#Secure Fixed Screens for Windows | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wordsofwhimsy · 30 days ago

Text

ᗷEᗩᑕᕼ ᗪᗩY ᗷᒪᑌEᔕ

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: It’s suggested that Mark’s got a boner at the end but that’s it lmao, also you kinda start to touch yourself but it’s literally only a sentence or two

Tags: Fluff, romcom, hero-friend-Mark coming to the rescue, slow burn, makeout sesh later on, Mark’s a dork who doesn’t know how to express his feelings (as usual)

Word Count: 5,314

Synopsis: A nice solo day at the beach turns sour when some creep of a man starts trying to follow you home. You manage to lose him but are now stranded on the other side of town. And the only person who’s available to come save you is the guy who does that for a living. Who would’ve figured?

a/n: this turned out sooo much longer than i intended lmao it do be like that sometimes tho

The sun is still warm on your skin as you leave the beach, flip-flops smacking softly against the pavement. Your hair’s damp with saltwater, strands still sticking to your forehead. Your tote bag—sandy, half-zipped, overflowing with a towel, a half-read book, and an empty soda can—swings against your hip as you head for the bus stop on the corner.

You’re smiling to yourself, pleasantly buzzed from sun and sea, when a voice behind you cuts rudely through the calm.

"Hey there, pretty thing. Where you headed?"

You don’t flinch, but your steps slow.

He’s maybe mid-thirties, wearing a faded tank top and gas station sunglasses. Too confident. Too close. He grins like you’re already in on some joke you never agreed to.

"Just headed home," you say, even and polite, eyes fixed straight ahead.

He steps closer. "This stop? What a coincidence, that’s where I’m going too."

Sure it is.

You shift your tote to the other shoulder, as if to put some kind of buffer between you. By some miracle the bus starts pulling into view.

He keeps talking—something about how wild it is that you’re both here, what are the odds, ha ha—but you’re already tuning him out. The second the doors hiss open, you climb on, flash your card, and slip into a window seat midway down.

He follows.

You feel him settle in a row behind you. Not next to you, but near. Close enough to talk. Close enough to make it weird.

Nope.

Just before the doors close, you stand up, walk past him without a word, and step right back off.

The bus pulls away with him on it, and you don’t bother to look back until you’re safely half a block down. When you do, he’s craning his neck to look through the window.

You don’t wave. You don’t smirk. You just turn the corner and duck behind a tree, pulling out your phone with fingers still trembling from the slow burn of adrenaline.

You scroll through your contacts.

First you try your roommate. Straight to voicemail.

Then your cousin. She picks up, but she’s out of town. You tell her it’s fine. Just a weird thing with a guy. No big deal.

You try your best friend. No answer.

With a frustrated sigh, you switch to your banking app. There’s a buffering wheel for a second, then your checking account balance loads: $4.82.

You feel a vein pulse in your head. Refresh the screen.

Still $4.82.

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. Looks like Uber wasn’t an option.

You close the app and rest your forehead against the tree trunk for a second, just… reevaluating your life choices.

Figures.

You go back to your contacts, scanning names. You scroll past his name once. Twice. Hover over it. Keep going.

You feel dumb. Guilty. Mark’s probably in the middle of saving a school bus full of kids or punching a kaiju or talking to that mysterious government shadow figure about interplanetary security… something serious. And you’re over here like, "Heeelp, I had to miss the bus."

Still.

You flick back to his name.

Mark 🚀

Your thumbs fly before you can overthink it:

You: hey, any chance ur free? got myself in a v dumb situation lol You: not an emergency, just mildly stranded and a lil freaked out 😅

You lock your phone. Wait.

Not even a minute passes before it buzzes.

Mark 🚀: where are you?

You smile.

He always answers.

You: Beachside Blvd near the old surf shop

You hesitate for half a second, then snap a picture of the little corner where you’re hiding—tree trunk, sand-crusted sidewalk, the closed-down surf rental shack in the background with its sun-bleached paint peeling in soft curls.

You add a caption: don’t judge me for this hiding spot. i panicked.

Then hit send.

Almost immediately you get a reply.

Mark 🚀: lol. on my way. five minutes tops.

You exhale, tension releasing in slow waves like the tide.

And yeah. Maybe your face is hot. Maybe your heart’s still thudding a little too hard in your chest. But it’s already starting to settle.

Mark’s coming.

You straighten up, brushing the bark dust off your thighs and stepping out into the fading sunlight. The sea breeze is gentler now, cooler, and you roll up your sleeves a bit higher on your white button-down—still damp from the beach, clinging a little in places. Your bikini’s peeking out underneath, lilac and tied at the sides. Not exactly full coverage. But hey, you weren’t planning to be stranded on the sidewalk when you put it on.

A guy walking his dog glances over, eyebrows briefly lifting before he looks away. You offer him a breezy, nonchalant smile.

“Don’t mind me,” you call out. “Just waiting on a friend.”

He nods slowly, clearly unconvinced, and keeps walking.

You check your phone. Two minutes.

You shift your weight to one foot, trying not to look too awkward. The heat from earlier was starting to fade off your skin, leaving a faint chill in the breeze. You hug your arms around yourself, half for warmth, half just to feel less exposed.

Then you hear it.

The soft whoosh of air pressure, the subtle thud of sneakers against pavement.

You glance behind you, and there he is.

Mark Grayson, a little windblown, a little flushed from the speed of getting here, standing there in all his superhero glory—minus the suit. Just joggers and a blue t-shirt, but still very much Invincible.

Relief crashes over you.

“God, thank you,” you exhale, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him. “I owe you big time.”

You feel him tense a little, and for a second, your heart drops.

Oh no. Is he annoyed? Did you really just pull him away from something important for... this?

You let your arms fall away from him, brows drawing together. “Hey, I’m sorry—this was so dumb, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not dumb,” he cuts in, quick and quiet. “Seriously. I’m glad you called me.”

His voice is warm, but his eyes are still everywhere but on you—off to the side, up at the sky, back toward the sidewalk.

And that’s when it clicks.

He’s avoiding looking at you.

Like, really avoiding.

You glance down and—yep. Cover up still unbuttoned. Still damp. Still clinging in places you’d really prefer it not be clinging. Your bikini bottoms peek out like they’re trying to steal the show, and your chest is just… there.

And now you’re the one going pink.

You don’t say anything. Just quietly start buttoning up the top, fingers fumbling a little as your eyes do a full tour of the sidewalk, the streetlamp, a very interesting patch of grass—anything that isn’t Mark.

Because okay. Maybe standing here like this wasn’t your finest moment.

He clears his throat and takes a step closer, flashing that crooked, boyish grin—the one that always seems to surface when he’s nervous and trying to look unaffected. "Okay," he says, a little too upbeat, rubbing the back of his neck, "guess I’m your ride today. You’ll have to remind me how to get to your place—I always mess up that last turn near the park."

He’s absolutely trying to play it cool.

And absolutely failing.

Not that you’re much better, your stare drifting up toward the rooftops as you squint like there’s something up there you just gotta see. "So... how exactly are we doing this?"

Mark glances down at you, then off to the side, then very obviously not at your bare legs or the way your damp shirt is hugging places that have him struggling to maintain eye contact. "I mean, I usually just—" he makes a vague scooping gesture. "—pick people up and go."

"Bridal style?" you deadpan.

He hesitates. "I mean, yeah. It’s kind of the classic."

You shift your weight to one leg, then the other. "Okay, I guess… Let's see it."

Mark nods, like he’s steeling himself for battle, then steps forward and slides one arm behind your back, the other under your knees. In one smooth motion, you’re weightless in his arms.

And also very much pressed into his chest.

His forearm is sturdy beneath your bare thighs, one of his fingers accidentally grazing the string of your bikini bottom. You shift slightly, trying to adjust how you're being held without actually... touching him more. Your knee bumps his hip. Your hand slides awkwardly off his shoulder and straight into the space between your bodies that really feels like a dead zone.

"Okay, is it just me," you mutter, your face all but buried in the valley of his chest, "or is this weirdly... a lot?"

Mark tilts his head, accidentally brushing his jaw against the top of your head. "I mean—no, it’s not just you. Definitely not just you."

There’s a beat as you both try to recalibrate.

He shifts his grip again. One of his hands ends up cradling the underside of your thigh in a way that feels far too close to romantic territory.

"Alright—abort. Abort mission," you say quickly, arms flailing a little as you try to push off him.

"Copy that," Mark replies, instantly lowering you to the ground with a delicacy that said he really was trying to be respectful.

He exhales, hands on his hips, staring into the middle distance. "Okay. Plan B."

"Which is?"

He perks up, like he just solved world peace. "Fireman carry. That’s how professionals do it, right? First responders and stuff. Feels efficient."

And yeah—you nod, starting to agree. "Honestly, yeah. That makes sense. Sturdy. Tactical."

You forget, for a crucial second, that a fireman carry involves being slung.

He moves without hesitation, grabbing your legs and hoisting you up onto his shoulder like he’s carrying a sandbag in a training montage.

Your stomach lurches.

"Mark—MARK—"

Too late.

Your thighs smack against his chest, your hips curve over his collarbone, and your entire lower half is just... present. Right in his face. Right there.

His movement stutters. One hand instinctively locks onto the back of your bare thigh—just to steady you, logically—but you feel his entire soul leave his body.

He wheezes. "Okay. Okay, nope. Bad idea. I can’t—this is not—"

"PUT ME DOWN," you screech, hair dangling in your mouth, boobs threatening to stage a full escape from your top.

He drops to his knee quick, letting you awkwardly slide down off his shoulder under your own power.

The moment your feet hit the ground, you turn away from him without a word, yanking your shirt forward and subtly readjusting where your boobs have clearly gone rogue.

Mark won’t even look at you. He rubs the back of his neck, muttering something that sounds like “that was a lot of ass.”

You clear your throat. "Okay, okay. What about... shoulders? Like when dads carry their kids at Disney?"

Mark looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. "You want to sit on my shoulders?"

You shrug. "Seems high up. Good visibility. Hands-free."

His brow twitches, and maybe there’s something itching at his lips too. "You do realize where your thighs will be."

"Yes, Mark. I'm not an idiot."

"Okay, just making sure, because—"

"Do it before I change my mind."

He crouches slightly and you climb on, settling your legs over his shoulders like you’re eight years old and waiting for the fireworks to start.

And that’s when you both realize: this might be the worst one yet.

Your thighs are clamped around the sides of his face. Your swimsuit bottoms are pressed to the back of his neck.

Mark’s hands hover just above your knees like he’s afraid to even think about where to hold.

"So this is a no?" you say weakly.

His voice is strangled. "Yeah. Gonna go ahead and call this a hard no."

He ducks, and you slide off him in a clumsy, tangled dismount, nearly tripping over your own feet as you land.

You both stand there, flushed and winded, like you just lost a round on a game show.

Finally, you sigh. "Just... gimme your back."

He doesn’t argue, turning around and kneeling slightly. You hop on, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. The regret is instantaneous.

Your chest squishes against his shoulder blades. Your entire front half is molded to his back. Your bikini bottoms felt like they were holding on for dear life—barely doing their only job.

You try not to breathe too deeply. Or move. Or exist.

"You good?" he asks, voice tight.

"I’ve never been less good."

He shifts slightly. Your boobs shift with him.

You groan. "Oh my god. This is still bad."

Then it hits you—a bright, stupid little lightbulb moment. "Wait," you say, sitting up straighter on his back. "What if I sit on your arm instead? Like a throne."

Mark turns just enough to give you a side-eye so dry it could start a brush fire. "You want to perch on my arm. Like royalty."

"Yes! Like a princess on a parade float," you say, already sliding down and gesturing enthusiastically. "You’re strong, right? Just hold me like—like I’m light and majestic."

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, sighing like this is somehow the least weird idea you’ve had all day, he crouches and offers his arm.

You climb on carefully, settling along his bicep like it's a bench seat, one arm lazily looped around the back of his neck while your legs dangle off the front side. You wiggle into position until your balance feels right, then look at him expectantly.

Mark adjusts his hold—carefully, deliberately—his free hand braced under your knees like he’s steadying a priceless antique. "Good?"

You grin, already settling in like you really are royalty. "Honestly? This might be my best idea yet. I should travel like this more often."

Mark adjusts his grip with visible reluctance, his brow furrowing slightly. "Why do I feel like I’m being... used?" He muttered. Still, his arm stayed steady as he rose into the air.

The ground drops away, the wind picks up, and you lift one arm in a full pageant wave. "People of Earth! I bring good vibes and sunburns!"

"Please stop," Mark groans, voice tight. "Someone might actually see us."

"Let them! Let them witness my reign!"

"I'm serious," he says, suppressing a laugh with something heavy in his voice. "If anyone sees me flying around like this without the suit... it's kind of a problem. Secret identity and all."

You sigh with dramatic flair and lean sideways, resting your cheek against the top of his head like it’s the armrest of a throne. "Alright, alright," you murmur, voice muffled against his hair. "I’ll behave. Keep it lowkey for your secret superhero lifestyle." Your fingers flutter lazily in a final regal wave. "But just so you know, you’re absolutely wasting a peak aesthetic moment."

He doesn’t respond this time—just exhales through his nose and banks slightly west.

The flight is… longer than expected.

Turns out, giving aerial directions is kind of a nightmare. Everything looks different from up here. Your usual landmarks—corner stores, that one pizza place with the terrifying mascot, your neighbor’s weirdly aggressive lawn gnome—either vanish from view or blur together like a watercolor painting.

"Wait—go back. That might’ve been it," you call, pointing down at a clump of rooftops that look vaguely familiar.

Mark slows, glancing down. "That’s a hardware store."

You squint. "Oh. Right. Never mind."

He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw tics slightly as he adjusts altitude again. The sun’s lower now, bleeding soft gold and pink across the sky. Your hair is whipped every which way by the wind.

"Okay, that’s definitely the park," you announce suddenly. "We’re close. Like, actually close."

"That’s what you said twenty minutes ago."

"Yeah, well, it felt true then."

By the time your house finally comes into view—weathered siding, cracked sidewalk, and all—the sun is just starting to dip below the rooftops. Mark begins his descent, slow and controlled.

You say nothing. But you do raise your hand in one final, dramatic wave to absolutely no one.

Mark sets you down with all the care you’ve come to know and expect from him. You wobble slightly, windblown and flushed, and smooth your hair out of your face with a laugh.

"Really," you say, more sincere now, "thank you. For coming to get me. And for not judging how stupid this all was."

He shrugs, smiling softly. "Didn’t seem stupid. You needed help."

There’s a pause. Then he glances over, just a hint if curiosity in his eyes. "Wait—you never told me what the dumb situation was. Don’t you normally take the bus around?"

You blink. "Oh. Right. Yeah, uh... just some creep. Guy at the stop wouldn’t back off. He said he was getting on the bus too, so I got off last minute. Didn’t want him following me."

Mark straightens a little. The easy look on his face vanishes.

"Was he touching you? Harassing you?"

"No, nothing like that," you say quickly, waving a hand. "Just... too much. Gave me a weird vibe."

Mark’s jaw tenses. He looks over his shoulder like he’s hoping the guy is still lurking somewhere within fighting distance.

You nudge his arm gently. "Hey. It’s fine. I got out of there, called my personal airlift, and survived to tell the tale."

He doesn’t quite relax, but he nods. "Still. Next time someone gives you a weird vibe, call me earlier."

You grin. "What, so you can launch them into low orbit?"

"Only if they deserve it," he says, and it’s barely a joke.

You just roll your eyes, and there’s a moment of quiet after that. You shift your weight a little and glance at him sideways, a smirk tugging at your mouth.

"I’d say goodbye with a hug," you murmur, brushing a wind-whipped strand of hair behind your ear, "but I feel like we already pushed the limits of physical contact today."

Mark lets out a breath that’s a half laugh as he scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, we might’ve hit the quota."

You flash him a peace sign instead, two fingers wiggling with lazy flair. "Night, Grayson."

He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Yeah, goodnight. Get inside safe."

You turn and head up the porch steps, the boards creaking softly under your feet. And even though your back’s to him now, you swear you can still feel him watching.

—

Later that night, long after the sun’s gone down and the neighborhood’s turned quiet, you lie awake in bed staring at the ceiling fan spinning shadows across your walls.

You’d changed into pajamas hours ago. Washed off the salt. Pulled your hair up. Brushed your teeth. Did all the things that were supposed to settle your body down into rest.

And yet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Not Mark-the-friend. Not Mark, the guy you send dumb memes to or banter with about pizza toppings.

No, this was Mark’s body.

His arms. His shoulders. The impossible way he held you like you weighed nothing. How your thighs had wrapped around his waist like it was muscle memory you didn’t know you had.

You’d never really thought about him like that before. Not seriously. Not in a way that stuck around longer than a fleeting joke.

But now? Now you couldn’t stop replaying how warm his body was. How big his hands were when he adjusted his grip. The unintentional intimacy of it all.

In the moment it just felt awkward, but now looking back on it? It felt electric.

Your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts almost without thought. Just enough to feel the edge of sensation, the tension that’s been building in your stomach all evening. Your breath stutters. One gentle graze turns into another, your eyes fluttering almost shut, lips parting—

"M—Ma—aark?!"

It starts low, breathy, nearly reverent—but the moment your half-lidded eyes catch the silhouette outside your window, the tone snaps mid-name into something much higher and far less composed.

You jolt upright with a gasp, yanking your hand free and throwing the blanket over your lap like it’s a crime scene.

There he is.

Hovering.

Mark.

In daylight, you might’ve brushed it off as a joke, but at this hour, with the moon casting soft light over his hair and the way his eyes blink in surprise—it feels way too intimate.

He raises a hand and knocks lightly against the glass like maybe he really didn’t just witness the most unhinged thing imaginable.

You’re pretty sure your soul has left your body.

You scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over the blanket, heart hammering as you fumble to unlock the window. Every molecule of your being is praying he didn’t hear anything. Didn’t see anything. You plaster on what you hope is a casual, non-horny smile as you shove the pane open.

"Hey," you whisper, breathless. "Uh. What are you doing here?"

Mark floats in a little closer, still hovering just outside the sill, arms crossed, looking vaguely sheepish. "I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about earlier. About you."

Your eyes went dry. That was... not the answer you were expecting.

He keeps going. "I don’t know, I just... didn’t like the idea of you almost having to walk home alone. That creep could’ve followed you, and the fact that you didn’t even feel comfortable calling me right away? I don’t like that."

Your throat tightens a little, but you try to keep the mood light. "Well, next time I’ll just hit up my personal superhero hotline immediately."

He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s something more serious under it. "I mean it. I’ve been thinking—and maybe it would just... make more sense if I was around more. For safety. Like, logistics."

"Logistics," you repeat, raising a brow.

"Yeah," he says, floundering now, rubbing the back of his neck. "Like, if we were together—not just like that, I mean, not just for that—but like, technically, it would be easier to make sure you’re okay. And it’d be easier for you to call me. And I wouldn’t have to hover outside your window at midnight like a weirdo."

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

"…Are you… proposing we date for security reasons?"

His throat bobs. "...Yes?"

Your lips twitch.

"That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

"I just mean—it’s not like it has to be a big thing. I already worry about you. You already call me for weird stuff. And if we were—y'know, together—it wouldn’t be weird for me to show up when you need me. It’d be normal. Expected. Practical."

You sigh, dragging your hands down your face. "Get in here before one of my neighbors calls the cops."

He climbs in through the window with the kind of silent grace that somehow makes it worse—like he does this all the time, like being in your bedroom in the middle of the night isn’t absolutely deranged. You close the window behind him, lock it, then turn around to find him standing awkwardly in the middle of your room, hands in the pockets of his joggers.

You cross your arms, still half-reeling. "Okay. Back up. Explain to me again how dating me is supposed to be a logical safety plan."

He doesn’t flinch, which is honestly impressive. "Because it is logical," he says. "If we were together, I wouldn’t have to wait for you to ask me for help. I’d just know to be there. I already worry about you. This just... cuts out the weird in-between."

You stare. "You’re talking about eliminating emotional bureaucracy."

Mark hesitates. "...Yeah?"

You groan and throw yourself backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with what felt like dead eyes. "Wow. Incredible. I can really only get a guy to ask me out if it doubles as a protective services contract."

Mark looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t say anything.

You sit up halfway, shooting him a look. "We literally couldn’t even hug goodbye earlier without it being a thing. And now you think we should just be together? For efficiency? Like we’re a fuckin’ Excel spreadsheet or something?"

"Okay, no, not like a spreadsheet. And in my defense that hug got complicated really fast."

You level him with a flat, skeptical expression. "Complicated?"

He looks everywhere but at you again. "You were in a bikini. And a wet shirt. And you smelled good. And you looked—like—soft. I didn’t want to be weird."

You scoff, bringing one arm over your chest subconsciously. “Right. Because hugging your friend goodbye would’ve been weird—but showing up at her window at midnight to pitch a bodyguard boyfriend arrangement? Totally normal.”

Mark doesn’t even try to deny it. He shrugs helplessly, a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. “Okay… maybe not totally normal. But at least it got me in the door.”

You give him a look, half-exasperated and half-amused. “That’s the bar now?”

He lets out a soft laugh, then finally moves to join you on the bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight as you move to sit up beside him at the edge, his knee bumping gently against yours. The room feels smaller now, quieter.

You glance sideways, noticing how his hands rest on his thighs, fingers twitching slightly like he wants to reach for something but doesn’t know what.

Neither of you speaks right away.

After some time, you hear him say softly, “I wanted to hug you.” Something flutters in your stomach. He keeps his eyes ahead, voice low. “I didn’t want to leave like that. But you were the one who said we ‘already pushed the limits of physical contact’.”

You feel your ears warm. “Yeah, well. I was trying to keep it together. Not...” You trail off, not wanting to finish where that thought was going.

That makes him look at you, and suddenly the space between you feels thinner than air.

His voice is soft. Careful. “Do I get another chance?”

Your lips part, trembling, but no sound leaves your throat. Instead you just nod.

And then you’re leaning into him, and he’s leaning into you, and it’s not even a decision so much as a reaction. Like this was something the two of you were always going to do.

His lips brush yours. Soft. Testing. Then it deepens.

His hand slides up to the back of your neck, holding you steady as he tilts his head, kissing you fuller. His tongue slips past your lips, teasing and deliberate, coaxing you into something hot and slow. His tongue explores your mouth with languid, fluid strokes—a slick, pink muscle dragging against yours, tasting you like he’s been thinking about this for a while. He doesn’t rush. He lingers, savoring the way you open up for him, the way your breath catches when he slides his tongue along the roof of your mouth.

His other hand settles at your waist, fingers spreading possessively. He pulls you closer, his palm sliding beneath your shirt just enough to brush over your skin. You can feel the way his chest rises and falls against yours, how his lips part and seal over and over again, mapping every curve of your mouth.

He nudges you gently, repositioning his legs and shifting you with him until you’re straddling his thighs. One arm slides fully around your waist, hugging you closer into the warmth of him, while the hand at your neck loosens just enough to drift up into your hair. He kisses you deeper, tongue curling just a little more greedily now, like he can’t get enough of the way you taste.

Your fingers flex against his chest, bracing yourself. The heat between you builds fast—sharp, undeniable. He groans into your mouth, a sound low and unfiltered that sends heat straight into your lower belly.

You’re the one who finally breaks the kiss, gasping a little as you pull back—because if you didn’t, you’re pretty sure he’d never stop. Mark chases you instinctively, lips brushing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw. He noses at your neck, presses a kiss just beneath your ear.

“This is not why I came here,” he murmurs against you, breath hot and trembling.

You laugh softly, breathless and flushed. “Yeah, sure. Midnight pop-ins are just your love language now, huh?”

He lifts his head slightly, eyes half-lidded but earnest. “I mean it. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About what could’ve happened. About how weird you felt calling me. I hated that.”

You brushed your nose against his. “And kissing me senseless was the solution?”

He grins, and before he can answer, you pull him back in.

Your mouths crash together again, hotter now—messier. His hands are everywhere: one in your hair, one gripping your hip, sliding under your shirt for the second time like he needs to feel every inch of you. You roll your hips without thinking, and he groans once more into your mouth, the sound vibrating down your spine.

Then he pulls back, panting slightly. “Wait… what were you doing when I showed up, anyway?”

You freeze.

Your eyes dart away. “Nothing.”

His brow lifts. “Nothing?”

You chew your lip. “Just… thinking about stuff.”

He leans in, a little smirk playing at his lips. “Stuff like… me?”

Suddenly you’re jolting upright like you’ve been electrocuted. "Okay! Wow! Y’know what? It is definitely way too late for you to be in a girl’s bedroom. Like, aggressively past curfew. So! I think it’s time you go, Mr. Grayson. Please and thank you."

“What—?”

You stand up, gesturing toward the window with mock formality. “Thank you for your service, please fly responsibly. Goodnight.”

Mark just blinks at you, still sitting. You raise a brow. "Uh. That's your cue, flight boy."

He shifts, clears his throat—but makes no move to stand.

You squint. "Why aren't you getting up?"

He grimaces slightly, suddenly very interested in a speck of dust on your floor. "I'm working on it."

One of your brows quirk as your line-of-sight drops.

Oh.

Your eyes go wide.

“Oh my God—” You whip around sharply on the balls of your feet. “Never mind! Take your time! Or don’t! I-I don’t even know!”

Behind you, Mark clears his throat, shifting like he's just settling in more comfortably. "I just—uh—need a second to make sure your mattress isn’t… you know. Lopsided or anything. Structural integrity check. Nothing weird."

You nod rapidly, still facing away. "Right. Mattress stability is important."

You march over to the window and start fiddling with the lock like it suddenly needs adjusting. You give it two twists, then a shake, then check it again just to be safe.

Across the room, Mark continues to sit very still, facing the opposite wall like it's a meditation exercise. Neither of you speak.

The silence stretches.

This is fine. Totally normal.

Just a standard, extremely platonic, post-makeout building inspection.

No one's aroused. No one's flustered. No one is internally screaming into the void.

You clear your throat.

Mark clears his throat.

Another ten seconds pass.

"...Think it's safe for me to stand yet?" he mutters.

You nearly jump out of your skin. "Only if you're done verifying the mattress's—structural reliability."

"Almost there."

You nod like that makes perfect sense.

Absolutely perfect.

You both sit in silence for another thirty seconds.

You are never going to survive this night.

#invincible #invincible fanfic #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson fanfic #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #fem reader

509 notes · View notes

bleulikedaylight · 1 month ago

Text

The Cat-astrophe Next Door

pairing: fur parent! natasha romanoff x fur parent! reader

synopsis: college life was already chaotic enough, but things took a sharp left turn when your sweet, innocent cat ended up pregnant—thanks to the mysterious feline next door. turns out, the culprit is none other than liho, the smug, too-handsome-for-his-own-good cat belonging to your intimidating (and unfairly attractive) condo neighbor, natasha romanoff.

warnings: mild language, implied pet mating/pregnancy (lmk if i missed smth !!) | wc: 1.9k | genre: rom-com, with a side of social media au !! <3

note: guys, it’s me again with another fic—hope you’re not tired of seeing me pop up on your feed LMFAOO. i had so much fun writing and editing this one !! also, liho is a boy cat in this au, and i used jennie as the face claim for Y/N because she’s iconic. i hope you guys enjoy !!! ><

part one ‎♡‧₊˚ part two

If there was one thing you thought you had under control in your life, it was your cat, Lily. She was graceful, soft, a little dramatic (gets it from you), and most importantly—indoor-only. Or so you thought.

Lily has been acting weird.

Not “she-scratched-my-ankle” weird. Not even “sat-on-my-laptop-during-a-Zoom-class” weird. No. This was something else. She’d been meowing dramatically, mood-swinging like a rom-com lead, and for some reason, she’d been eating like a linebacker after finals week. Most concerning of all? She had started waddling. Like... actually waddling, which would be funny—if it weren’t worrying. You Googled it (because of course you did), and then after spiraling through multiple Reddit threads and one frantic call to your mom, you decided to bring her to the vet.

And that’s how you ended up in the cold, sterile-smelling waiting room of the 24/7 animal clinic, wearing your worn-out college hoodie and slippers, holding Lily in a pink baby blanket. The receptionist had offered you a sympathetic smile, the kind that says, “Ah, another panicked pet parent. We’ve seen your type before.”

When the vet called you in, you followed like you were walking into a courtroom. The vet, Dr. Swift, was peppy. Too peppy for 2:14 a.m., but you appreciated the energy.

