door of the club with his right arm as his left stayed firm around your waist.

"N-No just....just get me back in there to the first table—"

"Y/N your friends are drunk off their minds, they're not taking you home in that state," he laughed shortly, dragging you to his black Mercedes that stood alone in the private parking lot.

"Then call me a cab!" You whine, pouting slightly before the back car door swung open and he was pushing you in.

"W-What are you—"

Your words were stuck in your throat as you watched in confusion as he got in next to you before shutting the door.

"A-Aren't you going to d-drive," you stutter out nervously as he smiled lopsidedly before dragging you onto his lap, your soft thighs on either side of him.

"I will take you home sweetheart don't worry, just want to have a look at you first, I've been dying to touch you," he groaned, hands feeling you up, groping and sliding across your heated skin as your vision doubled.

"You're so fucking pretty baby, and this excuse of a dress leaves nothing to the imagination hm?" He cooed, fingers hooking onto the straps of your short red dress as you shook your head weakly.

"W-What are you doing?" You hiccup, smiling for no reason as you felt the alcohol thrum through your body, taking over your better judgment and control.

"What am I doing? I'm just finally getting to have my hands on you baby, so im feeling you up," he whispered near your ear before a deep chuckle left his lips as you began trying to free yourself from his hold.

"This isn't right—"

"Of course this is right, just stay quiet for me, okay? You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," he groaned, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his hands on your thigh slowly rolled your dress up until it was bunched up against your waist, your covered pussy coming into his view.

Seungcheol had to hold back a growl, shutting his eyes tightly in a way for him to suppress the carnal thoughts from taking over, he wanted nothing more than to take you right there and then... but he knew he had to wait, this is merely just him getting a taste to suppress his hunger for now.

You leaned your back against the front seat, eyes trying its hardest to fight the tiredness and haziness seeping in from the drugs Seungcheol made the bartender crush into your many cocktails earlier.

"Do you always wear cute pink panties like these baby? Or did you somehow know I'd play with you tonight?" He whispered, fingers ghosting along the inner skin of your thighs as you squirmed in his hold.

"Fuck baby your skin is so so soft."

His fingers were hooking onto the thin straps of your dress before slowly pulling them down, his dark and unwavering eyes glued to your chest as you shook your head feverently.

"N-No not here we're in p-public," you manage to breathe out, before he was stopping abruptly.

"Oh so you wanna go back to your apartment and continue this?" He asked in bewilderment as you were quick to say no.

"My windows are tinted baby relax, no one outside can see how im defiling you," he whispered darkly, licking his lips as he continued to pull your straps down.

"Let's get your hands out of this hm?" He asked sweetly, hands already moving to pull your arms out of your dress as you could do nothing but watch with a misty vision.

You felt odd, like all the energy had been ripped away from you and all you could do was sit there on his lap completely dazed.

"Fuck," Seungcheol breathed out, eyes dark and heavy as they gazed upon your frame, your dress now fully bunched together at your hip as you were now just left in your bra and panties.

"You're being such a good girl for me.... just how I like it," he whispered into your ear as his hand smoothed down your stomach before cupping your covered pussy.

A soft sigh left your lips even as you shook your head, hands fisting at the material of his black blazer.

"N-No," you manage to weakly say, as Seungcheol began rubbing slowly circles into you.

"No? You don't think you're a good girl?" He questioned, thick fingers sliding up and under the waistband of your panties before making straight contact to your pussy lips.

"N-No this isn't right," you mewl, your words betraying you as you felt your pussy gush with wetness.

"Just sit here and let me feel you, understand?.... Don't think your that upset over this considering your fucking dripping anyways," he chuckled, slightly dropping the sweetness he was treating you with as he increased the speed of his fingers rubbing you while his other hand stayed firm against your hip.

"B-But—"

Your words were caught in your throat, your mouth hanging open in a scream instead as he roughly pushed in two of his fingers in your unprepped hole.

"But nothing. Another word from you and I'll have to use my tie as a gag, you want that?" He asked, his tone menacing as he leaned closer to your face.

You shook your head instantly, tears forming in your eyes at the sudden intrusion of his fingers as he slowly began thrusting them in and out of your tight hole.

"Now.... I have questions I'd like answers to baby, will you answer me truthfully?"

"Y-Yeah," you manage to slur out, vision doubling as his hand on your hip slowly trailed up to your covered breasts before dipping under the material to cup your warm mound.

"Good....lets start with this, you don't have a boyfriend back in Iksan right? And no crushes or foolish boys at your feet?" He asked, fingers pulling at your taut nipple as you gasped softly.

"N-No no," your quick to say as his fingers stilled inside your pussy, knuckle deep as you clenched down on him.

"Hm that's good to know baby, didn't really wanna have to kill anyone right now.." he trailed off with a chuckle, before suddenly pulling you closer to his face with his grip on your neck.

