#maybe I’ll finally stop edging the poor guy

[0mg-bird]

Hangman’s Mystery - J Seresin x Fem! Reader

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Shy! Fem! Reader

Summary: Jake takes you to meet the crew after claims of him hiding you from them. You’re extremely shy and aren’t a fan of lots of people, making Jake be more protective of you. For once, Rooster knows more about Jake’s life than the others do.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety - protective Jake- Fluff!- language.

“All I’m saying is it’s a little suspicious.” Payback says, opening his locker up. Jake just rolls his eyes, preparing himself to go through this debate one more time.

“I hate to say this, but I agree with him.” Fanboy pipes in, pulling his flight suit off.

Somehow, the conversations lately always turn back to you. Ever since the flight crew found out Jake’s been seeing someone and it wasn’t a casual hook up, they’ve bugged him about it ever since. It had come up one night at the Hard Deck, when Coyote suggested to a perky blonde, who had been hitting on him, to focus her attention on the southern boy who was playing pool. She eyed Jake up, pleased with what was in her gaze and moved in on him.

Some of the boys gathered around to watch the cocky pilot work his magic. Coyote figured he was doing the pilot a favor since he hadn’t been seen with a girl on his arm in a while. Imagine their surprise when Jake took a step away from the grasp on his bicep.

“What’s he doing?” Payback questions, looking appalled.

“Is he sick?” Phoenix asked as she finished her beer.

Jake had smiled politely and rejected all advances the girl made, sending her away and going straight to his pool game again.

By the time Rooster came around with a fresh drink, the group scrambled to fill him in on the alien sight they just witnessed.

“He sent her away.” Phoenix said with a slack jaw.

“Like a poor puppy.” Coyote joked.

Rooster took a swig of his beer, then shrugged like they were idiots. “Yeah, he already has a girl.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed.

Ever since that night a week ago, Jake was being grilled on it.

As he takes out a fresh shirt to slip on, Jake shakes his head. “Coyote is getting married, and y’all are icing me for having commitment?”

Payback nods. “Well that’s because we knew of his fiancée, you have been hiding this girl like a dirty little secret.”

“I think him and Bradshaw are pulling our leg.” Coyote pipes in. “I think he made her up just to fuck with us.”

Jake laughs out loud. “You are just being ridiculous now.”

Bob, who has been quiet the entire time, ‘lurking’ as the crew likes to say, finally uses his smug voice. “Look, Seresin, I get it. I had a fake girlfriend too one time in high school, it’s embarrassing to admit, buddy.” His words make the guys laugh, and Jake shuts his locker with a loud clank. “She’s not fake! She just doesn’t really like hanging out with dick heads like you guys. She’s real shy.” He glares.

“Well, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Fanboy states. “Yeah, we want to meet her. You bring her to the Hard Deck on Friday night if she’s real, or else we will never stop bugging you about it.” He says, giving Jake a harsh choice.

His hand runs down his face. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

“He’ll talk to her about it, he says.” Coyote scoffs. “Okay Seresin, go talk to your fake girlfriend about it.”

