#perfectly orchestrated to pull you in

[solxamber]

Labor of Love with: Housewardens

Ways in which they show their devotion through actions.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is meticulous.

It’s something you’ve always known, but it hits you harder when you see the neatly organized stack of notes waiting for you on your desk. Every single day, without fail, he goes out of his way to make sure your materials are in order—sections color-coded, key points highlighted, and even definitions written in the margins in his precise, careful handwriting.

You never asked him to do it. He never mentioned it, either. But he does it anyway.

And that realization makes your heart swell.

So, when you walk in and find him seated at your desk, methodically sorting through your latest notes, red pen in hand, you don’t hesitate.

You step forward, wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, and rest your chin against his head.

Riddle stills. You feel his heartbeat quicken ever so slightly.

Then, slowly, he leans into you.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

His hand tightens around the pen. “…I want to.”

That’s when you know.

You squeeze him just a little tighter. “I love you too, Riddle.”

His ears turn red, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he simply exhales, tilting his head just enough that your cheek rests against his.

And just like that, he continues working, letting you hold him as long as you want.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona hates unnecessary work. Hates anything that requires more energy than necessary.

And yet, when you're around, you never have to lift a damn finger.

You don’t even think about it most days—the way your bag just disappears from your shoulder, the weight suddenly gone as you walk beside him. He never makes a show of it, never announces it. One second, it’s there; the next, it’s slung over his own shoulder like it belongs to him.

Today, though, you notice.

You glance at him, watching the way he strides forward like he’s done nothing at all, green eyes lazy and indifferent. He’s grumbling under his breath about class, about professors, about how this is exactly why he doesn’t bother showing up half the time.

A grin spreads across your face. Without warning, you loop your arms around his and lean into him as you walk, practically hanging off of him.

Leona scoffs. “The hell are you doin’?”

“You’re cute,” you say simply.

His ears twitch. He clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever, herbivore.”

But he doesn’t shake you off. And when your fingers intertwine with his, his grip tightens, holding on just a little firmer than before.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto is, first and foremost, a businessman. A professional. A shark in the waters of commerce, always calculating, always scheming.

And yet, somehow, Mostro Lounge always seems to have a convenient couple’s discount whenever you’re craving something.

Today, it’s that seasonal dessert you offhandedly mentioned a few days ago. Suspiciously, the lounge is now offering a limited-time deal—50% off for couples! Azul, ever the shrewd entrepreneur (liar), insists that it would be financially irresponsible not to take advantage of such an incredible offer.

“We are a couple,” he says, adjusting his glasses with a perfectly straight face. “And our deals are, as always, unmatched. It would be a waste not to dine here.”

You can’t help but smile. He’s so transparent, pretending this wasn’t orchestrated specifically for you. But you don’t call him out on it—you just squeeze his hand a little tighter, warmth spreading through your chest as you sip your drink.

Azul coughs lightly, looking away, but his fingers tighten around yours.

For all his talk of profit, it’s moments like this that prove the truth: when it comes to you, he’d rather give than take.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim always, always walks you back.

It doesn’t matter if the sky is clear or if the rain is coming down in sheets. If he’s exhausted from a long day or if a million other things are demanding his attention—he will be there, right by your side.

And, of course, he insists on holding hands.

“What if a rogue cat attacks us?” he says earnestly, fingers lacing through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It makes no sense. At all. But who are you to question him when he looks at you like that? When his smile is so bright, so genuine, just because you took his hand?

You huff a laugh, squeeze his fingers, and lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. He beams, delighted, and tugs you forward with even more enthusiasm.

You let him lead the way—because, really, how could you not?

Vil Schoenheit

Vil never lets you run on empty.

It doesn’t matter how busy he is, how many rehearsals, photoshoots, or brand meetings he has lined up—he will make time to ensure you’ve eaten properly. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all balanced, all nutritious, all approved by him.

So when he strides into the lunchroom, posture perfect despite the exhaustion clinging to his frame, you already know what’s coming. He gracefully sets down a container in front of you—a salad, curated to perfection, each ingredient placed with care.

“You need more greens in your diet,” he says, tone firm but eyes softer than usual. “And before you protest, this has everything your body requires for optimal function.”

You don’t protest. You just watch him as he picks at his own food, launching into a detailed explanation of the health benefits of each ingredient. His voice is smooth, poised, but there’s a faint weariness beneath it, the telltale signs of a long morning.

And yet, he still came.

Still made sure you were taken care of.

Your heart clenches, full to the brim with adoration. You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand as you gaze at him, utterly enamored.

Vil pauses mid-sentence, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He exhales, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“What?” he asks, almost amused.

You just shake your head, spearing a piece of lettuce with your fork. “Nothing,” you say, smile warm. “I just really, really love you.”

He scoffs, cheeks faintly pink. “At least finish your meal before getting sentimental.”

But when you take your first bite, he looks pleased.

Idia Shroud

Idia has his own way of looking out for you.

It’s not grand gestures or flowery words—no, he’s far too awkward for that. But when you’re struggling with a game level, you mysteriously find it cleared the next day, your inventory suddenly stocked with rare loot.

When your gacha pulls are unlucky, an absurd amount of in-game currency finds its way to your account, no explanation given (but you know exactly who’s responsible).

Even when he’s too anxious to come out, Ortho arrives with care packages—snacks, drinks, even a plushie once (“Big Brother said you might need a comfort buff,” Ortho had cheerfully reported).

Right now, you’re sitting on his bed, watching as he games. The glow of his monitors reflects off his hair, his fingers moving quickly over his keyboard. Despite being engrossed, he still glances over at you every so often.

“Are you comfortable?” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenches. You shift closer, pressing against his side as you smile.

“I really, really love you,” you say softly.

Idia fumbles, missing a crucial input, and his character dies instantly.

“…Y-you just had to say that mid-boss fight,” he groans, hair flaring pink.

You just laugh, leaning into him as he frantically tries to respawn.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus always listens.

You could be rambling about the most mundane thing—a pebble you saw on the side of the road, the weirdly shaped cloud that looked like a potato—and he’d listen like you were reciting sacred text. His emerald eyes stay fixed on you, unwavering, as if every word you speak is precious.

Malleus always makes sure you’re safe, too. If it rains when you’re together, you’ve noticed something peculiar—lightning never strikes near you. Not once. As if the storm itself knows better than to disturb you.

Right now, you’re recounting Grim’s latest kitchen disaster, hands gesturing wildly as you describe the flames, the shrieking, the very near death experience of your breakfast. And there he is, watching, listening, completely enraptured by you like you’re the only thing in the world.

You can’t help yourself. You lean in and kiss him, a quick, impulsive press of your lips against his.

Malleus blinks, surprised, before his expression softens into something warm, something yours.

“…Please continue,” he says, voice gentle.

You laugh, your heart full, and keep talking.

Masterlist

[jaylaxies]

YOURS (MAYBE?) | part II

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader x jay

GENRE: enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff, humour, angst, cunnilingus, fingering, choking, blowjob, squirting, multiple orgasms, cum in vag, praises, degradation, double penetration in one hole, threesome, lots of kissing, slight body worship, aftercare, mentions of nicknames, mentions of food, lmk if i missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 17.3k out of 34.2k words!

SYNOPSIs: Your best friend’s wedding was supposed to be the well-earned vacation you’d been dreaming of, the perfect escape and much needed breather. Instead, you’re stuck sharing a room with your ex-rival, and the previously quiet, enigmatic boy from university, both seemingly perfectly poised to turn this trip into a carefully orchestrated plan to woo you. Alternatively: Challengers, but your playground isn’t a tennis court, it is the bedroom which you share with Jay and Jake.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

PART ONE: here.

A/N: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but here is the final part! a lil birthday treat from me to you guys, i hope you guys will enjoy it! all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Chapter 9: Which one is the boyfriend? 

Waking up to the sunlight was one thing, but waking up to the sound of two deep voices fighting, yeah that was your limit, the worst part being that you were in the middle of this chaos. 

Jay was still laying behind you with his arm slung over your waist, meanwhile Jake was in front with his leg tangled with yours, one hand casually resting on your hip. 

They hadn’t moved much overnight, but they held you like it was the easiest thing in this world, but their argument? Yeah you’ve had enough. 

“Why the fuck did you elbow me?” Jay whispered. 

“You’re literally breathing down on her neck as if you’re a vampire,” Jake replied. 

“And you? Holding her like a stupid Koala,” Jay retorted, “your Australian roots are showing.”

“Yeah, it’s too fucking early for this bullshit,” you said and they froze. 

Jake smiled softly, “you’re awake.”

Jay didn’t bother moving his arm, “good morning, baby.”

God you needed to leave this room stat. 

You shifted slightly—and regretted it instantly because it made Jake’s hand slide lower and Jay’s thigh brush your ass. You were just a second away from exploding.

“Off. Both of you, right now,” you snapped. 

“Hm—how about no?” Jay mumbled, pulling you closer to him. 

Jake yawned, shifting close too, “why, princess? Don’t you wanna wake up with some love, hm?”

You groaned, “I want to wake up alone.”

“Love how you lie so easily, it’s always been your habit, hm?” Jay mumbled. 

You shoved the blanket off of your body, finally getting away and up to get ready for the big day. That’s when you saw your reflection in the mirror, disheveled. Your top ridden up, your hair a mess, and warmth creeping up your face. The boys looked at you with lazy grins, shirtless and low sweatpants doing nothing to make you feel better. 

You didn’t have an ounce of defence left in you now. 

Then came a knock on the door, Winter’s voice waking you up fully, “babe, we’re starting makeup and hair in ten, Karina says you’ll have plenty of time with your boyfriends later so get ready right now.”

“Coming!” you called back, voice cracking from sleep and stress 

“So you admit that we are your boyfriends?” Jake smirked and you groaned again. 

“Where’s our morning kiss then?” Jay only added, stretching his arms over his head. 

“You’re not getting anything,” you gave them a fake smile and they chuckled.

Jake grinned, “that’s not what i felt at 2 a.m.”

Jay walked past, brushing your shoulder, “pretty sure her thigh was making promises, that she’s not keeping right now.”

“Touch me again and I swear to God—”

“Tempting,” said Jake, winking at you. 

“Where do you want me?” Jay added. 

“Goodbye,” you muttered, shutting the bathroom door close, groaning inside and sliding down the door, clutching your poor heart, “how will I survive another day?” You asked yourself. 

It took you ten minutes, your new record time, to take a shower and get into your robe, walking out mindlessly to run straight into Jay’s chest. 

You couldn’t catch a break by any means. 

“Still mad?” He asked innocently. 

“Jail time for you actually,” you mumbled. 

Jake stood by the closet, already half dressed in black dress pants and a white shirt he hadn’t buttoned yet. “If you’re done threatening us, princess, we brought you coffee.”

You looked at the cup in his hand, hesitated, then took it. Silently.

Jay raised an eyebrow. “No insults?”

“I’m saving them for the reception.”

“Can’t wait.”

Winter’s voice rang down the hall, “Y/N, the glam squad’s here! Don’t make me come drag you down now!”

You sighed and turned to leave—but not before Jake whispered behind you, “see you at the altar, angel.”

Jay added, “try not to miss us too much.”

You didn’t turn back, just walked out, sipping your coffee like it wasn’t the only thing keeping you from turning around and launching yourself at them again.

It was chaos the second you stepped into the makeup room, hair dryers were roaring, lashes were flying and were over the floor, and Winter was shouting something about lip liner not being the perfect shade, Hyuck was also there eating lipgloss cause he swore it tasted good. Mark was asking the hair stylist to do his hair in a way that makes it look less fried, Karina was pacing in a robe with a clipboard, muttering to herself like she was planning a war (she was).

You barely stepped in before Isa waved a brush at your face, “sit. No talking. You look like you made out with a pillow, geez, Y/N what happened?”

“I did make out with a pillow,” you muttered. “And was groped by two grown men in their sleep.”

“Jealous,” Winter said, fanning herself to dry off the eyeliner.

A few minutes of peace were granted to you then, before the door opened—and chaos followed as the two gremlins walked in. 

Jay strolled in first, sharp in an halfway unbuttoned dress shirt and black slacks, sleeves rolled. Jake trailed behind, already halfway done with his tie and holding two coffees like it made him morally superior (it didn’t). 

“Oh absolutely not, leave both of you before Y/N runs away again,” Karina said, not even bothering to look up. 

“We’re just here for moral support,” Jake said, already by your chair.

Jay leaned in, smirking at your reflection, “you look stressed. Need a morning kiss?”

“You need a fucking muzzle,” you said, fanning your face and letting the makeup artist take over while Jake handed you another coffee, saying that it’s kinky. 

“Sedate them please,” Yunjin called out, giving the boys a look. 

Then a bridesmaid walked in with your dress after a few minutes of peaceful silence. 

“I can help zip her,” offered some sweet, unaware cousin of Jeno, who was free and standing by the sides, getting acquainted with Yeonjun. 

“No,” Jake said immediately.

Jay stepped forward, “that’s actually not necessary.”

“She has a boyfriend,” Jake added unhelpfully. 

The room turned silent, even the makeup artists were intrigued by this point at the drama unfolding in front of them. 

You coughed at the statement, looking at Jake like he was crazy, he himself froze at what came out of his mouth. 

“She does?” Jay asked, raising brows. 

“Well, yeah—it’s me,” Jake shrugged. 

The room exploded into laughter with Isa nearly dropping her curling wand, and Beomgyu falling down as he choked on his croissant.

“I’m actually going to murder you,” you muttered, grabbing your dress. 

“Need help with the zipper?” Asked the stylist behind you. 

Jay and Jake moved, fully pushing each other to reach you first, and you looked at them with a face of disbelief. 

“Okay, so this is kinda funny,” Karina laughed. 

You sighed, “fine, you come in, no comments, just shut up and help,” you said, pointing at Jay. 

You shut the door behind, getting into the dress first and then trying to do the zip by yourself, however, the luck wasn’t with you because it got stuck, you sighed and opened the door to actually let Jay in now, watching Jake mutter something in disbelief. 

Jay stood there, eyes scanning the silk of the dress clinging to your frame. His fingers twitched once—then he stepped closer, one hand brushing your hair off your back.

You turned, holding the top of the dress in place. “Zipper, that’s all,” you breathed out. 

He stepped closer, his fingers finding the zipper—warm, almost steady. He started pulling it up, slow and careful. Too slow for it to be normal. His knuckles grazed your spine with every inch. The silk clung tighter to your body, and his breath hitched.

You felt it. You felt him behind you—close, warm, too still, not being able to move. Then he stopped.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, but then you felt the warmth of his lips brushing your skin.

Right at the base of your neck.

You gasped—soft and startled, and let out the tiniest whimper you didn’t mean to make.

That’s when you heard it, his low groan, “Fuck,” he whispered, then, under his breath, “Y/N.”

He kissed you again—deeper this time, lingering, as if he couldn’t control himself, not when you looked like that, not when he had you in his arms.

You reached back instinctively, your hand brushing his at your waist, and it suddenly made you realize what was happening, enough to remember how to speak.

“Jay,” you breathed as a warning. 

“I know,” he murmured against your skin. “I just needed a second, god, you really do enjoy fucking me up.”

You turned to face him, dress fully zipped now, breathing shallow, he was still too close, eyes dragging down your figure, lips parted like he was the one gasping now.

He didn’t move still, didn’t bother blinking by any means. 

You whispered, “you need to leave, Jay.”

He nodded once, but didn’t go, it was mindless by now, he was in a trance, so  you placed your hand on his chest, pushed—firm but gentle.

That snapped him out of it, barely, but it did the work as Jay backed away, quiet and flushed, then slipped out from the door.

You stood alone for a moment, hand pressed to your neck like you could erase the heat before stepping out.

The room went silent.

And, of course, Karina’s mom walked in carrying tea. “So—which one’s the boyfriend?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat, his hand shot up, smile confident. “That’d be me, ma’am.”

“I—wait what?” You gave him a look. 

Jay was silent, frozen, still pink at the ears, still not breathing right.

“He zipped her up,” Winter announced, loud and dramatic, pointing at Jay, “including the kiss and everything that happened inside.”

You turned, horrified, almost ready to stutter, “that is not what happened.”

Karina’s mom sipped her tea, “you know what? I like her odds.” With that, she left.

You stood there, dress tight, face hotter than ever, while the girls cackled and Jake just looked like a kicked puppy.

Jay said nothing, he hadn’t looked at you since.

You shook your head, slipping away from the room to grab the necklace from your luggage, opening the jewellery kit to get it out, unhooking the chain, only for Jake to intrude. 

“Need help?”

You almost jumped, “god—when did you even get here?” 

He smiled, taking the necklace from your hands, “turn around,” he said. 

You hesitated, turning around slowly as Jake stepped closer, too close, and you closed your eyes standing in front of the mirror. Your heart was racing from earlier but it seemed like it was about to burst now that Jake was here for his turn. 

“Open your eyes, princess,” he whispered close to your ear, and you did, which was a mistake as you found him maintaining eye contact with you through the mirror.

He lifted it around your neck, brushing your skin with the backs of his knuckles, making you shiver under his touch, his hands worked the clasp slowly. Way too slowly.