"Although something tells me you're not as pure as you look, have you had sex before sweetheart?"

His questions along with the way he was answering sent shivers down your spine, but his dark gaze fixed on yours almost compelled you to answer truthfully, scared to find out what he'd do if you didn't answer him.

kinda like how you felt with that Joshua guy, but just somehow worse.

"Y-Yes with my ex.... it's been... it's been o-over a year," you manage to squeak out, watching in almost fear as Seungcheol's face instantly dropped, thick fingers slipping out of you.

"Ah, you just really pissed me off baby, it's just a shame someone's already tainted you before I got the chance to... no matter though if it's been that long.... it just means you're practically a virgin all over again just for me, hm?"

He sounded almost delirious, wet fingers coming up to grip your jaw tightly as you winced, trying to form sentences to ask him what he meant before he was speaking again.

"Did you like it, baby? Did he make you feel good?" He questioned again, eyes narrowing on you as you slightly nodded.

A cry instantly left your lips as his fingernails dug into your jaw, his teeth gritting as he bought his face closer to yours until you could feel his warm breath fanning across your cold skin.

"Wrong answer. Do you still have contact with him?"

"N-No I wouldn't he... he cheated, r-rubbed it in my face," you stumble upon your words, as Seungcheol instantly laughs.

"Oh your poor thing," he tuts, letting go off your jaw as both his hands smoothed down your body before resting on your hips.

"Don't worry baby, when we properly get to know each other and you tell me the whole story, I'll kill that bastard for you, how does that sound? You want me to kill him for what he's done to you baby?" He asked almost sweetly, as you shook your head almost instantly.

"N-No he...I don't care," you struggle out, shifting on his lap uncomfortably as your head began throbbing in pain.

Seungcheol watched your every movement with dark unwavering eyes, taking note that the strong drug was beginning to settle in and that you'd fall unconscious any moment now.

"Mmh.... you're about to fall asleep soon sweetheart, but don't worry, I'll come see you soon okay? You'll meet a different version of me though, can't scare you away so quickly, Shua did mention you were pretty shy," he chuckled, but you barely managed to catch a sentence of what he said, your headache only getting worse as a soft groan left your lips before you were falling forward to lean your head against his shoulder.

"Okay this is acting faster than I thought, let's get you home."

Seungcheol pulled you off his lap and carefully placed you down on the seat before fixing up your dress, inhaling sharply in an effort to ignore how salvageable you looked to him even if you were about to fall unconscious.

next time he had you like this, he wouldn't stop his lascivious thoughts from taking over.

"Last question baby, what's your apartment code? I'll need to get in to lay you down," he asked, tapping your cheek lightly to wake you up.

You mumble out some numbers he manages to catch, before you were falling into a deep slumber.

Seungcheol sighed as he started the car, pulling out of the driveway as he thought of his next few planned steps.

He didn't want to rush it with you, there was no need of it, he had you and no one would dare touch you.... and you couldn't even try to escape regardless.

A red light had him pulling the car to a stop, before calling Joshua.

"Hey man, I'm guessing she's fast asleep if you've called?"

"Mhm, got her to tell me her apartment code, I'll put her to bed and have a look around before setting up a camera. I need you to keep an eye on everyone that she's close to, see if it's for sure that no one would get too curious if she went missing.... ah, and I found out about an ex, but we'll worry about that later once I have more information."

"Got it. She's fucking gorgeous up close isn't she? I know she's all yours man but fucking hell she's a gem," Joshua groaned, as Seungcheol could only smile as he thought back to how responsive you were.

"Hmm.... but even with drugs in her system she was still a pain, I think she'll be much more difficult than I thought," Seungcheol answered, tapping his fingers against the wheel as he looked at your sleeping form through the mirror.

"Wait you fucked her?! Bro you said you'd wait—"

"No I didn't you fucking idiot now stop talking about her. I just called to let you know I might end up being a little late for the group meeting, but don't wait up and start without me."

Seungcheol ended the call as he saw your apartment building come into view, a smile making its way onto his face as he thought about how smoothly everything was going, and tomorrow morning you would wake up with a severe migraine and no recollection of what happened the night before.

Everything was going according to plan.

[its-luna-noel]

puppy chronicles

05. the useless puppy | toji x reader

The JJK men are gifted a hybrid puppy. ...wait, that kind of puppy? alpha!human!jjk men x omega!hybrid!reader

warnings: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, hybrid!au, omegaverse, hybrid!reader, omega!reader, pet play, collars/leashes, smut, heat/rut, knots, oral (f! receiving), spitting, toji's a little nasty, anal fingering

word count: 3.9k next: the naughty puppy | sukuna x reader

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi there! sorry it's been a while, but here's toji's puppy chronicle! i hope you all enjoy <3 next up is sukuna!

Toji finally made his lucky break; he just won a race.