She cooed at Lily while examining her. “Well, she’s definitely healthy,” Dr. Swift said, smiling.

“That’s good,” you said, hugging the blanket tighter.

“She’s also pregnant.”

Pregnant.

Your baby girl, a mother?!

You stared. “She’s what.”

“Pregnant. A few weeks in, I’d say. Nothing to worry about—she’s young, strong, well-fed.”

Your mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. “She’s… she’s never even left the apartment. You’ve got to be kidding me," you muttered in horror, holding the vet's report like it was a death certificate. "She’s too young. Too pure. She doesn’t even go outside!"

Your vet gave you a knowing look, like she’s seen a lot of clueless cat parents. “She must’ve found a way. Cats are clever.”

Clever. Right.

Your condo wasn’t Fort Knox, but it was secure. Except—

The one day last month when you opened the window to fix the air conditioner and Lily disappeared. You had screamed, searched, and panicked for ten straight minutes—only for her to casually reappear like she hadn’t just shaved ten years off your life. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, just figured she got spooked and hid somewhere.

But now…

Now you remembered the Black Russian Blue that always lounged around the hallway. The same smug-looking cat that always stared into your window. The one who yowled dramatically outside your door during the night. The one who’d practically made bedroom eyes at Lily from across the screen.

Liho.

And if you remembered correctly, Liho belonged to the mysterious, intimidating, frustratingly gorgeous woman in 5C.

Natasha Romanoff.

Your mysterious next-door neighbor, Natasha Romanoff. Tall, quiet, and intimidatingly hot, She was the kind of woman who gave off 'could kill you but make it fashion' energy. Her cat was the same.

You had never officially spoken to her. Only shared elevator rides filled with awkward silence and exchanged the occasional nod in the hallway. She dressed like she was always on her way to fight crime. Or model. Or both. You’d once heard a neighbor whisper that she used to work in private security—or maybe she was in witness protection? Or maybe she was just that cool.

You stormed back into your unit and glared at Lily, who was now curled up innocently on your couch, licking her paw like she didn’t just ruin your entire week.

“This is your fault,” you muttered. “This is what happens when you flirt through the window slats.”

You weren’t crazy. You’d seen it. Late at night, your cat staring longingly through the balcony door, tail twitching. And across the small hallway gap, Liho would be staring back from his side of the building, eyes half-lidded and cocky.

Whatever the case, her cat got yours pregnant.

And now you had to knock on her door.

—

You spent the entire morning pacing in your living room.

Lily lay on the couch, blissfully unaware of the chaos she’d unleashed. You alternated between rehearsing your speech and having a breakdown.

“Hi! So funny story—our cats might be having kittens.”

Too casual.

“Your cat got my cat pregnant and I demand answers.”

Too aggressive.

“Would you like to co-parent?”

Too weird.

Eventually, you settled on a compromise between formality and desperation, printed out Lily’s vet report (just in case), and marched to Unit 5C.

You stood outside her door for a full minute before knocking. And when it opened, you almost forgot how to breathe.

Natasha looked like she’d just rolled out of bed, but in a cinematic, slow-motion, music-swelling kind of way. Her red hair was styled in a half-up, half-down look. The top portion is pulled back and secured, adding volume and keeping the hair away from her face, while the rest cascades down in soft waves, and she was wearing sweatpants and a fitted, long-sleeved, henley-style top in an olive green color. Her toned abs didn't need to be out like that. It was illegal. Offensive.

Her expression was blank but not unfriendly. “Yes?”

"Hi," you said with a very forced smile,

She raised an eyebrow. "Hey. Something wrong?"

You held up the vet report.

"Uh. Sorry to bother you. I’m Y/N—I live next door. My cat is pregnant. And your cat is the only male she's ever interacted with. So... unless immaculate feline conception is a thing, I'm pretty sure your cat knocked my cat up."

A pause.

She stared at you. Blinked once. Looked down at her mug. Looked back up.

“...Okay,” she said slowly. Then bit back a smirk. "You're telling me.. Liho is going to be a dad? That’s… one way to say good morning.”

You stared at her. “I just came back from the vet and she’s never been outside, except for that one time when she snuck out the window. And the only male cat she’s ever met is yours. Liho, right?”

“Yeah,” Natasha replied, leaning on the doorframe. “Black Russian Blue. Fluffy. Thinks he’s royalty.”

You sighed. “Well, he’s now the father of unborn kittens.”

Natasha took another sip from her mug, her eyes never leaving you. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. The vet said she’s been pregnant for a few weeks, and that’s exactly when Lily had her little great escape.”

“Liho’s neutered now,” Natasha offered. “A week ago.”

“Lily beat the deadline,” you muttered.

There was a beat of silence. Then Natasha stepped back and opened the door wider.

“Come in.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You look like you haven’t slept. Come in. If our cats made kittens together, we might as well talk about logistics.”

You hesitated. “You’re not… mad?”

She shrugged. “Why would I be? I mean, I guess it’s a surprise, but I’m not exactly going to sue your cat.”

You snorted. She smirked.

You stepped inside.

Her condo was neat. Not in a minimalist, empty way—but cozy. Bookshelves. Plants. A couch that looked far more expensive than yours. There was a tall cat tree in the corner and a plush cat bed that clearly belonged to a spoiled prince. And lo and behold—Liho himself, perched dramatically like the Simba he thinks he is.

He blinked at you. Then at your stomach. Then back at you, as if to say, You're welcome.

You pointed at him. “He’s got no shame.”

Natasha sighed. “Yeah, he gets that from me.”

You choked on your spit. “What?”

She chuckled—actually chuckled—and disappeared into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Uh, yes please.”

You stood awkwardly, taking in the place. There was a framed photo on a shelf: Natasha holding Liho, both of them looking dangerously close to rolling their eyes. There were a few Post-it notes stuck to the fridge with neat, organized reminders.

Natasha returned with two mugs. One said “No.” The other said “I survived another day without punching anyone. Go me.” She handed you the latter.

You sat across from her at the dining table, mug in hand, papers between you.

“So,” she said, “how do you want to do this?”

You blinked. “You’re actually… interested?”

Natasha leaned back in her chair. “I mean, I can’t just walk away. That’s deadbeat dad behavior. Liho would never.”

You snorted again. She grinned.

You hadn’t expected this. Honestly, you had expected defensiveness, or maybe awkward avoidance. But Natasha was—surprisingly chill. Funny, even. Dry and a little sarcastic, but not mean. And as she sipped her coffee and asked about Lily’s health, you started to relax.

“We could co-parent,” you joked.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Shared custody?”

“Maybe not that intense, but like… I’ll keep you posted. When she gives birth, you can visit. Bring snacks. Maybe we’ll name one of them after you.”

“Or after Liho. He’ll want credit.”

“Do you think he knows?”

Natasha looked over at her cat. “Liho, you’re gonna be a dad.”

Liho yawned.

“I think he’s ready,” you deadpanned.

You both laughed.

And for a brief, quiet moment, it didn’t feel like you were just talking about cats anymore. It felt like something had shifted. Something tiny and electric.

“Guess we’ll be seeing more of each other,” you said.

Natasha met your gaze. “Guess so.”

You sipped your coffee. She sipped hers.

Outside, the hallway was silent. Inside, two cats stared at each other across a room—and two people smiled over the rim of their mugs.

—

"I am losing it—oh my God, I can’t believe that just happened." you groaned, flopping onto your bed and opening your group chat with Wanda, Agatha, and Rio.

You sent them a selfie of you holding the vet report while Lily snoozed peacefully behind you like she wasn’t the source of all this drama.

Meanwhile, on Natasha’s side.

Back on your side of the internet, you opened Twitter.

#black widow x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #mcu #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #wlw #female x female

408 notes · View notes

natsaffection · 3 months ago

Text

Redline. (Bonus 4) | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha × Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), 18+! MINORS DNI! Restraints (handcuffs), strap on use, blowjob, oral (n receiving), strap riding

Word count: 3,8k

A/N: That was fun..

You were sitting in a team meeting, eyes blankly fixed on the screen where telemetry charts blinked in rhythmic flashes. Data, stats, numbers, normally you were locked into them. But today, the entire thing washed over you like white noise.

Because you weren’t thinking about tire degradation. Or fuel windows. Or even the race coming up. You were thinking about Natasha. It was just a flash in your mind, but it made your stomach twist with heat and giddiness.

Across the table, Natasha’s brows lifted. “Something funny, detka?”

You flinched like a kid caught daydreaming in class. “N-Nope. Just-uh. Sector times.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed playfully. She knew. Not what you were thinking, but that it wasn’t sector times. Your face flushed. You gave a quick nod, muttered something about needing water, and bolted out of the meeting room, heart pounding.

You took a breath and let it out slowly, willing your skin to cool down. But the image..Natasha beneath you, panting..refused to leave. Then, just ahead near the security booth, you spotted a man you barely knew by name, fiddling with a pair of standard-issue handcuffs.

You slowed, watching him casually twist them around his fingers. Something inside you clicked. Perfect.

With a growing smirk, you approached. “Hi!” you called gently.

The guard nearly dropped the cuffs. “Oh! Uh- Ms. L/n, h-hello!”

You grinned, holding back a laugh at how pink he turned. “No need to panic. I just…saw the cuffs.” You motioned to his hands. “Think I could borrow them for a few days?”

He blinked. “The…The cuffs?”

“Yes..” you nodded, completely casual, though your heart was racing. “Not for, like, arresting people. Just…practice.” You offered a crooked smile that probably didn’t help.

He stared for a beat, then nodded so hard it nearly shook his cap off. “Y-Yeah! Of course! You can totally- uh, here.” He offered them with both hands like you were royalty.

You took them carefully, feeling the cold weight of them in your palms.

“Thanks, really.” you said.

“I know you’re probably busy…but…my kids are a huge fan! C-Could we make a photo?”

“Of course! You gave me your cuffs. Least I can do.” He fumbled his phone out so fast he nearly dropped it, and you leaned in with a bright smile, snapping a quick photo before giving him a quick wave and strolling off, handcuffs tucked in your hoodie pocket, heart pounding.

Now, your room became a workshop. The cuffs lay on the table beside your laptop as you queued up video after video, escape artists, magicians, tactical demos. All of them showing quick, fluid techniques. One-handed flips, snap-click-lock or misdirection.

You practiced until your wrist ached. Pick up from the left. Fake a caress. Flip. Click. Pick up from behind. Loop the wrist. Snap it shut in one smooth motion.

You dropped them at least twenty times. Cursed under your breath just as often. But the vision..Natasha, hands locked above her head, blinking in surprise as you stepped back with a devilish smile, kept you going.

You rehearsed your lines in the mirror, cheeks warm with nerves. Sometimes you had to stop, burying your face in your hands and giggling like a teenager. But each night, you got faster. Smoother. Until you could click both cuffs shut in under three seconds. It had to be fast.. Because Natasha didn’t surrender easily.

Days later, the door slammed shut behind you, laughter and adrenaline still buzzing between kisses. You didn’t even remember how you’d made it from the car to the apartment, just that Natasha’s lips hadn’t left yours once.

Natasha was already pressing your back toward the bed, her hands firm on your waist, guiding you like she always did, in control, composed, knowing exactly where this was going.

But tonight, you had other plans..You crashed onto the mattress in a tangle, mouths locked, breath sharp, bodies already buzzing from the familiar fire between you. Natasha’s hand was sliding under your shirt, her thigh nudging between your legs, her rhythm confident, possessive.

Just like always.

You kissed her harder, then shifted. A quick twist. A practiced motion. Natasha landed with a soft grunt on her back. You moved fast, crawling over her, straddling her hips as your fingers dipped behind the pillow, feeling the cool bite of metal.

Natasha didn’t even blink, her hands tugging at your shirt now, eyes hooded. “Mmm, taking charge tonight?” she teased, voice dark velvet.

“Something like that..” you murmured, leaning down to kiss her again, slow this time, deep and purposeful. And as she reached up to cup your jaw..click.

You pulled back. One of Natasha’s wrists was now bound to the bedframe. There was a second of stunned silence. Natasha blinked. Looked up. A flash of confusion, a flicker of surprise, then amusement blooming like wildfire across her face.

You sat back on your thighs, grinning ear to ear, eyes sparkling like a kid who just pulled off the prank of the century.

“Oh my God..” you whispered, practically vibrating. “It actually worked!!”

Natasha laughed softly, raising a brow. “You planned this?”

You nodded, still catching your breath. “For days. Like..full-blown practicing. On myself. On a chair. I made your security guy give me the cuffs.”

“Wait- Mark gave you his cuffs?”

“He was so flustered he didn’t even ask why..” you laughed. “I gave him a selfie to say thanks.”

Natasha just shook her head in disbelief, still half-laughing. Her free hand was resting on your thigh now, her touch light but warm. “You little thief.”

For a moment, Natasha simply stared at you. And then, she raised her free hand and snapped her fingers.

“Key.”

You reached into your pocket, took the small key between your fingers, and flicked it, sailing it across the room, where it landed somewhere.

Natasha’s brow shot up. “…You didn’t.”

“I did.”

Natasha laughed, a low, dangerous, almost impressed sound. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that..”

She gave the cuff another pull, testing it. Realizing it wasn’t going to budge. Her muscles flexed under you, strong and coiled, and her eyes locked on yours, sharp and unreadable. “You sure you know what you’re doing? You think you can handle me like this?”

You leaned in, lips brushing her ear as you whispered, “I don’t think I can. I know I will.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, eyes dark with challenge now. “You better make it worth it, sweetheart. Because when I get out of these…” Her free hand trailed slowly down your thigh, grip firm. “You’ll be begging.”

You grinned, hips shifting just right as you settled in. “Guess.. I better make you beg first.”

Natasha leaned back into the pillow, watching you with a predator’s patience. One wrist still cuffed to the bed, the other resting lazily on her stomach like this was just another game she’d already won. But her eyes… they tracked every movement, sharp and focused.

Your hands moved slowly, purposefully, as you started to peel away Natasha’s clothes. Every inch of exposed skin earned you a lingering look, that trademark Romanoff smirk never fading.

“Careful, malysh (baby),” Natasha drawled, voice low and thick with heat. “You undress me like that, and I might think you’re trying to seduce me.”

You just smiled, sweet, smug, and pushed Natasha’s pants down past her hips.

And paused.

Your eyes widened for just a second, a breath catching in your throat as you realized what Natasha was already wearing beneath.

A harness. Strap in place., ready and waiting. “Wha-” you blinked, somewhere between stunned and amused. “You were…you had this on?”

Natasha chuckled, low and dangerous. “You’re not the only one who had plans tonight.”

You looked up, eyes glinting. Natasha tilted her head, smirking like a cat who’d let the mouse think it had a chance. “You want it?” she teased, flexing her hips slightly. “Unlock me. And maybe I’ll let you ride it properly.”

But you didn’t move for the cuffs. Instead, you shifted, lowering yourself between Natasha’s thighs, your mouth now dangerously close to the toy. Your fingers slid over the harness, gaze locked onto hers.

“I’ll use it just fine, thank you..” you murmured and then you wrapped your lips around the tip.

Natasha’s smirk faltered. Her mouth parted, eyes going a little wider as she watched you suck slowly, deliberately, dragging your tongue along the underside like you meant to break her. Her free hand clenched the sheets.

“God..” Natasha breathed, hips shifting instinctively.

You glanced up at her, teasing, and went deeper, taking more of the strap into your mouth, slow, wet sounds filling the room. You hollowed your cheeks, working it like you were showing off, like you knew exactly how much it was affecting her.

And Natasha was affected. Badly. She tugged on the cuff again, harder this time. The chain clinked against the bedframe. “You-” she gasped, a small laugh breaking through her curse. “You little brat…”

You pulled back just enough to speak, your voice smug and sweet against the toy. “Still think I can’t handle it?”

Natasha swallowed hard, chest rising and falling with growing tension. “You’re so in trouble when I get out of these..”

You just grinned, lips brushing the base of the strap as you whispered, “Then maybe I’ll keep you there a while longer.”

And without another word, you took the whole thing in, deep, slow, confident, watching Natasha struggle. She was staring down at you, breathing heavier now, eyes slightly glazed, like she couldn’t decide whether to smirk or moan.

“You look so cute like this..” you murmured, voice low. Your fingers trailed slowly over Natasha’s hips as you moved down again,

Natasha’s free hand curled into the sheets. “You’re proud of yourself, huh?” she rasped, voice rough with tension.

You didn’t answer. You just settled between her thighs, nudging them wider. Your hands slid up, palms smooth against soft skin, and then..Your tongue met her core.

The reaction was instant. Natasha tensed, hips twitching off the bed, a soft gasp escaping before she could stop it. She grit her teeth, chest rising sharply, her arm pulling against the cuff again.

You smiled into her. You started slow, using your tongue with purpose, teasing circles and flicks that made her thighs tremble.

Natasha exhaled harshly through her nose, trying to stay quiet, trying to keep her body still. She bit her bottom lip, eyes locked on the ceiling, muscles taut like a wire about to snap.

But then..You found that spot. You pressed your tongue there, slow and firm, then sucked, just once, deep and focused.

Natasha bucked. “F-Fuck—!” The curse burst from her mouth, sharp and unfiltered. Her head snapped back, eyes fluttering shut as her body jerked. She yanked hard against the cuff, her free hand flying to the headboard like she could tear the whole damn thing apart.

You moaned softly at the reaction, proud and fueled by it. You pulled back just enough to whisper, breath hot against her core, “You love this.”

Natasha panted, teeth clenched. “Y/n, Fuck you.”

You laughed, low and dangerous. “Maybe later..”

And then you dove back in, tongue working faster, deeper, mouth devouring her like you wanted to leave her breathless and wrecked. Every twitch, every shaky breath, every curse spilling from her lips only pushed you further.

She tried to hold back, tried to keep the illusion of control, but it was slipping.. You could feel the tension coiling beneath her skin like a live wire. Her thighs trembled with every flick of your tongue, and her breath came in ragged bursts, sharp, guttural, completely unguarded.

But she still hadn’t said the word. Not the one you wanted to hear. You smirked against her, dragging your tongue in slow, lazy strokes, circling her clit without pressure, just enough to make her need it, not enough to let her fall. You flattened your tongue and licked her again, then pulled away entirely, letting your breath ghost over her skin.

She cursed under her breath, hips jerking up, chasing the contact. “Oh? That close already?” you purred, kissing her inner thigh. “And you haven’t even told me what you want..”

You looked up through your lashes. Natasha’s eyes were dark, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast. She was beautiful. Ruined. Desperate. But still clinging to her pride.

“Hah…” she exhaled through her teeth, free hand gripping the sheets hard. “You think this is new to me, baby? You think I haven’t been edged before?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, but not by me..Common Nat..”

Then you leaned back in and sucked her clit, deep and wet, just for a second. Natasha cried out, still not a single word, not a plea, just a raw, broken sound. Her hips bucked hard, her body chasing every inch of pressure like it was the only thing grounding her.

You pulled back again. “You gonna ask for it?” you whispered, licking your lips.

Natasha shook her head, breathing hard. “No fucking way.”

You raised a brow. “You sound like you’re about to lose your mind.”

“Y/n.” she hissed.

You kissed the inside of her thigh again, dragged your nails lightly down her skin, then dipped your head once more, letting your tongue work with new intensity, hard, fast, deep.

And she lost it. She rolled her hips, chasing every flick of your tongue. Her head slammed back against the pillow, one arm still restrained, the other clenched in the sheets so tight it might rip them apart.

Still..no begging. Just gasps, groans and curses. You pressed your tongue flat again, relentless, never breaking rhythm. You knew she was there, right there, teetering, and you didn’t plan to let her fall until she was exactly where you wanted her.

“You’re shaking..” you whispered, licking slowly up again. “Please Natasha..let me hear it..”

Natasha grit her teeth, eyes fluttering shut. “I swear t-to god…”

You smiled. “Still not?”

Her only answer was a strangled moan that sounded almost like a yes. And you accepted it.. So you went all in, tongue deep, rhythm perfect, sucking and circling and dragging her right into release.

She screamed..a raw, guttural sound, hips jerking, body writhing, orgasm ripping through her. Her hand pulled at the cuff like she could tear the bed apart, thighs clamped around your head as wave after wave hit her.

Still, no: “please.” Just wild, shattered moans. You didn’t stop until she collapsed, chest heaving, eyes blown wide with aftershock.

Then you crawled up her body, kissed the corner of her mouth, and whispered, “That was better than begging.”

Natasha lay there chest rising and falling, one arm bound, the other limp on the sheets, knuckles white from how hard she’d gripped them. A slow smirk crept across her face, heavy-lidded eyes meeting yours as you leaned up slightly.

“Huh..” she breathed, voice rough and low, “you really went for it..I can’t believe it..” She whispered while brushing a bit of sweat from her forehead.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, flushed and proud, crawling back up her body.

“You did good..” Natasha added, a cocky gleam in her eye despite how wrecked she looked. “I’ll give you that.”

You smiled sweetly…Too sweet. “Thanks.” you said simply, brushing a kiss to her cheek.

Natasha let her eyes fall shut for a moment, until she felt movement. Her eyes fluttered open again…and froze.

You were straddling her again. But this time? You weren’t going down to tease. You were going up.

Natasha’s breath caught as you positioned yourself over the strap still strapped to her hips, slick, already aching. Your hands rested on her stomach for balance, your expression calm…but your eyes burned with intent.

“Wait-” Natasha said, a slow smirk forming. “You’re not-”

You didn’t answer. You just started to lower yourself. Natasha’s pupils snapped wide.

“Y/n-” she grunted, jerking at the cuff instinctively, the chain clanging against the headboard with a force that made your head snap around.

You blinked. That was a strong pull. For a second, your eyes flicked up toward the frame, half-worried the metal might actually snap.

Natasha noticed. Her smirk turned lethal. “Oh?” she purred, voice dripping with danger. “You’re nervous now?”

You looked back at her slowly, a little breathless…but still smiling. “N-No.”

You lowered yourself further. The strap pushed inside you, slick and easy, but thick enough to make you gasp. Your fingers tightened on Natasha’s stomach.

Her jaw tensed, her arm flexing again. You exhaled slowly, rolling your hips downward inch by inch. You took it all the way in.

Seated flush against her. And Natasha groaned loud, helpless, her head falling back against the pillow as her hips instinctively tried to thrust, but had nowhere to go. All she could do was feel it.

“Jesus..” she choked out. “You’re- fuck, you’re soaked..”

You ground your hips in a slow circle, the pressure hitting just right. “I wonder why..”

You straightened again, hands sliding up your own body, down your thighs as you began to ride harder, deeper..slow, grinding, working yourself against the strap like you owned it. Like you owned her.

Natasha cursed under her breath, head tossing against the pillow. Her hips tried to follow, to thrust up, but with one hand chained and you in complete control, she couldn’t do anything but take it.

“Y/n..” she gasped. “You’re gonna make- feel so—!”

Another roll of your hips cut her off. Another deep, wet sound as you slid back down. Natasha’s eyes snapped shut, her chest arching, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt. “I can’t-” she hissed.

You slowed again, pulling back until only the tip remained inside you, teasing the edge. Natasha whimpered..whimpered! And it wasn’t even intentional. You leaned down, your breath brushing over her mouth. “Can’t what, Natty?”

Her eyes fluttered open, dark, desperate, wrecked. She didn’t say the word..She couldn’t. But her eyes were begging. And you saw it.

You kissed her hard, biting, dominant, then sat back up, thighs trembling now from the slow burn as you dropped back down onto the strap, deep and hard, a slick sound filling the space between your bodies.

Natasha moaned, long, loud, involuntary. Her hand pulled at the cuff again, the chain rattling violently. “Y/n! G-God!!” Her voice was wrecked now, breathless, right on the edge. “You’re gonna- drive me fucking insane..”

You grinned, riding with perfect rhythm now, grinding deep against her, back arching as you let yourself chase the high. “That’s the plan.”

And Natasha? Helpless. Breathless. Drenched. Her mind slipping between pleasure and surrender, just barely holding onto that last thread of control.

She was breaking. Every inch of her body was flushed, trembling beneath you, breath ragged, voice reduced to raw, gasping moans. Her cuffed hand was bruised from how hard she’d pulled, and the other, finally reached up, grabbing at your waist, your side, anything she could touch.

“I need to-” Natasha groaned, fingers digging in. “Let me- fuck, I need—”

Your eyes widened slightly at the strength in her grip. Even in this state, she could flip you if she wanted.

But not this time. You grabbed her wrist with both hands, firm, focused, and pushed it back down to the bed.

“No touching..” you whispered, voice trembling with lust. “You don’t get to take tonight, Nat..”

Natasha let out a frustrated, wild noise, somewhere between a growl and a moan. “You’re.. gonna kill me..”

You leaned down, panting into her ear, hips slamming down hard onto the strap. You locked eyes with her, hands pinning her down, both arms restrained, one by cold metal, the other by your strength and sheer desire.

And then..You rode her. No more teasing. No more games. Just fast, filthy, relentless rhythm. Wetness coating everything. The sound of skin on skin filling the room. Your hips slammed down again and again, the strap hitting deep, you grinding hard against it with every bounce, every drop.

Natasha was gone. Her head tossed, mouth wide open, moans choked and broken. Her thighs flexed, her whole body trembling, helpless beneath you.

“Y/n- fuck- I’m..!” And she came.

Harder than before..louder, rawer, her voice breaking on your name. Her hips jolted, back arching off the bed, trembling uncontrollably.

And still..you didn’t stop. You chased your own release, using her body as your anchor. You moaned, breath hitching, the sight of her flushed and ruined pushing you over.

“Fuck..” you gasped, thighs shaking. “I’m gonna..Natasha—oh my G-God!”

You came with a cry, slamming down one last time, your body locking up as the orgasm ripped through you. Your nails dug into her wrists, your whole body trembling as you collapsed forward, grinding softly through the aftershocks.

And when you finally pulled away, the angle shifted. And the tip dragged just right against her again.

“Y-Y/n!” she gasped, body jolting. Her head dropped back, eyes squeezing shut as a choked moan escaped her throat.

You froze, wide-eyed. “s-sorry, I didn’t-”

Natasha let out a breathless laugh, arm flopping over her face. “Careful…” she groaned, voice shaking.

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “Didn’t think that would still hit…”

Natasha peeked at you from under her arm, eyes glassy, lips parted, utterly wrecked. “It hit.”

You chuckled, spotted the key in the corner of the room, and carefully climbed off her. Your hands were still shaking as you picked it up.

When you turned back, Natasha was watching you. Flat on her back, one arm still cuffed, eyes half-lidded but focused now. That smirk from earlier? Gone. Replaced by something unreadable.

You chewed your bottom lip, key tight in your fingers. “You have to promise..” you said softly.

Natasha tilted her head. “Promise what?”

“That you won’t…” you hesitated, glancing at her body, then back up. “Flip this. Take over. The moment I let you go.”

She raised a brow, eyes gleaming. She said nothing. You narrowed your eyes. “Nat.”

Still nothing. Just that faint smile growing. You stepped back. “I’m not unlocking you.”

That earned a low laugh. “You’re bluffing..”

You didn’t move. And this time…she realized you weren’t. She let out a slow breath. “Fine.”

You waited. “I promise.” she said finally, voice low and warm. “I won’t do anything…without your permission.”

You searched her eyes for a long second. Then, slowly, you moved forward. You climbed onto the bed, into her space, and carefully slid the key into the lock.

With a soft click, the cuff popped open. A second passed. Maybe two- She moved like lightning. Flipping you beneath her in one fluid motion, your wrists immediately caught and pinned above your head.

You gasped, eyes wide. “Y-You promised!”

Natasha leaned down, nose brushing yours, eyes dark with heat.

“I did.” she whispered. “And I’m keeping it.” She didn’t move further. Didn’t dominate. Just held you there. Breathing the same air.

You blinked up at her, stunned. And then she kissed you. When she pulled back, her voice was barely a murmur. “Thank you for tonight.”

You swallowed. “You’re not mad?”

Natasha smiled, brushing her nose against yours. “Are you kidding? I’ve never been more turned on.”

Her grip softened. Her forehead rested gently against yours.

“But next time…” she whispered, lips brushing your ear, “You better run after you unlock me.”

You laughed, heart pounding. “Deal.”

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanov

618 notes · View notes

screechingdefendorpuppy-blog · 2 months ago

Text

Streaming nightmare.

Streamer!vi x reader

Notes: established relationship, vi is streaming a horror game and is so focused she doesnt realize her gf’s presence till it’s too late.

Any mistakes are mine, not proofread.