“She’s not fake!”

~~~~~~~

“Baby?” He calls, walking through your front door. Moving to set his small duffle bag on the counter, he toes off his boots, trying to place where you were in the sea side house. It was oddly quiet, maybe you had your head phones in, oblivious to the world outside.

Down the hall he goes, pushing open your cracked bedroom door. Your scrubs were tossed in the corner, almost making it into the laundry hamper. You lay sprawled in bed, hair out of your braid, asleep in one of Jake’s t shirts he left at your house and some boxer shorts.

Slowly, he creeps to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed as he strokes your hair. You slowly start to stir, opening your bright eyes to him. A smile creeps up your pink lips, you take a deep breath in and twist to sit up.

“Hi.” You grin, happy he’s here.

“You alright? It’s only five, you look tired.” His voice was calm, sweet to you as he stroked the under side of your chin with his finger.

You rubbed your eyes. “Long day.” You breathe. “Mr. Johnson passed this morning.”

Jake’s eyes grow heavy with sorrow for you. He knew that this was normal for you because you were an at home nurse and a lot of the time the elderly patients pass. “I’m sorry, honey.” He says, leaning to kiss your forehead.

You lean into his touch. “It’s alright, I should be used to it by now but…I don’t know, Mr. Johnson was a sweet man, I actually adored his company.” You softly laugh. “But, that’s life, I’ll be fine.”

Pushing the covers further off of you, you lean forward and sweetly kiss the man that’s been in your life for five months. Despite the somewhat short time period, you couldn’t imagine life being any different than what it is. Your mother and sister called you crazy for being with an aviator, reminding you that he won’t stay in town forever, that he is quite literally owned by the government and will be wherever he is assigned to. The thought was scary, getting so attached to someone just for him leave when his ship comes in. It made your anxiety tick higher when you thought about it for too long. But, you don’t think you’ve ever been this in love. You’ll be the first to admit that you’ve never been a social butterfly, you were stuck in a shell, hardly bothering to get close to new people. Your handful of friends knew this about you, so it was a surprise when they met Jake and all of his infectious attitude. Somehow, Jake had a way of prying that shell open, his strong hands took you off the shelf and he learned that there’s a light hearted, good time, girl under all the shy innocence. He loved you for both versions, and it made you love him even more.

You declared that if you could, you’d follow him anywhere.

As he takes a shower, probably using your shampoo, you move to figure out what it is that you wanted to make for dinner.

You turn on some music, cracking a beer open and taking a drink. Soon, the kitchen is full of a delicious scent that Jake smells all the way from the bedroom. He follows the waft, sweatpants low on his hips and a casual tank top over his upper half. Finding you stirring some vegetables, he kisses the side of your head, then snatches the half drank bottle from your hand. This is usually the routine, you can never finish the drink you intend to, so he’s there to finish it for you.

“I want to…ask you something.” He says, leaning back against the counter.

You hum in question, and he loves the little look you toss him from over your shoulder.

“You wanna go out on Friday night?” He asks, making you smile. “Sure, where do you want to go?” You ask, unsure why he seems off.

“Well, I think since I’ve met your friends, you should meet mine. Let’s go to the Hard Deck with them, honey.”

You immediately stop your movements, anxiety sweeping over you. “Jake…I don’t know…a bar…”

“I met you in a bar.” He reminds with a smug look.

“That was different.” You turn to face him. “I was dragged there for my sister’s twenty first birthday and you know I hated it the whole time.”

He smiles at your pointed look. “Yes, I know but this will be different. Look, we’ll go, say hi, prove you actually exist, then come home and have sex on the couch.”

Your eyes widen. “Jake!” You gasp at his bluntness.

“Fine, we’ll do it in the shower.”

“Just stop talking.” You shake your head, hiding your smile. “The crew really doesn’t think I exist?”

He comes to grips with your waist. “They think I’ve made you up, like some sad Freshman geek…like i’m Bob or something.”

“Who’s Bob?” You ask with confusion.

His head dips to your neck. “Come to the bar and you’ll figure it out.” He mumbles, inhaling your scent before nipping at your skin. It makes you laugh, desperate to push him away but his strong arms have you locked in.

Something about him could make you forget anything. Sadness, anxiety, tiredness…the veggies that are burning in the skillet.

As his mouth moves up your throat, he’s engulfing you like a starved man. You try to speak before he’s inhaling you deeply, pulling you impossibly closer with his mouth on yours, searing you with a kiss that makes your knees weak.

“Jake- baby- mm.” You battle. “Okay, I’ll go with you. Jake- vegetables are charring.”

He finally lets go of you, grinning at your laugh and the way you stumble slightly as he lets you go.

~~

Clammy hands run down your jeans, once, twice, three times before Jake pulls you towards the entrance.

“They’re not gonna like me.” You stress.

“They’ll love you.” He states, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“They’ll be bored of me in two seconds.” You continue.

“No they won’t, just breathe, honey.”

You’re submerged into a room full of talk and music, some rowdy college kids are being thrown out and you’re sure you stepped in a puddle of spilled margarita. Your eyes are wide, and you shift closer into the larger body beside you. Jake leans down to whisper in your ear that it’s calmer in the back.

By the pool table, a group is gathered there and you immediately assume this is the infamous crew.

Phoenix is the first to notice, she smacks Payback and Fanboy, motioning for them to look alive.

“Well well, here he is, the man himself.” Coyote says smugly, setting his pool stick down.

A shorter pilot approaches you. “How much did he pay you to be here?” He asks, confusing you.

“What?”

“Just joking, I’m Reuben, but everyone calls me Payback, and you’re gorgeous.” He takes your hand in greeting, making your face heat with surprise and embarrassment.

Payback is pushed aside, and replaced by another. “I’m Fanboy, his back seater which means he’d be shit outa luck if he didn’t have me saving his ass.”

You shake his hand too, unsure of what to say.

“So, what’s your name? Wait, what was the last one, Jake? Abbi? Alison? Sorry, he has a thing for A names. Your name start with an A?” His tone is teasing, but he’s so straightforward, it makes things awkward.

Jake’s grip tightens on you. “Cut it out, Garcia.” He slowly said with a warning look.

Fanboy puts his hands up in defense. “Just trying to get to know this mystery girl you hid from us, Hangman.” He claims, then goes back to your gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” You say softly, brushing him off.

You’re introduced to more guys, all who make some sort of snide comment about your relationship with Jake, well, except for Bob who was utterly polite. To your surprise, you’re introduced to Natasha greets you with a hug.

“Well, you’re real and not crazy so that’s a plus.” She jokes, making you chuckle. “You want something to drink?” She asks.

“You’re sweet, thank you. I’ll just take a beer, I’m not picky.” You say in a grateful tone, she nods, saying she’ll be right back.

Moving in from outside, Rooster makes his appearance.

“I missed the meet and greet? Damn.” He says, making you turn with a grin.

“Bradley, hi!” You greet, stepping away from Jake’s embrace momentarily. Rooster hugs you politely. “Hey girly, how are you?”

The crew grows a sour look.

“You two already know each other?” Coyote asks.

Rooster nods. “I was there when her and Hangman met.” He says so casually.

“Bradley and Ashley come over for lunch sometimes.” You add, making the group look at each other.

“Does no one tell us anything anymore or…” Bob trails off.

The night continues with chatter and worthless bets on pool shots. At no point does your hand leave Jake, whether it’s intertwined with his or on his arm, his back, your finger hooked on his belt loop, anything. It might make you look needy, but it’s something that eases your nerves.

When you do pull away from him with intention of finding the bathroom, he immediately turns when your warmth is gone.

“Where you goin’?” He questions.

“The ladies room, a place you can’t follow me in to.” You tease, starting to walk away.

He’s eyes scan the room, then watch you closely. He doesn’t miss the amount of guys that turn to watch you, scanning you up and down, definitely making comments about how good you fit in your jeans.

His paranoia gets the better of him, he marches across the bar to the hallway where the restrooms are. Back leaned against the wall, he waits, standing guard, in his mind, but the pilots call him a puppy.

“Mystery girl went and made him a golden retriever.” Payback laughs.

Fanboy nods. “We’ve lost him for good. What’s he gonna do when he leaves next month for Po-dunk, Texas- or wherever he’s from?”

They all watch as you and Jake slowly start to walk back to the group. Rooster, who finishes his beer, simply shrugs and leans to line his pool stick up. “He says he’s gonna take her with him and marry her.”

“What?!”

[dannyriccsystem]

I have a mommy kink can I indulge-

Oscar... She's like edging him all night and he slips and calls her ....mamas? Mommy?.. You pick - and shes like .....oh....and then overstimulates him and it's crazy he's crying fr

STICKY, STICKY, STICKY, BITCH!

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

SUMMARY: Edging Oscar leads into overstimulation :)

WORD COUNT: 791

WARNINGS: Both edging and overstim, mommy kink implied, Oscar calls reader mommy, safe word used, crying/tears

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Reader

NOTE: YES GOD YES. YESSSS. WE WON TODAY

EDGING WAS NOT OSCAR’S STRONG SUIT. It always left him squirming, and his body ended up sore by the end. You, however, didn’t care. You loved edging that boy.

You had your delicate hands wrapped around his cock, sliding up and down. He sat back against the headboard, his head tilted back and his chest heaving with every whimper and harsh curse.

“Fuck,” He whined, biting his bottom lip. He was so close to cummimg, his pretty aching cock twitching in your hands. It was soaked in pre-cum and your saliva, the tip dusted a light red after hours of edging. It had been around two hours now, and he hadn’t come once. Not even once. “Please, please…”

“Not yet,” You whispered, using both your hands to stroke him. His hips jerked, and he cried out desperately.

“Please, no more! Let me come, fuck- Ah, sh-shit—Ah!” His breath hitched, and you could see his balls tighten. You pulled your hands away, and his whole body deflated with disappointment as his orgasm was pushed away once more. “No… No, no…” He leaned forward, his lips dropped into a pout as he repeated this mantra.

“You’re doing so good, just a few more, okay?” You whispered teasingly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He looked over to you, his mouth agape and his eyes lidded. His chest heaved with every inhale for air. Poor guy…

“Okay,” He whined out softly, nodding his head. He knew the safe word, which made you feel more confident in what you were doing and that it wasn’t hurting him or anything. It was just a bit of fun for you both…

Mostly for you.

Once he had seemed to relax, you started again. There’s no rest for pleasure. Your well manicured hands slid up and down, soft palms dragging along his extra sensitive cock. Oscar jerked his hips again, his quickened exhales turning into soft moans.

“Ah- ah-… M-Mommy, fuck!” You froze.

He didn’t seem to realize. He just started to relax once you stopped moving your hands, like maybe you had finally decided this torture was over. Unfortunately for Oscar, it most certainly wasn’t.

“What’d you call me?” You smirked pressing another kiss to his temple. Your hand started up again, and his whines did too. “Don’t worry Osc, I’ll take care of you. Mommy’ll take care of you.”

“No…” He whined, probably under the assumption he was in for another hour of edging. You sped up, and his hips jerked, hoping that maybe he could steal some pleasure before you ripped your hands away again. “C-Coming, I’m-”

But this time, as his climax rose, you pushed him right through it. He grunted loudly with his eyes squeezed shut whilst ropes of hot cum spurted from his tip. His hands held your arm for support, hips spasming again. “Good job,” You praised.

That should have been it. In the past it was always hours of edging for one moment of pleasure, but today you kept going, which shocked his system entirely. His cock twitched, and his fingers dug into your arm. Oscar’s eyes tried to search yours for solace, but alas. You were only focusing on his pretty dick.

“Please- Please no more,” He whined.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Oscar fell silent, save the few moans, and you finally looked to him. With a slightly shameful expression, your love drunk boyfriend shook his head no.

“Good boy.” You could feel him twitch as a response to the pet name.

You pulled another orgasm out of him. Your boyfriend was whinier than normal, tears welling in his eyes. Everything was so sensitive, every time you brushed against his skin he practically came. The sounds filling the room were wet and filthy, echoing both of your pleasure.

“Mommy-” He cried again, choking on his moans. You rubbed his arm with one hand, the other never ceasing that relentless stroking. “Please, no… F-Fuck! Coming!” His head fell back as his cock spurted more and more cum, covering your hand in the delicious sticky substance. “R-Red…”

There it was, the safe word. You pulled your hands off of him, sitting back on your knees to let him catch his breath. You hadn’t intended to go until his literal breaking point, but when he called you that name it was like something took over. He panted, his eyes shifting to you. You wiped your hand on your thigh. “What can I get for you, Osc?” You asked softly, leaning in for a kiss in which he weakly reciprocated.

“I just wanna lay down,” His speech was slurred as he reached for you, pulling you to his chest. You nearly fucked the poor guy unconscious.

He’d get you back. Surely!

[alexispunkkk]

stress remedy

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

- pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

- summary: after some stressful times with school, peter surprises his pretty girlfriend with some flowers

- warnings: basically nothing, just pure fluffy! some kissing + mentions of stress

- word count: 1.7k

- author’s note: hiii! my first tumblr fanfic ever. requests are open, i’ll be doing mostly peter parker and andrew garfield.

—————————————୨ৎ

Your boyfriend has a busy life, and you truly have no clue how he even manages. Balancing you, schoolwork, his internship at Oscorp, and being a fucking superhero?

Obviously, that’s far too much for many people. But Peter Parker isn’t just anyone — he’s your sweet boy, the one that does it all. Even with all of his duties, the poor guy still is the most perfect boyfriend in the world.

Between the stress of school and work and whatnot, each day is beginning to feel longer and longer. Days were dragging on into colder winter nights, rather than the fun nights in the summer where you and Peter had as much time as you could ever possibly want.

You almost had no time. Coming home from school or work, you’d go right down for a nap, wake up for dinner and homework, then go straight to bed. The only thing keeping you awake for the few dull hours was your wonderful boyfriend.

Tonight was the same: half asleep in bed, your cat cuddled up to your side by force and threatening to escape the cuddles. A few sheets of homework on the desk, obviously undone, the TV on instead.

Peter knows you’ve been having a tough time at school, he’s the most adorably observant person you’ve ever met. And even with all of his own seemingly never-ending issues, he managed to put you above them all.

Your cat finally wriggled out of your arms and leaped out of the bed, scrambling under it at the sound of a knock on the window: Peter’s signature knock, to be exact. Before you can react, the tiny double-tap knock is accompanied by a gorgeous — maybe just slightly crumpled — bouquet of flowers.

They’re strung up by an all too familiar web, dangling down off of the upstairs neighbors’ Juliet balcony.

You felt like such a princess whenever Peter gave you such a dramatic arrival, dangling flowers and snacks or swinging in to surprise you. Only to be more princess-like, you scampered over in your dainty pajama set to the window, opening it and resting your arms delicately on the chilled windowsill.

Your chin soon joined, settling down on top of your forearms adorably, the stupidest grin plastering across your face when Peter finally swings down and takes the flowers off the web.

“Hi, spidey.” You giggled and stood up, opening it further to pull him inside with no effort to be careful.

“Hi, sweet girl.” He beamed back and stumbled into the bedroom with a chuckle, that all too familiar boyish grin crossing his own pretty face.

In seconds, the two of you became a tangled mess of limbs. The flowers were quickly discarded onto the desk, a quick web shooting from his wrist to shut the window and stop the chilly breeze that was slowly infiltrating the room.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you right up into your favorite spot. Your body was suspended up into the air, rested so perfectly flush against his own.

With the quiet giggles and kisses exchanged, your sour and tired mood was forgotten faster than anything.

The familiar feeling of his cold hands traveling under your shirt and across your back was intoxicating as usual, making you want to melt right into him and stay there forever, to forget about all of your worries and just be with him.

Your mind was just Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter.

“Got you a gift. Thought you might need a little pick-me-up with that midterm you’ve got coming up.” He backed up to carefully set you on the edge of the soft bed. The feeling of your head tucked so deep into the crook of his neck and his scent going straight to your heart was quickly missed, but he’ll be back soon enough.

Peter grabbed the flowers off the desk and jumped right onto the bed, earning a playful giggle from you.

“Yeah? When’d you have time to pick those up?” You scramble the second he’s laid down, crawling up the bed to accompany him.

His hands glided up your waist like silk, squeezing your sides under the pretty little lace tank top you’d chosen for pajamas tonight. It was an instinctive behavior for Peter, and you were settled in his lap in no time. No matter how often he touched you like this, it’s always as equally electrifying.

“May or may not have stolen them on the way home from Oscorp tonight.”

Once you were cuddled up in his lap, his hands moved toward your head without thought to card through the locks of your hair, pulling you closer with a quiet, domestic hum.

His words earned a snort from you, exhaling heavily while you settled on top of his body, head instinctively finding its favorite spot in his neck.

“Wow, how special am I? My boyfriend steals me flowers.” You joke, pressing the softest kiss to that sweet spot behind his ear.

In return, his hands moved up your shirt, the tip of his thumbs just barely ghosting the bottom cup of your breasts.

“Shut up, I just wanted an excuse to see you. You’ve been so holed up recently at home.”

Your eyes roll and your arms tighten around his neck, scoffing and feigning annoyance.

“I have not been holed up, thank you very much. Just … studying?” You laugh and shift in his lap, reaching across his now warm body to grab hold of said stolen flowers.

They were pretty, just maybe slightly crumpled up. But that’s the Peter Parker charm: everything had to be a bit messy when it was coming from him.

“Yeah, studying. How’s that going?” He snickers back, running one strong hand up through the top of your hair to expose your face that he was so enamored with.

The feeling of a gentle kiss to your forehead melted your heart like usual, making you both soften up and quit with the teasing.

“Not good,” you sighed, slumping back down and going all limp on top of him, your nose faintly brushing his jawline. “I haven’t done any of my homework. I’m so burnt out.”

Peter’s own face softened at that, looking down at you and brushing more of that hair out of your face to get a proper look. To his suspicion, your faint eyebags looked … well, a little less faint.

“You’ve gotta get some rest, then, baby.” He sighed and brushed his own nose into your hair, pulling your head under his chin to rest there while one hand stroked down the base of your neck.

You opened your mouth to protest, but you knew fighting over things like this with Peter never gave you a win. As much as you love him, he’s so damn insistent — he won’t let you do anything if it’s not all beneficial for your mental health or whatever he’s going on about.

“Fine. I’m not gonna fight you tonight.”

Your hands quickly work down his body, tugging at his belt in an attempt to get it off. He helps you work it off quickly, climbing out of bed for a moment to discard his jeans and coat to get comfier.

You only whined a little bit when he got up. To be fair, both of you were awfully clingy, not just you.

“Good, you’re not touching that laptop again. Not after that essay you spent all of our time on the other day.” Peter says, and the second the clothing hits the floor you pull him back down with a quiet giggle.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

He’s tugged nice and close quickly, so perfect against your body. The comfort of your bed has warmed his body up and he’s just in heaven with you wrapped up in his arms.

“No, don’t wanna go to bed.” Your face turns into a pout at his comment, stuffing right into his neck like always. “Let’s just talk. Get my mind off of school. Please?”

As convincing as you attempted to be, the yawn threatening to pull at your lips and the clingy nature you only fell into when you’re really tired gave you away.

“Baby, c’mon. Look at you. All pretty, but exhausted.” He cooed and chuckled, stroking the back of your hair to pull your head back under his chin the way he likes.

Quiet, protesting giggles escape your mouth, but when he keeps trying to pull you closer you’re on the verge of giving in.

At the sound of your constant stubborn whines at the simple thought of going to bed, Peter knows he’ll have to step it up.

“Come on. I’m not gonna be able to sleep myself if I know you’re stressed out. Let’s go to sleep, sweetheart.”

The gentle tone of his voice and slight puppy eyes urged you further and you truly can’t help it in that moment. A sigh escaped your mouth and you reluctantly moved closer, pulling the covers over the two of you.

“Fuck off. Fine.” You yawned once you finally allowed yourself to, letting your body go limp against him.

“There you go. Just close those pretty eyes, yeah? They look heavy.” He whispers, making sure the comforters are over you in every spot, not letting a sliver of skin exposed to the cold air when you could be snuggled with him.

Your protesting let up every time Peter whispered in your ear, the sweet words setting your mind right into a sleepy state. Little “love you’s” and “I’m right here’s” were so quick to ease your mind every time, even at your most stressed state.

“So easy to bribe.” He chuckles against your head once you’re asleep, pressing a last kiss to the top before shutting his own eyes. “G’night, baby. Love you. Always.”

[oaksgrove]

The Partner’s Curse

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Jinxed!Reader

synopsis: You've always been unlucky—at least, that’s what everyone says. After too many partners ending up in medical, the name "Jinx" stuck. You never argued. How could you? The evidence was there. But when Ghost volunteers to partner with you, he refuses to believe in curses. He’s determined to prove you wrong—even if it means putting himself in harm’s way to do it. 

warnings: Insecurity, self-blame, angst with comfort, found-family vibes, mild injury.

word count: 1197

a/n: completely not based on my “nickname” during high school…

The first time someone called you jinx, it was a joke. A harmless, teasing remark after your first partner twisted their ankle on a routine mission.

Then it happened again. And again.

By the time your third partner ended up in medical, the teasing took on a sharper edge. eople were avoiding you like you were a ticking time bomb, making excuses, side-eyeing you when assignments were handed out.

“Don’t get paired with Jinx,” someone laughed one day. “Unless you fancy a trip to medical.”

You overheard it from around the corner in the hallway, their words slicing through you like a blade sharper than they knew.

At first, you laughed along, brushing it off as banter.But by the time your fifth partner ended up in medical, the humor drained out of it.

To your credit, you didn’t argue, not once. You couldn’t, really.

Because they weren’t wrong. Were they?

The evidence was there: every person you partnered with seemed to end up with bad luck or injuries. Not life-threatening, thankfully, but enough to make you feel the weight of their pain like it was your fault.

Soap sat at the rec room table with Gaz, the two of them murmuring while Ghost sat nearby, arms crossed and legs sprawled.

“Jinx. That’s what they’re calling her now,” Soap muttered, swirling his spoon in his coffee. “Poor lassie.”

Gaz sighed. “It’s not fair.  It’s not her fault, It’s just bad luck.”

Soap exhaled sharply. “Aye, but it’s gotten in her head.” Soap replied, his tone softer. “You see how she’s been keeping to herself?”

Ghost, silent as ever, flicked his gaze toward the far corner of the room.

You sat alone, quietly picking at your plate, though you hadn’t touched a bite.

After a long pause, Ghost spoke, his tone flat.

“She’s not cursed.”

Soap raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that, big guy? Five partners down—”

“I’ll prove it,” Ghost interrupted. His tone was sharp, final.

Gaz and Soap exchanged a look. “What if something happens to you?”

Ghost scoffed. “Then I’ll buy into the nonsense. But until then? It’s just bad luck and poor timing.”

You blinked at Price when he informed you Ghost had requested to be your partner. Not exactly sure of what to say, for a moment, you thought you misheard the Captain.

“I’m sorry? Are you sure?” you asked, voice hesitant.

“He’s sure,” Price replied, watching you carefully. “Besides, maybe it’s what you need—someone to remind you this ‘curse’ is nonsense.”

Your stomach twisted. “But… what if something happens to him?” you blurted out, your voice breaking slightly.

Price leaned forward, voice softer. “That’s the thing, kid. Ghost can handle himself. And I think it’s time you stopped carrying this weight on your own.”

-

Ghost didn’t treat you differently, like others who avoided you like the plague.

If anything, he was calm, steady, and patient. That made it worse.

Because when the first accident happened, your heart sank.

It was a simple recon assignment, nothing high-stakes. You and Ghost moved through the shadows with precision, each step calculated and silent. Everything was fine until the rooftop plank gave way beneath you. You barely managed to catch yourself, dangling over the edge with your heart hammering in your chest.

Ghost’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and hauling you up with shocking ease.

“Steady,” he murmured, his grip like steel as he hauled you back onto solid ground.

You shook, staring at the broken plank. “I—I told you,” you stammered. “I told you this would happen.”

“Stop,” Ghost exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “That was a shitty roof, not a curse. Get your head straight, Don’t blame yourself for things out of your control.”

You nodded, but deep down? The  knot of guilt wouldn’t go away, in fact it only tightened.

The incidents kept happening. Small things at first.

A near-miss with a tripwire.

A stray bullet grazing Ghost’s shoulder.

By the third time, you snapped.

“I don’t know why you volunteered for this,” you blurted one night, pacing the safe house like a caged animal. Ghost sat at the table, cleaning a shallow cut on his arm.

“You should’ve listened to them.” Your voice cracked. “I’m jinxed, Ghost. You’re going to get hurt, and it’ll be my fault.”

Ghost didn’t react right away, just kept wrapping his bandage.

Then, he sighed. Deeply.

“You didn’t cause this,” he said, his voice calm.

“I’m sorry but how can you say that?” Your throat tightened. “Every time someone partners with me, something goes wrong.”

Ghost stood up abruptly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it stopped you cold.

“Enough Sargent.”

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer.

“You think I don’t know what they say about you?” His voice was low, edged with something unreadable, as he stepped closer to you. “You think I care?”

You swallowed hard, but you bit him back. “Maybe you should.”

His gaze softened—but only slightly.

“You’re not cursed.” His voice was firm. Unshakable. But at the same time soft like a breeze. “You’re one of the best soldiers I’ve worked with. And I’ll keep saying it until you start believing it.”

The words hit something deep inside you like a balm to the raw edges of your insecurities, but you weren’t ready to believe him..

-

Soap finally cornered you in the gym after your fifth attempt to avoid training.

“You think Ghost would’ve partnered with you if he didn’t trust you?” he said, arms crossed.

You hesitated. “I… I don’t know why he did.” you admitted quietly. “But he’s wrong.”

Soap scoffed. “Maybe you’re the one who’s wrong, then. He sees something in you, aye? And we do too. You’re part of this team, jinxed or not, so stop trying to carry it alone.”

Ghost’s final test of the so-called curse came during a mission extraction gone sideways. When the team was pinned down, you made a split-second decision—cover Ghost’s retreat, drawing fire away from him.

By the time he realized? It was almost too late.

He found you hunched behind cover, injured, but still firing with precision.

“You’re an idiot,” he growled when he reached you, dragging you to safety despite your protests.

“I couldn’t let you get hurt,” you argued.

Ghost’s voice finally broke its usual calm. “And you think I could let you get hurt?” His grip tightened. “You’re my partner. That means we look out for each other. No curses. No superstitions. Just us.”

Back at base, you sat on your cot, staring at the floor. The weight of the day pressed heavy on your chest.

Ghost leaned against the doorframe. Mask up. Watching.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You looked up, meeting his steady gaze.

And for once? The weight felt lighter.

You smiled. “I think so, but… you were right. I’ve been blaming myself for everything. It wasn’t fair to me���or to them.”

Ghost crossed the room in two long strides, crouching in front of you, voice low. Softer.

“Took you long enough to figure that out.”

You laughed. For real, this time.

“Thanks, Simon.” 

A pause. Then—

“Anytime, partner.” he replied with a rare warmth in his voice.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash

[madhatterbri]

Obey | A.S.

Summary: It’s giving a text that says “I’ll be done with my workout in five minutes. When I get back to the room, be on the bed with your clothes off.” (Based off caption and the picture above... Please, God, don't let this man find Tumblr). 18+.

Requested by: @letsgivethisonemoreshot

Happy Friday Night Smackdown, babes.

Alex Shelley Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @smallestsnarkestgirl @hodgepodge-musings @cowboywritersworld @magicalbuttertarts @letsgivethisonemoreshot @blackwingedmisanthrope

“I’ll be done with my workout in five minutes. When I get back to the room, be on the bed with your clothes off.”

The hotel room was quiet, save for the air conditioning kicking on.

You sat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, fingers rubbing against each other. Alex's message told you to wait for him, and you did. Clothes were shed from your body almost immediately. They were placed in a pool on the floor.

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the nightstand. The five minutes felt like an eternity. Time seemed to tick slower and slower.

The door was still locked. No sound came from the once busy hallways. It was two in the morning. Everyone in the hotel was asleep now. Anticipation ate away at you. When would he finally be coming to his room?

Your mind raced as you thought about all the possibilities tonight could go. Even after the toughest strength training, he loved to get some "cardio" in. Several nights, she was woken up to a text from him to be ready. The poor guy had a horrible sleep schedule, and you were always happy to help.

Maybe this was all a test. Testing to see if there was any hope in you being his good girl again. You had been acting out lately. Worst yet, what if this was all just a test?

You inhaled deeply. The smell of his clothes from his open suitcase danced under your nose. Anything that reminded you of him always calmed you.

Until you heard the sound of an elevator's door opening. Footsteps could be heard walking out of the elevator and towards your door. You felt your pulse quicken as the steps stopped right outside the door. Your breath hitched in your throat as a sound came from just outside. The key unlocked the door, and your boyfriend, Alex, walked in.

His body was covered in sweat. A recently added blonde streak in his hair hung over his tired hazel eyes. Black headphones hung around his neck. He took a few steps before stopping. A handsome smirk curled his lips.

"You decided to be a good girl today?" He asked.

You raised your head to look at him. A sheepish smile broke your stoic face. Your body burned for him whenever he called you a good girl. "Yes, sir."

Alex hummed in response and walked to the table. He removed his headphones and shirt. The items were discarded and forgotten. Your boyfriend gripped the back of the chair before walking towards you again.

He grabbed your chin. His thumb ran down your bottom lip. Your eyes locked in a heated gaze. Alex let go of your chin as he dropped to his knees before you. His hands uncrossed your legs and parted them.

"You are going to be punished for your behavior this week," he informed you. Your spine felt that jolt of electricity. You squirmed as your mind imagined all the ways he had punished you in the past.

"Yes, sir."

"There will be no complaining. No whining. No mercy. You will thank me after every orgasm I rip from you is that understood?" He asked. Each statement was punctuated with a kiss. By the end, you were practically putty in his hands.

His forehead pressed to yours as he leaned in for a sweet and tender kiss. The last that you will experience for a while. Tonight, you were his to do with as he pleased.

"That was for obeying me. Now, lay down so your punishment can begin."

[oceannote]

Sound check - Part 2

Note from author: Hello, my babessssss. You guys have been blowing off my messages regarding a part 2 and HERE IT IS. I hope you will enjoy it just as much. I kinda left the ending in the air so maybe if your feedback is positive I can make a cheeky part 3? XoXo YK

Summary: As a sound engineer, you have always dreamed of working with your favorite artists, but is it fate that makes you cross a line with your favorite idol, or is it a pur,e dumb adrenaline decision that puts your whole career in danger?

Warnings: Characters are fake and are a result of fiction, mentions of poor health, lack of confidence and swear words. Do not copy, translate or remake the story.

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

“Stop obsessing over it. Maybe he’s just really busy with the promotion,” Iseul says from her usual spot on my couch, curled up like a cat with a blanket around her shoulders, feet dangling lazily off the armrest.

“I’m not obsessing,” I mutter, tossing my phone onto the coffee table with a little more force than necessary.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, raising an eyebrow without looking at me. “That was the fifth time you checked his 'last seen online’ in the last ten minutes. You were basically refreshing it like a stock market app.”

I sink further into the armchair. “I was just checking. There’s nothing wrong with checking.”

She gives me a look. “You need a hobby.”

“And you need to leave,” I say, standing up and marching toward her, my fingers wiggling in the air threateningly. “Say that again and I will tickle you until you beg for mercy.”

She screams dramatically and pulls the blanket over her head. “I’m serious, Y/N!” she squeals between giggles as I poke at her sides. “You’re acting like his girlfriend, and newsflash, you’re not!”

I freeze mid-attack.

Ouch.

“I know that,” I say quietly, sitting back down on the edge of the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest.

Iseul peeks out from under the blanket. Her voice softens. “I didn’t mean it in a mean way. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I nod, staring at my phone screen lighting up for no reason at all,no message, no notification. Just the mocking glow of nothing.

She’s right. We’re not even dating. Not officially, anyway.

The last four weeks have been a blur,late-night studio sessions with Yoongi where we’d spend hours tweaking tracks and fine-tuning vocals. That part was professional. Clean. Focused.

But then there were the other parts, the quiet in-between moments.

His hand on my knee while listening to the final mix. A lingering look when the room went silent. Cuddling on my couch at 3AM when neither of us had the energy to move. A kiss that turned into more. Whispered compliments. Half-asleep “wish I could stay” confessions. Sweet nothings over text. A wink, a smirk, the kind of soft that makes you stupid.

But still… no “us.” No labels. No conversation.

Just something… whatever this is.

“I didn’t expect it to turn into this,” I say after a long pause.

Iseul watches me quietly.

“When I got the assignment, I was focused on work. I wasn’t thinking about...” I trail off, trying to find the right word. “...anything happening beyond the studio.”

“And yet here we are,” she says gently. “Now you’re checking your phone like a girl who misses her boyfriend… who’s not her boyfriend.”

“Exactly.” I laugh, but it’s hollow. “I mean, I’ve tried to bring it up a few times. The whole ‘what are we’ thing. But he always… redirects.”