When he makes his way to the winner’s box, expecting a handsome cash reward for his bets, enough to make sure he won’t have to work for at least a few months, he’s disappointed – almost angry – to find you instead.

You’re dressed in a satin romper, something decent enough to show on live television as he comes to collect his winnings, but with enough lace trim to make you look desirable. Your fluffy tail wags from side to side, and your big puppy eyes gaze up at him adoringly. Your new master–

“Tch,” he huffs, turning towards the announcer just as they turn off the cameras, returning coverage to the winning jockey. “What the hell? I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Technically, sir,” says the announcer, smoothing out his suit jacket, “you did. By placing your bets–”

“I don’t want to look after some mutt!” Toji snaps, green eyes narrowing, and your heart sinks at his expression and words. Your tail no longer wags. “I signed up for a cash prize, not some stupid hybrid.”

The announcer shrugs, adjusting his cuffs. “Resell her, then. I’m sure you can find someone to take her. Just get her out of here before we get back on air.”

Toji snarls but snatches the leather leash from your handler. It’s a lot of extra work, but he supposes he can put you up for auction or something to have you gone by the end of the week – and more importantly, have his money by then.

He marches out of the winner’s box with a scowl on his face, dragging you behind him on your hands and knees. You follow as fast as you can, ripping up the palms of your hands as you move with him across the concrete.

When he gets you back to his car, he opens the backseat door. “Get in,” he says gruffly, eyes on the sky instead of on you, like he can’t even bear the sight of you.

Your heart breaks a little, but you follow his instructions, climbing into the back of the car and letting him shut the door behind you. You sit in silence as he moves around to the driver’s seat and starts the engine with a low rumble.

The car’s a piece of shit, you have to admit.

But it runs, so you suppose you shouldn’t be complaining as he drives you to whatever motel he’s staying in for now. He comes to let you out of the car, and when you emerge, you look up at him shyly.

You ask, “Can…I walk?”

“Don’t give a shit, doll. You do what you want. You’re gonna be gone soon anyway.”

You think, for a moment, you might sit down in the unpaved parking lot and weep.

But you don’t; you keep a strong facade as you follow him, on your bare feet this time, to save your hands and knees the rough treatment of crawling. He leads you past the front desk, and the receptionist gives you a curious look, eyes locking on the leash and collar you’re adorned with.

Once he’s in the room, he unclips the leash and gestures towards the bed. “Lay there if you want.” He, instead of lying beside you, goes to the old laptop on the desk and pries it open.

It’s quiet between you as he clicks away at the keyboard, bringing up a puppy auction site. You curl up on the bed, ears pinned back against your head as you watch him offer you away like you’re nothing.

You suppose, to him, you are nothing.

He sets up the profile, adding your description to it almost clinically. Then, when it calls for a picture for insurance that he really does have a puppy like you, he sighs loudly.

“Come ‘ere, puppy,” he calls, patting his lap without looking at you. “Need a picture.”

So you crawl out of bed, your hands and knees still raw. You look at him questioningly for a moment, silently asking what he wanted you to do, before he pats his lap one more time. “Don’t make me ask again, doll. Sit.”

You settle on his lap, resting lightly on his strong thighs, feeling the hard muscles beneath your own soft legs. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you close until your back hits his broad chest, your legs falling to the side so both of his are between yours. Your ass is now firmly against his crotch, and even soft you can feel the imprint of him through his loose sweatpants.

He puts his scarred lips to your ear and whispers, “Smile.”

You fight to swallow before offering a shaky smile to the webcam.

He clicks the capture button, and then he’s patting your thigh to get you off. “Alright, pup, that’s it.”

He goes back to what he was doing without another look, like he’s unaffected by your presence, your touch, your body against his. Putting you up for auction without any regrets. You go back to what you were doing, lying there watching him sign your life away for the second time that day.

Once Toji puts up the profile, he leans back in his chair, eyes on the screen as he waits for something to happen. Waits to see if anyone will take you.

Someone puts in a bid on you within ninety seconds.

Toji watches, sea glass eyes widening and practically reflecting dollar signs, as the bid amount goes up, and up, and up.

By the time the final price is locked in, it’s at millions of yen.

Toji leans back in his chair, hands locked behind his hands with a smug expression on his face. Those bastards at the race were right; people were desperate for a pretty puppy like you, especially one that was publicized on television for anyone to see and lust over.

He sighs happily and glances over at you, standing from his seat. He’s in a much better mood now. He comes over to pet your ears, rubbing them lightly. “You’re going to a good home, pup,” he tells you, even though he can’t be sure of that, and doesn’t care to even try. You’re just a stepping stone between him and millions of yen.

So that night he climbs into bed beside you, lying an arms length away from your curled up body, and he tries to think of all the money he’ll earn when he finally hands you over. Sure, he’ll just blow all that money on betting again, but hey, the more he bets, the more he could win – and hopefully this time it won’t be a stupid puppy.