Based off this tiktok.

“Are you sure about this hun?” You ask her as she downloads the game. “You don’t necessarily have the best track record with scary stuff.”

She tsk and turns to you “Come one babe, Powder lets Isha play this game im sure it will be fine!”

You look at her skeptically as you read the name of it “Resident evil village. Mmmm I don’t vi, I mean Isha is way better at the haunted houses we go to on Halloween than you.”

She dramatically gasp “Now thats rude! Plus everyone hates clowns!” Pouting at you.

“And plus Isha is just at a whole other level than most kids. You can tell she’s powders kid.” She finishes as she turns back to her equipment. You shake your head but let it go.

“Ok well here is some water and a few snacks.” You tell her as she is setting up her stream.

“Thank you baby.” She kisses your temple as she continues to fix the camera angle.

“I’m off to the store is there anything else you would like before I leave?” You stop at the doorframe waiting for an answer.

“Mmmm oh! Could you bring my usual from Jeriko’s? I’ve been craving it for weeks now.” She says big powder blue eyes looking at you. Even though she knows you would never deny her anything she likes to throw in her puppy eyes just in case.

Chuckling you say “Alright hun, I shouldn’t take long. Bye I love you”

“Love you more!” She shouts after you as you exit.

——————

You sigh as you push the door open balancing the take out and small grocery bags of things that you were running low on.

Your grey cat midnight comes over immediately to inspect the haul you bring. You push her gently to guide her forward down the hall way.

Finally in the kitchen you put all the bags on the counter top. You take a minute to properly greet your fur baby giving her the scritches she demands.

Once she leaves satisfied, you set to work on putting everything away. Once done you decide to check on vi.

It is very rare that you appear in her streams. You usually like to stay off camera. Making sure she has water and something to snack on. At times even to remind her that she is past her scheduled time to stream.

As you walk down towards her streaming room you notice the lack of lights. You shake your head, you and vi had made it a compromise to at least leave one light on while she played any scary games. Mostly to give her a sense of security once she is done. This time tho it seems your Gf has forgotten to do just that.

Slowly you enter the room that is only illuminated by her computer screen and lighting for the camera. You make you way over as she continues to talk to her viewers.

“I mean it is a bit spooky.” She says as she moves her character along the screen. I reach her side and notice she is yet to notice you. You wave at the camera saying hello to her subscribers.

The chat blows up with greetings to you but she doesn’t notice. You bend down to her level and look at her.

“Hello?” She says laser focused on her game. So you respond.

“Hello”

Immediately the most high pitched scream leaves her as she jumps clean out of her chair. Taking the headphones with her and controller flying out of her hands.

You jump at the reaction, hands flying towards your mouth. You look at her as a laugh bubbles up inside you. “Are you ok?” You ask through the laughter.

“YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT ME!!!” She yells as she starts to sit up. She looks over at the screen and sees chat bubbles flying across the screen. Laughing at her predicament.

You start laughing even more when you look at the window that shows her in the stream. After the jump and fall the camera tilted a bit from the commotion.

On the screen you see yourself standing where she had been a few seconds ago. Vi on the other hand was on the bottom of the screen. Only the top of her head and eyes in view. Only thing her viewers see is her laughing Gf and her annoyed eyes with a skewed headset on her.

#arcane #vi x you #vi arcane #vi x reader #violet arcane #violet x reader #vi x y/n

516 notes · View notes

n0vazsq · 6 months ago

Text

Summer nights in Monaco | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x reader

summary . . . You and Lando meet during a night out in Monaco, starting a secret, undefined relationship somewhere between best friends and lovers

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.1k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . this took ages bc i have a neck injury saur......ill finish a pau request then im done for today sorry guys but my neck is killing me

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . You met Lando on a warm summer night in Monaco, the kind of night where the air hummed with life and the streets thrummed with laughter. It was supposed to be nothing more than a brief moment; a connection formed under the shimmer of neon lights, the pulse of music, and a few stolen glances across a crowded bar.

Neither of you had gone out looking for something more, but when he leaned in and introduced himself with a smirk that could knock you off your feet, you let yourself get swept up in it.

One night turned into two. Then three. Somewhere in between, you stopped pretending it was a fluke.

"It’s not serious," you’d told yourself. And he said the same, more than once. "No strings, no pressure." You were just two people who fit together a little too perfectly. The energy was easy, the fun intoxicating.

Lando liked being in control of the night, steering the adventure, whether it was exploring empty Monaco streets at 3 AM or guiding you through the best moments of your time together. And you? You were content to be the passenger, trusting him to take you wherever he wanted to go.

It worked, strangely, perfectly.

Your dynamic sat somewhere between best friends and lovers. It wasn’t messy. There weren’t arguments or unmet expectations because there were no labels. It was about feeling good and living in the moment. And Lando made you feel amazing. He was attentive in a way that surprised you, always knowing what you needed.

Whether that was a quick getaway, a night in, or just his presence beside you, arms wrapped securely around you like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

For Lando, you were a drug. The kind he didn’t need a fix for every day, but when he got a taste, he never wanted it to end. It was the secrecy of it all that made it even more addicting; the fact that nobody knew about you, that you existed only in the quiet spaces of his life.

The two of you had carved out a secret little world, one where there were no prying eyes or judgmental opinions. It was yours, and he guarded it fiercely.

But secrets don’t always stay hidden.

It was a Sunday morning when it happened. Sunlight poured through the windows of his Monaco apartment, casting golden patterns across the sheets.

You were half asleep, curled into his side, your face buried in his chest as his arm draped lazily around you. Lando, hair tousled and still a little groggy, had propped himself up slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

The picture had been an accident. He hadn’t meant to post it, hadn’t even realized he’d done it until his phone started buzzing uncontrollably minutes later. By the time he caught on, the damage had already been done. He swore under his breath, fumbling with his phone to delete the Instagram story, but it was too late. Screenshots had been taken. Twitter had erupted.

'Who is she???'

'No way. Lando soft-launching someone??'

'That’s 100% his girlfriend. I’m calling it now.'

You didn’t find out until you woke up, squinting at the screen of your own phone and the flood of notifications. Lando was perched at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor with a sheepish expression when you finally looked up at him.

"You’re trending," you muttered, voice raspy with sleep.

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "Don’t remind me."

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. "So much for being a secret."

Lando looked up at you then, his gaze softening, though there was something else there, something you couldn’t quite place. "I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry."

You shrugged, shifting to sit up and run a hand through your hair. "It’s not the end of the world, is it?"

He blinked at you, surprised by how calm you were. "You’re not….mad?"

"No," you said simply. "You deleted it. What’s done is done."

Lando let out a breath, his lips twitching into a small smile. "You’re handling this way better than I am."

"Well," you teased, pulling the sheet around your shoulders, "maybe you’re not as good at keeping secrets as you think you are."

He huffed a laugh, crawling back toward you and flopping down on the mattress. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you into him as he buried his face in your neck. "You’re never letting me live this down, are you?"

"Never," you replied smugly, though you were smiling.

For a while, neither of you said anything. You stayed wrapped in each other, his thumb tracing slow circles against your hip as your breathing fell into sync. It was moments like this that reminded you why it worked; the comfort, the quiet understanding.

After a long pause, Lando finally spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. "You know, I kind of like it. The idea of people knowing about you."

You froze, glancing down at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said softly, lifting his head to look at you. "I mean, I’ve kept you all to myself this whole time, but…." He hesitated, like he was searching for the right words. "You’re not something I’d ever want to hide. I’m proud of what we have, even if it’s just ours."

Your heart stuttered at his words, your chest tightening in a way you didn’t expect. "Lando…."

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then, finally, your lips. It was slow and deliberate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t quite say out loud.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice soft. "It’s still just us. No matter what anyone else says, okay?"

You nodded, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. "Just us."

Lando grinned, his boyish charm returning as he nudged your nose with his. "Good. Now come on, you owe me breakfast for putting up with all this stress."

You laughed, swatting at his chest as he pulled you closer again, his laughter joining yours, filling the room with the sound of something that wasn’t quite love.

But it wasn’t far from it either.

317 notes · View notes

kagedbird · 10 months ago

Text

So: further bad news, gang

Laptop I bought shit a brick and would no longer boot (had several blue screens even during before and after attempting to factory reset it and multiple windows recovery errors) so no more writing for a bit.

Instead of buying a new laptop, I'm going to take my original borked desktop to Best Buy to see if Geeksquad can't fix her because god almighty if I trust another local shop and they forget her again, I will actually commit murder.

So if you would like to assist me in paying for repairs as I attempt to save every last penny I have for rent, food, and travel, you can do so here:

I don't know how much it will be but I fully anticipate having to get another new motherboard or a brand new psu since it won't boot up at all since the local shop incident— so any amount helps.

Thank you for your time and hhhhhhhhh I am so tired man

#kb rambles #financial aid #computer update #important #signal boost #im so fucking tired of technology breaking on me every five seconds man #so god damn tired

325 notes · View notes

w1w2 · 2 months ago

Text

The Slowest Heartbeat

Part 2 - Warming You Up

Kim Taeyeon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 12k

Synopsis: When a scandal threatens to shake SM’s foundations, they call in the one person who’s never failed to make problems disappear. This young, impossibly composed woman holds more power than anyone else in the room.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Rain tapped against the windows like a warning.

On the thirty fifth floor of SM Entertainment’s headquarters, the sky pressed heavy against the glass. Seoul was a blur of wet streets and honking traffic below, but in the boardroom, the real storm was happening in silence. An almost reverent kind of dread had settled over the table.

The executives barely spoke above a whisper now. Phones buzzed constantly, lighting up with notifications they didn’t want to read. Someone’s coffee sat untouched, going cold beside a trembling hand. The room, with all its sleek chrome fixtures and clean white light, suddenly felt like a box with no air.

On the wall sized screen, the livestream played without sound, but no one needed audio to understand.

Jieun.

Her face filled the frame, bare, no makeup, eyes swollen from crying but steady. This wasn’t some spur of the moment outburst, it was premeditated, precise. She had waited years to speak like this. And now, nothing could stop her.

“They silenced me,” the captions read. “They buried it all, but not anymore.”

She spoke of trainees blacklisted for speaking out, of favorites who were shielded while others were discarded, of contracts rewritten behind closed doors, of managers who shouted in soundproof rooms. Of one particular incident, years ago, that no one in this room dared to name. A minor, a cover up. The story they had all promised would stay dead.

But it was back, and this time? It had receipts.

She showed emails, recordings, and screenshots. The evidence ticked onscreen like a countdown.

A vice president in a pinstriped suit stood with his arms crossed too tightly. “She’s been collecting this for years, she waited for the exact moment we couldn’t contain it.”

Another man, the legal advisor, muttered under his breath, “She’s got enough to light the place on fire. No way she’s bluffing.”

The PR director hadn’t moved in ten minutes. Her fingers clenched around her tablet, knuckles white. The headlines rotated in grim succession.

Former SM Idol Exposes Years of Abuse.

Corporate Giant Faces Reckoning.

Kpop’s Star Pulls Back the Curtain.

“It’s global,” she whispered. “It hit CNN five minutes ago. Japan, the US, Brazil, everyone’s picking it up.”

The silence afterward was worse than yelling because there was no plan, no crisis memo could fix this. They were standing at the edge of a cliff and the ground had already crumbled beneath them.

And then, Mr. Jung moved.

He rose from his seat slowly, adjusting the cuff of his shirt with the kind of calm that made the others uneasy. His face was unreadable, composed in that way powerful people mastered, detached, efficient, inhumanly still.

Without a word, he stepped out of the boardroom.

He walked past the assistants, the managers, the panic. Down a short hall to his office, where the lights were dim and the air felt thicker, quieter.

He locked the door behind him.

At his desk, he picked up the phone. Not his personal one, but the second device he kept in the locked drawer. No contacts, no ID, just a black screen, a secure line, and the kind of number you only call when there’s no other option.

He pressed it.

One ring. Two.

Then a voice answered, soft and low.

“We need help,” Mr. Jung said. “The kind only she can provide.”

A pause. Nothing but the faint sound of breathing.

Then the voice replied, barely above a whisper. “Miss Lee will take care of it.”

The line went dead.

Jung set the phone down, slowly, carefully, and for the first time that morning, his hands were shaking.

By afternoon, the chaos had hollowed into something quieter, heavier. The boardroom no longer buzzed with frantic energy but sat in a dense, waiting stillness, the kind that preceded a reckoning. The lights had been dimmed, screens were muted, the livestream was gone, replaced by a digital map of headlines spiraling across the globe like a virus too fast to contain.

Most of the building had been cleared by now.

Orders from above. Staff escorted out with vague apologies and stiff smiles, interns told to work from home, security stationed like statues at the elevators. Only the idols and the highest ranking executives remained, and even the latter had lost the armor of confidence that came with title and tenure. They sat in silence, shifting uncomfortably in their leather chairs, glancing once in a while toward the door as if that alone might speed up time.

Even Mr. Jung, who rarely betrayed emotion, now looked older somehow. His shoulders had dropped, his jaw had set.

At exactly 2:03 p.m., the elevator chimed. The sound echoed far too loud in the quiet, a sharp, sterile note that made several heads turn at once.

And then she stepped in.

She entered the boardroom with a presence that felt less like arrival and more like an eclipse.

Quiet, total, inevitable.

She was tall, not dramatically so, but with a posture so exact it seemed carved, as if no part of her body had ever slouched. Her suit was black and tailored to perfection, the fabric matte and sleek, accentuating the sharp lines of her figure like a shadow given form. No jewelry adorned her hands or ears. No badge, no title, nothing to announce who she was or why she belonged.

And yet, not a single person asked.

Behind her walked a single assistant, a young man dressed in similar monochrome. Silent, alert, eyes scanning the room as if memorizing it for someone far more important. He carried nothing, he spoke even less.

The woman did not greet anyone, she didn’t offer handshakes or pleasantries, and she didn’t sit, though a chair had clearly been pulled out at the head of the table, waiting for her. She remained standing, her heels silent on the stone tile, hands gloved in black leather as she leaned slightly forward to scan the documents that had been carefully laid out for review.

Her eyes moved quickly, too quickly.

One of the board members, a woman with a twenty-year career and the resume to command entire departments, opened her mouth to offer a summary, but was immediately silenced by a glance from Mr. Jung.

They watched as the stranger read the reports. Her gaze was swift, precise, moving from one page to the next as if she had already known their contents and was simply confirming what she’d suspected all along. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and clear, with no strain, no emotion, and no desire to perform.

“You’ve let the fire burn too long.”

The room froze. The assistant behind her didn’t even blink.

She straightened, not a single wrinkle in her suit, and allowed her gaze to travel over the men and women in the room. The kind of look that weighed rather than measured, that judged.

“Containment is still possible,” she continued. “But only if you follow every instruction, there is no room for error now. Do you understand?”

Nobody nodded, nobody spoke.

The silence was answer enough.

She turned then, just slightly, directing a low comment toward the man behind her. Her assistant, who stepped forward with silent efficiency to begin distributing sealed envelopes to the table.

The only words he spoke came gently, like a reflex.

“Yes, Miss Lee.”

And that name, just two syllables, hit the air like a stone dropped in still water. A single ripple, and then a flood.

The room inhaled.

They all knew the name, of course. Everyone at this level did. “Miss Lee” was more myth than person, a figure whispered about in investor circles and high level acquisitions. There were no photos, no records, just rumors. That she represented a family with too much power to trace, that she advised more than one global empire, that she never appeared unless something was truly at risk.

No one knew exactly who Miss Lee was.

But now, standing before them, it didn’t matter. She was here and no one, dared question her authority.

The meeting lounge on the thirty third floor wasn’t meant to be cozy, but it was quiet, and that was enough for Taeyeon. Especially after yesterday’s spectacle.

She sat curled into the corner of a leather armchair, legs crossed, a paper cup of coffee cooling in her hand. Outside the panoramic windows, Seoul stretched beneath a bruised sky, thunder cracked somewhere distant, rolling along the skyline like a slow breath.

She checked her phone again. Still nothing.

Her meeting with the A&R director had been pushed back without explanation, and now she’d been told the CEO himself would be joining. Something about “restructuring priorities.” Vague corporate language that usually meant trouble was blooming higher up the chain.

Taeyeon didn’t care for boardroom politics, but she could feel the tension in the walls.

People moved differently today. Quieter, faster, the kind of shift that wasn’t broadcasted, but leaked through closed doors and lowered voices.

Down the corridor, the main boardroom doors were sealed shut. A pair of men in black suits stood just outside, security, though they didn’t wear badges or earpieces like the usual guards. No one lingered near them, no one even looked directly at them.

Taeyeon sipped her coffee and tried to focus on her notes for the meeting. But the stillness outside that room kept pulling her attention. It was like waiting at the edge of a storm you weren’t sure you were invited to.

And then, without warning, the elevator at the far end of the corridor chimed.

Taeyeon didn’t mean to look up, but something shifted, and her eyes followed it on instinct.

The figure moved past the glass wall like a shadow. Tall, sharp in black, each step exact. Her posture was impossibly straight, as if balance itself bent around her. She didn’t slow, didn’t glance sideways.

It wasn’t theatrics, it was worse.

Quiet control, presence without announcement.

The kind of woman who didn’t need to be introduced because the air had already made the introductions for her.

Taeyeon’s fingers tightened on her cup. She didn’t catch the woman’s face, just the briefest edge of it, pale against the corridor’s light.

Behind her came the same assistant. Black suit, unsmiling, alert.

The boardroom doors opened without anyone knocking. A man inside, one of the top executives, stepped back quickly. And for a moment, just a second, Taeyeon saw something rare flicker across his face.

Fear.

The woman walked in without a word, and the doors closed behind her with a soft thud.

Taeyeon blinked. The air around her felt heavier, she couldn’t explain it, not exactly, but something had shifted on a level deeper than logistics or scheduling. Even down the hall, she could feel it, like the floor itself had stiffened beneath her shoes.

A manager passed by then, holding the laptop too tightly, muttering to the man beside him in a voice not meant for eavesdropping.

“She’s the advisor. From above.”

Taeyeon straightened. “Who is she?” she asked, not sharply, just curious. Her tone casual enough to pass.

The man paused mid step, eyebrows lifting in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected her to speak at all.

“They say she works with the Lee family,” he said, lowering his voice. “Some kind of strategic asset. No title, no socials. She doesn’t do calls, she appears when she wants to or when things are burning.”

Taeyeon tilted her head. “Miss Lee?”

“That’s what they call her, but no one really knows her name. Hell, we’re not even supposed to know she exists.”

Taeyeon smiled politely, but something cold tugged at her spine.

She turned her gaze back toward the boardroom. Closed door, silence pressing against them like a held breath.

“Never heard of her,” she said.

The man gave a short laugh, already walking away. “That’s the point.”

Minutes later the boardroom doors opened with a sound too soft to match the weight they carried, and for a moment, the hallway itself seemed to hold its breath.

Taeyeon glanced up, not because she expected anything in particular, but because the air had shifted, almost imperceptibly, the way it does when a storm skirts the edge of a quiet sky.

She saw a woman step out.

Her assistant followed at a respectful distance, silent and watchful.They moved without pause, without any acknowledgment of the small group of assistants and managers now scattering ahead of them like leaves blown out of formation. There was no rush in her steps, but every inch of her projected purpose, as though she already knew the shape of every hallway, the ending of every sentence, the problem long before it had ever been named.

And then, just as she passed the lounge, her eyes lifted, and her gaze met Taeyeon’s.

Only for a second. A single, unbroken moment.

But something passed between them in that glance, something quiet and invisible, like the subtle shift of weight before a dancer’s first step, or the exact second a match sparks before it catches fire.

Taeyeon wasn’t sure what she’d expected, perhaps someone older, someone lined by years of strategy and corporate maneuvering. But the woman looked younger than her, mid to late twenties, maybe. Youthful, yes, but not in a way that invited approach. Her stillness had nothing to do with shyness, nor did her silence suggest distance. It was control, absolute and unshakable, the kind that either comes from extraordinary discipline or something far older than discipline itself.

There was no smile, no nod of recognition, no attempt at casual politeness. Just eyes that saw everything and gave back nothing.

Taeyeon found herself holding her breath without realizing it.

And then, just as suddenly, the woman turned her head, gaze cutting away like the closing of a book. She resumed walking, her heels barely making a sound on the polished floor, vanishing around the corner without a word, leaving nothing behind except a strange hollowness in the space she’d just occupied.

Taeyeon blinked.

The hum of voices resumed down the corridor, but something in her chest hadn’t settled.

The meeting started late, nearly half an hour, as if the building itself needed time to exhale after whatever had just happened.

Taeyeon sat at the long walnut conference table with two A&R leads and a senior producer, the usual energy oddly dulled. Paperwork was passed around, polite apologies mumbled. Someone offered her coffee she didn’t need.

She nodded, smiled and pretended to listen. But her mind hadn’t followed her into the room, it remained in the hallway, suspended in that strange quiet after the boardroom doors had opened, replaying the image again and again. Black suit, unreadable face, that stillness like a blade laid flat on velvet.

She couldn’t focus, couldn’t bring herself to care about the single release calendar or the budget breakdown they were reviewing. The numbers blurred, the voices flattened.

Who was she?

Not just some advisor, no one looked at an ordinary strategist like that. Executives had stood straighter in her presence, like schoolboys hoping not to be called on. Even the CEO, calm, calculating Jung, hadn’t spoken a word in her direction, he’d just followed.

And then there were her eyes.

Not cold exactly, but old. A kind of depth Taeyeon couldn’t define, like staring into something that had watched kingdoms fall and hadn’t flinched once.

But she’d looked at her.

Not past her, not through her.

At her.

Like she was already part of some equation Taeyeon didn’t know existed yet.

She glanced down at her open notebook, the page still mostly blank despite twenty minutes of talking. No song ideas, no project notes, no questions. Only one thing, written in the center in small, slanted handwriting she didn’t remember making.

Miss Lee.

The name felt heavier than it looked on paper.

She closed the notebook quietly and nodded at something she hadn’t actually heard, giving the illusion of participation, but inside, she was already somewhere else.

By the end of the first week, the firestorm had dulled. Not extinguished, just controlled. Statements had been issued, platforms scrubbed, deals rebalanced. But the tension hadn’t left, it had only gone quiet, and quiet meant planning.

The meeting room on one of the top floors of SM Entertainment had turned into a war room. The large rectangular table was lined with department heads, creative directors, logistics coordinators, and now, for the first time, both Taeyeon and Y/N.

The Girls' Generation comeback had been greenlit less than forty-eight hours ago, and already the company’s corridors buzzed with nervous energy. The deal to reunite all eight members had required days of legal acrobatics, especially with Tiffany, Sunny, Sooyoung, and Seohyun now attached to different agencies. But the opportunity was too valuable to pass up.

Nostalgia had power, iconic legacy had weight.

And right now? SM needed both.

Taeyeon sat near the center, back straight, eyes alert. She wasn’t there as just an artist. Today, she was part strategist, part guardian. Girls’ Generation wasn’t just a name to her, it was history, friendship, blood and sweat pressed into a decade of stages and stadiums.

She had heard whispers that Miss Lee would be attending, but it still caught her off guard when the woman walked in without preamble, without announcement. Just the soft press of black leather shoes on tile, her assistant trailing behind with a tablet and a file so thick it looked military.

Y/N didn’t sit immediately. She moved around the table once, scanning faces and documents like she already knew the answers and was merely checking for sloppiness. Her eyes didn’t linger on Taeyeon, but they didn’t avoid her either. There was no flicker of recognition, just that cool, steady calm she carried like armor.

When Y/N finally spoke, it was with the precision of someone used to being obeyed.

"The tour needs to be global, not regional. Stadium ready, if we're staging a resurrection, we stage it in full daylight. Tokyo Dome, Singapore Indoor, O2 Arena, SoFi Stadium. We believe you can sell them out."

A murmur moved through the room, one of the coordinators started to object, citing costs, schedules, logistics.

Y/N cut through it.

"SM will handle it, logistics are irrelevant if demand is engineered correctly. Nostalgia is predictable. We create scarcity, we drive hysteria and then we manage it."

It was all delivered without passion, without even raising her voice. And yet, no one interrupted her.

Taeyeon watched carefully, trying to fit the presence in front of her with the fragments she’d picked up, the silent advisor, the unnamed strategist. She looked young, but her posture, her words, her tempo, they all spoke of something older, colder.

When the team shifted focus to creative concepting, Taeyeon finally spoke. "We don’t want to feel manufactured, we’re not a novelty act. If this is going to work, the comeback has to reflect who we are now, not just who we were."

Y/N didn’t smile, she didn’t agree. But she didn’t dismiss the comment either. She turned slightly, considering Taeyeon not as an idol but as an equation.

"Then we build around evolution, not repetition. Eight identities, one mythology, the brand isn’t the past, it’s the transformation." Her reply was soft.

It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold. It was just precise.

Taeyeon nodded once, even though part of her still bristled at the idea of someone who didn’t know their story being given the power to shape it. But something about Y/N made it hard to push back fully, there was a gravity there, a sharpness she couldn’t look away from.

By the end of the meeting, schedules had been drawn, launch phases laid out, and roles assigned. Y/N remained a constant, never loud, never rushed, but always watching, always absorbing. And Taeyeon felt something she hadn’t expected to feel.

Intrigue.

Not attraction, not yet, but interest.

Like standing too close to something dangerous, and realizing, against all logic, you want to know what happens if you don’t step away.

A few days passed, but the pace didn’t slow. If anything, it accelerated.

The rumors had gone out, cryptic enough to ignite speculation, clean enough to avoid backlash. Headlines shifted, the scandal faded into page two and Girls’ Generation was trending.

Another meeting was called, this time a smaller room, tighter circle. Just the core team now, creative, marketing, production.

And her.

The private meeting room sat tucked at the far end of SM Entertainment’s executive wing, small and windowed, its walls padded in sleek, soundproofed suede. Outside, the sun had begun to sink behind the skyline, casting long shadows across the marble floor of the corridor. Inside, the lights were dimmed to a soft, amber hue, making the room feel more like a discreet negotiation chamber than a space for creative planning.

A pot of untouched tea rested in the center of the polished table, its steam long gone. The room was too quiet, too sterile, for casual conversation, and that seemed to suit one of its occupants just fine.

Taeyeon sat near the end of the table, legs crossed, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. Across from her, Y/N stood beside the screen, navigating slides with the same precision she brought to everything else. She moved like she had all the time in the world, and none of it to waste.

“Revenue projections are aggressive, but achievable with staggered rollout,” Y/N said, barely glancing at her notes. “If we time the digital drop with the Tokyo teaser campaign, engagement could double within the first forty-eight hours.”

Her voice was low and even, clipped yet elegant. Every word was measured, weighted, no flourish. Just fact.

Y/N turned toward Taeyeon with the faintest tilt of her head. “Feedback?”

Taeyeon raised a brow. “Are you asking what we think or just checking off a box that says you did?”

Y/N’s face didn’t flicker. “I don’t ask questions I don’t want answers to.”

Taeyeon paused, watching her. “You don’t smile much.”

There, barely perceptible, but there. A pause, a subtle, almost mechanical shift in Y/N’s stillness.

“This isn’t a social call,” she replied, voice cool. “We’re not here to be friends.”

Taeyeon leaned back, arms folded. Her tone, when she spoke, was calm but pointed. “If you’re steering our comeback, you might want to understand what the music means to us, what it means to the people waiting. This isn’t just strategy, it’s personal.”

Y/N held her gaze for a long moment. Something sharpened in her eyes, but it wasn’t disapproval, it was attention. She blinked once, slow and deliberate.

“I’ve listened to the back catalog,” she said. “The sound evolved, the brand didn’t. That’s rare.”

Taeyeon blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected that, not insight, not admiration.

“Most groups lose their identity trying to chase relevance,” Y/N added. “You didn’t, you carried it forward. That matters, even if it complicates things.”

Taeyeon’s lips quirked slightly, not quite a smile, but enough. “That’s the first human thing you’ve said since we walked in.”

Y/N turned off the display. She didn’t reply, but the air in the room shifted, less tense, more watchful. Not warmer, no, just aware.

“You care about the legacy,” she said finally. “So do I. Just from a different angle.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. The quiet between them was no longer stiff, but measured, like they were both listening now.

A soft knock came at the door. Y/N’s assistant stepped in just far enough to announce the next meeting, she nodded and gathered the folder in front of her.

But before she left, she passed by Taeyeon’s chair, paused just briefly enough to leave an impression, and said without turning, “Next time, bring a better argument, not a smile.”

