#no worries about matching; just setting the scene ^^ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aleksatia · 3 months ago

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You had an argument, and in the heat of the moment, you took on a secret mission—disappearing without a trace or warning for six days. He won’t let that slide, will he?

(⚠️ Warning: Slightly angsty and dramatic) 🔥 UPD: Guys, I hear you loud and clear about Xavier, and I'm already working on his full story. Let me know if you want more about the others (or any specific one).

🖐️💥😈 Sylus

You don’t even make it home.

One second—you’re stepping toward your door. The next—you're grabbed.

A sharp yelp leaves your lips, but it’s already too late.

One hand clamps down on your shoulder, the other hooks around your legs, and suddenly—you're airborne.

"Cargo secured."

A second voice. Muffled. Hollow.

You twist wildly.

Two figures in black masks, sharp beaked visors, curved horns on their hoods.

Luke and Kieran.

You thrash. “Put me down—”

"No can do, Miss," Kieran hums, flipping you upside down just slightly.

"Our Boss gave very strict orders," Luke murmurs.

Your stomach sinks. The car door swings open—

And you’re shoved inside.

Kieran and Luke plop down beside you, silent as shadows.

Then—

Luke sighs. Long and exaggerated.

"Such a shame," he muses. "She was so pretty."

Kieran hums. "So full of life."

Your eyes narrow. “What.”

They tilt their heads in unison. Luke’s fingers drum against the seat.

"He was so worried."

Kieran exhales. "On the first day, he simply waited."

Luke nods. "Second day, he sent people out. Checked hospitals. Crime scenes."

Kieran’s head tilts. "By day three… well, we all knew something had to bleed."

Your stomach drops.

Luke stretches, relaxed. "Four syndicates fell in one night. Just in case one of them had you."

Kieran sighs. "On the fourth day, he realized that wasn’t enough."

Luke hums. "So he started getting creative."

Your breath hitches. "Creative?"

Kieran taps his chin. "That warehouse in N109 Zone? The one that burned to the ground?"

Luke leans closer. "Day five. Still no sign of you. He collapsed an entire district."

Kieran shrugs. "Nothing personal. Just a message."

Luke tilts his head. "And then day six came."

A beat of silence.

Kieran chuckles. "You know, Miss… If you hadn’t shown up today, N109 Zone would’ve been repainted in blood by sundown."

Luke sighs dreamily. "It still might be."

Your blood turns to ice.

And then—Luke’s head tilts toward you.

"Now…?"

Kieran completes it, a beat later.

"Now he has you."

The car slows. Your chest tightens. And then—you realize where you are.

N109 Zone. His estate.

The car door swings open—

And you’re hauled out like luggage.

"Handle with care," Luke hums.

“I am handling with care," Kieran murmurs.

They carry you inside. Set you down with eerie gentleness. Smooth out your jacket. Brush imaginary dust off your shoulders.

Then—they step back. Bow, deep and slow.

“Welcome home, Miss.”

And then—they’re gone.

You whirl after them. “HEY—”

A quiet sound.

Fabric rustling. A slow, deliberate exhale.

You freeze.

And then—you turn.

Sylus is standing across the room. Calm. Collected. Expression unreadable.

But his eyes. They burn.

You swallow.

“What the fuck was that?” you snap, motioning toward the door.

Silence.

He just… watches you.

Then—slowly, smoothly—

He shrugs off his jacket. Lets it fall onto the chair. His fingers move to his cuffs. Undoing them.

One. Then the other.

Rolling his sleeves up, inch by inch.

Your stomach twists.

“Sylus.”

He doesn’t answer. His hands move to his belt. He unbuckles it. Pulls it free.

And you—

You fucking run.

You BOLT.

Straight toward the door. It’s locked.

You curse.

Behind you—he clicks his tongue.

“Oh, Kitten,” he murmurs, voice low, almost amused.

You spin, darting behind the desk. He follows. Casually. Slowly.

“You disappear for six days,” he murmurs, voice smooth, mocking, deadly.

You sidestep. He matches you.

“You ignore my calls.”

You swerve left. He steps right.

“I tear this city apart looking for you.”

You dodge back. He adjusts effortlessly.

“And now,” he exhales, tilting his head, smirking lazily, “you’re running.”

You hurl a stapler at him. He catches it. Drops it. Sighs.

Then—his patience snaps.

A sharp pulse of red energy explodes outward. The desk flips. The chairs crash against the wall.

And suddenly—

You are out of places to run. Before you can move—

He has you.

A sharp yelp rips from your throat as he grabs you, spins, and drops into his chair—

Bringing you down over his lap.

Your breath catches. “Sylus—”

"Ah, ah, ah.”

His palm glides down your back. Teasing. Amused. Smug.

"You made a very poor choice, Kitten."

Your heart pounds. His fingers hook into your waistband. And in one sharp motion—

He pulls your pants down.

Your entire body jolts. “Wait—”

The first smack lands. Sharp. Stinging.

You jerk violently.

Then—the second.

Then—the third.

“Sylus—you absolute bastard!”

A low chuckle vibrates through his chest.

“Six days, Sweetie.”

Another smack.

“You think you get away with that?”

You snarl, thrashing. “You—I’ll kill you!”

"Oh?" His hand presses against your lower back, keeping you pinned.

Then—lower now, smooth as silk, dripping with mockery—

“You sure you can handle that right now?”

You growl.

And then—

You bite him. Hard. Right on the thigh.

His breath hitches. Then—a slow, dangerous laugh.

He grabs you. Turns you over, setting you between his legs, hands gripping your chin—forcing you to look at him.

And then—

You see it. The rage is gone.

And in its place—

Something raw. Something wrecked. Like he’s aged years in just six days.

His voice—when it comes—is low. Hoarse. Unsteady.

“…I thought Ever carved you up for spare parts.”

Your stomach drops.

"You really think," his fingers twitch against your skin, "I was just waiting?"

His eyes flick over your face, scanning, memorizing. And then—softer now, almost broken—

"If you hadn’t come back tomorrow, I would’ve wiped them off the face of the earth."

Your eyes sting. Your hands reach for him, trembling.

You slide forward, onto his lap.

His breath stutters.

And then—you kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Unyielding.

He shudders.

Then—his hands clench around your waist, crushing you to him. When he pulls back—forehead pressed against yours, breath uneven—

“…Next time you disappear,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, voice shaking with something terrifyingly real, “I’m not looking for you.”

Your heart cracks. You shake your head. You cup his face. Hold him there.

“…You won’t have to.”

Silence.

Then—

His grip tightens. And just like that—

He is never letting you go again.

❄️🩸💔 Zayne

You already know where he is.

Zayne isn’t home. Of course, he isn’t.

So you do the only thing that makes sense—you head straight for Akso Hospital.

By the time you step through the pristine glass doors, you’re already talking.

“I know how this looks, but I can explain—”

And then—you see him.

Standing near the nurses’ station, uniform crisp, posture rigid, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat like he’s carved from ice.

For a second—just a second—his breath catches.

But then—

A switch flips. His entire presence shifts.

Cold. Professional. Untouchable.

His eyes meet yours. And he says nothing.

No relief. No anger. Nothing.

Just pure, hollow emptiness.

You swallow hard. Force yourself to continue.

“Zayne—”

“You need medical attention.”

His voice is calm. Impersonal. A doctor speaking to a patient. Not the man you know.

Your stomach twists.

He doesn’t ask where you’ve been. Doesn’t ask why you disappeared. Instead—he starts listing symptoms.

“You’re pale. Have you lost blood?”

You inhale sharply. “Zay—”

“Concussion?”

“No—”

“Fever? Infection?”

His eyes flick to your scraped knuckles, the dried blood on your sleeve.

And you realize—

He’s not angry. He’s protecting himself. He’s shutting down. Like he already convinced himself you weren’t coming back. Like he already mourned you.

And something inside you breaks.

Your legs wobble.

You sway—

And then—

You collapse.

The reaction is instantaneous.

A sharp inhale. A rush of movement. A sudden, firm grip catching you before you hit the ground.

Zayne’s arms lock around you. One around your back, one under your legs, holding you effortlessly. His breathing is uneven. His fingers tremble against your skin.

“Hey—!” His voice is no longer detached. It’s urgent. Terrified.

He tilts your face up, eyes scanning for injuries, pupils blown wide with panic.

"You—" His breath shudders. “Shit, you're—”

But you don’t answer. Because you keep your eyes closed. Because you know exactly what you’re doing.

And for a moment, it works. For a moment, he’s yours again. For a moment, his walls are completely, irreparably shattered.

Then—

His steps slow. His breathing evens.

And suddenly—

He stops. And you feel it. That one single, damning second of realization.

Your eyes are closed, but you can hear it. The sharp, cold click in his mind as he figures it out.

His arms loosen. Too loose. Too fast.

And suddenly—you're falling.

You gasp sharply, hands instinctively grabbing at him—

But he catches you at the last second, lowering you onto the cold, sterile floor of his office with just enough control to keep you from truly getting hurt.

But barely.

His jaw is tight. His nostrils flare. His hands press into his thighs like he’s physically holding himself back from losing control.

Then—flat, quiet, lethal—

“You lied.”

Your stomach drops. You open your mouth—and then you feel it.

A sharp, aching throb in your knee. It hits all at once—the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of everything that happened.

Your throat tightens.

And then—before you can stop it—

Tears prick at your eyes.

Your voice comes out small, weak, broken.

“Zayne… my leg hurts.”

Everything stops. The air in the room shifts.

And suddenly—

The rage is gone. His walls crumble.

His gaze snaps to your knee—swollen, bruised, torn fabric revealing skin already darkening with a deep, painful contusion.

And just like that—he’s on his knees. The doctor in him takes over.

His hands tremble as they press to your leg, fingertips ghosting over the bruised flesh like it physically pains him to touch.

He leans down. And presses a soft, lingering kiss to the bruised skin.

Your breath catches.

His forehead presses gently against your knee. And then—a whisper, barely audible, like he’s afraid of his own voice.

“…I lost you.”

Your heart cracks wide open.

He inhales sharply, his fingers tightening against your leg, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real.

You slide off the chair. Sink onto the cold, sterile floor. Your hands come up, cup his face.

His breath stutters.

You press your forehead to his.

Hot. Unwavering. Eternal.

“Only death could take me from you.”

His eyes squeeze shut. And when they open again—

There’s nothing left but raw, agonizing devotion.

Then—

His hands reach for you. And this time, he doesn’t let go.

🪑🍎🎖️ Caleb

The door clicks shut behind you.

Something feels wrong. The air is too still. Too perfectly controlled.

And then—you see it.

The chair.

Placed dead center in the room.

The apartment is spotless. Too spotless. Like someone scrubbed it raw, wiped away every trace of warmth, every sign of life.

Your stomach tightens. And then—a voice.

Cold. Measured. Absolute.

"Sit down."

You turn sharply—

And there he is.

Colonel Caleb. Not your Caleb.

Not the man who kisses your forehead every morning. Not the man who makes you breakfast even when he’s running on two hours of sleep.

No.

This is the soldier. The commander. The man who could level entire cities with a single order.

And you are his captive.

Your jaw tightens. “Caleb, what the hell—”

"Sit. Down."

Your spine stiffens. “No.”

A flick of his fingers. The chair scrapes forward, slamming into the back of your knees.

You stumble, cursing—

But before you can react—a force clamps around you. G-forces shift. Gravity bends. The chair drags you back to the center of the room.

Then—weight locks around your limbs. You can’t stand. Can’t move. Your pulse spikes.

His face is unreadable. His eyes—stormy, dark, endless.

Like he hasn’t slept in six days.

A tablet activates in his hand.

Several floating screens appear around you, flickering with surveillance footage.

And then—his interrogation begins.

His voice is calm. Clinical. Devoid of warmth.

"In the hours before your disappearance, this man entered your building. Do you know him?"

You blink. “What—?”

He gestures at the screen. A blurry security cam shot.

You squint. “That’s—a fucking courier.”

"Interesting."

A swipe of his fingers. Another screen appears.

"You placed an order at a bookstore six days ago. Three books were delivered. For what purpose?"

You stare. “...For reading?”

His brows twitch.

"Curious. You spoke to the courier for over five minutes. What was discussed?"

Your hands clench into fists. “How the hell would I know?”

A beat of silence.

Then—softer now, dangerous in its evenness—

"You really expect me to believe you don’t remember?"

Your blood boils. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

He swipes again. More footage. More records. More evidence that means nothing.

And you snap.

"You are losing your fucking mind."

His jaw tightens.

And then—

The gravity releases.

You lurch forward, finally able to move—

But before you can get up—

he’s already there.

A single step. One hand gripping the back of your chair, tilting it back—

His face is inches from yours. His gaze burns.

"Are you fucking someone else?"

Your breath catches. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

And then—

You laugh.

Sharp. Bitter. Furious.

You gesture at yourself—the dirt, the bruises, the blood still crusted on your sleeve.

“Look at me, Caleb.”

He doesn’t move.

“Does this look like a woman having an affair?”

His fingers twitch against the chair. His voice drops to a whisper.

"I’m on the edge of it."

Your chest tightens.

“I don’t doubt that, you psychopath.” You shove against his arm, but he doesn’t budge. “Now let me up so I can strangle you.”

His fingers loosen.

And then—

"Six days."

Your breath hitches. His hand moves. Curls around your jaw, firm but careful.

"Six days. Eight thousand six hundred forty minutes."

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone.

"I couldn't breathe without pain."

Your throat tightens. Your rage collapses into something else entirely.

“Caleb—”

"I searched. I traced every lead. I turned this country inside out."

His voice wavers.

And then—softer, rawer, almost desperate—

"If you hadn’t come back, I would have burned everything to the ground."

Your chest aches.

“…I had a mission. It was classified.”

His jaw twitches.

"Then tell me—" His voice turns sharp, edged with something almost pleading. "Tell me you weren’t running."

You exhale shakily.

“You’re so obsessed with losing me, Caleb—maybe that’s why you always do.”

Silence.

Something in his face breaks. He straightens. Turns away.

Leaves.

The door slams.

And you collapse to your knees. Your hands come up—cover your face—

And finally, finally, the tears fall.

But then—

A soft creak. A shift in the air. Warmth.

Arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a crushing embrace.

You freeze.

His voice is hoarse, quiet, trembling with something raw.

"You’re the only one who can destroy me without lifting a hand."

Your breath shudders. His grip tightens.

"One word from you," he murmurs, "and I’m gone."

You shake your head.

“Caleb…”

His forehead presses against your shoulder.

"I tried. Every day. Every second. I tried not to hold on too tight." He exhales shakily. "But I can’t."

Your heart clenches.

“Caleb, I always come back.”

He flinches.

You pull back just enough to cup his face. His eyes are stormy, desperate, flickering with pain.

"You have to trust me."

His lips part, but no sound comes out.

Then—barely above a whisper—

"I can't lose you."

Your fingers tighten against his jaw.

"You won’t."

Silence.

Then—

He kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Devouring. Starved.

His hands tangle in your hair, holding you to him like he’ll die if you pull away.

A single tear escapes down his cheek. And you catch it with your lips.

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Caleb, I’m so sorry.”

His breath shudders. He shakes his head.

“No.” His voice breaks. "You don’t apologize to me."

Your brows furrow. “Caleb—”

He swallows.

"If you’re better off without me—"

Your hand flies up, slaps over his mouth. He freezes. Tears well in your eyes.

“Don’t. Say. That.” His chest rises sharply. You lean in, press your forehead to his.

“…You are my universe,” you whisper.

His hands shake against your back.

“No matter what we do, no matter what happens—” You press your lips to his, slow, deep, endless. “I will always come back to you.”

His breath shudders against your lips.

And then—his voice drops, quiet but unshakable.

"You will never disappear on me again without warning. Not now. Not ever."

🗡✨🌥 Xavier

The door clicks shut behind you.

You barely take a step inside before a voice cuts through the air—

Calm. Measured. Unshakable.

"Ah." A quiet exhale. "Look who finally remembered they have a home."

You freeze.

Xavier is already there.

Sitting in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a book balanced in his hand—like your sudden reappearance was nothing more than an interesting plot twist.

He doesn’t look up immediately. He finishes the sentence he’s reading first.

Then—calmly, unhurriedly—he turns the page.

And finally—his gaze lifts to yours.

Cold. Slow. Too calculating.

"Six days."

Your stomach tightens. "Xav—"

"Mm. No." He holds up a single finger.

The room falls silent. And somehow, that’s worse.

You watch as he closes the book. Carefully. Precisely. Then—without breaking eye contact—he sets it aside.

And then—a small smile.

Soft. Almost friendly.

Which means you’re in deep, deep trouble.

"You look tired," he murmurs, tilting his head. "Traveling, were you?"