“Redirects?”

“Yeah. Like, I’ll say something like, ‘Have you told anyone about us?’ and he’ll respond with, ‘Did you hear how the bass kicks in on track five now?’” I shake my head, trying to laugh it off. “It’s like verbal aikido. He dodges it so smoothly, I don’t even notice until it’s too late.”

Iseul frowns. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I just don’t know what this is. It’s like… we’re something, but I’m not allowed to call it anything. And lately, he’s barely been texting. Just these half-hearted ‘how are u’ messages every 12 hours like he’s clocking in for a wellness check.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“I’ve tried,” I sigh. “But every time I get close, I hesitate. Because I’m scared that if I ask for more, I’ll lose even this.”

“That’s not nothing,” she says. “That’s fear. And it’s valid. But… you deserve clarity. Not crumbs.”

I bite my lip, suddenly fighting off the sting behind my eyes. “I just… I don’t want to be someone he keeps in the shadows because it’s convenient. I don’t want to keep pretending like I’m okay with this when I’m not.”

Iseul gets up and sits beside me, throwing the blanket over both of us. “Then maybe it’s time to stop pretending.”

I don’t respond. I can’t. My heart is too loud right now, thumping in my chest like it’s trying to punch through the silence.

And deep down, I already know.

Something’s gotta give. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This Monday morning at the HYBE building should’ve felt like any other day. The same security guy nodding at the entrance. The same elevator music on the ride up. The same quiet hum of people pretending it’s not too early for work. And yet… something’s different.

Because for the first time since I started this job, I’m not walking through these halls for Yoongi.

I’m here for Jimin.

The thought still feels surreal. Jimin is launching part two of his best-selling solo album, and because my NDA and contract for Yoongi’s project are still active, and apparently my work didn’t go unnoticed, I was offered the chance to take this one on too. It all happened so quickly, and honestly, I haven’t even had time to process it fully.

As I step out of the elevator onto the 8th floor, meeting notes clutched to my chest, I’m focused. Or at least I try to be.

Until I hear a familiar voice coming down the hall.

“...and then he said it wasn’t even his car, so I don’t know who he thought he was fooling...”

“Good morning to you too,” another voice chimes in with a laugh.

I look up and see Yoongi, Jin, and Hoseok heading in my direction, clearly in the middle of an animated conversation. They all look relaxed, coffee cups in hand, their pace casual. But when Yoongi spots me, he slows down and stops completely.

“Oh, hey. Good morning,” he says, giving me a polite nod and that half-smile he always gives when he’s trying to be neutral but curious. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, guys,” I say with a small bow to Jin and Hoseok. “I’ve got a meeting in about fifteen minutes.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Meeting?”

“Yeah,” I say, shifting the folder in my arms. “For Jimin’s project. I’m the sound engineer for the second part of his album.”

That gets his attention. His smile fades just a fraction, not enough to be obvious, but enough for me to notice.

“Since when?” he asks, more sharply than I expected.

The shift in his tone catches Jin and Hoseok off guard too. Hoseok actually tilts his head slightly, like he’s watching a tennis match he wasn’t expecting to find interesting.

“Since the team reached out and asked me to help,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My voice is calm, but I feel the heat crawl up my neck.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a second. He just looks at me. Not angry. Not exactly confused either. Just… thrown off. Like he doesn’t quite know where to place this information.

“That’s great,” Jin finally says, stepping in with an easy smile. “Jimin’s been excited about this comeback for months. Good to know it’s in capable hands.”

“Definitely,” Hoseok agrees, nudging Yoongi lightly with his elbow. “You two worked well together. It makes sense they’d want to keep you around.”

I smile politely. “Thanks. I’m really looking forward to it.”

Yoongi blinks like he’s finally come back to the conversation. “Well… good luck with the meeting,” he says, his tone now carefully neutral.

“Thanks,” I say, giving him a small smile before checking the time. “I should head in. I’ll catch you guys later, yeah?”

I wave and squeeze past them, the corridor suddenly feeling narrower than usual. I don’t look back. I can feel Yoongi’s eyes on me, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning around. I take a deep breath as I push open the heavy glass door of the meeting room. The air inside feels cooler, a bit too crisp for my liking, or maybe it’s just my nerves. The long rectangular table is already full, everyone’s seated, papers spread out, screens flickering with presentation slides.

Of course, the only available seat is directly across from Jimin.

Great.

I try to walk casually toward it, even though every cell in my body feels stiff with awareness. I bow lightly as I pass each person. “Hello. Good morning. Sorry I’m late.” Not technically late, just not early enough to avoid this front-row seat to Park Jimin’s face.

“Ah, Y/N. Glad you could join us.” One of the production staff, someone I vaguely recognise from a past studio session, smiles and gestures to the empty chair.

I slide into the seat quietly, placing my tablet and notepad in front of me like a tiny armor shield.

Across the table, Jimin straightens a little. “It’s really nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand over the table with that soft but steady tone I’ve only ever heard in interviews before now. “Let’s work hard on this album together.”

I reach out and shake his hand, keeping it brief. “Likewise. I’m really looking forward to it,” I say with a polite smile, even though my hand suddenly feels warm and awkward. He gives a small, genuine smile before retracting his hand and settling back in his seat.

Okay. One interaction down. You didn’t faint. Good start.

The man sitting next to Jimin, who looks like one of his MV directors based on his clipboard and the way he’s fiddling with the remote, takes over the conversation. “Y/N, I just want to say, you did an amazing job on Yoongi’s album. The sound texture you brought in… it gave the whole thing an edge. We were really impressed.”

“Oh, thank you,” I say, a bit caught off guard by the compliment.

“It’s great for us that you’re jumping into another project so quickly,” he continues, clicking the remote and bringing up a visual mood board on the screen behind him. “That being said, this one is a bit more complicated. We’re planning to shoot in Jeju Island for the natural, coastal scenes, and in Japan for a more urban and cinematic vibe. It’s ambitious.”

I nod, listening closely.

“We’d love it if you could be part of the creative process too,” he adds, glancing at me. “We value your sense of aesthetics, especially your approach to matching sound to visual storytelling.”

There’s a moment of silence while all eyes briefly turn to me. I sit up a little straighter.

“Of course,” I say, turning slightly toward Jimin as well. “That would be an honor. I’d love to contribute however I can.”

Jimin gives me a warm nod in return, his eyes holding mine for a second longer than expected. “I think your perspective could really elevate this. It’s a very personal project, so we want the team to feel connected to it.”

My chest tightens a little, but not in a bad way. There’s something reassuring about how he says that, like we’re collaborators, not just names on a file.

The meeting continues. We move into discussions about the album’s concept, seven songs, each with its own theme, its own tone. Everyone has opinions. Some of the team pushes for heavier, more melancholic visuals, while others are leaning toward bright and experimental. Jimin listens intently, occasionally chiming in with quiet but thoughtful comments.

I mostly observe for now, taking notes and trying to absorb everything.

Eventually, the conversation shifts toward selecting which three songs will get full MV treatments. It’s clear everyone has a favorite, but nothing’s finalized yet. I make a few tentative suggestions, which Jimin and the director both nod at thoughtfully.

About 45 minutes in, someone glances at their watch, and we all start closing laptops and gathering papers. The tension slowly melts into casual chatter as people begin standing up and stretching.

As we file out of the room and into the hallway, Jimin falls into step beside me, his manager a few paces behind.

“Should we grab some lunch in the cafeteria?” he asks, looking over at me, relaxed now that the meeting’s over.

My stomach growls before I can answer, earning an amused glance from him.

“Yeah,” I laugh softly. “I’m starving.”

He chuckles. “Same. I was too nervous to eat this morning.”

I glance at him, surprised. “You? Nervous?”

He shrugs, giving me a sheepish grin. “New project. New team. It always makes me a little on edge. But this one feels… promising.” “It really is an honor that you guys trust me enough to be part of this project,” I say, turning slightly toward Jimin as we walk side by side down the hallway.

He gives me a polite smile, the kind that doesn’t feel forced, warm, but professional. “Likewise. I saw your work on Yoongi-hyung’s album. It was… impressive. Especially for someone so young.” His eyes crinkle just slightly, and I can tell he means it. “You’ve got a really fresh perspective.”

“Thank you,” I reply, offering a small smile. Compliments like that never stop feeling surreal, especially coming from someone like him.

He reaches forward to hold open the cafeteria door. “After you.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, stepping through.

The room is bright and buzzing with quiet chatter, clinking utensils, and the occasional burst of laughter. It smells like coffee and fried rice, comforting, in a weird way. I scan the room quickly and walk toward a table near the corner, a little out of the way.

Jimin follows, still chatting casually. “We usually try to avoid the main lunch rush, but today’s schedule was a mess.”

“No worries. Honestly, I didn’t even eat breakfast, so this is perfect timing,” I reply, slipping into the seat across from him. I’m trying to stay composed, but there’s still that subtle awareness in my chest that I’m sitting across from someone I’ve watched on screen for years.

As I settle in, I feel the familiar buzz of my phone in my back pocket. I pull it out, already having a strange feeling about who it might be.

Sure enough. Yoongi.

The first text from him in over twelve hours.

[Yoongi]: How was the meeting?

[Yoongi]: U didn’t tell me u were picking up new projects tho

I stare at the messages for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. Of course. Not Hi. Not How are you. Just... that.

I start typing.

[Y/N]: Well, you didn’t ask.

[Y/N]: The meeting was good.

I pause, wondering if I should leave it at that. But something pushes me to add more.

[Y/N]: I’m grabbing lunch rn, wanna come as well?

A few seconds pass before he replies.

[Yoongi]: Are you with the team?

[Y/N]: With Jimin and his manager.

Another pause. Longer this time.

[Yoongi]: Alright, then I’ll see you later today.

I stare at the screen. That’s it? No emoji, no “have a nice lunch,” no “I’ll join you.” Just… that.

I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course he’s not going to come. There are people around. And being Yoongi, he’s probably already halfway buried in some project or maybe just avoiding unnecessary social interaction altogether. That wouldn’t be unusual for him.

But even though I understand it, even though I know I have no right to feel disappointed… it still stings.

I slip the phone face down on the table, trying to compose my expression.

“You okay?” Jimin asks gently. He’s halfway through glancing at the menu, but clearly noticed something shift in my face.

“Oh, yeah,” I say quickly. “Just… something about the schedule later. All good.”

He nods, not pushing. “Let me guess, Yoongi hyung already changed everything you planned for the day?”

I laugh, because yeah, close enough. “Something like that.”

He leans back slightly, looking amused. “He’s particular. But he trusts you, you know? He doesn’t really let people touch his work unless he respects them.”

I nod slowly. “I know. He just has… his own way of doing things.”

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees. Then he adds with a faint smirk, “You get used to it. But you don’t always stop being confused by it.”

I smile a little at that. There’s something oddly comforting in hearing it from someone who clearly knows him so well. I'm not alone in this strange orbit.

I try to shake the weird tension out of my chest and focus on the present. The lunch. The project. The opportunity.

Even if Yoongi isn’t here, this still matters.

And I’m going to make sure I show up for it fully.

Even if part of me is quietly wondering why he didn’t. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It’s a little past 8 p.m., and even though the official working hours at HYBE technically end by 6, the building is still buzzing with quiet chaos. The lights are dimmed just enough to feel like evening, but there’s still a low hum of life, footsteps echoing down distant hallways, muffled beats leaking from studio doors, and the occasional whir of a vending machine doing its job.

I walk through the now-familiar hallway, one hand clutching my laptop against my chest, the other stuffed into the pocket of my hoodie. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker slightly as I approach the last bend leading to Studio 307.

Yoongi’s studio.

I slow my steps when I see the door already cracked open. Voices drift through the narrow opening, two, maybe three people inside. I pause a few feet away, letting my footsteps soften on the polished floor, half out of habit and half out of curiosity.

I lean forward just enough to peek through the door.

Inside, I spot Yoongi and Namjoon, both leaning over the desk, talking with the kind of intensity that only musicians can manage after hours, half philosophy, half technical jargon, fully passionate.

Yoongi’s gesturing toward the screen. “I’m telling you, it’s not just the layering, it’s the texture of it. It creates this space, like… like a breath right before everything crashes in.”

Namjoon nods slowly, clearly trying to absorb it. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. That kind of ambient depth is hard to fake. It sounds like it belongs there.”

I knock lightly on the doorframe with my knuckles before stepping inside. “Good evening.”

Both heads turn. Namjoon stands up immediately, polite and poised. “Hello,” he says with a warm smile, returning my half-bow with one of his own.

Yoongi swivels in his chair, looking far too comfortable for someone who’s probably been working since noon. “This is Y/N,” he says casually. “My sound engineer for the album.”

My sound engineer.

I blink.

That’s… definitely a first.

I tuck that little phrase into a drawer in the back of my mind and slam it shut before I have the chance to spiral into overthinking.

��Nice to meet you,” Namjoon says, extending his hand. “I heard you’re working on Jimin’s project too?”

I take his hand, surprised by how warm and grounded his presence feels. “Yes, I am. It’s been really exciting so far.”

“I bet,” he says, then glances at Yoongi. “We were just talking about how good the intro for the MV sounds.”

Yoongi gives a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to show too much approval. “She nailed the atmosphere. The whole thing just lands because of that intro.”

My eyes widen slightly at the compliment, and I look between the two of them. “Oh… thank you. Honestly, it wasn’t that big of a thing, just a few layers and some EQ magic.”

Namjoon chuckles. “That’s what people always say when they’re actually really good at something.”

“I mean, sometimes the best stuff sounds simple because it’s done right,” Yoongi adds, leaning back in his chair.

I try to laugh it off, but my body is definitely registering the awkwardness of being praised by two of the most respected musicians in the industry while standing in my socks with a messy ponytail and an oversized hoodie.

I step further into the room, setting my laptop down on the side table as Yoongi shifts to make space for me.

“So,” I say, trying to redirect the attention, “were you guys working on the track together?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “Nah, I was just passing through. Wanted to hear what Yoongi’s been cooking. He’s being a little secretive with this one.”

Yoongi grunts. “Because it’s not ready yet.”

“It sounds ready to me,” Namjoon says with a smirk. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your way. Just wanted to say hi, and now I’m even more curious to hear the rest of the project.”

He gives me a small nod as he heads toward the door. “Nice meeting you, Y/N. Hope we get to work together sometime.”

“Likewise,” I say, watching him leave, and the room suddenly feels a lot smaller.

Yoongi glances at me from his chair. “You okay?”

I nod quickly. “Yeah. Just… wasn’t expecting Namjoon to be here.”

“He does that sometimes,” Yoongi says, typing something into the session file. “He’s got this sixth sense when good music is being made.”

I laugh under my breath. “So, I should expect Jin to crash a session when we hit vocal tracking?”

Yoongi chuckles, not looking up. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

He gestures toward the second chair. “Come on, sit. Let’s go through that bridge section again. I want to hear it with fresh ears.”

I sit down next to him, heart still buzzing a little, not from nerves, exactly, but from the strange weight of being acknowledged. Not just as someone in the room. But as someone who belongs there.

“Let’s make it sound like breathing right before everything crashes in,” I say, quoting him back with a tiny grin.

He glances at me and raises an eyebrow. “You were eavesdropping?”

“I was gathering intel.”

Yoongi shakes his head, amused. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got, Miss Sound Engineer.” I quietly take the empty seat beside him, the only sound in the room the faint hum of his laptop fan and the soft tapping of his keyboard. Without thinking, I cross my legs beneath me and lean back, settling into the chair the way I always do when I’m around him, half at ease, half on guard.

He doesn’t look at me, eyes still focused on the screen, but his voice is soft when he speaks.

“I missed you, you know.”

The words catch me off guard, not because I doubt them, but because of how casually he says it. Like it’s just... obvious.

I respond without thinking. “Did you?”

My tone is sharper than I meant it to be, laced with a sarcasm I didn't intend to let slip. I curse myself internally the moment the words leave my mouth.

His fingers pause on the keyboard. Slowly, he spins in his chair to face me, one eyebrow slightly raised. There’s a short silence before he speaks.

“What was that about?” he asks, a dry laugh escaping him, more confused than amused.

I stare at a spot on the floor, chewing the inside of my cheek. My mind races through all the possible ways to deflect this. Joke it off. Pretend I’m tired. Say it’s nothing. But that “nothing” has been sitting between us for weeks now, and it’s only getting heavier.

I let out a slow breath and rub my temples. “Sorry. I’m just… a bit frustrated lately.”

“Frustrated with work?” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly. “Or… frustrated with me?”

I hesitate. My knee bounces slightly, a nervous tic I can’t seem to control around him. “Both.”

There’s another beat of silence. I can feel him watching me, trying to read between the lines.

“Okay,” he says slowly, his voice calm but clearly tense. “Why would you be frustrated with me? I haven’t done anything.”

The way he says it, like he genuinely believes that, makes something in me snap. Not in a dramatic way. Just… quietly, finally.

I turn toward him now, fully, sitting up straighter.

“That’s exactly it,” I say. “You haven’t done anything.”

He blinks, his mouth opening slightly, confused. “I don’t follow.”

“You act like I don’t exist when we’re at work,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but steady. “Like we don’t even know each other.”

His expression hardens, jaw clenching just a little. “And what do you want me to do?” he snaps, voice rising more than he probably meant it to. “You want me to what, freaking lick the ground you walk on in the middle of the studio?”

I flinch. Not at the volume, but at how quickly he went from distant to defensive.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Yoongi. I’m not asking for you to make a public announcement every time I walk into the room. I just…” I pause, searching for the words. “I just want to feel like I’m not invisible to you when we’re not alone.”

He runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair, sighing. “I thought keeping things separate was what we agreed on.”

“No. You decided that,” I say. “I went along with it because I didn’t want to make things harder for you. But I didn’t think that would mean I’d have to pretend we’re strangers.”

He looks at me now, really looks at me, and for the first time, his posture softens, if only slightly.

“It’s not that I don’t see you,” he says quietly. “It’s the opposite. I see you all the time. And it’s… hard.”

I swallow. “Why?”

“Because it’s easier to focus if I don’t let it show.” He shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way he does it. “If I don’t let myself slip.”

I don’t respond right away. I let that settle between us.

“I get it,” I say eventually. “I really do. But you can’t expect me to keep pretending nothing’s going on when everything inside me is screaming that there is. I just want to know where I stand. With you. Outside of work. Outside of... all of it.”

His eyes drop to the floor. His hands are clasped now, knuckles white.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know where I stand either.”

That hurts more than I thought it would. "I'm tired of this, Yoongi," I whisper, more to myself than to him, my voice barely carrying across the room. My eyes stay locked on my hands, which won’t stop fidgeting in my lap. Fingers tangling and untangling like they're trying to say the words I can’t.

He looks up slowly from the computer, face unreadable. “Are you tired of me?”

The question lands sharp, too sharp. I blink up at him, startled by how flat his voice is. Detached. Like he’s bracing for impact before I’ve even thrown anything.

“I didn’t say that,” I reply quickly, but my voice is too soft. It feels like it dissolves halfway between us.

“Well, it sounds like that’s what you’re trying to say,” he shoots back, still calm on the surface, but I can hear the tightness in his tone now, like he’s holding back a dozen other things he wants to say and doesn’t trust himself to.

“That’s not fair,” I say, lifting my head. “You’re twisting my words.”

“I’m hearing them. And I’m hearing that you don’t want to do this anymore.”

“God, Yoongi, no. That’s not what this is about. I’m just, tired of this. Of us not talking properly. Of walking on eggshells. Of feeling like everything I say might make things worse.”

His jaw tightens. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms like he's closing himself off. “Then what is this about? Because to me, it sounds like you're halfway out the door.”

I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Okay, maybe we need to just take a break. This conversation is going in circles, and we’re both getting defensive and shutting down. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

There’s a pause. A long one. And then he says, “Yeah. A break. That’s probably what we need.”

He spins slightly in his chair, turning his back to me as he stares at the computer screen like it suddenly got interesting again.

But something about the way he said it doesn’t sit right. Too final. Too cold.

I narrow my eyes, confused. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs without turning around. “It means I’m taking a break from… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely in the air, like he can’t even say it out loud.

“Wait,” I say, my heart dropping. “From us?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “Maybe.”

“You’re seriously doing this now? After I suggested a break from the argument, not us, and you just… escalate it like that?”

He turns his head slightly, finally meeting my eyes. His expression is tired, but more than that, it’s guarded. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You’re tired. I get it. Maybe I am too.”

My mouth opens, then closes. I want to scream. Or cry. Or rewind the last ten minutes and try again.

“Yoongi…” I start, but the words get caught in my throat.

He shakes his head, turning fully back to the screen, like he’s shutting the door between us with the click of a mouse.

“Maybe we both need some space,” he says, his voice lower now. Almost careful. “Before we keep saying things we don’t mean.”

The silence that follows feels heavy. Like it’s pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I stare at the back of his head for a moment longer, waiting for something, anything. A look. A word. Some sign that he doesn’t really want this.

But it doesn’t come.

So I quietly get up, my chair scraping softly against the floor, and walk out of the room without another word.

The door clicks shut behind me.

And everything feels too quiet. —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been exactly one week since that encounter with Yoongi.

One week since I left his studio with tears burning behind my eyes, holding back a storm until I made it home, only to cry enough to mop the entire apartment floor. Twice. Maybe three times if we count the hallway.

Seven whole days of cycling through every stage of emotional collapse. Denial, anger, bargaining, existential sulking, passive-aggressive Spotify playlists, back to denial. Honestly, if there were a Grammy for dramatic breakdowns, I would’ve at least been nominated.

And during those seven days, I mastered the art of avoidance. I moved through the halls of Hybe like a certified ninja, quiet, calculated, heart pounding at every corner turn like it was a boss battle. I even ducked behind a vending machine once because I thought I heard his laugh. Spoiler alert: it was just Taehyung being loud on FaceTime.

But today… today feels different.

I step into the building with slightly steadier breath. No hoodie pulled low over my eyes. No sunglasses indoors like I’m in disguise. Just me. Still a little bruised, maybe, but upright.

Human again.

Kind of.

The elevator doors slide open and I’m met with the familiar sterile hallway, the buzz of overhead lights, and that faint smell of new wood and too much coffee. I clutch the cup of tea in my hands a little tighter, the warmth seeping through my fingers.

It’s snowing heavily outside, of course it is. The sky looks like it's trying to bury Seoul in silence. A slow, quiet blizzard, perfect for moody introspection and unresolved feelings.

I slide into my usual booth and exhale slowly, sinking into the chair as if it could somehow absorb all the weight in my chest.

I pull out my laptop, plug in my gear, and tell myself. This isn’t for Yoongi. This is for Jimin’s album. Entirely different energy. Entirely different situation.

The door to the recording room creaks open and a familiar head pops in.

“Hey, you’re already here.” Jimin steps inside, rubbing his gloved hands together, snowflakes still clinging to his coat. “It’s freezing out there.”

“I noticed,” I reply, nodding toward the window where the snow looks like it’s falling sideways.

He glances at me, then offers a soft smile as he hangs his coat. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

I hesitate, then shrug. “Getting there.”

Jimin walks over and sets a thermos down on the table. “I brought you honey ginger tea. Just in case you ran out of yours.”

I blink. “You didn’t have to...”

“I wanted to,” he says simply. “You’ve been kind of… invisible this week.”

My cheeks warm, and not from the tea.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

He waves it off, sitting in the chair across from me. “I get it. Things with… you know.” He pauses delicately. “Yoongi-hyung… didn’t go well.”

“That’s an understatement,” I mutter, staring down into my cup like it holds all the answers. “I was a mess. Still kind of am.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “He’s been quiet too. More than usual.”

That makes me look up. “What do you mean?”

“Just… not talking much. Stays late. Looks tired.”

I take a sip of my tea, the sweetness biting just enough to ground me.

“I don’t know what I expected,” I admit. “It’s just… working with him felt like something bigger. Not just professionally. I guess I let my guard down.”

“And he hurt you?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

Jimin leans back, thoughtful. “You don’t have to act like everything’s fine, you know. It’s okay to be upset. Just… don’t shut everyone out because of one person.”

I smile faintly. “I know. I’m trying.”

He stands and claps his hands once. “Well, then let’s make something amazing today, huh? No sulking allowed in my booth.”

“Yes, sir,” I salute half-heartedly, earning a laugh from him.

As he steps into the recording room and I turn toward the mixing board, something in me settles a bit. Maybe it’s the tea. Maybe it’s Jimin’s calm presence. Maybe it’s the way the snow blurs the world outside, making this room feel like its own little bubble.

Whatever it is… I think I can handle today.

Just today. That’s enough for now. The prerecording is going smoother than I expected. By the time lunch rolls around, we’re already halfway through the work. The vibe in the studio is relaxed, and the energy is good. Everyone is focused, but not stressed.

Jimin comes out of the recording booth, removing his headphones with a dramatic flair. “Should we order some nice, warm noodles?” he asks, stretching his arms above his head.

I blink at him for a moment, the thought of something hot and comforting sounding better than I anticipated. “Oh my god, that actually sounds like a great idea,” I reply, clapping my hands together enthusiastically. “I’m starving.”

“Alrightttt,” Jimin grins, pulling out his phone. “Let me check if the guys are around, maybe we can all eat together.” He starts typing quickly, sending a message to the group.

I pull out my own phone, scrolling absentmindedly through my inbox. Spam email after spam email fills the screen, and I swipe through them with barely a glance. But then, there it is.

A new email from Hybe management.

The title is in all caps: ‘TERMINATION OF WORKING CONTRACT WITH MIN YOONGI.’

My heart skips a beat. I immediately click on it, and my eyes scan over the corporate-sounding words on the screen. “Dear Y/n , we regret to inform you that your contract with the project centering Min Yoongi has officially expired. As such, you will no longer be required for further sessions concerning the artist.” Blah, blah, blah, corporate speak. In short: they’re cutting me from the project, and I won’t be seeing him at work anymore.

I stare at the email for a few more seconds, reading it again, just to make sure it’s real. But in my gut, I already know. Yoongi and I have both known this was coming for weeks. The email doesn’t say it outright, but the subtext is clear. We’re done. Professionally and personally.

My finger hovers over the “archive” button for a moment. I don’t need this email lingering in my inbox. I don’t need the reminder that this chapter is officially over. I press the button and feel a strange mix of relief and emptiness.

I drop the phone onto the table and push myself back in my chair, taking a deep breath. As much as I’ve told myself that I’m ready for this, it still stings a little.

I turn my attention to Jimin, who’s lounging on the studio couch, legs spread out and arms behind his head like he’s about to fall asleep. He lifts his head when I look at him. “Is it okay if Yoongi comes to eat with us too?” he asks, his voice light but slightly tentative.

For a brief moment, I freeze. Jimin knows that things have been… tense between Yoongi and me. He just doesn’t know why.

The thing is, Jimin believes it’s all about work, he thinks we’ve been clashing over the final tweaks for Yoongi’s album, and while that’s part of it, it’s far from the whole story. He has no idea about the mess of emotions that Yoongi and I have been tiptoeing around for the past month.

Iseul is the only one who knows the truth, and that’s only because she’s my best friend and I couldn’t keep it all bottled up anymore. I needed someone to hear about the late-night conversations, the stolen glances, the unspoken words. And I needed someone to talk sense into me when I finally realized that Yoongi had played with my heart and then discarded it, all while I was still hoping for more.

But Jimin? No, he doesn’t know any of that. He just thinks we had a few heated discussions in the studio, which honestly isn’t far from the truth, Yoongi and I can argue over music like no one else, and it’s not always pretty. But it was never about the music. Not for me.

Jimin’s looking at me expectantly now, a hopeful glint in his eyes. He’s so sweet and so clueless. I can’t bring myself to tell him the real reason Yoongi and I aren’t on speaking terms. It’s too complicated, too messy, and it’s not the kind of thing I want to burden him with. Not when he’s already dealing with enough.

“Yeah, of course,” I say, forcing a smile. I feel my face stretch into something that’s probably more reassuring than I feel, but I have to keep it together. “I’m all about being professional.”

Jimin tilts his head, studying me for a moment, but doesn’t seem to notice the slight tightness in my expression. “Alright! I’ll text him.”

He looks back down at his phone, and I exhale softly, grateful that he’s not pressing me further. I still have no idea what I’m going to say to Yoongi when I do see him again. I know the chances of him walking into lunch today are slim, but the thought still nags at me.

As Jimin texts Yoongi, I catch myself staring at the empty space beside me, where Yoongi should be in this moment. Just a few days ago, I was standing next to him in the studio, arguing over the last details of his album. And now? Now I’m not sure when I’ll see him again. Or if I even want to.

I shake my head, trying to push away the thoughts. Now’s not the time for that. Now’s the time for noodles. Warm, comforting, and probably a little spicy.

"Jimin," I call out, my voice a little steadier than I feel. "I’ll be right back. I need to grab something from outside.”

He looks up from his phone and nods. “Cool, I’ll go check if they’re still around.” He pulls himself off the couch and heads out of the room, leaving me to sit there in the quiet, trying to calm the storm brewing in my chest.

This is all so much more complicated than I ever expected it to be. I step into the hallway, heading in the opposite direction from where Jimin had gone earlier, still on his mission to round up his hyungs like it’s some kind of idol-themed scavenger hunt. I’m not sure who gave him the role of honorary coordinator, but he’s taking it way too seriously, and honestly, I need a break from the chaos.

I exhale through my nose and head toward the elevators, hoping for a moment of peace. Maybe I’ll disappear to the indoor garden floor, get some fresh air, and calm the weird knot that’s been sitting in my chest since I walked into that studio earlier.

To my surprise, the elevator is already on my floor, the little screen blinking its arrival with a soft chime.

Perfect. Quick escape, no awkward hallway encounters. For once, the universe seems to be cutting me a break.

That is, until the doors start to open.

And just like that, the universe decides to slap me across the face with a painfully cliché K-drama scene.

Because sitting casually, too casually, in the corner of the elevator is none other than Min Yoongi himself. Hoodie pulled low, black beanie nearly covering his eyes, one hand resting on his knee while the other holds two takeout bags. He’s mid-yawn when he notices me.

“Oh, hey,” he says, voice low and a little raspy, like he hasn’t spoken to anyone in a while.

I freeze for half a second. “Hey,” I manage, stepping into the elevator before the doors have a chance to shut in my face.

He shifts slightly, adjusting his grip on the food bags. “I got the food,” he says, raising them to eye level. “Aren’t you eating now?”

I blink. “Oh. I didn’t know it had arrived.”

He nods toward the hallway. “Jimin ran off before I could tell anyone. Said he was on a mission.”

I laugh softly, then step forward, quickly catching the door before it closes again. “Alright, yeah. I’ll come with.”

He gives a small nod. The silence that follows isn’t awkward, exactly, but it’s definitely… there. Not tense. Not easy either. Just a quiet shared space, like we’re both running on low battery and trying not to disturb the other.

The elevator hums softly as it moves, and I glance over at him briefly. He’s watching the floor numbers change like they’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You must be tired,” I say gently.

He shrugs. “Mm. Not too bad. Just haven’t had a proper break since this morning.”

“That makes two of us,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

He glances at me then, just for a moment. “It’s been a long day, huh?”

I nod, suddenly feeling very aware of how small the elevator is, and how real this all is. I’m not just working on a project anymore. I’m riding in an elevator with Yoongi, talking about exhaustion like we’re coworkers at some regular office job.

When the doors slide open again, we step out together in silence. The hallway seems quieter than before, like the building’s holding its breath. Yoongi walks just ahead of me, slow-paced, as if he’s conserving energy with every step.

When we reach the studio, he opens the door and gestures for me to go in first. I step inside and—

“There you are,” Jin calls out immediately, walking over like a man on a mission. He claps his hands together, then makes a beeline for the takeout bags in Yoongi’s hands. “I was starting to think you’d fallen into a ramen pot.”

Yoongi huffs a small laugh. “You’re welcome, hyung.”

“You are a treasure,” Jin says, grabbing one of the bags and inspecting the contents like a food critic.

I move toward the back corner of the studio, where a couple of chairs and a low table are set up. I set my phone down and pull my sleeves over my hands, watching the rest of the members trickle in, chatting and grabbing their food.