Then she was gone.

Taeyeon sat alone, staring at the closed door. Her fingers tapped lightly on the table, the rhythm unthinking.

She didn’t know whether she’d just been dismissed or invited.

The hour was late enough that the building had exhaled most of its daily tension. Elevators sat idle, desks were abandoned, lights on the executive floors had gone dark, save for a few emergency strips glowing along the baseboards. But one wing still hummed softly, far from the corporate hush of the upper levels, deep in the artistic heart of SM.

It was quiet in the recording corridor, not silent. The kind of quiet that held intention, not absence. Behind a thick pane of glass, the main studio pulsed with low, steady rhythm, just the instrumental line looping over and over while Taeyeon stood at the mic, hoodie sleeves rolled halfway up her arms, one foot lightly tapping to keep time.

Y/N stood behind the observation glass. She hadn’t intended to, her visit to this wing was meant to be brief, an anonymous check, a glance at progress logs and engineer notes. But then she heard a voice, familiar but stripped bare, and instead of turning away, she stopped.

And watched.

Taeyeon’s voice wasn’t flawless in this moment. That’s not what caught her, there were moments of strain, clipped endings, a faltering breath she clearly didn’t like. But she wasn’t trying to impress anyone, she wasn’t “performing” in the glittering, polished sense of the word. She was working, crafting, breaking something open just to rebuild it cleaner, sharper and truer.

Y/N didn’t move. Her hands stayed buried in the pockets of her jacket, her posture relaxed but alert. Her eyes followed every subtle shift, how Taeyeon leaned slightly into the mic during certain lines, how her fingers gestured unconsciously as she searched for a note’s shape.

Inside the booth, Taeyeon paused.

She pulled one side of her headphones loose, exhaled sharply, and rubbed the back of her neck, and then, maybe because she felt it or maybe just on instinct, she turned her head.

Their eyes met through the glass.

It wasn’t dramatic, no gasp, no startled flinch, just a long, level look, two women seeing each other across the silent divide. Taeyeon didn’t offer a nod, or even a smirk. She held the gaze for a second that stretched too long to be casual, then she turned back to the mic and adjusted her stance like nothing had happened.

Y/N didn’t smile either, but something in her face, tight, composed, softened by a degree so small only someone watching closely would notice. She stayed another minute, maybe two. Enough to hear Taeyeon sing again, enough to realize that the choices this woman made inside a song said more than any of her polished interviews or press smiles ever could.

There was instinct here, and discipline. But also loneliness, not the kind born of isolation, but of being understood only in fragments, by fans who saw her light, by colleagues who saw her value, but rarely by someone who actually listened.

Y/N understood that feeling.

More than she cared to admit.

She left without a word, footsteps soundless, disappearing into the cool, clean silence of the hallway like a shadow receding from a flame. She didn’t comment to her assistant, she didn’t file a report.

But for the first time, she thought of Taeyeon not as a piece of strategy or a variable in crisis management, but as a presence, a force that didn’t need to raise its voice to be heard.

And something inside her, something long buried under centuries of precision and distance, stirred.

Just slightly.

The parking garage was nearly silent at this hour, emptied of its usual bustle, stripped down to cool concrete, white lights, and the distant hum of generators buried in the bones of the building. The air was colder here, still tinged with the faint scent of oil and rain brought in on tires from the outside world.

Taeyeon walked slowly, her steps echoing. She wasn’t in a rush to go home, not tonight. Something about the day had stayed with her, something unshakable.

She reached her car but didn’t get in. Just stood for a moment, fingers resting lightly on the handle, her eyes drifting toward the elevator across the lot. The hum of its machinery broke the silence, a soft mechanical groan as it descended from the executive floors above. Her eyes lingered on the closed doors, though she couldn’t have explained why.

Then it opened.

Y/N stepped out.

There was a stillness about her, not the stiff kind, but something deep and rooted. She didn’t move like someone who was observed, she moved like someone who chose when and how she would be seen. Tonight, she wore long black wool over a slate grey turtleneck, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face unreadable.

She was mid sentence with her assistant, voice low and precise, until she looked up and saw Taeyeon.

She didn’t stop, but she paused. A subtle shift in posture, a near imperceptible change in the tempo of her steps. Her gaze touched Taeyeon, just briefly, before flicking away like it didn’t matter, except it did. The assistant caught the cue instantly, falling behind and disappearing with practiced silence, as if this was how it always went.

Taeyeon stood her ground. Her hand fell away from the car door, her body angling slightly toward the woman now walking parallel to her. Not toward her, not away. Just adjacent, as though orbiting the same center without knowing who pulled who.

They didn’t speak at first.

Just footsteps echoing between them, a narrowing space filled with something too quiet to be tension and too alive to be indifference.

It was Y/N who finally stopped one car over. A modest, black luxury sedan, not flashy, not ostentatious, just clean and precise like everything else about her.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone else this late,” she said, not exactly breaking the silence, but easing it open.

“I never leave early,” Taeyeon replied, her voice softer than in the meeting rooms, stripped of performance.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to hers again, just a moment, and lingered.

“What keeps you here?” she asked.

Taeyeon hesitated, but only slightly. “Same thing that brings me in early. Music. It doesn’t exactly punch out at five.”

Y/N’s mouth lifted, just the barest curve, not a full smile, but the trace of one. It made something inside Taeyeon stop and recalibrate. For weeks now, she’d been trying to decipher this woman through glances and rumors, and now here she was, real, close, and ever so slightly cracked open.

“You care about the work,” Y/N said. Not a question, a statement.

Taeyeon gave a small, quiet laugh, her breath fogging slightly in the cold air. “That’s the nice way to put it. Obsessive would be more accurate.”

Y/N’s eyes stayed on her. “Obsession can be a strength, it builds things most people are too lazy to imagine.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Taeyeon asked, not bothering to dress the question up. “Building something?”

Another pause.

“Sometimes,” Y/N said, her voice low. “Sometimes I just keep the ruins from collapsing.”

There was something in her tone, too measured to be bitterness, too flat to be pride. It was the voice of someone who had lived through the collapse enough times to recognize the shape of it before it started.

Taeyeon tilted her head slightly, watching her. “That’s a lot to carry.”

Y/N didn’t respond. But she didn’t deflect either. Instead, for the first time, she looked at Taeyeon not as an artist or an asset, but as someone who might understand.

“You're not what I expected,” she said, after a beat.

Taeyeon blinked. “And what did you expect?”

Y/N gave a faint shrug. “More polish, less substance.”

It wasn’t a compliment, not exactly, but it landed like one.

“I surprise people all the time,” Taeyeon murmured. “They forget I’m not here just to smile and sing.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her gaze intense but not unkind. “I didn’t forget.”

And there it was again. The moment where nothing was said, but something shifted, as if some thread between them pulled tight, not enough to break, but enough to notice. The kind of awareness you don’t talk about yet, because naming it would make it real too fast.

Taeyeon stepped back toward her car. “Goodnight,” she said, tone casual, but her eyes didn’t lie.

Y/N didn’t answer right away. But just before turning away, she offered something unexpected, something simple and unguarded.

A smile.

Small, real, almost shy, except Y/N didn’t do shy. Which made it all the more arresting.

“Goodnight Taeyeon.”

And that was the second time she said her name.

It could’ve ended there, a simple goodbye, a name spoken like a promise. But some moments don’t fade, the echo.

And four days later, it echoed still, beneath the beat of a track looping in high volume, under the breathless push of choreography that wouldn’t quite click.

The floor of Studio 3 was slick with effort, scuffed soles, condensation on mirrors, and the residue of an afternoon stretching too long into early evening. The overhead lights hummed with that sterile brightness only found in rehearsal rooms, casting sharp reflections across eight bodies trying, again and again, to land in sync.

Girls’ Generation, reunited after a few years for a full comeback, weren’t rookies not by a long shot. But tonight, it didn’t feel like muscle memory was doing its job. The moves were all there, technically correct, sharp where needed, fluid in places, but the feeling? Off, like a heartbeat out of rhythm.

They were dancing as ghosts of themselves, not as the force they had once been.

Taeyeon wiped sweat from her brow with the hem of her shirt and took a step back. She could feel it, not just the ache in her legs, but the dissonance in the room, the way smiles had become thin, the way laughter had been replaced with silence. Everyone was trying to hold it together, and everyone knew it wasn’t quite working.

Hyoyeon was frowning at the monitor, arms crossed. “We’re off by just a hair,” she said, her voice sharp with frustration. “But it makes the whole thing feel stiff, mechanical.”

Yuri was kneeling by the speaker, hitting replay with short, clipped motions. “It’s the bridge. That pivot after the half count, it’s not breathing right.”

Seohyun sat on the floor tying her laces tighter than necessary, as if control over her shoes could somehow translate into control over the rhythm. Yoona was massaging her neck, brows pulled in a tight knot of exhaustion. Everyone else stretched, paced, or stared at their own reflections like they might find the answer hidden in the glass.

It wasn’t that the choreography was bad, it was ambitious, layered with intention, meant to signal that this wasn’t a nostalgia tour, but a rebirth. But the execution hadn’t caught up to the concept, not yet.

And then the door opened.

It didn’t slam or creak, it wasn’t loud, but the shift in the room was instant, like air pressure changing before a storm.

Taeyeon glanced toward the entry without meaning to.

Y/N stepped inside with the quiet of someone used to commanding attention without raising their voice, she didn’t carry anything, she wore no credentials. Just a black blazer, loosely tailored, over gray trousers and a pale silk blouse with a neckline that didn’t quite distract, but didn’t try to disappear either.

Behind her, two junior staff members entered and immediately faded into the background, a third, a choreographer’s assistant, hovered awkwardly with a tablet in hand.

Taeyeon felt the energy of the room tighten around her like invisible thread being pulled.

Y/N stood still for a moment, just watching. Her gaze didn’t dart, it glided, like she was collecting data in real time, dissecting the mood, the footwork, the beat, the microexpressions of eight women who had been icons before some of the current staff had graduated high school.

The music played again. Y/N didn’t interrupt.

When it ended, she moved closer to the screen, lifted the tablet from the assistant without a word, and scrubbed backward through the video.

“This section,” she said, voice calm, almost detached, as she pointed to a moment in the second chorus, “Is where the momentum breaks, it’s too angular for what the sound is doing. The instrumental curves upward, but you’re slicing through it, you’re forcing clarity when it needs ambiguity.”

Hyoyeon blinked. “That’s exactly what I said.”

Y/N didn’t smile, but her tone softened. “Then you were ahead of the room.”

She turned the tablet toward the group, tapped the screen once to highlight Taeyeon’s placement during the bridge.

“This pivot,” she said, tilting the device slightly, “if you shift your weight half a beat sooner and round the shoulder, the visual will echo the vocal phrasing. It won’t feel choreographed, it’ll feel inevitable.”

It was surgical, not unkind, just direct.

Taeyeon stepped closer. Not because she wanted to challenge her, but because something in her body moved before her mind decided to.

“Are you a choreographer now?” she asked, not hostile, just curious.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to hers. “No. But I understand shape, sound, and how memory forms when the two align.”

There was something in the way she said it, not defensive, not arrogant. Just matter of fact, like she wasn’t trying to prove she belonged here. She knew she did.

The choreographer nodded, quietly. So did Yuri.

Y/N handed back the tablet without ceremony and stepped away, as if she’d never planned to stay long.

But just before she turned to leave, her gaze caught Taeyeon’s again. A flicker, a pause, an unspoken pull that neither of them named.

In that one, still moment, Taeyeon felt something stretch and then tighten inside her chest. She didn't know what it was. Recognition? No, not quite. But something adjacent to it, as if a door had cracked open, not loudly, not wide, just enough for light to slip through.

Then Y/N turned and walked out, her silhouette swallowed again by the hallway.

The girls ran the routine again ten minutes later.

And this time, the bridge, Taeyeon’s bridge, didn’t just land.

It breathed.

They wrapped rehearsal an hour later, sweaty and spent, but lighter somehow. The choreography had found its rhythm, or maybe Taeyeon had. She didn’t linger that night, just a quiet goodbye, a hot shower, and silence.

The next day moved like static, meetings, fittings, noise, but the moment stayed with her, tucked under the noise like a secret.

And when the main corridors of SM Entertainment were long empty, hollow with the kind of silence that only came after too much noise. Most of the lights had dimmed to energy saving mode, casting faint reflections against the glass and steel. But deep within the recording wing, buried behind soundproof doors and layers of technical equipment, one room remained awake.

Inside, Taeyeon sat with her legs tucked up in the chair, face dimly lit by the LED panels of the mixing board. A half empty cup of tea had long gone cold on the armrest, forgotten. Her eyes were closed, but her mind was alive, tracking every beat, every chord progression, every breath in the track playing on loop. It wasn’t the group song this time. This was hers, just hers, a solo track still in development, still raw.

She had listened to it so many times that the edges had started to blur. It wasn’t that anything was wrong—not in a technical sense. But it was missing something she couldn’t name. It didn’t breathe right. It didn’t move the way her heart did when she thought about her fans, about the stage, about the kind of truth she wanted to put into every note.

It should’ve been enough, it wasn’t.

The track played again.

And again.

Still not it.

She leaned forward, elbows on the soundboard, forehead resting on the back of one hand. She wasn’t tired, not really, just tangled. The kind of creative knot that didn’t untie easily, the kind that could drown a person if they stayed in the silence too long.

The studio door opened, quietly, without flourish, but her senses caught it before her ears did.

She turned slightly, expecting a staff member, maybe a tech with another round of takes or someone telling her to go home. But it wasn’t that.

It was Y/N.

No blazer this time, no assistant at her back. Just a soft, almost soundless presence, dark blouse, slacks, hair pulled back, eyes alert but unreadable. She closed the door behind her, but didn’t say anything.

Taeyeon blinked. “Didn’t think you’d be the drop by type.”

“I’m not,” Y/N replied. Her voice was calm, lower than usual. “But I heard something looping from the hallway. Figured it wasn’t just background noise.”

Taeyeon hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s just a song, one of mine.”

Y/N nodded once, stepped closer, not invasive, not cautious either. Just measured. She glanced toward the screen, letting the track play through one full loop again before speaking.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, which surprised Taeyeon. “But it’s holding back.”

Taeyeon sat up straighter, eyes narrowing a little, not offended, just intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“The second pre-chorus,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “You lift the vocal, build to a release. But the instrumentation doesn’t rise with you, it stays grounded. There’s a tension in the contrast, but instead of resolving it, you let it slip away. It should be one more beat of silence, just a moment, to create ache before the chorus lands.”

Taeyeon stared at her. “That’s what I’ve been feeling, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

Y/N didn’t gloat, didn’t even acknowledge the agreement. She just stepped forward and pointed at the waveform on screen.

“This space right here, let it breathe. Don’t race the feeling, let the ache land before you soothe it.”

It was an exact analysis, not just right in theory, but felt right. Taeyeon wasn’t easily impressed. But this? This was something else.

“Where did you learn to hear music like that?” she asked, genuinely curious now.

“I’ve been around long enough,” Y/N replied, her gaze drifting back to the monitor. “Longer than most.”

Something about the way she said it made Taeyeon pause.

She studied Y/N in the glow of the soft light. Her face looked young, too young for the weight in her voice. And yet there was something in her posture, in the way she listened, that felt ancient, like she didn’t just understand music, she remembered it.

“Are you always like this?” Taeyeon asked quietly.

“Like what?”

“This sharp, observing. Always on.”

Y/N’s expression shifted, barely. A soft crease at the corner of her mouth, not a smile. But maybe the idea of one.

“It’s how I stay useful.”

Taeyeon looked down at her hands, absently spinning her ring. “Music’s not useful to me. It’s survival, I’ve been doing this most of my life, but it never gets easier to explain.”

“You don’t have to,” Y/N said. “Not here.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, not awkward, not even quiet, not with the soft thrum of the track looping again.

It was Y/N who stood first, pulling back from the soundboard. “You’ll get it, the song, you always do.”

Taeyeon turned her head, watching her move toward the door. “You sure?”

“I don’t say things unless I’m sure,” Y/N replied over her shoulder.

Then, just as she reached the threshold, she hesitated.

Glanced back.

“Try adding the cello,” she said. “One line, low register. It’ll carry the breath you’re missing.”

And then she was gone.

Taeyeon sat there for a long time after, the song still playing. Her hand moved to the mixing dial. She opened a new track layer, searched the library, found a cello sample, slow and warm and she placed it just beneath the pre-chorus.

Hit play.

And there it was.

The ache.

She didn’t leave the studio until well past midnight, but when she finally stepped into the cold air outside, something in her had settled. Not solved, not soothed, just aligned.

In the days that followed, the work moved faster. Concepts locked, edits approved, the team had found its rhythm again and so had she.

Two weeks later, the spotlight shifted.

Not to the stage, but to the past.

The gallery was quiet in the way only powerful spaces could be, designed silence, with warm lights washing the white walls in gold. Rows of framed memories stretched through the room, curated with ruthless precision. The evolution of an empire in photographs, costume pieces, vinyl pressings, candid rehearsal stills, and carefully preserved debut stage sets.

It wasn’t for the public yet. That would come tomorrow.

Tonight was different.

This night belonged to SM’s innermost circle, the artists who shaped it and the people who ran it. Staff entered through a separate entrance. No influencers, no press inside, just idols and executives and the kind of power that didn’t post selfies.

Taeyeon had walked the press line outside, smiling briefly for the cameras, dressed in understated black, her hair pinned in a soft wave. Inside, it felt like walking through time. Her own face stared back at her from the walls, grainy footage of early rehearsals, snapshots of their first dazed wins, the group crowded into vans, bright eyed and exhausted.

A cocktail was offered, but she barely sipped it.

She was studying a vintage stage outfit, one she hadn’t seen in years, when a quiet presence shifted beside her. She didn’t have to turn to know.

Y/N.

No greetings, just there, beside her, looking at the same piece of history. The silence stretched long enough to feel deliberate.

“You wore this, didn’t you,” Y/N said, not asked.

Taeyeon looked over. “Yeah. Inkigayo, summer. We could barely breathe in those.”

Y/N didn’t smile, not exactly, but something in her expression eased. “They stitched them overnight. The seamstress was going through a divorce, she added a hand-beaded detail to distract herself. Only a few people noticed.”

Taeyeon blinked. “How do you even know that?”

Y/N’s gaze remained steady on the costume. “I remember the moment.”

“But you weren’t,” Taeyeon stopped. “You weren’t working here back then.”

“I wasn’t,” Y/N agreed. “But I’ve been around.”

They wandered further, Y/N didn’t lead, but she moved with strange assurance, like the gallery was familiar, like she’d walked it before.

They paused at a black and white photo from the company’s earliest days, three men at a cluttered desk, stacks of demo tapes around them, the logo barely recognizable.

Taeyeon folded her arms. “They built all this from a basement.”

Y/N tilted her head. “It wasn’t the basement, it was the third floor. The wallpaper was peeling, and they kept losing power during playback. The first artist signed that week couldn’t hit her high notes because the A/C kept cutting out.”

Taeyeon turned to her, frowning. “You say that like you were there.”

“I read a lot,” Y/N replied easily.

“Did you read what color the wallpaper was?”

Y/N didn’t answer, but her mouth lifted at the corner.

There was something surreal about walking through decades of history with someone who hadn’t lived it but seemed to carry the shape of it inside her. Not in fragments, not in fan facts or archived interviews, but with a kind of lived in quiet that suggested memory.

It should’ve been unnerving. Instead, it pulled Taeyeon in.

They paused before a final installation. A slow rolling projection of every SM debut, playing on a loop across the gallery wall.

Lights dimmed slightly, music fading under the hush of conversation elsewhere.

“Does it ever feel strange,” Y/N said softly, “To be part of something that started before you and will likely outlast you?”

Taeyeon considered. “Sometimes, but I don’t think about that when I’m singing or dancing. It’s just the moment. The now.”

Y/N turned her head then, studied her face in profile. “That’s the part I envy.”

There it was again, that flicker, the faint crack in the armor.

Taeyeon didn’t press, just let the silence settle again between them. They stood there, the legacy of a company wrapped around them like a second skin. Not speaking, not smiling. But something, slow and unmistakable, was shifting between them.

Not just curiosity.

Recognition.

Eventually, they parted, no words, no promises. Just a glance that held a little longer than it should have.

The night went on, and the days that followed moved with that same quiet tension, like something unspoken threading itself tighter between them.

The main floors of SM Entertainment had emptied out hours ago, and what remained now was a skeleton crew of night shift staff and a few scattered lights that stayed on out of habit more than necessity.

Taeyeon’s sneakers echoed softly against the polished floor as she exited the rehearsal wing, a towel slung over her shoulder, the hum of adrenaline from practice still in her bloodstream. Her muscles were tired in that satisfying way, the way that meant she’d worked through something. Not just steps, but something that had been sitting under her skin.

As she made her way down to the underground parking garage, a breeze of cooler air greeted her. She dug for her keys without looking, her thoughts already drifting ahead to the shower waiting at home, until her gaze flicked up, half automatic, and landed on a car parked a few spots away.

Y/N’s.

The matte black luxury coupe sat in reserved space, sleek and untouched, its presence as deliberate and composed as the woman who drove it.

Taeyeon slowed.

She stood still for a moment, keys clutched in her hand, brow furrowing just slightly. It wasn’t odd for Y/N to work late, people whispered about how she never seemed to stop, but something tugged at Taeyeon now, an impulse more instinct than plan.

She turned back toward the building.

Up the elevator, past the darkened meeting rooms and locked executive offices. The lights on the CEO floor were dimmed, casting long shadows across glass walls and stone floors. Every step felt strangely loud, this place always felt too clean after hours, like it was holding its breath.

When she reached the corner office, not marked with a nameplate, Taeyeon paused. The door was ajar.

She knocked lightly on the glass and peeked in. “Working late?”

Y/N didn’t startle, she never did, but there was a flicker of genuine surprise in her eyes as she looked up. She sat behind her desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, a few open folders spread neatly in front of her.

“Just tying up some loose ends,” she said, voice low but not unfriendly.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

Taeyeon stepped inside, letting the door ease shut behind her. “Care for a tea break?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, almost amused. “At this hour?”

“Why not? There’s that little café two blocks over. They’re still open.”

There was a beat, a pause stretched too long for something as simple as tea. Y/N’s gaze held hers, steady, assessing. She glanced briefly toward the window, where the city lights blinked cold and bright against the dark.

“It’s not a good idea,” she said, quietly. “Dispatch never sleeps.”

Taeyeon let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “Fair. I keep forgetting I can’t be a person after nine p.m.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched, just slightly, not quite a smile, but almost.

“Then let’s have tea here,” Taeyeon added. “You’ve probably got some stashed away, right? Knowing you, it’s probably aged and imported from a mountain somewhere.”

That earned the smallest huff of amusement. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

She disappeared briefly into the adjoining side room, part pantry, part private retreat and returned with a cast iron teapot, two porcelain cups, and a tin that looked too old to have a brand label. The scent hit first, something herbal and deep, almost smoky.

“I was joking about the mountain,” Taeyeon said, grinning as Y/N poured.

“I wasn’t.”

They settled on the couch near the windows, not too close, not too far. The kind of careful distance where something could happen, or not.

Taeyeon sipped. The tea was hot, smooth, and unexpectedly grounding.

“I thought you didn’t drink caffeine late,” Y/N said.

“I don’t,” Taeyeon replied. “But I figured if I’m going to stay up thinking, I might as well enjoy it.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying her. “Are you always this direct?”

“Only when I’m tired or when I want something.”

“And what do you want?”

Taeyeon didn’t flinch. “To get to know you.”

Y/N looked down at her tea.

There was silence for a moment. Not awkward, just full.

“I’m not very good at that,” Y/N said finally, softly.

Taeyeon’s voice lowered too. “I’m not asking for everything. Just a little, let me in.”

Y/N’s hand lingered on her cup, fingers unmoving. “You really want to know the kind of person who chooses an office over sleep?”

Taeyeon gave her a look, gentle, dry, but pointed. “You think I’m normal?”

That made Y/N laugh, just under her breath.

Taeyeon leaned back, watching her, the city lights catching in her hair. “You don’t have to keep performing all the time. Not with me.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked up, sharp and unreadable. “And what makes you think I’m performing?”

Taeyeon didn’t smile. “Because you haven’t once called me ‘unnie’ even though I’m older.”

Silence again. Then, very slightly, Y/N smirked.

“I think we can stay on a name basis,” she said, voice wry.

“You have no respect for your elders,” Taeyeon teased, then took another sip of tea.

But the atmosphere had shifted, softened, like something had clicked between them, quiet and unseen, but definite.

Outside the windows, Seoul kept shining, indifferent. Inside, the tea cooled slowly, forgotten on the table.

It started as something unspoken.

After that first night, tea shared between desk and window, half truths and lingering glances, a quiet rhythm settled between them.

Taeyeon started stopping by more often. Never planned, never announced, just small, quiet visits after rehearsals, when most of the building had emptied and the only sound on the executive floor was the hum of vending machines and distant elevators.

Sometimes she brought snacks.Tangerines, a bottle of barley tea, once even a paper cup of sweet potato latte she insisted Y/N needed to try. Other times, she came empty handed, just herself and that persistent calm curiosity that always lingered in her eyes.

Y/N never told her to stop.

She didn’t speak much at first, always looking like she was mid-thought when Taeyeon arrived, a pen resting between her fingers, half turned in her chair like she’d forgotten how long she'd been working.

But she always made tea.

And after the fifth visit, she started setting out a second cup before Taeyeon even said hello.

Their conversations weren’t loud or fast, they weren’t the kind that filled silences, they let the silences stay. Instead, they talked about music, about the strain of always needing to be seen, about how Y/N preferred the quiet because noise made it harder to think.

Taeyeon listened.

And Y/N watched, cautiously at first, then with something warmer. She noticed the way Taeyeon fidgeted with the sleeve of her hoodie when she was thinking, or how her voice softened every time she mentioned Zero, like the little dog was the only creature in the world she didn’t have to perform for.

Taeyeon, in turn, noticed how Y/N sometimes lost her place mid sentence, like she was too used to keeping her thoughts inside. How she always hesitated just a second before opening up, as if every answer came with an invisible cost.

But slowly, the walls started thinning.

One evening, after a long rehearsal and a brutal meeting, Taeyeon sank into the familiar couch with a sigh and leaned her head back.

“I’m starting to think you might be the only person in this building who actually listens.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow over her teacup. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to someone with this much power.”

Taeyeon grinned. “And yet I keep coming back.”

Y/N didn't reply, but her lips curved, faint, reluctant, the kind of smile that looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

It was two nights after that when Taeyeon finally said it.

The tea had already been poured, they were sitting closer than usual, something about the chill in the room pulling them toward the couch cushions like gravity.

The conversation had meandered, from the latest recording session to why people lie when they say they don’t care what others think. And then, casually, as if she’d just thought of it.

“You should come over sometime,” Taeyeon said, swirling her tea, her voice light. “I make a decent kimchi stew.”

Y/N looked at her.

It was that unreadable expression Taeyeon was starting to learn, the one where Y/N was taking in every word, every meaning beneath it, and running them through whatever inner algorithm she used to measure risk.

“It's just dinner,” Taeyeon added, softer now, a hint of a smile ghosting across her lips. “I don’t bite.”

Silence stretched.

“Are you always like this?” Y/N asked.

“Like what?”

“Persistent.”

Taeyeon shrugged, casual. “Only when something matters.”

That made Y/N look away, she took another sip of her tea, let the warmth sit on her tongue longer than usual.

Then, without looking back at Taeyeon, she said quietly.

“Text me the date and the address.”

And just like that, the air shifted again, not dramatically, not like a door flinging open. Just a quiet hinge, turning.

A few days passed, just enough to let the idea settle, to let intent become action.

Then came the text, short, precise. Just a date and address.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, spilling warm hallway light over the polished floor outside Taeyeon’s apartment. Y/N hesitated for a moment before stepping out. She wasn’t used to places like this, places that felt lived in, not curated. Real.

When Taeyeon opened the door, barefoot in a loose sweatshirt and hair pulled back messily, it struck Y/N that she looked not like an idol, but like a person. The kind of person who knew where her soy sauce was without looking and didn’t mind if her dog tracked a bit of fur across the rug.

“Come in,” Taeyeon said, stepping aside.