He’s imagining all the money he’ll make when all of a sudden it hits – a sweetness, almost sickeningly sweet, sweeping quickly across the room and drowning him in its intensity.

Toji stiffens beside you, and you whimper, starting to scoot away on the bed. “I’m sorry,” you rush out, trying to put as much distance between you and him as possible. “I’m sorry, they picked me for the race because my heat was coming soon. I didn’t know it would be tonight though, I-I-I thought I would be gone before it came–”

Toji growls, snatching you up and dragging you back towards him, making your romper ride up your thighs. He leans into the crook of your neck and sniffs, long and punctuated with a soft groan at the end. “Fuck, doll,” he rumbles, parting his lips to bare his teeth, “you smell so goddamn good. So fucking sweet.” He grazes his teeth over your scent gland.

You whimper, shifting in his arms, aching. “M-Mr. Fushiguro–”

He lets out a sharp laugh, pulling back to fix his eyes on you. “I’m not ‘Mr.’ anything, pup. Call me Toji when I fuck you.”

You shiver at his words. “Y-y-you’re gonna…?”

He repeats the words right in your ear, “Fuck you? Yeah, doll, I’m gonna fuck you. Gonna put my dick so deep inside you it’ll come out your damn mouth. Now, lay down before I make you.” Then he licks the shell of your ear, his breath making you shiver.

You lie back against the sheets, and he follows you down, his broad body covering yours. He presses his face into the crook of your neck again, nipping at your throat above and below your leather collar. His teeth sink into the flesh over your scent gland, and the cloying sweetness only permeates the room further, almost drowning in it, almost tasting it.

He pulls aside the neckline of your satin romper, giving him more space to leave imprints of his teeth. With every bite you moan, the sound lewd, almost pornographic. You just can’t believe how fucking good it feels to have him touching you.

You’ve had other partners, but you haven’t had an alpha treat you like his omega before.

He makes his way lower and lower, pulling the sleeves of your lingerie down your shoulders, slowly revealing your perfect chest to his eyes. Your nipples are already pert, with the sensation of his teeth on you, and he chuckles, looking up through dark lashes.

“You’re so good, pup,” he whispers, his mouth moving slowly down to the top of your breast. He sucks a mark there, before moving to the other. “Almost regret putting you up for auction now. If only I’d known you were so goddamn sweet.”

You’re panting, gazing down at him with pupils blown wide with desire. You watch as he lowers his mouth, eyes on yours the entire time, and finally wraps his lips around your nipple, flicking his tongue against it.

Your head falls back in pleasure, eyes closing as you mewl quietly. At the sight, he reaches up and grabs your jaw, forcing your head back up. “Keep your eyes on me, doll,” he drawls, lazily swiping his tongue over your nipple, like it’s automatic, like he’s not even thinking about the action. “Or I’ll stop.”

And you don’t want that – god, you don’t. So you keep your eyes on his, watching his pink lips suck lightly on your nipple before kissing his way over to your other breast, taking that nipple in his mouth in turn.

You’re moaning softly, lashes fluttering as you fight to keep your eyes open.

Then, once he’s grown tired of playing with your sensitive nipples, he tightens his hand on your jaw and leans up to kiss you.

It’s messy, it’s sloppy, it’s everything.

His tongue swipes against yours, hot and commanding. He forces his way into your mouth, exploring every inch, and you realize that you don’t want to kiss anyone else, don’t want to be given away. You want to stay with this alpha, want him to mark you, knot you, make you his.

You don’t want to be sold off, and your heart sinks with the thought that after this, things will go right back to normal.

As he kisses you, he slides the romper the rest of the way off. He pulls the fabric down your legs, then knocks your knees aside to open you up for his body to fit between your thighs.

It’s like heaven, feeling the warmth of your naked body against every hard line of his.

He chucks the satin across the room, the piece already forgotten as he wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs, pulling you closer to his mouth. He’s practically salivating for it, drooling for your wet pussy, like a dog himself. He’s sure if he was the one with the tail, it would be wagging so hard he’d get happy tail. Instead, he dives in, spitting on your clit and watching the wad of saliva slowly drip down between your lips, soaking right into your tight little pussy.

He growls at the sight.

He reaches one hand down and slowly brushes the pads of his fingers over your cunt, spreading them into a “V” so he can look at just how pretty it is, like petals on the most beautiful flower he’s ever fucking seen. His spit is still there, leaking down towards the curve of your ass now, and he watches it for a moment longer before slowly leaning in.

He looks up at you at the last second, watching you. You’re panting, your lips parted in anticipation of what’s to come, your eyes wide and taking in the sight. When he stops, you whimper quietly, but you don’t move.

He grins up at you and whispers, “Say please.”

“Oh, please,” you beg, so prettily.

And then his mouth is on you. 