Yoongi joins me a moment later, holding out a container.

“This one’s yours,” he says simply.

I look down at it, a little surprised. “You remembered?”

“You said earlier you don’t like spicy.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I figured this would be safe.”

For a second, I forget how to answer.

“…Thanks,” I say quietly.

He just nods, then sits beside me, stretching out his legs with a small groan. “Let’s try to eat before Jimin gets back and starts filming us for some behind-the-scenes chaos.”

“Too late,” I say, nodding toward the door as Jimin bursts in, phone in hand.

“Smile! Everyone say comeback energy!”

Yoongi groans again, but there’s the hint of a smile on his face. “So, hyung,” Namjoon starts, steam rising from his bowl as he twirls his chopsticks through his noodles, “what’s your plan for the rest of the month?”

Yoongi, seated right next to me, exhales softly before answering. “Work,” he says simply, slurping his soup. “A couple of promotional things lined up, then studio sessions, as usual.”

I instantly regret choosing the seat by the wall. At first, it seemed cozy, but now I realize I’ve trapped myself, boxed in by Yoongi on one side and directly across from Jimin, who’s been sneaking glances at me since we sat down. There’s a nervous warmth bubbling in my chest, and it’s not just from the noodles. The air feels a little too thick, the kind of tension that makes you extra aware of your limbs and how close someone else’s are to yours.

Jin, sitting at the head of the table like the proud oldest brother, wipes his mouth and looks across at Jimin. “How’s the album coming along, Jimin-ah?”

Jimin perks up immediately, his voice light but confident. “It’s going really well, actually. We found a good working rhythm.” He throws a wink in my direction, smooth, casual, but not subtle. Not in the slightest.

I give a small smile and quickly look down at my bowl. Don’t overthink it. He probably winks at everyone.

“Y/N,” Namjoon chimes in, pointing his chopsticks at me like he’s about to make a dramatic point. “You should think about signing under HYBE, seriously. It’d make collaborating with us a lot easier.”

My chopsticks pause mid-air. “Oh… I mean, maybe,” I reply awkwardly, giving a shy nod. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet.”

The conversation itself is friendly enough, and everyone’s being warm, but I can’t help but notice how Yoongi still hasn’t looked at me once. He’s sitting rigidly upright, chewing slowly, his posture too composed. Even when Namjoon brought me into the conversation, Yoongi didn’t turn his head.

I try not to let it get to me. Maybe he’s just tired. Or maybe I’m overanalyzing.

Then, under the table, I feel it, his leg brushes lightly against mine.

It’s the softest touch. Barely noticeable. But it happens.

My heart skips a beat. I freeze, staring at my bowl like it holds all the answers to the universe.

Was that an accident?

It had to be, right?

I keep my face neutral, unwilling to feed any delusions my brain is already trying to stir up. I shift slightly in my seat, pretending to adjust, and glance at Namjoon instead.

“So, what about you?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “Got any plans for the rest of the month?”

Namjoon wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, actually. I’m helping co-write a track, Taehyung and Jungkook are doing a special collab for ARMY. Kind of a thank-you gift.”

A round of nods and approving hums ripple around the table.

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” I say genuinely. “You guys are always working. Do you even get time for, you know, life?”

Jin chuckles, clapping his hands together. “You’re not wrong. Sometimes I forget what a day off even feels like.”

“I think it’s kind of an idol thing,” Jimin says, sitting back with a thoughtful look. “We get used to being busy. If we’re not, it feels weird.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon adds, “and that’s why most idols date other idols or people in the industry. It’s easier to be with someone who understands the lifestyle instead of having to explain why you can’t text back for eight hours.”

“That makes sense,” I say, nodding slowly. “I imagine it’s hard to connect with someone outside of all this when your schedule’s so intense.”

There’s a pause at the table, a shared moment of silent understanding. Everyone seems to sink just a little into their own thoughts.

Yoongi still hasn’t said a word since his answer about work. I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s still eating slowly, gaze fixed on his bowl, but his jaw is tighter than before. Almost like he’s holding something in.

And then, again, his leg bumps mine. This time, it lingers. Just for a second.

I don’t move.

I don’t look at him.

But my heartbeat is definitely no longer under control. "I'm happy to see that you two made up, though," Jimin says, glancing between us and gesturing lazily with his chopsticks. His voice is light, casual, even cheerful.

But the moment the words leave his mouth, I feel my stomach drop. Oh no. Not now. Not here.

I feel the heat rise in my ears, and when I glance to my left, I can already see Yoongi shift in his seat. His posture stiffens, his expression hardens just a bit, subtle, but enough to notice if you're paying attention.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Yoongi asks, tone even but edged with irritation. His eyes stay fixed on his bowl, but the energy around him changes instantly. It’s like someone flipped a switch.

Jimin, blissfully unaware, keeps eating. "You know, the argument you had last week. About the new track. I just figured, since you’re sitting next to each other again and not avoiding eye contact, it must’ve worked itself out."

I want to teleport out of the room. Right now.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," I say quickly, waving my hand in the air like I’m physically trying to brush the topic away. I’m hoping, praying, that Jimin gets the hint.

He doesn’t.

"Not a big deal?" he laughs, mouth half-full. “You literally went through all seven stages of grief over it. Denial, anger, bargaining"

“Jimin,” I cut in, giving him a warning look, but it’s already too late.

Jin lets out a soft chuckle, probably thinking we’re just bantering, while Namjoon has gone completely quiet. I feel his eyes on me, calculating, watching. He’s piecing things together. And knowing Namjoon, he won’t say a word now, but I’ll be getting a phone call later.

Yoongi sets his chopsticks down quietly, but with purpose. He’s not looking at anyone, just swirling the last bit of food in his bowl.

"I didn’t know you go around sharing our arguments," he says, voice low, casual in that dangerous way that means he’s anything but.

"I didn’t," I reply, sharper than I meant to. “But you know… sometimes it’s kind of nice when people actually listen, instead of assuming they know what’s going on in my head.”

The words are out before I can catch them. I feel my chest tighten, my pulse kicking up. That wasn’t meant to come out, at least not like that. But it’s been sitting inside me, simmering, and Jimin’s comment just lit the match.

The room goes completely silent. Jin pauses mid-bite. Jimin looks up, chopsticks still in hand, blinking.

Yoongi’s eyes finally meet mine. Cold. Blank. “I think I’m done here,” he says, pushing back his chair. He stands and forces a tight-lipped smile at the others, one of those polite ones that says this is for your sake, not mine.

“Of course you are,” I mutter under my breath, not even bothering to look up.

“What was that?” he asks, his voice suddenly sharp. He’s halfway into his jacket when he turns around, eyes narrowing.

“Nothing.”

“No, no, if you’ve got something to say, say it to my face,” he challenges, stepping back toward the table.

I stand too, heart hammering, hands clenched. “Fine. I’d rather not say anything, actually. Because I’m tired of having my words twisted into something they’re not, just to fit whatever version of me you’ve already decided exists in your head.”

The silence that follows is so thick, it’s suffocating.

Yoongi stares at me like he’s trying to decide whether to argue or walk away.

He does neither.

He just exhales through his nose, gives one last glance around the table, and says, “See you tomorrow, guys” before walking out the door, letting it click shut behind him.

No one says a word.

And all I can do is sit back down, ignoring the stares, trying not to let my hands shake too visibly. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was just past 7 p.m. when I finally stepped out of the editing suite and made my way down the long hallway of the HYBE building. The day had dragged on, deadlines piling up, notes to revise, layers to tweak, my brain was officially fried. But outside, the snowstorm that had been hammering Seoul all day had finally come to a gentle halt. Through the glass windows, the world looked soft and quiet, everything blanketed in fresh snow, the streets nearly empty, and the city lights casting a soft glow on the icy sidewalks.

Perfect. I just wanted to go home, throw on some sweatpants, and melt into the couch under my heated blanket.

I reached out to press the electric door button, tugging my coat tighter around me, when I heard someone call my name behind me.

“Hey, Y/N. Heading out?”

I turned around to see Namjoon walking toward me, adjusting his face mask and tugging a navy beanie lower over his ears. His breath puffed visibly in the cold air leaking in from the lobby doors.

“Yeah,” I replied, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open. “I was thinking of walking home. The storm’s finally let up and it looks… peaceful.”

He gave a thoughtful nod and stepped in beside me. “Mind if I walk with you? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

I blinked. My heart did a very sudden and very dramatic thump. I tried not to let it show. “Oh. Yeah, of course. I don’t mind.”

As the electric door opens, he reached into his coat pocket and handed me a clean, unopened mask. The implication was crystal clear: Wear this unless you want to see your face plastered on Dispatch tomorrow morning under a headline like “Mystery Girl With BTS’s RM, Dating or Scandal?”

I took it with a small, amused smile and slipped it on.

By the time we stepped out of the building, the street was blanketed in silence. Snow crunched under our boots, the only real sound accompanying us. Cars were few and far between. The whole city felt hushed, like it was holding its breath.

“Feels like we’re walking through a snow globe,” I murmured, adjusting my scarf.

Namjoon chuckled softly. “Yeah. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

We walked in silence for a few moments, falling into an easy rhythm. It wasn’t awkward, but there was definitely something unspoken hanging in the air. I could feel it. The way he kept glancing at me, the slight fidgeting of his hands in his pockets.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “So, I’ll cut straight to the chase.”

Here we go.

He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and looked straight ahead. “What exactly happened between you and Yoongi?”

My steps faltered for just a second. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I… I don’t know,” I said slowly, staring at my boots as they crushed into the snow. “It was just…”

Namjoon stopped walking and turned slightly to face me. “Y/N,” he said firmly, raising a hand and holding up a single finger. “I want the truth. Yoongi’s one of my closest friends. And I wish only the best for you too. I’m not here to pry, but if there’s something going on, I’d like to help, before things get worse.”

His voice wasn’t angry, but it was serious. Concerned. It made something in my chest tighten.

I let out a long breath, watching the fog of it drift into the cold air. “Fine,” I muttered. “We had a… moment. During the music video shoot. Things got kind of blurry. We got close. Like… emotionally. And physically.”

Namjoon said nothing, just nodded for me to continue.

“It wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but it started to,” I said. “For me, at least. I thought we were building something… real. But after a while, it felt like I was just someone to keep him company when he was in the mood. We'd hang out, he'd be sweet, we'd make out in his studio or my home, and then nothing for days. No texts, no calls. Just… silence.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t speak.

“I tried to bring it up,” I continued, voice quieter now. “Told him I felt like I was being used. That I didn’t know where I stood. He didn’t take it well. Told me he needed space. That he wanted a break.”

I shrugged like it didn’t bother me. Like I hadn’t replayed that conversation in my head a hundred times since it happened. “And that was that.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The snow fell gently around us, and the sound of a bus rolling past on the opposite street filled the silence.

Namjoon sighed and started walking again, and I followed.

“I figured it was something like that,” he finally said. “Yoongi’s not good with feelings. He shuts down when things get real. Always has.”

“I noticed,” I said, a little bitterly.

“But he’s not heartless,” Namjoon added. “He just… doesn’t always know how to deal with emotions in the moment. Or how his actions affect other people.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to defend Yoongi, but I didn’t want to attack him either. It was all still too raw.

“Thanks for being honest with me,” Namjoon said after a while. “I’m not trying to get in the middle. I just didn’t want things to fester between you two without anyone trying to clear the air.”

I nodded, grateful but also emotionally exhausted.

“If he talks to me about it,” he added, “do you want me to say anything? Or just stay out of it?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t want to make things worse. But… if he does bring it up, maybe remind him that communication isn’t optional. That people aren’t disposable.”

Namjoon gave me a sad smile. “Will do.”

By the time we reached my street, the snow had started to fall again, just a little heavier now. He stopped walking and looked at me.

“Get some rest, Y/N. You’ve been through more than you let on.”

“You too,” I said, then turned and made my way up the stairs to my apartment.

As I closed the door behind me, the warmth of my place hit me, but my thoughts were still tangled up somewhere outside, buried deep in the snow. For the next two weeks, I was completely buried in work, emails, production schedules, gear checklists, and endless coordination calls. With the filming trips to Jeju and Japan creeping closer by the hour, every minute felt like a countdown to chaos. Sleep became optional. Meals turned into protein bars and coffee. My calendar looked like a battlefield.

It was already Thursday afternoon, the sun barely clinging to the edge of the sky, casting long shadows across the office. The room smelled faintly of coffee and old paper. I sat across from Jimin’s manager, both of us hunched over the final checklist for tomorrow’s flight.

“We triple-checked the seating chart, right?” I asked, rubbing my temples and leaning back in the leather chair. “Last time they stuck a camera operator in economy with three pelican cases under his feet.”

He chuckled, flipping through a stack of documents. “Yes, we did. Everyone’s in their assigned seats. Equipment's cleared for cargo. Customs forms are ready for Jeju and Japan. Nothing should go wrong... hopefully.”

“I really hope this shoot goes smoothly,” I muttered, half to myself. My shoulders ached from sitting at a desk all day. “Jimin’s comeback is already under a microscope.”

He gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder before standing up. “It’ll be fine. You’re all pros. Just try to get some rest tonight—our flight’s at 8 AM sharp.”

“Easier said than done,” I mumbled as he walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for the first time all day, the office was quiet. I exhaled, letting the silence settle around me like a blanket.

And then, right on cue, the door creaked open again.

At first, I didn’t even turn around. I didn’t need to.

That subtle scent, something clean and musky, with a hint of spice, gave him away before he even spoke.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, his voice calm and low as he stepped into the room and came around the table. “You got a minute?”

I blinked, surprised. “Uh, yeah.” I straightened up a little. “What’s up?”

He sat down across from me, looking more relaxed than I’d seen him in weeks. No hoodie today, just a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hair slightly tousled like he’d just walked out of rehearsal.

“I’ve got this album launch party,” he began, sliding a sleek, cream-colored envelope across the table. “It’s for the company, but there’ll be a bunch of people from the industry there too. Thought maybe you’d want to come. For networking purposes. ”

I picked up the envelope, fingers brushing over the embossed lettering. “This Saturday?” I asked, scanning the details. “Ah, I can’t, I’ll be in Jeju. We’re flying out tomorrow for Jimin’s MV shoot.”

His expression didn’t change, but he gave a small nod, taking the card back without any fuss. “Right. Forgot you were heading out so soon.”

There was a small pause, just a beat, but I felt it stretch.

“Then,” he said casually, eyes meeting mine again, “how about grabbing coffee now?”

I blinked. “Coffee? Now?”

He gave a small shrug, a quiet smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Why not?”

I stared at him for a moment, genuinely taken aback. Yoongi didn’t do spontaneous. At least, not with me. Our interactions were usually scheduled, professional, efficient. This felt... different.

“Do we have to?” I asked, only half-joking.

His smile grew, just a little. “No. But I thought you might want to get some air before locking yourself in a plane for the next few days.”

I leaned back in my chair, still a little unsure of what this was. Just a friendly offer? A break from stress? Something more?

“Alright,” I said eventually, grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair. “But only if you’re paying.”

He laughed under his breath. “Deal.”

And just like that, we walked out of the stuffy office and into the night air, quietly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I had a talk with Namjoon yesterday,” Yoongi says as we quietly walk side by side down a narrow street toward the nearest café. The evening air is crisp, the kind that feels like it’s trying to wake you up gently from the afternoon slumber.

“Ah, I see,” I reply, offering a polite smile and trying, really trying, not to let the bitterness leak into my voice.

Yoongi doesn’t even glance at me. “Don’t start, Y/N.”

His tone is low but firm, his eyes locked straight ahead. Classic Yoongi, always calm on the surface, but I can tell he’s already bracing for impact.

I pretend I didn’t hear him. “So, what did you talk about with Namjoon?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, clearly annoyed but not surprised. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Nope.”

We walk a few more steps in silence until he suddenly stops walking. I nearly bump into him.

“I want to say I’m sorry,” he says. Just like that. No buildup. No dramatic sigh. Just... those words.

I blink at him, caught off guard. “Oh. Okay. That’s… fine. I wasn’t expecting that.”

He turns to face me fully, the usually unreadable expression on his face now replaced with something that looks a lot like vulnerability. “I know we haven’t talked in weeks. I should’ve reached out sooner.”

“You think?” I mutter, then immediately regret it. “Sorry. That was unnecessary.”

“No, you’re right. It was a childish move on my part,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes flicker around the empty street. “I guess I thought that if I ignored everything, it’d just... fix itself.”

“It never does,” I say quietly.

He nods. “Yeah. I figured that out about two sleepless weeks ago.”

A small silence falls between us, not quite heavy, but not easy either. Then he says, a bit softer, “I’m not great at controlling what I say when I’m hurt or frustrated. I guess that’s not news to you.”

“That makes two of us,” I reply, offering a small, almost sad smile.

He gives me the faintest laugh, just air through his nose, but there’s a warmth to it. Then, stepping a little closer, he says, “I’m serious, though. I really am sorry, Y/N. I messed up. And... I really fucking miss you.”

My heart skips a beat at how quietly he says it. Like he’s afraid saying it too loud will make it untrue.

“Yoongi...” I step back instinctively, just enough to create space. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I missed you too, but this isn’t something I can just pretend didn’t happen. It hurt. You hurt me.”

He swallows hard, nodding slowly. “I know. And I’m not expecting everything to be okay overnight. I just thought this... apologizing... might be a first step.”

There’s something so genuine in the way he’s standing there, shoulders slightly slouched, hands in his coat pockets, eyes honest, that it disarms me.

“I was harsh that night,” he continues. “I snapped because I felt like I was losing control, and instead of talking to you like an adult, I shut down. I keep expecting people to adjust around my life, my schedule, my silence... but I never think about adjusting for theirs. For yours.”

I look at him, really look at him. There’s no arrogance here, no performance. Just a man trying.

“And maybe,” he says, voice a little quieter now, “maybe I need to learn how to say ‘I need you’ without making it sound like a demand.”

I exhale, some of the tension in my shoulders easing. “That’s probably the most mature thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

He smirks a little, eyes meeting mine. “Don’t get used to it.”

I laugh under my breath and shake my head. We stand there for a second longer, both of us knowing this conversation could’ve gone a hundred different ways, and somehow this feels like the best possible version of it.

“Come on,” I say, gently linking my arm through his. “Let’s get that coffee.”

He glances at me sideways, a hint of a smile playing at his lips as he lets me lead the way.

“You know,” he says after a few steps, “if you keep holding onto my arm like this, we’re going to end up on Dispatch’s homepage by dinner.”

“You’d mind?” I ask, bumping him lightly with my shoulder.

“Not even a little,” he replies. “But maybe we should hold hands instead. Might look less like a retired couple walking their way to bingo night.”

I snort and swat at his arm playfully. “Let’s take it one day at a time, Min Yoongi.”

He grins, and for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t feel complicated between us. Just… honest.

And that’s a start. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “I still think you should take the puffer jacket,” Iseul says as she rummages through the chaos that is currently my closet. Clothes are everywhere, on the floor, the bed, the chair that’s never been used for actual sitting. “You might need it for the night shoots. The temperature drops fast near the coast.”

I glance over from my suitcase, half-zipped and already on the brink of being overstuffed. “That’s actually a good point.” I give her a thumbs-up from across the room, then toss the jacket onto the ‘maybe’ pile, which is quickly becoming bigger than the ‘definitely’ pile.

“You’re gonna thank me when you’re not freezing your butt off at 2 a.m. in front of a fog machine.”

We both laugh, but it’s short-lived. We’re back to the mission: finding something decent for me to wear that says professional without screaming I spent two hours panicking in front of the mirror.

As I’m halfway into deciding whether a turtleneck is too try-hard, the doorbell suddenly rings, loud and unexpected. We both freeze.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. “It’s past eleven. Did you order something?”

Iseul shakes her head, arms full of sweaters. “Nope. You expecting anyone?”

“No.”

I slowly walk to the front door, my bare feet nearly silent against the wooden floor. Something about a late-night ring always puts you on edge, even in a safe neighborhood. I peek through the visor.

And freeze.

Yoongi.

I blink, just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. He’s standing there with the same tracksuit he wore earlier when we got coffee—faded black, slightly oversized, casual but effortlessly cool. He’s got a beanie pulled low over his hair, and his mask is tugged down under his chin. In his hand, a familiar white paper bag, takeout.

I crack the door open, just enough to stick my head out.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual, but the surprise is probably still written all over my face.

He smiles, that unmistakable gummy smile that somehow always catches me off guard. “Hey.”

“Um… everything alright?” I ask, brows furrowing. It’s not like this is totally out of character for him, but showing up at 11 p.m. with food wasn’t exactly something I expected tonight.

He lifts the bag slightly, like a peace offering. “I just figured, since you’re leaving tomorrow… maybe you’d want to have dinner together? Before you're gone for a while.”

I blink. It’s… sweet. So Yoongi, in that quiet, unassuming way of his.

But I glance back over my shoulder at the mess, at Iseul still knee-deep in my closet. I suddenly feel awkward, the door still half-closed, me looking like I just woke up from a nap, hair in a messy bun, mismatched socks. He probably thinks I’ve got someone else here. I’m barely even letting him in.

“Oh…” I say, my voice trailing awkwardly. “I’m kind of… in the middle of packing right now. Sorry, I just...”

His smile falters, just a bit. “Ah. Got it. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, wait, no, it’s not like that,” I say quickly, suddenly hating how closed-off I probably seemed. I open the door all the way and step aside. “My friend Iseul’s here. She’s helping me prep for the trip. I just wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable coming in with someone else here, that’s all.”

Yoongi chuckles softly and steps inside. “What? No, of course I don’t mind.”

I call out behind me, “Iseul! Uh, guest!”

Iseul pops her head around the corner, eyes wide when she sees Yoongi casually standing in the entryway with takeout in hand. “Oh. Oh. Hi!”

Yoongi gives a polite nod. “Hi. Sorry for the surprise visit.”

“Oh, no, please,” she says, throwing a stack of sweaters onto the bed like she suddenly remembered how messy the place is. “You’re saving her from packing anxiety. I support this.”

“Traitor,” I mutter under my breath, but I’m smiling.

He looks at me again, softer now. “So… can I stay for a little bit?”

I glance between him and the bag of food, then gesture to the living room. “Only if you brought something with extra kimchi.”

He grins. “Always.”

We step into the living room, which currently looks like a small hurricane passed through , and not the elegant kind. Hoodies, T-shirts, and half-zipped suitcases are scattered across the floor like a fashion crime scene. I let out a small breath and start pushing a few garments off the couch to clear a space.

“Sorry about the mess,” I mutter, half-laughing as I shove a hoodie onto a nearby armchair. “Packing is... going great, clearly.”

Yoongi chuckles quietly, the corners of his lips tugging into a soft smile. “Looks like you fought your closet and lost.”

“Pretty much,” I sigh, motioning toward the now visible part of the couch. “Go ahead, sit wherever isn’t covered in laundry.”

He sets down the takeout bag he’s holding and starts unpacking boxes, neatly arranging the containers on the coffee table like it’s some kind of sacred ritual. I notice he even brought side dishes. Classic Yoongi , subtle, thoughtful, and prepared.

“What would you like to drink?” I ask, stepping away and heading toward the kitchen.

“Just water’s fine,” he says, glancing up at me with that small, almost shy smile of his.

I nod and open the cupboard to grab a glass. As I’m filling it with water, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to see Iseul walking in, slipping her crossbody bag over her shoulder.

“Hey, you leaving already?” I ask, brow furrowing slightly. She’s fully dressed like she’s got somewhere to be, coat on, phone in hand.

She nods. “Yeah. I figured I’d give you guys some space.”

I step toward her, concerned. “Everything alright?”

She stops, looks at me with this soft, knowing expression, and then pulls me into a hug, tight and grounding. I hug her back just as tightly, a familiar knot forming in my throat.

“Have fun tonight,” she says quietly near my ear. “And have an amazing trip. I mean it, Y/N. I’m proud of you. You’ve worked really hard for this. You deserve it.”

“Iseul...” I start, but she pulls back and holds me at arm’s length.

“Also...” she adds, glancing toward the living room, “I hope you can work things out with him. Whatever ‘working out’ means now.”

I let out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re going to make me cry, and you know I hate crying in front of people.”

“Good,” she says, smirking. “Maybe it'll soften that thick shell of yours.”

We both laugh softly and walk together toward the living room. She waves politely at Yoongi, who stands slightly from the couch in greeting.

“It was really nice to meet you, Yoongi. Take care of her tonight, okay?”

He gives a small bow. “Of course. And you too, it was nice meeting you.”

With a final wave and a quiet click, Iseul disappears through the front door, leaving behind a silence that feels... not awkward, but noticeable. Like the room has shifted.

I walk over and place the glass of water in front of Yoongi. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he says, accepting it with a quick smile, his fingers brushing lightly against the rim before taking a sip.

I sit down on the carpet beside the coffee table, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and unwrapping them slowly. “So,” I say, trying to sound casual, “how come you’re here tonight? Not that I’m not grateful for the food, but... you didn’t really say much over text.”

He picks up a piece of meat, eyes focused on his plate. “I guess... I thought it’d be nice to have dinner together. You know, before you leave.”

I look over at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s chewing slowly, thoughtful. His tone is quiet, like he’s measuring each word.

“You don’t know when you’ll see me again,” I finish for him.

He finally glances at me, nodding. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable, just full. Full of everything that hasn’t been said.

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” I say gently, shifting a bit closer. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve had a proper sit-down meal all week. Just coffee and stress.”

He smirks. “Sounds like your diet hasn’t changed.”

“Excuse you, I added protein bars to the mix.”

We both laugh, the tension cracking slightly like a window opening just enough to let fresh air in. I look at him, really look, and for a second, it’s like we’re back in that easy space we used to live in. Before everything got messy.

“So... what else are you thinking?” I ask quietly.

He takes a moment before responding, and this time, he does look at me directly. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to leave things on pause. I know we haven’t really talked about... everything. But I didn’t want to let you leave without at least trying.”

Trying.

The word lingers between us like a question neither of us has answered yet.

I nod slowly, eyes dropping to the food between us. “Trying sounds like a good place to start.” “Hey, can I ask you something?” Yoongi says, his voice shifting into a tone that immediately grabs my attention. It’s quieter now, more serious.

I glance up from my bowl of rice, halfway through chewing. “Yeah? What is it?”

He hesitates. That alone is strange. Yoongi never hesitates—especially not with me. His eyes flicker down to his bowl, then back up to mine, and he clears his throat before saying it.

“Do you… have a crush on Jimin?”

I choke. Not even a little cough, a full-on disaster. Rice goes down the wrong way and I launch into an aggressive coughing fit, slapping my chest while reaching for water. My eyes water instantly.

“What?!” I practically scream once I’ve managed to breathe again, my voice still raspy from the coughing. “Are you being serious right now?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his eyes on the table, fiddling with the edge of his placemat like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.

“I mean… I don’t know,” he mutters. “You two have been close lately. Since we had that argument, you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. And you’re working together in the studio on this… very emotional, very romantic album.”

I blink, stunned. “Yoongi, are you jealous?”

He flinches. Just a tiny bit. But I catch it.

“I just thought…” he continues, still not looking at me. “Maybe, during all those late-night sessions, while he’s pouring his heart out into lyrics and melodies, you’d start seeing him differently. He’s a good guy. And you were mad at me, so…”

I drop my chopsticks with a soft clink onto the table.

His ears are red now. Bright red. And he still refuses to meet my gaze.

Something about the way he’s sitting there, defensive, quiet, almost… insecure, it makes my heart twist. I don’t even think. I just move.

I reach across the table, grabbing his wrist gently. “Yoongi.”

He finally looks up, and there’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen in a while, uncertainty. Like he’s not sure where we stand anymore.

I stand up slowly and walk around the table without saying a word. He follows me with his eyes, probably confused, maybe even ready to back away, but I don’t give him the chance.

I slide right into his lap.

His body stiffens under me. “Wait, what are you...”

But I don’t let him finish.

I cup his face, feeling the scratch of his stubble against my palms, and I kiss him, firm, intentional, no room for misinterpretation.

For a second, he’s frozen. And then, like flipping a switch, his hands are around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, like he can’t get enough. One hand moves to the small of my back, the other cradles the back of my neck. We’re breathing against each other now, mouths still colliding, still trying to make up for all the time we lost.

“I missed this,” I whisper in between kisses, forehead resting against his.

He lets out a breath, warm and shaky, like he’s been holding it in for weeks. “I missed you.”

We stay like that for a moment, just breathing, touching, realigning ourselves in the quiet aftermath of too many unspoken words.

And then, softly, he murmurs, “So… I’ll take that as a no about Jimin?”

I laugh into his neck, wrapping my arms tighter around him. “Definitely a no.” “I know we said we should take things slow,” Yoongi starts, his voice low and uncertain as his fingers gently comb through my hair. “And… granted, I acted like a complete ass.”

I rest my head lightly against his chest, hearing the steady thump of his heart under my ear. “Yeah, you kind of did,” I reply softly, not accusing, just honest.

He lets out a shaky breath. “But…”

“But what?” I ask, already feeling that familiar knot twist in my stomach. The kind you get before a plane takes off, equal parts excitement and fear.

He pulls back slightly so he can look at me, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. “Y/N… would you be my girlfriend?”

The world stills.

No, it collapses.

My heart skips a beat—maybe two—and for a second, I genuinely wonder if I misheard him. “Wait, what?” I blink, stunned, as the words hit me like cold water. “Are you serious?”

Without thinking, I quickly shift out of his lap, standing up so abruptly it startles him. He looks up at me, confused and caught off guard, his hands still frozen in the air like they’re reaching for something he can’t quite hold onto.

“I just...” I run a hand through my hair, trying to collect my thoughts. “Yoongi, I… I wasn’t expecting that. At all.”

He gets to his feet slowly, mirroring my unease. His fingers twitch slightly at his sides before he speaks. “I thought…” He swallows. “I thought your feelings were the same. I felt it. I still feel it.”

“They are,” I say quickly, reaching for his hand, my voice softer now. “Of course they are. I’m just… surprised. That’s all. This is, unexpected. Not bad. Just sudden.”

He exhales in relief and closes the space between us, holding my hand like it’s something fragile. “Y/N.” His voice is steadier now, but there’s still a tremble at the edges. “I know it’s bad timing. I know I probably should’ve waited, especially with your business trip tomorrow, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you walk out that door again without telling you what I’ve been trying so hard to ignore.”

“Yoongi…” I whisper, reaching up to cup his cheek, my thumb brushing over the skin he missed while shaving.

“Please, let me just say this,” he murmurs, leaning into my touch. “I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I hate that it took me being stupid, and distant, and everything you didn’t deserve, to finally realize it. I’ve been angry at myself for weeks.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say quietly, fingers still resting on his cheek. “You’re not going to lose me.”

He closes his eyes for a moment like those words physically soothe something in him. “I’m not asking for you to say yes right now. I’m not even asking for anything, really. I just need to know… is there still a chance? Is there still space for me in your heart?”

I step closer, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yoongi… of course I love you.”

His eyes snap open, and I see something soften in him. His shoulders drop. The tension that held him upright finally gives way.

“Good,” he says, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath for weeks. “Then I’ll do everything I can to prove to you that I deserve to be your boyfriend. Not just someone from your past. Not just someone who messed up.”

He pulls me into a hug, slow and steady, arms wrapping around me like he’s anchoring himself to this moment. He presses a kiss to the top of my head and I feel it, not just physically, but all the way down to the center of my chest.

Neither of us says anything for a moment. We just stand there, holding onto each other, letting the silence fill the spaces that words can’t.

And for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain anymore.

[nerdasaurus1200]

A little snippet of Curses!-Journal Edition, a thread with @tangledbea inspired me to flesh out the idea a little bit. And @frozenwolftemplar and @twotangledsisters you guys might like this too.