Y/N entered cautiously, as if unsure whether she was allowed to exhale inside. The apartment was warm in more ways than one. Soft lighting glowed from lamps instead of overhead fixtures, and the walls were scattered with framed photos, some candid, some stylized, none of them for display, a scarf hung haphazardly over the back of a chair, and there was a dent in the couch cushion from where someone actually sat.

She hadn’t even taken off her coat before Zero trotted toward her, tail wagging like a small motor.

The dog stopped a few feet away, sniffed once, then closed the distance with enthusiasm. Y/N froze. Animals rarely approached her so openly, they usually hesitated, caught in some instinctive awareness that she didn’t quite belong.

But Zero practically demanded affection, nudging his fluffy head against her knee.

“He likes you,” Taeyeon said from the kitchen, the faintest thread of surprise in her voice.

Y/N slowly crouched, brushing her fingers through the dog’s coat, his fur was warm, soft, his breathing relaxed.

“He’s friendly,” she murmured, as if still trying to process it. Her tone was gentle, almost reverent.

“Usually takes him a few meetings,” Taeyeon added, stirring something on the stove. “I guess he’s a good judge of character.”

Y/N glanced up, the corner of her mouth twitching into what might have been the beginning of a smile, but it was gone as fast as it appeared.

She stood, hands folding back into her coat pockets, eyes scanning the room again like she was reading something in it that only she could see.

Taeyeon motioned toward the couch. “You can sit, you know. I promise it won’t bite.”

Y/N gave a short nod and walked over, sitting carefully on the edge of the cushion, posture upright like she was waiting for an interview to begin.

“You’re really not used to this, are you?” Taeyeon asked, half amused.

Y/N turned her head slightly. “Used to what?”

Taeyeon’s gaze softened. “Being invited in.”

There was a pause, Y/N didn’t answer, she didn’t argue either.

The dining table was small, round, nestled by a window that looked out onto the quiet Seoul skyline. It was a view worth lingering over, dusky blues bleeding into warm yellows from the surrounding apartments, but Y/N barely glanced at it. Her attention was divided between the bowl of stew in front of her and the woman who had made it.

Taeyeon sat across from her, hair tucked behind one ear, sleeves rolled up, chopsticks in hand. She was relaxed in a way that was almost disarming, comfortable in her space, in her body, in the silence between them. Her presence filled the room with something gentle, something domestic, something Y/N didn’t know how to process.

Steam rose from the bowls, curling like invisible fingers. The scent was rich, fermented spice, slow simmered garlic, a hint of sesame oil. Y/N could tell from the balance of aroma alone that Taeyeon had done this often.

Y/N picked up her spoon, stirred, slowly. Then set it back down again. She reached for the chopsticks instead, turning over a piece of tofu with practiced politeness, as if considering it. Eventually, she brought a small bite to her mouth, chewed once, twice, then reached for her water.

The taste was fine, or should be. But she barely swallowed. Her body resisted it, not out of revulsion, but because it simply didn’t need it.

Taeyeon watched her with a sideways glance, amusement flickering in her eyes.

“You eat like someone who’s suspicious of kindness,” she said lightly.

Y/N paused, then set her chopsticks down, folding her hands in her lap.

“I’m not used to being cooked for,” she said, voice even. Not cold, just true.

Taeyeon smiled, leaning back a little in her chair.

“Have you ever even watched Netflix on a couch that didn’t cost more than a car?”

Y/N blinked at the sudden turn, startled for a second, then let out a quiet, almost reluctant chuckle. The sound was real, warm, but tentative. Like a note played too softly on purpose.

“Not recently,” she murmured.

Taeyeon’s grin widened slightly. “You say that like you used to.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Maybe I did.”

Silence again. Not awkward, just thick with something unspoken. Y/N glanced down at her untouched stew and nudged the bowl a fraction to the side, a habitual gesture of someone creating space without appearing to.

Taeyeon didn’t comment, but she noticed. Her expression shifted slightly, less teasing, more curious.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said, voice low.

“You didn’t,” Y/N replied immediately, too quickly. “I just… this isn’t my usual setting.”

“What is your usual setting?”

Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it. A heartbeat passed, then another.

She looked up, eyes sharper now, more guarded.

“Structured, predictable.”

Taeyeon’s smile faded into something smaller, more sincere.

“Well,” she said softly, “this is neither of those.”

“No,” Y/N agreed. Her gaze held Taeyeon’s for a moment longer than necessary. “It’s not.”

And yet she didn’t leave.

Dinner ended quietly, neither of them mentioned the mostly untouched stew, and Taeyeon didn’t ask questions Y/N wasn’t ready to answer. Instead, she stood, collected their bowls, and returned with two mugs of tea, jasmine for Y/N, ginseng for herself.

“No sugar, right?” she asked as she passed the warm ceramic into Y/N’s hands.

Y/N nodded. “Right.”

They drifted into the living room, the couch was wide and welcoming, a soft neutral tone with mismatched throw pillows that didn’t try too hard to match the aesthetic, comfort over perfection. Y/N hesitated for a breath, then sat on the far side, her mug balanced delicately in her hands like a prop she wasn’t quite sure how to use.

Zero padded in moments later and, to Taeyeon’s clear surprise, leapt up beside Y/N without hesitation. The little dog gave a single snuffle, circled once, and settled in the space between them with his head resting neatly on Y/N’s lap.

She froze.

Taeyeon grinned, sinking into her side of the couch. “He usually needs a few dates before that level of commitment.”

Y/N glanced down at Zero. Slowly, almost shyly, she rested one hand on his soft fur. Her fingers curled gently. He didn’t stir, just gave a small huff and burrowed closer.

“I guess he’s not as guarded,” she said, lips twitching with something that might’ve been a smile.

Taeyeon watched her for a long beat. Something had shifted, subtly, but unmistakably. The stiff line of Y/N’s shoulders had lowered, her jaw wasn’t clenched. Even the way she held the mug had changed, no longer with calculated grace, but simply for warmth.

Taeyeon turned on the TV, not bothering to ask what Y/N wanted to watch. It didn’t matter, she picked something light, something that wouldn’t demand too much of them.

But within minutes, neither of them was following the plot.

The movie flickered on, all color and noise, but the silence between them was louder, fuller. Their mugs sat cooling on the coffee table. Zero had completely claimed Y/N’s lap now, his body rising and falling with slow, contented breaths. Y/N remained mostly still, one hand resting absentmindedly on the dog’s back, her eyes trained on the screen, but unfocused.

Taeyeon shifted slightly. Her thigh brushed against Y/N’s.

Then, without meaning to, their hands met.

It wasn’t deliberate. Just a slight shift, a readjustment of posture, a stretch of fingers that met resistance and warmth.

Y/N’s reaction was instant.

She flinched, sharp and involuntary, like the touch had burned her. Her hand recoiled just slightly, not far, not rude, but enough for the space between them to feel colder.

Taeyeon didn’t look at her, didn’t apologize. She just stayed still, her expression neutral but her eyes distant, blinking at the screen like she’d suddenly remembered she was supposed to be watching it.

And then, minutes later, so soft it almost didn’t register, Taeyeon leaned sideways, head tilting gently until it rested against Y/N’s shoulder.

It wasn’t a calculated move, not a tease, it was exhaustion and trust wrapped in one simple gesture. The weight of her head was warm, familiar, heavier than it should’ve been.

Y/N froze again.

Her breath caught somewhere high in her throat. Her body was still as stone, but inside? Chaos. She didn’t know how to process softness, didn’t know how to carry someone else’s trust without breaking it.

Taeyeon breathed out, slow and even, clearly slipping toward sleep.

Y/N closed her eyes.

For a moment, just a moment, she allowed it.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the television and Zero’s tiny snores. And in that stillness, Y/N let herself feel it. Closeness, warmth, longing, the ache of possibility.

But the moment didn’t last.

Taeyeon shifted slightly against her, murmured something half formed, and stirred. Her head lifted groggily from Y/N’s shoulder.

And that was all it took.

Y/N stood suddenly, careful not to wake the dog.

“I should go,” she said quickly, reaching for her coat before Taeyeon could fully register what was happening.

Taeyeon blinked, disoriented, watching her move as if a thread had been cut. She looked up, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"

Y/N shook her head, avoiding eye contact. "No, it's not you. I just need to go."

And then she was gone.

Taeyeon sat in the silence she left behind, one hand reaching to where warmth still lingered beside her.

The door had closed, but the echo of her absence didn’t fade easily. Taeyeon didn’t text or call, she waited.

Days passed. Not many, but enough for the air between them to shift.

Now, the city had moved on. And so had the work, but some silences didn’t feel like endings, just pauses, waiting to be broken.

Evening had settled over Seoul, and with it came a hush that blanketed the upper floors of the SM building in quiet. Most of the lights were off now, casting long shadows through the glass walls and polished floors. But one office, one particular corner suite, still glowed warmly from within.

Y/N’s office had become a strange kind of haven, not by design, not officially but over time, it simply became.

There was no formality left when Taeyeon walked in. No knocking, no preamble, just a soft greeting and the sound of the door clicking shut behind her. On the low marble table sat two teacups, always matching, always prepared in quiet anticipation.

Taeyeon sat cross legged on the velvet loveseat beneath the tall windows, a knit sweater draped around her shoulders, her fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic mug. She took a sip, exhaled.

“It’s like your tea always tastes the same,” she mused.

Y/N, seated on the armchair across from her, arched her brow. “That’s not a complaint, is it?”

Taeyeon smiled. “No. It’s comforting.”

A beat passed. No rush, no need to fill the quiet.

Then Taeyeon pulled out her phone and tilted it toward Y/N. A piano interface filled the screen.

“I downloaded this stupid app,” she said, chuckling under her breath. “I miss real pianos. You know? Not the rehearsal room kind, the ones in studios that are so perfect they feel dead. I want the ones that creak a little when you press the keys too hard, the ones that fight back.”

Y/N watched her for a moment, then gently placed her teacup down on its saucer with a soft clink.

“I have one.”

Taeyeon blinked. “You have a piano?”

“A Bösendorfer. 1884, if I remember right. Restored just enough to keep it alive, still has its character, still breathes like it remembers who’s played it.”

There was something in the way she said it, soft, almost reverent. Like the piano wasn’t an instrument but an old friend. Her voice dipped slightly, the warmth of the tea and the music casting a hush over her tone.

Taeyeon gave a quiet laugh, tilting her head. “Of course yours would remember its past lives.”

Y/N allowed a small, knowing smile to cross her face. “Memory isn’t just for people.”

Something flickered behind her eyes, too quick to catch. Taeyeon didn’t push, she just held the moment with a gentle curiosity, the weight between them shifting.

Then, like she wasn’t offering anything unusual, Y/N added, “If you’d like, you can come play it one day.”

Taeyeon’s eyes met hers.

There it was again, that quiet hum underneath their conversations, a thread they kept brushing against without naming. This wasn’t just tea anymore, these weren’t just words.

The invitation wasn’t grand, it wasn’t even deliberate.

But it was a door opening.

Taeyeon leaned back, thumb brushing idly around the rim of her cup.

“I’d like that,” she said, softly. “I’d really like that.”

The silence that followed was still not awkward, not expectant but charged. And neither of them did anything to break it.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #girls generation x reader #kim taeyeon x reader #taeyeon x fem!reader #snsd taeyeon #snsd x reader #taeyeon x reader

108 notes · View notes

honeekyuu · 1 year ago

Text

take the edge off. [suna rintarou x f!reader] chapter one.

>>You struggle with your weight and body image, but Suna extensively and thoroughly undoes all the damage done by other guys.

You haven't gotten laid in over a year, and your best friend takes it upon himself to fix that for you.<<

series status: [complete]

masterlist. || next.

a/n: suna has two brain cells that rub together like little housefly hands when it comes to yn and literally at no other point

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

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

“You know what’s crazy? I haven’t gotten laid in, like, a year.”

Looking back, there was absolutely no need for you to admit that.

But right now, there’s a bottle of wine in your system, and you’re about halfway through a trashy rom-com on a Friday night. It’s not shy on mature scenes, either, which is why you’d said it, your eyes trained almost wistfully on the screen as the two leads stumble through the girl’s front door together and get straight to business.

And it’s only Suna here, also a bottle of wine deep. He won’t judge you for saying it, not when there’s over ten years of moments far worse than this, very securely tying you two together.

He is, however, far more scandalized by your words than you’d expected.

Suna flies up from his sprawled position on your couch, kicking his legs off the coffee table as he turns toward you.

“I beg your most genuine pardon?” He asks, jaw dropped as he stares. You laugh into your wine glass, incredibly tickled and very tipsy.

“You heard me,” You answer, nodding pathetically. His eyes bug out of his head, and you’re glad he’s intoxicated enough to be reacting to this with his most authentic self, the one that’s kind of an idiot and about 150% more expressive than any of your friends could ever peg him to be.

“A year ?!” He yells, dragging it out annoyingly. “There’s no fucking way, Y/n. No fucking way.”

“Tell that to my dry spell, Sunarin,” You laugh again, shaking your head. “I’ve gotten to know my fingers and also my vibrator rather intimately.”

You certainly would not have admitted that while sober, but Suna’s just as gone as you are, not skipping a singular beat as he slumps in place.

“That’s so fucked,” He groans, dropping his head to his hands. “This has to be illegal – this is cruel and unusual punishment. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“Well, believe it,” You snort, pointing at the ongoing sex scene on the TV. “A year without rain, truly.”

“But why ?” He laughs pathetically, shaking his head as he turns fully to you and leans against the side of the couch. “ Why ?”

“I don’t know-” You shrug, waving your hand over your own body sarcastically. “Maybe it’s got something to do with this?”

You watch as he drags his gaze down the length of your body slowly, following the trail of your hand. He shakes his head afterward, finding your eyes with unspoken confusion.

You scoff, lifting your glass to him in acknowledgement. “That’s funny.”

“What?” He tilts his head. “What’s your body got to do with it?”

You look down at yourself, wondering if you’d magically become attractive overnight.

No, still the same. Thighs too thick, a tummy that pushes against your clothes and bunches up into little rolls, stretch marks and cellulite and all the lovely things guys hate to look at.

You’d always been a bigger girl. Food had been a happy place, a place of love and care. Ice cream dates with your dad after school, dinners out with your parents on weekends. Standing in your kitchen at the house in Hyogo – the childhood home that had come with the open doors of your neighborhood friends running in and out to play and snack on your mom’s cooking – and learning the family recipes, listening to your mom’s stern but warm guidance as she’d told you ‘ Do it this way instead, don’t add too much salt ’, the crickets buzzing loudly just outside the window.

High school had made food into a more complicated matter, because it had come with girls who’d poke fun at your uniform, bigger than theirs and still tighter than you were comfortable with. It had come with crushes on boys who would only talk to you to get information about other girls, girls who were worth their time. It had come with a strained relationship with your mother’s cooking, once so safe and kind and pure. You’d tried just about every diet known to man, and nothing had ever worked.

You’re in a place now where you’re just happy to be able to enjoy food to its full extent, whatever the cost. Good food in the body is more healing for the soul than starving and then binging and then starving again, viciously repeated. You fully believe this, and your mental happiness is the best it’s been in a long time, 26 years old and focused only on feeding yourself with good, clean ingredients and going to bed happy.

But it had taken a lot to get here, and you’re still recovering from the damage.

Luckily, high school hadn’t been all bad. In fact, Inarizaki High had had a weird way of changing your life. Boys and girls, nameless and faceless now, had ignored you and passed you over, only noticing you so they could use you – their personal entertainment, someone had admitted once.

But they’d also flocked to and thrown themselves at the feet of the most popular boys in school, vying for attention. The Inarizaki High Boys’ Volleyball Club.

The team was nearly legend, despite being just a group of regular teenage boys. Each player had his own group of fans, all unhinged in their own ways. The worst, unsurprisingly, were the girls attached to Miya Atsumu.

When he’d been assigned as your deskmate at the beginning of 2nd year, you’d felt a deep sense of dread. Would he make fun of you, too? If he did it, the entire school would be pelting insults at you by the end of the week. Would his fangirls start targeting you in worse ways, in the bathroom and during lunch?

But he’d been shockingly kind. Not a word uttered about your appearance or the things you’d eat. But not ignoring you like most boys do, not passing over you like he hadn’t even seen you.

He’d sat down that first day with a bright grin and a hand stuck out in your direction, all but yelling in your ear that it was nice to meet you and asking why he hadn’t met you before, his drawl heavier than your other classmates’ and a bit endearing, even on first meeting.

‘ I’m a bit forgettable ,’ You’d admitted quietly, but he’d just shot you a strange side glance.

‘ Says who? That ain’t nice. ’

You hadn’t known what to do with that.

You hadn’t known what to do with any part of Miya Atsumu, really. Not the daily greetings, screeched down the hall the moment he’d see you. Not the notes he’d pass to you during class, badgering you to become the Volleyball Club’s manager so you could become better friends. Not the way he could always kind of tell if you were upset by something someone said, because he would somehow become even louder after the fact, distracting you via sheer ear damage.

Not the way he’d become cold and detached the first time he’d actually witnessed someone bullying you, the way his bright eyes had dulled into nothing and held no guilt as he’d made a girl cry in front of the whole class.

‘ I don’t want to switch seats with you, ’ You’d told her, shaking your head. ‘ This is the one assigned to me- ’

‘ I don’t give a fuck, ’ She’d spit at you, pointing at her own desk, piled high with snacks from the vending machine. ‘ I left you a trail of food, little piggie – go follow it so that I can sit with Atsumu and give him something good to look at- ’

‘ Somethin’ good, huh? ’ He’d materialized just beside you, staring at the girl emptily. You’d almost been scared of the look in his eye. ‘ And who’s s’posed to give me that, you? ’ He’d cast a cursory glance over her, looking entirely unimpressed. ‘ You look like you couldn’t get through a single conversation with me.’

You’d gasped, eyes wide and watching as he’d flopped down into his chair and thrown his legs up on the desk, forcing the girl to scurry back from where she was leaning threateningly over you. He’d hummed, assessing her through narrowed eyes. ‘ You look like an only child. You an only child? You look it- Oh, no, I got it-’ And then he’d clapped, laughing brightly and nudging you, as though you weren’t frozen in shock. ‘ Don’t she kinda look like a girl you wouldn’t introduce t’your parents? Sure as shit not mine, at least.’

The girl had long started tearing up, the entire room watching in varying degrees of horror as Atsumu had just pulled a wrapped onigiri from his bag and offered it to you. He’d shot the girl a look of disdain when she’d started wailing, because Miya Atsumu was sharing his lunch with you, the girl that was forgettable.

‘ Yer makeup’s running, just so you know, ’ He’d state plainly, pointing up at her. ‘ My mom’s always talkin’ bout gettin’ waterproof shit- ’ He’d turned to you, eyes wide. ‘ You know ‘bout that waterproof stuff? Mascara, er whatever? ’

‘ I-’ You’d shaken your head. ‘ I don’t wear makeup, I don’t know- ’

He’d grinned in your face, eyes beaming in that bright way again, the way that you’d thought was guaranteed. You hadn’t realized how safe you’d found that brightness before now. ‘ You don’t wear makeup?’ He’d leaned back with a smirk, drawing the final line for everyone to hear and making it clear that you were not to be fucked with again. ‘ Naturally pretty, then. That’s how I like my girls. ’

The rest of high school had been a surreal experience.

You were impossible to pass over now, because everyone knew who you were. Girls were still cruel, but only in private, where Atsumu couldn’t see. Boys would still mention your weight, but only the ones who were rejecting your quiet confessions, and even then, they’d tried their best to deliver it politely.

Atsumu had never been more than a friend, of course, but he’d been a good one. The best one, really, considering that not even a few weeks into knowing you, his brother would regularly have to physically tear him away from you so they could make it to practice in time.

‘ I’m talkin’ here, Samu! We’re chattin’! ’

‘ Save it, fucker, we got shit to do! ’

You’d always found Osamu a bit easier to digest as a personality, and you’d hit it off right away – He’d been reading a magazine about baking when you’d met, and you’d mentioned wanting to try the cake on page 12, because you had the same one at home. He’d taken to you like a baby bird, asking you to try the random rolls and cakes and breads he would make at home. You’d been so shocked the first time he’d shoved a banana roll in your face that you hadn’t thought to consider calories or sugar or carbs or any of it. You’d just taken a bite and then spent the rest of the free hour taste-testing it again and again, using every ounce of your brain power to help him figure out what was perfect and what need improving.

But, if you were honest, you’d been more comfortable in the presence of his twin, in the tornado of genuine and terrifying care that was Atsumu. He’d always been honest and tactless, and – on the days when someone was unfortunate enough to have been caught saying something to you – he was cruel and mean and terrible, brutal without remorse. But he was your first ever best friend, exasperating personality and all.

And the only person worse than Miya Atsumu, really, was Suna Rintarou.

Your lunch breaks, originally alone and then suddenly with Atsumu, were even more suddenly shaken with the introduction of the VBC. To Aran and Kita and – crucially – to Suna, whose snarky demeanor and lack of a social filter was well-known by the time he’d flopped down into the seat in front of yours.

Suna, whose usual reaction to girls approaching him at lunch was to mumble ‘ Fuck off, please ’ lazily, through a mouthful of food and without ever looking up from his phone.

Suna, whose introduction to you had come with him pointing at your chopsticks, halfway to your mouth, and quietly asking ‘ Can I try that ?’ about your mother’s spring rolls. He’d leaned over the moment you’d stuttered a response – taking a huge bite right off of your chopsticks, even though you’d just met the boy 30 seconds prior – and then trading you some of his own mother’s cooking in return, half a rice ball set casually in your container.

Suna, who’d pried your phone from your slightly terrified fingers and entered his number, a steady stream of memes and YouTube videos buzzing in your pocket from that moment on.

Suna Rintarou, who wouldn’t only say something when he’d catch someone else being explicitly rude to you. He’d say something if someone even looked at you the wrong way or whispered to their friend in a way that he didn’t like.

‘ You got a problem? ’

‘ Something you wanna share with the class?’

When he’d come around the corner and find someone making pig noises in your direction or laughing at how your uniform fit-

‘ Were you not loved enough by your mother?’

‘Have you ever thought of seeking professional help?’

And when one boy had pushed at your shoulder – just a prod of his fingers, but rude all the same – you’d felt Suna’s presence more than heard it, a sudden chill hovering at your back.

‘ Apologize – on your knees – before I break that hand.’

The boy had hesitated, but he’d dropped to the floor soon after, because Suna had taken a step toward him. He’d muttered that he was sorry, and then repeated it louder when Suna had crouched beside him and whispered ‘ Again – like you mean it this time’ while smiling down at the hand he’d just threatened to break.

You’d been properly scared of Suna Rintarou for some time after that.

He’d noticed, his eyes following you in every room you’d walked into, an amused smirk on his lips.

He’d skipped practice one day to walk you home, hands in pockets as he’d trailed after you. No words had been shared, but he’d walked you home the day after, and then again. Atsumu had yelled at him for missing practice on the fourth day, so he’d started showing up in the morning instead, leading you quietly to school.

It had been raining one morning, about a week later, and you’d been rushing around your room to get ready, wondering if Suna would even bother to wait in the rain for you. Wondering when you’d started expecting him to be there.

You’d looked out the window, almost 45 minutes before you’d usually leave, and found him there. Under an umbrella, leaning on the gate and scrolling through his phone. You’d gasped, scrambling down the stairs with your mismatched pajamas and bedhead and yanking the door open.

‘ Suna Rintarou! ’ You’d scolded, and his head had popped up in surprise. It was the first time you’d properly addressed him during one of these morning walks.

‘ Get your ass in here! ’

He’d lifted his brows but listened right away, pocketing his phone and passing through the gate to your front door. Your mother had stuck her head out into the hallway, shocked at your tone.

‘ Who- ’ She’d started, but you’d just gestured in annoyance at the boy standing in your foyer trying to find a place to put his umbrella. You’d snatched it from him and leaned it on the door.

‘ This is Suna. Suna, my mom,’ You’d grumbled, realizing the state of yourself when Suna had just stared at the mess on your head and then pursed his lips to hide a smile.

‘ Oh, the stalker boy! ’ She’d clapped excitedly, and you’d barked out a laugh at Suna’s face of horror.

‘ I-No, I’m not-’ He’d stuttered, and you’d saved him by leading him to the living room.

‘ She’s just messing with you. You sit here and wait while I get ready ,’ You’d pointed at the couch and then disappeared upstairs, hurrying even more than before.

When you’d come back down, your mother had been urging him to the table to eat. He’d followed, clearly feeling out of place.

You’d eaten with him while your mom had been preparing a second bento, loudly exclaiming from the kitchen that athletes should eat more than three times a day. He’d just smiled gratefully and then eyed you, mumbling ‘ I liked your pajamas’ under his breath and snickering when you’d tried to swing at him from across the table.

It had been monumentally humiliating when, as you were pulling on your shoes, your mother had pulled him aside and very conspicuously thanked him for looking out for you.

‘ You’re such a nice boy, taking care of my girl. Kids can be so mean .’

You’d stood with Suna’s umbrella in hand, glaring at him over your mom’s shoulder, because he’d looked way too pleased with himself. He’d followed you out, forced to run as you’d stalked off into the torrential downpour with his umbrella. He hadn’t said anything for a while, just holding the umbrella and walking beside you for most of the journey. But just as the school had come into view, he’d smirked down at you and said-

‘ You told your mom about me .’

You’d run the rest of the way to school, preferring to sit all day in wet clothes over finishing that conversation.

You’d been forced after that to get used to Suna’s voice in your living room while you’d dressed for the day, and then the knock on your front door after practice, your mother sending him up to your room to lounge on your floor and copy off your homework.

You hadn’t been able to get rid of him, and more than ten years had passed just the same, college finding him more often in your dorm room than his own and post-grad life finding the two of you and the Miya twins in Osaka. Atsumu had been recruited to the Black Jackals, and Suna had opened a tattoo shop, practicing on himself through college until his skin had been covered in ink and a deposit had been put down on a small shop space not too far from your apartment.

You had formed a kind of soul-bond with Osamu over all things food-related, even with your own strained relationship with it, and you’d co-signed on an empty shop across the street from the Jackals’ home gym. You’d opened a cafe on one side, your culinary degree put to use on an extensive knowledge of coffees and teas, and Osamu had set up a bakery on the other side, the two of you decorating cakes and testing recipes for hours after closing time. Your shared shop had seen wild success, both due to your talents and due to being located in a tourist and sports enthusiast hotspot.

You’d each had your various failed relationships throughout the years, Atsumu currently in the midst of a secret situationship with Sakusa Kiyoomi, and Osamu crushing rather pathetically on Hinata Shouyou’s friend Yachi Hitoka, who runs a flower shop down the road. You’d become friends with her, at first to subtly put in a good word for Samu, but now mostly because she’s likely to appear at your counter at least twice a day to hang out and try the special of the day.

Suna had had a few short flings with girls in the area, one a model-beautiful blonde who’d, offhand in the middle of your cafe, offered to be your ‘gym buddy’, should you want one. She’d been dumped on the spot, Suna going so far as to pluck the iced latte from her hand and pour it out inside her purse while holding eye contact with her.

The girls after her had been equally beautiful, but he’d always find something about them that was unacceptable after a few weeks. This one too loud and bossy, that one too quiet and submissive, the other one too everything , as he’d put it. He’d never been happy with any of them, and you could only watch with bemusement and shake your head, brushing it off as being one of the many things about Suna that you wouldn’t try to understand.

All of your boyfriends – a total of three in the five years you’d all been in Osaka – had similarly found something wrong with you. It had always been the same thing, and you’d known it. You’d known it in the way their eyes would linger on other girls or the way they’d be less affectionate in public, less willing to hold your hand or put their arm around you.

You’d known it in the way Suna had hated every one of them, hands left unshaken during introductions and green eyes watching how you’d interact with them.

You’d always broken things off first, finding it a bit funny that they would get mad at you for it, as though they hadn’t just been swiping on dating apps when they thought you weren’t looking. Always mad at you for putting yourself first, because they thought themselves above you and couldn’t believe you thought you’d find better than them.

That’s why you’re sitting here now, on this Friday night with a bottle of wine in your system, wondering how Suna Rintarou is not understanding why your appearance is the barrier between you and breaking your dry spell. After everything , he’s not understanding.

“Dude, you clearly know what my body has to do with it,” You laugh. “You met my exes.”

“Well, yeah-” He waves you off. “But they were morons, so I don’t count them.”

“I feel like you probably should, since they have the majority opinion on girls like me,” You smile, taking another sip of wine.