You exhale. "Xavier—"

"Oh, no. Let me guess." His fingers tap idly against the armrest. "You were simply busy."

A pause.

"Too busy, in fact, to answer a single message."

Your jaw tightens. "It wasn’t—"

"Ah," he interrupts softly, as if realizing something.

His eyes flick over your torn sleeve, the faint bruises on your arms. Then, slowly—he smiles.

"Or," he murmurs, "did you lose your phone again?"

Your stomach drops. Because he knows.

You inhale sharply. "Xav—"

He shakes his head.

"No, it’s alright. I understand." He leans forward slightly, resting his chin against his knuckles. "I’m sure you had an excellent reason."

A beat of silence. Then—mild amusement, carefully laced with steel:

"Would you like to tell me what it was?"

You hesitate.

Because you were on a mission. A classified one.

Because he wasn’t supposed to know. Because you work together.

And yet—he knew nothing.

You try anyway.

"I had a—"

"A mission?" His brow lifts, a polite flicker of curiosity. "Fascinating."

His tone is smooth, unbothered. And that—that is when you know how angry he really is.

He gestures vaguely toward the stacks of reports on the table.

"Tell me, darling, which mission was it?"

You swallow hard. "I can’t—"

"Mm. Right. Classified."

Another small nod. A slow, deliberate blink.

"As are all major operations within the Association."

His fingers drum lightly against the armrest.

"And yet, strangely—" He tilts his head. "Not a single record of your assignment exists."

You say nothing.

Xavier exhales through his nose—almost disappointed.

"And here I thought," he murmurs, "we were supposed to trust each other."

You flinch.

His gaze softens. Not with kindness. But with something far worse.

Pity.

"You must have had your reasons, of course," he muses.

A small sigh, like he’s humoring a child.

"I imagine you thought it was necessary. Sensible, even."

His fingers lace together.

"Just as I found it necessary to send out a search party on day three."

Your breath catches.

"You what?"

He hums.

"By day four, I expanded my resources. You'd be surprised how quickly information spreads when you know where to look."

Your hands clench.

"Xavier—"

"Day five, I began considering alternative outcomes. Some of them, admittedly, rather unpleasant."

A flicker of something colder in his expression.

"Ever been forced to sit in a room full of people trying to convince you that your partner is dead?"

Your stomach turns.

"Xavier, I wasn’t—"

He clicks his tongue.

"Day six, I received word that you had finally resurfaced."

He leans back. Folds his arms. And then—a soft chuckle, utterly humorless.

"Imagine my relief."

Silence.

You exhale sharply. "Xav, I—"

"Did you know," he interrupts, voice light, conversational, detached, "that people tend to avoid looking a grieving man in the eye?"

Your throat tightens.

"Not that I was grieving, of course." He taps a finger against his chin. "I don’t make a habit of mourning people until I see a body."

He tilts his head slightly, studying you.

"But I imagine it must have been quite the inconvenience, being dead for six days."

Your chest tightens.

"You think I wanted to—"

"Oh, I know," he murmurs. "You didn’t want to disappear."

His voice lowers.

"But you still did."

And for the first time—he is no longer smirking. His blue eyes bore into yours, steady, sharp.

"You made a decision that left me in the dark."

A long, slow breath.

"And I need to know," he says softly, "if you would do it again."

Silence.

You don’t have an answer. You don’t think there is one.

He exhales.

Finally, he leans back. Gazes at you for a moment longer.

Then, calmly—he stands. Smooth. Effortless. Precise. And then—he walks past you.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

"Xavier—"

He doesn’t stop. You push to your feet.

"Xavier, you’re coming back, right?"

Finally—he pauses. Turns his head, just slightly.

And then—

"Ask me again in six days."

The door closes behind him. And this time—you’re the one left behind.

🧜🏻‍♂️🧑🏻‍🎨🌊 Rafayel

You are exhausted.

Every part of you aches. Your body demands sleep, warmth, peace.

Instead—

You come home to chaos.

Loud music. Laughter. The scent of wine, perfume, candle wax, and indulgence.

And then—the sight of him.

Rafayel.

Lounging near the pool, half-leaning against an ornate chair, a glass of red wine dangling lazily between his fingers.

His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to hint at toned muscle beneath, his sleeves rolled up, his perfectly tousled hair falling over his forehead in an effortlessly careless way.

And surrounding him—beautiful women.

Drinking, laughing, leaning toward him like he’s some fallen deity of temptation and excess.

Your stomach twists. A tight, burning rage coils in your chest.

And then—

He sees you. His eyes widen—just slightly. And then—a slow, almost lazy smirk.

"Ah." He lifts his glass dramatically, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look who's finally returned!"

You tense.

He rises to his feet, arms spread as if welcoming royalty.

"My muse. My inspiration."

His voice carries over the music, over the murmurs of people starting to notice the tension.

"The very heart of my art!"

A sweeping gesture.

And then—

He motions toward the canvas-lined walls.

Your breath catches. Because they’re all of you. Dozens of paintings.

But—ruined.

Slashes through the canvas.

Paint smeared and splattered over your likeness like an artist in rage, in agony, in heartbreak.

The fury in you erupts. Your voice cuts through the music.

"What the actual fuck is this?!"

He gasps, mock scandalized.

"Oh, you don’t like them? What a tragedy!"

He downs the rest of his wine in one smooth gulp, tossing the glass aside with a careless flick of his wrist.

Then—he grins.

Crooked. Reckless. Infuriating.

"And here I was, drowning in sorrow, channeling my unbearable suffering into art."

A sigh.

"But alas." He shrugs dramatically. "Seems the muse herself has returned."

You march toward him. He tilts his head.

"Careful, cutie. You seem upset."

"You’re a fucking disaster."

He laughs.

"You’re six days late to that realization."

You grab his wrist, yanking him toward the exit.

“We’re talking. Now.”

His body moves, but his feet don’t follow. Instead—he pulls against your grip.

His smile widens.

"Oh?" His voice drips with amusement. "Dragging me away already? Jealous, cutie?"

Your jaw clenches.

"This is pathetic."

Another laugh, lighter this time.

"Ah, but it was all I had!" He places a hand over his heart. Theatrical. Overdramatic. Perfectly insufferable.

You snap.

And shove him into the pool.

He barely has time to react—water crashes around him, drenching his white shirt, dragging him under.

And for a brief, glorious second—silence.

Until—

His hand grabs your wrist. You yelp, but it’s too late.

He pulls you down with him.

Cold water engulfs you, shocking your senses.

When you resurface, gasping, furious, he’s already brushing his hair back, blinking at you through wet lashes.

And suddenly—

The playfulness is gone. The crowd has vanished. Thomas made sure of it.

And now—it’s just you and him.

And for the first time tonight—he’s quiet. His voice is lower, slower.

"You storm into my house. Onto my estate. Into my party. And then..."

He gestures lazily toward the water.

"You throw me in my own fucking pool?"

You pant, teeth gritted. “Your—house? Great! I’ll leave you in your fucking house—”

You turn to climb out—

And he grabs you again. A firm grip. Unshaking.

His eyes—darker now. Sharper. Focused.

"Make another move, cutie." His voice is dangerously low.

"And we’ll have problems."

You glare. "Let. Go."

He doesn’t. Instead—he pulls you closer.

“You’re not walking away from this.”

Your pulse spikes.

"Rafayel—"

"Do it," he whispers. "Say it to my face."

Your breath catches.

"You want to leave?" His hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer, forcing you to feel the heat radiating from his soaked body.

"Then say it."

Your hands shake. You flick water into his face, desperate to break the tension.

He doesn’t even blink. Instead—his eyes drop.

To your clothes.

Soaked. Clinging. Revealing everything.

His pupils darken. And then—his jaw tightens.

"You left me for six days," he murmurs.

Your breath stutters.

"I left for work, not you, you hysterical maniac."

He tilts his head.

"That’s the same thing. And your phone?"

"A Wanderer shattered it!"

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.

"Ah, yes. And I suppose you were also too busy fighting for your life to send me one. Single. Fucking. Message?"

You exhale sharply. "Raf, you’re insufferable. A party? Seriously?"

"How else am I supposed to handle soul-crushing heartbreak?"

His voice drops.

"Tell me, cutie." His fingers skim your waist, trailing fire in their wake. "How else was I supposed to drown my suffering?"

He leans in, breath hot against your lips.

And then—

He kisses you. Desperate. Possessive.

Your legs wrap around his waist, instinct taking over.

His grip tightens.

"You threw me in a pool," he whispers against your lips.

"You deserved it."

His fingers dig into your hips.

"You waltz in after six days and just—throw me?"

"Maybe I should throw you again."

He grins against your skin.

"I should make you pay for that."

"Raf—"

"Mm. Shh."

His hands travel lower, pressing you harder against him.

Your breathing turns shallow.

"Your paintings," you murmur.

"I’ll paint more."

"You hated me for six days."

"Endlessly." He kisses your throat, voice dropping further.

"You didn’t want to see me again?"

He grins against your collarbone.

"Try leaving me again, cutie."

His grip tightens, unshakable.

His breath is hot against your ear.

"And I promise—"

His hips press forward, slow and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt of heat through you.

"You won’t be able to walk for a week."

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smoothcperator · 11 months ago

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date & time: March 31, 2024, 11 AM location: Brookstone Mall Plaza in Hawkesbury, ON, Canada closed for: @6997a, 𝐵𝑂𝑅𝑁 𝐴𝐺𝐴𝐼𝑁

Somewhere in the small, confined space of the Foundation helicopter cabin, 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 lost track of himself once more. His eyes were tightly shut, brows furrowed deeply, and his jaw was set tightly, teeth creaking against each other. Despite his best efforts, his mind was adrift in the repetitive, incessant vibrato of the helicopter's rotors. The nonstop thumping of the cabin was at pace with the accelerated beat of his heart.

He wondered wearily how long it would take him to get used to what he could only assume was an amnestic kicking in; when would the heavy unease vanish? And, more importantly, when would he become numb to the deep, searing pain that bloomed behind his eyes as the amnestic took hold?

Some ancient, dormant part of his brain stubbornly fought in vain against whatever was currently attacking his memories. He shook his head violently; the prey instinct that was so deeply ingrained into his core refused to give up without a fight. And while logically, he understood that it would be easier if he just let go and gave in, he was way past the point of logic. Weakly bucking against the intrusion like an animal caught in the jaws of something far greater than itself. Each fading twitch was a weak attempt to stop the inevitable that only served to drain him faster.

The military-grade headset adorning his head creaked in protest as its wires strained under the force of his movements. Feeling dizzy, he stopped and blinked beadily against the stars bursting behind his eyes; patterns and colors appearing in sync with the throbbing pain as the amnestic probed at his gray matter. A radiant surge of pain exploded at his temples, and he jerked forward, clutching his head in his hands and groaning. Nausea churned in his stomach as he gulped mouthfuls of air.

He flinched, startled, as a hand landed squarely between his shoulders before relaxing just as quickly as it gently stroked down the length of his spine; the sensation pulling him back and grounding him. A deep, quiet voice whispered to him softly; its warm, dulcet tones an anchor amidst the pain.

“We’re almost there. Just breathe.”

Gael nodded weakly, unsure if the voice had come from coms, or if it was his own subconscious convincing him the end was in sight. Leaning back into his seat, he stretched out his legs only to bump into 𝐺𝐴𝑅𝐷𝐸𝑁 𝑉𝐴𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑇𝑌's much longer ones. He mumbled a quick apology before pulling his legs back towards himself.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he willed himself to calm down, to trust the process. He wasn’t entirely sure how long it took, but as the thick haze of confusion began to fade, the sound of the helicopter’s whirring blade changed, signaling its descent.

There was a loud sound to his right, and he hissed as renewed pain bloomed as the sliding door was pulled open and light rushed in. Squinting, he blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted. Once the spots in his vision vanished he recognized the the pillars that marked the entrance of SCP-9584. They had arrived.

Belatedly, he stood up on shaky legs, gingerly making his way out of the helicopter. Ducking his head to avoid the still-spinning propellers, he took 𝑂𝐿𝐷 𝑆𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇’s outstretched hand as he cautiously stepped out of the cabin. Turning his head to take in his surroundings, he noticed another aircraft stationed next to the one he had just exited.

A group of men in black suits emerged from the other helicopter and began to walk towards him and the other members of Themis. Observing them, 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 noted a shock of long, dark hair among the neatly trimmed and quaffed military cuts.

“Commander. Smooth Operator, was it? ” One of the suits nodded at him and raised a hand in a salute before dropping it to nod at the person standing slightly behind him. “Say hello to your newest Themis member. On the request of the Ethics Committee."

Gael's raised an eyebrow, surprised at the sudden addition to his squad. Osterholz hadn't mentioned anything about this at their last briefing, but he supposed if this had come directly from the Committee, Bucky might have not been in the loop either. Giving the man who had spoken to him a nod, he shifted his gaze over to his new recruit.

Pure, childlike elation flooded his senses for a moment only to be immediately crushed by a nauseating wave of dread and then molten hot regret.

The man looking back at Gael was somehow both alike and yet totally dissimilar from the boy he had known as a child. Gael’s mind stopped, then kicked started again, racing a mile a minute as he tried to make sense of the situation he had found himself in.

There was no way. There was absolutely no way this could be real.

The color drained out of his face as he became more sure that it was, in fact, very real. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, suddenly above water and gasping for breath. His heart was pounding in his chest, its palpitations like drums banging in tune with the ringing in his ears.

"You—you’re—"

#{ act 001 ; ch. 002 ; plot 001 ; mission 001 }#{ born again ; tears o'er a tin box oh‚ jesus christ‚ he wasn't to know }#( don't worry about matching length! i just love setting the scene haha )

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sanpatron · 1 year ago

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It's been a very lively party so far. Peaceful, even. Which, for a man who has experienced the kind of life that Django Foley has, feels like such a foreign concept. He's not meant to live this way, right? This is for people who've actually gone and earned it. People who deserve the chance to live out the rest of their lives in some degree of harmony. Good people. Kind people.

Yet, once again, Django has shown himself to be an outlier in more ways than one. A confusing thing to notice, let alone think about. But should he? Why not just enjoy this? After all, not many get to. Questioning it too much would only drive the poor man's head in circles. The thought alone is already starting to give him a bit of a headache. Forget about all that. Enjoy the party. Enjoy this moment of calm before the next wild experiment is unleashed upon the masses. Celebrate the season.

And it's with a sigh that the man begins to ease up. Little by little he feels the tension leave his body. " Don't question everything. " he would think to himself. " Go try and talk to some people. " And it's that thought which would get Django to finally leave his little place of solitude and go try and find anyone with perhaps even the slightest hint of common interest. But something has caught his eye! A certain someone, actually. Someone he hasn't seen in what feels like a very, very long time.

" Prompto? That you? "

@starshell

#starshell #Isola Garden Party #Don't worry about matching! Was just setting the scene.

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amatariki · 2 months ago

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STUPID BOY MAKING ME SO SAD 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ she's got everything that i don't have

in lieu: after becoming jealous seeing riki's instagram stories, your boyfriend reminds you that he has his eyes on the most gorgeous woman in the world.

the muse: idol!nishimura riki x f!reader; established relationship; ft. moka wc: 1017 warnings: angst (+happy ending), fluff, jealousy, insecurities

whispers: uh so i ran out of hearts on gizmo while revising so im waiting for it to refill...go listen to she's all i wanna be by tate mcrae!! ><

reblog and i'll kiss you <3

You scroll through instagram, lazily lying on the couch in a hoodie and shorts.

It's a cool night, the city looks pretty, you just took a shower—you typically would've been watching a movie right now, waiting for Riki to come home so you two can have dinner and then cuddle together.

But you can't help but lie on the couch, your thoughts groveling at the back of your mind after you see a story of Riki and Moka from ILLIT together from the behind the scenes of a show they did together.

You know their relationship is just work-related, but seeing her with him strikes a small place in your heart.

After all, she's really pretty with a good body, rich and fun-loving. Her smile and facial features are to die for and she looks good in every dress she wears.

When she stands next to Riki in that picture, you can't help but have a pang of jealousy at the fact how good they look together. Like a match made in heaven.

Time passes by as you decide to scroll through TikTok instead, watching cat videos to try and get your mind off the story. Bisco lies on your chest, snoozing quietly.

Your eyes avert to the doorway at the sound of a key turning in the lock, looking away as you see Riki open the door and step inside.

You pay him no attention, going back to scrolling on your phone with one hand as the other scratched Bisco's head.

"Hi, baby," Riki says quietly, kicking off his shoes as he walks over to you and leans over the couch, brushing strands of your hair off your forehead.

When he sees that you don't answer, he chalks it up to you being tired and doesn't think too much about it. "I'mma take a shower and get back," he says coolly, walking away.