“You smell like him,” Jake muttered, jaw clenched. 

Before you could reply, he slid his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you gently against him, his chest pressed to your back, his lips ghosting near your ear.

“Shh, let me fix it, can’t have my girl wearing someone else’s scent now, can I?” 

You locked eyes with him in the mirror, his smile was still there, barely so. But his eyes? They were darker than ever, staring at your mouth, then your collarbone, and lower.

You felt it—the moment he stopped playing with you, his grip tightened just slightly, his breath hitched. He leaned in closer, nose brushing your neck.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said quietly.

“Then don’t,” you whispered, chest heaving up and down, but you couldn’t move and neither did he move. 

You both just stood there, eyes locked in the glass, pressed too close. Then he breathed out, eyes closing for a second before he let go, moving back and smiling softly, “the necklace looks good on you,” he mumbled before leaving. 

You sat down on the bed once you were alone, wondering how you would survive this day, head in hands. 

Chapter 10: A wedding to remember. 

You found Karina right before the ceremony and she looked as if she was gonna cry. 

“Deep breaths,” you told her, adjusting her veil. “You’ve got the dress, the man, and the weather gods on your side, you literally won, babe.”

She laughed at you, “why are you calming me down? You’re walking with Jay.”

“Okay, and?”

She grinned sweetly, “oh sweetheart, between him and Jake, you’re actually the one in danger. If one of them doesn’t combust today, I’ll be shocked truly, just don’t make it happen midway our vows.”

Before you could argue, the music started.

Jay stood waiting, suit crisp as ever, eyes already on you, arm extended, “let’s not keep the crowd waiting.”

You took his arm, “be good now.”

“No chance.”

You walked down the aisle together—graceful, composed, pretending your pulse wasn’t skyrocketing. His arm was warm under your hand, his voice low.

“You look beautiful.”

“Don’t start.”

He leaned in further, “still thinking about that room.”

“Shut up, Jay.”

He laughed, voice low, “I felt you shiver when I kissed you, y’know?”

“Jay,” you warned him again. 

You reached the altar, finally releasing his arm as you took your spot beside Karina, and that’s when you glanced across the aisle—right into Jake’s eyes. His jaw was tight, hands held too hard in his lap. But his expression? Still that smile, and it was reserved only for you.

You shook your head focusing on the ceremony, tears of joy lining up in your eyes as the couple said their vows, big smiles on their faces even while crying, and you wondered if you’d ever find such love, not knowing that both Jay and Jake had their eyes on you the entire time the couple read their vows. 

Everyone screamed of joy once the ceremony was finished, hugs and smiles everywhere with a tinge of glitter in the air. 

You barely had time to breathe before the photographer started barking directions, “bridesmaids! Groomsmen! We need the full party—pronto!”

You moved with the crowd, bouquet still clutched in one hand, the satin of your dress glowing with each step as the photographer made you stand next to Karina. Before you could blink, Jake was there—slipping into the space beside you like he’d claimed it hours ago.

“Miss me?” He grinned and you didn’t answer just as Jay slid on the other side, completely ignoring the photographer, who gave up on this chaotic group as Boemgyu squeaked when Jaemin pinched him to stand straight. 

“Closer,” he photographer yelled. 

Then both Jay and Jake put their arms around your waist and you tried to keep your smile in place, “if either one of you touches me again then i’m leaving,” you muttered. 

The camera captured it all, and you ran away the second they signalled that it was okay to go now. You hid with Minjeong the entire time before the reception after changing into your other dresses, the girl only laughed at your poor state, Isa shaking her head, “honestly girl, how did you even get into this mess?”

“Blame our bride who just wanted Y/N to fuck both the boys, but surprise surprise, they’re both in love with her,” sang Yunjin, and you groaned again. 

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “I hate you all.”

“No you don’t,” Minjeong grinned. “You just hate how much you like them.”

“I’m going to throw myself into the cake.”

Isa sipped her drink. “At least stand near it first. Lighting’s good there.”

Just then the doors opened and you saw the boys come in, Jay in a black suit with his shirt slightly unbuttoned, and you cursed out loud, meanwhile Jake was rolling up his sleeves, standing near the open bar. Their eyes scanning the whole area to find you. 

God. 

Then they finally spotted you, smirks on their faces as they approached you.  

“Oh good luck.”

“Hope you survive.”

“Get that dick.”

The girls said and you groaned again but couldn’t suppress the small smile threatening the corner of your lips. Your friends were shameless, but you knew they were right to warn you. Tonight would be anything but calm.

Jake reached you first, his arm sliding around your waist, “dance with me,” he said, voice low and playful, eyes daring you not to say no.

And that’s when you noticed the kohl he had applied on his eyes, making it seem deeper, darker, as if he wished for you to get lost in them. 

You hesitated, but he didn’t leave any room for argument. He had already started guiding you away from the group, hand gripping at your waist as he led you to the dance floor, weaving you both through the crowd like it was the easiest thing ever.

His grip was confident, eyes locked on yours as the music pulsed. He spun you once, then reeled you back in, your body flush against his, his smirk more calm now, almost like a smile.

“You look so fucking good tonight,” he murmured.

“And that’s a problem because?” You asked.

“Because I don’t wanna share anymore,” he mumbled, lips caressing your cheek. 

“You’re crazy, y’know?” 

That made him laugh—and not the usual cocky laugh, either, this one was genuine, low and breathy, the kind that made his shoulders shake slightly. “And you’re evil,” he grinned. “I love it.”

You tried to stay annoyed, but he was making it difficult. He danced like he didn’t care who was watching—effortless and playful, tugging you back each time with a wink, a laugh, or some offhand comment that made you bite your lip to stop smiling.

“You know,” he said at one point, guiding you into a slow twirl, “if I drop dead after this dance, just know it was worth it.”

You snorted. “From what?”

“From being this close to you and not doing something profoundly stupid.”

The words hung between you—teasing, but not quite harmless, your breath caught, but before you could answer, the lights flickered. Just once. 

Then again—off completely as he spun you around. 

Quiet gasps rippled through the room, the music still playing low beneath the sudden chaos. You could feel Jake’s hands steady on your waist, his breath warm and close.

You weren’t sure if it was the darkness, or the heat building between your bodies, but your heart was pounding loud in your ears.

Then, lights switched back on.

And Jake was no longer holding you.

Jay was.

It took your mind a full second to register the shift. The movement had been seamless, almost like a dream—or a magic trick. One moment you were laughing in Jake’s arms, and the next, your chest was pressed against someone firmer, taller, quieter, eyes pretty than ever with a hint of eyeliner gracing them. 

“What—how did this happen?” you asked, surprised.

Jay tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching, “timing, baby.”

Jake stood just a few feet away, arms folded across his chest now, brows raised like really? A scoff leaving his lips. 

“You cut in during the spin?” You asked, half concerned, half impressed. 

Jake was still nearby, just a few steps away, brows raised and arms crossed like he was debating whether or not to shove Jay into the massive speakers.

Jay looked at him, “what? She was laughing with you.”

Jake scoffed, “that’s called having fun, Jay. Surely, you wouldn’t know what it means.”

“She laughed too much, so i’m here to remind her who’s actually good at this.”

You smiled, trying to bite it back, “are you seriously jealous about the fact that he made me laugh?”

He clicked his tongue, “not jealous, just protective.”

“Protective of me laughing with Jake?” You challenged, you were having too much fun with this.

Jay’s eyes didn’t leave yours, “protective of how easy it is for him to make you open up like that. You’re not supposed to laugh that easily with him.”

You tilted your head, voice teasing, “oh wow, so now you get to decide who I laugh around with?”

Jay raised a brow, his lips twitching but failing to suppress the pout on his lips, “of course. It’s in our handbook.”

“Oh really? I must’ve missed that chapter.” You stepped a little closer, matching his energy. “Does it also say how many jokes I’m allowed to react to before you show up all jealous?”

You were glad that you were in the corner and not in the dancing circle because it was turning into a comedy show here. 

“I didn’t say don’t laugh. Just—maybe less hysterically. You sounded like you were enjoying too much,” Jay shrugged with faux innocence.

“Can we please stop saying the word laugh? And god forbid I have a good time.”

Jay tilted his head, “with Jake?”

Your grin widened, “that’s what this is about?”

He crossed his arms, still trying to look casual, but the slight pout was enough for you to smile, “he just—he’s not that funny. Not funny.”

“Hm, sounds personal.”

“It is personal,” he muttered before catching himself, “I mean—it’s not. I just think you shouldn’t be looking at someone like that when they’re saying the dumbest shit known to man.” 

Wow, Park Jay losing his composure, you would have done anything to see this sight during your uni days, but now that he was pouting in front of you, you laughed freely. 

“So now you’re tracking how I look at people?”

“I’m just saying,” Jay replied, a little too fast, “you look like you forgot there were other people in the room.”

You smiled, very slowly, “oh my fucking god. You’re actually jealous.”

He scoffed immediately, but the way he looked away, gripping your waist tighter, yeah that gave it away. 

“I’m not jealous,” he grumbled.

You stepped in again, cupping his face with a pout to tease him further, which only made his heart beat faster, “no?”

Jay’s voice dropped lower, eyes on your lips now, “I just don’t like when someone else gets that version of you. The non rivalry, carefree one, the one I couldn’t get up till now.”

Your lips parted, not expecting him to say something so seriously, your hold on his face loosening. 

That’s when Jake slid in again, “pouting like a kid won’t get you anywhere, Jay.” He said, offering you the drink he was drinking earlier and you took a sip, now standing between the boys. 

“I’m not pouting,” Jay said, voice flat. . 

“Could’ve fooled me. I’ve seen toddlers who sulk less than you do, mate, but then again, you’d do anything to get that attention, huh?”

“Oh fuck no, I just don’t like others being close to what’s mine, and I’m not the one putting up an act.”

You raised your brow at him. 

“She’s not yours, Jay. You keep saying shit like that, but when are you actually gonna—”

“Don’t,” Jay cut in, sharp, “shut it, Jake. Not in front of her.”

“Oh, because she hasn’t noticed already?” Jake gestured lazily toward you, “she’s not stupid. She knows.”

You stood in the middle, heart beating out of your chest for the nth time today.

“Okay,” you said, grabbing both their collars.

You then tip toed to place a strong kiss on Jake’s jaw, close to his plush lips, his mouth opening in disbelief. 

Then you turned to Jay, placing a softer kiss near his pout, who looked dazed again. 

You smiled and let them go, looking at Jake as a way to tell him you’re taking his drink, then at Jay with a humorous smile, “you guys need to shut up more often, y’know?” You said before leaving. 

“Did she just?”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking hell, she kissed us to shut us up?”

“Mine lasted longer, oh god.”

“You’re crazy,” Jake mumbled. 

“I know,” Jay smiled. 

Your friends were squealing at the bar, waiting for you to show up and you groaned just looking at their overjoyed faces. 

You tried to slip past, but Beomgyu grabbed your arm with a teasing grin, “okay so, where’s my kiss?” 

“You’re cute if you think that’s gonna happen,” you mumbled. 

“There’s enough competition already,” whistled Heeseung and Jaemin laughed. 

“Who’s cheek is softer?” Asked Isa and you groaned. 

“No but they’re still bickering,” Winter pointed out, looking at them, actually, judging them hard as if trying to choose the better option for you. 

“I love my wedding, hopefully you’ll marry one of those two idiots,” Karina said, and you groaned, hugging her to save yourself from further embarrassment. 

“To a wild night, and ahem, kisses,” Yunjin said, raising her glass. 

Chapter 11: Seat of my soul.

Universe clearly knew how to test your limits one by one as you found yourself sitting very dearly on the dinner table with the devils on each of your side, Karina mouthing sorry to you as Hyuck sniggered in the background, and you? You were not gonna lose composure anymore, especially after how on edge the boys were ever since the kiss. 

You ignored both of them, focusing on your food and whatever Yunjin was saying, sitting across from you, but that didn’t stop them from getting closer, brushing their arms against yours, getting any source of friction they possibly could achieve. 

“Ignoring me now, princess?” Jake whispered near your ear. 

“I know your attention is on me, baby,” Jay mumbled near your other ear. 

The audacity. The sheer audacity of both of them.

Your fork clinked softly against your plate as you clenched it a little tighter, jaw ticking as Jake and Jay closed in on either side, whispering in that same maddening tone that drove you crazy. 

Jake’s breath brushed your skin again, low and teasing, “aw, I thought we were past the silent treatment after that little kiss, hm?”

“I liked the part where you almost let me have you this morning,” Jay added, voice just low enough to make your spine straighten. You didn’t move after, just sighed. 

Just then Karina’s mom walked to you, checking on all the guests around the grand room. 

“So, is Jake still the boyfriend or is Jay finally making moves?” She asked, loving the whole drama. Like mother like daughter. 

You froze mid sip of your wine, Jake coughed and tried to hide it, Jay didn’t move at all, staring at you with surprised eyes. 

Your lips curved into a grin, “oh auntie, honestly, if you have any spare sons I haven’t met yet, then please let me know.”

She chuckled, “if I did have one, I surely would have married him off to you,” she winked, watching the boys getting uncomfortable by the second at the thought of you with someone else. 

And the table erupted into laughter, especially Beomgyu and Hyuck, who were having the time of their lives, with that, Karina’s mom walked away to tend to other relatives. 

The second she was out of earshot, Jake leaned in with a little too much casual tension in his voice.

“Spare sons, huh?”

You sipped your wine, not meeting his eyes, “why? I didn’t want to be rude.”

Jay tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but his gaze was anything but. “Interesting way to flirt with imaginary men.”

“I mean, I flirt better in person,” you shrugged.

“You looked a little too comfortable joking about marrying someone else.” Jake chuckled, no humour behind that laugh. 

Jay’s jaw tightened for the nth time today, but his smile remained fixed—cool, confident, his fingers brushed your arm under the table, the touch light but deliberate, sending a subtle shock through you.

Before either of them, or you could say anything, your phone buzzed in your hand, breaking the tension. You glanced down—your brother’s name flashing on the screen.

“Excuse me,” you said, glad that your dinner was already finished as you stood up and walked towards the empty balcony. 

Jay and Jake looked at each other, stayed in their places for two minutes, twitching to get up and check the matter, Hyuck and Gyu only made it worse. 

“Gosh? A secret boyfriend?” Hyuck gasped. 

“How could she cheat on me?” Beomgyu replied dramatically. 

Jay and Jake snapped to look at each other, again, before nodding together and getting up to follow you outside, making the other two laugh at the incredulous idiocy of them. 

“Yes?” You said, picking up the call. 

“Wow, no hi hello, how are you?” Your brother replied. 

“Fine, hi, what’s happening?” You said in your fake sweetness induced tone. 

“Mom asked me to remind you to bring the herbal tea when you come back, that’s all,” he said. 

“You could’ve texted me that,” you mumbled, confused. 

“I did. You ignored it,” he snorted and you chuckled, “okay, don’t forget it, bye.”

“Nah, you’re forgetting something,” you said. 

“Fine,” he groaned, “god—okay, love you, bye.”

“Love you too,” you laughed before cutting the call. 

Right then, you heard two men crashing into each other, freezing on the spot right after. Jay’s mouth had parted slightly, eyes dark, brows furrowed in a way that screamed possessive. Jake, meanwhile, looked like someone had just punched him in the solar plexus. 

“I’m sorry—what?” Jake almost screamed. 

“Who exactly are we saying I love you to?” Jay interrogated, shine gone from his eyes. 

“Wow, we’re eavesdropping now?” You asked, taking a sip of your wine. 

Jake was the first to lose his composure, stepping close enough that your arm brushed against his chest, “you literally said I love you.”

Jay’s voice came from the other side, “and you said it while smiling.”

“Oh my, you really have a thing for my smile, don’t you?” You teased, “my bad, sir. I’ll run it by you the next time.”

Jake simply ignored the sarcasm, “who was it?”

You tilted your head and hummed as if in deep thought, “why do you wanna know?”

It didn’t take them a second before Jay’s arm was around your waist, bending down so his face was close to your ear, lips curved in a gentle but possessive caress against your lobe.

Jake followed suit as he rested his hand on the dip of your hips, lips inches away from your jaw on the other side, each prodded touch leaving warmth behind on your skin. 

“Tell us the truth, princess,” Jake mumbled, shaking with anger. 

“Who is it? Don’t test me, baby,” Jay whispered, almost ready to bite your ear gently. 

“You’re really doing this right now? It’s actually nothing.” You let out a soft laugh, light and airy, even though your pulse was pounding. 

“Is that so?”

“Then say the name.”

“Y’know, I don’t think you guys deserve it,” you shook your head slowly, testing them, also having had enough of their bullshit. 

“Don’t push it anymore, princess,” Jake said, lips now caressing your skin. 

“You both are crazy,” you whispered, looking at Jake now, “it’s kind of fun if you ask me.”

Jay’s hand slid higher on your waist, gripping you tighter, “do you want us to lose it? I’m not that patient.”

You just chuckled, to which Jake grabbed your chin, nose brushing against yours. Jay’s fingers wrapping around your nape as he breathed hard against your cheek. 