He slathers your pussy with spit, brushing the flat of his tongue against your clit. Your hips jump at the sensation, but he’s got such a tight hold on you that you can’t run away even if you wanted to, which you don’t. You want to stay here, in his arms, in this piece of heaven, forever. You want him to eat you out for hours, if he so pleases, just in order for him to touch you like this over and over and over again, to never let you go.

You wanna be good for him.

He laps at your clit like he’s possessed, like it’s his one mission in life. As he does, he humps his hips into the mattress, groaning right into your pussy at the stimulation.

It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Then his long, dextrous tongue slips inside your waiting pussy, and your back rises off the bed, your head falling back against the pillows. You cry out, and Toji grins again as he fucks his tongue into you, reaching down with his thumb to gently rub your clit.

It’s embarrassing how fast you cum.

Your thighs shake around his head, and he’s still holding you tightly in place as your hips threaten to buck off the bed, chasing the sensations. But he’s got complete control over you, and he won’t let it go so easily, so he holds you down and fucks you with his tongue, his thumb still rubbing light little circles on your swollen clit.

He doesn’t stop after just one orgasm, or even two. He chases a third, until you’re babbling his name and erotic mixtures of “please” and “oh god.”

Then finally, when he pulls away, after your pussy clenches around his tongue for the third time, his lips and chin are covered in your sweet, decadent slick.

He lets go of your legs, letting them fall open so he can crawl up your body. And then he’s grabbing your jaw, squeezing until your lips part, and he’s forcing his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him. When he pulls away, keeping his hold on your jaw, he spits in your mouth, making you taste everything he took from you on your tongue.

“Swallow,” he says, and you do. Then he shifts again, rising up on his knees and reaching for you once more.

He manhandles you, grabbing you by the hips and shoving you onto your belly, where he crushes you against the bed, the imprint of his massive length hard against your ass. He grinds down, rubbing his dick into the plush flesh there. He grunts, fingers digging into your hips. “Fuck, doll. You’re so soft. Bet your pussy would feel just as soft, huh? Soft and warm.” He hums, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Can’t wait to fuck you.”

You whine softly, tilting your hips to press your ass back against his pelvis. “Fuck me, then,” you beg.

He chuckles lightly, swatting your ass with a loud thwack! “Impatient little thing, huh? Are you that desperate?” he asks, watching your ass jiggle as he smacks it again.

You nod, still whimpering.

“Use your words, doll, don’t make me put you over my knee. Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Y-yes Toji,” you gasp, stuttering it out as he grabs your cheeks in each hand and spreads them, his eyes feasting on your quivering holes. “I’m that desperate.”

“Good girl,” he praises, leaning down to spit again, and it feels filthy as his saliva starts to drip down, mixing with your slick.

Then he pulls away, and you whine at the loss of his touch. “T-Toji!” you bleat.

Smack! Another spank, this one harder than the previous two, less playful and more punishing. “Be patient, pup, or I really will put you over my knee.”

You turn over your shoulder to watch him, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turn white. He grabs the back of his t-shirt and tugs it over his head, revealing his muscular chest and abdomen to your eyes. Then, before you can even fully take in the sight, he runs one hand down his belly, fingers brushing the hair below his navel, leading down under the waistband of his joggers. He slowly pulls those down, then, letting you watch as his cock springs free from its confines.

He’s not wearing underwear.

Your mouth waters at the sight, and your tail wags wickedly from side to side. You want to suck him dry, but you don’t dare ask out of turn. Instead, your eyes lift to meet his, and he grins at you, a cocky smirk crooking his scarred lips. It’s clear he knows he’s gorgeous, and he uses it to his advantage.

Then he takes his cock in hand, the head blushed a pretty pink, and starts slowly, teasingly, rubbing it up and down your slit.

You whimper, aching to not rock your hips back and force him inside. Instead you wait, like a good girl, because maybe if you behave he’ll keep you longer, he’ll wait to hand you over to your new owner.

Maybe he won’t give you away at all.

Then, with one soft slap to your swollen clit that makes your hips jump, he slowly pushes inside, inch by aching inch.

As he does, he spits again, and this time, using his saliva as lubricant, he pushes his thumb against the tight rim of muscle at your asshole, right beneath where your tail sits.

You jump at the sensation; no one’s ever touched you there, somewhere so intimate, even more than your weeping pussy. Toji clearly notices, and he grins, humming deep in his chest as he lets the tip of his thick finger slide into your hole while he slowly fills your pussy with his cock.

Your lips fall open, stunned at just how fucking full you feel. He pushes his thumb slowly deeper, even as he slowly fucks your dripping cunt, your pussy slobbering all over his dick with slick. He groans when you clench around him, and his other hand moves to your collar, feeling the smooth leather beneath his fingers.

Then he grabs your collar and tugs backwards, and you make a soft whine as he uses the leather to choke you, cutting off your air supply. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy at the sensation of oxygen leaving your messy, sloppy, drunken brain, and it only makes you wetter, the sounds of him fucking you echoing in the motel room.