However, you've still got your unusually quiet attitude when Riki comes back.

"What's wrong?" He asks, frowning. His velvety deep voice is laced with worry as he helps you sit up, taking a sleeping Bisco off your chest and setting him down on his dog bed before plopping down on the couch next to you.

"Baby, did anything happen today?" His eyebrows are knotted in confusion as to why you're giving him the silent treatment. "Did I forget to get you something from the store on the way home? Is that what this is about?"

"It's just..." you blurt out, finally breaking your silence. You look down at your hands, playing with your manicured nails. It feels like a heavy lump is stuck in your throat. You swallow thickly before speaking again. "Don't you ever feel like you're too good for me?"

Riki recoils, taken aback by your words. "Why would you think something like that, baby?" He asks. "Did one of your friends say something to you?"

"No, it's..." you start, your voice trailing off. "It's just...that picture you posted with Moka on your stories."

"Go on," Riki urges warmly. "Talk to me, baby. What about it?"

"She's so pretty, and...and you look so good together," you say truthfully, your insecurities spilling out. "And then there's me. I'm not pretty or anything."

Riki takes your small hands in his large ones, thumbs rubbing soft circles on the back of your palm. "You're right," he says.

Your heart plummets to your stomach, your eyes widening in shock. "W-What?" You'd always suspected it, but it hurt to hear Riki say it himself.

"You heard me," he continues, acting like he didn't just break your heart in half with two words. "You're not pretty. You're absolutely gorgeous," he says with a teasing smile, although you can see depths of love in his brown eyes.

He lifts one hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

"I'm not too good for you, I actually don't deserve you at all," Riki murmurs. You can see the sincerity in his eyes. You can see how much he believes he doesn't deserve to be with you, how he believes he's lucky to have you. "But I'm going to work for your love everyday. Just like how you're going to promise me that you'll never say anything like this ever again. Yeah?"

"Yeah," you say in relief, not realizing that you've been holding your breath.

One hand leaves your hand, reaching out to cup your face. Your breath hitches at the touch. It's warm and adoring. It's full of promises.

"Can I kiss you, baby?" he asks quietly.

You nod in response. "Yeah."

He tentatively presses his lips to yours, his plush lips moving softly across yours, painting dreams of forever on them. The kiss isn't rushed or hurried. It soft, gentle and, god, you could keep going on for eternity like this.

Riki's arms snake around your waist, pulling you close, holding you gently like a porcelain angel as your arms make their way around his neck.

His right hand runs up and down your spine, deepening the kiss as you gasp at the feeling. He chuckles, slipping his tongue in.

His tongue works almost as reverently as his lips do, seeking out the deepest corners of your mouth as if he was painting them.

Eventually, you both have to pull away due to the lack of oxygen. He looks at you with glazed eyes, breathless as he presses your foreheads together.

"I love you, baby," he declares, sentimentally. His cheeks are all flushed from the deep kiss, hair mussed from your hands running through them. Yet he still looks like a god with his glowing tan skin and sparkling brown eyes that hold the entire world in them.

"I love you too, ki," you respond, your heart swelling with adoration for the man in front of you. Grateful to have him in your life. And you can tell he feels the same about you.

"i'm hungry," he says, suddenly pulling away. "Please tell me you made dinner."

You let out a laugh at how quick his demeanor changes. "I did, ki. Don't worry."

taglist: error 404; no records found (comment to be added)

------ᝰ‧₊ written by ©amatabelle 2025

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invoncible · 4 months ago

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ok but hear me out mark and a magical girl reader that’s it that’s the imagine

MARK GRAYSON & magical!reader ✧˚.

— im def hearing you out on this one anon — my inbox is open for any kind of invincible requests :P

for someone who's fighting tactics are just.... 90% brute force, mark was fascinated by you a little a lot

you can make the world around you bend to your will with elegant swooshes of light

you had a hold on the hero scene in general, but you had something different on mark... except he was the last one to realize it

rex always teased that you were some fairy tale legend, but that's literally what you were. something out of a storybook

"you're embarrassing me." rex grimaced as he cast a sideways glance at mark. "haven't i taught you to be a better flirt than this? you're just staring at them."

mark shook his head, heat rising to his face as he snapped out whatever trance you had him in. "uh. yeah, okay."

"'yeah, okay' what?" the redhead jabbed a finger into mark's face accusingly. "go talk to 'em, what's the worst that can happen?"

what's the worst that could happen? a lot of things. at least in mark's eyes.

but once he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out, he realized he'd been worrying for nothing

the whole magic thing was your brand, so he figured he'd match your energy when he tried to sweep you off your feet.

it was halloween, and you went in a variant of your hero costume. it passed more or less for a fantasy getup, like you were a magical royalty or something like that

mark thought he was so clever going as a knight in shining armor

"i was thinking that, uh... you and me, you know? we go pretty good together, outside of the fighting stuff." he strolled beside you. he'd thought of what to say many, many times before this moment, but standing next to you was a whole different story. "not that we don't make a good team, cuz we do. i think we make an awesome team, but, uh... i just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out on our own, without the world threats and stuff."

he cleared his throat, mentally punching himself for that mess of a set up, eyes darting to your face to assess your reaction.

"like a date?" you blinked, a slow smile of realization spreading on your face.

he cleared his throat, fist curling around his play sword. "uh... yeah." he pulled a red rose from his belt and twirled it in his hand nervously as he held it out to you. "for you." this is stupid this is stupid.

but you beamed at him, your bright laughter making him relax from the apprehensions in his head. you accepted his sweet token and took his hand in yours. "thank you."

he grinned and stood a little straighter, puffing out his chest. "heh. you're welcome."

if he saw something in a comic book that resembled your abilities, he'd tell you and try to help you emulate the power if it was worthwhile.

"mark, i'm not a wizard. i don't have a crystal ball or a giant scepter." you put your hands on your hips.

he frowned, flipping his comic book towards to and pointing to the frame where the character was doing a crazy spell that knocked out all of the enemies. "just hear me out! what if—"

after you met his mother, you started hanging out and staying over a lot more. debbie was so delighted to have the equivalent of a disney princess in her home that could make the brooms sweep for themselves, the pots and pans cook on their own, and the laundry to fold without any help.

mark opened the door to the broom shuffling along the floors dutifully, stopping and shaking when it saw him as if waving hello. mark hesitantly waved back, and it went on about its tasks.

"oh, mark!" debbie's smile was welcoming. she held out her mug and the coffee pot floated over and poured her a fresh cup before retreating back to its station.

he sighed and hung his jacket, kissing his mom's head in greeting. "mom, you can't have y/n work all the time when she's over."

debbie glared at her son. "what kind of host do you take me for? you forget i'm in real estate—i'm a master at hospitality. y/n was the one that insisted. and believe me, they’re not working." she chuckled to herself, endeared by your stubborn need to help her out.

mark gave a confused look to his mom before he flew upstairs, and his mom was right. you were sleeping soundly in his bed while clothes were being folded and sorted into baskets beside you.

he huffed a little smile as he climbed under the covers beside you, snuggling into your back.

#invincible #invincible show #mark grayson #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible season 3 #debbie grayson #nolan grayson #rex splode #invincible x gn reader

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wintaerbaer · 1 year ago

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bottle up old love (jjk) (m)

summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genre: exes to lovers, the holy trinity of angst/smut/fluff

word count: 4.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble 💀)

prompt: JK + exes to lovers + "I'm sorry" + "I hate you" + "Don't fucking touch me" + "Leave" (for @btsborahaee <3)

warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming, i think that's all but this also wasn't supposed to be too smutty so clearly idk what's going on lol

MASTERLIST

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

You spit the words at the man in front of you, pushing him back as he tries to make another grab at your arm.

“Why do you gotta be like that?” Seungcheol whines. “I thought we were having fun.”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun.” You take a step backwards towards your building. Somewhere down the sidewalk, footsteps clatter against the pavement.

“C’mon.” He matches your movement, reaches for you again. “Invite me up. You enjoyed the last time, didn’t you? I told you that was just a warm-up.”

The building’s brick wall is closer than you thought, and you bang your shoulder against it as you try to sidestep him. “Last time you didn’t follow me to a bar I didn’t even invite you to. How did you know where I was anyway?”

“Let me come up, and I’ll tell you,” he rumbles with a flicker of his eyebrows. He has you fully backed up against the wall now, and you press against the muscle of his chest to no avail.

“Stop!” you shout before he’s ripped away from you so suddenly that you’re left blinking in confusion, huddled against the brick.

There’s a thud–the sound of a fist hitting flesh–and a yelp before Seungcheol is reeling back with his hands clutching his nose. Blood seeps out from beneath his fingers, black even under the glow of the streetlamps.

“What the fuck?” he shrieks, and it’s only then that you take a proper look at your savior, looking every bit like he’s stepped straight out of the shadows with his dark hair, ebony clothes, and deep brown eyes.

And a lead weight drops into your stomach as you recognize him.

Jungkook sets himself between you and Seungcheol, looming over the latter as he continues to cover his face, whining. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Ten,” Jungkook growls, taking a step in Seungcheol’s direction. “Nine.”

Seungcheol straightens–clearly a last-ditch attempt to look intimidating. Spitting blood onto the concrete, he peers at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, bitch.”

Then he spins and takes off running down the street.

Your hands grip your elbows. It may be a balmy summer night, but you’re shivering where you stand, unsure whether you’re more affected by Seungcheol’s behavior or the ghost who’s unexpectedly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asks, gaze fixed on your face. You stare at your shoes and give him a brisk nod as a response before turning away, punching in your building code, and walking through the front door.

He follows closely, slipping in behind you and trailing a few feet. You let him for a little while, guiding him through the modest lobby and up the first flight of stairs. But when you’re halfway up the second stairwell–almost to your floor–you pause on the landing, spinning his way.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes are gentle, sincere. “Making sure you get in safely.”

“There’s no need for that,” you assert. “I’m already in my building. There’s a keypad. I’m good.”

“The keypad does almost nothing. I followed you in no problem.”

“So I should be worried about you then?”

He flushes, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please just let me see you inside.”

You want to argue back, want to shout at him and make a scene, but you know it’s no use. Know that he’s stubborn as a bull and will get what he wants one way or another.

It’s how he broke up with you after all.

You say nothing, only hustle up the last set of steps and down the dimly-lit hallway until you’re in front of your door, Jungkook tailing you the whole time with his hands in his pockets. You practically fumble your key in your haste to get it into the lock, letting out a satisfied sigh as the latch finally clicks open.

“There. I’m in,” you say as you step over the threshold, waving a dismissive hand at your unwanted companion. “Leave.”

But he hesitates just outside the doorway, teeth chewing at the corner of his lip. “What are you going to do if he comes back?”

“That’s my problem, isn’t it? I stopped being your concern when you dropped me out of nowhere a year ago.”

Your eyes sting at the memory, tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him here. Don’t want to see him or have him anywhere in your vicinity. Not when it still hurts like this.

Though, truth be told, you don’t expect to ever be fully over him.

“We’re done, Jungkook,” you murmur. “You made sure of that.”

And you close the door in his face.

The distress subsides quickly once he’s out of sight–like he was never there to begin with–and you don’t linger, dropping your bag on the sofa and heading straight for the bathroom. This is how you’ve made it a year without him; it was weeks of crying before you realized that wallowing was doing you no good, only fueling your misery instead of providing any kind of catharsis. So you’ve done your best to simply push past it and cast away the anguish that bubbles up every time you think of him. Not allow it to linger like the shadows at the edges of the room.

You shed your clothes and turn the shower to a temperature that you’ll probably regret later. But for now, you savor the way the water sears your skin as you wash away the day with all of its unpleasant surprises. Taking your time, you scrub every inch of your body and carefully shampoo your hair (trying not to fall back into the fantasy that’s plagued you on occasion where it’s his hands and not yours spreading the bubbles over your form).

The self-care continues as you step out of the shower and leisurely work through your skin care routine, even taking the time to blow dry your hair. By the time you exit the bathroom, the fog on the mirror has dissipated, and you’ve once again successfully tamped down the memory of Jungkook and his hands and eyes and everything you ever felt for him.

Or so you think.

After popping into your bedroom to pull on some pajamas, you pad back into the living room for a glass of water, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the front door. Regret attempts to push its way into your consciousness against your better judgment. The man broke your heart, yes. But you do feel a little guilty slamming the door in his face after he just fought off a creep for you.

And speaking of Seungcheol, what if he does come back? You’re pretty sure he saw you punch in the building code the night you brought him home with you, and given his behavior, you wouldn’t be surprised if he filed it away in his head.

Anxiety winning out, you creep to the door and peer through the peephole. The hallway looks empty, drab beige walls taking up most of your field of view, but you jump as you spot a hulking shadow to the right. Your heartbeat races then slows, a closer look revealing hunched, unmoving shoulders wrapped in a familiar black t-shirt.

Jungkook swings his head to look at you as you open the door and glare down at him. His legs are pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and it might be endearing if not for the fact that he absolutely, positively should not be here.

“What are you doing?” you ask him for the second time tonight.

“He might come back.”

“And you’re going to what? Fight him?”

He shrugs. “If I have to.”

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “You’re going to sit out here all night?”

He shifts where he sits, wiggling his hips like he’s firmly planting his butt into his chosen spot. “Yes.”

You roll your eyes at him but don’t doubt that he would. Again, if there is anything you know this man to be, it’s stubborn. “You’re going to scare the neighbors.”

“Who, Mrs. Kwon?” A tiny smile plays on his lips as he glances in the direction of your elderly neighbor’s apartment. “I think she’d be delighted to see me.”

If you’re being honest, she probably would be. She’s always adored Jungkook and praised him as the “kind, handsome young man” who helped her put away groceries and fixed her leaky faucet one time. In the months following your breakup, she’d asked about him once or twice, patting your arm reassuringly when you awkwardly told her she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “He’ll come around.”

Well she’s turned out to be right in that he’s certainly back here again, still watching you from his spot on the floor. And you don’t know whether it’s his big doe eyes or the fact that he really would guard your apartment all night if you let him or the genuine fear that one of the other neighbors will make a fuss at his presence, but you feel yourself softening.

Turning abruptly, you stride into the kitchen for your glass of water, walking out of sight of the door, which is still wide open.

“You coming?” you call, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard.

There’s a rustle as Jungkook stands and shuffles into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. For someone who was so determined to defend you tonight, he seems uncertain now that he’s actually inside. His hands are once again stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes flicker around like he hasn’t been here a thousand times. Hasn’t cooked you breakfast in this kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Hasn’t watched The Notebook with you on this TV and held you as you both cried.

Hasn’t made love to you on the couch.

You slide a water his way, and he murmurs his thanks, sipping at it lightly. It’s strange–seeing him here again–and you can’t help but think about the last time he stood in this room. It’d been a maelstrom of accusations and hurt feelings that culminated in him storming out, the slam of the door echoing in your ears.

“You never cleaned that?” He gestures at the rug that covers most of the sitting area in your living room, eyes on the dark purple stain roughly the size of your hand.

You gulp down your water and try not to follow his line of sight. Try not to remember how you’d knocked over a glass of wine in your haste to get his clothes off during another movie night less than a month before your breakup.

“I kind of forgot about it,” you say. “Stopped noticing it after a while.”

It’s a lie. There was never a time when you didn’t notice it, the memory of him haunting you every time you sit down on the couch and stare at the garish stain. And still, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to try and erase it.

Silence worms its way between you again. With only the soft light from the tabletop lamp glowing next to the couch, Jungkook’s face is cloaked in shadow. And so you barely see his lips move when he speaks. Barely hear it with how quietly his whisper slips into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

Your glass almost drops from your fingers, droplets splashing across your knuckles as you catch it at the last moment and steady it on the countertop. Turning to face him, you find his gaze already on you, melancholy tinting his expression.

“What?”

He tongues his lip ring, shoulders dropping a fraction. “For how things ended. I’m sorry.”

You can see the sincerity in his posture, can see the sadness in his form. And yet, his words only fill you with a hot anger that bubbles out of you before you can swallow it down.

“I don’t know why you would be,” you challenge, “being that you didn’t even respect me enough to give me a proper reason.”

Jungkook huffs at that; you think he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Did it really matter?”

“Yes.”

He gnaws at his lip again, no longer looking at you, and his lack of an answer only riles you up further.

“Was there someone else?” you demand, causing him to flinch. It was the same thing you asked him when he told you he thought you should break up, standing in almost this exact same spot.

“No,” he murmurs after a moment. “There wasn’t anyone else.” He pushes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “There hasn’t been anyone else since either.”