“Say it.”

It was hard for you to maintain composure, your legs feeling weak already but somehow, you managed to give them a smile, “it was my brother.”

Both boys moved a step back at the same time, looking at you as if you gave them the worst kind of betrayal with the newfound information. 

“Wait—what?”

“You’re kidding.”

They both breathed out together, more than baffled at the whole situation, even more so when they saw you stifling your laugh by drinking another sip of your wine. 

“You’re—actually fucking laughing?” Jake ran his hand through his hair, eyes wild, makeup smudged slightly now, “jesus fucking christ, you’re unbelievable.”

Jay looked even worse than how he did when you beat him at the university debate, “you—you just let us believe—”

“I almost kissed you out of jealousy,” Jake confessed. 

“I was gonna drag you to the bedroom,” Jay added. 

You almost gasped at that, eyes widening at the blatant shamelessness, trying to look away now that the boys were so vulnerable and disheveled in front of you, like they were stripped bare with how easily they let you see how you affected them. 

He stepped close to you, chest pressing fully against yours, and wrapped his arms around you in a tight, warm, hug, like he needed to shield you from something or shield himself in you. He pressed his face into your neck, so close to where your clavicle was, voice muffled against your skin. “I can’t believe how close I was to snapping.”

You barely had time to react before Jay was behind you, arms sliding around your waist from behind, his grip solid, as if it would finally ground him. He pressed close to you too, head dropping onto your shoulder, his breath shaky, “I swear, never ever do that again, I didn’t even know I could feel like that.”

You stood frozen in the middle, held tightly between them, your arms at your sides for a breathless moment before you slowly lifted them. one resting on Jake’s back, the other lightly gripping Jay’s arm. Their touch, once a flirtation, now felt like something far more raw, protective, possessive.

Three years of being away didn’t help much now, in fact it only worsened the situation for the two. It was do or die in a way, they didn’t have much time left before they went back home, and the mere thought of them never meeting you again, or going back without confessing, scared them. 

They both just sighed into your touch, you felt heat crawl up your neck—not because of embarrassment, but because of what it was. This was their way of saying it, of showing it.

Jake’s hand moved, slow and steady, fingertips brushing the back of your neck like he was tracing a path he wanted to memorize by heart. His breath was hot against your throat, warm and steady, and then—he kissed the space just beneath your jaw. A quiet, reverent press of lips, like a thought he couldn’t hold in anymore.

Your eyelids fluttered shut at the warmth that spread through your body, your head tilting enough to give him more access, unconsciously so.

Behind you, Jay’s arm curled tighter around your waist, pulling you deeper into his chest. His nose tracing the slope of your shoulder, breath shaky, jaw brushing against your skin. He didn’t kiss you, but it felt like he had.

The moment stretched, and you didn’t let it stop, you couldn’t, not when they had fucked with your mind so deeply that you could barely keep up your nonchalant persona up in front of them. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

The door flung open with a bang, and came in Minjeong with a face that was full of horror. “Are you seriously, seriously, doing this on the balcony?”

Jake pulled back like he’d been scalded, eyes narrowing at the interruption, but he said nothing—his silence louder than any curse.

Jay’s arms lingered a second longer, his lips pressing into a tight line before he released you with one final squeeze.

Minjeong gestured to you with a sharp flick of her finger, “you. Come with me. You need cold air before one of the great-aunts asks why you have two men all over you.”

“I’m fine,” you spoke, voice now hoarse for some reason (read: Jay and Jake) but you moved further, not having it in you to look back at the two boys who still had their eyes on your figure. 

They didn’t follow you, not yet. 

Because they knew you’d be theirs eventually. 

Chapter 12: Be like Tashi.

The reception was on its last legs, winding down finally. Half the crowd had either gone to sleep or switched to slippers. One of Karina’s aunts was slow dancing with a toddler. Somewhere in the background, the playlist had looped into a mellow Ed Sheeran ballad for the third time, which the group did not like. 

You were at the standing table with the others, heels in your hands, Jay and Jake nowhere to be found, which did worry you but you did respect the silence, knowing it would go away the second you enter your bedroom again. 

“What’s with these fuckass songs?” Winter asked, eye twitching at the DJ who looked scared. 

“This song.” Started Isa. 

“Gnarly,” sang Jaemin and Heeseung, together. 

Beomgyu was still eating cake, “well, it is the emotional breakdown hour, like literally look at how Jay and Jake disappeared, to cry, probably.”

“Oh yeah, where’s the angel and devil combo?” Hyuck asked you. 

“Who’s who?” You raised your brow. 

“Exactly,” he nodded and you chuckled. 

Jaemin leaned in from the side, voice low and almost conspiratorial, “what would you do if you walked in on them fighting? Like real fighting. Blood and buttons everywhere.”

“That depends.”

Isa chimed in, “yeah? On what?”

“If shirts are already off,” you gave them a smirk but winced right after because then fighting is a true possibility, especially at this ungodly hour.

Beomgyu wheezed, Winter dropped her head on the table dramatically, Heeseung whistled, and Jeno was a bit concerned about the boys. 

“Love this evil side of you, babe,” said Yunjin, far too drunk to actually comprehend the conversation as you stood there, side hugging Karina. 

“She’s basically broken them two,” Jaemin added in a whisper, as if it was scandalous. 

“I literally don’t understand what even happened, one second I’m okay and the other second I’m being ambushed by them both.” You muttered.

“You mean desired,” Beomgyu said, licking the frosting off his thumb, and you gave him a look.

Winter straightened her back, her cheek still pink from laughing too hard, “no, but seriously. This is exactly like Challengers. You’re Zendaya in the flesh.”

“Yeah, except this isn’t tennis we’re witnessing right now,” you muttered.

“Could be,” Hyuck offered, “the boys have balls I mean—”

That’s when everyone rolled their eyes at his poor attempt at a joke.

“You’re banned,” said Heeseung, looking at Hyuck who was now pouting. 

“You’re literally Tashi, you’re in control, babe. They both keep fighting for your attention, and, and, you’re in the same room, same bed, all thanks to me.” Karina said proudly. 

“Okay but honestly, can we talk about how insane they looked all night?” Isa cut in, “Jake wouldn’t even let anyone talk to her during dinner. And Jay kept eyeing Jake like he was ready to commit a murder actually.”

“They’ve always been like this, they’re just more shameless now, not trying to hide their real feelings,” Yeonjun muttered. 

You shook your head slowly, “I don’t know how we got here, it’s funny if you ask me.”

Beomgyu raised a brow, “uh, you. You got here, I was clearly the better option that you chose to neglect.”

That earned him a smack from Yeonjun, making everyone laugh before you shook your head. 

“I should probably check on them.”

“Don’t break the bed, if you do then remember to make it Tashi style, I’m rooting for that,” Minjeong added and you chuckled, bidding everyone goodnight and congratulating the couple once again. 

The hallway was quiet, the distant music from the speakers downstairs replaced by a hush that blanketed the villa now that most of the chaos had died down, you went upstairs and into the shared room. 

The open balcony doors revealed two familiar silhouettes under the soft glow of the moonlight, merely hidden with a layer of curtains. You slowed when you heard their voices, tensed, and way too familiar by now. Something in the tone made you stop just short of the threshold. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You just didn’t want to interrupt, not yet.

“You seriously can’t be fucking real right now,” Jake’s voice was crisp, “you’ve been picking fights with me all day, in fact, since she got here.”

Jay scoffed. “I’ve been picking fights with you? Me? You’ve been glued to her because you fucking can’t even comprehend the thought of anyone breathing near her.”

“As if you’ve not been provoking me all day, the fuck did you do with her in the changing room, huh? You think I wasn’t paying attention?” Jake challenged. 

Jay tilted his head, his smirk slow and dangerous. “Why? Want me to do a replay of it with her in front of you? You’ll listen to it crystal clear now.”

Jake’s jaw clenched, hands fisting at his sides, the cigarette in his fingers now forgotten. “Say it again. I fucking dare you.”

Jay’s voice got deeper, more tense, “she wasn’t complaining,” he said, bending on Jake’s eye level. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest, the smell of cigarettes they were inhaling filled the air, now on the ground  as they focused on the boiling argument more. 

“I swear to God,” Jake breathed, “if you touched her just to get under my skin—”

“You don’t get to talk about touching her like you fucking own her,” Jay shot back, voice rough now. “You’ve been pretending you’re the good guy, but I see right through you, you’ve been obsessed with her like a fucking stalker.”

Jake laughed humourlessly, “and you think you’re better? You think pushing her buttons for years in the name of rivalry and acting like she’s beneath you was some twisted version of affection?”

Jay’s voice cracked on the next line, low and almost bitter. “I didn’t know how else to want her.”

Jake’s brows lifted in disbelief, a scoff leaving his lips, “yeah? Well, I’ve wanted her since uni.”

“Well fuck you. So did I.” Jay seethed out. 

The silence was loud, air thick with the newfound confession hanging around, you saw Jay’s shoulders tense just a second before he swung.

You barely had time to push the door open and throw yourself forward.

“Wow,” you said, leaning on the balcony door, making both of them freeze just as Jake’s fist nearly collided with Jay’s jaw and vice versa, “you guys done or should I come back once you’re bloodied and dying?”

Jake turned, flushed and panting, still seething from whatever he thought was about to happen. Jay just dragged a hand down his face, jaw clenched, not meeting your gaze, cursing the timing. 

“Seriously,” you continued, tone light but sharp as a knife, “was the cigarette not enough? You had to throw in punches? What? Will that make it any better?”

Jay let out a harsh breath, looking away. “You don’t get it.”

“No,” Jake said bitterly, still glaring at Jay, “she gets it just fine. You just don’t like that she sees through your entire act.”

“What act? The one where he sulks in corners and reads philosophy books upside down because he can’t handle attention?” You scoffed. 

Jay’s mouth twitched, but it was not in amusement. “Better than performing for it.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed at this. “You really wanna go there?”

“You already almost threw the first punch,” Jay snapped.

You rolled your eyes. “Jesus, shut it now. You two are unbelievable.”

Jay looked at you then, really looked—eyes dark and glassy, his voice lower now, “you made it like this.”

“You dare have a go on her,” Jake stepped closer again, furious. 

“I’m not—not entirely at least,” he sighed. 

“You two are unbelievable,” You shook your head slowly, lips parting with something between disbelief and exhaustion, or both. 

Jake muttered under his breath, “you don’t deserve her.”

Jay turned to him, “wow, and you think you do?”

And there it was again, the stupidity. You could see it in the way their bodies shifted forward, how their shoulders squared up like they were ready to swing again, over you, like you weren’t even standing there.

And that was it, you’ve had enough. 

“Enough,” you snapped, both their heads turning toward you.

Your voice dropped lower. “You want to fight? Be my fucking guest. Beat the shit out of each other, see if that solves it, but stop pretending this is about me when it’s really just about you two and your stupid lil’ competition about who’s more, what, charming enough to get a girl?”

Jay didn’t speak, he knew he had fucked up enough. Jake’s brows furrowed, lips parting like he wanted to argue—but he didn’t. He just looked at you, eyes filled with regret. 

You stepped forward slowly, the sound of your bare feet soft against the floor, the look on their faces only making it hard for you to keep your composure in check. 

“You two don’t even realize how alike you are,” you muttered, almost to yourself, “both of you constantly pretending you’re so different, when really, you just want the same thing, you want to feel like you matter more than the other.”

You were standing between them now, each of them on edge, silent and watching you like they didn’t know whether to apologize or fall to their knees to do so. 

You pointed to the bed with your finger, “go, sit down.”

They hesitated at this, not sure if they were even allowed to be in the same room as you anymore. 

You looked at them, rolling your eyes and saying flatly, “hm? Was that not clear?”

Jay rushed and sat down first, Jake followed him a second later, maintaining a distance, both of them on the edge of the mattress, legs slightly apart, shoulders tense, avoiding each other’s gaze. They looked like they hated being there, but not more than they hated the idea of missing whatever you were about to do next.

“God,” you muttered, shaking your head like you couldn’t quite believe it, laughing a little, “you’ve both been so fucking stupid.”

Jay’s head jerked up at that and Jake’s eyes flicked to yours, mouth slightly open seeing you actually look down upon them. 

You stopped in front of them, close enough that your knees grazed theirs, close enough to remind them they were at your mercy now—and they wanted it.

You grabbed Jay’s chin, his big, hopeful eyes staring right into yours now, “you made everything a competition so I wouldn’t focus on other.”

Jay opens his mouth to explain, but you’re already speaking again, “but, hey,” you said with a mocking little smile, “you liked me all along? That’s so cute, Jay. Really.” You leaned in, just enough that he could feel the words on his lips. “You think that gives you the right to own me?”

You don’t let Jay give you any weak excuses before turning to Jake, who looked as if he had trouble breathing, breath hitching even further when you grabbed his chin, his eyes resembling that of a yearner, and he leaned into your touch as if it was the most natural thing in this world. 

“And you,” you murmured, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “You didn’t stop him, not even once. You let him fuck things up, made space for him to mess up because you thought maybe—what? If I got tired of his rivalry games, I’d eventually land in your lap?”

Jake didn’t answer but his throat worked hard like he was swallowing everything he wasn’t brave enough to say, even after all these years. 

“You didn’t say anything,” you whispered, stepping between his knees, “you just watched me stay stuck, while you waited your turn.”

His fingers gripped the edge of the bed like he wanted to touch you, but didn’t dare, not now. You turned your face just slightly, letting your lips touch the curve of his cheek, your breath hot against his skin.

“And now?” you whispered, “now you both think you’ve earned me?”

Then you sat in between them, all three of you on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, but you knew you had to take control of this moment, at least for the upcoming minute, before you’d lose your mind yourself. 

So, you looked at Jay, slowly. He felt it before he saw it—his body stiffening as you shifted, as your eyes locked onto his lips, which were red from how much he bit them. You leaned in, agonizingly slow and he tilted his head towards you without even realizing it, lips parting in anticipation.

But you stopped.

Close enough that your nose brushed his, close enough to feel his breath hot against your lips.

You didn’t kiss him.

You let the moment stretch, let him feel what it was like to want something and not get it. Not yet. Then you pulled back—just enough to make him exhale, to make the tension grow tighter inside his chest, and turned your head slowly toward Jake.

Jake was already watching you, completely till, like any movement might scare you away, or himself for that matter. His eyes dropped to your mouth the second you faced him, and you leaned in again. Same rhythm, you stopped just inches away, let your lips hover near his. You could feel his frustration in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his hands pressed into the bed beneath him like he was holding himself back with every muscle in his body (he was).

And then, you returned to your place in the middle, sitting straight, lips untouched and proud. 

Their shoulders tensed on either side of you, they didn’t speak, they didn’t dare move an inch. And then, you waited just a beat, just a second, before you turned your head again, towards Jake this time, and slotted your lips completely against his soft, plush ones, the impact hard enough for every single nerve in your body to feel it. 

Jake inhaled like you’d knocked the breath out of him, his hands going up, one curling around your waist, the other gripping your thigh as he kissed you back like a man undone, as if he’d been hungry for ages and you were the only elixir to his life. 

His mouth moved against yours fast, hungry, almost pathetically so. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, tasting you, deepening it without asking, as if he finally knew he didn’t need to. You could feel the way his chest rose against yours, the low sound that rumbled in his throat like he couldn’t stand being patient anymore.

You almost didn’t notice Jay moving until the mattress shifted again, he was standing, about to walk away from a scene he couldn’t handle witnessing. The heartbreak in his silence was sharp, but he didn’t speak—he just started to turn.

But you weren’t done.

You broke the kiss with Jake, breath catching, and reached out blindly with your hand. Your fingers wrapped around Jay’s wrist and pulled. He turned just enough to look at you, surprised, you stood up faster than ever, and you kissed him.

Jay inhaled sharply, body jolting forward into yours like he’d been shocked, his hands flying to your waist on reflex. Your mouths crashed together like you’d both been waiting for permission you were too proud to ask for. He kissed you with everything he hadn’t said—all the tension, all the years, all the bitter denial turned into molten feelings in an instant.

His lips were hot and rough, and his kiss was nothing like Jake’s. Jake kissed like he wanted to take care of you, he wanted you. Jay kissed like he wanted to ruin you, he had to have you. 

You groaned against him, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat.

And god, you wanted more. You wanted to give him everything he’d been starving for—and take just as much back. His tongue dragged against yours and you met him with all the frustration he used to make you feel, all the obsession, all the nights you couldn’t stop thinking about him even when you hated him.

Jay kissed like he didn’t deserve you, like he was terrified it would be the last time. When you finally pulled away, lips red, pulse racing—you didn’t even hesitate.

You turned and met Jake’s eyes again, breathless, your body shaking between the two of them.

“I’m not choosing.”

And before you could react, before you could even breathe, they had pulled you down on the bed, kissing you—together. 

Their mouths collided with yours, one from each side—Jake’s kiss was softer, slower, but no less desperate; Jay’s all fire and urgency, his fingers gripping your jaw like he needed to bury himself in your skin to feel more of you. 