~~~~

“There it is, everybody! Lombard’s Pass!” Rapunzel announced. She quickly stood up on the caravan seat and pulled her journal out to sketch it. “I gotta say, of all the passes we’ve been on so far, this has to be my favorite.”

“You said the same thing about Sparrow Pass, Blondie.” Eugene teased. He was starting to grow a little uneasy as the pass began to narrow out. Even poor Fidella was on edge, she didn’t make any protest when Pascal hid in her mane. To ease himself, Eugene wrapped an arm around Rapunzel’s waist. Just in case they stumbled, she’d have someone to keep her from falling off the caravan.

“Well yeah, but check this out! It’s like those really old marble games my Uncle Peter likes to play!” Rapunzel pointed out, “See those swaying rock stacks?”

“Those rock stacks are some of the most dangerous in the Seven Kingdoms.” Cassandra reminded, “Nobody’s ever crossed them with a caravan this size. Ugh, I knew I should’ve brought my lucky halberd head for this trip.”

“Okay, so the Pass is a bit, erm….” Rapunzel trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Horrifying?” Hook foot piped up, holding a lucky horseshoe in the direction of the pass.

“Stomach-churning?” Lance added.

“Most likely destination for an early grave?” Cass continued.

“I was actually gonna say risky.” Rapunzel finished, “But it’s gonna feel so rewarding when we finally cross it. And plus, if we wanna stay on the black rock trail, the pass is our best option.”

“Besides, we don’t need anything lucky to get through this, gang!” Eugene piped up, “We’ve faced way worse now than some shaky pile of rocks! We make our own luck!”

“That’s the spirit, Eugene!” Rapunzel cheered.

“Are…are you sure Cass’s maps don’t say otherwi-“ Hook Foot attempted, but Cass cut him off, “Lombard’s Pass. End of story.” which earned a loud exasperated groan from him and Lance.

“Man, this is just like my mom described it, Eugene.” Rapunzel marveled, “She said that the whole thing is naturally occurring, all made of sandstone!”

“That’s…really great, Sunshine.” Eugene faked a smile. Honestly, Eugene was happy that Rapunzel was excited, but sandstone was hardly the most trustworthy rock.

“Raps, would you sit down? You’re freaking me out, you’re gonna fall.” Cass fussed.

“Hey, don’t worry, Cass, i’ve got a hand on her.” Eugene reassured. As if on cue however, suddenly the caravan crashed into a rock. The impact was so great the entire caravan shook. Rapunzel tried to find her footing on the bench, but her heart stopped when she felt her hand was suddenly empty.

“My journal!!” She cried. She scrambled to grab it in time, but it was already flying down the cliff.

“Uh oh…” Cass cringed in sympathy.

“Oh man, Blondie, I’m so sorry.” Eugene held Rapunzel by her waist as the caravan stopped.

“That journal was a present from my mom on my coronation day!” Rapunzel bemoaned, “Okay…okay, if we split up we’ll find it faster. Hook, Eugene, you guys help me find it on the ground.”

“I’ll have Owl fly around for it, maybe it could’ve landed in a tree.” Cass volunteered.

“And I…will supervise!” Lance declared.

“We’ll search for that journal as long as it takes Princess!” Hook Foot declared, “Even if it means we never, EVER cross Lombard’s pass! Ever.” Eugene glared a little; Hook Foot seemed a little too content to stop.

“Sunshine, I hate to say this.” Eugene hopped off the bench and strode over to Rapunzel, “But we should probably move on. I mean don’t get me wrong, the journal was a nice gift. But the pass is gonna take us hours to-….she’s already down there isn’t she?”

“At least it was the journal and not the telescope that she dropped.” Cass pointed out, “A fall like that would’ve smashed it to pieces.” Then her eyes lit up in realization, “Oh! But with a journal it’s paper and leather! Way less likely to be broken or torn apart! Even though that was a really really long fall.”

“….yeah, leave the optimism to Rapunzel, Cass.” Eugene snarked, “I’m gonna need to borrow your climbing daggers.”

[ill-written-god]

T | 1379 | m/m human/dragonborn | modern fantasy | cw: drugging attempt | I call him dragonborn but he's more of a tiefling, pre-relationship

He was hoping for a nice night out, to meet up with a friend from his old job for drinks. Unfortunately, she bailed on him at the last minute, saying something about shattered glass and aching kidneys. But the vision of getting drunk was too rooted in his head by then not to go, even alone. A drink, maybe two, maybe a dance, and he’d leave. 

Unless the huge guy eyeing him from the corner starts up something. Their goalie was already bulky as hell, but this man had nothing on him. And the angry stare? Ten out of ten. 

He should play a villain's right hand in a movie, not stare down overworked office workers in their thirties.

Their eyes met and the giant’s nostrils flared. Only then had he realized the unusual shape of his features, far away and blurred without his glasses.

In his haste to avoid the dragonborn’s gaze, he hadn’t noticed he was getting closer. He became even bigger as he approached, with his broad chest in a tank top, and horns curving back from his head. A big clawed hand fell on top of the bar. He loomed over him like a wave above a surfer, hovering and ready to crash down. 

“Is there a problem?” he asked because he had no self-preservation whatsoever. The dragonborn stares him down, eyes glowing in the poor lighting coming from the dancefloor. 

“There’s going to be,” he answers, and in one swift motion grabs his drink and dumps it somewhere over his shoulder. A gasp from behind comes before he can voice his protest.

"The fuck, man?!"

“Don’t,” the dragonborn hisses at the random guy on his other side. “I saw you. Don’t try pretending.”

The guy, now dripping with whiskey, shots up from his seat. But the bartender acts quick, grabbing his elbow and throwing him off balance. He sways and falls back on the stool.

The dragonborn passes him to get to the other guy. Now that he knows he's not a target he marvels over the height difference, the size of his… everything.

“Hand it over.” He holds out his hand towards the soaked man.

“What-”

“I know you have more,” he grits through his teeth, just at the edge of boiling. “Hand them over, or I’ll search you myself.”

The man flails with his pockets, before opening his blazer and reaching inside to withdraw a tic tac box. It’s almost empty save for two candies rattling inside. Dragonborn snatches it and hands it to the bartender who’s already on the phone, reciting the address of the bar.

“No, no cops-” the plea is cut by the hand around the man’s neck. 

“Yes cops,” the dragonborn says, then holds up his phone. “Now smile for the picture.” He takes a photo of his scowling face with his scaled hand as a necklace. "Everyone’s gonna know your piece of shit face.” He spits right at him. The man tries to squirm out of his grip, but it just turns into a choke. 

“You’re gonna sit here and don't move until the cops get here. With my spit on your face. Understood?”

When there’s no answer, he squeezes harder. The man nods frantically with whatever limited movement he has left, and finally gets released, gulping for air. He looks around but the sight of two goalies and several patrons watching him closely makes him collapse on himself and stops any attempts at running. 

The dragonborn finally loses interest in him and turns back to the almost-victim. The one with a tight coil in his gut from the display of strength he just witnessed. 

“You okay?”

He nods and gives an affirmative grunt that gets lost in the bar's music. 

“Going home or staying?”

This night has not been faring well from the start so maybe his best bet was to open a cold one in front of his laptop. A new episode of Only Murders had just dropped the other day.

“I’ll go home,’ he decides, nodding mostly to himself and getting off the stool. To his surprise, the dragonborn follows suit. 

“I’ll get you a cab," he explains, pulling out his phone. It looks thin under his big thumbs. 

He kinda wants to suck tem.

"Thanks," he says instead of the trillion profanities at the forefront of his mind. 

"Gotta make sure you'll get there safe," he shrugs.

"You save unobservant bar idiots often?" he asks, genuinely curious. Was it a hobby of his?

"Not really. And I hope that's because it doesn't happen that much, not because I don’t notice."

"Uh, yeah," he winces , trying not to think what would have happened if he hadn't noticed. "What's your name?" he asks to derail his imagination. 

"Mitch," the dragonborn shares easily. “Yours?”

“Phil,” he offers, nodding his thanks when he holds the door for him. The crisp air outside lifts the haze of the bar atmosphere off his mind. He frowns, looking up into the cloudy night sky. “Holy shit, I almost got drugged.”

“Try not to think about it too much.” Mitch makes a face. “It’s terrible but it happens, it’s best to just have a trusty buddy with you.”

“Well, my trusty buddy had work, so…” Should he tell her about what happened? Or would it put unnecessary guilt on her? He sighs. “I don’t blame her but if I tell her about it, she may feel guilty.” He lets the unspoken question hang in the air.

“It’s your call, but I think it’s good to know the reality we live in.”

Phil hums while they walk the short distance to the taxi stop.

“I guess so.”

They finally stop and Mitch checks his phone. 

“It should be here in ten minutes tops. I’ll wait with you.” He doesn’t offer, just states it as a fact and Phil is grateful. If asked, he might have played a tough guy, while in reality he needs the company. 

Maybe he could be even less tough, he thinks, eyeying Mitch’s muscles, his towering posture and intimidating claws.

“Will you see me home?”

He seems surprised by the request.

“If you need me to, then sure.”

Phil smiles gratefully. No one would dare to touch him in the dragonborn's presence and it was a feeling of safety he now needed. Especially considering the district he just moved to. 

When they get into the back of the cab Mitch asks, “Aren’t you worried I’ll know your address?”

Phil thinks on it for a second. 

“Honestly, no. It would make me feel better, if anything. Besides, my apartment building is big, you won't know my flat number."

Which becomes a problem to Mitch in turn, when they enter the shady neighborhood. He eyes the old architecture with distrust. 

"You live here?"

"Yep," Phil answers with a shrug as they roll to a stop in front of a sad gray apartment complex.

He watches Mitch pat his pockets furiously, looking for something. "Well, thanks for seeing me off-" The dragonborn holds up his hand so he waits. The cab driver eyes them with distaste but says nothing.

"If I give you my number, will you text me when you're locked and safe inside?"

Phil blinks, confused. Then just hands him his phone.

"Are you always this worried?" he asks, half amused, half charmed. "Giving off your number to strangers?"

"Just to the pretty ones," he smiles and Phil snorts. He hasn't been called pretty in probably a decade. "But yeah, I am always this worried. Especially about pretty strangers."

He hasn't blushed in about a decade either. It was probably the fact that Mitch was crowding him in the limited space of the cab's backseats. He gets his phone back, looks at the string of numbers and saves them simply as Mitch.

"If you wanted my number you should have just said so."

"It's not like that-!"

"Don't worry, I don't mind sharing it with the pretty ones," he says, observing the emotions shifting across the dragonborn's face. He squeezes his knee; it's huge, his fingers strain to wrap around it.

"I'll text you in five, don't worry," he promises, opening the door. 

"I'll stay here until you do."

The driver makes the tiniest groan in the front seat.

[travmarshall]

Travis snorts, still pushing the mop across the floor with long, practiced sweeps like a man that knows what he's doing even if he's just adopting the 'fake it until you make it' philosophy. “Less time with Shane? Oh c’mon now, don’t punish me for being a good influence on the poor guy,” he calls back from the kitchen, his voice laced with enough dry amusement. “Though I will admit, I have started brooding more and making aggressive eye contact with my coffee in the morning. So maybe, you’re onto something.”

Just then, he pauses at the corner of Mama P's counter, wringing the mop out again with a grunt that is only slightly performative. “As for Sonny…? Well, yeah, I’d be worried too. She tends to put our boy on edge. Shane's been pacing around like a dog who's just caught a scent and he doesn’t know whether he should chase it or bury it. Every time her name is brought up in conversation, he gets this tragic look like someone's just handed him a bomb and told him to, ‘Figure it out.’” Travis shakes his head, his way of expressing his condolences and sympathy. “I dunno what she wants yet, haven't gotten a chance to ask. But I don’t like the way it’s making him… all soft and volatile. Like one of those damn soufflés Mama P tried to make once. Don't think I have to remind you how that turned out.”

He turns back to the floor just then, muttering something under his breath about “soul stains and sticky sins,” before catching himself and grinning. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave the metaphors at the door. I do want that old bloodhound title, though. Guess, I gotta earn it.”

At the mention of Evan, the mop in his hand slows and Travis releases a quiet exhale through his nose. He refuses to look up at first —too focused on a stubborn spot by the baseboards, like if he scrubs at it hard enough, it might just keep the rest of his thoughts at bay.

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice more measured now. “Evan’s... fine I s'pose. I mean, she’s not not fine. We’ve been kind of dancing around the same argument for the last couple months. Same music, different key.” He straightens up, one hand resting on the top of the mop like it was a walking stick and he was halfway through an old Western.

He offers Holly a glance and half a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fifteen years and you’d think we would've figured out how to fight without threatening the structural integrity of our relationship, but…” He trails off with a shrug. “Sometimes I think we’re just coasting on all the years we already put in. Like momentum’s doing the work for us. And the only reason it hasn’t fully broken down is ’cause neither of us wants to be the one who says it out loud first.”

He looks back down, his voice quieter now. “It’s not a bad life. It’s just… not the one either of us imagined for ourselves, I think." Hell, close to twenty plus years ago, Travis thought he'd marry Allie. And look at how that turned out. "We both love Sadie—hell, that’s never been the issue. But somewhere between school and mortgage payments and dance classes, we stopped being each other’s soft place to land. Now it’s like we’re just trying not to trip over each other.”

A beat passes, before he clears his throat like he’s said too much. “Anyway,” Travis adds, tossing the mop into the bucket with a wet slap, “that’s probably more soap opera than you signed up for when you asked. But thanks for doing so, anyway. Most people hear ‘fifteen years’ and assume that means we’re golden. Don’t realize that even gold gets worn down if you rub at it hard enough.”

He tries for levity again, lifting his brows. “Sadie’s good, though. Bossing us both around like she’s on a throne. Painted my damn nails again last week—this time glitter. Says it ‘builds character.’ I told her it builds confusion. She said that’s how I know it’s working.”

His smile comes easier at the topic of his daughter, the fondness breaking through the fatigue. “She misses you though, y’know. She'll never admit it, but she listens more when it’s you who's talking. Think she figures you’re like... cool-adjacent. Guess I didn't have the heart to tell her, her radar's off,” he jokes, glancing back at Holly with the mop paused mid-dip. “Maybe come hang out sometime? We could even pretend we’re still young and functional for an afternoon.”

Then, ever so dryly, “I’ll even promise not to talk about mop metaphors or my relationship unless there’s wine involved.”

Holly was already halfway into the living room when Travis’s “tortoise still bites” comment landed, and drew a laugh out from between her lips. “I swear, you need to start spending less time with Shane,” she called back, kneeling beside the rug with a bottle of upholstery cleaner like she was about to perform emergency surgery. “You guys always seem to rub off on each other and you start sounding the same. Minus the emotional constipation. I'm seriously worried about his mental state now that Sonny's back in town.”

As she began blotting the edge of the stain, Holly glanced up to catch Travis baptizing the mop like he was leading a sacred rite and her lips twitched. “This rug is going to haunt my dreams. And don't even get me started on the couch."

Though it was taking some time and elbow grease, the redhead eventually got one of the prints to lift. If they'd had more time, she might have gone out of her way to hire a professional carpet cleaner. But this would have to do for now.

"You’ve got yourself a deal, old bloodhound. But only if you can make it through this whole floor without grumbling about your knees or launching into some weird metaphor involving tractors and life lessons. Speaking of, how is life? I feel like I haven't seen Evan in ages!”

[saebyeog-i]

finally getting to see Fall Out Boy live tonight and living out my middle school dream almost 20 years later

heard ‘Last of the Real Ones’ live tonight and suddenly I am thinking about Bitter Brews Johnny for the first time in… a year and a half???

Hmmm….

[missyaess]

Maybe Meant To Be - Fake Dating - pt.1

pt.2 pt.3

Katsuki bakugo x Jealous Reader x Midoriya Izuku

You were all training together when the familiar uncomfortable feeling made its way in your stomach.Uraraka was a great friend of yours,always has been.Still,you couldn’t help but get angry at the way she was standing so close to your crush during sparring.Especially with the way you knew she used to have a crush on him for a few months at the start of the year.You knew it was childish so you never said it out loud,but you didn’t need to with the way you were staring daggers at the poor girl.Noticing this,Mina put a hand on your shoulder.

-Uh oh, we might find a certain floaty girl murdered tonight in her bed.

At this you scoffed and removed her hand from your shoulder.

-Stop it.

You weren’t mad at Mina,she was just trying to help.But you were so on edge you could just blow up any minute.You’ve been staring too long that Uraraka noticed you and she smiled nervously with a hand on her neck.You smiled back but dropped it instantly as she removed her gaze from yours.You honestly felt horrible but still couldn’t help it.

-I honestly don’t get you two.

Mina said as she gestured between you and Bakugo who was uncharacteristically laughing at something Uraraka said.You huffed and averted your gaze to Mina.

-What do you mean?

She laughed and pulled you closer as you two started walking away from the scene to somewhere more secluded.

-You two are always competing yet somehow you have a soft spot for each other.

You blushed and smiled at her comment.That was true and you loved your relationship the way it was.You both challenged and brought out the best in each other.You studied and fought harder just to beat Bakugo.

You were smiling to yourself when you heard a laughter and you found yourself brought back to reality.Uraraka was laughing at something Bakugo said like he was the funniest guy alive.A scowl started to form on your face.

-Hey Y/N!

You didn’t even notice Midoriya approach you two.He waved a hand in front of your face to break you out of your trance and smiled kindly.That’s what you loved about Izuku Midoriya,he had the kindest smile.

-Hi Izuku.You done for the day?

-Yeah, i was wondering if you guys wanted to study together for the test coming up.

As you talked about the upcoming tests and exams and more school stuff,you forgot all about Bakugo and Uraraka.You were thankful to Midoriya for the distraction.

-Okay,I’ll see you later then.

As Midoriya left with that,Aizawa announced that the training session was over.You all went to your dorms and after you took a shower you lied down on your bed,scrolling through your phone.That’s when you saw it.

Uraraka had posted a picture of your crush with the caption ‘best teammate!!’and he was smiling in the picture.He was smiling?He didn’t usually smile to his friends.You couldn’t help the growing feeling of jealousy in your stomach.Your heart dropped when you saw Bakugo liked it.This was it.They were going to date and you would die alone.Oh god,why was this happening to you?Tears started forming in your eyes but you blinked them away.You weren’t going to cry because of something like this.You just needed a distraction.As you were about to call Mina she called you first.

-Y/N DID YOU SEE WHAT URARAKA POST-

-Yeah I did,don’t remind me please.

-Girl are you okay?I can come over if you want.

-Actually that would be great,thanks.

You hung up and as you waited for Mina,you opened up the post again.Were they dating?Did Uraraka confess and he returned his feelings?You hoped this was just their way of showing their friendship and nothing more.As you were lost in thought someone knocked on your door.Thank god Mina’s finally here.

You jumped out your bed and went to open the door.When you opened the door it was not who you were expecting.

-Midoriya?What are you doing here?

The shy boy scratched his neck.

-I needed to talk to you.

-Oh,is there something wrong?

-Well,kinda.

He mumbled something’s to himself while you invited him by stepping away.Sitting on your bed you invited him near you.

-Look,I kinda noticed the way you look at and act around Kacchan and I think you like him.

You were full on panicking mode.If the most oblivious boy ever knew,everybody could figure it out!Were you that obvious?

-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about I don’t-

-It’s fine!I like Uraraka-chan.

He cut you off uncharacteristically.You were shocked at his confession.Of course you noticed,but why was he saying these things to you?

-Oh…I’m confused Midoriya.

-I’m sure you saw the post she posted…With Kacchan.

-Yeah…Are you okay?

-Same as you I guess…No.

You both stayed in awkward silence for a while before there was another knock on your door.

-Oh,were you expecting someone?

-It’s just Mina.You can stay if you want.

-If it’s not a problem I’d like to stay.

He smiled and your heart warmed at his smile.He was such a sweet boy.

As you both filled Mina in on everything,she had this mischievous smirk on her face.

-Why are you so happy about our tragedy again?

You asked as Mina put her arm around you.

-Because, my dear friend, I have an idea.That involves the both of you,Uraraka-Chan And Bakugo.

Midoriya and you looked at each other before looking back at Mina.

-What is it?

-You two should date each other.

-WHAT?

You both said in unison,Midoriya getting redder by the second.You were not much better.

-Not like that dummies!Fake dating,to get Bakugo and Uraraka jealous!

-But…would that work?

Midoriya’s question surprised you.Was he really willing to do this?Then again,weren’t you?What did you have to lose?

-Look,I think they both have a thing for you but I don’t know what’s going on between them either.Let’s try this and find out,plus wouldn’t it be fun?

You talked about the plan for an hour before Mina decided it was time for her to leave and you were left alone with Midoriya.

-So…we’re really doing this huh?

You asked to break the silence.

-Yeah…You want to right?

-Of course!Even if it fails we won’t lose anything.Right?

-Yes,of course.

Midoriya got up slowly clearing his throat.

-I better leave too.See you tomorrow.

-Yeah,see you.

You knew what Midoriya said meant more than I’ll see you tomorrow in class.It meant we’ll be dating from now on.And you were really excited to see how things would play out.

[magnoliacharmed]

It Takes Two To Tango

(not my gif!)

18+, Billy Gunn x Fem!Reader one shot

[Also available on Archive of Our Own!]

Word count: 2,592

Tags: Oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, swallowing, trying to be quiet, secret relationship

Additional characters: Ken Shamrock, Jim Ross, Jerry Lawler, Vince McMahon

Summary:

Your real life relationship with Billy Gunn begins to pick up steam on TV. Your kayfabe boyfriend, Ken Shamrock, doesn’t like what he sees.

“JR, you see the way Gunn looks at me when I enter the ring! Always trying to peek under my skirt. I’m not having it any more.”

“That bastard really shouldn’t be treating a young lady like you in that way.”

“Well with the way she dresses, what do you expect?! I wouldn’t be able to contain myself either!”

“You’re such an old pervert, King.” Your voice crackled over the mic.

You readjusted the headphones squeezing your ears. This was your first time on commentary and it was a lot more fun than you expected. A hell of a lot more fun than interviewing backstage. Even with Vince yelling  in your ear the whole time, the banter between you, JR, and Jerry made it all worth it. It was also nice to get a break from standing around in your heels. You watched Billy enter the ring doing his spiel. It never got old and the crowd seemed to agree.

“… then I’ve got two words for ya!”

“SUCK IT!”

Billy thrusted, then pointed right at you.

“Can you abide by this?!” You turned your head to JR, your eyebrows scrunched up in overplayed annoyance while your voice raised a pitch. The camera caught JR shaking his head and Jerry laughing like a hyena.

Billy was up against Ken Shamrock. After dealing with Val Venis trying to corrupt his sister Ryan, Ken had gotten himself involved in a love triangle with you and Billy. So far he’d won in the ring, but he hadn’t been able  to capture your affections outside of it. Despite his gentlemanly behavior defending you against Billy’s lewd presence, the blond still edged him out. He was never exceptionally rude, just flirtatious in the way that confident people can be. It (unfortunately) was still working on you even though you knew he was no good.

Just as Billy geared up to do his signature Fame-asser, Ken managed to get out of the way. He got Billy with a clothesline and was close to getting him in position for an ankle lock, but Billy rolled out of the ring in a graceful flash. His eyes immediately focused on you, his stride long and slightly wounded as he made his way over. The mics on the table picked up his words.