This surprises you. Jungkook is, in your eyes, the handsomest man you have ever come face-to-face with, but even from an objective standpoint, he is exceedingly attractive. There is no doubt in your mind that he would easily be able to land a woman if he so desired.

“So then why?”

He sets his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and fixes his stare out the window. And it’s this final refusal, this steadfast dedication to not explaining himself, that finally has tears tracking down your cheeks.

The sight of you crying has his attention snapping back your way, hands reaching out as if to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you gasp, recoiling until you’re out of reach. “I…I hate you.”

It almost seems as if your voice lands physically, and Jungkook staggers back like you’ve slapped him, remorse immediately wiggling its way between your ribs. You know you don’t mean the words even as they fall from your mouth, but it feels pointless to take them back now, the sentiment already thrown out there and hovering in the hollow space between you.

Jungkook muddles towards the couch–more of a defeated slump dragging his steps than anger–and you think he’s going to sit down before he whirls back towards you at the last second.

“The gala,” he mutters. “That’s when I decided.”

You know which one he’s talking about. Hosted by your medical school to celebrate the end of the academic year, it had been a night of food, dancing, and socializing. You had, of course, brought him as your date and introduced him to your friends and classmates, excited to finally allow him to put faces to names. As you comb through your memories of the night, you can’t pinpoint any warning signs, only remembering the way he’d smiled at you throughout. The way he’d pulled you close and danced you around the room.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair again, tossing strands of night over his forehead. A sad chuckle looses itself into the thick air of the room, and the final dregs of his resolve flicker away. “I realized that I didn’t deserve to stand next to you. That you could do much better than me.”

Whatever you thought his reason had been–whatever theories or thoughts had kept you up night after night for the past year–this is not even close to what you expected. And while you always thought finally receiving an answer would be freeing, would offer you some semblance of understanding, you’re surprised at the rage that boils in the pit of your stomach, bile rising in your throat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you growl, taking an angered step towards him. “You were feeling insecure, and you made the decision to break up with me without even thinking to, I don’t know, discuss it with me first?”

His hand goes to the back of his neck now, embarrassment showing its face as he peers at you from under his lashes. “I was stupid–”

“No, shit.”

“But can you blame me?” he presses. “There we were: you, about to be this incredible doctor with all of your doctor friends…” His voice falters, sorrow lacing his tone. “And I’m just a tattoo artist.”

The defeatist way he says it helps to dampen your ire some, even if a heap of frustration remains–the sad shape of his doe eyes softening your edges.

“Just a tattoo artist,” you repeat. “Jungkook, I have always been so, so proud of you. I was never anything but proud to have you as my partner. You must’ve known that.”

His teeth worry his lip, and though he nods, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.

So you continue on, closing the distance between you a fraction more. “You started your own business from nothing. And I saw how hard you worked: to get the building, to hire other artists, train your apprentices.” You shake your head–half in irritation, half in awe. “And look at you now! You’re thriving. The last I heard, if you want an appointment at Golden Tattoo, you need to book months in advance.”

His eyes are alight now, some hidden emotion glimmering under the surface, but he stays quiet as he soaks in your words.

“So how can you possibly act like you weren’t enough?” you push. “You are amazing, Jungkook. And I never gave a shit about any job comparisons people may have made.” One more step, and suddenly you’re almost chest-to-chest. As always, you’re unable to resist the pull of his gravity. Yanked right back into his orbit. “I only wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted y–”

He cuts you off with his mouth, strong hands snagging your hips to pull you against him, and your own fingers reflexively tangle in his black hoodie as your subconscious gives itself over to him. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“I’m not. Not thriving,” he mumbles against your lips. “Not without you. Been miserable without you.”

And in spite of your anger, in spite of the fact that you were ready to kick him out a mere hour ago, you find yourself kissing him back, relishing the slick glide of his tongue as he licks into your mouth.

You startle as the backs of your knees suddenly bump against the couch, and then Jungkook is spinning as he settles onto the plush seat, pulling you along to straddle him. He sucks at your neck until you can feel the blood blooming under your skin, painting you like the pretty ink on his arm.

Speaking of.

The fabric of his hoodie whispers as you pull it up and over his back and head, tossing it over his shoulder and into a corner. His arms now bare to you, you gloss over his tattoos with your eyes and fingers until you find the one you’d picked out for him; the lovely orange of the flower petals seem to glow even in the dim light of the room.

“Beautiful,” you whisper.

“Just like you.”

You look at him then, the twinkle of tiny galaxies in his eyes betraying his hope. And before you can go any further, you need confirmation.

“You left.”

“I did.” Fingertips press lightly against your waist like he’s afraid you might be the one to disappear now. “I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook, if…” You lick your lips. Can almost taste his regret. “If we do this and you leave again–”

“If we do this, I'm not going anywhere,” he insists, tugging your hips down to grind against him and ghosting a kiss at your jaw. “Just wanna be here with you. Just want you.”

And it’s all you need to hear.

You shed the cotton shirt you had thrown on after your shower and move to yank his own off, tossing it in the same corner as his hoodie. The muscles of his pecs and abs shift under your hands, burning hot where your fingers trace the contours of his torso.

“God, I missed this,” he groans as he buries his face between your breasts, nipping at the skin there before laving the spot with his tongue.

You’d agree–echo the sentiment that your body has been aching for this–if not for the fact that you’re too busy trying to get the two of you naked, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

But a tattooed hand covers yours, eases it away to take its place. “No,” he rumbles. “Let me.”

Wide palms and long fingers span your hips and thighs, grasping as much skin as possible even as he drags your shorts and panties down your legs and helps to steady you as you kick them off. They join the tangle of his own clothes

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls at the sight of you finally naked in front of him. And with such speed that it almost seems like it’s involuntary, an impulse outside of his control, he’s immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs.

“Baby, this wet for me already?” A breathy sigh passes from his mouth to yours, almost laughing at the ease with which he glides through your folds. “Hell, I could just–”

A finger slips in and you gasp, Jungkook smiling wickedly at you as he quickly adds a second and curls them against your walls. You force your eyes closed as they roll back in your head, and you keel forward, babbling incoherently against the line of his collarbone.

“Use your words, love; you can do it.” He says it as if his fingers aren’t currently buried in you down to the knuckle. As if he’s not making you see stars behind your eyelids right now.

You choke down a breath, desperate for the oxygen. “Insane,” you pant. “I said you’re fucking insane.”

“Only for you,” he says before sliding his digits out of you and dipping them into his mouth. He moans at the taste, and even with his lips closed tightly, you can see the way he’s working his tongue around each finger, unwilling to waste a single drop of your essence.

Like you said. Insane.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath until you’re the one who’s getting impatient, hastily undoing his belt and tearing it from his pants with a hiss. But as you shift off of him so he can slither out of his pants and boxers–his length springing free to slap against his smooth stomach–you’re hit with an untimely realization.

“Jungkook, I don’t have condoms.”

He freezes, the color draining from his face (though admittedly, that may be because all of his blood has clearly gone south). The two of you stare at each other for a long second before he suddenly leans over, rummaging back through his pants pockets. He pulls out his wallet, rifles through it, then tosses it across the room in frustration, head tilting back against the couch as he groans at the ceiling.

“Fuck, me neither.”

You chew at your lip, a loaded quiet settling over the room as Jungkook wipes a hand over his face.

“I’m still on birth control,” you whisper, and Jungkook whips his head around, eyes wide and questioning like he’s not sure he heard you right. But you don’t repeat yourself, only hold his stare until he’s tentatively reaching out to graze his fingertips along your thigh.

“I told you. There’s been no one else.” His expression is earnest, eager. You trust that he’s telling the truth, and yet you also know that if you refused him, if you said you weren’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push.

So you swing a leg back over his lap, drag your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, but he leans in to bite at your lower lip with a growl before pulling back to search your face.

“You?”

It hurts that he even feels the need to ask. Because how could you even want someone else? Who could possibly measure up?

You brush a reassuring, barely-there kiss against his already swollen lips. “No one else for me either.”

This seems to please him, but you still see hesitation behind his eyes as he asks, “What about the guy downstairs?”

A drunken mistake was what that was. All sloppy lips and fumbling hands that had left you feeling more empty than anything, and which resulted in you sending Cheol away before he had even gotten a peek at your bedroom.

“We made out once,” you admit, hating that you’re even having to think about another man when Jungkook is here in front of you. “But nothing else happened.”

“Good,” he grunts, but his fingers dig into your backside like he’s trying to reclaim you. And just a fraction of a second later, he’s devilishly tonguing his lip ring as he winds his palm back to bring it down harshly against the meat of your ass, the smack echoing between the walls almost endlessly.

“Ride me, baby.”

You’re quick to line him up–desperate, at this point, to have him inside of you–and begin to ease yourself down slowly, trying to give your body the space and time to adjust to the burning stretch of his girth. He’s always filled you to your absolute limit, tested the furthest boundaries of how much your body can take with his size.

“Yesss,” he hisses, nipping at your neck once again. “You’re doing great, love. Always take me so fucking well.”

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push of him. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on your intestines being somewhere in the area of your throat right now.

He wraps his inked arm around your waist, continuing to whisper his praises against the shell of your ear as he starts to guide your body up and down. Intoxicated by the smooth slide of his length, you soon find your pace, and your shared moans fill the room–the whole city probably able to hear you right now.

You move that way until the pressure building becomes too much and your legs start to tremble, quivering against Jungkook’s own muscled thighs.

“It’s okay; I’ve got you.” He bands his arms around you and presses you to his chest, holding you in place so he can thrust upwards.

Hard.

You’re practically screaming now, burying your teeth into his shoulder so as to muffle your sounds and not scare the neighbors. It’s all you can do to hold on for dear life as he rapidly pistons his cock inside of you, the slap of your hips like a metronome.

It builds and builds until it breaks and you’re falling apart in his arms, the spasms of your inner walls pulling him over the edge with you as he empties his seed deep inside.

The silence that follows in unlike the others you previously shared this evening–tension traded for serenity as you sit on the couch holding each other, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. He traces the ridges of your spine in a soothing pattern that has your eyelids drooping, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck.

“I missed this,” you whisper once your brain has finally remembered how to construct human speech.

“I missed you.”

You pull back so you can rest your forehead against his and gently run a finger over the lines of his face. “Where do we go from here?”

He hums. Tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Take it day by day?” he suggests. “We don’t need to rush into anything if you don’t want to.”

“Mm, that does seem like a problem for tomorrow.”

A dark eyebrow quirks, teasing. “And what about right now?”

“Now?” you ask. “Do you remember the way to the bedroom? Or…” You shift your hips, already feeling him twitching inside of you.

“Or.” He jolts forward to capture your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it, whole again. “Or sounds good.”

a/n: pls like, reblog, reply, and/or send an ask if you enjoyed! <3

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fic #bts fanfic

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mintmatcha · 7 months ago

Text

The program continues to roll. Shouto -fucking IcyHot- is waving to the camera with a surprisingly un-awkward smile. He looks natural, calm, humble and it makes Bakugo curse out loud. He's been media trained since practically birth; it's an unfair fucking advantage-

"Congratulations, 'tsuki."

For once, Bakugo hears you coming. Your heels hit the linoleum, one foot after the other, tapping down the hall like you're begging to be noticed. Maybe you are. The neckline of your dress hangs low enough he can see the puckered skin of your scar, hidden between the valley of your breasts. He hopes you don't notice him staring, but he knows you do. At least now he knows you were telling the truth about something.

"Yeah. Congratu-fucking-lations."

You cock your head like a dog, feigning innocence. In your hands in an unopened bottle of champagne, foil wrapped, just like you in your golden dress.

"Thirteenth is an improvement." Your smile with your teeth. "Next year, we'll go for their throats and hit tenth."

He believes it. Frankly, he's a little worried that you'll actually tear out Fatgum's throat along the way. Bakugo leans back against his desk with a huff.

"Whatever. Rankings don't matter."

"Wait until you see your pay increase." You outstretch your arm with the champagne. "Hold this. Stand at your desk."

He takes the bottle and gets into position. One leg cocked over the other, head tilted, arm up for you to slip under: he watches you set up your little camera stand and waits for you to hit the timer.

But you stay behind the camera.

"Put your arm down. Looks bad."

Bakugo listens. The flash goes off twice, then you hum a noise he isn't sure is pleased or sour.

"You ain't getting in the picture?" he asks. You snap a couple more, all big bright flashes.

"I can if you want me to."

It feels like a trick. You're luring him into some sort of trap, just like you always do. If he was smart, he'd just say silent, let you get your little photographs and then dip-

"Take your heels off," he says, jerking his head over. "Makes me look short."

The unwavering smile changes a bit as you slip your foot out of your shoe. You stick your phone to the wall, just the right height to make Bakugo look taller than he is, just like he likes it. The phone flashes once as you slink over, then again as you tuck yourself under his arm. Each picture leaves you back-lit. Your features blur out of focus, with this silver halo around your silhouette.

Bakugo watches his reflection on the tiny screen as you adjust him. In the phone, you're perfectly visible, tangible as you fix the scene. Tilt his head, pull him down: your own face is hidden behind his, like you're sharing a secret. One hand finds his shirt fron and holds it gently, lovingly. It would look better if he was dressed up too, Bakugo thinks. Then you two would match, instead of you being dressed like some golden prize-

"Why are you fucking dressed up if it isn't for a picture?" The thought hits him.

You're so close he can feel your smile against his cheek as you whisper. "Do you like it?"

"Stop doing that shit." He reaches back and places the bottle in his desk. The camera's light flashes again. "Dodging my fucking questions all the damn time."

Your arm loops over his neck. It'll look long and dynamic in the photo, he knows it.

"I have plans tonight," you whisper.

"With Izuku?"

"No." Flash.

"Another guy?"

"Yes."

He clicks his tongue against his teeth and pulls back. It's just far enough thay he can see your face, drink in your features.

"Does he know the world thinks you're dating me?" Jealousy is irritating and irrational, especially when you're right here, close enough to claim. He could reach down and lick that scar anytime he wanted to, he knows that-

Flash.

Your lips are painted dark, dramatic. They make your smile feel forced. "It's why he wants me back."

When did his hand find your waist? When did yours find his cheek, thumb pulling over his scar? The camera flashes again.

"People always want what they can't have."

That's such bullshit. He wants you more than anything and he could have you at any moment-

Flash. The camera catches he moment he breaks. His lips press against yours, not in the passionate fury he always thought would happen, but a soft, fleeting touch. Your breath contains more pressure than your skin and he almost thinks you're disappearing from under him, running away-

Flash.

Your lips are parted and your tongue is against his, hot, searing, desperate-

Flash.

He thinks your lips have touched every inch of his skin, down his neck, into the collar of his shirt-

Flash.

His hands are bunching your dress up and he's unsurprised to find nothing underneath-

Flash.

Oh, he's not in frame anymore. You're both on the ground, tangled, touching, groping. He's liking that damn scar and you're keening and twisting and cumming-

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atlabeth · 1 year ago

Text

geyser

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: percy learns about the first girl luke castellan ever loved.

a/n: this is a lil sad. sorry about that. but i really like it and it came out of nowhere in like 2 days so i hope you enjoy despite the sadness. title from the mitski song

wc: 6.5k

warning(s): major character death; not shown but hangs over the whole fic. angst made angstier by fluffy flashbacks. mostly told through percy’s pov but includes luke, annabeth, and reader povs

also if you saw this before on another account DONT WORRY... that account was also me. im just doing some stuff behind the scenes right now as i figure stuff out lol i promise no plagiarism is going on

Percy thought that his head might explode.

He didn’t know how he was still walking, honestly. His mom died, he killed a— no, the— Minotaur, all the Greek myths were real and his dad was one of them, and now he had to deal with that freak accident with Clarisse and the toilets.

At least he would be ready next time she tried to beat him up. Percy had been the new kid enough to know there would be a next time.

All he could do was stare at the Minotaur horn in his hands, the only sign that what happened outside the border was real. The horn in his hands and the hole in his heart.

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. He’d been thrown into the deep end, and the only thing on his mind was when he would start to drown.

“Hey.” Percy looked up to see the counselor he’d met earlier with Annabeth—Luke. He tossed a ziploc bag at him and he caught it, taking a moment to look at what was in it.

“I stole you some toiletries from the camp store,” he explained. “Thought it might make you feel more at home.”

“…Thanks.” He didn’t know if Luke was joking, but the damage had already been done. And it was the nicest thing someone had done for him so far. He set it down next to his Minotaur shoebox. “Is this the best that it gets?”

Luke’s lips quirked up in a slight smile. “For now. We’re a little crowded, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Just a little bit.” Percy stood up from his sleeping bag and worked out the knot in his shoulder. “Where’s your bed? Assuming you have one.”