Jake’s hands slid up your sides, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress, fingertips skimming over bare skin like he couldn’t believe he was finally allowed to touch you, he kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck—taking his sweet time, savoring every inch like it belonged to him with open mouthed kisses. 

Jay wasn’t slow, he kissed lower, down your throat, biting just hard enough to make you gasp—and when he heard it, he did it again, just to make sure you let out those pretty sounds for him, because of him. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he dragged his lips along your collarbone, hot and open, like he was branding you into his territory with every movement.

Their hands met at your hips, each trying to claim space, with neither of them letting go for even a microsecond in fear of this to end. 

You whimpered lowly, caught between the tension of two men who had craved your touch since ages.

Jake’s lips brushed your ear, and your spine straightened, his breath sent a shiver down your back, “you feel it too, princess, don’t you?” he whispered, voice so soft it didn’t even feel real. “What we’ve been holding in all this while?”

Jay kissed you again, lower now, mouth against the curve of your throat, his tongue pushed out just to taste you, hand squeezing your hip, firmer now, his thigh plush against yours, closer to yours. Your nerves lit up in sparks where his skin touched yours.

Every fucking inch of you was alive, you could feel it in your stomach, the butterflies inching down and straight into where you needed them the most.

“Still in this fucking dress,” Jay muttered suddenly, voice rough against your skin, kissing down to your shoulder as you gasped, “you wore this all night, didn’t you?”

Jake pulled back just far enough to look at you, gaze locked on the straps over your shoulders, “looked so pretty, so put together, like a prim proper princess,” he murmured, slipping one strap down slowly with his teeth, letting it fall off your shoulder, “you’ve been driving us insane.”

Their hands met again at your waist, both sets of fingers sliding down to the back of the dress, and in an unspoken rhythm, an understanding, they worked it down, tugging, peeling, unraveling you inch by inch.

“Zipped you up in the morning, hm yeah, it’s only fair I zip it down now,” Jay mumbled, doing exactly what he had said, knuckles brushing against your spine as Jake made you sit up, holding your waist. 

The dress finally gave in, falling and pooling down around your waist, exposing your bare body to them, the cold breeze caressing your skin as the boys gasped, inhaling sharply at the sight in front of them, especially when you looked so pretty, all ready for them. 

Jake’s hand stilled at your side as Jay’s mouth brushed your shoulder, eyes never leaving you.

“Fuck,” Jake said, looked fucked out, “you—god you’re perfect.”

Jay didn’t say anything at first—he just kissed your spine with his roughly bitten lips, a single, lingering press of his roughness between your shoulder blades that sent a shiver down your back. You trembled under their gaze, nerves worked up and raw, you could feel their eyes on every part of you, soaking you in, memorizing you.

It was unbearable and awfully addictive.

The way they looked at you—like they had discovered something sacred and ruined all at once, a gift heaven scent because you didn’t look anything less than a fallen angel to them, innocent eyes staring up, trying not to flutter them shut with the sensation of pure pleasure.

They didn’t say anything, it was silent, too silent for how loud their eyes were, burning their marks into your skin. 

“Say something,” you whispered, barely able to speak, even more so when they looked at you like that, “please.”

Jake leaned in, kissing the side of your neck, “you’re going to be the death of me, you’re ruining us.”

Jay bit down lightly on your shoulder, “oh fuck no, we’re going to ruin her first.”

Your thighs pressed together out of instinct. Jake noticed, and so did Jay.

“Did you just try to hide from us?” Jake asked, almost amused, “that’s so fucking cute, like a kitten.”

Jay slid down next to you, thumbs pushing your thighs open again, “no hiding, baby, not from us.”

Jake reached between your legs, pressed his fingers just under your soaked panties, not even touching your clit—just resting there.

“You’re already dripping through these,” he muttered, “so wet and we haven’t even really started.” He leaned in and kissed your lips, slow and deep, then suddenly—he pulled back and spit right onto your mouth. You gasped, shocked at that, but you didn’t pull away. You just opened for him, and he leaned back in to kiss you again, licking it into your mouth like it was a reward.

“I’ve imagined this so many fucking times,” he said under his breath, brushing his nose against yours, “I’ve laid in bed, fists clenched, thinking about this exact moment.” His voice dropped lower, trembling. “You underneath me, so needy, so wet. Saying my name with that pretty voice of yours.”

Jay groaned low from between your thighs now, lifting his head just enough to speak, voice hoarse. “You don’t even know what this is doing to me.”

He kissed your thigh, opening his mouth enough to bite you, hard enough to make your legs twitch. “I hated watching you with him,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips harder now, “with any-fucking-one. You’d smile and I’d want to fucking put you on your knees and wipe it off.”

He kissed higher, his nose brushed the lace still clinging to you, even more so with the wetness pooling down there. 

“Do you know how hard it was to pretend I didn’t want this?” he murmured, “to be near you, sitting right next to you, sleeping across from you, and not touch you.”

Jake was still watching your face, still holding your jaw like he wanted to frame you, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered now, eyes dazed with your beauty, with how aroused he was just by kissing you. 

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, like it hurt to say out loud, “look at you, a sweet mess already, and we haven’t even taken these off yet.”

Jay’s voice rasped lower now, “god, I wanna rip them off.”

Jake bit his smile at your eyes going wide, glancing down, “be gentle, she’s a princess after all.”

Jay didn’t listen, he absolutely had zero patience left within him. 

You gasped as your panties tore clean down the side without much effort, and Jay tossed the scraps to the floor without a glance. Jake reached for them, still warm and soaked, took a long sniff of the soiled fabric, groaning at the scent of your arousal before he wrapped them around your wrists. 

“You’re ours now,” he murmured, possessiveness clear in his tone, “tied up in your own mess, hm?” 

Your voice finally cracked out as you breathed harder, bare in front of them “please—”

Jay chuckled, shoving your thighs apart again, “hm? What are you begging for, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t reply, not when you were so overwhelmed with the two men and their scents that now clung to your body. 

Jay leaned in again, dragging his tongue up your core without warning. A long, slow lick that ended with a kiss to your clit—soft, almost mocking the way you reacted to him. A moan of his name leaving your lips in a beautiful tune, reverberating the room. 

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” he asked, “yeah? Us like this? Because I’ve been thinking about this since fucking uni.”

Jake’s eyes were fixed on your body, his hand moving to your tits, cupping one fully with his veiny hands, thumb flicking your nipple, “you used to sit across from me in class like it wasn’t killing me,” he muttered, “tight little skirts, and that fucking lip gloss you used—fuck.”

Jay hummed, his breath hot against your folds as he couldn’t keep his eyes off of your cunt, “you used to flirt without even realizing. Legs crossed, eyes wide, pretending you weren’t looking when we argued.”

“I was hard half the time I sat near you,” Jake gritted, “thought I was losing my mind.”

Jay’s voice was lower now, rougher, “I used to jerk off in the shower after group study. Every time you’d fight and shove me, touching me so carelessly, I’d go home and fucking lose it.”

You moaned, your back arching, tears pricking behind your eyes from how much it all burned, not just physically, but emotionally. You’d made them wait. You hadn’t known, but they had.

And now?

Now you were bound, naked, and trembling under them as if you belonged there, as if you belonged to them. 

Jake leaned down and kissed your lips again, slow and claiming, while Jay bit the inside of your thigh in hopes of leaving marks.

“You’re not getting out of this,” Jake murmured, “we’re so going to wreck you.”

Jay groaned, dragging his tongue through your folds again—slow. “And we’re not going to be gentle at all, baby.”

“You’ll cry,” Jake whispered, “you’ll look so fucking stunning with your makeup ruined, and you’ll thank us for it.”

Jay pushed his tongue flat against your clit and you gasped—body jolting up, wrists straining against the soft fabric of your panties, but just when you thought he’d give you more—he pulled away again.

“No,” he said, voice laced with pure cruelty, that handsome smirk graced his face again, “not yet.”

Jake’s slender fingers replaced his tongue, slipping through your folds but still refusing to enter you. Just circling around, smearing your slick juices everywhere but where you needed it.

You whimpered, thighs shaking, “Jake, please—”

He leaned down, nose brushing yours, almost romantic the way he moved around you, “please what?”

“Touch me.”

Jay chuckled, “fuck, our prim proper princess is breaking.”

Jake nipped your bottom lip, “not yet. We haven’t even started.”

Then—his fingers slapped your cunt. A sharp, wet smack that made your hips jerk again, your breath hitched, and your thighs trembled from the shock of it.

“Say it again,” Jake ordered, “say you want it, tell me you need it.”

“I—I need,” You could barely speak, could barely think, “please, just ruin me.”

Jay groaned, “fuck.”

Jake grunted, “oh, we will.”

And their mouths were on you again.

Jake kissed you like he was claiming you, as he wanted to from so long, tongue slipping between your lips, one hand still wrapped around your throat, the other teasing your nipple until it hardened against his palm. You could feel him groaning into your mouth, grinding his thigh between yours like he was the one losing control (read: he was).

Jay’s tongue was back at your pussy, slow. He licked you like he was angry, like an animal, he was punishing your clit with his mouth, sucking hard before pulling away just long enough to make you choke out a sob, then diving in again.

You cried out, the sound stuttering between Jake’s teeth as he swallowed it down with another kiss, smirking at you. 

Jay pulled back slightly, breath hot and ragged against your slick cunt, “god, she’s so fucking wet. Jake, feel her.”

Jake’s hand slid down your body without hesitation, dragging two fingers through your folds, groaning when they came back soaked and glistening. He brought them up to his mouth and sucked—slow and filthy.

“Sweet as fuck, thought about this so much you have no idea, no fucking idea,” he muttered.

You whimpered, bucking your hips helplessly against Jay’s mouth again, but his hands held you down tight.

“Still so greedy,” Jay said, his voice deep with hunger, “you’re trembling, baby. Gonna cry now, hm?”

Jake brushed the back of his knuckles across your cheek, his tone softening but no less dominant, “you look like you’re gonna fall apart. That’s how bad you want it, huh?”

You nodded, unable to speak, barely breathing, your body burning wherever they touched you, still fully clothed as you lay in front of them with nothing on.

Jake leaned in, “good, because we’re not stopping.”

Jay dragged his tongue in slow, torturous circles around your clit, going down, then back up, his fingers dug into your thighs to keep them from clamping shut with the sensation. 

You gasped again, a sound so high and wrecked it barely sounded like you, no one’s ever made you feel like this. 

“Look at her,” Jake murmured, “eyes already glassy. Legs shaking, you’re like a doll, princess.”

“She’s close,” Jay chuckled, “already? That needy, huh?”

“No,” Jake shook his head, “she doesn’t get to cum yet.”

Jay immediately pulled back, lips wet, chin slick, eyes wild with need and your hips chased him instinctively, but he just laughed low and cruel.

“Aw, did you actually think we’d let you finish?”

You whimpered, you whimpered hands, still bound in your ruined panties, pulled at the restraint.

“You’re not coming,” Jake whispered, licking into your mouth again, he was a fucking dog the way he licked you all over, “not until you’re crying for it.”

Jay’s thumb slid over your clit once, making your whole body jolt, and you bit back another whimper.

“I want her begging,” he said, “properly, on her knees, that pretty face covered in spit and tears, wanted to do that since uni.”

Jake smirked, “we’ll get her there.”

And still, they didn’t stop touching you. Jake’s mouth returned to your throat, sucking, biting down just enough to make your eyes roll back in pure ecstasy. Jay’s lips caressed the inside of your thigh sweetly, as if apologizing in advance for the stuff he was about to do to you—but his eyes? They were anything but sorry.

They were starving and you were already wrecked with one look from him.

Jay’s lips were swollen now, glistening with your slick. He sat back up on his heels between your legs, panting slightly, his hands resting on your thighs like they belonged there—like he owned them.

Jake hovered above you, one knee pressing between your legs, the other hand trailing across the expanse of your ribs, grazing under your breast as he watched you try to pull your knees together again.

“You don’t even know how pretty you look like this,” Jake said, voice lower now, heavier with his deep breathing, “completely spread, soaked, crying, and still begging like a little kitten.”

“I’m—” you tried to speak, but the words stuck in your throat. All you could do was shake your head, helplessly, breath hitching.

“Don’t you dare shake your head at me, baby,” Jake murmured, brushing a tear off your cheek with his thumb, “you’ve been teasing us for years.”

Jay leaned down again, kissing your hip. “Years,” he echoed, lips soft but voice hard. “In that little white dress at graduation, every fucking party, every pool day, every time you got close to us, teased us during this trip, the kisses, the fucking touches, you knew what you were doing, right, kitten?”

His teeth grazed the inside of your thigh and you gasped, the sting making your knees twitch again.

“We should’ve taken you apart back then,” Jake groaned.

Jay pulled your legs farther apart and pressed a single, rough kiss right above your clit. You whimpered, again, and Jake licked your neck as if following some rhythm, his fingers stroking the side of your tit while your tied hands trembled above your head.

“You’re going to give us everything now,” Jake whispered.

“I am—” you gasped.

“Not yet, but you will,” Jay said, biting lower now, marking you all over without thinking twice, “you think this is about making you feel good? No, sweetheart. This is about us breaking that little control you used to hold over us, the one you’ve been using the past few days.”

Jake pressed two fingers into your mouth. “Open.”

You obeyed after hesitation, tongue curling around them, lips closing, eyes wide as you looked up at him like a broken doll already.

Jake groaned, “fucking hell, look at her, taking it so well for me.”

Jay kissed your clit again, softer this time, almost tender like he let his feelings take over, but his hands still held your thighs apart with firm, bruising grips.

“Keep those pretty legs open,” he said darkly, “if you try to close them, I’ll tie them up too.”

You whimpered around Jake’s fingers, tongue working instinctively, your hips twitching every time Jay’s lips brushed you but didn’t stay.

Jake leaned closer, “you want us to ruin you, don’t you, baby?” 

You tried to nod, mouth full of his fingers. He slid his fingers deeper into your mouth, holding your jaw, smiling when your throat flexed as you swallowed around them.

Jay’s tongue licked a slow circle around your clit again, and you nearly choked on Jake’s fingers, gasping, legs trembling violently now.

Jake pulled back, eyes dark with hunger, “you’re so close, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you whispered, finally able to speak, voice completely wrecked. “I need it, I can’t—”

Jake slapped your thigh, not too hard, but hard enough to make you freeze midway your speech.

“You don’t cum until we say,” he growled.

Jay kissed up your waist, finally letting you rest—just for a second. His fingers traced the curve of your ass, obsessed. 

“She’s so fucking good for us,” he muttered.

Jake’s mouth returned to your ear, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you? Not properly, not like actual two fucking men do for their girl.”

You shook your head, their girl, you were ruined for anyone else and they hadn’t even fucked you yet. 

“No one’s ever made you beg, huh, kitten?”

You shook again, your eyes filling with tears again at the tension, the ache, the heat between your legs that still had no release.

“Say it.”

“No one’s ever—ever made me feel like this.”

Jay bit your waist, “fucking knew it.”

Jake kissed the corner of your lips. “You’re going to remember this for the rest of your fucking life.”

They shifted, Jake moving down your body, his tongue tracing the valley between your breasts, his fingers still gripping your wrists. Jay leaned in and kissed your temple before kissing your neck again, slow.

Then Jake reached your thighs, and he spit again—right onto your clit.

You cried out.

Jay held your legs open, and Jake rubbed the wetness in slow circles, never enough pressure, “still not coming, darling.”

You sobbed, tears cascading down the curve of your cheek with how frustrated and turned on you were. 

Jay leaned in and licked them right off of your cheek, “god, you cry so pretty,” he mumbled against your skin, savouring the salty taste of your frustration. 

“So wet, so close, hm? Still not allowed to cum,” Jake said, dazed. 

They were destroying you, but you grabbed Jay’s shirt, looking at him with innocent eyes, trying your best to get something out of the two men, Jake only scoffed against your thigh, smiling right after. 

“Yeah, baby?” Jay asked, leaning closer, pressing another kiss onto your lips, and you sighed sweetly, trying your best to unbutton his shirt with your tied up wrists, barely giving you space to move, your fingers fumble with each button. 

“You that desperate to see me, sweetheart?” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours. “Is that why you’re still trying, even when we’ve got you all tied up and shaking?”

Jake kissed your upper thigh with a chuckle, dangerously close to your clit, which felt more sensitive each passing serving, “she’s always been a greedy lil kitty,” he muttered, biting down marks over where Jay left his own ones, “always trying to be in control, even now.”

“Ah—” you looked at them with angry tears, not willing to beg for the release, so you did something that you knew would get them riled up, “will you just talk or actually fucking d—do something about it,” you mumbled, groaning midway as Jake licked you up. 

Jake didn’t bother replying, not when you were such a brat, instead, he just moaned into your folds as he finally, finally dragged his tongue up your slit and latched onto your clit with precision, as if he’d been practising to do so. 

You gasped, your back arching in the process to get yourself even closer to Jake, legs trembling with need. 

“There she is,” Jay murmured, voice low as he watched Jake devour you, “all those bratty lil’ comments until someone shoves their tongue down there, huh?”

For an answer, he only got a broken moan from you as Jake devoured your essence as if he was a man starved, tongue flattening against you, nose brushing your clit, dipping into your folds as he licked you up and down, your hips jerking up in the process in an insatiable need. 