He chuckles darkly, tightening his hold on you. “Yeah, pup? You like that? Like how I’m in charge of everything, even your fucking breathing?” When you nod, he tsks playfully. “Fuck, pretty, I can tell. You’re clamped so hard around my dick, it’s like you’re tryna milk me dry. That's what you’re doing, huh? You tryna take my knot?”

You nod desperately, head starting to drop weakly at the lack of air. He eases his hold on you, letting you take a few deep breaths before he tightens his grip once more.

He groans again. “Fuck, baby, so fucking tight. Like you’re choking my dick. I’ll give it to you, pup, I’ll give you my knot, ‘kay? Gonna have my fucking puppies, gonna breed this perfect fucking cunt.”

He lets his grip lighten again, allowing you to respond to what he’s asking, what he’s telling you. You whine loudly, feeling him fuck you even harder. “Toji!” you cry, your voice hoarse as your hips cant backwards into his, driving his dick further into your pussy and his thumb deeper into your ass. At this angle, he hits your g-spot perfectly, the tip of his cock rubbing against it at the bottom of every thrust.

You can feel the base of his cock swelling, threatening to plug you full.

Toji’s breaths start to come a little faster, a little more ragged. “Oh, fuck, pretty puppy, I’m close. I’m gonna cum right in your fucking womb, fill you up with my puppies. Get ready, baby, it’s coming– Oh, f-fuck–”

And then, with one last violent thrust, his knot shoves inside your waiting pussy, and you cry out at the mixture of pleasure and white-hot pain at the tight plug.

Toji cums, and cums, and cums, and it’s almost incessant, how much seed he spills into you. You almost feel swollen with it already, feeling it slosh around against your cervix.

He holds your hips there, groaning into the back of your shoulder as his hips stutter into yours. And then, when he falls quiet and still, you both breathe a sigh of relief.

You stay like that for several minutes, locked in place by his knot. Once, you try to move, to let the arch of your back fall straight, but that just pulls at the knot and makes you yelp and whimper in pain.

His big hand comes to smooth your hair, soothing you, like any alpha should. “It’s okay, pup,” he says, voice gruff. “Just a few more minutes and you can relax.”

You whimper again, but you trust him to know what he’s talking about. So you stay still as he slowly softens and as the swelling of his knot slowly goes down. Then, only once he’s pulled out and leaves you empty do you sag, boneless, into the mattress.

He chuckles breathlessly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and dragging you into position, right at his side, chest to chest. He lets you lie against him, your face pressed into his shoulder, and his fingers trace up and down your spine, sending a shiver through your sore body.

You didn’t expect him, so brash and brutal, to be good at aftercare. Yet here he is, holding you close, letting you come down from his rough treatment of you.

And then, in the quiet of the room, he says gruffly, “Fuck that guy. I’m not selling you to him.”

Your body goes still, and you pull back to look at him, blinking. His expression is serious, almost a little challenging, like he expects you to fight him.

“Sorry, pup,” he says, staring into your eyes. “You’re stuck with me.”

At that you can’t help but giggle. Why does he think you ever wanted to leave? He gives you an incredulous look. “Fuck you laughing at?” Then he pinches your hip, shaking his head and grumbling, “Little brat.”

But despite his words, he holds you close for the rest of the night, and every night after.

thanks for reading! -luna xx next: the naughty puppy

[skeltnwrites]

Bad Cop - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You wake to a call from your boyfriend Eddie who asks you to bail him out of jail. 

Word Count: 2.2k

TW: interactions with police, mild injury, talk of fighting and bullying, sexual innuendos 

A/N: I might be a little late to the Eddie Munson party but I’m here now! :D

“This is a collect call from Edward Munson at Hawkins Police Station. Will you accept the charges?” 

You clear your throat but your voice still feels raw when you speak, “Yes.” 

“Please hold,” the operator says. 

A trilling sound as you wait, twirling the phone cord anxiously. You’d been tucked in bed a minute ago, dead to the world. The phone rang loud enough from the kitchen to startle you awake. You caught the time on the alarm clock on the nightstand as you kicked the blankets off, just after one in the morning. 

“Y/N?” His voice is soft under the crackle. 

“Edward.” It’s not angry per se but you never use his real name which is telling.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Are you okay?” you sigh, tipping your head till your forehead meets the wallpaper. 

“I’m sorry— I’m fine. I just, can you bail me out please.” 

“What happened, Eds?” 

“Just a stupid fight. Nothing serious, I promise.” He pleads like you won’t believe him and doesn’t give you a chance to press for details, “There’s cash in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet. On my side, all the way in the back.” 

You want to scold him but you're still kneading sleep from your face, irritated now that you know he’s okay. You bite your cheek, considering the possibility of an argument. Knowing that it shouldn’t take place through a phone. 