“I couldn’t wrangle all these cats without some back support,” he said, and he pointed to a bed in the corner. It was the only one on its own without a bunk, and he had a fair amount of decorations. Counselor privileges, he figured. Percy walked over, Luke trailing behind him.

“Nice place,” he said. Percy picked up the Yankee’s cap on his bedside table and nodded as he looked back at him. “Nice taste.”

“It’s for Annabeth,” Luke said. “She wanted us to match.”

Percy nodded again in approval. “Good taste for both of you.”

Luke had various other things around — an alarm clock knocked over next to the baseball cap, a huskie sticker on the wall half-scraped off, a poster for an album he didn’t recognize.

But the thing that caught his eye was a polaroid hanging on the wall, surrounded by a smattering of others varying in size.

The first one had to be an old picture—Luke didn’t have his scar, and the biggest smile stretched across his face. He had a girl close with an arm slung around her waist, and she might’ve been smiling even more than Luke. A bright energy emanated around her, something that must have transferred through the picture, because Percy found himself feeling a little better just looking at her. He wondered if she was a camper.

His eyes flicked to the next picture, which was another one of Luke and that girl. They were both laughing as she tried to put a blue hat on Luke’s head, and he protested with a hand on her wrist. They were in the forefront of a baseball game, Percy noticed.

There were other pictures, too—Luke, a girl dressed all punk, and what looked like a young version of Annabeth, most notably—but a majority of them were either Luke and that girl, or the girl all on her own. In every single one, she beamed brighter than the sun.

Percy pointed at the picture of Luke and the girl at the baseball game, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Who’s that?”

That seemed to catch Luke off-guard, his lips parting for a moment as if he wanted to say something. It barely took him any time to get back on track, but Percy found himself frowning.

“That’s…” Luke cleared his throat, wet his lips, shook his head. “A friend. A very good friend.”

“Does she go here?” Percy asked.

“She did.”

He frowned. “Where is she, then?”

“Percy—” Luke’s voice was strained, but he didn’t really notice as he went on.

“I didn’t see her around,” he continued, “and you look pretty close.”

Luke blinked a couple times, and Percy swore he could see the telltale glimmer of tears starting in his eyes. A muscle worked in his jaw, and suddenly Percy was worried that he’d said something horribly wrong. He had a talent for that, it seemed.

Fortunately, he was saved by the bell—conch shell?—and something like relief flooded through Luke’s expression. Tension still coiled in his body.

“Come on,” he said, that camp counselor smile coming back as he put his hand on Percy’s shoulder and guided him away from the enclave. “That means dinner’s about to start.”

Percy’s frown deepened as curiosity won out again. “Was she your—”

“You don’t wanna be late,” Luke continued, ignoring his attempt. “I assume you’re pretty hungry after two days spent out?”

Well, that only made him want to push harder. But Percy figured he wouldn’t get anything out of him—especially not now.

“…Yeah,” Percy said. “Starving.”

An odd look flickered across his face, but again, it only lasted for a second before he was back to normal. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Eleven! Fall in!”

Percy was at the back of the line by virtue of him being the new kid, and he found himself looking back at that picture of Luke and the girl. He didn’t know why, but something drew him to her. Before Percy could think about it more, the line was moving and his growling stomach drew his attention away.

He would have plenty of time to ask Luke about it later.

Or rather, ask him and piss off the only person who’d tried to be his friend so far.

…Gods.

Maybe he was going to drown sooner than he thought.

“Luke—”

“No!”

“Luke, please!”

“Annabeth will kill me if she knows—”

“She won’t know!”

“Alright, alright— stay still, you two!”

Your mother laughed from behind the camera as you and Luke fought with each other, you trying your damnedest to get your Red Sox cap on his head as he tried his damnedest to stop you. The frantic laughter on both sides made it a little difficult for either of you to succeed in your quest, but eventually, you got the rock up the hill and the hat on his head.

“Take the picture, Mom!” you exclaimed, pulling Luke even closer by his arms so he couldn’t get it off. “I need the proof!”

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Luke groaned, staring at the camera as you wrapped your arm around his side and leaned into him. He could already imagine your victorious smile, brighter than the sun beating down on them in the stadium, and just the thought of it made one of his own flit across his lips.

“Oh, shut up, Castellan,” you said. “You chose to come to this game. Everyone’s gonna know you’re a Red Sox fan now.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell her!” Luke defended, wrenching his arms free of your control to take the hat off his head. “I don’t even care about baseball!”

“You care so much about it,” you said cloyingly, “and you’re ride or die for the Boston Red Sox.”

“If you say a single word—”

“Okay, kids!” Your mother pointed at the seats next to her. “The game’s about to start—you can keep arguing, but only if you sit down so I can see.”

“Sorry, Mom.” You grinned at her as you pulled Luke over to your seats—they were a step up from nosebleeds, but they were the ones closest to the balcony so you could at least peer over the railing down to the diamond.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” She glanced at Luke with a smile, and he could really see where you got it from. “We’ve gotta make him a fan somehow.”

“I guess I can live with the brand.” Luke set the cap back on your head once you were seated, purposefully pulling the brim a little over your eyes, and he smiled at you. “Even though it looks better on you, anyways.”

“You just don’t have what it takes to be a Red Sox fan in the heart of Yank territory,” you mused, pushing the hat back up so you could see. “It’s fine.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but he could hardly bite back his smile.

“I am glad you came, though,” you said, glancing back at him. “I’m glad you came with me in the first place. This is gonna be the best semester.”

“Thanks for having me,” Luke said. “It’s… it’s been a while since I’ve left camp.”

“Fingers crossed for no monster attacks, eh?” You held up your hand. “At least, not during the game. I could live with it happening any other time.”

“Don’t speak it into existence,” your mom said. “We’re going to have a monster-free school year.”

To humor her, you made a claw over your heart and pushed out. She hummed in satisfaction, and you looked over at Luke. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Because two kids like us aren’t gonna draw any attention.”

“Oh, I know we will,” you said. “But I know it’ll be fine.”

Luke frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

You shrugged with a smile. “I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, he was thankful for the freakish heat that honestly made no sense in the spring—at least it covered up any sign of what your words did to him.

Luke thought you were joking when you asked him if he wanted to come back home with you for the school year. He didn’t know why you wanted to go back in the first place, being a Big Three kid that apparently had a death wish, but the thought of him leaving camp was almost inconceivable.

Even after you assured him you weren’t joking, he still wasn’t sure. He was on the run with you for three years, then…

Well, he couldn’t think about it for too long. But Luke had been on the outskirts of regular society for so long, doing nothing but fighting for his life, that he didn’t know if he could actually function at a normal school.

But it felt right for you two to get some normal time together after you were separated for so long. It took him a semester to decide, but one day during your usual Iris message conversations, he told you he’d love to spend the rest of the year in Boston with you. Luke still remembered the grin you wore, your disbelieving but victorious cheers, the apology you yelled back at your mother for your noise.

Luke watched you as you talked with your mom, discussing Boston’s chances and player statistics and baseball jargon he didn’t think he’d ever understand, and he knew he would sit through a thousand Red Sox games if it meant he would get to keep seeing your smile.

You must have felt his eyes on you, because you glanced over at him. “Are you okay?”

Luke smiled. Gods, he was so glad you were here.

“Never better.”

“That one nearly got me,” Luke said.

Percy huffed as he picked up his sword from the ground—he was pretty sure he would officially lose his mind if Luke disarmed him with that stupid move one more time. One benefit to the Hermes cabin being too scared to associate with him after getting claimed was that he wasn’t making a fool out of himself in front of other people.

“Maybe I can only beat you when I pour water on myself,” he said.

Luke chuckled as he took a bottle from the cooler on the side and held it up. “Wanna try?”

He shook his head. “I think my arms will fall off if I keep going with you.”

He tipped his shoulder. “Fair.”

Percy stared at the ground as Luke gathered himself, trying to put the free range thoughts roaming around his head in order. It didn’t help that he’d gained a million questions after Poseidon claimed him, and it didn’t help that there’s been a newest addition to his dream last night.

He still felt strange asking Luke about it, but he had to know more about her. Percy didn’t know why it felt like his mission to find out who this mysterious girl was, or why he felt that strange connection to her. Maybe it was the way Luke acted whenever he brought her up, maybe it was that she’d popped up in his dream next to him at the very end, maybe it was just plain old curiosity.

“I’m not supposed to be alive,” Percy said, breaking the silence. “I could die at any time in a bunch of different horrible ways. So will you tell me more about that girl on your wall?”

Again, Luke seemed to be caught off guard by it. Percy heard the crunch of plastic as his hand clenched ever so slightly around the bottle, and he tried to cover it up with an arched eyebrow. “Why do you want to know so badly?”

He shrugged. What was he supposed to say?

“I’m curious,” he decided.

Luke huffed a dry laugh before he took a sip of water, and he stared off into the distance for a while. He did a lot of staring whenever this girl was brought up. They looked like they were best friends in those pictures, but maybe whatever they had ended badly. And if she was a demigod too…

Well, it would make sense why he didn’t want to talk about her.

“You know that phrase about curiosity?” Luke asked.

“And how it killed the cat?”

He nodded, drinking some more. “It goes double for demigods.”

“Everything else wants to kill me,” Percy said. “So curiosity’s gonna have to get in line.”

Luke’s laugh was a little more genuine this time, and he shook his head. “I guess I can tell you a little about her. You actually probably have a right to know.”

“Is she a half-blood?” Percy asked immediately.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Who’s her parent?”

Luke capped his water bottle and looked at Percy for a good, long moment. His face glowed in the warm afternoon sun, his scar cast in a softer light than usual. The scar used to unnerve him, but he’d gotten used to it after weeks staring at it during sword fighting.

“She was a child of Poseidon, Percy,” he said. “Just like you.”

Percy felt short of breath, like Luke had just knocked his sword out of his hand and shoved him to the ground. But he stood on his own two legs that somehow still worked, and Luke hadn’t moved.

He had a sister?

“I have a sister?”

“…Had,” Luke corrected. “She… she died a few years back.”

A vice latched onto Percy’s heart. He was still having a hard time breathing. No wonder Luke always used past tense when he was talking about her.

He had a sister, he wasn’t alone, but he was because she was dead. And if Luke was one of her friends, that meant she died young.

Gods.

“What about their oath?” Percy asked, trying to ignore the aching in his chest. “I’m already on thin ice for my whole existing thing. How did Poseidon get away with two kids so close to each other?”

Luke shrugged. “I’ve never known why gods do things. Her mother was a great woman, though—I could see what drew Poseidon to her against the oath.”

One half of Percy wanted to ask every question that kept popping into his head. The other side of him wanted to break down and cry.

“How did you meet her?”

“We ran into each other when we were both young,” he said. “Both child runaways, both demigods, both New Englanders—we decided to rough it out on the road together. Couldn’t be any worse than doing it on our own.”

Percy tried to imagine it. A young Luke and a younger version of that girl—maybe Percy’s age—living together in the wilderness and fighting monsters. Surviving off of nothing but their wit and skill, facing death each day before they’d even reached middle school.

“It… it didn’t happen then, did it?” he asked hesitantly.

Luke shook his head. “Couple years later. All we did was watch each other’s backs out there.”

Percy couldn’t help himself. “What happened to her?”

“The same thing that happens to everyone,” Luke said flatly. “There’s a reason I’m the oldest one here.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Percy insisted. “It— it makes it worse, Luke. You see that, right?”

Luke stared at his empty water bottle then tossed it back into the cooler. When his gaze met Percy’s, he was shocked by how… tired he looked. Beyond exhausted—bone-weary. Percy wanted to say more, but he didn’t get the chance.

“This isn’t good conversation,” Luke said, “and it’s getting late. You should hit the showers before dinner.”

The sun still beat down on them, bright and angry in the sky, but Percy provided no argument. He had a lot to think about.

Before they went their separate ways, Percy stopped and looked back at him. “I’m sorry she’s gone, Luke.”

Luke’s gaze went unfocused for a moment, his eyes growing glossy. “So am I.”

Percy sat on the floor of the Hermes cabin in the corner that used to be his, staring at his meager belongings. He had to decide what to take on his quest, which was made easier by the fact that he hardly had anything to his name. Things could always be worse, though. At least he would have a change of clothes.

He should’ve been doing this in his own cabin, but it felt too empty, too suffocating in its silence. Eleven was still more familiar. He heard the door open and saw Luke walk in, and his eyes lit up when he saw Percy.

“Hey,” he said. “I wanted to see you before you left. How’re you feeling pre-quest?”

“Like the world’s about to end,” he said.

Luke’s lips twitched into a smile as he sat on the bed across from Percy. “Understandable. It kinda is.”

“It’s just overwhelming.” Percy shoved the unfolded clothes into his backpack. “I have to clear mine and my dad’s names and get Zeus’s bolt back, or else war will start. No pressure at all.”

“You were chosen for a reason,” Luke said. “You may not see it, Percy, but you’ve improved a lot since you got here. If anyone can do this, I think it’s you.”

Percy looked up at him, and he was reminded of the way their last conversation went. He was asking before he could really stop himself.

“I could die on this quest and never see you again,” Percy said. “So could you tell me more about my sister before I go?”

Luke smiled wistfully and sighed. “You really won’t let this go, will you?”

“It’s not really something you just let go,” he said. “Besides, I… I saw her in my dream last night.”

Luke’s smile faded. “You did?”

Percy nodded. “For a split second, but I know it was her. I felt the same way I did whenever I looked at her pictures. And… it’s the second time she’s shown up.”

He let out a long sigh and shook his head, his gaze trailing off to the wall. He always looked so much older when he talked about this girl, like he was a war veteran reminiscing on his lost love. And from what he’d gathered, it might not have been too far off.

“I told you we ran together when we were young,” he said, and Percy nodded. “We were both nine, and it should’ve been terrible, but she had a way of making everything better. Always found the bright side of things, was always able to make me laugh.”

“She was from Massachusetts—right in the middle of Boston.” Luke chuckled as he looked at Percy. “Huge Red Sox fan.”

Percy grimaced. “We all make mistakes.”

Luke smiled, though it faded a bit. “We got separated for a while, but we found each other again when I got to camp. Things were more peaceful than they are now, so she’d been claimed at camp pretty quickly. I figure Poseidon wanted her to have the protection of him openly standing behind her after what happened.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what happened’?”

Luke shook his head. “That would be an awful story to send you off on.”

Percy wanted to protest, but he didn’t. Luke was probably right—Percy didn’t want to make him relive it and then have to go on a death quest right after.

“A happier part, then,” he suggested.

“She ran away from home as a kid to protect her mom, but now that she had an idea of what she was doing, she started going back to school. She invited me to stay with her during the school year one year, and I accepted. That—” Luke’s throat bobbed, and the other hand clenched into a fist— “that was when she died.”

In his stunned silence, Luke got up and went over to his alcove. He pulled the drawer open on his bedside table and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It must’ve been folded and crumpled a million other times in messier ways by all the creases he could see, but when Luke opened it, he could see handwriting all over the front.

A letter.

“We Iris messaged each other constantly while she was at school,” he said, “and we wrote back and forth when we couldn’t. This was the last letter she sent me.”

Percy’s first instinct was to say he wouldn’t be able to read it, but he realized that he didn’t really care. These were words that his sister wrote—he would sit here the rest of the day forcing sentences to make sense if that was what it took.

So he took the letter when Luke offered it.

To the one and only Luke Castellan,

My mom said yes! After a very long interrogation (she now knows basically everything about you) and a million promises that you would be as careful as possible and that you were good enough at sword fighting to take down anything that could come after us, she said you can spend the year here. We spent a couple hours every day making my mom’s study into a guest room, so you have a place to stay.

I’m an idiot that didn’t bring enough drachmas so that’s why I have to send this letter—hopefully it gets to you soon enough, because we’re gonna come get you a week before my winter break is over. Mom is letting me drive down because she says I have to get my permit soon. It makes sense that my first big test is getting to you. If we don’t make it, it’s because we died in a fiery crash.

Just kidding. I’m a great driver. But tell me some of your favorite songs when you reply and I’ll burn a CD for the ride—I figured out how to use LimeWire. Oh, and throw in a couple drachmas with the envelope so I can Iris message you next time. I miss your face and your voice, and my hand is cramping up writing all of this.

But this is so exciting! I can’t wait to introduce you to all my friends at school, and show you my favorite places in the city, and make you into a Red Sox fan. And you can come to my soccer games— I’m the greatest forward there is.

Jokes aside, I’m going to make sure you have the best time. We’ll spend every second together, Luke. We’re gonna make up for the time we lost.

I can’t wait to see you again.

Your hurricane.

It took Percy a long time to get through it with the words swimming all over, and it didn’t help that his vision had grown blurry.