Jay leaned closer, brushing a knuckle against your cheek, “this what you needed? After all that attitude? After years of acting like you weren’t just dying for one of us to ruin you the second you stepped into the villa?”

“You’re delusional,” you whispered, breathless, sprawled like a princess and Jay chuckled, untying your wrists now. 

“Am I really?” Jay smirked, “because I remember that one night, senior year, academic week. You walked out of the library with your hair a mess, that navy hoodie falling off your shoulder, and I swear to fucking god—” He grabbed your chin, “I almost dragged you back inside just to shut you up.”

The second your hands were free, you grabbed his belt, making Jay shake his head with a smirk, “fucking knew it.”

The two only moved back, making you whine, as they undressed themselves in the dim room, the barely there golden lights only accentuating their figures. You had gone completely silent, eyes flicking from one man to the other, especially when their arms flexed with each movement, faint abs on display. 

Then their veiny hands moved to their belts, making you gulp. 

Jake slid his leather belt from the loops with a sharp snap that made your thighs clench, his eyes on you as he did so. Jay was slower, watching you with patience as he unbuckled the belt and let it fall to the floor, then stepped out of his pants without taking his eyes off your face.

A low whine left your lips yet again the second you saw them—their hardened cocks, thick and veiny, waiting to ruin you by all means, already dripping with precum on the tip. 

You were quiet now, so quiet. 

It was as if your body understood something your mind hadn’t comprehended yet, it simply couldn’t. 

Jake was the first to move—kneeling on the bed again, sliding up behind you. His hands dragged over your waist, fingers splayed across your stomach as he pulled you flush into his chest.

“You stopped talking, princess,” he murmured into your ear, lips brushing your skin, “not bratty anymore? Need my cock inside your sweet cunt, hm?”

Jay came around the front, “maybe she’s just finally realized what she’s about to get.” He said, fingers wrapped around his cock, so close to your lips, which parted with anticipation, or the lack of breath, even more so when you felt Jake’s cock prodding your soaked folds from behind you. 

“You said you wanted us to do something about it,” Jay whispered, “now we’re going to see if you can fucking take it.”

Jake shifted behind you, nudging your legs wider with his knees as one hand reached down to properly guide himself between your thighs. He wasn’t teasing anymore, he was shaking, from self control, from need, as if he’d push into you without any hesitation now. 

His cock slid between your folds, dragging through the slick mess, he groaned low, deep, grounding himself with one hand gripping on your hip.

“She’s soaked,” he muttered, “so fucking ready.”

Jay knelt in front of you now, one hand curling under your chin to lift your face.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that mouth while he fills you from behind,” he said, thumb stroking your swollen bottom lip, “you gonna take both of us, princess?”

You nodded, dazed, but Jay just chuckled. “No, baby. Go on, say it.”

“I want both of you, p—please,” you managed to breath out. 

Jake slid into you in one slow, relentless thrust, and you cried out loud with your body jolting forward at the impact, the stretch, the need and desperation clear with his thrust. 

Jay groaned like that did something to him, like your voice alone was enough to fuel him. He moved forward, pressing the tip of his cock against your lips.

“Then open up, baby,” he groaned, “and let us take over, yeah?”

You did, as Jake pistoned deep again, grunting as your walls clenched around him, so inviting, so desperate. He was thicker than you had imagined—stretching you open inch by inch. His hands resting around your hips, holding you still as he began to fuck you hard from behind.

Jay slid into your mouth at the same time, his fingers in your hair, guiding your head as you sucked him down with a whimper.

“Fuck, look at her,” Jake panted behind you, “letting out the prettiest sounds and both her holes are full.”

Jay moaned above you, hips snapping forward. “She’s dripping around your cock while her mouth’s choking on mine, such a sweet lil’ slut for us.”

You couldn’t speak, not with Jay’s cock pushing deep into your throat, but the moans vibrating from your chest told them everything, how his words made you even crazier if that was possible, and you were scared of how loud the moans and the noise of skin slapping were, what if someone would hear?

Your hands clenched around the sheets, your body shaking between them, and they fucked you like they were in competition, like your pleasure was a war they were both determined to win. 

Jake bent forward, breath warm on your skin, “let go, baby,” he whispered, “we’re not stopping ‘til we hear you scream.” He said, accent stronger than ever. 

Jay groaned as your lips tightened, your throat flexing around him, trying to adjust to his length, “you’re close, aren’t you?” he gritted, “you’re gonna cum with both of us inside you, huh?”

You whimpered, trying to nod as every nerve in your body lit up, stretched between them, full and desperate, a deep sensation in the bottom of your abdomen only indicating what was to come.

“Then do it,” Jay ordered, voice almost breaking, “show us how ruined you are, how desperate and needy you are.”

Jake’s hand slipped between your legs, rubbing your clit in fast, firm circles.

And that’s all it took.

Your eyes rolled back, eyelids fluttering shut with how close you were, practically screaming round Jay’s cock, your whole body trembling violently as Jake fucked you through it, groaning as you clenched hard around him. 

“Go on, princess.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Our little slut.”

“Doing so well, hm?”

Their voices blended into one with their praises molded into degradation and you felt yourself losing your mind as the orgasm washed you over, you needed a stronger word than ecstasy for what you felt, the room was almost like mist with the essence of all of yours need, your hunger, which wasn’t satiated yet. 

Jay pulled out just in time to hear your full scream echoing in the room—and he too came with a choked groan across your lips, spilling hot and messy down your chin as you gasped for breath.

Jake slammed in one more time, moaning, and then you felt him cum inside you, deep and twitching, heat flooding your cunt with his release.

They didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just held you between them completely undone, experiencing euphoric sensations all over. 

“You okay?” Jay asked, resting his forehead on yours, as you tried to nod. 

“Sure, princess?” Jake caressed your spine, sliding his cock out as you suddenly felt empty, “you know we’re not done, right?”

“W—what?” Your eyes widened, “but you already—”

Jay’s palm smoothed over your thigh as he shifted over you. “You didn’t think we were just gonna stop after one, did you?”

Jake’s laugh was soft, almost wicked, “that was just the first course, baby.”

Jay kissed your temple, slow and reverent, even as his cock hardened again beneath you, “we told you we’d ruin you, you want us both, hm? Then take it like a good lil’ doll you are.”

You gasped as Jake kissed your neck, head falling back into his touch. 

“There she is, that’s my girl,” he murmured against your pulse, “so responsive, even when you’re shaking.”

You were trembling now, thighs still slick with Jake’s cum, and yet your hips shifted instinctively as if your craving towards them was endless, it’s the greed they talked about, the lust you couldn’t control. 

Jay helped you lift, just slightly, guiding you up on shaky knees. He lay beneath you now, flat on his back, his cock glistening against his abdomen. You were straddling him again, facing him, but your legs were weaker, spreading wider as you looked down at him.

Jay’s hands cupped your ass, “you want more, sweetheart?” he asked, tone warm but heavy, “then be a good girl and take me again.”

He helped you sink down on his cock, which was even thicker than that of Jake, your walls clenching around him uncontrollably, another raw moan leaving your lips. 

 Jay hissed, eyes screwed shut for a moment, as he feels what he’s wanted for years, you. “So fucking tight, you’re still so—fuck, wet.”

Jake was behind you now, kneeling between Jay’s spread legs, his hands slid up your sides, then curved around your waist as he pressed a kiss behind your ear.

“Now breathe, princess,” he whispered, “and don’t let go of him, yeah?”

You didn’t understand at first, only focusing on his breathy voice and plush lips, alongside Jay’s cock that had you stuffed to the brim, you didn’t understand it, not until you felt the blunt head of Jake’s cock pressing against your entrance—against the spot already filled by Jay.

Your body froze, tingling with fear? Anticipation? Filth? You weren’t sure anymore, “oh my fucking god—”

“Relax,” Jay said, voice low, thumbs circling on your clit, “you’re okay, darling, we’ve got you.”

Jake didn’t rush, he kissed the sweet spot on your neck again, then dragged his tongue over the bruise he’d left, before he started to press his cock in.

Beside Jay, in the same hole.

You cried out, your forehead falling to Jay’s neck as the burn of the stretch came instantly, his necklace pressing into the skin of your chest, leaving a mark, an imprint. 

“F—fuck wait, I—”

“Shhh,” Jake whispered, one hand stroking your tits, the other bracing your hip, “you can do it. Let me in, baby, you’re my princess, aren’t you?”

Jay didn’t move, letting you adjust, eyes fixated on you, and how you bit his clavicle like a kitten trying to adjust to the pain, slowly realizing that it’s pleasure instead. His hands gripped your thighs now, holding you steady as Jake inched in alongside him.

Tears started streaming down your face yet again, “please,” you mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Please? Want us to breed your little cunt? Fuck you dumb till you can’t walk? Can’t speak?” Jay groaned, snapping his hips up harshly as you held onto him tighter, nails digging into his skin. 

Jake almost growled low in your ear, a sound more animal than man, “look at you, fucking crying because it feels too good. You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? For us?”

You couldn’t answer, the stretch was unbearable, so tight, so full, but their words made it worse, made it better. Made you wetter, somehow, your body betraying you in the most delicious way possible, Jay was still buried to the hilt underneath you, warm and thick, and Jake was inching in behind him, slow but relentless, like he knew the second he bottomed out, you’d lose every last piece of your mind.

Jake kissed the back of your neck again, softer this time, “just a little more, take it, princess. Let me all the way in. Let us ruin you.”

But then, he was in, bottoming out fully, two cocks snug inside your cunt as if they were made for it, the imprint of bulge clear on your lower abdomen, pressed against Jay at the moment. 

“Jay—Jake,” you cried out, and they only thrusted in harder, their cocks dragging against each other as they were buried tight, the friction almost obscene, as if straight out of a smutty little novel. 

“Fucking look at her,” Jake grunted, hand around your throat, gripping you firm enough to make you feel it, “crying while getting fucked like a whore, huh? You love this, don’t you? Love being our perfect little fucktoy?”

“She’s so tight,” Jay hissed, his teeth clenching as he thrust up again, hips jerking, “like her pretty cunt was made to be split open like this, just for us, huh, princess?”

You gasped, which almost came out like a broken plea, when they moved again, hips snapping in a brutal rhythm that knocked the breath out of you. Your whole body jolted forward at the intensity, pinned between their bodies, unable to move, to breathe.

“You hear that?” Jake’s hand slid down, smacking your clit harshly before rubbing fast, filthy circles on it, his rings cold against your skin, “that wet fucking sound? That’s you, princess. Dripping all over our cocks. Can’t even take us without making a fucking mess.”

Jay’s hand found your face, fingers gripping your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “You better be looking at me when you cum. Let me see what my perfect slut looks like when she falls apart for us.”

Your breath hitched yet again, and you weren’t sure if you were breathing anymore because that’s what it felt like, like you were cracking down the middle from being stuffed so full. The lewd drag of their cocks inside you, pushing against each other, made every nerve ending scream. 

Jake leaned closer, lips brushing your ear, his voice sultry, “you feel how deep we are, baby? Look—” his hand flattened over your belly, pressing down just above your cunt, and you saw it, the bulge visible and twitching with every thrust. “That’s us. We’re in so fucking deep.”

Your head dropped back, a sweet cry leaving your mouth as you chanted their names like a bloody mantra that was gonna keep you alive.

“Shit—she’s doing it again,” Jay grunted, sweat forming at his temples as he snapped his hips up harder, sharper, “squeezing so tight as if she wants to be split apart.”

“Say it,” Jake ordered, thumb brushing your lower lip before slipping inside, making you suck around it while your eyes rolled back, his other hand pinching your nipple harshly, “tell us what you are.”

You choked around his thumb, words slurred and broken, “Yours. I’m—fuck—I’m your whore, your toy—please, please—”

They didn’t stop, they didn’t care about the wedding, the guests, the door being unlocked and just shut. They only cared about having you, listening to your pretty moans, ruining you in the way they’ve been dreaming about. 

It’s almost surreal, the two possessive men who wanted you all to themselves were now sharing you, just so they could touch you, feel you, and take you in a way no one else will ever be able to. 

“Good girl,” Jay mumbled. 

“Pretty slut,” Jake rasped out. 

You were overstimulated by now, gasping, moaning, screaming their names, and they loved every second of it, giving you eargasm with how they groaned your name under their breath too, pushing into you deeper by each thrust, reaching the good spots you didn’t even know existed. 

Your body didn’t know where to focus—on Jay’s mouth kissing you through your moans, or Jake’s tongue trailing a shiver down your spine, on Jay’s fingers rubbing fast, brutal circles over your abused clit, or Jake’s teeth biting down on the slope of your shoulder, marking you like he wanted everyone to know who you belong to.

Jay’s head fell back on the pillow with a deep groan, his voice breaking. “You’re fucking pulsing—fuck, you’re squeezing us.”

Jake gritted out, “I can feel you inside her, fuck—she’s gonna cum again.”

You screamed, the knot in your stomach tighter than ever, no words were spoken, just the sound of you falling apart on their cocks as your orgasm crashed over you, your cunt seizing around them, milking them both as your body shivered, vision going dark as they filled you up with their warmth, cum oozing out of your cunt. 

And before you knew it, you were squirting all over their lengths, giving them exactly what they needed, unholy pleasure. Then it was silent for a few seconds as you laid down on Jay’s chest, exhausted. 

“Holy fuck—” Jay let out. 

Your cunt squeezed them tighter, you had no control over yourself now, and they looked at you, mesmerized, as you let out your juices in slow pulses. 

“She’s—Jesus fucking christ, baby, you’re—” Jake marvelled, holding your waist as he slid out to observe your swollen pussy, dripping all over Jay’s thighs now. 

You moaned weakly, barely able to speak, face buried in the crook of Jay’s neck, “I—I can’t stop,” you whispered, breath shaking, “fucking hell, I can’t—”

Jay exhaled against your ear, the sound heavy with disbelief and pure arousal. Then, slowly, he shifted around. 

“Let me see her,” Jake murmured, eyes solely on you. 

Jay nodded once and slid out, making you gasp at the emptiness as your swollen, soaked cunt clenched around nothing now, and then Jay was easing you onto your back. 

Jake sat beside you, breath hitched, while Jay stayed kneeling between your legs, both of them staring down like they couldn’t quite believe what they’d done.

You were a vision of pure, sacred destruction with your slick thighs, cunt glistening, flushed and twitching with every aftershock. Their cum poured slowly from your abused hole in thick trails, pooling beneath you.

“Good lord,” Jay muttered under his breath.

Jake just stared, jaw clenched, “she’s dripping everywhere, fuck.”

Jay reached out, almost without thinking, and spread your folds open with two fingers, watching more of their release slide out of you beautifully.

You whimpered, breath hitching, every nerve lit and tingling with how sensitive you were now. You tried to close your legs, shy with their predatory gaze, but they didn’t let you.

Jake’s hand moved to your thigh, “no, let us see you, princess.”

Jay leaned down, dragging his gaze from your fluttering cunt to your ruined expression. “You’re still clenching,” he murmured, almost in awe. 

“She can’t stop,” Jake added, brushing hair from your damp face, “poor baby, body’s gone dumb for us, hm? Look at you, kitten.”

You stared up at them, eyes glassy, lips parted, unable to form a single word, mind hazy, but they didn’t need one.

Your body was saying everything.

Jay’s fingers slid back inside you like nothing had changed, like you weren’t already trembling and soaked with their cum and your tears. Your back arched yet again, a sob escaped your lips as you choked out, “I—I can’t, not again, please!”

Jake leaned over you, breath brushing your cheek as his veiny hand trailed between your thighs, “yeah?” he chuckled, “then why are you still dripping, baby?”

You whimpered, thighs twitching, but there was escape for you—Jay’s hand held your hip down, and Jake’s thumb was already pressing circles into your swollen clit as you moaned. 

“You say you can’t,” Jay muttered, eyes locked on where you clenched around him, “but your body’s still begging.”

Jake laughed, “she doesn’t know what she needs.”

Jay smirked, knowing that they weren’t gonna stop, not tonight, as he continued saying in his deep, attractive voice. 

“Oh, she doesn’t, hm? Then it’s a good thing we do.”

Chapter 13: The end or the beginning?

You lost the count of the amount of orgasms your body oh so beautifully provided Jay and Jake with, and now? You were catching your breath as the boys now sat down beside you, just clad in their loose basketball shorts, hair messier than ever, and lazy smirks still plastered on their faces. 

“You okay? Breathing, hm?” Jake asked, mindlessly brushing his knuckles against the expanse of your thigh. 

“God, barely,” you huffed out. 

“Y’know, you look so pretty like this,” Jay smirked, “all ruined for us.”

“Oh my—don’t even start,” you mumbled, too exhausted to actually do something about it. 

But despite their teasing, they were gentle with you now, and you dare didn’t look them in the eye, which was pooling with the essence of love. 

Jake pressed his plush lips to your clavicle, “you’re glowing, princess.”

“Oh, she’s wrecked,” Jay said, not hiding how proud he was. 

“Stop talking, both of you,” you muttered, hiding your face with the fluffed up pillow. 