“You’re sure? It’s enough?” 

“Swear.” 

“Okay, on my way.”

He apologizes again before the line clicks. 

You shuffle through the band tees he’s grown out of and have since been neglected to the back of your shared closet. You make a mental note to remind him to drop some off at Goodwill. Under a stack of vinyls, you locate the box with a rolled wad of twenties held together by a rubber band. You snap the band, biting your lip. It’s enough to buy something expensive, really expensive. You jam your heel into a laced sneaker and do not bother to change out of your pajamas. The money is pushed deep into your pocket along with the house keys. You shake away arising questions as you start the van. 

Cold air smacks your bare arms as you push open the station door. You blink rapidly at the fluorescents. An officer hands you a clipboard, you sign two dotted lines, and fork over most of the cash. He retreats to a separate room without a word, presumably to retrieve your boyfriend, leaving you alone in the lobby. 

Your arms pillow your head on the counter until a familiar set of steps rounds the corner. His eyes, big and sorry, find yours instantly. But your attention quickly shifts to the marbled purple and blue highlighting the arch of his cheek. The stern speech about bar fights and bail payments you’d rehearsed on the way flees your throat. He brushes past the counter to hug you and you spot a split lip too. Your shoulders deflate as you meet him halfway. 

“Thank you,” Eddie mumbles into your crown. 

You give his waist a quick squeeze before pulling back. His hands chase the goosebumps from your skin as you scan his face. His curls are frizzy which is typical but more disheveled like he’s been running his hands through them. Your nail traces his lower lip where it was clearly cracked open but is now glazed over with a layer of dry blood. “Lose any teeth?” 

He smiles, pearls still intact, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad. His breath smells faintly of alcohol as he says, “You look tired.”

“I am so tired,” you admit. 

He grits his teeth guiltily, “I’ll make it up to you.” 

An officer clears his throat and passes Eddie a brown paper bag with ‘Munson’ scribbled on the front. He snatches the bag with a wink. The man offers nothing but a blank stare, maybe mild disapproval as Eddie pivots and jogs toward you, already at the door. He fishes for his lighter from the bag, kissing and pocketing it as you step outside. 

“Can I drive?” Eddie reaches for the keys in your hand. You always let him drive. 

You snatch the carabiner to your chest, elbowing his side, “Are you trying to get a DUI too?” 

“I had one beer,” he scoffs as you unlock the door. 

You believe him but pretend not to as you hop in the driver's seat. “You’re a criminal now. Can’t be trusted!” You yell playfully before slamming the door as he jogs around the hood. 

“Very funny,” he mutters as he climbs in. 

You sling your arm over his seat to back out. The streetlight accentuates the bruise when you glance past him. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Hmm?” 

You point at your own cheek. 

“Oh, no. It’s fine. Should’ve seen the other guy,” he chuckles. 

“We’ll ice it when we get home,” you pull out onto the main road before settling your gaze back on him. “So who was the other guy?” 

His eyes roll in your peripherals, “So Shelly Watkins was there—“ 

“You hit Shelly Watkins?” 

“Jesus! No! Her stupid boyfriend Rob Perry.” He groans in disgust. “You remember him? He was such a dick in high school!” 

You shake your head, trying to recall. 

“He’s a couple of years older I think. Well anyway, Shelly was blabbing her big mouth, as usual, about Robin and her new girlfriend.” 

“What was she saying?” You interrupt, curious but inferring already. 

“Nasty shit. And she’s talking so loud the whole bar can probably hear. I mean, I couldn’t not say anything, babe. And hey,” he throws his hands up in surrender, “All I said was ‘Seems like what other people do in their spare time isn’t your business.’” 

You smirk, knowing it was not as polite as he made it out to be. 

“And Rob is all ‘What did you say?’” Eddie teasingly lowers his voice, foot hiked up in his seat to face you with a finger curled under his nose like a mustache. 

You steal glances from the road to watch the theatrics as he retells the story, making sure to emphasize when he punched Rob square in the nose so hard it broke. 

“Did you win?” You ask, attempting to hide your proud grin by checking your blind spot. 

“Oh yeah.” Eddie crosses his arms, accidentally nicking the wound on his lip with his nail as he retracts the faux finger stache. He winces, tapping the cut to assess the damage. Fresh blood coats his finger; he’s quick to press his whole hand over his mouth as he fumbles through the glovebox with the other. A deck of fast food napkins you’d organized spills out. You catch one before it falls, crumpling it into his free hand and swerving back into your lane. He replaces his hand with the thin sheet, wiping his fingers on another napkin off the floor as you pull up to a stoplight. 

He tips his head like a puppy when he catches you staring. You lick your thumb, smearing a stray drop crawling down his chin. Your palm lingers on his skin, rubbing circles behind his ear as the light flicks green. 