“Stop distracting me over here before I have to teach you a lesson.”

“Oh, please. Maybe become a better wrestler and you won’t have such an issue with distractions.”

Jerry’s high pitched voice let out an “Oh! OH!” Vince was close to blowing out your eardrums on the other end of the headphones.

“SHUT UP, YOU’RE ONLY OUT THERE TO LOOK CUTE.”

Billy huffed, close to being out of breath. You were supposed to be on Shamrock’s side. He was the good guy. He was the one who treated you with some respect. But that was so boring. Poor Ken.

Billy walked away, pointing at you again and gesturing towards his crotch. He re-entered the ring to struggle with Shamrock for a few minutes before finally being subjected to the ankle lock. Billy tried his hardest, but ultimately tapped out.

It was hard to hear over the cheers.

“How’re you gonna reward your boyfriend?!” Jerry asked, his voice keeping that hysteric note to it. You wonder where he got the energy from.

“Don’t worry about what I’ll do to him!”

You took the headset off in a rush and scrambled from behind the announcers table. You were almost in the ring, crouching down to get between the ropes, when Billy grabbed you from outside of it. He pressed his heaving chest to yours and began to whisper in your ear.

“I know you want me. You gonna let me make you feel good later?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at his words even though they made heat pool down below. Wriggling out his tight hold took some effort. With a quick flicker of your eyes up and down his well toned body, something you were sure you’d catch some heat for, you turned away to run to congratulate Ken. He looked at you with a tired sort of skepticism as you planted kisses across his face that were more subdued than the crowd expected.

----------

Backstage, you thought about the night so far. Even though Vince treated you like a puppy that piddled on the nice rug, you were sure that this wouldn’t ruin your push. He didn’t immediately leave gorilla to fire you after it was all said and done. The love triangle was getting good pops. Ken looked sympathetic from losing his sister and girlfriend in quick succession. Billy was establishing himself as a worthy competitor. You were getting the chance to show off your personality, something you hoped to pivot into more in-ring action. Everyone won!

Well, everyone except Ken.

His steps were heavy as he approached you. It took a second to register that he was even there, your head so up in the clouds that your vision blurred into a watercolor painting.

“What the hell was that with you and Billy?”

“What was what?”

Ken was a lot more upset than you thought. This was nothing but an angle! You two had tried to go on a few dates, sure. There was no spark between you two. At least on your end. He was handsome and he was sorta funny…? In the end, he just didn’t do it for you. Whatever it was, that special X factor, Shamrock didn’t have it. Billy did.

“You and Billy at the end of the damn match. Are you two fucking?”

You weren’t going to let his sour mood ruin your high. He should’ve been happy the match went so well. Plus, he knew the deal— you were only dating on screen, and that was barely. A few decent dates don’t make a relationship.

“Is that really any of your business?”

“Are you?”

“You’re so nosy, Ken. No, Billy and I aren’t fucking since you want to know so badly. And I’ll say it one more time just so you feel reassured—“ Your voice rose.

“—I AM NOT FUCKING BILLY GUNN. You know I’m also not fucking? You. So don’t worry about what or who I’m doing in my free time, alright?”

“Yeah, alright. You just watch out and don’t get hurt.” Ken’s face was stony as he turned to walk away from you. You didn’t know he cared that much about you. That clouded up your thoughts again. You started to wallow in confusion when Billy rounded a corner. He had a smug smile painting his face walking up to you.

“Heard we weren’t fucking. You don’t know how sad that makes me.”

“Geez, I said that so loud you heard me?”

“Well I only paid attention ‘cause I misheard and thought you said that we would be.”

“Yeah, you definitely misheard.” He was pulling you right into his little flirtatious back and forth.

“That’s too bad. I’ve got a few things I wanna do to you that I wasn't allowed to say on TV.”

“Mmhmm, I sure bet you do.” Your voice was a whisper.

Gunn was undeniably sexy, an even tan contrasting with his blond hair. His  long legs looked powerful, like he really could fuck you as hard he did his taunt. His height wasn’t intimidating or foreboding. There was something in the way you had to look up at him, a spark that turned you on beyond belief.

“You know,” Billy popped his gum. “I heard Vince is gonna do a poll in the next issue of the magazine. ‘Who’ll be the next hot couple in the WWF?’ You think he’ll put you and Ken or you and me?”

A playful smile spread on his face. You lightly slapped him on the chest, then made a frown at hearing Ken’s name. He was the last thing you wanted on your mind.

“Vince probably isn’t too happy with me right now.”

“Was he screaming at you?”

“Absolutely.”

“I could hear it even all the way from where I was. You’ll be fine. He gives all the pretty ones a pass.”

“I see you’re using that famous charm of yours on me.”

“Yeah, is it working?”

You laughed and rose up to place a long kiss on his cheek. It was a kiss that the audience sure would’ve liked to see you give Ken. You bristled as the thought slid through your mind, but it was dashed away by Billy’s hand slowly sliding down to palm at your ass. His favorite way to tease you out on the mat was by doing anything he could to take a nice look at it. There were many times when he got hard just thinking about bending you over.

“Why don’t you let me tell you what was on my mind earlier?”

Billy got dangerously close to reaching under your skirt, his fingers caressing your skin with more gentleness than you expected. It made your head swim with dirty thoughts and lit a fire within.

----------

You bit down so hard your lip it started to bleed a bit. You had to keep your mouth shut! With the attention Billy was paying to your clit, his tongue swirling around it at an unhurried pace, it was hard to keep quiet. A buzzing feeling coursed through your body that made your nerves clench up in ecstasy. Billy’s eyes stayed glued on your tortured expression above him, the twisting of your features making his cock twitch. Little moans escaped you with every lick of his tongue.

“You’ve gotta be quieter if you want me to keep going.” He stopped, noisily releasing suction from your clit.

“Are you serious? Don’t stop, someone might catch us if we take too long.”

“They will catch us if you don’t try to keep your voice down.”

“I’ll be quieter,” Your voice was filled with grit.

You didn’t even finish the short sentence as Billy returned to eating you out. It took your all not to make a sound, especially when he grabbed your hips to pull you closer into him. You collapsed onto your elbows and threw your head back, feeling like you were ready to explode. It was hard to stay silent when he was giving you his all. Gunn kept his promise when he told you he’d make you feel good.

The heel of your shoe kicked against his back. It was the only way you could express how close you were to your orgasm. You could’ve sworn Billy smiled as he stopped again.

“You gonna come for me?”

You shook your head yes frantically.

“Tell me.”

The look you gave him could only be described as pointed.

“I’m gonna come for you, Billy.” You were close to losing your composure. You didn’t want to whisper, you wanted to scream.

Seconds later he was back and taking you over the edge. You completely collapsed on the desk below you, your legs shaking then going limp as Billy kept licking. He finally stopped but not before leaving a kiss on your oversensitive spot.

With one swoop he picked you up, your legs wrapping against him with no second thought. He carried you with ease and pressed your back against the office door. You watched as his lips moved in to kiss your neck, the feeling of his breath against your skin shooting through you like lightning. It was almost overwhelming how great his body felt against yours. As if it was meant for you to be pressed that close together.

“Shhh,” Billy hushed you as he slowly pushed inside you. His preparation wasn’t enough for you to mentally prepare yourself. A loud moan filled the room, spurring him on to thrust fast and deep into you. How he could do this while holding you up was beyond you. Your assumption about his legs was happily proven right as he maintained a good, hard rhythm.

Gunn’s hand quickly reached up to pull down the neck of your dress, your breasts suddenly exposed to the cold air of the room. The chill brought you back down from the stars. Billy tore his gaze away from your face to stare at the bounce of your tits, the mesmerized expression on his face giving you a boost of confidence.

“Fuck, you look so good.”

You buried your head in his shoulder and moaned again, deep and primal. For purely selfish reasons, he didn’t want you moaning. Of course didn’t want you to get in trouble… but he also knew he’d come too fast if he heard your voice making the noises he so loved to hear. It was too late. You were past the point of no return and didn’t care who heard you.

His tongue found itself back around yours. The sloppy kiss pushed you to the next level. His urgency was so hot, it was like he just couldn’t contain himself around you. You could always count on Billy to make you feel wanted.

“Gonna... oh my God,” You breathed right into his ear. As soon as you said it, every muscle in your body compressed. No one else was ever going to make  you come harder than he did, a fact he would have loved to lord over you if he knew it. Just when you were beginning to remember where you were, Billy pulled out of you and pushed you on to your knees.

“Where?” Gunn stroked himself with a tight grip, his words strained. His cock was still shiny from your wetness. It was hypnotizing.

You opened wide to take Billy down your throat with perfect timing. He released hot, your mouth getting coated while you sucked him down. Now it was your turn to look up at him, his lips parted in awe. He caressed your cheek with the same gentleness from earlier. When he began to soften, you took his cock out of his mouth to get a good look at it. It was beautiful, one thin vein running down the long length of it. The way you gazed at it made his heart thump loudly in his chest.

Your brain struggled to form words as he helped you up. His hand held yours as if he was escorting you to a debutante ball instead of picking you up after he came in your mouth. It did feel equally as magical.

“Now imagine how good I am when I have a bed.” Somehow he snuck a new piece of gum in his mouth when you weren’t looking.

“That’s an invitation, I assume.”

“Yeah, for tonight actually.”

The two of you put your clothes back on in a rush. It wasn’t a secret that you two were fucking. If it was, it was poorly guarded. You just didn’t want to deal with Ken actually catching you with that post-sex disheveled look. The two of you at least needed to be cordial to make it all believable on television. There was a little part of you that hoped Vince really would couple you and Billy on the magazine poll. Maybe you two would win and get paired together.

Stepping out of the office, you and Billy looked around. No one walking by, no one hanging out. Perfect.

“Don’t think about me too much before tonight. Save the stamina.” It was hard to play it cool when you knew that you’d be replaying everything he did to you for the next few hours.

Billy’s laugh echoed down the hall while he walked away from you.

[musingginger]

head over heels // eddie munson

Pairing- Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader

Synopsis – After all this time in your relationship, Eddie FINALLY lets you trim his hair.

Warnings –light cursing, kissing, LOTS of fluff, handsy Eddie, play fighting, established relationship

Word Count – 2.4k

A/N- I WANT TO PLAY WITH THIS MAN’S HAIR SO BADLY! The idea of getting to cut and play with Eddie’s hair has literally PLAGUED my thoughts so I had to get it out on paper. More fluffy Eddie coming and maybe even some Steve! Comment below if you’d like to be tagged in any upcoming works! And of course, if you enjoy it, please reblog! <3

I do not grant permission for anyone to use my work. Under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

“I swear to god, put the scissors down Munson!”

Eddie eyes widen seeing you in the mirror of his dirty bathroom. In one hand, he had his curly bangs that had gotten much too long and in the other, a pair of dull scissors.  You had literally just walked in through the trailer door, a tad earlier than Eddie expected for your weekend staycation.

“We have talked about this!” You firmly say as you reach for the scissors, your other hand grabbing at the edge of his leather jacket.

“NO!” Eddie grunts as he pulls away from your grasp.

“Jesus Eddie. Comeon-” You groan at him, as he twirls around, completely get out of your hold on him.

“It’s MY hair and I’m gonna cut it if it needs to be cut!”

“Yeah, because that worked out well last time?” Putting your hands on your hips as you huff at him.

Eddie stops briefly, remembering the hack job he did on his bangs two months ago when you were away with your folks. Poor guy had taken off an extra inch and had to wear his bandana for at least a month til they grew out. He was so embarrassed and said on multiple occasions how he looked like a knock off Halloween pirate, but every time you looked at him, you couldn’t help but giggle.

You typically take him to your mom’s salon, but it was too late tonight to take him to your place and honestly, getting him to trust her took almost an entire year. Knowing him ALL too well, he’ll cut his bangs tonight one way or the other. The man lives off his impulses.

Eddie sighs, turning to you. “But they’re driving me crazy, they’ve gotta go.” Peering through his long fringe down at you, blowing out his bottom lip, trying to get them out of his eyes.

“Eds, let me just cut your bangs.”

“No, no way!” Shaking his ring clad hand at you.

“COMEON! I’ve been helping my mom out in the salon since I was 8 and I kno-”

“Nope!”

“-what I’m-”

“Nope!”

“-DOING!”

“No way, sweetheart. If you mess it up, I’ll never be able to forgive you. And I love you too much for that.” He squeezes your bicep gently, laying a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“Because you have such a great track record yourself.”

Eddie paused, exhaling, looking up at the ceiling, weighing out the odds of either choice.

“You can always wait til the morning when my mom-”

“Shhhhh princess. I’m thinking…” Eddie murmurs. You couldn’t help but smirk at his theatrics. You knew how important his hair was to his identity, but this seemed a little overkill. But his dramatics were one of your favorite things about him, one of the reasons you love him.

Eddie sucks in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Ok.” He hands the scissors over to you.

“Wait, really?” You say in quite disbelief, reaching for the scissors.

“Yes, y/n. Really. Don’t make me second guess myself, sweetheart, or else you’re gonna have to sleep on the couch tonight.”

You hold back a squeal. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve been dying to give him a bit of a trim. Since being with you, he’s at least using conditioner now, but he’s still ripping a hairbrush through his long mane, causing a lot of split ends, and driving you absolutely crazy.

You pat the toilet seat cover, and Eddie sits down with a slight huff.  You start to comb out his bangs when he gently grips your wrist.

“Give me a kiss before you start.”

You eagerly oblige, planting your full lips on his. The kiss was warm and sweet, full of comfort and safety. You pull back, looking into Eddie’s chocolate eyes. Lightly brushing away a few baby hairs before placing your hand carefully on the side of his face. “It’s gonna be fine. I promise.”

He smiles weakly at you, sucking in a long breath. “Ok, I’m ready.” Closing his eyes, as if he were preparing for one of his D&D battles.

You quietly place his brown locks in between your pointer finger and middle finger, giving yourself a guide to cut. You take a shallow breath in before making the first cut.

“OW!” Eddie yelps out. His outburst causes you to jump back, luckily dropping the scissors. Suddenly, you hear loud laughter erupt from his chest. Eddie is doubling over, holding his pecs, cackling at his own little prank.

“Hahaha! Oh sweetheart! HAHA! I’m, so sorry. It was just- HA! Just too easy!“ Tears are flowing from his eyes, reaching for you. “Baby, baby, com’ere. I’m sorry. I had to.” Grabbing your hands, pulling you into his lap.

“I SWEAR TO GOD MUNSON!” You hit his chest playfully. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Eddie buries his face into your neck, planting long wet kisses along your collarbone. “I won’t do it again angel. I’m sorry.” Murmering into the crook of your neck, grazing his teeth in a short line, lightly nipping at you. Giving you one last hot kiss, he grabs the scissors off the floor and hands them back to you.

You stand up, putting his hair back between your fingers again. “God, I hate you sometimes.” You smirk at him, as you make another cut.

His rough hands find their way to the outer sides of your thighs. His thumbs lightly stroking you. “Oh, comeon, you love me so fucking much. Just like I love you.” Giving you a shit eating grin as you carefully trim his tresses.

You stick your tongue out between your teeth as you concentrate, occasionally stepping back to check your work. When you’re finally satisfied, you step back a few paces. Eddie gets up to take a good look in the mirror. He finesses with it for a couple of seconds, before leaning back.

You hold your breath as he purses his lips. “Looks like I won’t have to go to your mom anymore.” His head turning, a half-smile cracking along his face. “It looks great baby. I always had faith in you.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Did not, but I’m glad you approve.” Rough hands grip your sides as Eddie lifts you up, giving you a big kiss on the lips, pressing his body into yours with a ferocity. You run your hand through the rest of his tangled hair, sighing.  

You break the kiss, pushing your hands into his shoulders, looking in his eyes. “Eds, since I did such a good job on your bangs… I did want to ask you something else.”

“Sure sweetheart.” He tries to pull you in for another kiss, but you keep him firmly in place.

“Can I-can I PLEASE trim your hair?” Looking up at him with your big doe eyes.

“Oh-I don’t know, y/n. Bangs are one thing, but this-” he fluffs his unruly mane, “-this is a work of art.”

“You’re constantly complaining about how it gets so tangled, and a trim would make it feel and LOOK so much better.”

“What? You don’t like my hair now?” He meant it playfully but hurt crosses his face for a moment.

“Jeeze Eds, you know what I mean.” Lightheartedly pushing your hand into his hard chest again. “I love your hair and I know how important it is to you, so please? Please let me do this for you?” You plead to him, almost begging.

Eddie scratches the back of his head. “Alright, princess. Anything for you.” He says hesitantly. “But the couch rule still stands if it looks bad.”

A large smile breaks over your face, as you grab his hand, leading him into the kitchen. You grab one of the wooden chairs around the table and place it in the middle of the linoleum, its back to the edge of the sink.

Eddie takes off his leather jacket, setting it on the counter, watching you race back and forth between the bathroom and kitchen. “Need help, sweetheart?”

“Nope! Got it!” You yell from the small bathroom, holding shampoo, conditioner, and some of the good smelling oil you put on your hair after each shower. Eddie watches you with adoration and curiosity. You put your “tools” on the counter and gesture for your boyfriend to sit down. Giving you a skeptical look, he takes his seat.

“Lean your head back.” Turning on the water, running it over the underside of your wrist to make sure it wasn’t too hot for Eddie. You silently thank Wayne for clearing the sink before he had left for work that day. His nephew wasn’t the greatest at doing his own dishes.

Chocolate, curly, shoulder length tresses are tossed into the sink by the metalhead. As soon as the warm water hits his scalp, he closes his eyes. Squirting some shampoo into your hands, and lathering up his locks, you watch him relax from the pseudo head massage. You hum a Tears for Fears song while you work, causing Eddie to smirk.

“You’ve gotta stop working with Harrington, princess. His music taste is rubbing off on you.” He mutters, opening one eye to look at you. A baby hair of yours falls into your eyes as you look over at Eddie.

“Hey, Tears for Fears isn’t that bad.” Grabbing the conditioner, squeezing a generous amount into your hands, really massaging it into your boyfriend’s scalp.

“If you say so, angel.” He snorts, shaking his head lightly. Eddie reaches up, tucking the hair behind your ear tenderly.

You take a little longer to condition his hair, gently detangling his curls, and watching as his shoulders fall away from his neck. It reminded you of watching Eddie sleep, minus the soft snoring that he denies happens when he’s off in dreamland.  

Turning off the water, you grab a towel to squeeze out the excess water from your dark angel’s hair. Gently guiding him to sit up, you scrunch the towel around his waves, giving his forehead a kiss. You take the wide toothed comb that you bought Eddie for Christmas, which he’s obviously never used, and tenderly start to detangle the rest of his hair.

When the tedious task is done, you grab the scissors once again, running your fingers through his mop of hair and make the first snip.

“OWWWW” Eddie shouts out again in “pain” but immediately starts howling with laughter. He can’t believe he got you twice. You jump four feet in the air, covering your face with your hands, so frustrated with your boyfriend’s antics.

“Ok, ok, ok. I promise, that’s it!” He slaps his knee hard getting up to pull you into a hug. He did feel bad about fucking with you occasionally, but it was all in good fun. And you were always so easy to scare.

You shake your head in your hands, annoyed as all hell. “I’m so MAD AT YOU RIGHT NOW!” You loudly grumble into his tattoo covered chest, as he tries to pry you from his torso.

“I’m sorry princess. That was the last one!”

“Pinky promise. Now.” You hold out your pinky finger, waiting for his to link with yours.

He smirks and wraps his around yours, giving his thumb a kiss, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “I promise. No more pranking.” You give your thumb a kiss too, sealing the deal.

“Good. Otherwise, YOU’RE gonna be the one sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Eddie fakes a shot to the heart, leaning back. “Ouch sweetheart, you’d do that to me over a little prank?”

“You really scared me, you asshole! TWICE!”

Eddie nods his head to the side in agreement. “Yeah, that’s fair.” Giving your palm a little kiss before he plops back down in the chair, letting you continue your work.

You make quick work of Eddie’s hair, not wanting another heart attack today. Luckily, his curl pattern was easy to follow, and you had had practice at your mom’s salon with the rise of the perm.

After each section, you give Eddie a little kiss on the crown of his head or a small squeeze of reassurance on his shoulder, still humming Tears for Fears.

Cutting his hair like this felt so intimate, in a way that you two hadn’t been before. He was letting you take care of him, which wasn’t a common occurrence. Even when he was sick, you had to push your way into the trailer to bring him soup. He always refused any help, even when he couldn’t get out of bed. You watch as his hair transforms, and your fingers are finding it easier to run through the follicles.

Setting down the scissors, you grab the hair oil, putting a little in your hands, rubbing them together before running them through his hair. You take a deep breath in, admiring your handiwork. You’re proud of yourself, but would Eddie be happy?

“Ok, time to take a look, Eds.” You say gently. Eddie gets up and walks towards the bathroom. It’s quiet, too quiet for your comfort. Then you suddenly hear him calling from the bathroom.

“Y/n?!” You sprint down the hallway, your feet planting themselves on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. He hates it. You think, standing in the doorframe. Eddie turns and looks at you with a peculiar look.

“You hate it, don’t you?” Looking down, picking at the hem of your long sleeve shirt.

“Well…” He sighs loudly. “It looks amazing, sweetheart.”

You quickly flit your eyes up at him, relieved. Finally, you release your breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding.

Eddie cracks a big smile, grabbing you around your waist and lifting you up into a long, hard kiss. You can’t help but smile into the kiss, his happiness infectious.

“So, you’re not gonna make me sleep on the couch tonight then?” You say sheepishly.

“Oh princess, that was never gonna be an option.” He grips you and wraps your legs around him carrying you to the bedroom. “But now, I get to thank you properly.” He growls into your ear, gently biting your neck, giving your ass a playful smack.

A yelp of giddiness escapes your lips as he carries you to the bed.

tag list: @theoreticslut @immatheoreticslut

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[mypoisonedvine]

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || your newest client asks you to give him a real challenge, and you’re happy to oblige.  

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 6.3k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut but no actual sex (lots of handjob stuff though and some brief oral m receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, more cnc (because of the overstimulation), bondage, edging, impact play (riding crop), brief cock torture (she just hits him with the crop a couple times), implied “kink as trauma response” (this is gonna be a theme throughout the whole fic), forced to break a rule/doomed to fail/impossible challenge (idk how to warn for this but yeah), forced voyeurism?, thigh riding (reader rides bucky’s thigh), some degradation/dumbification, brief/implied dacryphilia, a bit of angst/feelings

new parts posted on thursdays!  join the taglist here

“Can’t,” he sighed, “can’t come again.”

He looked so painfully adorable when he begged like that, his brow glistening with sweat as he jerked under your touch.  “Aw, poor baby,” you pouted, twisting your hand when it stroked over the head of his cock, “yes you can.  I know you can.  Just gimme one more.”

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, “Mistress, please— just stop, please, I can’t… can’t take any more…”

“I know you can, sweetheart— I know you can be my good boy and keep coming for me.  Tell me your color.”

“Yellow,” he whispered.

“Think you’re almost done?” you pressed, smiling when he nodded breathlessly.  “Yeah, there’s my good boy— gonna come again for your Mistress?”

“Yes,” he breathed, baring his teeth as his hips bucked wildly to try to avoid further sensation, “y-yes, one more, just one more, I’m gonna— fuck, gonna come, just don’t stop… fuck, it hurts.”

“I know, but you’re being so good for me,” you purred.  “You like it when I milk your pretty cock, don’t you?  Even though it hurts?”

He winced but nodded.  “C-coming, Mistress, fuck, I’m coming…!”

Since it was his fifth of the evening, he could only give you one thick drop of come that gathered at his slit before running down over your hand which finally slowed to a stop.

You both sighed with relief as you pulled your hand away and leaned back, admiring how beautiful he looked as he caught his breath, covered in come and sweat.

"Good job," you praised with a chuckle, "I hope I didn't go too hard on you."

"N-no, that was… that was really good," he sighed, slumping back onto the bed.  "Can I use your shower before I go?"

"Yeah, totally," you nodded.

After a long pause, you gave him a confused look.  

"I thought you were gonna shower?" you reminded him.

"Oh… I guess I have to get up for that," he sighed, making you laugh.

"Rest a bit longer.  You've had a… challenging afternoon."

He nodded a little and you got up from the bed to go wash your hands and freshen up a little, smiling at your own appearance in the mirror— sometimes you forgot how you looked when you did this, but there was an undeniable aura of power around you… especially after a session like that.

This was only your third week with James, and already the dynamic felt so natural between you— and yet, so fresh compared to your other clients.  Normally it took longer for a newbie to get comfortable with you, yet most of them had had multiple doms before and here was James, totally inexperienced and taking it all like a champ.  There was an air of innocence about him, you figured, in contrast to this undeniable strength and intensity that you caught glimpses of from time to time.