Jake chuckled for a second before asking, “can you move?” 

“Ah, absolutely not,” you groaned. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Jay smirked, “alight, it’s bath time now, so.” He dragged, brows raised. 

“Huh? What bath time?” You were lost, peeking out from under the pillow. 

Jay was already headed towards the bathroom, finally with a mission to make use of the massive bathtub which no one had used up until now, “you really think we won’t take care of you before you sleep, hm?”

Jake was quick to push his arms under your legs and back, scooping you in his hold as you yelped, holding his nape for balance, your cheek pressed into his shoulder while he cooed at your adorable antics, “you’ll thank us later.”

“You’re too pleased with yourself,” you let out, a pout forming at your lips. 

“And you love it,” Jake retorted, grinning handsomely. 

The tub was nearly full in no time, the water steaming gently as Jay knelt beside it, testing the temperature with a look of pure precision, “perfect timing, hop in, love.”

Jake set you down into the water with all the care in the world, guiding you between his legs as he slid in behind you. The warmth rushed over your skin and made you sigh in bliss, your whole body drooping in relief, his arms draping around your waist lazily. 

Jay was quick to grab a washcloth, easing your nerves with how gently he cleaned you, as if he knew the exact massage points, where he lingered to sooth your pain, making you sigh yet again in Jake’s embrace, even more so when Jay caressed your ribs, the expanse of your skin, even the curve of your thigh. 

“There we go,” Jay murmured as you whimpered lightly, more from tenderness than pain now, “easy there, baby. You’ve done enough tonight.”

“You were perfect,” Jake whispered, his touch on your knuckles was loving, and you weren’t entirely sure if the warmth you were feeling now was due to the temperature of the water. 

Jay was observant, eyes trailing to capture every single drop of water on you, and how you still managed to look beautiful, effortlessly so, even after the swell job they did, ruining you in bed.

“Still shy after everything we just did?” He teased, rinsing the cloth in the water before sliding it along your shoulder, the act more intimate than everything you did prior. 

“She’s our sweet girl,” Jake said quietly, nuzzling into your neck in the manner that faintly reminded you of a puppy, “glowing so pretty after we’ve had our way with her.”

“I hate you both,” you mumbled, voice muffled where your cheek was tucked into Jake’s chest again. 

“Yeah? We love you too,” both boys managed to let out at the same time. 

You didn’t reply, just bathed in the warmth and the little feeling of giddiness bubbling through you. The boys didn’t mind, not when you closed your eyes and almost drifted off to sleep right there. It was easy for them to caress your cheek, waking you up enough for them to dry you off, helping you back to the bed. 

You faintly remember them arguing over who’s t-shirt and shorts you’ll be wearing, but they had a truce when Jay put his shirt over you, and Jake slid his shorts up your legs. It was blurry as they made you drink water, treating you like royalty, especially when you were caught in the middle of the two men who held you close, whispering praises in a quiet murmur. 

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Jake whispered, eyes pooling with emotions even he couldn’t decipher. 

“She’s real,” Jay said, pressing his lips against your cheek, “and sore.”

“Shut up,” you shifted, your lips twitching, which made the two laugh. 

Their touches were endless, luring you into the dreamland as the room was now filled with the scent of your strawberry body wash, and soon, both the boys were nestled close to your neck, breathing you in as they slept, probably the best sleep they’ve ever had. 

You weren’t sure what stirred you awake a few hours later—maybe the sunrise blending softly into the room, maybe your own heartbeat, which was finally at peace now, which rocketed yet again, observing the two lovesick men clinging onto your frame like they physically need you to stay sane, even in their dreams. 

You stayed like that for a few minutes, deeply observing Jay’s long eyelashes, a pout on his lips as he slept, and the heart shaped birthmark which you had kissed last night. He looked beautiful. Then you turned to stare at Jake, his hair looked bouncier than ever, slight freckles gracing his cheekbones, and lips that mumbled something incoherent even in sleep. 

It was a pretty place to be in, between two stunning men who were pining over you like the world would end if they didn’t have you, and you clicked your tongue. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to have them chase you, right?

Carefully, you slipped from between them, biting back a laugh as Jake groaned in protest, blindly petting the empty space your body had left. You paused, watching as both of them shifted slightly, their foreheads nearly touching now. Like magnets, drawn to each other, reminding you of the first day you saw them cuddling. 

You walked quietly across the room, grabbed the hotel notepad from the desk, and scribbled something before rushing to the bathroom, getting ready for the flight that was about to take you home today, as Karina knew, and so did the others—but not these two. 

And maybe, you just wanted them to actually show if they want you, which goes beyond chasing you in a villa, in a room you shared. So, with two soft pecks on each of their cheeks, you dragged your luggage out, leaving them behind. 

It was only when the afternoon rolled in an hour later, the two stirred in their sleep. 

Jake woke with a sharp inhale, arm stretching across the mattress in a daze, searching for you unconsciously. His hand met nothing but cool sheets, no trace of you. 

“Y/N?” he mumbled, still groggy, voice thick, and plush lips dry. He blinked at the space beside him—empty, pillows still in their place. 

Jay moved beside him, groaning, “what—?”

“She’s not here—she’s not,” Jake sat up fast now, the fog of sleep yanked from his mind in a split second.

Jay rubbed at his eyes, still slow, until he glanced over and saw the empty space where you’d been, “wait. What do you mean not here?”

Jake was already climbing out of bed in search of you, “She’s not in the bathroom either.”

“Maybe she went downstairs,” Jay said, but even as he said it, his voice faltered with concern, “or—fuck, check the patio. Maybe she—went for a walk?”

They moved like a spark had been lit under them, crashing through the hallway barefoot and disoriented, not caring about being shirtless, again, not caring about anything but you, especially after the night. 

“Y/N?” Jake’s voice echoed off the walls.

Jay flung open the guest room doors, startling Winter and Yunjin out of their sleep, who had slept after saying bye to you just a few minutes back. 

“Is she with you?” he demanded.

Winter sat up, eyes wide, “what? No—she left for the airport, didn’t she?”

“What?” Jake breathed out, a look of horror clear on his face. 

“She said goodbye a while back,” Yunjin added, rubbing her eyes. “Didn’t she tell you guys?”

“No,” Jay snapped, spinning around, “she didn’t.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, panic growing like a storm, with his heartbeat rising, “she wouldn’t just leave. She wouldn’t—she didn’t even say goodbye.”

They tore through the villa. Kitchen? Empty. Garden paths? Silent. The pool deck? Absolutely trace of you. Your toothbrush was gone, your suitcases? Gone. And they both? Absolutely batshit crazy. They didn’t want it to end, not so fast. 

Jay ended up back in the room, chest tight, hands planted on the edge of the mattress like it could bring him some sort of support. 

Then he saw it.

A single folded slip of paper, placed neatly in the center of the pillow where your head had been.

“Jake.”

Jake ran in, still breathless, “what?”

Jay didn’t speak, just held out the note with a clenched jaw and Jake unfolded it with shaky fingers, his pulse roaring in his ears as his eyes scanned your handwriting, and there it was.

The final line, in your usual messy scrawl. 

They read it, and Jay exhaled, but it didn’t calm him. Jake scanned through, both looking up at each other with blank faces. 

And then, their own lips twitched, smirking as they rushed to get their own belongings packed, shoving clothes into their bags, grabbing whatever clothes they found first, focused like men on a big mission, looking for flight tickets on a whim, a girl to chase, as your note laid proud on the bed, saying:

Catch me if you can before I change my mind.  — Yours (maybe?)

THANK YOU FOR READING!

THIS FIC WAS POSTED IN TWO PARTS AS TUMBLR DOES NOT ALLOW POSTS WITH MORE THAN A 1000 BLOCKS!

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[leclerc-hs]

73 Questions with Mrs. Leclerc - cl16

pairing: husband!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you do a 73 questions interview with Vogue OR charles can't help but third wheel your interview warnings: none??? just cute fluff basically, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 2.1k author's note: I actually got a request by someone to do this and thought it was such a CUTE idea and concept. I obviously didn't do ALL 73 questions cause that would've taken forever. But thought this was a cute little piece to do. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think don't be shy !! xoxo

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

THE DELICATE FOLDS of the pale pink sundress fluttered like petals in a gentle breeze, framing your figure with a soft, ethereal elegance. As the front door yielded to the push, the fabric danced around your legs, caressing the tender skin of your thighs with a whisper of touch. Your radiant smile illuminated the scene, a beacon of joy amidst the fluttering fabric and nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey!” The male voice chimed brightly, his tone cheerful as a songbird greeting the dawn, echoing through the air with an infectious energy that mirrored your own bright smile.

“Hey!” You respond with effervescent warmth, your smile stretching across your face like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. With a graceful gesture, you swing the door open wider, revealing the inviting warmth of your home’s foyer. The soft light spills in, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and elegant furnishing. The first thing to notice is the giant painting of a Ferrari Formula One car, hung high above the entry way table.  

“Look who we have here! It’s Mrs. Leclerc!” A delicate blush warms your cheeks, a subtle reminder of the tender affection that tingles within you whenever you’re addressed as such. Though you and Charles have been together for many years, your marriage has infused your relationship with a fresh sense of intimacy and closeness. And despite that it’s been almost five years, the title of “wife” feels forever new and unfamiliar.

“On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“I would say 8, so I’m super excited!” With a gentle click, you shut the front door behind you, enveloping the foyer in a tranquility as you made your way down the hallway to the kitchen. Along the way, you stooped to pick up a scattering of children’s toys that lay scattered like confetti on the polished wooden floors, offering a quick apology for the perceived “mess.” However, you couldn’t help but inwardly smile at the orchestrated chaos around you. While the house was meticulously maintained by the cleaning company before the video shoot, every detail was carefully curated to strike the perfect balance between lived-in warmth and elegance, ensuring a setting that felt both inviting and authentic to you and the viewers.

“Any reason for that?”

In the heart of the home lies a kitchen adorned with a stunning green cabinet motif. The cabinets, painted in a rich emerald hue, exude an air of sophistication and charm, perfectly complemented by gleaming brass hardware. Sunlight filters through the vast array of windows, casting a warm glow over the polished marble countertops. 

“You mean other than the fact that the kids go back to school soon?” You and the interviewer let out a soft laugh as you made your way behind the kitchen island, opening the fridge in a smooth motion to pull out a water bottle. “Want one?”

“No, but thanks though!” His voice is light-hearted. 

As the fridge door remains open, a tantalizing glimpse is offered to the audience of its well-stocked interior. A colorful array of fresh produce fills the shelves, showing an abundance of vibrant fruits and crisp vegetables. Among the healthy offerings, assortment of juice boxes catches the eye, adding a playful touch to the wholesome scene.

“That’s a lot of juice boxes you have in there.” He makes a comment, it’s not a question, but you take it as one.

“Two kids and a husband,” You start, your tone light and casual before lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper for the camera, “who practically is also a kid, results in a lot of juice boxes.” With a playful wink directed at the lens, you punctuate the statement, adding a touch of humor to the scene. Setting the water bottle down on the expansive kitchen counter, you resume your easy demeanor, effortlessly blending candor and charm for your audience.

“Hey!” Your head shoots over, the camera seamlessly following your gaze to where Charles, your husband,sits on the floor of the living room, two of your kids, aged two and three, beside him with an abundance of toys strewn about. “I heard that!” Charles retorts with mock offense, a playful grin lighting up his face as he joins in the banter.

The living room exudes a chic sophistication with a distinct Formula One flair. Charcoal-gray walls provide a sleek backdrop, accentuating the mounted flat-screen television. A striking statement piece dominates one corner—a display of artwork showcasing all of the racetracks Charles has conquered – infusing the room with a sense of triumph and energy. A plush white sofa, adorned with an array of vibrant red pillows, invites relaxation and style. Across the room, a sizable shelf proudly showcases a collection of racing helmets, some belonging to Charles and others gathered over time, adding a personal touch to the space. Below the television, was a long console table that was adorned in various plants and photos of your family. You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced at them.

With a casual wave of your hand, you dismiss Charles’s playful interruption, maintaining your position at the kitchen island as the camera refocuses on you. The gesture carries an air of affectionate familiarity, a gentle reminder of the dynamic energy that permeates your bustling household.

“If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?”

“Definitely Austin Butler.” You answer almost immediately, no hesitance in your voice.

“Hey!” Charles’s playful yelp echoes through the room once more, accompanied by the joyful laughter of your children. One nestled in his lap, the other engrossed in a picture book, their presence adding warmth and vitality to the room. You share a knowing smile with Charles, the affectionate banter a familiar melody to your family life.

The laughter of the interviewer joins the playful exchange. The camera effortlessly captures the dynamic interaction between all of you with ease.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Restez en dehors de ça.” Stay out of this!

“Arrête de faire semblant de vouloir faire l’amour avec quelqu’un d’autre que moi!” Stop pretending you want to make love with anybody but me!

With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you turn back to the camera, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Can I change my answer?” You inquire, injecting a hint of playful anticipation into your tone.

“Sure,” the interviewer replies.

“You’re supposed to say no,” You quip with a chuckle.

“Oh, um no?”

With a playful pout, you glance over at Charles who is already staring at the interaction. A smile adorned on his face like he is in complete awe of you, regardless of what you are saying. “Sorry honey!” You wave your hand around. “Answers are final!”

Leaving the kitchen behind, you make your way towards the backyard, where the promise of relaxation and leisure awaits. Stepping through the door, you’re greeted by the sight of a large pool shimmering under the sunlight, its crystal-clear waters beckoning for a refreshing dip. Surrounding the pool, lounge chairs are strategically place, some on the pool’s ledge, inciting you to bask in the sun while enjoying the cool water. A wide arrangement of pool floaties from unicorns to racecars litter the pool as well.

It’s a breathtaking sight: a vast expanse of bright blue skies stretching overhead, adorned with barely a wisp of cloud in sight. The warm rays of sun dance upon your skin. With a stylish flourish, you slip on a pair of your favorite Ray-Bans, a subtle nod to your husband’s sunglass collection. 

“Vintage or new?”

You ponder for a moment as you stand in the backyard, a breeze blowing your hair behind your shoulders. “Depends, but definitely vintage.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Aisle, although Charles likes to take the aisle more.”

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“Wait, do my children count as two of the three?”

“Up to you.”

“Okay, so my two children. And my lip gloss.” You laugh, pausing for effect. “Kidding! My two kids, and my lip gloss…” You pause, jokingly. “And my husband of course.” The light-hearted remark reflects the joyful chaos of humor and love in your life. “He’s really the sweetest man. I’m so lucky.”

The glass door slides open with a whisper, and into the frame steps Charles, his presence incessant. With a carefree demeanor, he approaches you clad in a pair of baggy jeans and a plain white t-shirt that stretched at the seams from his muscles. He presses soft kisses to your cheeks, the stubble of his own rubbing against your smooth skin, his love evident in each tender kiss.

“Désolé,” Sorry. He apologizes before pecking another kiss to your cheek. “Tellement ambrassable.” Just so kissable. He places one more on your cheek, your face bright red from the camera’s catching all of this.

“Looks like he can’t be far from you for very long.”

Charles looks at the camera, a glint in his eye with a large smile, like he was the happiest man on earth, and nothing could dampen his spirits. Especially with you nearby. “Est-ce que tu la vois?” Do you see her?

The interviewer, unaware of Charles’s words, simply nods in response behind the camera lens, acknowledging the affection in his tone. Later translations will reveal the depth of Charles’s words no doubt. Elle est tellement belle. Bien sûr, je ne peux pas rester loin longtemps.” She’s so beautiful. Of course, I can’t stay far long.

Your face is bright red as Charles remains at your side.

“Where are the kids?”

“Put them down for a nap!” Charles answers, his arm slung over your shoulder as he leans on you comfortably. 

As the interviewer continues the questionnaire, Charles can’t resist interjecting with playful remarks and comments on almost every question. His spontaneous interruptions add an element of humor and spontaneity to the video, turning what could have been a standard interview into an entertaining and engaging exchange.

“How do you define beauty?” “My wife.” “Charles, the questions are for me!”

"What do you love most about your body?" "That's an easy one...I think her--" Charles begins, but you swat his chest and cut him off. "I love my arms. Not because they're that nice but they give me the ability to hold my children." Charles clicks his tongue, hating that you even implied something about yourself as 'not that nice'.

"Least favorite color?" "Red." Charles lets out a large gasp with a string of phrases in French, clearly hurt by your response. "It's a joke, mon amour!" "How did you know you were in love?" You look at Charles then, his eyes already on you, a soft smile pulling on both of your lips. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with him. Probably when I realized I would rather be awake in the middle of the night, since he was traveling so much, just to talk to him for even a few minutes, instead of going to sleep." Charles plays with the ends of your hair, twirling the ends around his fingers as he chimes in. "We've known each other for so long. But, when I first met her, it was like meeting someone I've known my entire life. There was no awkward silences between us. We just clicked."

“Diamonds or pearls?” “Pearls.” “Mon chou, don’t lie.” “I’m not!” “The diamond on your finger says otherwise!”