Tears, he realized as he blinked, and he did it again to make sure they wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t cry in front of Luke, not over a girl he didn’t even know—even if she was his sister. But maybe he was grieving that—the fact that he would never get to know her.

“God, man. I— I’m sorry.” Percy couldn’t think of anything else to say. “She sounds like she was great.”

Luke couldn’t even manage a smile this time as he stared at the wall. Percy was surprised he could even talk to him about it.

“She was,” he murmured. “You would’ve liked her. And gods,” this time, a bit of a smile broke through despite it all, “she would have loved a little brother.”

“I’m gonna make her proud on this quest,” Percy vowed. “I’m gonna clear our dad’s name for her.”

Something in Luke’s gaze had changed—sadness, almost regret. “You’re a good kid, Percy. I hope your quest doesn’t change that.”

I hope I come back alive, he wanted to say. But given the topic matter, he didn’t. Percy carefully folded the letter back up and handed it to Luke.

“Thank you for telling me about her, man,” Percy said. “I… I know it can’t be easy.”

Luke let out a shuddering breath as he stared at the closed letter—Percy wondered how many times he must have sat in this same position, reading her words. “No better way to honor her memory than helping her brother.” He glanced at Percy. “I see a lot of her in you.”

He’d been wondering if he had anything in common with her. Percy felt a sudden flare of anger shoot through him—it wasn’t fair that she was dead. Poseidon was a god, and she was a teenager. He should have saved her.

Percy’s mouth was drier than a desert. A part of him wanted to curl up in a ball and sob over the sister he never got the chance to know, but the other part of him knew—from what little Luke had told him about her—that she wouldn’t want him to.

“I should get going,” Percy said, standing up from the floor. “We have to leave for the quest soon, and Annabeth and Grover are probably wondering where I am, and…”

Percy trailed off, and Luke nodded in understanding. He turned around and took one of the photos off the wall—one of you alone in the middle of a park, wearing a bucket hat and absolutely beaming.

“You deserve to have a part of her with you,” he said. “For good luck.”

He felt himself choking up, and he pushed it down as he accepted the photo. “Thanks, man. It means a lot.”

“Good luck, Percy,” Luke said. “You’ve got a lot of people rooting for you.”

Percy found himself studying the picture of you once he made it outside, trying to memorize your face. With your wide, infectious smile that emanated pure sunlight, he could have mistaken you for an Apollo kid. But when he looked at you, he got that same warmth that he felt every time he imagined his father.

“I won’t let you down,” he murmured. “I promise.”

After sleeping in his train seat for half the day, Percy vowed to never complain about his bed in Cabin Three again. He was gonna be going down to the Underworld with permanent cricks in his neck.

Grover was still sound asleep—Percy envied him for how easily it came to him in the worst conditions—but thankfully, Annabeth wasn’t. Her gaze was focused on the view as their train chugged along.

Percy cleared his throat in a flawless attempt at getting her attention, and it worked.

“You’re awake,” she said.

“Unfortunately.” Percy sighed. “How much longer do you think it’ll be?”

“Another day, at least,” she said. “And we’ve got a layover in St. Louis.”

“St. Louis,” he hummed. “Nice.”

They sat in silence for a while—there wasn’t much to talk about when they were coming off of two— or was it three, now?—near-death experiences. But eventually, Annabeth cleared her throat, taking a page from his book, and it worked again.

“There— there’s probably something you should know,” Annabeth said, and that worked even better than clearing her throat. “You’re not the only Big Three kid to come through Camp Half-blood lately.”

“I know,” he said. “Grover and Luke explained it.”

Her eyes widened slightly and she leaned forward in her seat. “Luke did?”

“…Yeah. You all already told me about Thalia.” Percy glanced away, suddenly feeling a chill in the train car. “Luke told me about my sister.”

Annabeth went silent.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I kind of annoyed Luke until he told me. Doesn’t really seem like a subject people at camp like to talk about.”

“I’m just surprised he did,” she murmured. “They were… they were close, Percy. Her death destroyed him—Thalia and your sister. All of it’s complicated.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I got some of that.”

“I only knew her for a year at camp, but everyone loved her,” she said. “She was nice. Popular. Always helped when she could, always had the biggest, most infectious smile on her face.” Annabeth looked down at her hands. “She didn’t deserve the fate she got.”

Percy didn’t think he’d ever grieved so much for someone he never knew. “But her and Luke—were they…?”

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, “they were a thing, later on.”

That seemed to be all she wanted to say on the matter. Percy decided not to push.

“How did you meet her?” he asked.

Annabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I met her on the day I thought I would die.”

For the first time in her life, Annabeth Chase couldn’t think.

It had all happened so fast. One second she was running with Luke and Thalia and Grover, praying to her mother and any other gods that would listen to make the horde of monsters let up even a centimeter.

The next, she’d collapsed on the ground, never so grateful to have grass and dirt and dust in her face. But she could hear Luke yelling, barely able to make it out in her delirious state—she didn’t know when she’d last had a sip of water, and they’d been running for at least three miles—but he sounded hysterical.

She remembered her last clear thought: they weren’t going to make it.

But they had. They had, so why was Luke losing his mind?

Annabeth pulled herself up from the ground—how long had she been bleeding out of those slashes on her arm?—and looked for the rest of her friends. Luke wasn’t yelling anymore, instead arguing with someone she didn’t recognize in a bright orange shirt. Grover’s furry legs trembled as he stared down the hill they’d just gotten up, completely silent, and Thalia—

Where was Thalia?

Annabeth tried to get up but her legs gave out almost immediately, and steady arms caught her before she could fall to the ground again. Kind eyes served to ease some of her panic—she was older than Annabeth, maybe around Luke or Thalia’s age.

Thalia—

“Hey, you’re okay,” the voice said, and Annabeth’s attention was drawn back to you. “I’ve got you.”

“Where’s Thalia?” she blurted out, because now she couldn’t think of anything else.

Your brows creased and you glanced back down the hill—Annabeth did too, and she saw Grover and Luke arguing with each other. Or rather, Luke was yelling at him as Grover anxiously hooked his hands through his hair.

“I don’t know,” you said, “but right now, I need to make sure you’re okay. Are you hurt?”

Annabeth absentmindedly held up her arm, but she was only focused on her friends. Why wasn’t Thalia with them? Why was Luke so upset?

You cursed under your breath in Ancient Greek as you cradled her arm, and you looked back down the hill. Annabeth could see at least half a dozen other kids.

“We’ve got two half-bloods and a satyr, one injured!” you yelled back. “Get Molly and Brayden!”

“Three,” Annabeth found herself saying. “There’s three half-bloods—”

“Annabeth!”

Her head shot up at the sound of Luke calling her name as he bounded over, and her eyes widened at the blood steadily spidering across the fabric of his shirt.

“Luke, you’re hurt—”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “It’s fine.”

“We have Apollo kids coming,” you said, looking up at him, still cradling Annabeth’s arm. “We’ll get y—”

Your sentence stuck in your throat, and Annabeth could see tears welling in your eyes as your brows furrowed. She thought Luke’s eyes might burst out of his skull as he stared at you, his lips parted but nothing coming out. Neither of you were able to form words.

When he finally did get something out, it was a single name. One Annabeth knew by heart, one that he’d mourned for years.

“Luke?” you whispered.

Before he had the chance to do anything, two teenagers got over the hill and called out your name, the same one Luke used. He always said you were dead, but you clearly weren’t dead, because you were here and you had her arm in your grasp and while your hands were cold, they weren’t cold enough to be dead—

“Molly’s gonna take care of you,” you said, looking back at Annabeth and cutting off her inner dialogue. “She’ll get you to the infirmary and heal you up, okay?”

“My friends—”

“They’re gonna be okay too,” you said. “I promise.”

Annabeth looked up at Luke, and he nodded. “We’ll be with you soon, Annabeth. We— we have to talk about some things.”

So she went with Molly down the hill, and Annabeth put pressure on her bleeding wound when she told her to—it had started to sting like hell now that her adrenaline was fading.

She looked back just in time to see you and Luke share the tightest hug ever.

The hug of two people who realized they weren’t seeing ghosts, Annabeth thought.

You bolted up in bed, eyes wide and your chest heaving as you rapidly sucked in air. Your fingers found purchase in your bedsheets, desperate for something familiar—it took a second for you to recognize your surroundings, that you weren’t in an endless void, but your childhood bedroom offered little comfort.

You ran a hand over your forehead, damp with sweat, as you tried to calm down. Your breathing slowed, but you couldn’t shake that awful feeling that hung over you in your sleep.

Your nightmares were getting worse, you knew that much. That raspy, demented voice used to be a rarity, and now it appeared every night. You could usually deal with your nightmares, but the sense of absolute dread that voice and the pit fostered in you was too much. You hadn’t managed to sleep through the night once since you came home for the school year.

You could deal with the monsters—to you, this was the worst part of your godly blood.

A knock rattled on the door out of nowhere, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The only thing that calmed you down was the thought that monsters didn’t knock.

“Come in,” you croaked, your throat drier than a desert.

Thankfully, a monster hadn’t come to make your night even more miserable. Luke stood in the doorway, his eyebrows creased in concern, messy curls hanging just above his eyes. He wore the Red Sox t-shirt you’d bought for him at the game you dragged him to, and in your addled state, you didn’t even think to tease him about it.

“Are you okay?” He should’ve been as disoriented as you, but his alerted eyes told a different story.

You could only think of one thing. “How did you know?”

Luke’s lips parted for a moment, as if he hadn’t even considered it. “I could just feel it.”

You managed a smile despite every atom in your body screaming at you. “I think that means you can come in.”

He closed the door behind him, and you shifted over in your bed to make room for him. There wasn’t much in a twin, but you made it work. Luke’s weight pressed into the mattress, making you adjust your position, and it was more comforting than any amount of blankets.

“You’re so cold,” he murmured, laying the back of his hand against your arm. “How do you live like that?”

“Blame my dad,” you said. “I’ve got water in my blood.”

“I think that’s probably a bad thing,” Luke said, and you knocked your shoulder into his with a huff.

“You know what I mean.”

Luke let his hand fall back in his lap, and as you brought your knees up to your chest, you pulled the covers with them.

“So,” Luke said, glancing at you, “what’s got you awake at the witching hour?”

“The usual,” you mumbled.

“Nightmares that might be prophetic?” he asked.

You made a lazy gesture with your hand. “Bingo.”

“The worst sense of dread imaginable?”

“Bullseye.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You shrugged. “It’s nothing I can’t deal with.”

“You don’t always have to put on a front, y’know,” Luke said. You felt his eyes on you. “You don’t always have to be strong.”

“I’m naturally strong,” you said with mock austerity. “Comes with the god for a dad.”

Luke chuckled and shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” you murmured.

You leaned into his side, fitting your head into the crook of his neck. Luke wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, and you let out a contented sigh.

That voice in your nightmares seemed so small when you had Luke.

“Can you stay?” you asked softly.

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Just like old times,” you whispered.

“Just like old times,” he agreed.

Luke ran hot, and you’d never been more thankful for it as you fully settled into his side. Icy blood ran through your veins, and you let out a shaky sigh. You could hear his steady breathing, feel his heartbeat through his chest, and the anxiety from earlier began to steadily fade. You never felt safer than when you were with Luke.

There was something between you—you weren’t that stupid—but you hadn’t talked about it. With you and Luke, it was just… you and Luke. You didn’t have to put a label to it.

How could you put a label to your relationship, when you’d spent your first few years together fighting for each day, and then the next few thinking the other was dead?

Maybe someday, you would talk about it. But for now, this was more than enough.

“Don’t worry,” Luke murmured in your ear as your eyes began to droop. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

And by the gods, you believed him.

#reader is the mara of she ra the mikey berzatto of the bear the nellie crain of hill house DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #daughter of poseidon #child of poseidon #sadie writes

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psformybss · 2 months ago

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drew starkey x actress!reader

series masterlist

— drew starkey who… used to think he could keep work and emotions separate. Show up, hit his marks, be chill with the cast, and move on. But then she walked into the readthrough, sharp-eyed, sarcastic, too smart for her own good and made him forget every rule he swore by.

— drew starkey who… said she was a bad fit for the show before he even gave her a chance. Told someone in passing that her character felt “forced.” Thought she’d be another spotlight-chaser with something to prove. But when she looked him dead in the eye and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to be your fan,” he knew he’d misjudged her. And it pissed him off.

— drew starkey who… couldn’t stop thinking about her after that first table read. Not because he liked her, he didn’t. Not then. It was the way she challenged him. Interrupted him. Matched him line for line and still made him look like the immature one. She was a problem. And for some reason, he liked problems.

— drew starkey who… tried to be distant, tried to keep it professional, but she made that impossible. She roasted him in front of the whole cast during truth or dare and somehow made it funny and accurate and brutal all at once. He laughed, sure but later he couldn’t sleep. All he could hear was her voice mimicking his. All he could see was the smirk she gave after.

— drew starkey who… started noticing the way her laugh cracked a little when she was tired. The way she stayed late to run lines even when she said she hated being around him. The way his name sounded different when she was annoyed like she could spit it or kiss it. It messed with his head. Made him wish things were different. Made him wonder if they could be.

— drew starkey who… told himself it was just chemistry. Just two good actors with natural friction. But then she cried during a scene and he felt it in his chest. Not the script. Her. And when she walked off set that day, shaken and silent, he followed. And when she finally let him kiss her, it felt like everything before that moment had just been noise.

— drew starkey who… now brings her coffee before call times, even when they’re not speaking. Sends her stupid memes just to get a reaction. Feels like he’s falling every time she calls him out, smiles at him sideways, or sits too close on purpose. She drives him insane but he doesn’t want peace if it means losing her.

— drew starkey who… doesn’t care what people say. Doesn’t care about rumors, press, or PR chaos. She’s the reason every scene feels real now. The reason his trailer feels empty without her in it. He used to think he was better off guarded. Detached. But now? Now he knows, he was just waiting for her.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

— actress!reader who… walked into Outer Banks thinking it’d just be a job. A cool opportunity, a fun cast, maybe some good scenes. She didn’t expect Drew Starkey to be cold, distant, and rude from day one. She definitely didn’t expect him to get under her skin the way he did.

— actress!reader who… heard him call her character “forced” behind her back before they’d even spoken two words to each other. Who smiled through introductions but never forgot the way his eyes skimmed over her like she was a problem, not a person. Fine, she thought. If he wanted to act like she didn’t belong, she’d make sure he felt her presence every time she walked on set.

— actress!reader who… fought with him over blocking and tone during their very first scene. Who stood her ground when the director had to step in. Who left rehearsal fuming more times than she could count but still caught herself rewinding moments between them in her head. Because the chemistry? It was there. Even when she hated him.

— actress!reader who… made a joke at his expense during a cast truth-or-dare game and had the whole table crying laughing except him. Who pretended not to notice the way he looked at her after, like she was a puzzle he suddenly couldn’t solve. Like she was fire and he’d just touched it.

— actress!reader who… started catching feelings in the worst, slowest, most inconvenient way. Not in the big, dramatic moments but in the small ones. When she caught him staring during a readthrough. When he sent her a dumb meme late at night just to get a reaction. When he defended her, quietly, to someone who doubted her. That’s when she knew she was screwed.

— actress!reader who… kissed him backstage after an emotional scene, breathless and still shaking, and told herself it didn’t mean anything. That it was adrenaline. That it was acting. But his hands didn’t feel like acting. The way he whispered her name didn’t feel like acting. Nothing between them ever really did.

— actress!reader who… tried to stay professional, but kept finding excuses to be near him. Kept finding comfort in the soft way he said “you good?” between takes. In the silence that wasn’t awkward anymore. In the way he’d start to say something, stop himself, then say it anyway, just for her.

— actress!reader who… spent months pretending not to care, only to realize she always did. And now? Now she steals his hoodies, rolls her eyes when he brings her coffee, roasts him in group chats and still texts him good luck before every big scene. They still argue but now they argue like people who know they’ll always come back to each other.

an: sooo i changed my mind it’s not gonna be a chapter kinda fic mostly cause i dont have the attention span for that rn 😭

taglist: @happy-mushrooms

#drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey #obx #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n

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hollyoongs · 19 days ago

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⤷ DO YOU NEED HELP, BOSS? (PART 1/2)

시놉시스 ┆secretary!𝘬arina, ─────⠀ceo f!reader 𓂅 𝑤.𝑐: +7k ꒰ ⌗ smut with plot꒱ ℰditoral 4 GIRLS COMING SOON! 𓂂

─────⠀unrequited longing (turned mutual), voyeurism (implied), masturbation, overheard moaning, mutual pining, desk sex, oral (both), fingering, praise kink, slight degradation ("slut", "good girl"), switch couple!!, possessiveness ("own me"), dirty talk (mutual), power reversal, overstimulation, public setting kink (office), mommy kink (brief), light spanking, aftercare implied, mutual obsession, mention of toys (double penetration dildo, strap-on), one scene of partial undressing (Karina strips the reader), intense eye contact and control play, breathy neediness, teasing, orgasm denial avoided (but close), emotional tension driving physical desire.