It’s not long before you pull into the driveway and unlock the front door. Eddie holds a third napkin to his face. You consider going to the ER for stitches as you toss the keys on the counter and snatch a Ziploc bag from the cabinet. 

Two lines of light form a skewed L in the hall from the cracked bathroom door; A silent message that you are allowed to come in. It squeaks familiarly loud on its hinges but Eddie doesn't acknowledge you. 

He focuses on his reflection as he peels the napkin away hesitantly. The blood has stopped but his lip looks swollen and angry. You hook a finger through his belt loop, tugging him until he turns. You nudge the bag of ice to his cheek and he flinches grasping your hand to pull it away. 

“‘s cold.” 

You tug the hand towel off the sink and wrap the plastic, pushing it back to his cheek. You hold it there caressing his lash line with your pointer. He leans into the touch, rubbing his eyes with ringed fingers. Eddie pulls the thick silver off one by one, setting them on the counter. 

“Sit,” you tell him. 

He perches on the edge of the toilet lid obediently. You pick a washcloth from the drawer and run it under the sink. He parts his knees as you approach him, hands snapping into place at your hips. You cup his chin, pushing up until he tilts it toward you. Cool water cleans his lips where you brush. He doesn’t flinch, even when you accidentally dig too hard. You progress down to his jaw, where blood is smeared dry, and flaky. 

 “Think I’ll have a cool scar?” His breath fans your chin as you work cautiously. 

“No,” you say. He toys with the strings on your pants, happy to be taken care of. “But you don’t need it. You’re cool already.” 

The corners of his mouth lift fondly. He fights the urge to smile, hoping you’ll work longer if he sits still. You swipe in slow strokes, also secretly loving the time and touch. 

You give his face a once over before tossing the rag to the counter. He searches your expression for a diagnosis. But words are slow to find your mouth, too enraptured with the long lashes that bat his cheeks sweetly. “I love how eager you are to stick up for the people you love,” you start. 

“But?”

“But, we can’t afford you getting arrested over something like this.”

“I know,” he groans and headbutts you gently in the stomach. His hands cup the backs of your thighs and his hair drapes around his face like a curtain. You comb a handful of it over his neck and he tilts his head so you can see his eyes. “I don’t regret what I did, though. He’s always been such a bully. He deserved it, you know?” He sighs, gaze drifting away, “I felt like I could finally stand up to him after all these years.” 

Your fingers trail down his shoulder to smooth out the tee riding up his back. “I don’t doubt that he deserved it. I know you just want to do the right thing. But still, he can probably afford it, we can’t.” You hesitate to ask, “Where did you get that money anyway?” 

He hugs your middle, muttering into your belly, “Been saving.” 

“For what?” 

He shrugs and says what you believe to be, “Something special.” You are curious but lean on your trust rather than insecurity. He most likely intended to surprise you with something if you didn’t know.

“Sorry, you had to spend it.”

“Not your fault.” He peers up at you as if to ensure you know that and you brush his bangs back. 

“Still, sorry.” 

He blinks slowly up at you like a cat waiting for more pets. Then, he shoots up, back stiff, eyes wide. “You have work tomorrow,” he realizes out loud. 

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” you pull his arm until he stands. “I actually have come down with a real nasty cold,” you force a cough into your fist. 

“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, not only that but there's this criminal that won’t leave me alone. Think I might have to file a report at the station tomorrow.” 

He laughs, flicking the light off as he follows you to the bedroom. The ice pack is left to melt in the sink and the stained washcloth to dry on the counter, a mess for tomorrow you’ve decided. You’re quick to crawl under the covers and he’s even quicker to shed his clothes and join you. 

Eddie pecks the sliver of collarbone poking out of your shirt, making his way up in a dotted line. He presses gently to your lips, and you break away mindfully, aiming for the corner instead. 

“You know?” Your eyes are closed but you feel his stare. 

You hum.

“I think it’s kinda sexy when you call me a criminal.” 

“Oh my God!” You throw an arm over your burning cheeks, “You are so horny.”

He laughs into your wrist but moves it aside to cradle your cheeks firmly. He pulls one eyelid open gently with his thumb when you refuse to engage. You release the smile you’ve been keeping. He mirrors it, teeth bright in the moonlight spilling in. “Think about it, I already have handcuffs so you can play bad cop and—“ 

You grope for a pillow to push into his face and then another when he chucks it off the bed, giggles overlapping. 

“I’m going to call the police on you, have them arrest you again. Take you to horny jail.” 

“Now you get it,” he releases his grip on your wrists to sit back on his heels and in a voice that is not his own he fawns, “Oh, officer! I promise to be a good boy from now on!” 

You roll over, groaning wildly into your pillow. “Go to bed!” 

He settles behind you, his heart races where it's thumping against your back. Yours isn’t far off. A final kiss is planted on your nape where he tickles you with his hair as he wishes you a good night.