“If you made a documentary, what would it be about?” “Charles’ brain. I seriously question what goes on in there sometimes.” “Hey! It’s only you…”  You raise your eyebrows at him, like he’s a liar. “And racing.” “Definitely racing.”

“If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Charles smirks deeply, like he knows something the world doesn’t, the interviewer picks up on it. “Wait, you have a tattoo? Can we see it?”

“No! It’s for me only.”

You playfully swat at Charles’ chest, a playful blush coloring your cheeks as you both wander throughout the house, showcasing its beautiful décor. Despite your embarrassment at Charles’ antics, you can’t help but be thankful for him easing your nerves. You weren’t one for the public eye, normally. So, when you agreed to this interview it came out as quite a surprise.

“Okay final question of the day.” 

You both stand by the front door, the interviewer on the front step outside of the home. 

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Definitely ki—” You don’t get to finish your answer as Charles’ fingers grasp onto your neck, his fingers sprawled along your jawline as well, and tugs your face into his. He shuts the door as soon as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It’s a few seconds before you push him off you. “You’re unbelievable!”

A giant smile spreads across his face as he looks down at you. “Only for you, mon chou!”

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 15th. mattheo — brat taming / daddy kink.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: play bratty games, win…uh, your boyfriends cum down your throat?

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, glove kink, fingering under the table at a family dinner, dom!mattheo, denied orgasm, SLIGHT mutual masturbation, an absurd amount of dirty talk, daddy kink, ROAD HEAD (how tf does this man keep the car steady? idk), blowjob.

Malfoy Manor has always been stunning—the kind of stunning you've grown used to over the years of being with Mattheo, but that somehow still manages to take your breath away every time you step foot inside. It's perfect in a way that almost feels oppressive, the heavy weight of generational wealth clinging to everything.

The chandelier, the delicate flowers in the center of the table, even the soft scent of roses in the air—it's all so much. Too polished. Too grand.

You pick at your dinner, the taste lost on you.

On any other night, maybe you'd let the beauty sweep you up. But not tonight. Tonight, everything grates. The low hum of formal chatter, the fake, forced laughs that drift through the air—you hear it, sure, but you don't care. You can't care. You're too pissed off to care. It all sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

And the cause of your irritation? He's sitting right beside you, perfectly at ease. Mattheo's been charming the room for hours now, playing his part, all smooth smiles and well-placed comments. He was crafted for this. Moulded into it. He can waltz through these evenings like it's second nature, like he doesn't even have to try.

And that pisses you off too. Truthfully, everything about him tonight pisses you off.

But you sit there anyway, like the dutiful girlfriend you are, playing your role—smiling when you're supposed to, making small talk when you're supposed to—all while on the inside, irritation is bubbling, simmering just beneath your skin.

And maybe it's stupid—trivial—but you're mostly just mad that he dragged you here. Ignored your exhaustion. Dismissed it with that look of his, the one that said you'd survive, as if surviving was the same as being fine. And now, you're stuck in this perfectly orchestrated evening, playing a part you never wanted.

And you'd almost hate him for it—if it weren't for those fucking gloves.

Leather, black, soft and sleek. They move with him, something that masks his ruggedness and makes him almost look presentable—graceful—hiding cut knuckles and the strength within them as he picks up his glass, adjusts the napkin in his lap, brushing his fork like it's nothing.

You almost scowl in frustration of it all. Who the fuck let him wear those? You've been staring at them all night. You don't even want to, but it's like they've trapped your attention, pulled you in without asking.

You're mad at him. The gloves don't change that. But they do something. They make everything harder.

And still, you fight it.

It starts small. The attitude. A quiet, sharp kind of rebellion that only he'd catch onto. Your fingers tap your glass a little too hard when you set it down. Your words come out flat when he leans over to make some passing comment. You give him clipped responses, not looking at him, not giving him what he wants. You can feel the brittle edge of your smile, and you know he can too.

Mattheo notices everything. He always does.

After a while of this, a gloved hand slips under the table, brushing your knee.

A question without words; what are you doing?

You don't react. Not at first. You just shift your foot, barely nudging his ankle, pushing back in the smallest way. He tightens his grip on your knee—a warning, a silent conversation between the two of you, invisible to everyone else at the table.

"Dinner's been nice," he's prodding, testing, his voice smooth as ever. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You feel him watching, feel the weight of his gaze as he picks you apart, dissecting your mood. He knows you too well for this. You finally meet his eyes, and for a second, the room fades into the background. Just him and that damn hand on your knee, the soft leather brushing your skin in a way that makes your pulse stumble.

You try to shake it off, shrug it away like it's nothing.

"Hmm," you hum, pretending you're not affected. Your fingers tap your plate, and your eyes drift again—down to his other hand, resting on the table, playing with the edge of his glass. "I suppose."

His brow arches, just enough for you to catch it—another challenge posed to your audacity. He knows exactly what you're doing—you can see it in the way his lips twitch, the faintest hint of amusement. He's letting you play your game, but you know he's already winning.

"You're mad at me." His voice is low, slipping beneath the hum of dinner conversation.

You blink, keeping your gaze trained on the flicker of candlelight rather than him. It's not a question, not even a statement—he says it like a fact, just a certainty, a declaration dripping in the smugness that comes so naturally to him. And that pisses you off even more.

He’s always too goddamn sure about everything.

"Mm, no." You lift your glass, cool rim kissing your lips as you take a slow, languid sip, the taste biting your tongue. You let it hide the smirk threatening your face. "Nothing to be mad about."

His hand shifts higher, fingers tightening just enough to remind you he's there—dipping into your skin, the silent warning you can feel vibrating up your spine. You should be used to this by now, should be used to the way he takes you apart—but you aren't. How could you ever get used to this?

"Uh huh." He's not buying it. He never does.

His eyes flicker around the room, yours follow, mirroring his movements in a habit you loathe as you let him have that win. Everyone's busy—forks clinking, soft laughter bubbling up like champagne, far enough away to give him the nerve to push you harder. Your breath catches when you glance at his free hand again—black leather tapping idly against the tablecloth like it's got all the time in the world.

Gods, what's wrong with you tonight?

When had his gloves become the focus of your desire? They're just fucking gloves. Stupid, soft leather molding perfectly to those big hands—you’re chewing your lip without realizing it, and his eyes catch yours before you can look away—

Fuck.

"You keep staring at my hands," he's leaning in again, and your pulse skips, trips over itself like it's running from something. "Got something you'd like to say?"

The pit of your stomach tightens, twisting with a familiar dread, a sick kind of anticipation. Of course, he's noticed. The bastard catches everything. Nothing slides under his radar—not when it comes to breaking your attitude.

He likes to say he was born to tame brats—and you, of all people, make him prove it. Sometimes you hate him for it. Most times you don't.

"No, actually." You shift in your seat, trying to shake his hand off your knee, but he's relentless—doesn't budge, doesn't even flinch. "I don't."

Christ. His grip is ironclad, like those gloves were made for this kind of hold. For making you feel every fucking inch of them. You exhale as you gather yourself—you hate him tonight, hate him for dragging you here, for dismissing you so easily—and you want to let him know it. Want him to feel it.

"No?" His fingers slip higher. You glance down the length of the table, nausea curling at the edges of your vision when you spot Lucius' blond head gleaming under the chandelier. Mattheo's voice is low, just for you. "Nothing at all?"

"Mattheo." Your voice is a hiss now, strained, your composure hanging by a thread. You want to slap the smug look off his face, but you don't. You can't. "Leave me alone, okay? I'm here. For you. I'm not happy about it, but I'm here. Just let me be. You're being—"

He cuts you off with a tilt of his head, jaw clenching at the exact moment his hand slides further up your thigh.

Your words catch in your throat, suffocate on themselves, die there.

"Maybe you're being a brat because you want me to choke you, huh?" The words land heavy, like an accusation, but worse because it isn't a question. He knows. "Maybe that's why you keep staring at my hands?"

Your body goes hot—alive in ways it hasn't been all night. The room erupts into laughter, some joke you missed, but it only heightens the tension wrapping tight around the two of you. His fingertips are teasing dangerously close to where they shouldn't be, and you're suddenly very thankful for the tablecloth draped over your lap—

"No." The word slips from your lips, barely a breath, lacking conviction. "No, I—"

"A brat and a liar," he hums, not letting you finish. He's enjoying this now. "You're really racking up the bad decisions tonight."

Salazar save you—his fingers slip higher still, and you clamp your thighs shut, a last-ditch effort to keep him from pushing this into dangerous territory. He responds by hooking a foot around yours to spread you back open—you bite your lip so hard it hurts.

"Maybe I'm just annoyed because I had better plans for my evening," you can't let him win so you spit the words out, voice quiet, hoping he doesn't catch the tremor in it. “Not that you care.”

You don't look at him. You can't. More laughter fills the room. Drowns out the shake in your breath.

He huffs, wine breath brushing your ear. "Keep this up and you may just end up with the evening you deserve."

"And what evening is that?" You spit back, ignoring the way the leather sticks to the heat of your thigh. "The one where I'm stuck here, listening to Draco prattle on about his latest Quidditch practice? Or perhaps another mind-numbing dinner, this time with Dumbledore and friends?"

The flicker of irritation in his eyes is subtle, but you see it. Oh, he's seething now. Dread pools, thick like syrup. You drop your eyes to the table.

"Oh no, not even close," if anger was a voice, it'd be his. Right now, in your ear. "I was thinking more of the one where I keep you cuffed to the bed all night. How does that one sound?"

Your pulse hammers, too fast, too loud—you can feel everything—the candlelight burning your skin, the way the chandelier's glow twinkles overhead, the way his hand is still, still so high on your fucking leg.

No one at the table notices. No one cares. But the feeling is crushing you, pulling you deeper into this private hell of his creation.

"You lost the chance for that when you brought me here," you bite out, hand darting under the table to try and pry his fingers off your thigh.

But his grip only tightens, his foot hooking tighter around yours, keeping you in place. He's relentless. And you hate it. You hate how much you don't want him to stop.

"If you're going to act like a brat, just say so," he growls, his voice a low rumble, "you know I'll deal with you later."

You roll your eyes. "Promises, promises."

You can't help it. You're baiting him now, pushing him just as hard as he's pushing you. The inevitable looms over you, and you know you've already lost. He's not budging. He never does. And you know—God, you know—you're in for it.

If this is the hell of his creation, you were the muse.

"More than a promise," his patience is gone, you can feel it. You wonder just how close you are to him dragging you from the room by your hair, not caring who sees. "Count your blessings."

“Oh, I'm counting."

And with that, you reach for your wine glass again, taking another slow, deliberate sip, letting the bitter liquid slide down your throat—you're oblivious, don't even notice the line you've crossed until it's too late—

His hand moves fast, leather fingers slipping past the last scrap of dignity you were clinging to. You choke on the wine you'd barely had the chance to swallow, the world tipping, spinning, crumbling as his thick, gloved finger glides through your slick folds, sinking into your cunt without a moments hesitation. You hadn't worn panties tonight—a decision that felt normal in the beginning but now screams of poor foresight—but there's no time for regret.

Not now, not with your boyfriend fingering you under the table at a family fucking dinner.

"Quiet, brat," he mutters, eyes twinkling as you cover your mouth, still half-choking on your drink. "Keep making sounds and someone is going to notice.”

Your heart skips, the pulse between your legs responding to the threat, clenching involuntarily around him. You're soaked, the heat of it spreads shame across your cheeks, burning like wildfire in your veins. Why are you this wet? This shouldn't turn you on—it's humiliating, degrading—

"Then maybe don't make me make sounds," you hiss, gripping the table so hard you think the wood might crack. "This is on you—"

He cuts you off, slipping a second finger into your cunt—and the sentence dies in your throat, swallowed by a sharp whimper you disguise as another cough.

"I said quiet." His voice is thin, dangerous. His fingers slide deeper, knuckle deep, and the heat threatens to tear you apart. "Bite your tongue or so help me—"

You bite down, but on your lip instead, trying to school your expression into something neutral, something that won't betray the war raging inside you. You two haven't fucked in days—you're more sensitive than usual—and this forbidden thrill only makes it worse, heightening every nerve, every pulse, as his fingers move in slow, deliberate thrusts inside you.

"You can’t," you breathe, the words coming out weak, a poor imitation of protest.  "Mattheo—"

"Shhh," he replies, voice low, a quiet storm gathering in the pit of your stomach. He leans closer, his breath hot against your neck. "Keep your sounds for later."

You snuff a groan, mind racing a million miles a minute—eyes darting around the table in a panic, scanning the faces for any sign that someone might notice. But no one does. The conversation moves on, unaware, the oblivious hum of normalcy in stark contrast to the chaos brewing beneath your skin.

This is crazy. It’s crazy in a way that only Mattheo Riddle could manage and you’re so fucking lost in it you don’t ever want it to stop.

He's not even looking at you anymore, fingers moving steadily, thumb brushing over your clit with the kind of casual cruelty that makes your body shudder. He's laughing, speaking to Draco as though he's not knuckle-deep inside you. The audacity of it makes your head spin. You're teetering on the edge—so close, dangerously close—and if you fall now, if you let go, you'll be too loud—you won't be able to stop yourself—

"Mattheo—please," you whisper, your voice trembling, barely holding on. His thumb rolls over your clit again, teasing, torturing. "You're gonna make me—"

"Yeah," he hardly looks at you. "I am." He crooks his fingers, pumping in slow, agonizing drags that send your brain spiraling into static. "Gonna make you lose the attitude. Gonna make you be good.”

Oh, you loathe him right now, deliciously. "Matt—"

"And you’re going to take it, like it’s not killing you." He continues—leaning in slightly now, examining the way your breath is coming in shallow, broken gasps. “Just like I’ve had to take seeing you in that dress…and pretend it hasn’t been killing me.”

Your eyes flicker around the table again, still desperate for any sign that someone might notice, just to give him a reason to stop—but the conversation continues, oblivious. The leather of his gloves is slick with you now, a wet sound breaking through the steady hum of voices with every movement of his hand.

You part your lips to hiss another pathetic plea—a warning to stop before you explode—but he cuts you off—

“One more word and I'll make sure not a single person at this table leaves without hearing you scream.” He pulls his fingers out nice and slow, rubbing some of the wetness down your thigh before he moves back and pushes back in. “Do you want that?"

You shoot him a glare, but shake your head nonetheless.

"Didn't think so," he mutters, his voice dropping even lower, fingers working deeper, faster. "Look at them," he hisses in your ear, and your gaze flicks over the table again. "They don't even care. Too caught up in their own bullshit to notice, aren't they? But I see you. I see how flushed your chest is—" his thumb presses harder, sending a shockwave through you—"I know what that means."

"I'm not—" your thighs tremble, you’re denying it as though you have any power to stop it. He’s just too goddamn good at this. "I'm not going to—"

"You are," he whispers, and you almost let your eyes roll. "I can feel you soaking my hand. Little cunt is begging me to finish this, isn't it?" His fingers thrust deep, hitting a spot that makes you work to choke down a sob. "You and that fucking attitude can deny it all you want, but I feel how close you are.”

The room erupts into laughter, a sudden burst of noise that pulls all eyes to the other end of the table. Your breath comes out in a trembling exhale, letting out a whimper you know won’t be heard over the commotion—the distraction your only saving grace as you fight to keep still, to keep from rocking against his hand and giving him what he wants.

You lean into him, pleading. "Mattheo, please—if you don't stop, I'll—"

"You poor thing," he hums, his thumb circling slower now, torturously precise. "Sounds like a you problem, princess. Shouldn't have been such a brat tonight."

"I'm sorry," you choke out, words barely coherent but you see the flash in your boyfriend’s eyes. It’s the two words he’s been looking for all night. "Please, just—"

And then—his fingers slip out of you. As abrupt as a cold bucket of water over your head.

You blink, almost gasping at the loss, just as the table erupts into another fit of laughter and you're left aching, disoriented, while everyone begins to stand. Merlin help you—dinners over and you had no goddamn idea. You feel like a robot moving in slow motion as you watch Mattheo wipe his slick fingers off on his thigh, smirking. The room is a blur of goodbyes and handshakes, and before you can even catch your breath, he's got you by the wrist, pulling you away from the scene, dragging you out to the car.

The passenger door of his blacked-out Audi flies open, and you're urged inside, your legs trembling, the evidence of everything he's done to you still slick between your thighs. The leather seats beneath you remind you all too well of the feel of his gloves, of the fingers that had just been inside you, and your cunt clenches at the thought, still throbbing with unfulfilled need. Mattheo slides into the driver's seat, a silent inferno of fury, not sparing you a glance as he throws the car into drive, tearing out of the Malfoy estate.

His leather-gloved hand rests on the stick shift, and you stare at it, unable to look away.

"You're staring again," he breaks the tension, his voice tight.

"Yes." This time, you don't even bother denying it. Not after what he'd done. He’d long tamed your attitude. You can’t fight it anymore. “I am.”

His chest rises sharply, his grip on the gear shift tightening. You bite your lip, feeling your core throb painfully in response.

"Learned your lesson, I hope," he mutters, eyes focused on the dark road in front of you.