Suna laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t think you’ve been fucking with the right dudes, if you think those losers were representative.”

“Do you see guys lining up outside my door?” You offer with a bemused smile. He flops against the couch, sighing.

“I cannot believe it’s been a whole year. There’s no way- Not a single one-night stand?” He tries, almost desperate to figure this out. You just shake your head. “ Why ? Where the hell are you lookin’ for ‘em?”

You laugh wholly, reaching to put your glass down and turn back to the movie. “It’s fine, dude. I was just making a passing comment-”

“Nuh-uh-” He crosses his arms over his chest, nearly pouting. “We gotta get you laid. I’ve become invested in this.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, ignoring him. He nudges you with his foot.

“Let’s find you someone at Miya’s party.”

You groan, laughing a bit. The Black Jackals had recently had a home game, one where they’d positively obliterated the opposite team and subsequently sent hundreds of cheering fans into your shop after the match. Atsumu had invited a hoard of people to his penthouse to celebrate tomorrow night. You’d already planned to try finding someone, but it’s a bit worrying that Suna’s involved now.

“Okay, you don’t have to get so invested. I’ll try tomorrow, I promise.”

“Nope, I’m invested. This is happening. You’re getting laid tomorrow – it’s been decreed.”

You salute him lazily, mumbling ‘ If you say so’ and going back to the movie.

–

When Suna picks you up the next night, he’s frowning down at you.

“What is this, what are you wearing?”

You’re taken aback, looking down at yourself. You’d chosen a cute red dress and thrown a cardigan over it – you look fine.

“What about it?”

“No, no, no-” He marches into your apartment, hands on your shoulders as he leads you to your room. “What is this nice girl shit? Take this off-” He pushes your cardigan off your shoulders, wrestling you out of it.

You cross your arms right away, a bit self-conscious. It’s a dress with thin straps, and you’re not happy with how your arms look in it. “I wanna wear something over it, though.”

“Oh, that’s fine, sure,” He starts, poking his head into your closet and knocking clothes around. “Except that this is a party, not a church retreat. You’re not wearing the sweater or the dress.”

“But this is my best-” You start, but Suna’s seeing something all the way in the back and reaching for it, eyes bright.

“A- ha! ”

You groan, because he’s pulling out the single sleeveless dress you own. It’s a body-hugging, little black number, one that you’d bought online when you’d been feeling particularly confident. It still has the tag on it.

“I dunno, Suna-”

“Just put it on and lemme see,” He thrusts it at you, and then he’s gone, leaving you with an outfit you would never have chosen.

You put it on, staring into your mirror with a grimace. The dress is too tight – your hips are too wide, your thighs too on display. Your boobs are too big, making the material stick to your chest in a way you don’t like.

“I don’t know,” You call. “I don’t like it.” You start to reach for the zipper to remove it, since you have no intention of showing Suna. But he’s bursting into the room, a loud ‘ I’m coming in-’ warning you with enough time to not unzip the dress.

He stops short, a pair of black heels swinging from his fingers – apparently, he’d been digging through your collection of shoes at the door for good ones. They dangle at his side, his eyes trained on your body. You watch in the mirror as he drags his eyes down the length of you and then back up, his lips parted in a way you don’t understand.

When he meets your eyes, he snapping his mouth shut and swallowing, ears turning a bit red. You frown, taking it to mean that he’s seeing too much.

“Okay,” You sigh, turning to usher him back out. He blinks rapidly and backs up. “Go. I’ll find something else.”

“What?” He stops, not letting you push him anymore. “No, you’re wearing that.”

“Suna-” You laugh, planting your hands on his chest and trying to get him out. “I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t.” He shakes his head, steady against you. “You’re wearing that. You look really good.”

You blink, confused. “What? Did you see what I saw?”

“I saw the exact same thing you saw. You’re wearing that.”

“Dude, no-”

“Yes-” He cuts you short, rounding you and pushing you out toward the living room. You shake your head, trying and failing to go back. “Stop arguing with me.” He puts the heels in your hand and disappears to the table for your purse. You stand in front of the mirror by the door, turning this way and that to look at yourself. You don’t see what he’s talking about.

He comes to stand behind you, and you examine him, too. He’s got on black jeans and a silver belt, with a black tee tucked into his pants and a thin chain hanging loosely around his neck. There’s a long-sleeve shirt thrown over it, and his lip ring and heavily pierced ears glint in the light. His hair hangs low over his eyes, and he lifts a hand to push it back. He’s wearing a silver bracelet you’d gotten him a few years ago for Christmas, your matching one sitting in your jewelry box.

He looks really fucking good.

You sigh angrily. “I cannot be seen with you.”

He just lifts a brow. “Problem?”

You examine him again, pointing at his reflection. “Take your top shirt off. Lessen the whole… punk-rock, skater-boy vibe, please.”

He grins, handing your purse over and then stripping, the long-sleeve tossed carelessly toward your couch.

You roll your eyes. His black tee is tight on his biceps, and all his tattoos are on display.

“That’s great. That’s really great.”

“What?” He laughs, and you just shake your head, bending down to put your heels on.

“You look like an entire meal, feeding women everywhere, and I look like a sausage roll.”

He doesn’t answer, and you glance at the mirror, finding his eyes trained very obviously on how you’re bent in front of him, both eyebrows lifted just slightly.

“Are you staring at my ass?”

“Huh?” He jumps, blinking. “What’d you say? Sausage roll?”

You stand, leveling him with an empty glare. “Don’t force yourself, Sweetheart. I committed to the outfit already.”

He shakes his head, looking a bit dazed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But you most certainly don’t look like a sausage roll.” He follows after you as you turn off the lights and leave the apartment, waiting behind you while you lock the door. “ Like a present that desperately needs unwrapping, maybe ,” He mumbles under his breath.

You pause, key in the door, and look over your shoulder at him with a brow raised in amusement. “What are you doing, Suna?”

He blinks lazily at you. “Honestly? Regretting that dress.”

You roll your eyes and pull the key from the lock, following him down the hall to the elevator while he shakes his head with a small sigh.

“Whatever. What time should we come back?”

He laughs, hitting the button on elevator panel that’ll lead to his car. “I thought we agreed. Not until you’ve been fucked stupid.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you at his wording. “I think that was just you decreeing things. I’m a bit more realistic.” You smile mockingly up at him, and he nudges you as you walk through the parking garage.

“You’ll find someone.”

You start to argue, but you see where he’s parked, and you’re not happy.

“You didn’t bring your car.”

He leads you toward his motorcycle, tossing you a curious look over his shoulder. “Nope. Bike’s easier to park on the street.”

You gesture down at yourself angrily, snatching up the helmet he’s handing you. “I cannot sit on a motorcycle with my legs spread in this dress.”

He smiles, glancing down at your thighs. “Why? Not wearing anything under?”

You smack him with the helmet. He just throws a leg over the bike and holds a hand out for you. You do your best not to flash him as you hike a leg over the seat behind him.

Suna waits for you to adjust and re-adjust the dress until you’re sure you won’t be giving anyone a show on the way there. But when you put on the helmet and pat his shoulders to signal that you’re ready, he reaches back and wraps both hands around your thighs, dragging you closer to his back. You scream, slapping his hands, but he just pulls your arms around his waist.

“Gotta make sure you’re safe and sound,” He says, muffled through his helmet, but you can still hear the laugh in his voice.

“I hate you,” You state loudly. He just kicks the bike into life with a snicker.

The ride to Atsumu’s penthouse is a nightmare of checking your dress at red lights and praying no one’s seeing anything. By the time you get there, you’re stressed.

“What’d I tell you?” Suna asks, sliding into a narrow parking spot right outside Atsumu’s building. “Easier parking.”

“I hate you,” You repeat, letting him help you awkwardly off the bike and immediately fixing everything. He pulls the helmet gently off of you and brushes your hair out of your face. And then he smiles lazily.

“You’re so getting laid tonight. I can feel it.”

You don’t bother responding, just following him into the lobby. The front desk girl waves you through, recognizing you. Her eyes trail down your body, eyebrows raised, and you’re immediately self-conscious. But she leans over the desk, calling out as you’re reaching the elevator.

“You look really pretty!”

You blink, looking back and then up at Suna. “She talking to me or you?”

“You,” He laughs. “Definitely you.”

“Oh-” The elevator dings, signaling Atsumu’s arrival to get you up to the penthouse with his key, but you’re calling back to the girl with an awkward laugh as the doors open. “Thank you!”

“Hey- Holy shit- ”

You turn, finding Atsumu inside the elevator, staring at you with comically wide eyes and a dropped jaw. He stares so long that the elevator doors close between you, and he’s rushing to open it again. You give him a weird look.

“What?”

He shoots you a look of disbelief. “What d’ya mean, ‘ what ’? Look at you!”

You follow Suna into the elevator, mumbling, “I regret buying this dress.”

Suna shakes his head, leaning back against the wall and addressing Atsumu. “She won’t listen to me about the dress.”

Atsumu’s still staring. “What’re you tryna do, get laid?”

Suna looks at you with lifted brows and a pleased grin. “See? He gets it.”

“Damn, if Omi ‘n I weren’t-” Atsumu shakes his head, whistling. “You’d have trouble gettin’ rid of me.”

You flush, crossing your arms over your middle. “Tsumu… I really don’t look bad?”

“No way ,” He laughs, still staring. “I might go break up with ‘im, honestly.”

You laugh, face warm as you stare down at your feet. Suna scoffs beside you.

“Oh, sure, believe him but not me.” He smiles when you nudge him, and then he claps once. “Okay, here’s the plan. We cannot be seen together.”

You furrow a brow. You’d only been joking earlier. “Why?”

“Because-” He gestures down at your outfit. “- you came to get laid, and sticking to me all night will obviously mess that up.”

“But-” You don’t like not being able to stick to Suna – and, by that logic, Atsumu or Osamu – when you feel this vulnerable.

Suna shakes his head. “Nope. You gotta put yourself out there. Find someone you like and seduce him until you’re getting dragged into one of Miya’s spare rooms.” He points at you, eyes sharp. “Don’t leave with him, though. I don’t need you getting murdered.”

Atsumu nods along, finally peeling his eyes off of you to stare at the panel. You’re almost at the top. “Got lots of ‘em, spare rooms. Use one.”

You swallow nervously, watching the last two floors tick away. Suna pats you on the shoulder.

“You got this. Don’t come find me until you’re done.”

The doors open, leading straight into Atsumu’s living room.

You’re forced to wave goodbye to your safety net – he sends you off with a wink and a mouthed ‘ You look good ’. You square your shoulders and shake out your nerves, heading to the kitchen.

After finding a drink, you wander into the living room. Suna’s on one of the couches, talking to Bokuto. Atsumu’s sitting a friendly distance from Sakusa, looking like he very much wants to be in the man’s lap instead.

You see Osamu near the window, talking to someone you don’t know but looking across the room. You follow it, finding Yachi and Hinata, and make a beeline straight for her.

“Hi!” You say, and they both turn to look at you. Hinata flushes upon seeing your dress, and Yachi squeals as you sit beside her.

“You look so good, Y/n!” The younger woman hugs you tight, and you flush.

“Thanks… I’m really out of my element here,” You laugh, greeting Hinata. “Hi, Shouyou.”

“H-Hey-” He coughs. “You look really nice.”

You warm again, wondering if maybe you really don’t look half bad. “Thanks! You look good, too.” You point at his arms, seeing that he’s built some more muscle since you’d last seen him. “You really bulked up.”

He’s as red as his hair, eyes flicking to your thighs and then away. Your phone buzzes in your purse, and you peek at it.

[10:22 PM]

Sunarin : believe me yet?

You find him, seeing that he’s flicking his brows and glancing toward Hinata. You roll your eyes with a smile and start to put your phone away, but it buzzes again.

Sunarin: you got the poor guy stressed out

Sunarin: look at him

You glance at Hinata out of the corner of your eye. Yachi’s talking to him about something, and he’s nodding and giving the appropriate number of ‘ Uh-huh ’s, but his eyes are drifting toward you repeatedly, gaze on your thighs and chest and hips before he’s remembering to keep his eyes on Yachi. He shifts, swallowing hard and blinking rapidly.

Your stomach flips when you realize that Hinata really is checking you out.

Would you sleep with Hinata? You really like him as a person, and you trust him enough. But you’re not sure that sleeping with any of your friends’ friends is a good idea, in case things get weird. But – on the other hand – you do trust the people that you’ve gotten to know over the years, the Black Jackals all great guys. You don’t know if you’re ready to try to snag some guy you don’t know at all – that’s more likely to end badly.

You sigh, taking a sip of your drink. You just got here. You should wait it out, test all the waters and see what calls to you. Hinata’s very cute, but you shouldn’t jump his bones just because he’s giving you attention.

He’s a friend , you remind yourself. And the party’s just starting.

You talk to Yachi and Hinata for a long while, and – when Osamu finally builds the courage to cross the room and engage Yachi in conversation – you’re left with Hinata. You fall into easy conversation with him for almost an hour, laughing and smiling and leaning against him when your head starts to get a little fuzzy. He cracks jokes and tells stories excitedly and asks about your shop and life, and you feel incredibly fond of him.

So fond, in fact, that you’ve unconsciously decided that Hinata’s not the right guy for this. You really do like him, and you really do like the energy you have together, but that makes a one-night stand with him incredibly unappealing. You’re not desperate enough to risk the friendship you seem to be solidifying with him right now.

So when you glance up and find that Kageyama Tobio has arrived and is glancing awkwardly at Hinata while he talks to Atsumu, you smile at the ginger next to you.

“You shouldn’t let me keep you, Shou,” You say, and he smiles at the nickname. “I’m sure there’s someone here who you’d have a better time with.”

He furrows a brow, so you tilt your head in Kageyama’s direction. When he sees his old friend standing there, he swallows and flushes.

“Mm-” He laughs, shaking his head and looking down at his lap. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” You nudge him. “Go.”

He eyes you, seeing that you seem set on not letting things between you go anywhere. And then he nods, snaking an arm around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Okay, fine. But I better hear about whose heart you break tonight.”

You laugh, squeezing his arm as he goes. And then you sigh, a bit resigned. It was the best choice, you know it.

Your phone buzzes.

[12:11 AM]

Sunarin: WHERE IS HE GOING

Sunarin: GO GET THAT SMALL MAN

You snort into your cup, eyeing him. He’s still on that couch, but he’s not speaking to anyone, just staring at his phone and glaring at you when he sees you looking.

Sunarin: he was ready to risk it all for you bro

You shake your head.

You: hes my friend, i couldnt do it

Sunarin: you wont fuck a friend?? thats like 85% of the ppl here!!

You: NOT THAT ONE

Sunarin: christ,,,, okay get back out there, soldier

Sunarin: I expect to walk past one of these rooms in the next hour and hear you having the time of your life

You: youre so heinous

You stand, heading toward the kitchen for another drink. You feel Suna watching you, but when you glance at him, he’s scrolling on his phone and ignoring everyone who approaches him. You text him when you get to the kitchen, head down.

You: should we just go?

You: i dont wanna keep you waiting

Sunarin: i mean this in the nicest way possible

Sunarin: stop being stupid

Sunarin: bc i will block you

You: hello??

Sunarin: idgaf how long i sit here

Sunarin: find a man and fuck him

Sunarin: that is your assignment

You: sir yes sir

You look up, intending to scan the room for your liquor of choice. Instead, standing in the corner by the other doorway, in a group of four guys, is one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen. You have no clue who he is, but he’s got dark hair and a cool smile and piercings, and you are utterly stopped in your tracks.

He catches it, glancing over at you and nodding in greeting. You smile tightly and move to the counter, pouring out the first thing you can find. You text Suna discreetly, something incredibly elegant.

You: AHAAWEFJAWOIFEJKAE FUCK

The counter where you stand is actually a bar with beams on the side, so the living room is entirely visible from here. You see Suna perk up, his head lifting as he peers over someone’s head to meet your eyes. He glances over your shoulder at the group, but you go back to pouring your drink while you calm your nerves, so you don’t see his reaction.

There’s fervent whispering behind you, and then footsteps. You spot three of the guys passing into the living room, so you glance back.

The beautiful man is still leaning against the opposite counter, but he’s got his phone out, invested in something he’s looking at. You see the three guys looking generally in your direction, and you wonder if maybe they’ve left their friend here on purpose. You glance at him again and then steel your nerves, turning carefully.

“Whatcha drinking?”

The guy’s eyes flick to yours, his brow lifting. He lowers his phone but doesn’t put it away, and he smiles at you. “Rum and coke. You?”

“Uhm-” You laugh. “I have no idea. I think there’s tequila in it.”

He grins easy. “Oof. Tequila always gets me. Kinda scared of it.”

You smile into your cup as you take a sip.

Across the room, Suna watches you talk to a guy he doesn’t recognize. There’s a weird feeling in his chest, the kind of bad feeling he’d always get around your exes. He watches the group of guys that have just come out, seeing that they’re eyeing you and whispering.

Then one laughs, and he knows this isn’t good.

He stands, moving toward Atsumu without taking his eyes off of you. You’ve stepped a little closer to the guy, and Suna feels his heart hurt a bit. You’re putting yourself out there, and the guy you’re doing it with is bad news.

“Miya,” He says, cutting Atsumu off where he is struggling to keep a good distance between himself and Sakusa. The blond looks up, clearly drunk.

“Hah?”

“Who are those guys?” He points with his cup, and Atsumu stands, squinting.

“Oh, I dunno. I think they’re friends of Bo’s.” Atsumu points toward Bokuto, who’s telling a story excitedly to a large group of people. “You know how he is. Always meetin’ people and makin’ friends. I let them up like 20 minutes ago, maybe?”

Suna swallows, watching how the guy you talk to lifts a brow at you. You must have tried to say something flirty, but he’s not taking it well. He’s starting to look like he’s looking down on you.

Atsumu hums, seeing it, too. “Want me to go over there?” His voice is clearer than it had been a minute ago.

“No, I got it.” Suna’s gone before he finishes the sentence, moving quickly.

Atsumu watches him go and then finds his brother in the crowd, sitting with Yachi. Samu’s looking over his shoulder, trailing after Suna, and then he turns. The brothers lock eyes, sharing a knowing smirk. Samu just shrugs, and Atsumu shrugs back.

Whatever Suna’s about to do, there’s no stopping it.

In the kitchen, you realize that this guy’s resolutely uninterested in you when a girl comes into the room and his attention is entirely gone.

You look, seeing that this unassuming girl is exactly what you’d expected. You glance at the guy again, finding a hungry gaze that trails over her body. Your stomach drops a bit, and you look over your shoulder toward his friends.

They’re standing at the bar, peeking at you and snickering to each other.

Oh.

Right.

You stare down into your cup, wondering when you’d let your guard down.

It hurts a little more than expected.

You smile up at the guy one last time, raising your cup to him.

“It was good to meet you.”

“Uh-huh,” He mutters, not listening. You blink and turn away, heading to leave. You can’t help but look at the girl as you go, seeing how beautiful she is. She looks up, smiling kindly at you, and you smile back. She seems sweet.

You go to pass her, leaving the way you came in.

“Y/n.”

You jump, turning back. Suna’s standing at the other door, by the guy you’d been talking to, his face relaxed but his eyes sharp. Only now do you realize they kind of look alike.

What is he doing?

“Oh-”

“There you are,” He smiles easily, stepping into the room.

Huh?

“Uh-”

“I’ve been looking for you all night.”

The guy looks between you and Suna. You look between him and Suna. The girl leaves with her drink, entirely unaware.

“Oh… Really?” You look out toward the living room, finding the other guys also watching Suna with confusion.

“Yeah. I was hoping you’d come,” He replies easily, stepping toward you.

His eyes flick down toward a spot on the floor that’s closer to him, and you drift there, eyeing him. He moves around you and reaches for a bottle on the counter, pouring himself a drink. He offers it to you, too.

You watch him glance over your shoulder at the group of guys, and you realize he’d turned you around and put himself in view of them. So they could see him.

Why?

“Sure,” You say, curious to see where this goes, and tilt your cup toward him. “Thanks, Suna.”

“Rin,” He responds, tilting his head to smile down at you, flirty and cheeky in a way you’d never seen from him. “You can call me Rin.”

You almost snort. “Okay. Rin.”

“I missed you last weekend,” Suna says, making a point to drag his eyes down the length of your body before he takes a sip of his drink.

You lift a brow, smirking up at him. He’s the only one who can see the teasing look you give him before you respond, playing into his game.

“Really? I couldn’t tell by the five missed calls. I was sleeping, by the way. It was one in the morning.”

He smiles at your line, and you can tell it’s genuine. He shrugs, holding eye contact and leaning in a little. “What can I say? I know what I like.”

“What you like…” You smile down into your cup, nodding. “And what would that be, Rin ?”

“Well-” He swallows, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he eyes you. “This dress, for one.” And then he slides his free hand over your waist, playing with the material. “It looks really good on you.”

His eyes have darkened by the time you meet them again, and it makes you a little nervous to realize that you’re unsure if it’s real or not. Your mind flashes to how he’d watched you bend over in front of your mirror earlier. Your fingers start to tingle.

Someone comes in behind you, and you use it as an excuse to look away from Suna and glance over your shoulder. The guy you’d been talking to is still there, but he’s got his eyes on your dress, interest lingering around your thighs.

You quirk a brow and turn back to Suna, feeling annoyed that this guy had only found you worth looking at once another guy had. Suna eyes you briefly, and you read the expression.

Want me to leave you with him?

He doesn’t look happy about the idea – you’re not happy about the idea – but you can tell he’s hesitating to continue, because the guy is paying you attention now.

He must not realize that you’d lost interest in that guy the moment his gaze had drifted. It’s Suna’s attention you’re nervous about now.

Still, you know that he’d only come to show that group of guys that you’re worth considering, so you tamper the feeling and lean into his game again.

You step close to him, watching how his eyes light up a bit, and slide a hand over his bicep. You make a point to trace the outline of one of his tattoos there, watching with a smile as goosebumps form wherever you scratch your nail gently against his skin.

“Is there something you wanted, Rin?” You look up at him through your eyelashes when you ask, wide and innocent.

You see the exact moment that something changes.

Suna’s eyes widen marginally and drop to your lips, green eyes heavy on you as he pulls his lip ring between his teeth and plays with it. His hand tightens on your waist, fingers pressing into your lower back and pulling you toward him.

“Just…” His gaze flicks between your mouth and your eyes. “Wanted to see if we could make up for lost time. Maybe somewhere more private?”

Suna Rintarou means to pull you into one of Atsumu’s spare rooms.

You blink, a sudden flush rising on your cheeks as your stomach flips. You squeeze his bicep, anchoring yourself to him. He just stares at your mouth.

You nod after a moment, poking your tongue out to wet your lips. He watches it. “Okay… That sounds good.”

His eyes snap to yours, suddenly filled with something that hadn’t been there before. When he sets his cup on the counter and steps around you, hand finding yours and pulling you after him, you realize it’s urgency. You barely manage to put your drink down without spilling it.

All four guys watch you get dragged out of the room and toward an open door not even 15 feet away.

You have absolutely no idea what’s about to happen.

You step into the room, closing the door with your free hand. “What are we-”

Suna spins, planting both hands on your hips and pinning you hard against the door. You gasp, eyes wide, and he lifts one hand and sets it on the door next to your head.

“I want to kiss you,” He says bluntly, breathing out hard. “Do you want to kiss me?”

You blink, lips parted, searching his face. You only find heat in his eyes, and it makes a spot under your navel tingle.

Do you want to kiss him?

“Yes,” You whisper, nodding shallowly. “Yeah-Yes.”

He breathes slowly, eyes dropping to your mouth.

There’s a moment of nothing, one where all you can hear is the muffled music and laughter through the door, the space between you and Suna Rintarou completely silent.

And then he’s surging forward.

You cannot, for the life of you, understand why you hadn’t thought of doing this before.

He pushes his lips against yours with force, full and impatient. You throw your arms around his neck, angling your head. The hand he has on the door comes to cup the back of your head, holding you tight against him, and you card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, scratching your nails against his scalp.

Suna pulls back with a sharp inhale, his mouth hovering over yours. You blink hazily, your head fuzzy and warm.

“ Oh… ” You mumble.

“ More? ” He breathes, sounding just as shaken. The hand on your lower back pulls you flush against him, and you feel something pressing against your thigh. Your skin hums with anticipation, and you nod, your eyes still half-closed.

“More’s good…”

Your back hits the door and your hair’s being tangled around his fingers, head pulled to the side as his mouth finds your throat. The ring on his lip is cold between your flushed skin and the burn of his mouth, and his tongue passing over your pulse as he nips at the spot has a weak whimper falling past your lips.

“ Louder ,” He murmurs, the vibration echoing through your throat and down to your toes. He sucks harder on the spot just under your jaw, and you moan properly and in his ear. “Good, just like that,” He bites down and then swipes his tongue over it, soothing and warm. “Want them to hear you.”

Your heart pounds, and you cling to his shoulders, letting out a noise of confusion.

“Who?”

“You know exactly who.”

You remember that you’d just been talking to some other guy, that his friends had been making fun of you.

You’d already forgotten.

“Why do you-” You gasp, shuddering when he pulls your hips toward him, pressing his own against you. He’s hard– He’s already hard, and you haven’t done anything. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “Why do you want them to…”

Suna suckles at a spot under your ear before lifting his head and planting his lips on yours. His hand leaves the safety of your waist and slips up past your ribs. You push your chest out, silently urging him to keep going.

“I want them to-” He swears under his breath as his hand closes around your breast, fingers kneading gently. He kisses you hard. “-know what they’re missing. How badly they fucked up.”

You’re out of breath when he pulls away, and you circle your arms tightly around his neck so you can lift onto your tiptoes and kiss him again. He touches you urgently, thumb brushing over your nipple once and then again when you mewl into his mouth. He drops his lips to your throat again, freeing you to make as much noise as you need.

You sigh loudly, because his other hand is falling to your waist and tugging at your dress. The material slides up your body, exposing your thighs and then even more to him. He leaves it around your hips, fingertips dancing down to your panties.

“Can I-” He hooks two fingers into the band, mouth hot on your skin as he heaves out an unsteady breath. You nod furiously, not a single thought of how you look or feel passing through your head. Not a single thought that he might not want this, because you can feel so plainly against your bare thigh that he does.

Later, you won’t be able to name a single other time you hadn’t been self-conscious in the exact same situation with different men.

He tugs your panties unceremoniously down to your thighs, fingers trembling just slightly when he presses them against your inner thigh. You whimper as he pushes your thighs apart, cold air rushing against your core and sending a jolt of realization through you.

You haven’t been touched by someone else in over a year.

“Wait, Suna-” Your protest is muffled against his lips. “I’m not gonna-I won’t last long-”

“Good,” He breathes, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth briefly. “Fucking good . I don’t want you to last-” He pushes his mouth to a million different places in quick succession, almost like he’s losing his mind just as fast as you are. His fingers hover between your thighs, cold against your heated skin. “Just want you to come, just to take the edge off.” He kisses you forcefully and murmurs against your lips. “ Just want you to come for me .”

He pulls away just in time for a moan to fall past your lips, ringing through the room. It’s embarrassing how loud it is, how desperately you’d reacted to his words alone. But Suna just smiles breathlessly down at you, face open and honest and eyes gleaming with a wicked anticipation that makes you tremble a bit.

He’s still holding eye contact when he presses against your core, his two middle fingers sliding through your folds.

You gasp so loud that it spills into a moan, and your head falls back against the door with a hard thump , his name ripped from your throat in something close to a scream.

“ Suna- ”

“ Fuck, ” He groans, dropping his head to your shoulder and sliding his fingers against you again. “Fuck, you feel so good-”

“S-Suna-” You cry again, fisting the sleeves of his t-shirt with white knuckles. “Oh, my God-”

He latches onto the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking the skin there as he swipes the pads of his fingers against your clit. “Don’t call me Su- fuck -” He cuts short, because your hips are moving on their own, rocking against his fingers. The tip of his middle finger catches on your entrance, and you gasp loudly, pushing your chest against his as you stare up at the ceiling with wide eyes.

You don’t understand. You don’t understand why this feels so good, why you can’t get this feeling on your own. Why the thought that the man doing this to you is Suna Rintarou makes your nerves tumble and twist and tug at the coil that’s warping under your navel, under his touch. You hadn’t thought to want him before, not really, because he’s Suna . Your Sunarin, your piece of home.

And he’s making you feel something no one before him ever had.

You don’t think you can come back from this.

All rational thought flies from your mind when Suna brushes his middle finger against your entrance again, with purpose this time. You gasp, clinging tight.