NEVER USED "Y/N" FOR A STORY, BUT HERE IT IS, CURSIVE LETTER MEANS IT'S SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED IN THE PAST

The power you held was absolute and unquestionable. Every decision you made rippled through the walls of your company, and no one dared to challenge it, not because they were afraid, but because you are the best. The glass of your office windows reflected that authority—high above, unreachable. Until Karina came along.

She was efficient, poised, and always dressed impeccably in tight skirts and button-up shirts that hugged her pretty curves. And let's not forget a messy yet elegant hairstyle that showed her beautiful features; her shy behavior was her charm in contrast to how she matched your dominant energy at meetings. She always had her very organized folder at her side, her little notebook writing carefully crafted questions as the executives were speaking—ones that left them speechless and you with a proud smile, proud of the decision of accepting her in your company after many failed secretaries.

In a way, Karina was flawless in her role. Although the way she handled herself wasn’t the only thing that made you notice her. It was the subtle tension that built over time she gave after a couple of months of working with you, the lingering glances that lasted a little too long, and the accidental touches that felt anything but accidental.

In a very short amount of time, she had a way of breaking through the walls that you created with your blood, sweat, and tears, and you hated that you started to like it.

Meetings became the highlight of your day, watching how she tactically maneuvered through conversations, challenging others with a grace that had you hooked. And every time she met your eyes after silencing an executive’s weak argument for some sign of validation in your face, you felt that pang of pride with something more dangerous hiding there—desire. A desire that you realized way later.

You couldn’t deny that it became more than professionalism. The way her fingers brushed against yours when she handed you documents, how her breath would hitch just barely when you stood close to her to discuss quarterly reports, how that composed exterior of hers cracked just enough for you to notice how deeply the tension simmered beneath the surface.

But you kept it together. After all, you were the CEO. Control was what you thrived on and will always be that way. You had never let anyone, especially someone under your employ, cause you to lose your grip on that power.

Oh, how wrong you were until that day—damn that fucking day.

It was right after a meeting; it wasn't as perfect as usual. You could feel the anger boiling inside you. The marketing group of the company did their work quickly, resulting in very bad reports, and handed them to Karina. You both walked to your office. Karina was more worried about your state after rescheduling the meeting and organizing one with the marketing group that day in a few hours.

"Do you want a glass of water, maybe some iced tea?" Karina asked, her voice soft but laced with concern as she watched you angrily pull the tie of your perfectly tailored suit. She couldn’t stop her eyes from trailing over your movements, very interested in the slow reveal of skin as you undid the top button of your shirt. She should have been focused on calming you down, but instead, she was mesmerized by the way your chest rose and fell with each frustrated breath.

"Karina, I'm so fucking mad," you snapped, tossing the tie onto the chair as you collapsed into it. "They had a month to do this, and the work looks like shit. Even a first-year university student could have done it better." You slammed the papers on your desk, the sound echoing through the room, but it was the sight of you sinking into the chair, head thrown back and eyes closed in an attempt to relax, that made her swallow dry.

Your fingers went to your shirt, opening it slightly at the top, revealing the valley of your breasts. Her gaze lingered there longer than it should have; she found out that she liked you like this—angry, vulnerable, undone. Her mind navigated any scenario, all of them far from being PG.

"I'm going to bring some iced tea and let you relax until the meeting with the marketing team," Karina said softly, doing a small bow, ready to escape from the reason for her thoughts. You opened your eyes at her gesture, watching her quietly.

"Don't come to the meeting with the group. You can go early today, Karina," you replied, standing up and grabbing your tie again, your composure getting calmer for your own good. As you slipped it back on, you glanced in the mirror a few feet away from your desk, your reflection staring back at you, still tense from the mess earlier. "And don’t worry, I’ll go get my tea. I need some fresh air."

With your purse and phone in hand, you walked toward Karina, stopping right in front of her. She stood still, her wide eyes following every move you made. Without thinking too much, you reached out, wrapping her in a small hug. Her body stiffened in surprise as you pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

"Thank you for everything you’ve done, Karina," you whispered. "I don’t know what I would do without you."

The sincerity in your voice lingered in the air, and before she could react, you pulled away and walked out of the office, leaving Karina standing there, frozen in place. Her mind raced, still processing the fact that you—her boss, the person she'd been secretly harboring a crush on for months—had just kissed her.

She turned slowly, her gaze fixed on your hips swaying as you walked away, the loose fabric of your office pants hanging just right. She swallowed hard, heat flooding her cheeks as her mind just short-circuited. She’d always admired the way you moved, the confidence that radiated from you even in moments of frustration. But seeing you like this, relaxed, offering a rare glimpse of your softer side—it was almost too much.

For a moment, she stood in the empty office, her fingers brushing over the spot on her cheek where your lips had touched. She replayed your words over and over in her mind. "I don’t know what I would do without you."

Her heart raced, her mind torn between professionalism and the burning attraction that she had for you. She wondered if you knew. If you felt it too, she wanted to believe in that.

Hours had passed since you kissed her on the cheek, and Karina had tried her best to focus on her work, but the tension had only grown more unbearable inside her. She watched you as you worked late into the evening, your brow furrowed as you wrapped up some final documents. The sight of you only made her more restless, making her look (or at least she thought so) more pathetic than professional.

Karina shifted uncomfortably in her seat, surprising herself when she felt her panties soaked through, even gasping softly once she confirmed it. Her body responded to the images that wouldn’t stop playing in her mind—your lips against her cheek, the warmth of your embrace, the casual dominance you exuded.

With her heart beating on her chest, she excused herself quietly, slipping out of the office and heading straight for the bathroom. She was thankful that the building was nearly empty by now, long after most employees had gone home. Her steps quickened as she entered the spacious corporate bathroom, relief flooding her as she realized there were no cameras, no one to catch her in this state.

She felt a mix of shame and desire as she jumped to the large sink, giving her back to the mirror. Her breath was shaky, but that didn’t stop her from dragging her fingers under her skirt and tugging her soaked panties aside. The cool air hit her damp entrance, making her shiver. Karina bit her lip, her fingers grazing her slit as she sat on the edge of the sink, her legs spread wide in need.

Her mind wandered immediately back to you—adding to today’s events, she thought about the way you had looked at her every time she did something right, the way your lips turned into a proud smile, and the heat of your body so close to hers whenever she needed your approval with decisions. She imagined your hands on her, how strong and sure they would feel, gripping her hips, pulling her against you.

She moaned softly, her fingers circling her clit with a slight pressure, her eyes closed, losing herself in the fantasy. She could see you now, standing in front of her, watching her with that same cocky smile you always had in meetings. Your eyes dark with lust, your chest pressing against hers as you leaned in, your breath hot against her skin.

"Fuck, just like that, boss," she moaned lowly, her other hand grabbing her clothed breast to add pleasure.

She somehow felt like a pervert, lost in thoughts that shouldn’t belong in the office. And yet, the warmth between her thighs pulsed with every memory, every word, every praise.

Karina's breath hitched as she dipped her fingers inside herself, imagining it was you, your hands roaming her body, claiming her. Her hips bucked instinctively, chasing the pleasure that was building inside her. She bit down on her lip, hard, to keep herself from crying out as her fingers worked faster, plunging in and out of her soaked entrance.

She could picture it so vividly—the way your lips would feel on hers, so sure that they were rough and demanding, the way you would push her up against the wall of your office, your body dominating hers completely. She wanted it. God, she wanted you. She wanted you to take control, to take her apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but pure, raw desire.

“Oh… Y/N…” Karina moaned, her voice barely a whisper in the empty bathroom, but it felt deafening to her ears. The way your name slipped past her lips only fueled the heat burning inside her. She pressed her fingers deeper, her slick walls clenching around them as she imagined it was you filling her, your hands all over her body, dominating her just like she craved.

Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as her hips rocked against her hand. Each stroke of her fingers was a reminder of how much she wanted you, how much she needed you to claim her. In her mind, she could feel your hands gripping her ass, pulling her roughly against you, your lips trailing heated kisses down her neck, leaving marks that only she would know were there.

“More… please,” she whimpered, her other hand teasing her breast through the fabric of her blouse, pinching her nipple between her fingers. The sensation made her arch her back, pressing harder against the cold mirror behind her. The contrast between the chill of the glass and the heat of her body sent shivers down her spine.

Karina’s movements became more frantic, her fingers plunging even deeper when she set her feet next to her in the sink, and faster inside her dripping core, imagining the moment when you’d finally snap. When you’d push her onto your desk, your eyes only on her, and tear off her clothes without a second thought. The look on your face—cocky as you took control, your lips crashing against hers in a bruising kiss, your body pressing her into submission.

The fantasy felt so real that Karina could almost taste your lips and feel the roughness of your touch as you claimed her in every way she’d dreamed of. Her hips bucked wildly, chasing the orgasm that was quickly building, her body trembling with need.

“Y/N… fuck, please…” Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath as her body teetered on the edge. The slick sounds of her fingers moving in and out of her soaked entrance filled the bathroom, the echo only making her wetter.

And then it hit her—a blinding wave of pleasure that ripped through her, making her whole body tremble. Her back arched violently, her legs shaking as she came hard, her walls clenching around her fingers. A strangled moan escaped her lips, and she quickly bit down on her hand to stifle the sound, her heart pounding in her chest.

She sat there for a moment, slumped against the sink, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her body was still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her fingers still inside her, but she was sure that they were white-coated with her arousal. She slowly took them away and stood up on the floor, her hands gripping the sink when her shaky legs almost made her fall.

She stared at herself in the mirror, her flushed cheeks and slightly disheveled hair a stark contrast to the composed secretary she tried so hard to be around you. She knew that no matter how hard she tried to hide it, the desire she felt for you wasn’t going away. If anything, it was growing stronger, more unbearable by the day.

With a sigh, Karina quickly cleaned herself up and adjusted her clothes and hair, trying to shake off the guilt that always seemed to follow these moments of weakness. But as she dried her hands, one thing was clear—her need for you was far from just a passing fantasy.

Karina’s heart dropped into her stomach the moment she opened the bathroom door. There you were, standing right outside, your eyes widening slightly as you met her gaze. The air between you felt heavy immediately, the color on your cheeks giving away more than you probably intended. You knew. You must’ve heard her.

Her body froze for a split second, panic flooding her veins. She could see the flicker of curiosity, perhaps even amusement, in your eyes, but it only made her more anxious. She couldn’t face you—not after what she had just done, not with the sound of your name still lingering on her lips from the pleasure she’d just experienced.

Without a word, Karina darted past you, beyond words embarrassed. Her mind screamed at her to leave, to escape before she made things even worse. She didn’t dare look back as she sprinted toward her desk, her heart racing as she gathered her things in a hurried frenzy. She grabbed her bag and her coat, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with the zipper.

She has always wondered what would happen if you ever found out, if you would push her away or if you would give in to the same temptation that haunted her every waking thought, but it wasn’t in her plans to be this fucked.

The thoughts ran wild in her mind as she turned toward the stairs, desperate to leave the building before she had to confront you again. She couldn’t bear the thought of what you must be thinking. How long had you been standing there? Did you hear her moaning your name?

She nearly tripped over her own feet when she accidentally stumbled into the stairwell, the pounding of her heartbeat louder than her footsteps echoing in the empty space. She needed to get away—far away. Her mind was spinning, her arousal now tainted with overwhelming guilt. What had she done? What if you called her out? What if this ruined everything?

But as she reached the bottom floor, panting from both the run and the sheer panic consuming her, one thing stuck in her mind like an anchor: You had been standing there. Watching her.

Karina's hands trembled as she unlocked her apartment door, barely registering the sound of it closing behind her as she hurried inside. Her mind was a blur of panic and humiliation, replaying the moment over and over again.

She dropped her bag onto the floor, rushing to her desk. Her laptop sat in its usual spot. She wasn’t even thinking straight; she simply wanted to escape the nightmare she’d created for herself for being reckless. Without thinking twice, Karina opened it, her fingers flying over the keyboard like they had a mind of their own.

She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t face you after this. The shame was too much. She had crossed a line, and now there was no going back.

Subject: Resignation Letter Dear CEO Y/N, I apologize for my actions earlier today. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have, and I understand if you’ve lost any respect for me. I’ve been dealing with some personal feelings that I should never have let interfere with my work, and for that, I’m truly sorry. Effective immediately, I will be resigning from my position as your secretary and employee of the company. Please know that I have nothing but the utmost respect for you as a leader and a person, and I deeply regret putting our professional relationship and trust at risk. I will come in tomorrow to submit my official resignation letter and collect my belongings. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Sincerely, Yu Jimin.

She stared at the words on the screen, her chest tightening as she hovered over the send button. It felt like the only solution, the only way to escape the weight of her mistake.

With a deep breath, she pressed send.

The email disappeared from her screen, and with it, a part of her felt like it was breaking. All the late nights, all the effort she’d put into working for you and entering that company—it was all coming to an end because of one moment of weakness.

Her phone buzzed on the desk after a couple of minutes, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts. She picked it up, her breath catching in her throat when she saw it was a message from you.

CEO Y/N: Karina, we need to talk. Since tomorrow is Saturday and because of the Chuseok holiday, the building is closed. I invite you to have a meeting in my house since I don't find it appropriate to talk about this at a restaurant. This is the direction: xxx-xxx-xx, and please be there at 3pm punctually.

Her stomach dropped.

Karina stared at the message blankly. The tone of the text wasn't angry, at least not from what she could tell, but there was a seriousness in your words that sent chills down her spine. She threw her phone on the bed, not a second thought on her actions.

She bit her lip, pacing around her room as anxiety gnawed at her. She had already sent the resignation email, but this meeting seemed to complicate everything. If she didn’t show up, it would make things worse—like she was running from the situation. Going to your house? That was a whole different level of intimidation.

But there was no escaping it now. You had invited her, and Karina knew she couldn’t avoid this confrontation forever. She needed to face you, if only to try and salvage some semblance of professionalism—or at least to explain herself.

The next day arrived too quickly, and Karina found herself standing outside your house at exactly 3 p.m., her nerves threatening to consume her as she raised her hand to knock. She was dressed conservatively, trying to hide the turmoil she felt inside, but her palms were sweating, and her heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Before her hand even made contact with the door, it swung open, and there you were. Dressed casually in a pair of slacks and a simple blouse, your eyes met hers, and Karina’s breath hitched. You looked strangely calm, yet there was something intense in your gaze—too intense, which made her skin tingle.

“Karina,” you said softly, stepping aside to let her in. “Come in.”

She hesitated for a moment before stepping over the threshold; the atmosphere inside your house was warm, contrasting with the nerves she was clearly showing.

You led her to the living room, and as Karina took a seat, she couldn’t help but notice how close you were to her, your presence overpowering in the quiet space. Her pulse quickened as she tried to figure out what you were thinking when you simply sat in silence.

“You sent me an email,” you started, your tone neutral with your eyes fully on her. “About your resignation.”

Karina swallowed hard, nodding slightly, unable to find the words to speak. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, the intensity of your gaze making her squirm on the spot.

“I read it.” You leaned back slightly, your back hitting the sofa. “But I’m not accepting it.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening in shock. “Y-you’re not?”

You shook your head. “No. I think there’s more to talk about before we make any decisions.” Your voice softened as you leaned forward once again, resting your elbows on your knees for support. “Karina… You're one of my best employees. You know how many people I had to fight for them to not give you corporate cards? I can't lose you for… that.”

Karina's heart was pounding, her pulse racing as she listened to your words. She couldn't believe what she was hearing—after everything, you still wanted her to stay. Her fingers trembled in her lap, the tension between the two of you at the mention of yesterday.

"You fought for me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, still processing the gravity of your words.

You gave a small nod, your eyes softening, locking onto hers. “Of course I did. You’re invaluable to this company and to me. The way you handle things, how you think on your feet… I couldn’t ask for a better secretary. But this”—your eyes flicked down to her nervously fidgeting hands—“this situation is something we need to talk about."

Karina’s mouth went dry, her throat tightening, the reality of the situation settling in. She had crossed a line, and now you were confronting it head-on, yet once again, there was no anger in your voice, just a calm determination. It was the part of you that had always drawn her in—your ability to remain firm, even when things got messy.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I never meant for you to… I mean, I didn’t think you’d see—”

“Oh, I did see,” you interrupted gently, standing up and moving around the coffee table to sit directly beside her on the couch. The closeness sent a jolt of electricity through her body. “And I’m not upset, Karina.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide in confusion. “You’re not?”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “No. If anything…” You broke eye contact with her, your voice dropping in volume, “It made things clearer for me.”