Sometimes, it felt like he was chasing an innocence he lost a long time ago.  Whatever it was that drew him to this, you were happy to help him along the way.

It was probably a little dangerous to enjoy sessions with a client so much; even though you often pretended that everything was about your pleasure and not theirs, obviously since they were the paying customer it was the complete opposite in reality.  But there was an equity to the dynamic with you and Bucky, he served you with a real dedication rather than for his own gain.  And you, meanwhile, had rediscovered the fun in this career that had originally drawn you to it in the first place.  It was less like a science now, more like an art— you let yourself go with your instincts and do whatever felt right in the moment, and both of you benefitted for it.  

“Come on, get up and clean yourself off,” you encouraged— gently, of course— as you left the bathroom and returned to find James laying sprawled out on the bed.

“I know you said falling asleep here was a one-time courtesy,” he remembered with a smile, “but I could use it now a lot more than I needed it then.”

Honestly, you didn’t see him smile that often.  It was pleasant; you hoped to see it again.  He did get up, though, and take the washcloth you handed him to wipe off the come that had gotten all over him.  “What are you thinking for next week?” you asked as you leaned against the wall.  “Any special requests?”

“We can discuss all that over the phone,” he decided.  You still didn’t understand fully why he didn’t like to discuss future scenes in person; it was like he wanted the in-person interactions to be as ‘in character’ (if you will) as possible.

“Alright, just keep me updated,” you requested with a shrug.

You got changed while he took his shower, and when he emerged to the living room he seemed surprised to see you sitting on your own couch.  After a moment, you realized it was the fact that you were in normal clothes that threw him off.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans before… or pants of any kind.”

You looked down at your outfit with a smile, glad it was at least still professional and not sweats and a t-shirt or something.  “Yeah, I guess you haven’t.  First time for everything, right?”

“Yeah, had a lot of first times with you,” he chuckled.  “Most significantly less mundane than this.”

A brief silence filled the room but it wasn’t exactly awkward, at least not for you.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” he decided as he grabbed his jacket from your chair and slipped it on.  You’d been spending most of this session trying to forget how good he looked in the leather motorcycle cut, so that was out the window now as you tried to keep from visibly biting your lip while he walked towards the door.

Damn, he was fine.  But there were more pressing matters at hand.  Like preparing yourself and your apartment for your next appointment.  This guy wanted to get slapped around until he cried… shouldn't be too difficult, but your arms would probably be sore tomorrow.

Opposite of last week, I really want you to edge me tonight, as long as possible.

Don't go easy on me, make me hold it in.  I need a challenge this week.

-J

It was odd how emails from James made your week.

He seemed to prefer to communicate his desire with you this way; maybe it was easier for him, and you couldn’t really blame him for that.  The nice part was that you didn’t have to temper your reactions, if you had any, since you were always alone when you got his messages.  You might be old hat at it now, but you could remember a time that you had to hide a grimace when a client told you to your face what he wanted.  Not that you would shame them for it or anything (unless, you know, they paid you to), but you didn’t enjoy everything you did with these men.

Did you enjoy everything you did with James?  Yes, but you were pretending not to— for your own sake.

You dressed a bit differently for today’s session, more conservatively… not that it was especially conservative by any other person’s standards.  But it left your legs and chest covered, somewhat in the spirit of ‘mean corporate businesswoman’ aesthetically.  For some reason you felt like using a riding crop required wearing pants.

James certainly didn’t seem to mind, with the way he nervously cleared his throat after you opened the door.

“Good to see you again,” you greeted formally, “please, come in.”

He stepped past you, still looking at you and not at what was in front of him, meaning he ended up slamming himself gut-first into your kitchen island.

“Oh!  Are you alright?” you smiled when you noticed. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” he nodded, rubbing his stomach for a second but recovering quickly.  “I told you I can take a lot of pain,” he joked.

“Well, we’re going to put that to the test today,” you promised cryptically.  “You must’ve seen the crop on the table.”

He nodded again.  “Yeah....”

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes,” he answered, a bit too quickly.

“Then let’s get you tied up, James.”

Straddling his lap, you realized the rope was a bit too tight when you saw it digging into his skin; maybe he wouldn’t mind that, but you did, so you pushed the rope back through itself to loosen it slightly.

“How long did it take you to learn all these knots?” he asked casually, watching your fingers nimbly work the ropes around his wrists.

“Not too long,” you shrugged, “I’ve only been doing this a few years… but I knew them before that.”

“Boating school?  Boy Scouts?” he suggested jokingly.

“Just a hobby,” you decided, dodging the covert question about your past.  “Were you a Boy Scout?”

“Do I look like a Boy Scout?” he countered with a scoff.

“Not anymore,” you shrugged, “but I bet you did once.  You’re sorta innocent, you know.”

He swallowed dryly, and you raised an eyebrow as you glanced from the knot you were tightening to his face, which looked a bit flustered.  “R-really?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, leaning back on your heels to look at him straight-on.  “Are you surprised to hear that?”

He nodded quickly, and you laughed.

“Aw, you thought you were so kinky, huh?  So dirty,” you purred, running your hand up his leg until he tugged slightly on the newly-tied ropes— a subtle way to get him to test them for you.  “But you’re really not.  You’re just my sweet, innocent boy.”

He whined— really, properly whined— and you dug your nails into his skin until he hissed instead.

“I don’t think you believe me,” you noticed, leaning back to reach for the crop behind you.  “You think you’re so filthy and perverted, right?  Are you a pervert, James?”

“Yes,” he breathed, shivering as you let the crop slide gently over his skin— his abs, his hips, his legs which were already quivering so adorably.  “Yes, Mistress.”

“And how’s that?”

“I think about… getting hurt,” he admitted weakly, “when I touch myself.  And I touch myself all the fucking time.”

“Yeah?  How many times a day do you stroke that pretty cock, James?”

“Twice every morning,” he blurted out, “after that it depends.”

You didn’t let yourself show your surprise at that number.  “Depends on what?”

When he hesitated, you hit him sharply on the thigh and he winced.  “Depends on what I… what I end up thinking about.  Sometimes… sometimes something reminds me, and I have to get off.”

Something told you not to press on what it was that he needed to be reminded of, and why it made him want to jerk off so bad.  Something told you he wasn’t ready to tell that story yet.  “Did you touch yourself today already?” you asked instead.

“No, no ma’am,” he shook his head, voice wavering as you brushed the crop over his chest, “it’s… it’s different with you.”

“Yeah, I bet it is,” you smirked, hitting him on the stomach quickly.  “I bet you’re finally satisfied, right?  Nothing’s ever worked for you before.”

“Yes,” he moaned, crying out slightly when you hit him on the arm (flesh— you were too afraid what sound the metal one would make) much harder than before.  “The nights I see you, I… I can sleep.”

“You sleep better?”

“No, I just… sleep.”

You tried not to react to that, moving to a new question instead.  “Do you want me to hit you again?  Or do you want me to stroke your cock for you?”

An obvious choice to some, surely, but he seemed to really struggle with it.

“Which one do you think you deserve?” you asked instead.

“Hit me more,” he decided.

Instantly, you struck him once on the face and again on the shoulder, then moved down to his legs for three in a row in spite of the way his body jerked away instinctively.  

“Fuck,” he sobbed, “don’t stop— I need more…”

You focused on his legs, on the inside of his thigh where he seemed the most sensitive.  His twisted joy turned to true fear, though, when you brushed the end of the crop over his balls.  “Do you want me to hit you here?” you challenged.

“I… I don’t know,” he stammered.

“Let’s make a deal, James,” you offered, “wherever I hit you, I’m gonna kiss it to make it better.”

“Then hit me wherever you want,” he nodded, almost smiling at you.  He cried through his teeth when you whipped his shaft with the crop— not especially hard, in fact quite delicately, though the second was harder.  And the third, though not much more aggressive, was right on the sensitive tip; his eyes shot open and his hips jerked away.

“So good, such a good boy,” you whispered proudly, putting the crop aside to lean in and kiss his cheek where you’d hit him before, his shoulder, his arm.

You worked your way down carefully as he breathed heavily beneath you, whimpering slightly when you kissed his thighs and notably ignored his flexing, leaking cock.  “Please,” he whimpered.

“Shh, be patient,” you soothed, “be my good boy.”

“Your good boy,” he repeated, trying to restrain himself but already bucking up into the air again, “fuck, wanna be your good boy, Mistress.”

“Are you already close, pet, just from getting hurt?” you asked in a faux pout.  “You’re not gonna come if I give your pretty cock some kisses, right?”

“I— I won’t come,” he promised.  “Not until I get permission.”

“Baby, it’s gonna be a long fuckin’ time before you get permission,” you promised with a toothy grin.  “Look down at me, honey, I want you to see this.”

He hesitated for a second but obeyed, looking down at you with an expression that was full of awe as you gripped his cock and gave gentle, teasing kisses up his shaft.  It bobbed in your hands with each one, and he let out the most beautiful sigh when you kissed the tip carefully.

A wide lick made him jerk beneath you.  “F-Fuck,” he stammered.

“You said you wouldn’t come,” you reminded him.  “Can I keep going?  Are you gonna be a good boy?”

“Don’t stop, please,” he breathed, “I’ll be good.”

Taking the head between your lips, you suckled gently as he shivered and moaned.  You weren’t sure you’d ever been with anybody— on or off the clock— who was so sensitive.  And you loved it, honestly; who could resist those precious noises he made?

As much as part of you wanted to go nuts and really push him to the edge, you tried to be gentle and careful so as not to make it impossible for him to hold back.  But even then, when you gently grasped his balls in one of your hands and squeezed them, he apparently couldn’t take anymore.

"S-stop," he hissed, and you pulled back, sitting up.

"You were close?" you asked, and he nodded a little.  "Oh, what a good boy."

He whimpered briefly.  "Yes, your good boy, Mistress…"

Your fingers trailed delicately up the underside of his cock, making him shiver violently.  "I know you want to come, but you want to be good even more.  You're such a sweet little pet."

It seemed like the praises did more to keep him on the edge than the touches, so you kept both going; wrapping your fingers around the ridge of his head, you gave the most gentle and subtle strokes, and leaned in to whisper against his ear.

“Is this why you wanted me to edge you today, James?  So you could show me how good you can be?” 

“I-I don’t know,” he blurted out, rocking his hips as best he could while restrained, “I just wanted to… I just wanted you to make me wait.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that,” you laughed slightly, “I can make you wait all day.  Is that what you want?”

“No, that’s— not that long, I can’t wait that long,” he shuddered.

“Mm, that sounds like your problem, not mine,” you smirked.  “Not sure why I asked what you want, honestly… cause I don’t fucking care.”

His choked-out whine was too perfect to ignore.

“Oh, what a pathetic little moan that was, poor baby,” you cooed mockingly, “are you regretting it now?  You’re probably wondering what you got yourself into, ‘cause you’re worried Mistress is never gonna let you come.”

“No, I don’t regret it,” he denied weakly, “whatever you want— do whatever you want to me, just… give me what I deserve, please.”

You stopped touching him completely and he straight-up sobbed.  “You don’t deserve anything from me, James.  You don’t deserve me at all.”

He told you before that he liked when you rapidly cycled between soft and mean.  Kept him on his toes, apparently.  Honestly, you felt a little guilty talking to him that way sometimes, but his cock leaking enough pre-cum to soak the bedsheets beneath him was a sign you were doing something right.  “I know!” he cried.  “I know, fuck, I’m sorry, but I need you.  I fucking need you, Mistress, please— you know I’ll do anything.”

“I’m feeling generous today,” you shrugged, “so I won’t ask you for much.  Just beg me a little more.”

“Please, pleasepleaseplease,” he rushed, “touch me.  Anywhere, whatever you want, I just need to feel you.  I know I… fuck, I know I don’t deserve it, but let me try to— to earn it.  Please.”

You knew if he had it his way, he wouldn’t do much talking at all.  But you couldn’t just let him have it his way, now could you?  It was better to make him just the right amount of nervous, just the slightest hair uncomfortable, by making him talk to you.  And, of course, you liked the way his deep and rough voice got all whiny and needy like this.

One finger under his chin guided him to look up at you, those pretty blue eyes watery and sparkling and wide with misplaced innocence.

“Tell me who you belong to, James,” you instructed darkly.

“You, Mistress,” he whispered, “I’m yours, I— oh fuck…”

Unshockingly, he was reduced to only moans again when you started stroking his cock, the slick precum making every movement smoother.  “All mine, huh?  My little toy?” you confirmed, but he could only nod and swallow thickly.

You sped up quickly, getting faster and faster until you were really, properly jerking him off and he was biting hard on his lip.  Just when he seemed to really fall into it, get almost comfortable, you had to stop.

"Oh, fuck—" he gasped, bucking his hips up to try to chase your hand when you pulled away, but it was no use with him tied up.  You watched his cock bob in the air and smiled.

“Did you think it was going to be that easy?” you smirked.

Shaking his head, you tilted yours to look at him, reaching up to trace your fingers over his chest.  

“Don’t lie, baby, you thought I was gonna let you come, didn’t you?  You’re so sweet, James, and so, so stupid.”

He gasped, and for a second you thought you might’ve gone too far, but it shifted to a moan quickly and you realized he was having the time of his life.

“Just my dumb, brainless little toy,” you continued with a snarl, watching him tug at the ropes as his eyes fluttered shut.  “It’s okay, James, it’s okay… you don’t need to think, I don’t want your mind.  It’s useless.  I want this pretty cock, that’s all I want from you.”

“It’s all yours, Mistress,” he promised, cheeks burning bright red and eyes forced shut.  “All of it, I swear.”

“I know,” you cooed, holding his face gently to soothe him a bit.  But then your other hand wrapped around his cock and he was anything but soothed.  “Shh, shh, don’t make any sounds, you’re just a toy and toys need to stay quiet.”

You missed his noises, actually, but he looked so cute biting his lip and struggling to suppress them.  His cock was so swollen in your hand that you honestly wondered if it was somehow getting bigger.  Was that even possible?  Your mouth was watering regardless.

“I’m gonna give you a little break,” you promised gently, “but I’ll be honest, pretty boy… I don’t think you’re gonna like it one bit.”

The look he gave you beautifully balanced fear with anticipation, and you stopped stroking him to reach over towards the bedside drawer and pull out a vibrator.

“Your Mistress is feeling a little.... self-indulgent today,” you winked.  “And since I, unlike you, don’t need to hold myself back from coming, I think I might as well get myself off if I want to.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed dryly, watching you closely as you stood up off the bed and started to carefully undress yourself.  It was a lot more fun to get naked when you were wearing something that didn’t actually show much skin— the button-up seemed to really get him going, his tongue mindlessly darting out to lick his lips as you opened one button at a time.

Once it was off your shoulders and on the floor, and he could see the almost-transparent bra you had on, you moved to opening your trousers as well.  Just to be mean, you faced the other way as you pushed them down over your ass; you heard his breath catch and you smirked to yourself, spinning to face him again in just the matching, dark red bra and panty set.

“What do you think, do you like this better than the black ones?” you asked coyly.

“I like you naked better than both,” he answered, and you grinned.

“I’m gonna let that backtalk slide just once because it’s not worth my time to go over there and slap you for it,” you decided.  “But don’t test me, James.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered dutifully, sounding a bit out of breath as he watched you climb back onto the bed, positioning yourself carefully.

You faced him straight-on and laid your legs over his, meaning your lace-covered pussy was in full view and only inches from his leaking cock— the damn thing looked sore by now, purple at the tip and just as desperate for attention as the rest of him.

When you pulled the fabric aside to show him your cunt, he hissed and looked away.

“Look at me, James, keep your eyes open,” you demanded, seeing how totally wrecked he looked when he turned his head back to you and stared down at your body with half-lidded eyes.  “Look at how fucking soaked my pussy is.  You remember how it feels to be inside it, don’t you?”

He swallowed, sighed, and finally (just barely) nodded.

“You remember how hot and wet and tight it is, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” he choked.

“Well, that memory’s all you’ve got to work with, sweet boy, because I don’t think I’m ever gonna let you fuck this pussy again.”

He really, properly sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks, and those arms flexed against the ropes defiantly.  “N-no, please—” 

“I’m gonna make myself come with this,” you promised, interrupting him as you grabbed the vibe, “and I want you to remember how it feels when I come around you, okay?  

Turning it on, you wasted no time pressing it to your clit, moving the end of the toy in slow circles and keeping a close eye on him as he watched you.  Your intention had always been to give him a show, but the embarrassing thing was how little of it was an act.  Ironically, even though you’d been edging him this whole time, having to touch him that way without any pleasure for yourself was almost as torturous.  You’d soaked through your panties by the time you had him tied up, to be totally honest.  So, giving into it and letting yourself feel good was a breeze.

“Think about when I was riding you, James,” you instructed, your own voice clearly affected by your pleasure now.  “Think about how good it would feel if I let you come inside me.”

“Oh, god,” he cried, leaning his head back.

“Think about my pussy milking every fucking drop of come out of you.  You know I wouldn’t let you stop until I was completely full of your come, I bet you’d like that.  I bet you’d like to eat your come out of me, you sick little pervert.”

“Fuck!” he yelped, tugging at the ropes harder now— for a second you thought he might really break them and jump you.  And for a second, you knew you’d let him.  It made your walls clench as you imagined facing the consequences of driving a man to the brink of insanity until he couldn’t help but fuck you like an animal.  It was a good thing he didn’t see you bite your lip as you imagined that.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” you taunted.  

“God, don’t tell me,” he sighed through his teeth, but obviously you ignored him.

“I’m thinking about what a good boy you are for me,” you cooed, your hips starting to rock up against where you held the end of the vibrator; you pressed it down harder onto your clit and moaned instantly.  “Yeah, I’m thinking about how pretty you look when you’re all desperate and needy and fucking pathetic—”

“Oh—” he choked.

“My dumb litlte whore, that’s all you are, James,” you groaned.  “I know you wish you could touch me, it’s all you can think about, right?  That pretty head of yours would be completely empty if it weren’t for thoughts of me and how badly you want me.  Right?”

“Yes,” he whispered huskily.

A shiver ran up your spine when the vibrator bumped into a more sensitive part of you, and you did it again and again until you thought you might lose it a bit faster than you meant to.  “This toy feels really good,” you informed him in a purr, gasping when you slipped the vibrating body of it into your pussy, “but it doesn’t feel as good inside me as you do.”

His eyes fell shut but he still winced a bit every time you made a sound; he couldn’t run from this, no matter how hard he tried.

“Oh James,” you moaned loudly, fucking yourself with the vibe for a moment before you pulled it back out to focus even harder on your clit, “I’m gonna come.  I’m so, so close… I can feel it getting stronger, I think I might make a mess on these sheets.  And the only way I’m ever gonna let you come is if you watch me do it.  So open your fucking eyes.”

He blinked quickly as he opened them, gaze scanning your whole body before settling on your cunt; you were sure he could see it pulsing as you got closer and closer, you knew he was imagining how it would feel.  You only spared a brief glimpse at his cock, bobbing between his legs, and wished you could just slip it in you now and come while it stretched you out. 

But that wasn’t what he was here for, sadly, and you were sure you were the only being truly denied of your desires, despite how it probably seemed from the outside.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, numbness starting to tingle in your legs as your orgasm built up quicker than even you expected.  “I’m coming— James, I’m coming, oh, fuck… right there— yes!”

A gush of heat warmed your cunt at the same time that shocks ran up your spine and down your limbs; you could feel your legs shaking, and you knew he could, too.  

It got so intense for a second that you had to pull the vibrator away, though you didn’t stop coming until a few moments later, eyes falling shut without you meaning for them to.

You actually laughed a bit, breathlessly, as you turned the vibe off and set it aside, although you weren’t sure exactly what was supposed to be funny about this per se.  When you opened your eyes, you saw James looking down and looking positively defeated.  But he looked tense, too, and you sat up on your wobbly legs to get closer to his face.  

“Relax, James,” you told him firmly as you examined him.

“I— I can’t,” he whispered. 

“Why not?”

“I’ll come.”

Nothing could fight your wide grin anymore, not when you heard that.  “Oh, baby… are you about to come without even being touched?  Is that how much you liked watching Mistress come?”

He nodded, ever so slightly, and you laughed.  Not quite a mocking laugh, moreso impressed.  Prideful, even.  You leaned in to give a wet kiss to his neck, licking over his pulse as he shivered violently.

“That’s my good boy,” you whispered against his skin.  He whined and you cooed soothingly right away, “oh I know, I know.  It’s so unfair, isn’t it?  Mistress gets to come and you don’t…”

“Please,” he stammered, “I’m so close, let me come, please.”

“But I don’t wanna see you come, baby— I wanna see you cry.”

You started to slide your hand down his chest and he jumped up to attention as he tried to squirm away.  “No, please, don’t— don’t touch my cock, not if I can’t come.”

“You can hold it in, can’t you?” you pouted.

“No, I can’t, I can’t,” he sobbed, watching fearfully as your hand moved down to his stomach and over his hips.  

“But I thought you were my good boy,” you frowned, suddenly wrapping your hand tight around his cock as he choked on a gasp.

“Mistress!” he sobbed.  “Please, don’t—  don’t move your hand, I’ll come.”

"Never fucking tell me what to do," you instructed firmly, just barely stroking as he cried weakly.  "I'm gonna touch you however I want and you're not gonna come because you're my good boy, right?"

"No, Mistress, I can't stop it, I'm gonna come— stop, please…"

"You'd better not fucking come," you hissed through your teeth, speeding up your movements and watching his eyes shoot wide open, "you'd better hold it in until I'm done with you."

"I'm trying— please slow down, can't take it—"

You shook your head, tutting disapprovingly.  "No, baby, I tell you what you can take."

"Oh— oh god, Mistress, please, please stop, please, I c-can't— fuck!"

You pulled your hand away the second his cock started to flex but it was too late: come was shooting from his swollen tip and painting his chest and stomach.  You didn't even wait until he was done to backhand him across the face.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled.  "I'm so sorry, I couldn't help it…"

You softened slightly when you heard his broken voice, saw the desperation and fear on his face— it was real, more real than the fake ‘no’s and the encouraging pleas for mercy.  "Baby, it's okay, you tried so hard," you soothed instantly.

Hope filled his eyes just as much as tears as he looked up at you.  "Am I still your good boy?"

"Always," you smiled, caressing his face where it was already turning red from your slap.  

You reached down and caressed his cock with the back of your fingers, watching it flex weakly.  

“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?”

His lip twitched, almost like a wince.  “Do we… do we have to stop?”

You quickly glanced at the clock.  “Um, no,” you mumbled, “we still have time.  Just tell me what you want.”

“I wanna watch you come again…” he admitted softly.  “Is… is that okay?”

Although you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, you were still surprised.  “Yeah, sure.”

“But… but closer this time,” he added, “not so far away.”

You were literally laying on top of him, how did that count as far away? 

“I wanna see your face,” he clarified.

“Okay,” you nodded, deciding to indulge him.  It was sort of like aftercare, except that this wasn’t exactly the ‘after’ part yet.

On your knees beside where he was leaning back against the headboard, you slipped your hand down into the lace panties again, finding your clit still swollen but not too sensitive.  A little gasp fell from your lips when you touched it, rubbing it carefully with two fingers while he looked up at your face.  

You felt slightly exposed when he watched you this close, and you didn’t know where to look to avoid direct eye contact.  Looking at his lips was just a little too tempting, so that wouldn’t work.

“My hands are a little tired,” you explained, “they might cramp up.  Maybe I could use your thigh…”

“O-okay,” he nodded, and you removed your fingers from your panties to sit down on the thick muscle of his leg.  You felt him tense up under you slightly, and you carefully began to rock your hips until your clit rubbed just right against the inside of your underwear.  Surely he could feel how wet you were— actually, you both could hear it, almost a wet clicking-like noise as the soaked lace slid against your skin.

The dynamic shifted slightly, not that you minded it, as he watched you ride him carefully.  Just as he couldn’t hide much from you when he was naked and tied up and baring his soul to you in the kinkiest way possible, you couldn’t hide your pleasure from him when he was looking at your face so up-close.  You let your hands carefully roam his body, narrowly avoiding the trails of cooling come he’d left on his stomach and chest, until you found his strong shoulders and held onto them for balance.

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself, biting your lip as your sore clit throbbed against his hard, muscular thigh.  

“Will you… could you kiss me?” he requested quietly, and your heart broke a little bit.  You shook your head, and he nodded in understanding.

“I’ll kiss you here,” you offered instead, whispering against his skin before you pressed your lips to his forehead, then his cheek, then his jaw.  “Is that better, James?”