“ Su- ” He shoves his mouth against yours, murmuring his own name, murmuring ‘ Rin, call me Rin’ against you, suckling on your bottom lip. He pulls away to watch you again, to find your eyes like he had last time.

And then he pushes his finger into you, slowly and then all at once.

“ Oh, ” You gasp, your eyelids fluttering. “Rin- ”

He pulls out, crooking his finger, and then slides back in, nodding as his palm slaps against your clit. “ ‘s good, baby ,” He mumbles, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “ Again, just like that .”

You think the scream of his name when he slams his fingers into you repeatedly is loud enough to be heard over the whole party. He laughs against your throat, humming, and pushes a second finger in, drawing another moan out of you as his fingers reach places that yours never can. “That’s it, let them hear you.”

The coil in your navel twists viciously when something cold and metal slides against your thighs with each thrust of his fingers into you, because you’re realizing that it’s the bracelet – the bracelet that you’d given him those handful of years ago, the friendship bracelet that you have in your jewelry box at home.

You don’t think your past self would ever believe this is where that bracelet is now.

Suna pants against your skin, still rock hard against your thigh. “Let them hear how good I make you feel ,” He breathes, and your heart skips, that coil yanking.

“Oh, I’m gonna-” You gasp, fumbling to tug at his shirt, to tell him. He lifts his head to look at you.

And then he promptly yanks his fingers out of you.

You jerk at the feeling, and your heart sinks as your orgasm starts to fade. All you can do is stare up at him with wide eyes, the disappointment written all over your face, because you don’t know what you did to deserve that.

It turns quickly to confusion when Suna spins you around, and suddenly your face is pressed against the door, hips pulled out toward him. You gasp, planting your hands on the door to steady yourself, your face rushed with heat at being bent over in front of him.

That moment in front of your mirror had not prepared you for this.

“What-”

“Please-can I-” He asks, the clink of his belt and then the zipper of his jeans loud as he yanks on it, and you nod against the door.

“Yes, yes please,” You beg, pushing your hips back more.

“ Shit ,” He swears under his breath. “I wanna do this better-” You jump when something hot brushes between your thighs, something hot and incredibly hard. “-Later, when we get home, I wanna-” He pushes the head of his cock gently through your folds, and his groan mixes with the choked moan you let out against the door.

“Just wanna get you off once before we go, just wanna make you come once around me,” He finally gets out, hissed through his teeth as he guides himself to your entrance. “‘s that okay? Can I?”

You whimper loudly, nodding again and throwing his own words back at him, desperate and begging.

“ T-Take the edge-jus’ to take the edge off- ” You stutter through it, your heart doing leaps and your nerves on fire. You push your hips back against him, whining when he brushes against you again.

Suna groans, and he pushes his hand against the door by your face as he drops his forehead to your shoulder, that bracelet staring you dead in the eye.

“Fuck ,” He whispers, shaking his head. “Fuck , Y/n. You-”

He slips the head of his cock past your entrance, sliding into you slowly.

You stop being able to feel your legs.

Suna moans your name, low and in your ear, and your eyes roll back into your head at the sound.

Why had you gone so long without hearing him say your name like that?

“ Rin ,” You whimper, and he presses a kiss to a spot behind your ear.

“You’re driving me insane,” He murmurs. “Why didn’t you believe me earlier? Why couldn’t you believe me? Can’t you see now how badly I want you?” He starts to pant in your ear, because he’s drawing his hips back with a hiss and then pushing back in slowly. “Fuck, you’re too-”

You suck in a breath when his fingers find your clit, his hips stilling. You moan, feeling yourself clench around him. Feeling, for the first time in a year, truly full in the way that you’d craved.

You clench around him again, and he groans into your neck.

“You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop doing that,” He pleads, breathing hard against your ear.

“ Why won’t you move ?” You whine, unable to help it.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your skin. “You want the romantic answer or the realistic one?”

You can’t help but giggle, because he’s making a stupid, Suna-flavored joke in a moment like this. “The romantic one.”

You feel him smile wide, even as the pads of his fingers slide against your clit, the little bundle of nerves that makes you twitch.

“I just wanna get you off, I don’t care about myself right now.,” He tries, laughing a little. “It doesn’t matter – all that matters is you, and I can get you off just like this.” He circles your clit again, and your laugh is breathy and sensitive.

“And the realistic one?” You smile when he bites down on your shoulder briefly.

“You’re so tight that it actually hurt when I tried to move,” He explains, and you clench unintentionally. “Come on , Y/n, don’t do this-” He swipes his fingers against you faster now, trying to get you close.

It doesn’t take long, not with Suna’s fingers on the most sensitive part of your body. Not with him buried inside you, throbbing and twitching with every whine and moan that falls past your lips. Not with his mouth pressed to your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine and his quiet groans making your toes curl.

“ Come on, baby, ” He whispers, pushing his fingertips against you. “ Let me take the edge off, just like you said. Let me do this for you. ”

Your moan comes out as more of a sob, and your eyes feel a bit wet. The coil in your navel tightens and pulls with every word.

“ Come around me, Y/n. I wanna feel it– I wanna feel you- ”

You gasp, your nails scratching against the door as your fingers curl into fists, and your voice is clear and sharp for the first time in a while. “Su-Suna, I’m-”

-close, I’m close-

“Fuck, I think I am, too-” He admits, even though he hasn’t moved an inch. He shudders against you, breath shaky. “You first, so I can pull out-”

“ Mm-mm- ” You protest. “ ‘s safe, ‘s fine, I’m- ”

You don’t have the time or energy to explain that you’ve been on birth control for years, but it doesn’t matter, because he groans. He understands.

“Are you sure-” He chokes, and you hear a low whine in his throat. The sound pushes you to the edge, and you teeter there, sobbing.

“ Please, please, I’m-Suna- ”

You gasp sharply, because he’s lifting his chest off your back and straightening you up, pulling your back against him. He clamps his hand down tight over your mouth, turning your head so you’re forced to look up into his eyes.

“ This one’s mine ,” He breathes, his fingers swiping viciously against you as he holds that cursed eye contact. “ No one hears this but me .”

The coil snaps, and your eyes roll back in your head.

Your vision goes white, and your ears ring, the sound deafening as your body jerks, your fingers scratching and digging into his arms for stability. You feel the scream in your throat, but you don’t hear it, can’t hear anything except the low, muffled groan Suna presses into the side of your head. He twitches inside you, and then you’re warm as he comes, filling you in a way that steals the last gasp of breath from your lungs.

He holds you tight until you both come down, arms wrapped around you. The hand on your mouth falls, curling around the side of your head and cradling you against him. The shuddering breaths you let out mix with his, and he sets his mouth on yours, unable to put the effort into kissing you properly.

After a moment, your arms fall limp, dropping away from him, and your head slumps against his shoulder. He slides carefully out of you, holding you steady when you whimper and sway a bit. Then he reaches down, tugging your panties back up your legs and fixing your dress.

You turn in place, forehead pressed to his chest, and straighten him out with your eyes half-closed. He shivers when you wrap your fingers around him and tuck him back into his pants, and his hand cradles your neck, a kiss pressed to the top of your head while you button and zip his jeans.

When you lift your head to look at him, there’s no need to ask him to kiss you. He drops his head without a word, lips just as soft on yours as they’d been the first time.

“How you feel?” He asks, quiet against your mouth.

“Boneless, ” You say right away, and he smiles against you before pulling away.

“ Boneless, or tired ?” He prompts.

You shake your head. You don’t feel tired at all, your nerves still humming under your skin. “Just boneless.”

“Then,” He starts. “Can you find your bones on the way down to my bike?”

There’s a jolt in your body when you realize what he’s saying. That he’s taking you home.

“Yeah, I-” You swallow, meeting his eyes.

He doesn’t look tired, either.

“I think I can manage that,” You whisper, staring up at him.

A grin spreads across his face, wicked and terrifying in the way that only he is.

“I’m ready when you are,” is all he says.

You cling to him as he leads you out of the room and to the elevator, unable to process anything but him. Unable to process the way Hinata whispers ‘ Heartbreaker ’ warmly to you as you pass, or the way the twins give you matching grins of pride when you find them across the room. Definitely not the guy that you’d tried talking to, staring down at you when Suna shoves past him and all but carries you into the elevator.

All you can do is hold tight to him and trust that he’ll get you back to his place.

He kisses the spot under your ear when the elevator reaches the first floor.

“Come on,” He mumbles against your skin as the doors slide open. “I still gotta fuck you stupid.”

Your face burns as he drags you out of Atsumu’s building and to his bike, unable to imagine how what had just happened doesn’t count as fucking you stupid.

What’ve you just gotten yourself into?

#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #suna rintarou #suna rintarou smut #suna rintarou x reader

397 notes · View notes

bloodlineslut · 17 days ago

Text

chapter o n e

It was a Wednesday. Not that it mattered. Ever since India started being a social media influencer full time, the days just seemed to blur together.

Every morning, her manager and close friend, Karli, would send her a checklist of tasks that she needed to complete for the day. Whether it was streaming on Twitch, posting flicks for insta, or doing ad promos.

Ever since she started streaming on Twitch, her following had boosted in just a couple of days. She grew to really like it, and loved talking to all the people who supported her.

Even though most people thought she was a beautiful girl, she was single. She hadn’t been in a relationship for years, having got her heart broken bad.

She swore she would never let that happen again.

So, most of her interactions with men have been a meaningless DM, her texting them back, and the conversation going nowhere.

And India has talked to every type of man imaginable, from pro basketball/football players to even doctors and lawyers. But none of them actually drew her in enough.

So here she was, on FaceTime with her sister, Ivy, while she went through her notifications on Instagram, responding back to sweet comments and reposting people’s stories if they took pics with her when they met her.

“Mhm, girl. Mikey talkin’ bout he wanna go see them people wrestle this weekend in Florida.” Her sister’s son, her cute little nephew, was obsessed with wrestling and was always asking to go to a show.

“Aww, Ivy take my nephew so he can be happy!” India laughed and went back to the FaceTime camera so she wouldn’t be on pause on her sister’s end.

Ivy rolled her eyes and kept snacking on some chocolate-covered strawberries while she contemplated taking her son, looking mindlessly out the window.

“You think the tickets are expensive? Girl Imma be lost at the show. I don’t know no wrestlers.” Ivy asked before grabbing her laptop that was out of the frame and looking up the prices of the tickets.

“It’s probably like a concert, the closer you sit, the more expensive it’s gon’ be.” India reasoned. “And girl, you know at least one! Ain’t The Rock a wrestler?”

In the background of her sister’s camera frame, she saw her nephew walk closer to the phone. “Hi Auntie Indie!” He smiled and waved at the camera.

“Hi my bookie butt! I miss you!” India blew him a kiss through the phone.

“I miss you too…Are you gonna go with us to go see my favorite wrestler??” He put his little hands together like he was praying she would say yes.

India pouted at her nephew, she almost folded and said yes. “I don’t know Mikey, if it’s in Florida, I don’t think I can make it…”

Mikey’s shoulders dropped dramatically. “Aww, okay.”

“Mikey where you wanna sit at?” Ivy asked her son, pointing at her laptop screen with all the seat options. Ivy grabbed her phone and flipped the camera to show India as well.

“Girl! $800 to sit right by the ring?!” India just laughed at her sister’s reaction. She always was on the cheap side.

But $800 was a bit crazy though.

“But mom!! We’ll be really close. Please, please?” Mikey was jumping up and down, his curls flying in his face.

Ivy shook her head and grabbed her purse that had her wallet in it, and Mikey knew that was a yes.

“Yay! Thank you mommy! I love you!” He hugged Ivy and smothered her face in kisses, making her laugh and India smile adoringly.

Sometimes India wished that she had a little angel baby of her own to take care of, but the thought never lingered in her mind for too long.

By the sound of another happy scream from her nephew, she assumed that Ivy had secured two tickets for the upcoming show in Florida.

“Okay Mikey, now mommy has to get us a hotel and a flight. Go brush your teeth because we got errands to run after.”

“Okay! Bye Auntie Indie. We get to see Jey Uso!” Mikey kissed the camera before he ran away happily to his room.

India took a sip of her iced coffee that she had fixed earlier. “Jey Uso? That’s his favorite wrestler?”

“Girl yes. I can never remember his name. All I know is Mikey love doin’ that damn dance he does when he come out.” Ivy mimicked it, making India almost spit out her coffee.

“No way that’s what he does.” India asked.

“Look it up then.”

India did indeed look him up on Google and boom, there he was. The most recent pictures were of him in a wife beater, chains on, belt on, with his grillz and shades on. She saw his tatted up arms and instantly thought he was fine.

“Oouu Ivy, this guy is foineee.” She spoke out, still scrolling and looking at more pictures of the wrestler. She sees the link to his Instagram and clicks on it, thinking there would be better pictures of him on there.

As her phone switched to his account on Instagram, her eyes immediately snapped to that blue button that said “Follow Back”. Her eyes bulged a little.

She saw that he had 2 million followers but he only followed a handful of people, probably his family and friends.

“Ivy. Tell me why this nigga follows me on Insta.” She tells her sister, still scrolling through his page. It was mostly just promos for WWE, ads, and workout videos.

“Who?”

“This Jey guy!”

Ivy’s facial expression changed to surprise then playful dread. “Oh girl, don’t let Mikey hear. Then he gon’ be hounding you like he do to me.”

“Shut uppp. No but forreal, that’s crazy. Should I follow him back?” India’s thumb hovered over the blue button.

“Hell yea girl, that’s cool. It’s just a follow, no harm done.” Ivy convinced her sister to click that button.

“Okay Miss A-lister. I gotta go run some errands with Mikey. Call me tonight?” India clicked back on the camera just in time to see Ivy gathering her purse and wallet so they could be out the door soon.

“You so funny. And yes, we’ll talk later. Love you sissy.”

“Love you more.”

Not soon after, India received a text from Karli with a last-minute ad that a brand wanted her to do. It was a company that made stylish eyeglass frames. Karli basically told her that she would be getting a package today with different cute eyeglass frames and she just had to make a TikTok trying them on and reviewing them. All she had to do was post on TikTok and Instagram Stories.

She remembered that she never posted her flicks she took the other night when she was just chilling in bed.

After staring at the pictures for too long, she quickly pressed 'Post' before she changed her mind, and the likes and comments quickly began coming in within seconds.

liked by ft.gioo, uceyjucey, and 984 others

indialove late night flicks...

view all 460 comments

ft.gioo ho ur perfect😍

scamlikelybabyy india somebody needa wife u up

uceyjucey Damn mama. So beautiful.

thottiewottie ik damn well jey uso ain't in my girl comments

wwe.guy45 REF DO SOMETHINGGG

She always put her phone on do not disturb after making a post just because she hated watching the comments happen in real time for some reason.

She went about her day, keeping an eye and an ear out for her package that was supposed to be delivered today. It was eventually delivered, and she was really excited to try on the glasses. She took her hair down from the claw clip it was in and ran a brush through it to look presentable before recording the review and posting it on Insta and TikTok.

Not feeling like getting out in the city and driving today, she decided to UberEats her order for dinner from In-N-Out, a double-double meal with a strawberry shake.

It was 7:09 p.m. when the delivery girl knocked on her door after taking the confirmation picture. India quickly thanked her, locking her door back so she could dig in to the food.

"Oh thank God it's still warm." She said to herself as she took the contents out of the seal proof bag. She always drank the shake first before actually eating the food, which her sister always thought was weird.

She decided that she wanted to watch her show while she ate, How to Get Away with Murder. She had just started watching it last week and was already on season 3.

While the show was on a commercial break, India decided to check on her post she made earlier. She had gotten more likes in the time frame from when she first posted it to now. Now, the post had 101K likes and 1,209 comments.

All her social media friends commented and supported as usual. She loved reading the comments, the good and bad honestly.

"Somebody said I know damn well Jey Uso ain't in my girl com-" She gasped, putting the french fry that was on its way to her mouth down.

"You're lying." She said out loud to herself, scrolling fast and trying to find his so-called comment.

And there it was.

uceyjucey Damn mama. So beautiful.

She tapped on his username and it damn sure was him.

She gazed at her phone screen for a second, not sure how to react. She found that he commented that 8 hours ago which was around the time she first made the post.

"Oh my Goddd. This nigga liked it right when I posted it..."

As she was sitting in her bed, still thinking about the whole situation, she gets a DM notification from him.

[uceyjucey]: Anybody ever spoiled you the right way mama?

India took her glasses off and brought the phone closer to her face, as if she was hallucinating. Ain't no way in hell this fine ass wrestler was talking to her right now.

She decided to respond back after a few minutes, trying to be cool about it.

[indialove]: that depends. what is the right way?

Her message said 'Seen' instantly and those three little dots appeared on the screen.

[uceyjucey]: I'm tryna wine and dine you. You deserve it.

This made India smack her teeth. Even though she was popular on social media, she had only ever went on dates with her now ex-boyfriend and he always pitched a fit whenever she suggested that they go somewhere nice. In reality, she was actually very curious what it would be like to eat in a fancy restaurant with someone.

[uceyjucey]: You gonna be in Florida this week?

Another message came through from him.

Not even thinking about how fast she was responding to him, she texted back.

[indialove]: no i won't

A lot more time went by after he saw her message. She thought that would be the end of the conversation since they clearly weren't in the same area.

[uceyjucey]: We gon' talk more tomorrow mama. Here's my number. Goodnight pretty

India sat up in her bed in shock. No way this man just-

She didn't wanna admit it but this interaction had her geeked. The more she looked at pictures and videos of him in the ring or giving interviews, the more attractive he was to her.

It was something about him, and she was finna find out what it was whether she liked it or not.

#wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #jey uso #jey uso fanfic #jey uso fic #jey uso x black fem oc #jey uso x black oc #x black oc #x black fem oc #bloodlineslut #black writer #wwe x black oc #wwe x black fem oc #uceyjucey #addicted

141 notes · View notes

darlingmel · 6 months ago

Text

𝐻𝐸𝒜𝑅𝒯𝒮𝒯𝐸𝐸𝐿 𝒟𝒜𝒯𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝐻𝐸𝒜𝒟𝒞𝒜𝒩𝒪𝒩𝒮

A/N: I miss them your honor.

Kayn:

Kayn’s idea of a date would DEFINITELY be something out of the house. I don’t think he can ever find sitting in one place for too long entertaining. Unless it’s pranking or teasing one of his bandmates which he would get scolded for by Yone soon after. The rush of adrenaline he gets while doing something spontaneous was unmatched to anything else. Besides being with you. He’d probably be laying on the couch with you proposing ideas of what you two could be doing which you’d quickly reject. You can’t let him tempt you. He sighs out of frustration. “Come on! Don't act like you don’t love messing around with me.” He’s right, and you give in.

You two end up getting out of the house and walking around the city together. Not to do any window shopping or normal. Instead he’s taking you to some spots he’s been meaning to check out, most of them being places where you shouldn’t be. He understands it might not be your idea of fun. He reassures you that he would never abandon you if things got bad. He’s keeping an eye out in case you get seen by someone who knows you two shouldn’t be there. Before you two could even start trying to explore the off limits area you feel a tug on your arm.

Kayn pulling you into one of the dark alleyways, Your bodies closely pressed together as he hushes any protest. He explains to you that he heard the footsteps of someone. You stay there for a moment hiding from what he thought was a security guard coming around the corner. Or at least that's what you still believe. He should be looking more worried, shouldn't he. He’s not worried though. He just has a dumb smug look on his face like always. Even if this was just a ploy to get you close, could you really complain.

Ezreal:

Ezreal would love to take you somewhere that he can use some of his skills from being an idol. He loves being able to do something almost flawlessly and receiving praise. Your praise means significantly more to him than that of a stranger. He excitedly pulls you along to the entrance of an arcade. So many different machines all with different colors on the screens and catchy songs playing from them, trying to tempt people to spend money.

Ezreal begins directing your attention to the huge line of people waiting to play the DDR machine. If you don't exactly love rhythm games he’s pleading, practically begging you for one game with him. He picks the song (probably kpop) and reassures you that you can choose the easy setting if you aren't confident in playing. He would even play on easy if you asked. You can see that Ezreal gets super happy once the song starts, humming along and occasionally sings the lyrics of the song while his eyes are fixed on the screen pressing the correct arrows. If he notices that you aren’t having the best time he would use his flash to change his position. Backwards. Handstand. Hitting all kinds of silly poses just to make you laugh and distract you from the pressure.

Ezreal also desperately tries to win you something from the crane machines. Watching all the other couples walk around with huge plushies in their arms just fuels him more. He spends too much. Like way too much money. But it’s you so it's worth it. At home later when you are both in bed he shows you the picture again this time with stickers that put cat ears on your head and emoticons surrounding you that he edited in.

Sett

It really is a coin flip with Sett. He cares more on how you are feeling. If you want to go out you two go out. If you want to stay home you stay home. If you leave the house for the date it’s probably for a really cute picnic that he planned. A basket full of different food and drinks you both like. Sett lays down all the food he brought out in front of the both of you and you two dig in. Having a conversation in between bites. He would point towards certain dishes or snacks and say “When I saw it I had to get/make it for you.”

When it started to get dark he made sure to take care of putting everything away. Throwing away empty containers and rerolling the blankets as you two made your way out of the park. He really appreciates you and just wants to take care of you that day. Not that he doesn’t think you can help clean up or carry things but he does work out a lot. What is it all for if it's not to treat you like royalty.

If it's a date at home then it would be you too on the couch crocheting things for each other. Which he is surprisingly good at. Most would think a guy like things was purely a gym bro. Sett was in fact capable of many things. Drinks and snacks on the table as you both focus on trying to make your pieces come out as good as possible. Occasional grunts of frustration if things go awry. He'll give you pointers or guide your hands if you ask for assistance. His hands are warm against yours as your quiet evening continues. Eventually you finish your creation and he praises you for a job well done.

Yone

It’s often hard for Yone to have any free time. Even his days off are interrupted by calls or texts from the boys. His day of relaxation is now interrupted as he tries to clean up the mess they got themselves into. Normally he’s cooped up in his office or the recording studio. Any dates previously would be a quick trip to the local coffee shop since the man can’t live without caffeine. Occasionally there were work dates but he felt bad thinking it made you feel like less important than his job.

But after pulling a few strings he made sure they wouldn’t bother him, allowing him to take a well deserved day with you. You were a bit surprised when he formally asked you on a date. Taking you to one of the places he found relaxing. A tranquil botanical garden near the outskirts of the city.

The trail of the garden was pretty uneven. He doesn’t want you to have difficulty walking with him so he lets you hold onto his arm and holds his hand out to you. Making sure every uneven step wouldn’t result in an accident. The stress washes away. “I’m grateful we can spend time like this..” Gentle words and praises were all you heard as you both took in the sighs of the foliage and trees. He’s almost sad as he notices the sky starting to darken. He promises to you that he’ll work hard to earn another day off to spend more time with you. You reassure him that you know he loves what he does. He needn’t feel shame for that. He may not be a big fan of PDA but being with you makes him feel like he has to do everything in his power to express his love. He gives you a deep kiss. He takes his time but doesn't let himself get carried away before you two make your way back home.

Aphelios

After getting with Aphelios you know better than anyone how he feels being out in public. So it shouldn’t be a surprise to you when he wants to spend time with you it’ll be at home 110% of the time. He finds it more intimate and enjoys the simple times with you. Where you two are just sitting, enjoying each other's company. Most if not all your dates involve both of you rummaging the kitchen for any snacks that haven’t been eaten by the other members. A soft blanket on the couch for both of you to be enveloped in later in the night.

Remote in your hand since he wants your dates to be enjoyable. He lets you decide what to watch. Aphelios never disagrees with your choices since you seem to magically always choose something good. Or something he had been planning to watch. Even without him telling you. If you are the kind of person who rambles on about a subject related to the movie/video he will divert his attention to you. Yeah the film may be covering the things you're saying in a more professional way but the passionate tone you use is hypnotic to him. There's no way he would prefer some person reading from a script than you speaking from the heart.

He is happy when you wait at him expectantly for his reaction to some vital pieces of the story and he usually is caught off guard. He will hand you snacks or a drink in intervals throughout the date, wanting to make sure your needs are met. You also do the same which he appreciates because it's common for Aphelios to ignore his own needs. Take care of him please

K’Sante

K’Sante would also take you out on the down. Your date starts with the two of you sitting in a cute cafe together having a coffee together. Deciding together what you would be interested in seeing in the shopping district that day. Walking around the blocks of what felt like never ending stores. Everytime you two stop K’Sante asks if you’d to go inside. Declining the first few times since they seemed too fancy to even step foot into.

You two stop outside of a boutique with mannequins wearing elaborate clothing in the windows. A clothing store a bit more on the fancier end. K’Sante ends up explaining how he frequents the place and that he definitely recommends it. You give in because a date wouldn’t be a date if it was only window shopping. Going into some stores at least felt necessary to make sure the time was spent effectively.

Being familiar with the place means that he knows exactly where to go. Already knowing your style and measurements, already having made and bought custom clothing for you. You pick out a bunch of different clothes still a bit hesitant about his offer. You didn't want to be rude and decline but also didn't want to spend too much. What even was the budget? Who knows. With K’Sante he saw no limit on what it took to get you happy. Even if there is a part inside him wanted to say that you’d never need to go out and spend money. That first statement couldn't be more true once he watched you step out of the changing rooms. Dressed in clothes that complemented not only your body but you entirely. Even if some items were overpriced he didn’t hesitate to buy you some pieces you felt like you couldn’t leave the store without.

Alune

Alune would love a calm day to wind down with you. She will take you on a little date in the city with a lot of places she wants to visit. Even if she doesn’t end up buying anything she just loves having you by her side. Getting snacks from a convenient store. Grabbing all kinds of cute promotional items for whatever show is out and anything you two have already tried and loved. Alune happily places the basket of goodies on the checkout counter as she then pays for both of you. Next stop is the park. Specifically, the one that has a big lake with a path around it. It's a nice break from her busy work days, managing the boys leaves little to no free time. You two end up taking small breaks on your walk. Sitting down on a bench under the shade of a tree simply just enjoying each other’s presence.

A staple of going out with Alune is a trip to a local thrift shop. Walking down the aisles of clothes, calling each other over when you find a certain piece of clothing that would look cute on the other. If you two have similar styles it would be a playful game of “Who Can Find Cute Clothes First.” Even then you two would give each other some of your finds just to make the other happy. Walking past other shops Alune would make comments on how she thinks one of the members would “totally be into something.” But more importantly you noted the things she says she's been eyeing.

You come home with a bag of snacks, clothes, and self care products. You two have a mini fashion show before you both indulge in the pile of snacks you both picked out together. Ending the day with facemasks as you two decide what to watch that night.

165 notes · View notes

bluepallilworld · 4 months ago

Text

Helloooooo! So I promised a surprise for Mimosa's birthday and here it is! 🎉✨

I made a ghost/ukagaka of him and Mu!!!!

If you don't know what a ghost is, it's a sort of desktop pet! You can have them on the corner of your screen or interact with them! Play with them! Give them gifts! Talk with them! Pet them... Many things to do ;)

If you never had a ghost, I'm gonna explain how to download everything to make them work! If you're not a beginner, you can scroll and download the files (first the font, second the balloon then the nar ;3c)

Oooook lesssgo, the steps:

Download SSP on your computer! It's the thing ghosts work on, the files are all but useless without it! Here's the link: [http://ssp.shillest.net/] Fair warning, it's gonna be in japanese- Don't be scared and just click the download button!

2. Double click on the thingie, and unzip it! I advise to not unzip it in your downloads and give it its own secured folder however ;P

Then to start SSP click on the ribbon in the now unzipped files, ignore the rest, there are just "the guts" on the ghost (I mean you can read the "README" file if you're unfamiliar to all this or are curious, it explains stuff)

3. Let the cat girl (Emily) talks for a second (in japanese sorry be patient) until it opens a lil' window with stuff written (in japanese ¯\_(ツ)_/¯). Click on the right button at the bottom

4. You're good to install them now! Download and install the three files down there ! In that order: the font, the balloon, the nar

Happy Monkey font!

Mimosa talks with the happy monkey font, if you don't have it already (I didn't), download the font and install it on your computer so that what he says doesn't look weird! I promise it will look neater if you do that!

the balloon file (zip)

It's his personal talking bubble! If you don't have it, the bubble won't be adapted to them. ;w;

Download it and drag the file on the japanese-talking girl, she will do the work for you!