Karina took a deep breath. The proximity between you two was almost suffocating; she even could feel heat radiating from your body, making her feel dizzy.

“Clearer?” she asked, her voice trembling.

You nodded for the second time, your gaze never wavering after looking back in. “I’ve noticed how you look at me, Karina. How you react when I’m close. I didn’t want to cross that line either, but seeing you like that…” You paused, the look in your eyes giving away how you were thinking about your next words. “It made me realize I want this just as much as you do.”

Karina’s world tilted on its axis. She had been consumed by guilt, certain that her feelings were one-sided and inappropriate, but here you were, confessing that you felt the same pull toward her. Her breath caught in her throat as she searched your eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but all she saw was sincerity.

“I…” Karina’s words failed her, her mind spinning multiple times, trying to comprehend what was happening. She wanted to say something, anything, but the only thing she could think about was how close you were—how easy it would be to close the gap between you if either of you took that step further.

"Don't say anything. You can leave now. See you at the office, and have a good Chuseok." You said, standing up, the air carrying a tension that enveloped you both like a blanket. Karina remained seated, her eyes wide, processing both your confession and the sudden cut. To her, the room felt smaller and quiet to the point that she could hear every heartbeat echoing in the silence between you.

“Wait—” Karina finally managed, her voice rising a little in disbelief. She looked up at you, desperation mingling in her face. “You can’t just leave it like that. You can’t just drop a bombshell and walk away, boss.”

You hesitated, your hand resting on the back of the chair as you turned to face her. “What do you want me to say? I’ve been trying to keep things professional, but whatever this is between us… it’s becoming impossible to ignore. And you are way too smart to know that I’m right.”

Karina stood, the sudden urgency in her movements letting you know how she was belying the vulnerability she felt. “I don’t want to ignore it. I want to understand it. I want to understand us.”

You took a deep breath, taking into consideration her words. You’d never imagined you would find yourself in this position, torn between your responsibilities as her boss and the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you. Even more, you’d never imagined yourself falling for someone. “I’m afraid of what this means. I don’t want to jeopardize your career or mine,” you admitted, softer.

Karina stepped closer, a new version of her, a determined one, shining through. “I’m not worried about that. I’ve wanted this for so long. Just… give me a chance to show you that it can work. That we can make this work.”

Her earnestness tugged at something deep within you. You wanted to say yes, to take a leap into the unknown with her. Yet, because of your positions, the risks involved—it all held you back.

“Just give me time to think,” you finally replied, not even wanting to hide the tone of regret. “I need to sort through my feelings and figure out what this means for us.”

As you walked toward your front door, you felt her gaze on your back. When you opened it, you glanced back at her. “Enjoy your Chuseok, Karina. I hope it’s a good one.”

“Okay,” Karina said, walking to where you were. “I’ll wait. Just don’t take too long.”

With that, Karina stepped out of the house, the door clicking shut behind her and leaving you surprised.

All of that led you both to this moment a month and a half later, each of you unable to keep your eyes off each other whenever you two were in your own bubble, perfectly hiding from the rest of the coworkers. At least, that’s what you were intending to do. What you didn’t see coming was Karina’s bold moves.

Karina had taken things to a new level; her outfits had transformed into a tantalizing display that left little to the imagination. The long pencil skirt that once fell to her knees now clung to her curves, shortened just enough to give a small taste; the first three buttons of her blouse were undone, showing a glimpse of her cleavage—a line that beckoned your gaze like a beautiful temptation.

During meetings, you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Her confidence was even more intoxicating, and every sly glance exchanged felt charged. When the office was quiet, Karina would often approach you, her steps deliberate as she approached your desk with that playful smile, a smile that you know to catalogue as one that promised trouble.

“Need a little help, boss?” She’d tease, leaning just close enough for you to catch a whiff of her floral perfume, a very common sent that made you feel shivers down your spine.

You’d look up, pretending to be busy with work, though every fiber of your being was attuned to her presence. “I’m fine,” you’d reply, your voice betraying a hint of nerves.

In the past, she would have been shy and cut it; this time, she wouldn’t even think of letting it go. As the days went on, Karina found ways to brush against you as she leaned over your desk, her hands lightly grazing your arm while she offered suggestions on projects. The massages she gave you were discreet, her fingers kneading your shoulders just enough to bring you back to the moment yet leaving you craving more. The thrill of being caught made every touch feel electric, the boundaries of your professional relationship bending with each fleeting moment.

One afternoon, as the sun streamed through the office windows, casting a warm glow over everything, and once again, everybody left, Karina slipped into your office with an almost predatory grace. She closed the door behind her, her eyes sparkling. “I thought we could use a little break,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper that made your pulse quicken.

“What kind of break?” you asked, attempting to keep your tone steady, but the question hung in the air, the fair-skinned girl leaving you waiting for a response.

With a smirk, she stepped closer, her hands finding your shoulders like she used to do, fingers digging in as she started to massage you. The pressure was firm yet gentle, and you could feel the tension of the day melting away under her skilled hands. “The kind that helps you unwind, boss,” she murmured, leaning in closer. You could feel her breath against your ear, her lips just inches from your ear.

You closed your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to sink into the sensation. But the reality of your situation crashed back down. “Karina, we can’t—”

“Can’t what?” She interrupted, her tone teasing, and the brief glimmer of seriousness flickered in her gaze that, even if you didn’t see it at first, you thought could pierce you. “Can’t enjoy what we both want?”

The boldness of her words sent your heart racing. You opened your eyes to find her staring at you with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. “This is risky,” you warned, though your voice lacked conviction. The truth was, you wanted her—needed her—but the repercussions of crossing that line were terrifying.

“Maybe it’s time to take that risk,” she replied, her fingers pausing as she searched your eyes for a sign of hesitation. “What if it could be more than just… this?”

Her words hung between you. In that moment, with the door locked and the world outside fading away, you realized the only thing standing in your way was fear, your fear. Karina was offering you something thrilling, something that could change everything.

Taking a deep breath, you weighed your options, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you have in mind?” you finally asked, her eyes shining as she left your shoulder alone.

"I want to take control," she said, her voice low and sultry, laced with a challenge. The way she said it sent a shiver down your spine, awakening a part of you that craved surrender.

“Take control?” You repeated, laughing a little. “You really think you can?”

"Why do you even question it? You’ll know it if you give me the chance, boss," she replied, showing a confidence that you only saw in meetings.

You arched an eyebrow, intrigued by her boldness. “And what exactly does that entail? You think you can just waltz in here and take charge?”

Karina stepped closer, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I don’t just think about it—I know it. You’ve felt it too, haven’t you? The way I make you feel? All that tension building between us?”

Her words struck a chord within you. She was right about the tension; it was undeniable. Every encounter, every lingering touch had only added fuel to the fire. “Okay, let’s say I’m intrigued,” you admitted, trying to keep your tone light, though the seriousness of the situation settled over you like a heavy blanket. “What’s your plan?”

"I'm starting like this." Karina grabbed the back of your neck, her lips connecting with yours in a surprising kiss.

The sudden action hit you like a jolt of electricity, igniting every nerve ending as she pressed into you, her warmth enveloping you completely. It was unexpected, but the rush of passion that sent your heart to beat faster couldn’t compare. You found yourself leaning into the kiss, your hands instinctively moving to her hips, drawing her even closer.

Karina deepened the kiss, her mouth moving against yours with a fervor that took your breath away. It felt both exhilarating and forbidden, making you lose yourself in the moment. You could taste the sweetness of her lip gloss, her warm tongue spicing things up.

As the kiss lingered, you felt her fingers tighten around your neck, grounding you in the dizzying rush of desire. Every worry about the implications of this moment melted away, leaving only the raw need that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. She pulled back slightly, her breath mingling with yours, her eyes dark with desire. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she teased, a satisfied smile playing on her lips at your state.

"Oh, shut up," you shot back playfully, your need for her burning brighter than ever. This time, it was your turn. You leaned in, capturing her lips in a heated kiss, making her turn in surprise.

Karina moaned into the kiss the moment you introduced your tongue into her mouth, starting a small fight with her. You hissed as she playfully bit down on your tongue, clear pleasure as she smiled.

In one swift motion, she pulled off the coat of your suit, casting it aside like it was nothing. The sudden exposure of your blouse made your heart race, but you didn’t have time to process it before she ripped the buttons off, leaving your blouse gaping open.

“Karina!” You gasped, shock washing over you with the expensive shirt being torn apart.

“I’m buying you another one,” she replied with a wicked grin. She busied herself with taking it off as well as tossing your bra aside, her mouth immediately finding one of your nipples.

The sensation of her warm mouth enveloping you sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You arched your back, pressing into her as she expertly teased and tugged your left one with her lips. The movements made you gasp, each pull drawing you into desperation.

Your composure was far from gone; too focused in the moment, your mind swirling with sensations as you surrendered to her completely. The office, the risk—it all faded into oblivion. All that mattered was the heat of the moment that soaked your entrance, delight at the way she took charge, and the way you willingly followed.

Her fingers moved deftly to the zipper of your skirt, pulling it down and letting it pool around your ankles. The cool air rushed against your skin, only heightening your arousal.

With your feet, you let the skirt drop to the floor, her fingers slide down your thighs, coating them with the wetness that had begun to gather quite fast. It sent a shiver up your spine, and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sensation. The anticipation was almost unbearable; you wanted her to take you, to fill that yearning space inside you.

“Sit on the desk,” she commanded. Without hesitation, you did as she said, climbing onto the polished surface. The cool wood felt exhilarating against your heated skin, and you leaned back slightly, watching her with eager eyes.

Karina started to take off her own clothes, slowly peeling away the layers that separated you. She was beautiful, her confidence radiating as she left only her bra and underwear on. With a practiced grace, she gathered her hair into an updo, ensuring not a single strand fell across her face. The sight of her—barely clothed, focused, and so undeniably in control—made your heart race.

“Karina…” You breathed, your voice laced with need, feeling how you clenched around nothing.

Without responding, she got on her knees, her face hovering just in front of your entrance. The proximity made your breath hitch, every nerve ending alive and completely ready for her.

“Are you ready for this?” she asked, although the answer was clear as day.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, your mind too consumed with the sensation of having her so close. “Just give it to me,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Needy girl,” she replied, her eyes darkening with hunger. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your sensitive skin, and you could feel every ounce of her intention radiating toward you.

Her tongue darted out, teasingly brushing against your entrance, sending a rush of adrenaline through your body. You gasped, instinctively pushing your hips forward, craving more of her touch. Karina grinned; she was enjoying your reaction, and with a gentle but firm grip, she held your thighs apart, making sure you were open for her.

She started painfully slow, exploring you with her tongue, swirling and teasing as she expertly drew out every moan that slipped past your lips. You couldn’t help but writhe on the desk, your body responding to every movement she made, the waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Karina,” you gasped, the name escaping your lips like a prayer. “That feels so good; you’re doing so good, baby.”

She responded by intensifying her ministrations, adding pressure and speed as she buried her face deeper between your thighs after the praise. The world around you blurred, your mind covered in pure ecstasy. You could feel the knot of tension tightening within you each second, ready to unravel at any moment.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmured against you, the vibrations of her voice sending another wave of pleasure shooting through your body. “So responsive.”

You gripped the edge of the desk, your knuckles turning white as you fought to keep your composure. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain any semblance of control. “I’m close,” you breathed, your voice trembling with urgency.

Her answer was her palm slapping your wet cunt; your moans got higher as she put inside two fingers with ease, “Fuck!”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as she thrust in and out, surrendering completely to the pleasure, allowing yourself to be swept away in your building orgasm. She chuckled a little before her tongue went back to work, flicking your swollen clit to push you closer to the edge.

As she worked on you, you couldn’t pass on the fact that your body was coiling like a spring ready to snap. “Fuck, baby, I—I can’t hold it,” you cried out, your voice echoing in the quiet office.

“Come on, baby,” she murmured, “Let it all out. I want to feel you come apart from me.”

Her eyes locked onto yours with a smoldering intensity as she focused on sucking the life out of your clit, the pretty view sending a rush of bliss through you. You gasped as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over your whole body. You cried out her name; Karina didn’t relent, continuing to overstimulate you through your climax, her tongue drinking every last bit of orgasm from you until you were left tired and gasping for air on the desk.

“Lay on the desk; you’re going to eat me out,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. With a swift motion, she pushed everything off your desk, scattering papers and office supplies to the floor without a second thought. You barely registered the chaos as your heart raced.

As you settled back onto the desk, you watched her climb up, her movements showing the urgency of how badly she wanted you. The sight of her—the way she positioned herself—only added to your arousal. She leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on her lips, the mingling flavors driving you wild.

She separated from you to take her panties off, making you lick your lips, beyond ready to eat her out. Karina positioned herself, kneeling on the desk at the side of your face, exposing her glistening core to you. You could see how she was clenching around nothing like you did previously, her body eager and ready for your touch.

“Come on, boss. Own me,” she urged, her voice filled with need. You grabbed her thighs, feeling the heat radiating from her skin, and pushed her down, your mouth finally making contact with her entrance. As your tongue brushed against her, her hands went straight to your hair, fingers gripping tightly as she gasped for air.

“Such a good girl,” she breathed, her words starting a fire deep within you. You could see from above how she was slowly losing it, her mouth opening to let out the sweetest moans alive.

You began to lick and tease her, your tongue exploring her folds with an eager hunger and fast pace, far from how she started. Each stroke was met with a delightful response from Karina, her moans becoming background music. Her hips instinctively moved toward your mouth, grinding herself into your mouth and urging you to take her deeper.

As you continued, you found a rhythm that seemed to drive her wild. The taste of her arousal filled your senses, becoming addictive to you in seconds. You focused on her clit, swirling your tongue around the sensitive nub, watching as her body reacted with excitement.

“Just like that,” she encouraged, her voice desperated. “Don’t stop.”

You loved the way she felt on top of you, her hands tangled in your hair even more, pulling you closer as if trying to mold you into exactly what she needed. Each gasp and moan fueled your desire to give her everything you had.

“Please, don’t hold back,” she begged, her voice trembling with urgency. “Fuck me, please.”

With a wicked grin, you lifted your gaze to meet hers, locking eyes as you plunged your tongue deeper inside her. The sight of her pleasure, the way her back arched and her breath quickened, drove you to push harder, to give her every ounce of pleasure you could muster.

Karina’s gasps turned into cries, each one a beautiful melody that blasted in the dimly lit office. You loved the power of bringing her to this point, of watching her submissive self before you. “Pussy so good for me,” you murmured against her, the vibrations of your words shaking her whole body.

“God, I’m so close,” she cried out, her voice strained as she clung to you. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!”

You obliged, working your tongue with renewed vigor, alternating between teasing licks and deep thrusts as you sought to bring her to the brink. Her body quivered, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as she mumbled incoherent words, too fucked out to speak coherently.

“Come for me, Karina,” you urged, your voice dripping with lust as you gave spank after spank to each of her ass cheeks, causing her to jump in your face, her arousal covering the tip of her nose. “Can you also be a good slut and give me your cum?”

With that encouragement, you felt her tighten around your tongue, her body trembling with no signs of stopping. “Yes, mommy!” she cried, her voice loud and proud as she let go, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave.

You savored the moment, relishing the taste of her release as it washed over your tongue. Karina’s body shook beneath you, the sound of her moans filling your ears as you continued to pleasure her just like she did, even going as far as to hug her thighs with force with no chance to escape.

“Mommy!” she screamed with a broken laugh, and you moaned in her cunt, practically making out with it. You decided to give her a break; she took that moment to relax her body.

You pulled back, gazing up at her with a cocky grin. “Such a good slut for me,” your voice was low, more focused on kissing her thighs as a reward.

Karina looked down at you, breathless and flushed, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “You have no idea how much I needed that,” she replied, a smile breaking across her face.

You couldn’t help but return her smile, the connection between you deeper than ever. “I think I’m starting to understand,” you said softly. Karina sighed happily before speaking.

"Let's go to my place," Her face was still showing the bliss of the moment, and you raised your eyebrow.

"Can I ask why?" you said, smiling at her state.

"I have a double penetration dildo and a strap-on I want to use on you."

─── TO THIS ANON! thanks to my baby @awqken that decided for me, here is my upgraded Karina fic, there are a few things added and a few eliminated bc they were awful (imo), but I hope you enjoy it #HAPPY PRIDE

#𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗹𝑦𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠! ৎ ˚⋅#karina smut #wlw smut #fem reader #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #karina x you #karina x y/n #yu jimin x fem reader #yu jimin smut #yu jimin #karina x fem reader smut

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