“It helps,” he agreed in a sigh.  

“I’m close,” you warned quietly, pressing your cheek to his and weaving one hand into his hair.  “I’m gonna come again, on your thigh.”

“Let me touch you,” he begged, “just a little, please…”

You nodded, about to reach forward to untie one of his hands, but he snapped the ropes and you had totally forgotten he could do that.  He quickly ran his touch all over your body, calloused hands and bound wrists in stark contrast to your soft skin.  The metal one was a little cold but it didn’t bother you; the other was almost too hot, and it was like being warmed and cooled all at once.

He ran his fingers down your spine, he gripped one of your shoulders, he rubbed your legs: he did everything he must have been wishing he could do this whole time, even gasping as he ran one hand up your chest and over a cup of your bra.  Just as you sensed that he was about to ask if he could touch you there, you nodded and felt his metal hand tug down the red lace and grab your breast— thankfully not very hard, though he did give your nipple a quick pinch which made you gasp.

Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he finally settled his hands on holding your hips, just tight enough to slightly guide your movements as you rocked faster and more desperately.  “Please come,” he begged weakly, “Mistress, please… use me.”

It sort of hit you all at once then, like a punch to the gut.  Except, you know, a lot more fun than getting punched in the gut.

“James,” you gasped, legs quivering where they straddled his as a new patch of slick soaked the lace (and presumably his thigh as well).  He held you tight, kept you moving through it while your fingers tangled in his hair and your mouth fell slack for another, louder moan.

The way his lips moved over your skin, laving your collarbones and pulse point and the innermost corner of your jaw, was positively worshipful; reverent.  “Mistress,” he whispered, almost sounding like praise but tinted with awe.  Your movements slowed down to a stop and the two of you breathed a sigh together, unintentionally.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

“What for?” you asked, blinking quickly and looking down at him, coming back to reality (though you weren’t quite sure where else it was that you had just been).

“I dunno, everything,” he decided.

“Don’t thank me,” you smiled.  “Keep paying me, though.”

He laughed a little, glancing away.  “Yeah, and I’ll pay you back for these ropes… sorry."

"No, hey, don't be sorry," you dismissed, getting up off of his leg and standing up to go grab a towel for him.  "I'm just sorry we still haven't found anything strong enough to hold you."

"It's fine, they're strong enough to make me stop myself when I want to do something I shouldn't, that's all that really matters."

You nodded to yourself as you dampened the towel and came back to wipe him off.

"I can do that for myself," he reminded you, sounding a bit embarrassed, but you thought it was sweet. 

“You just focus on getting those ropes off of yourself,” you decided with a little smile.

[sharkpupsblog]

😈 Brand New Person ‼️ PART (6/6) How could you let us down?

A Dark Riders and Dark Rider! Aideen! GN! Reader fanfic!

Woooo!!!! Last part omg!!!! This part is LONG . Took me so long to write it bcs I kept changing it and restarting it and then i got sick 😭 and while I was editing to finally post my eyes started acting up and it just took . A really long time 😭💔💔💔 so happy I’m finally able to post!!! 😭❤️ ty everyone for ur patience u guys r so sweet I appreciate it sm! This fic has some medical stuff mentioned in it and i am . Not a doctor . So i apologize if any stuff is wrong 😭😭😭 Can’t believe I’m finally done with this fic 😭💔 I loved writing for it sm! The fight scene and run away scene were def my faves to write! Anyways enjoy!!! :D

Summary: You wake up in a hospital room and Anne comes to see you.

Warnings: mentions of medical equipment like n33dles and bl00d bag, mentions of bl00d and talks of bl00d loss, mentions of d34th, thoughts of being m4uled by a shark, and mentions of a hospital and talks of being in one and foul language.

“Got any fish yet?” Mayor Klaus smiled at a fisherman who sat at the edge of the bridge leading to Goldenleaf stables. The mayor was walking around the village enjoying the nice day and while he walked he checked in on the villagers. The fisherman looked to Klaus giving the mayor a frown and a shake of his head “sadly nothing yet mayor.” The man looked back at where his lure bobbed in the water “hopefully the waves will guide them to me!” The mayor watched as the lure slowly drifted back to the fisherman due to the waves pushing it to him. The waves were calm near the village, but were strong at the Dark Core oil rig. The mayor hoped that the people on the rig were alright. It must be awful to be hit by such strong waves. While the mayor wondered how the people on the rig were doing, the fisherman watched a shadow slowly rise to the surface. “What is that?” The fisherman got up getting ready to reel in what he hoped was a big catch. Klaus looked to the shadow in the water watching it get bigger and bigger as it slowly rose to the surface. The mayor thought it was a shark. The shadow was definitely big enough to look like it belonged to a shark. Fort Pinta had a shark there, maybe it swam over to the fishing village? The man hummed “I think the shadow may belong to a shark.” The man told the other his guess on whom the shadow may belong to. “It explains why there are no fish today” he looked to the fisherman who was now reeling in his line not wanting it to be ruined by the shark. “I’ll go alert everyone of the shark in the water if anyone comes near the water warn them!” The mayor turned, and started jogging back to the heart of the town to make his announcement, but was stopped by the fisherman shouting for help. “Help!” The fisherman yelled “help me!” Klaus was terrified to look back. The mayor was thinking that the shark had grabbed the poor fisher. As horrible as the sight would be the mayor had to help, so he turned getting ready to see a gruesome sight as he did. The man wasn’t met with a shark mauling a fisherman. Instead he was met with lots of people gathered together trying to get something out of the water. The villagers all worked together to pull something out of the water, and the mayor’s jaw dropped as he saw a person be laid on the bridge. Then a horse was being guided onto land. Some poor rider must have fallen in the water. The man thought the person on the bridge was dead, but they started to cough and squirm around. Klaus quickly burst into action as he realized he needed to get the village doctor and vet. The man changed his jog to a full run, and he ran all the way to the doctor and the vet.

Bright lights stung your closed eyes as you started to wake up. It took your eyes a few seconds to decide when was a good time to open. When you opened your eyes you deeply regretted it. Bright white lights hit your eyes hard making you wince, and cover your face with your hands. You sat up slowly doing your best to sit without the help of your hands. Your body hurt and you felt dizzy. Something was pricking your right arm, you wanted to check what it was, but your eyes still needed a moment to recover. Once you felt ready you removed your hands from your eyes. You squinted as you looked around the floor of the room. The floor was completely white and clean. So clean it reflected the lights on the ceiling. Your bed, the floor, and the contents of said floor were a great help for you to figure out where you were. You were in a hospital room laying down on a hospital bed covered by blue blankets, hooked up to a monitor that was beeping loudly and enjoying eye torturing lights. You survived… What about your horse? Were they okay? You had to find them, you had to get out, and look for your most loyal friend. You were about to get up, but your curiosity stopped you. The pain in your arm made you look to it, and you saw what was hurting you. It was a needle hooked up to a blood bag that hung from a pole. You hummed wondering if it was safe to take the needle out of your skin. You knew you lost a lot of blood during your run from Katja. You definitely needed the blood in that bag to live. Was it safe to take the needle out? You probably already got a lot of blood in you right? You weren’t too sure taking the needle out was safe so you decided to take the pole with the blood bag with you. You removed the blankets on you which made your body shiver instantly. You were wearing a hospital gown you wondered where your clothes were, but that didn’t really matter right now. You sat on the edge of the hospital bed slowly moving as pain hit your body. Your body was begging for five more minutes in bed, but your brain and heart were saying ‘find your horse.’ You could always rest later, right now you needed to look for your horse. You put your feet down on the ground shivering again as the cold of the floor traveled from your legs to your whole body. The monitor in the room showed a flat line, and let out a loud sound as you unhooked all the stuff reading your vitals. You managed to stand up, taking a shaky step forward and away from the bed. You had to be quick, the monitor was definitely going to alert the doctors and nurses of the hospital, and you didn’t want them to put you back in bed. Your legs were shaky, you felt like a newborn foal just learning to walk. The pole the blood bag hung from became something to hold onto. It was very helpful and you were glad it was in the room with you.

With the help of the pole you took more shaky steps. You needed to get out of the room quickly. As you walked to the door you thought of places to look for your horse. Where were you anyways? You needed to find out where you were first, and find a change of clothes too. You grabbed onto the handle of the door slowly turning it so it wouldn’t make any noise. Once the door was open you very slowly moved it. You didn’t want the door to creak, but you realized it didn’t matter anyways. The monitor was already making noise. You huffed, and quickly opened the door getting scared as you saw someone standing on the other side. You were looking at their shoes. You covered your mouth trying to think of excuses to why you were out of bed. Once you came up with a good one you quickly looked up. Your hand fell from your mouth, and you frowned “Anne?” The woman looked shocked she thought the beeping came from you dying. To see you alive was a huge shock. She stammered as she tried to think of something to say to you. Her hand was held out, she was about to open the door, but you did it first. Without thinking you took her hand pulling her to you, and you hugged her. You didn’t know if she would react to the hug well. Would she hate you? You did scratch the fuck out of her face a day ago. Wait how long had it been? Hopefully a day? Your thoughts on how long you must have been out for were interrupted by Anne moving. The woman hugged you back bringing you as close as she could to her. You started sobbing unable to control your emotions after she returned the hug. “I’m so sorry” you sobbed shaking your head. You were apologizing to her for how you clawed her face, fought her, and betrayed her. Anne did not say anything, she just held you. The woman cared for you, but could she forgive you? Could she really say she forgave you, and move on from the shit you did? Anne was angry, she was really angry with you, but she was still here. Because she cared, and because she had something important to tell you. She couldn’t bring herself to lie and say she wasn’t angry and that she would forgive you. Instead she said nothing, she just stood at the door holding you close to her as you cried.

You were found by a fisherman in Goldenhills” Anne sat by your bedside holding your hand. “He saw a figure in the water him and the mayor thought it was a shark” she was telling the story as she saw it in the papers. She saw it two days ago you had been out for three. “As soon as he was about to leave, your horse came out of the water” your horse was fine thankfully, and waited for you in Goldenhills. You really owed them they saved your life. Your poor horse deserved the world and more for their insane loyalty. “Then the fisherman saw you on their back, and he gathered a group to pull you out” Anne frowned. “The doctor at the village stabilized you, and then you were transferred here” you were in a hospital in the city. You had been to the city plenty of times so you knew your way around it. Once you left the hospital you were going straight for Goldenhills. Now you were caught up on everything. Anne cleared her throat, and you looked at her seeing how glossy her eyes had gotten. “Anne?” You frowned squeezing her hand “what’s wrong?” You worried for her. The leader had to tell you why she was here. Why it was only her and no one else. She told you everything you needed to know, and now it was time to move on onto something else. She had been stalling for long enough, and now it was time to rip the band aid off. The woman decided there was no reason to take this slow. She needed to tell you what she had, and she needed to tell you now. “Fripp sent me” she said to you letting go of your hand. You looked at your now lonely hand wondering why she let you go. “I waited for you to wake up so I could tell you that-“ her words became a lump in her throat. “That-“ telling you what Fripp had sent her here for was easier said than done. She looked down at her lap, her head hanging low, and she gathered strength for what she had to tell you. “After all the things that happened and all the things you did” you watched as Anne messed with the fabric of her shirt. “Fripp and the druids decided that the best thing to do about you is-“ Anne looked up at you. She had to look at you while she broke the news to you. No more looking down, and messing with her shirt, she had to look right at you so you could understand that what she was about to say was serious. Her looking at you made you nervous really, really nervous… What was she going to say?

“They decided the best thing to do is exile you” Anne felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. For her the worst part was over but for you? It was just beginning. You shook your head not believing what Anne was saying. You laughed nervously “exile?” You really couldn’t believe it “Anne I-“ you laughed again “please let me talk to Fripp if I can explain that this is all just a big misunderst-.” Anne huffed “there is no talking to Fripp” she narrowed her eyes “what’s been decided has been decided.” She looked away from you “you betrayed us…” Anne was deeply hurt and she stood with Fripp in fact all of the Soul Riders stood with him on his decision. If you betrayed everyone over a lie so quickly what said you wouldn’t do it again? Anne and the others lost all trust for you.“He’s allowing me to stay with you until you leave the hospital” the air in the room became cold. You felt like crying, and you couldn’t hold back tears anymore as Anne said “I’m not here as a friend just as a Soul Rider making sure things are done.” She had to be cold to you now she needed you to know that there was no changing Fripp’s word. No matter how much you begged, or tried to prove you were still her friend Anne was not going to fight to change the verdict. She still cared for you not as much as she did before everything, but she still cared. At least enough to be at the hospital with you. Even though she still cared a bit she knew she needed to be cold to let you know shit was serious. She got her point across to you by saying she wasn’t your friend anymore, and by suddenly becoming cold towards you. You covered your mouth, you were horrified. Death was awful, but being alive and completely alone was worse. Fripp was smart, he knew this. He gave you the worst possible punishment. Death would have been so much better than being exiled. Everyone you knew was a druid, or worked with them in some way, and surely they would all know of your betrayal. Surely once you got out of the hospital everyone would turn you away. What were you going to do now? Where were you going to go? Exile was the worst punishment ever given by Fripp. The leader knew how horrible this punishment was. He saw it with Evergray he saw how well it worked. He wanted you to suffer for your betrayal… And suffer you would.

TYSM FOR READING!!!! :D also i realized a lot of my angst fics have good endings 😔 I am tired of being good 😈😈😈 So i make evil ending 😈😈😈 anyways ty for reading and to those who followed posting of the fic since the first chapter tysm for ur patience! ❤️❤️❤️

[jungwonenthusiast]

can I please request for prompts 2, 5, 10, 12 for hard&soft dom!heeseung and an innocent!fem!s/o from enhypen smut prompt list? prompt no. 5 to be said by the reader while the rest by heeseung

A/N: forgive me if there r any typos lol i hope u like it :)

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), degredation, slight corruption kink

Word count: 2.4 k

You cling onto your boyfriend’s arm as another jumpscare appears on the movie screen. He giggles at you. “Is it gone yet?” you whisper and he nods.

Today was your four month anniversary with Heeseung and you decided to treat him by taking him to a scary movie he’s been wanting to see.You’re not a huge fan of them but you figured it’d be a way for you to cuddle him without raising too much suspicion.

He kept a hand on your thigh throughout the movie, occasionally squeezing and rubbing it over your pants.

You try to ignore the film by keeping your eyes on him. His hands, his legs, his hands, his profile. Anything to distract yourself from the poor family being killed on the screen.

It isn’t long before the movie ends and you walk out to Heeseung’s car.

“The brother was such an idiot. Why didn’t he just call the police?” he says while starting the engine. (haha engene lol sorry)

“The police can’t stop ghosts.” you chuckle.

“Maybe NASA could’ve figured something out.” he grabs your thigh again, it’s kind of his thing. “I’m surprised you survived.”

“Yup, my love for you overcomes my hatred for horror movies.”

He smiles and leans over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Let’s go to my place.” he says and you frown.

“But all the boys-”

He cuts you off. “The maknaes aren’t there, they’re paintballing in Itaewon.”

You groan. “Fine.”

The boys’ dorm is never your first choice which is understandable without elaboration. But you try not to get annoyed and instead enjoy living in the moment.

He has the windows cracked open and the wind is whipping through his hair, making him look like a moviestar.

Sunghoon and Jake are in their own rooms when you get there so at least there’s some peace and quiet.

Heeseung plops onto his bed. “Come here sweetheart.” he says with his arms out to you.

You smile and snuggle up to him, resting your head on his chest.

He pets your hair and kisses your forehead. “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re prettier.” you say and he chuckles.

“Nuh uh.” he says and sits up. “Lemme see your pretty face.”

You sit up too as he holds your face delicately in his hands. “You’re so gorgeous I wanna kiss you everywhere.” he kisses your forehead, then your cheeks, and your nose, your eyelids, then your jaw, and down, down, down your neck. Your heart beat starts to speed up. You never tell him, but your neck is your weakness. He finally pulls away to give you a proper kiss on the lips.

“C’mere.” he says and pulls you onto his lap. You let out a small squeal.

He holds your waist tight as he kisses you again, this time slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moan a bit, enjoying the sensation.

You guys had made out before and even grinded a bit but it never went further than that. Not because you didn’t want it. Of course you wanted it. There have been nights where you spent hours imagining what it would be like. You already knew that he’d be sweet, but you kind of wanted more than that. You wanted him to take control and boss you around. Maybe today will be the day, you think to yourself.

You start to slowly rock your hips against his and he lets out a low groan. His fingers travel up your hoodie and he’s delighted to find out that you aren’t wearing a bra. He massages you and pinches your nipples a bit as you grind on his hard on. You’re already so stimulated, you could cum just like this.

Heeseung’s curious as to why you’re acting like this today. Usually by now it’d be over, but why would he complain about you being naughty, especially when it’s been such a big fantasy of his to corrupt you. His darling little girlfriend who checks in with her parents everyday and wouldn’t dare to skip school all sprawled out under him, whimpering and begging for release. God, he could think about it all day.

He flips you onto your back and pushes your hoodie up, exposing your torso. Your arms fly to cover yourself.

“Stop that princess,” he kisses your stomach. “Let me see you.”

You slowly pull your arms away and he goes right to kissing your chest. “So perfect.” he whispers, rolling his tongue over your nipples.

You’re already squirming underneath him, eager for him to touch you somewhere else. And as if he read your mind, his fingers start to play with the band of your pants.

He quickly unbuttons them and slides them off your legs.

“Can I touch you?” he asks and you nod eagerly.

“I’ve never done this before.” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he kisses your knee. “Just relax.”

He kisses your neck, licking it and nipping at it, leaving a blooming bruise. Your body tenses as he circles your clit.

“I didn't know you were this sensitive.” he smiles.

You feel your face heat up. It’s kind of embarrassing. He was barely touching you plus it was on top of your underwear.

“I’m just teasing baby.” he kisses your cheek and continues the circling motion.

Soft moans leave your mouth as he does so. He pulls away and notices a wet patch already forming on your underwear.

His fingers slip into the waistband. “Can I touch you here?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Please?”

“You submit to me so well,” he nips at your neck. “I love it.”

His fingers find your slit and you whine.

“So fucking wet,” he whispers as he rubs your clit. “Did I get you that worked up princess?”

You nod pathetically, already drunk on his touch.

He circles around your hole for a bit before slowly pushing his middle finger into you. You hold on tight to his arm, getting used to the foreign feeling.

He pumps it in and out of you a couple of times. “You ready for another one?”

You nod and whine as his ring finger stretches you out.

“You’re doing so good.” he whispers and kisses your forehead.

Your moans get more and more needy as he curls his fingers in you hitting a spot that you’ve never felt before.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Feel good?” he asks and you nod. “I bet it does.”

He shifts down and settles his face between your legs.

“Wait what are you doing?” you ask him, shutting your knees. “I want to taste you,” he says. “Is that okay?”

You contemplate for a moment. The thought of it makes you a bit shy but then you imagined how good it would feel and that won over everything. “Yeah.” you nod and he smiles.

His fingers are still curling in you as he kisses your thighs, leaving small marks on the way down to where you need it the most.

After what feels like years, his tongue finally finds your clit. Your thighs shut from the sudden pleasure.

He chuckles. “Keep em open baby.” he uses his free hand to keep you spread.

He moans into you. “Tastes so fucking good.”

It’s so much to take in at once; his fingers in you, his tongue drawing circles on your clit, the vibrations you feel every time he groans. You feel overstimulated but in the best way possible.

Your fingers tug on his hair as your thighs begin to tremble.

“Don’t stop don’t stop,” you cry out.

His grip on you tightens and he moans into you, encouraging you to cum in his mouth.

A string of curse words leaves your lips as you reach your high, and it’s the hardest you’ve ever came in your life. It’s like you’re floating up in the clouds, and you never want to come back down.

Heeseung kisses you, giving you a taste. He holds you tight in his arms and tries to calm your shaky breathing.

“You did so good doll.” he kisses your cheek.

You hold onto him as your heart rate goes down to normal.

“Here let me go get you a towel.” he starts get off the bed but you grab his arm.

“Wait we’re done?” you ask and he looks at you. “Do you wanna keep going?” he asks and you nod.

“Yes,” you say and he chuckles.

He sits back down onto the bed. “I didn’t expect that.”

You climb on top of him and give him a passionate kiss, sliding your hands under his hoodie.

He pulls it over his head with ease.

You admire his lean body for a moment before kissing his neck and his collar bones. “Can you fuck me please?” you ask him.

He smirks. “Your wish is my command.” he flips you over onto your back and unbuttons his black jeans. Just watching him do it makes you wet.

He climbs over you, rubbing his tip on your clit. He sighs into your neck.

“You ready princess?” he asks and you nod vigorously.

He slowly pushes into you and you wince a bit from the stretch.

“Ow ow ow.” you say quietly and he stops.

“You okay? Does it hurt a lot?” he asks.

“It’s not bad.” you say through gritted teeth.

He kisses you, giving you time to adjust to his length. He pets your hair and tells you how gorgeous you look.

“Please start moving.” you ask him and he listens, slowly thrusting in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he moans. “So fucking tight.”

You whimper so loud as his tips brushes against your g-spot that you clamp your hand over your mouth, worried that Sunghoon and Jake would pick up on what was going on.

He pulls your hand away. “Be louder, I want them to hear you.”

“But-”

“Do as I say sweetheart.” he cuts you off.

Of course you melt under him. How could you not. He’s so perfect. He’s the type of boy that only exists in books.

“What a good girl,” he kisses your shoulder. “Look how well you take it.”

You grab a pillow and cover your face with it, you can’t help but want to conceal your moans.

He throws it off and grabs your jaw hard. “What’d I say about that? Don’t you want them to know how much of a slut you are for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Speak up when I talk to you.” he says sternly. His words make you throb and he notices. “Do you like it when I’m mean?” he smirks at you.

“Yeah,” you admit, sheepishly.

“There you go again being all quiet, keep that up and I’ll edge you until you’re begging.” he threatens you with a good time.

“What if I want you to do that anyway.” you say flirtatiously.

He raises an eyebrow. “I can make that happen.”

His thumb finds your clit and the sensation of him rubbing you and his cock ramming in and out of your pussy sends you so close over the edge.

The look on your face is so angelic and hopeless, you’re better than anything he could imagine.

“You’re so fucking perfect.” he kisses you. “You look so pretty while being fucked.”

He snaps his hips into yours and your eyes roll back.

“Just like that.” you whine.

“How bad do you want it?” he asks you.

“So bad,” you say out of desperation. At this point you don’t care. Heeseung had taken over your mind, ego, and pride. “You feel so fucking good inside of me.”

He smiles. “How could such a sweet voice say such dirty words.” Then all of the sudden he pulls out. You nearly cry out from the unexpected emptiness.

“What the fuck,” you swear at him.

“You’re the one who asked for this.” he says, still slowly rubbing your clit.

You whimper. “I take it back. I need you.”

“No take backs sweetheart.” he tsks.

He kisses your chest and pinches at your nipples. You writhe under him, needing him in you.

After what feels like an eternity but is probably a minute or so, he slams back into you and right after being satisfied, he pulls out again.

“Heeseung please,” you whine. “Please I’ve been good haven’t I?”

“You have, but I like doing this to you.” he kisses you. “Who knew my innocent girl would be begging for my cock like this.”

You pull at his waist. “I need it.” you tell him in the sweetest voice you could get out.

He sighs. “I’ll never win.” he kisses you again before pushing into you.

“Fuck yes,” you moan in relief. “Faster please.”

Thank god he listens to you.

You cling onto his back, pushing your nails into his skin a bit. It only takes thirty seconds to get you on the edge and Heeseung can tell by the way your moans are getting high pitched.

“Cum on this cock sweetheart,” he says lowly. “Be a good girl for me.”

And just like that, your whimpering his name like it’s the only word you know; like it’s your mantra.

“That’s it baby,” he whispers. “Just like that.”

Your pussy pulsing around him sends him into euphoria and he groans into your neck.

You don’t even realize the tears on your cheeks until he pointed it out. He looks at you in shock and holds your face in his hands. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Fuck I’m so sorry pumpkin I-”

“No no it just felt really good,” you giggle. “I didn’t even know I started crying.”

“Oh thank god,” he sighs in relief and kisses your forehead. “You’re the best pussy I’ve ever had you know.”

You laugh. “Stop it, you sound like a man whore.”

“Just being honest.” he smiles and pulls you into his arms.

“Shit,” you curse to yourself.

“What is it?”

“Jake and Sunghoon definitely heard us.” you say, wide eyed.

“Yeah probably,” he says “they probably got off on it too.”

Your face twists in disgust and you shove him in the shoulder.

He cackles. “I mean wouldn’t you?”

You think to yourself. “Yeah I probably would.”