Open the right-click menu by, well, right-clicking on the girl and go to the balloon and select "mimomu-balloon". You might want to change the language to "english" as well! The balloon is set!

Do that before installing the nar or he won't use the good bubble for the introduction!

the nar file of the ghost

And it's the important file with the kids in it :3

Download it! If you have the font and the balloon installed, you can go and drag the nar file on Emily and you'll be done! You can change ghost in the right-click menu if you want ;3

Tell me if something is unclear <3

Now I have people to thank!

@creative-firebug was the big motivator and enabler! No ghost without them. And they found lil' bugs in it so I could fix them before putting it out in the wild too! Getting lil' hypes, hearts and advices really helps when you're working on something for months! And they linked me the tutorial so yes, enabler.

@zarla-s has created the template I used (Girl and triangle!)! I knew nothing (and still don't know a lot) of code and just how it works at all so thanks for that :D

@ukagakadreamteam answered questions I had and half of the fun stuff wouldn't have been possible without their answers!!!!!

Both Mimosa and Mu are my lil' kiddos shipkiddies

#me doing artz #Mimosa #Mu #ghost #ukagaka #enjoy!#note that you can move them freely #make sure to make Mu sits on many things on your page #you can change the rate of talking if you want to be bothered often or only once in a while #show them stuff! They have a watch mode where they're quiet (only tiny reactions) and look at stuff with you uwu Free enrichment #please forgive me for some poor choice of coding I did my best in this foreign land XDc #oh and tell me if you notice a typo or a bug I have the option of fixing stuff from my end #please don't have big bugs owo #oh lil' tip here #you can make them stay at all time on your foreground by going into the right-click menu -> options -> ghost preference #in case they disappear the instant you open a window <3 #hope you'll have fun spotting the easter eggs for those interested! One is findable right at the beginning ;3 #you can change your name and pronoums any time you want in config menu if you want to have fun...#oh and be gentle with them DO NOT DOUBLE CLICK anywhere near their HEADS and NECKS if you want to open their menu be sure to double click o #their TORSO or a lil' lower :)#you've been warned because I did so accidentally once ;w;#ok enough advices and go dowload the kids and dunno do a snail race go you're free #if you're curious I've been working on it since november

114 notes · View notes

vibratingskull · 5 months ago

Note

Hello, I had an idea for fic but it's a bit different to what you typically write so I understand if you wouldn't want to write it.

Imagine some rebels...maybe members of ghost crew intercepts some of Thrawns correspondence thinking that it's really important intel only to find it's some sweet back and forth between him and his SO.

They would be so surprised to find the big bad Grand Admiral being all cute in his messages. 👀

Interesting idea, let's see what it looks like!

⁺ 　 . ✦ Thrawn x F!reader ✦ . 　⁺

Tags: Kallus POV, pregnancy mention, Thrawn and reader are secretly married

Kallus types on the keys, eyes fixed on the screen.

Everyone is asleep in the Ghost but Kallus cannot sleep. They have been hunted mercilessly and now they are exhausted, Hera found a hideout and everyone fell face first in their pillows.

But Kallus is obsessed with a thought, something he did not have time to investigate while he was still a mole in the Empire.

He still needs to prove himself to his new rebel companions and he hopes that lead could be his ticket! Back when he was under the Empire he noticed ghost communications emanating from Grand Admiral Thrawn’s personal comms and terminals and while he found them suspicious they were not coded as orders that he needed to dig for the rebellion.

But now those communications shine in a very suspect light and he wants to get to the bottom of it.

He is no master hacker and Thrawn evidently changed all the codes of his ship to prevent Kallus from recovering them now that he is a rebel, but Thrawn cannot decide how to modify such encryptions, it obeys a very specific bureaucratic imperial logic.

Logic Kallus grew accostumed to.

For 4 weeks he tried to break the code, spending sleepless nights on this forsaken screen destroying his eyes in the dark and tonight he finally got it!

This is a one-time thing, knowing Thrawn as he does he will realize someone broke his security and stole his secrets.

And considering the encryptions on those communications, he will be absolutely furious and the hunt will get worse.

Kallus knows it

He enters, gathers a maximum of information, eliminates as many proofs of his presence, and runs to wake up Hera to change hideouts immediately!

He thought he would discover a one-way channel through which Thrawn transferred his plans to the Imperial palace to the Navy’s siege or even Lord Vader or the Emperor...

But he noticed those data left the Chimaera to return straight back to it...

Internal ship discussions do not use the triads to be sent and use an intranet and a computer to communicate informations. But Thrawn decided to muddy his trail by sending the data to a triad that recodes it again before sending the data back to the Chimaera.

With whom was he communicating and about what!?

He finishes typing his command and a new window pops up before his eye

A Discussion

To a certain “Ch’acah”

He never encountered that word. Is that a title? Nobody on the Chimaera is named Ch’acah.

...

What the hell...?

Ch’acah: ”How was your day, Thrawn?”

Thrawn: “Uneventful. My planning brought us to victory again and we are gaining in the rebels. Only Konstantine remains a wild card.”

Ch’acah: “Again? When will he learn that we need his cooperation for the plans to work as intended? He can’t allow himself to do what he wants like that!”

Thrawn: “I agree.”

Ch’acah: “I will try to have a word with him.”

Thrawn: “Thank you for your concern Ch’acah, but I would prefer you refrain. It will only had to your stress, and you do not need stress right now.”

Ch’acah: “I am pregnant, not dying, silly.”

Thrawn: “I prefer to be safe than sorry.”

...

Kallus blinks and reread all of that.

Pregnancy? Daring to call Thranw ‘silly’?

What did he stumble across?

He keeps reading

Thrawn: “I would never forgive myself if something happened to our baby.”

Ch’acah: “Nothing is going to happen to me or the baby, especially when I am with you on the Chimaera. I know you will do your best to protect us.”

Thrawn: “I am doing my best. Nothing will ever reach you two while I am alive, I swear it Ch’acah.”

Ch’acah: “Hihi, I know my love, I know.”

Thrawn: “I miss you daily even though we see each other every day. Hiding ourselves from the world tear my heart to pieces.”

Ch’acah: “You can reenact your marriage proposal on the bridge before everyone else if you want! <3”

Thrawn: “ (Y/n)... You know I cannot.”

Kallus almost spat out his caff

YOU?

You and... Thrawn are together? A couple? And you are pregnant?!

He remembers chatting with you from time to time and honestly praising your performance when he was still loyal to the Empire, when he turned to the rebellion he started avoiding you, judging you as a danger to his cover.

He always found you competent and intelligent, and visibly Thrawn thought the same and got seduced.

He would have never guessed Thrawn would get his heart stolen! And by you?

You were more dangerous than he first judged!

Thrawn: “If we are revealed you would become a target. The rebels and the Empire will try to get to you, to the baby, to reach me.”

Ch’acah: “I know... I was joking. Me too I would prefer to be free to hug you whenever I want...”

Thrawn: “Soon, Ch’acah, soon... When my true plans will succeed, when I know everyone in the galaxy is safe from that exterior threat, we will be together and free. I love you, ch’eo Ch’acah, more than anything.”

Ch’acah: “Me too, my love, more than anything.”

Kallus takes a minute

This is not what he expected

Not at all even

He feels like he walked in on something he should have never seen...

He never suspected that... softer... side of the Grand Admiral Thrawn.

He doesn’t know if that humanizes him in his eyes or gives him the creeps.

Thrawn is deadly and Kallus doesn’t really want to discover how he is when someone were to stand between him and you...

Between him and his baby...

Kallus thinks, does he even have it in himself to target a pregnant woman?

Would it not be what an Imperial would do? A rebel would probably have more morals than that...

Kallus contemplates the messages, the love that was hidden even to his eyes. He remembers you as a diligent and loyal officer to Thrawn and the Chiss showed respect to your person and gave a lot of consideration to your opinions on his tactics and plans in retrospect.

Now that Kallus has those informations, a lot of things click in his mind, about you and Thrawn’s behaviors in the presence of the other.

A secret couple

A hidden pregnancy

Thrawn is right about one thing, the Emperor will certainly try to get that baby, the offspring of his most prized tactician

This is literally a death sentence for you, it is only a matter of time. No rebel will even need to intervene: if Thrawn does nothing, the Emperor will get to him himself.

Kallus decides to exit the conversation

Destroys as much proof of his visit as he can

And stand up to wake up Hera and flee somewhere safe.

Thrawn will never allow such secret to spread and will do his best to hunt the intruder until he slits his throat

But somehow

For some reason

Kallus sympathizes with his new enemy, he would not want to be in his position

Never.

@bluechiss @justanothersadperson93 @thrawnspetgoose @thrawnalani @twilekchiss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @obbicrystaleo @elise2174@davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @princesslunamoon19 @janjtje @helrose8

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth’raw’nuruodo #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x y/n #fanfic #vibratingskull

107 notes · View notes

simphornies · 1 year ago

Note

If you're okay with it, I'd like to request a dating Vox x fem!reader where the reader is somewhat of a flirt that loves blue screening the tech overlord(I'm p sure the other Vees would egg her on to do it too cuz it's funny) and while Vox tries to get his revenge- he ultimately ends up crashing and giving the whole city a power outage when dear reader goes: "Good luck! I love you!" Just out of nowhere to wish him luck on something.

A/N: A shorter write to give myself a little break from Deal Breaker. Hope you enjoy, lovely reader <3

Word count: 1.4k ( 1,436 )

Warnings: suggestive content, not quite nsfw

Tease [ Vox x Flirty! Reader ]

Vox sat in his security room, not entirely paying attention to the screens and just scrolling through Voxstagram. He didn’t notice that you had come up behind him to watch whatever he was doing. After a while you decided to graze a finger on the edges of his screen making him jump and glitch.

“Fucking sh-hit!” He screamed, “What are you doing here? When did you get here?”

You giggled, “I’ve been here for a while. Surprised you didn’t hear me.” You played with one of the cables attached to the back of his head, “Senses dulling down, babe?” You tease.

“What do you want, Y/N?” He unplugged himself and got up, fixing the hat on his head.

“The other Vees called for you.” He gives you a look asking what they want to which you shrug in response, “No idea.”

He rolled his eyes and made his way to the elevator with you following closely behind. You looked up at him, admiring the way his eyes looked. He caught you staring at him and looked down. “What?”

“Nothing. Your eyes just look…cute.” You smile. The platform below the two of you begin to rise up into the lobby. “I would love to stare into them while you fuck me silly.” You whispered seductively. As soon as the door opened you skipped out of the elevator, leaving behind a frozen, blue screened Vox.

You approached the Vees. Vox is far behind you trying to recover from his blue screen. Velvette elbows you so she can take a quick selfie with Vox in the background. You held up the peace sign and smiled brightly for the picture. “Did you glitch him or blue screen him this time?” She asks.

“Blue screen.” You say proudly.

Valentino laughed at your accomplishment, “He’s so easy to tease, isn’t he?” He leans down to whisper into your ear, “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you get him to shut the power down.”

The two of you looked at each other with mischievous eyes and shook on it. “Deal.” You grinned.

You laid across the couch, legs dangling over the edge of the corner, listening to one of Vox’s ranting sessions regarding Alastor. Every now and then you’d hum in agreement to his enraged questions. Velvette was next to you but left the room, not entertained by his fit of rage. While you were scrolling through Voxstagram, you get a text from Velvette almost pleading with you to get him to shut up.

You sit up, looking directly at the pissed off demon glitching away in front of you. “And af-aft-ter seven years he comes back?! Like it’s nothing?!” He groaned and paced around quicker. “That motherfuck-cker is going to regret coming back! Hah…I’m going to make him regret coming back!” He stared out the window, fuming with rage, foot tapping on the floor.

You get up and walk behind him, “Wow. You’re really worked up over this radio demon.” Your words triggered another onslaught of raves about how stupid he looked and how annoying he was. Your hands snaked their way up from his back and to his shoulders. You felt him tense up at your touch until you started to massage him, trying to get him to calm down…for now. “Relax~” You purred. “You’ll get him back.”

“Fuck yeah I will. I’ll…I’ll fuck with that hotel thing he’s got going on.” He grumbled, relaxing into your touch.

As soon as you felt him relax completely you pressed up against him. “You’re the strongest overlord in my opinion~” You purred, “So strong~”

You felt his fans kick in, his body and screen warming up. Your hands wandered down to his chest, one of which played with his bowtie and the other one slowly going towards the top of his pants before quickly pulling it back up to further tease him. “I’d love for you to show me how…strong you are in other ways.”

His breathing was uneven. He wasn’t opposed to your flirty nature and seductive advances but he wanted to be the one in control instead of you for once. It drove him crazy that you kept everything. “Y-Y/N—” He stuttered, screen beginning to glitch. He was about to make a move but you pulled away before he could.

“Don’t forget about your schedule for the day. You have an interview to do in 3 hours.” You grinned before exiting his office, leaving an extremely flustered and frustrated Vox behind.

“Hey Velv! Have you seen Vox around?” You asked. It’s been a while since you last saw him. Well. It’s been a night.

“Probably in his security room.” She responded, eyes glued to her phone. “Did you check there?”

“I did but I didn’t see him.” You whined.

“Maybe he’s jerkin’ it off somewhere.” She laughed, “You’ve been teasin’ him too much.”

“Without me?” You sarcastically stated, letting out a dramatic gasp, “I’ll go check again. Thanks!”

You made your way to Vox’s room, sneaking around as you usually do. This time, he was there. Out of your view, that is. You huffed as soon as you saw his chair empty. You walked over and sat down on it, looking at the different screens that monitored the whole city hoping to spot him in one of them.

With your guard down he sneaks up behind you, “Well~ What do we have here?” He whispers, making you jump at the sudden break in silence. “Looking for me, doll?”

You turned to look at him, a bit taken aback at his sudden advances. “I have! Where have you been? I’ve been so bored.” You whined and pouted, getting up to put your arms around his neck.

He hums in response, taking a seat and pulling you down on his lap. “Bored from not being able to mess with me?” He chuckled. “You left me hanging yesterday, hours before a meeting.”

You giggled, “Yeah? Whatcha gon’ do about it, Vox?” Your finger began to caress the edges of his screen once more but this time Vox took your hand and got close to you, his tongue licking your neck. You shivered in delight at his move. “Mmmm~ Wow. You’re bolder today.”

He chuckled at your compliment, “It’s frustrating how you have this much control over me. I think I need to remind you who’s the boss here.”

You giggled, “Oh Vox. You’re so cute.” You pushed him off your neck lightly and stared him in the eyes, “Let me remind you who’s in control.”

He opened his mouth to argue back at your statement but before he could say anything, you kissed him. Despite his screen, you feel him kiss you back, his tongue trying to snake its way into your mouth. You denied him, pushing it back with your own. He melted into your figure, instantly forgetting what he said earlier.

Right as he tried to feel you up with his hands, you pulled away leaving him breathless. You get off of him and pinned him back on his chair with a hand on his chest, “You really are so cute when you try so hard~”

You hear his fans kick in and you can tell he was trying his hardest to not glitch at your obvious dominance and power over him. You looked at him seductively, “You wanna show me who’s in control so bad, babe?” You purred, your hand on his chest trailing down to the obvious lump in his pants.

His breath hitched, unaware you were about to leave him hanging once more. “How about we get this tension out the way…” You inch closer to his face, your free hand grabbing his and putting it on your stomach and up to your chest, letting him get a feel of what’s to come, “...later, tonight?”

And with that, he absolutely lost it. He glitched until he ultimately crashed and shut down all power in the city. You giggled at your win and stayed long enough for him to regain a bit of consciousness and purred into his ear, “Good luck, baby~ I love you!”

You made a run for his door, escaping his lustful, hungry grasp. You hear him glitch behind you, excited for how he’s going to absolutely devour and demolish you in a couple of hours.

You get a ping from your phone. A hundred bucks transferred to you from Valentino with a note saying ‘Good job, good luck and have fun~’

You dressed yourself in the lingerie Val had left for you in your room, waiting for Vox to zap in any minute.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel vees #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #vox hazbin hotel #suggestive #the reader is a tease #vox is my hyperfixation

767 notes · View notes

hearts4hughes · 4 days ago

Text

DUE DILIGENCE ~ CHAPTER EIGHT

wallstreet!rafe x assistant!reader | warnings: some inaccuracy (fbi caller id), graphic depiction of murder (via security footage), emotional distress / panic attack, vomiting, obsessive relationship dynamics, morally gray decision-making / complicity in crime, implied psychological trauma, murder, breaking and entering, stalking

at first, the footage doesn’t show much. just grainy parking garage stillness. a concrete mausoleum. the timestamp glitches in the corner. then there’s movement. the elevator doors yawn open and connor steps out, earbuds in, backpack slung. he moves like he always did—half-distracted, underdressed, unaware of what’s coming. the camera stutters as he crosses the frame.

a car waits, already parked. matte black with tinted windows. the familiar vehicle doesn’t move, doesn’t flash its lights. it waits. then the back door opens and he’s thrown into the car. you can’t see much at first—just flickers of motion through the fogged glass, shadows wrestling in silence. the camera angle doesn’t catch faces, only outlines. a blur of movement. a body slams sideways against the seat. then stillness.

for a second, you think it’s over. then it starts again, and it’s sharper this time. it’s all sudden jolts and fast movements. a head snapping forward. a knee jerking up into someone’s ribs. your stomach drops. you know that shape. that precision. rafe doesn’t just beat him—he takes his time. efficient, deliberate—the kind of violence that isn’t chaotic, but clinical.

you press pause because you know what happens next. you know what’s already happened. the image freezes on a body slumped against the car door. no blood visible from this angle, but you feel it anyway. like it’s under your nails and on your skin. you close the laptop with shaking hands. but the image doesn’t leave. the screen burns into your brain. you knew. you knew. but seeing it…it’s different.

a cold sweat crawls down your back. you eject the drive with shaking hands, yank it from the port, drop it like it burned you. it clatters to the floor. you back away like it might explode.

you move fast. the flash drive goes in the garbage disposal. the laptop is off, battery yanked. you grab the external hard drive you’ve been using for backup and smash it once, twice, three times against the kitchen counter until plastic cracks and pieces scatter.

you don’t stop until your legs give out. you throw up in the sink, you shake, and you cry. you stare at your reflection in the oven door and see someone you don’t recognize. mascara smeared. lip trembling. half in love, half in hell.

your fingers fumble for your phone. you don’t remember dialing. you don’t remember breathing. it’s just ringing. “hello?” his voice slices clean through you.

“rafe,” you choke out. it’s not even a sentence. just his name, wet and broken.

a beat of silence on his end. “what happened?” concern drips from his voice.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you’re standing in the middle of your kitchen with vomit in the sink and plastic shards at your feet. your lungs squeeze. your throat closes. “i—i saw it.”

“what?” his voice drops. now he’s more awake than anyone should be at this hour. “what did you see?”

you press your palm to your stomach like you can hold it all in. like you can keep yourself from unraveling. “it was a flash drive,” you whisper. “the parking garage. connor was,” you can’t even finish your sentence. “i—i saw you.”

another silence. this one worse. “jesus christ,” he mutters. not angry. not even shocked. just…broken.

your hand grips the counter. you squeeze your eyes shut, like maybe that’ll rewind it, unsee it, undo it. “i destroyed it,” you say quickly, like that matters. like it fixes anything. “i destroyed everything. i just—i couldn’t-”

“baby.” the word catches on his tongue. soft. like he’s afraid to use it but more afraid not to. “breathe.”you do. it’s a gasp that hurts more than it helps. your body trembles. “you shouldn’t have seen that,” he says. “fuck. you weren’t supposed to-”

“i know what you did,” you whisper, like saying it louder might break something between you. “and i still-” your voice cracks. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“nothing,” he says. fast, fierce. “nothing is wrong with you. do you hear me?”

you nod even though he can’t see you. the line feels too thin, too fragile. “i’m scared,” you admit. it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. your voice is paper-thin. “i don’t know what to do. i can’t stop shaking.”

he exhales into the phone. it sounds like he’s pacing. like he’s trying not to put a fist through something. “i’m coming over.”

“rafe-”

“don’t argue with me,” he says, quieter now. lower. not commanding but pleading. “just keep the door unlocked. keep your phone on. keep breathing.” your throat burns. your knees threaten to give again. “i’ll be there in ten,” he says, like a promise. like a threat to the rest of the world. “don’t hang up.”

so you don’t. you sit down on the kitchen floor with mascara on your cheeks and blood on your conscience, and you wait for the man who killed for you. the man you’re still going to let in.

the knock comes before the door even clicks open. just one, firm and low. he doesn’t want to scare you. he’s asking permission even though he could rip the damn thing off its hinges if he needed to. you stand—slowly. everything in your body feels like it’s filled with glass. not broken, just waiting to be.

you open the door. rafe’s in a black hoodie and sweats. no coat, no umbrella. his hair’s damp from the rain, curls sticking to his forehead. but his eyes, they search you like he’s counting bones. he needs to make sure you’re still real or he’ll break.

“you okay?” he asks.

you shake your head and that’s all he needs to moves. there’s no hesitation, he just crosses the threshold and folds you into his chest like he’s been dying to. your body crumples against his on instinct. the tremble in your limbs has nothing to do with the temperature.

he doesn’t shush you. doesn’t offer you a lie. he just holds you. it’s not the possessive kind, not the way he grabs your hips when he’s kissing you or the back of your neck when he’s pissed. this is different. this is the kind of hold that says i’m sorry. i’m still here. i’d undo it if i could.

you sob into his shirt. your fists curl against his chest like you might try to hit him, then loosen like you’re too tired to try. mascara smears into cotton. your knees wobble again. he catches you before you fall. “hey,” he murmurs, guiding you down to the couch, keeping you flush to him the whole way. “i’ve got you.”

you curl into him, tears staining his hoodie. and for a long, quiet stretch, he just breathes with you. his hand rubs slow circles into your back. his lips brush the crown of your head repeatedly. eventually, your cries fade into something softer. you’re not better—not even close—but you’re breathing. the pieces have stopped shaking long enough to settle.

“i didn’t want this for you,” rafe says finally. voice rough. “any of it.” you nod into his chest. his hand strokes your hair. “i didn’t know what else to do,” he adds, quieter. “he made you look weak, and you’re not.”

your fingers tighten around his hoodie. “it wasn’t about me,” you whisper, silent tears slipping down your cheeks.

“everything is about you.” the words fall out of him like gravity pulled them. no heat, no drama—just truth. it’s always been that way.

you pull back, just far enough to see his face. his hands cradle your jaw, careful like you’re glass now, too. you watch him scan your features like he’s memorizing them all over again. not lust or rage, just awe.

he leans in. it’s slow because if he moves too fast, he’s afraid you’ll vanish. his lips brush yours. it’s a warm embrace. a promise without the ring. a confession without the words. you kiss him back. it’s not hungry. not frantic. it’s just two people on the edge of something massive, trying not to fall unless they’re falling together. when he pulls away, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours. “you need to eat,” he says, barely audible. you nod, too dazed to argue. he brushes a thumb under your eye, catching the last streak of mascara. “i’ll be back in twenty.”

“rafe-” you whisper, fingers catching his sleeve. “you’ll come back?”

his eyes flick down to your hand, then up. “always.” he doesn’t ask for forgiveness and you don’t offer it.

you don’t move for a long time. the couch still holds his warmth. his scent lingers in the air. his scent used to be foreign. something you’d smell but not know who it belonged to. now it’s home.

you tell yourself to get up. wipe your face. wash the blood off your hands, metaphorical or not. but your limbs feel heavy, boneless. you curl in on yourself and burn holes into the wall.

time melts. it’s been ten minutes, maybe thirty. the rain picks up again outside, ticking softly against your windows. you used to like the rain. that’s another thing new york ruined for you.

suddenly, a sound. your front door creaks open. you blink, dazed, your body tensing before your mind catches up. you exhale too soon, too fast. “rafe?” your voice is hoarse, but steady.

no answer.

the door shuts again. those don’t sound like his footsteps. your breath catches. you rise to your feet, barefoot on the hardwood, every nerve lighting up like a match. “rafe?” you try again, voice pulled taut like piano wire. but it’s not him. he steps into view from the kitchen. he’s tall, scrawny, and familiar—but wrong…too wrong.

you know his name. you think his name is ben, or maybe bryan—you’re not sure. you’ve seen him in the bullpen. third desk from the back. junior analyst. the kind of guy who never made eye contact unless he thought you weren’t looking. always wore a wrinkled tie. always lingered just a little too long by the break room when you were pouring your coffee.

you freeze and he smiles. it’s tight, crooked, not kind. “hi,” he says like you’ve just bumped into each other in the elevator. “you left your door unlocked.”

you open your mouth, but the words get caught in your throat. your chest rises rapidly. “i didn’t mean to scare you,” he adds, eyes falling to your barely exposed chest, stepping further inside. “i just,” he chuckles, though it’s not strong. its nervous. “i had to make sure you saw it.”

your stomach drops. the flash drive. “it was you.” your voice is flat. you don’t ask, you already know.

he nods, still smiling like this is some sort of sick meet-cute. he’s planned this. probably thought of this moment in his head a million times. “i’ve been trying to help you.” your feet stay planted. your fingers inch toward your phone on the coffee table. he notices. tilts his head. “don’t.”

you pause. your pulse is a drumline now. “you deserve to know what he really is,” he continues. “everyone’s afraid of him, but not me. i’ve been watching. since your first week.” his voice dips, something reverent and rancid beneath it. “you’re smart. so fucking smart,” he bites his lip and your stomach churns. “but he’s going to ruin you.”

“get out,” you whisper.

his smile falters. just slightly. “he’s manipulated you. he’s not capable of-” he cuts himself off, jaw twitching. “you don’t have to pretend. i know he scared you. i saw your face when you left the office that day. i saw you cry in the hallway. i wanted to say something then.” you flinch. he steps closer. “he doesn’t see you. not really. but i do.”

“you need to leave,” you say again, louder this time, your voice cracking.

he shakes his head, a sick kind of softness in his eyes. “i waited-i waited so long for you to figure it out. to come to me. i didn’t want it to be like this, but you didn’t give me a choice.”

your mouth opens, but the lock turns. the front door swings open again. his hair’s wet from the rain. a paper bag in one hand from the hotdog stand down the street. he freezes in the doorway. his eyes land on you first—wide, white, panicked. then on the man standing too close. his face doesn’t change—not visibly—but the room shifts like gravity broke. “step away from her.” it’s not a request.

the analyst—ben, bryan, whatever—laughs. nervous. “this isn’t what it looks like. i was just-”

“i said,” rafe cuts in, dropping the bag to the floor. “step. away. from her.”

the guy takes a step back. rafe moves in a blur. you don’t even hear the sound of the punch—just the crash of the coffee table as it shatters under the weight of a body. rafe’s on him in seconds. fists, knees, elbows. not like the tape because it’s not clean or calculated. this is rage—this is personal.

your mouth hands agape, but you don’t scream. you don’t make a noise until rafe grabs the broken shard from the glass table. “rafe!” you shriek, but it’s too late. he’s already driven the sharp edge into the man’s throat. blood pools around the wound while tears spill from your eyes. you try to pull him off, but he doesn’t stop. not until the guy is still. his shirt soaked red.

your apartment is silent. blood drips onto the hardwood. you’re shaking. your hands, your lips, your world. rafe looks up at you. he’s breathing hard. jaw clenched. soaked in someone else’s life. but you don’t run. you just back up until your spine hits the kitchen counter and slide down, legs folding under you.

he follows. he sinks to his knees in front of you. doesn’t touch. just watches and waits. you meet his eyes. your voice is barely audible. “i’m not afraid of you.”

your phone rings. screen cracked, light flickering.

FBI

taglist ~ @sweetstrawberrianne @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @wishfairies @kieeslove @jacklesluvr @futuremrscameron @rafesdaintyfawn @winterbarnesblog @starkeyszn @drphilssoulmate @xobimbobunnyxo @foolishseven @starsluvrr @luvonstyles @k4yr14 @sultryg0dess @restinpaece @leather-n-velvet @rafestoothbrush @katecokeed @her30910 @rafeeekam @cameronsdearest @donaldsonsgirl @l0vest1les @bungurus @bambi-bvnny @strawberrymilk99 @bethslameblog @nightchanges777 @sdfghyuiopyeji @lulllabunni @wovenribbons @pearlypnk @mialuvsrafe @starkeyslibrary @sunny1616

#⋆. 𐙚˚ due diligence #ೇ wallstreet!rafe au #wallstreet!rafe #nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader

89 notes · View notes