"I suppose," you murmur, still breathless. The wetness between your thighs is impossible to ignore, and so you reach for his hand—tracing your fingertips over the smooth leather before curling your fingers around two of his, stroking them. "I suppose I learned something."

His breath catches when you jerk his fingers, and he sucks in a shallow breath of air through his teeth. You clench at the sound of it. Oh, how you goddamn love being a little tease.

"Mm." His voice is gravel, rough and uneven—you notice the bulge in his pants, his cock straining against the expensive fabric. "You want to cum, don't you?"

You nod, your fingers still stroking his. "Yes."

"Yes?" His voice lowers, a prompt you recognize all too well.

"Yes, Mattheo—daddy—" you correct yourself, your breath hitching. God, you’ve been here so many times with him. You know what he’s looking for. "I want to cum."

His jaw tightens, and he wets his lips. "You want my cock. You need it."

"Yes, daddy," you repeat, the words spilling out easily, exactly what he wants to hear, and exactly what you want to say. "I want your cock. I need it."

"Then finish yourself off," he growls, his gaze flicking toward you for a brief moment, his eyes blazing. "Make your filthy little cunt cum, and if you’re a good girl, I'll let you suck me off."

The command sends an insatiable fucking thrill through you, and without a second thought, you move to obey him—night air biting your skin as you shift your dress up and your fingers find the slick mess between your thighs. A long, long over-suppressed moan escapes you the moment your fingers graze your clit, and Mattheo‘a eyes flash over, jaw working as he watches for a split second before focusing back on the road.

"Fuck," you groan as you push two fingers into your soaked cunt, your head falling back against the seat, back arching. "Oh, fuck—"

"That's it," he murmurs, free hand moving from the gear shift to palm his erection through his pants. You swear you hear him moan. "You wish it was me, don't you? Wish it was my cock inside you."

"Yes, daddy, I do," you whimper, your hips rocking against your hand, fingers fucking deeper into your pussy, lewd sounds filling the steamed space within the car. "I wish it was your cock…inside me."

"Fucking brat with a dirty mouth," he hisses, his fingers working at his belt, eyes darting between the road and you. "Cum for me. Show me how you’re good for me.”

You groan, unable to believe how fucking wet you are, slick coating your hand and thighs, dripping all over your boyfriends expensive leather seat—Gods, you’re so close, the edge that he'd left you teetering on earlier now drawing closer with full force. You add another finger, curling them against your throbbing walls, and Mattheo's breath stutters, his focus wavering as he watches you unravel.

"Look at you. So fucking shameless." His hand slips inside his pants, and he starts stroking himself, his cock already leaking. "I bet you wish I’d pull this car over right now, huh? Fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

You moan at how goddamn wrecked he sounds—forcing a smirk through your open mouth, words coming out shaky. "And how do I—ah—how do I deserve to be fucked, daddy?"

The car jerks, just slightly, Mattheo groans.

"Like the nasty little slut you are," his eyes flash to you again, his grip tightening on his cock, pumping faster. "Until you forget how to talk. Until you can't say anything but my fucking name."

Your world spins, orgasm roaring in. "Mattheo—daddy—oh fuck—"

"Earn it," he snarls, his voice raw. "Earn my cock."

One, two more deep pumps into your cunt and you erupt, finally—body seizing, orgasm crashing over you with violent force, leaving you gasping, your back arching off the seat as your wanton moans fill the steamy car. Mattheo watches you through hooded eyes, stroking his cock faster as you whimper and moan his name, orgasm intensified due to him edging you all through dinner—somehow managing to keep the car steady throughout all of this.

Part of you wonders if he’s charmed it.

"Good fucking girl—there we go," he purrs, and his hand reaches over, seizes the back of your head, urging you toward his lap. "Now take your reward."

You’re buzzing—breaths scattered, but there’s no hesitation, no argument. You shift to your knees on his seat, your mouth watering as you wrap a hand around the base of him, tongue teasing the tip before his hand in your hair directs you deeper—lips wrapping around his throbbing cock as he slides into your mouth, hot and heavy. He groans, his hips thrusting forward, just barely, and you gag slightly as he hits the back of your throat.

"Fuck, that's it," he grunts, his voice low and strained. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be choked on my cock. To be shut up like this."

You can't answer, your mouth too full of him as he directs your head to bob along him, as he thrusts into you, each movement deeper, harder. Tears prick your eyes, but you don't stop, your hands gripping his thighs as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks and drooling.

"Fuck—yeah, that’s it. Choke on it," he snarls, other hand keeping the car impossibly steady. "Wanna see those tears, baby. Wanna hear you gagging on it."

You moan around him at those words, the heat of them shooting straight to your still-soaked cunt, tears spilling from your eyes as his hips buck up, slamming the back of your throat. Mattheo is the most impatient man you’ve known, and it shows in moments like this, when he’s sick of your attitude—when he drops the seat back, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the wheel, his knee keeping it steady as he thrusts deep into your throat. You’re gagging and moaning, working your tongue along the length of him, until with a final grunt, he spills into your mouth and you swallow every drop, his shaking breaths and gutted groans filling the car as he rides out his release.

"Fuck. That’s my girl. My good fuckin’ girl," he pants, his voice rough with satisfaction as he releases you, your lips swollen and wet as you slump back in your seat. "You earned that."

You know you did.

[jezebelblues]

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 | 𝐇.𝐒 ₊˚⊹ᰔ

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐲, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭—𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.

loosely based off this request.

𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐫. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐢𝐭.

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ fingering, slight exhibitionism, jealousrry, alcohol usage, fratrry, fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 3.4k

masterlist

YN tasted like cherries.

A cherry vodka sour, sweet with a hint of something sharper underneath—a taste that lingered, his very own narcotic, drawing him in sip by sip like a whispered invitation. The scent clung to her, rolling from her lips in quiet, careless breaths that brushed his cheek whenever she leaned too close. By the end of the night, he was close enough to catch the faintest trace of cherry chapstick, a soft tease of sweetness he was certain she left there just for him.

She stood in the neon glow at the edge of the room, light bleeding over her skin, casting her in shades that looked as alive as they did unreal. The dim purple and blue fractured over her collarbone, slipped across her cheekbones, hiding as much as it revealed. He watched her, and she knew it. Her gaze drifted past him, lingering just long enough for him to wonder if she'd felt his stare prickling across her skin. And when she smiled, he swore there was something in it meant just for him—a fleeting thing, a glimmer of knowledge that she understood exactly what she was doing to him.

Harry could feel the weight of it, her laughter bubbling like carbonation, fizzy and sharp as it hit his ears and curled around him, intoxicating as any drink in his hand. She was just out of reach, always a breath away, with eyes that seemed to say she knew every game he was trying to play, and she’d play them better.

He couldn’t remember the taste of his own drink anymore, something else sat on his tongue–bubbling from the top of his throat, igniting his chest. 

Her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she smiled, her solo cup discarded from her hands and onto the broad shoulders of the man standing in front of her. She’d glance Harry’s way every few minutes, eye locking with his before turning back to the man, laughing at something she definitely didn’t find funny.

Yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.

His fingers gripped his drink, watching as she tilted her head to the side, her tapping against his shoulders like a spell. And then–there it was. Her eyes flickered to Harry, a spark of something familiar dancing on the edge of her pupils, flashing just long enough to say, are you watching?

He was.

The man leaned in closer, his large hand resting against her hip while the other gripped the edge of the table behind her—caged in. Harry wanted to almost laugh. She wasn’t blocked in, no, the exact opposite. Men melted like ice in her palms, she was the ringmaster here. She played it perfectly, the tilt of her head, trailing her fingers up his neck as if she was spinning a web.

“Your cans getting crushed.” Came Mitch’s voice, low and amused as he nodded toward the aluminum Harry white knuckled. 

He exhaled, easing his fingers around the drink as he took a shallow sip, a wry smile slipping onto his lips. “She’ll be the death of me.” 

Mitch laughed, eyeing Harry over the brim of his beer bottle touching his lips. “Only ‘cause you let her.”

He let himself lean into the wall behind him, the cool surface doing nothing to temper the heat curling beneath his skin. Mitch was right. He let her—let her pull him under like a wave, let her play the part of his tormentor. His eyes held onto her, his cherry, wrapped in a game she orchestrated with the precision of a maestro. The room spun around her, and he was caught into her gravity, helpless to orbit at a distance.

Their gaze held each other every time she would flicker her eyes over. It was filthy, as if they were fucking, front and center of everyone. She pinned him in place with only a glance, that sly, knowing look. She lifted herself onto the table behind her, her laughter like a melody meant only for him. The music thumped against the walls, drowning out everything else, but it didn’t matter—he’d hear YN over it all, every soft breath, every little sound. She was everywhere in his senses, threading through his veins.

The man stood between her legs, saying something in her ear that Harry couldn’t make out, but it was enough to make her lips quirk into a smile—one he knew wasn’t for him. His hand tightened around his drink again, crushed aluminum forgotten, cold liquid seeping through his fingers. It was her doing; she knew exactly how to turn him into this, into a version of himself that held back only because the tension was a part of the thrill.

Another laugh escaped her lips, and he saw her bite down on it, that little nibble on her bottom lip that drove him mad. YN threw her head back, letting her hair fall around her shoulders like a heavy curtain, exposing the curve of her neck. A pulse beat just under her skin, one he knew he could feel if he got close enough.

And for a second, he thought he saw her crack.

The man’s hand slid further up her thigh, threatening to slip underneath the fabric of her small skirt. But her gaze drifted, almost instinctively, back to Harry. It was quick, so quick he almost convinced himself he imagined it, but Harry knew better. There was a question in that flicker, a question he knew was coming since the beginning of the night, are you going to let him keep touching me?

It wasn’t fair, none of it was, the way she played him like this, weaving in and out of his focus until he couldn’t remember the start of his own intentions. Every step he took toward her, its like she took one back, luring him deeper. He hated that she knew he’d follow, hated how she left him chasing shadows.

A hand landed on his shoulder, snapping him back, Mitch—although he was unsure if he wanted to be pulled back into reality or not. He watched him with a look that was half-amused, half-concerned. “You keep staring, mate, you’re gonna turn to stone.” He teased, though his eyes lingered on Harry’s hand, still clenched white around his drink.

He forced a laugh, hollow, strained. “Maybe I already have.”

The words barely left his mouth before he saw her slip off the table, her admirer’s hand slipping from her waist and interlacing his fingers with hers—as if they were heading out.

Something in him snapped. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pushing off the wall, letting his half-emptied can of beer clammer onto the wooden floor beneath him. He weaved through the crowd with a single minded purpose, ignoring the curious glances sent his way. Mitch muttered something behind him, but it didn’t register—couldn’t register. 

The guy with her hadn’t noticed him yet, too absorbed in whatever he muttered against her cheek. Harry saw her roll her eyes in amusement, stroking whatever ego the man had. Her gaze then slid sideways, catching sight of Harry. Her expression didn’t falter—if anything, her smile grew, just the tiniest bit, a flash of triumph dancing in her gaze as she held his.

The man finally noticed, his grin faltering as he slipped his hand from hers, turning to face Harry who was close enough to see uncertainty flicker over his face, a split second before he masked it with bravado. 

“H,” she mumbled, her voice warm, as if she were greeting just an old friend. She didn’t step away from the two, only allowing herself to lean against the table once again with her arms crossed over her chest.

He took another step forward, a smile curving his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Enjoying yourself?”

YN arched a brow, her gaze playful, almost defiant. “I was. Are you?”

The guy shifted awkwardly beside them, looking at them with a growing wariness, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he put himself into. Harry spared him a glance, a cool, knowing look that revealed something simmering underneath. It was answer enough. 

His patience was fraying, thinning out thread by thread that she unraveled.

He placed his hand on the table she leaned onto, the tip of his thumb brushing against the fabric of her skirt. He was close enough for her to feel his cool breath, close enough for him to smell the faint hint of cherry lingering on her lips. His eyes burrowed into the man that still stood there as he whispered, low enough for only her to hear, “why are y’playing games with me?” 

Her smile sharpened, and there was something dark, something electric, sparking in her irises as she looked toward him. She shifted her weight, turning her shoulders into him. His eyes still bore into the man’s, his jaw clenched. 

He seemed nice enough, sure, but he didn’t fucking care when it came to her.

God, she ruined him. And Harry took it gladly, falling to his knees and worshiping her.

“Who says I’m playing?” She barely blinked, her words a challenge, a dare he couldn’t ignore. And then she reached out, brushing a single finger along the ink on his forearm, trailing it down with a touch that was featherlight, maddeningly subtle. “Or maybe,” she breathed, her lips a head-turn away, “you just don’t like that we’re not playing by your rules.”

His eyes finally flickered to hers, it was all he could do to hold himself steady. The guy beside them cleared his throat awkwardly, muttering something about getting another drink and slipping away into the crowd, clearly catching the drift.

Harry didn’t care, no. He’d claim her right now, in front of everyone, if she let him.

They ignored him, nothing more than a forgotten piece of her performance—a discarded prop, now that Harry was here, close enough to feel the heat of her skin and that slow, steady rise and fall of her breath.

“You don’t have to keep doing this.” He said lowly, laced with an edge he couldn’t quite hide. “Pretending you don’t want it.” 

Her smile was slow, spreading across her face with a satisfaction that bordered on wicked. She pushed up onto her toes, lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “Maybe I like seeing what it does to you.”

Her words wrapped around him, drawing him in, filling him with a reckless sort of need, one he’d tried to bury, tried to ignore. But she’d brought it to the surface, peeling him apart layer by layer until he was bare before her, all pretense stripped away,

“Careful.” He warned, his voice a rumble, shifting on his weight to place his free hand on the other side of the table, caging her in. His hand slipped up her thigh, past her skirt, his fingertips slipping underneath the fabric of her panties and gripping the bare skin of her hip. “Or I’ll show you exactly what it does, right in front of everyone.” 

Her gaze flickered down, lingering on the sharp line of his jaw, her own pulse quickening beneath his touch. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “His name is Mateo.” She murmured, her lips brushing against his chin, just beneath his bottom lip. “He was gonna take me upstairs.” 

He didn’t say anything, he only tightened his jaw, slipping his fingers inward just barely, tracing the lace of her panties. 

She let out a breathy giggle, “seem a little tense.” She mumbled against his skin, her voice teasing, silk-wrapped around a blade. Her smile was innocent, close-lipped and coy as she leaned her head away from his mouth, but her eyes betrayed her, dark and hungry. “Something on your mind?”

“I think you like it.” His voice was rough, sharpened. The tip of his index finger slipped underneath the gusset of her panties, tracing down her folds that were already slick with arousal. “Seeing me like this.”

Her breath hitched, her eyes finally averting from his to the crowd over his shoulder. Everyone was enveloped in their own words, nursing solo cups of vodka or pupils wide with some sort of substance. She could feel his finger, the way it sat right at her entrance. He was teasing her, she knew it. She looked at him again, only seeing a man completely unraveled before her. 

Just like she wanted. 

“Said he wanted to hear me scream his name.” 

He eased his finger into her, knuckle deep. He watched through half-lidded eyes the way her forehead creased in pleasure, the way cherry fell from her breath. He curled his finger upward before slowly pulling out, a sigh escaping her lips. “What was his name?” Harry breathed, his lips against her temple.

Her eyebrows furrowed, scanning the people behind him again. In that moment, she was grateful the table was tucked into the corner of the room, an afterthought unless someone was looking for it. “Mat–”

He pumped into her again, this time adding his middle finger, her velvety walls fluttering around his digits. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, her spine straightening.

“Your cunt was soaked before I even touched you.” He spat, his voice low behind the music. His fingers were slow, teasing, teetering on the edge of her resolve. “Don’t think he did that for you.” 

Her chest rose as she drew a breath, deep, silencing. Her eyes found his ways back to his, so dark she could see herself in the reflection of them. A knot tightened in her belly, a pressure building between her thighs before his movements stilled.

His fingers remained, unmoving as he knit his eyebrows together, watching a silent desperation dance upon her features. “Who got you like this?” He murmured, pressing a kiss into her forehead. She clenched around him, drawing a chuckle that emitted from his chest. “Say it, YN.” 

“You.” She breathed. Of course he did, no one else could make her feel this way. 

Her effort to hold back her moans were poor, soft squeaks tumbling from her mouth as Harry pumped his fingers in and out—the wet sound of being finger-fucked only audible between the two of them.

“You seem tense, baby.” He echoed, pressing a kiss against her cheekbone, soft, barely there. “Something on your mind?”

She raised her hand toward his shoulder, balling the fabric in her hands as she struggled to stay quiet. His knuckles pounded against her pussy selfishly, a sick sense of pride spreading around his chest. “Fuck, H. Just like that.”

He could feel the way she fluttered around him, the way she was so close to coming just from his fingers.

But, he smirked, pulling his hand from her panties, her arousal glistening under the neon lights. A whimper fell from her lips, her shoulders falterning, a frustration bubbling over. His other hand sat on her bare knee as he took the smallest step backward, bringing those two fingers to his lips, licking the tip of them like he swiped them through a sweet dessert. 

His lips were slick as he leaned back in, kissing her. Her legs tightened around his own as she tasted herself on him, the heat between her thighs growing unbearable. 

And he smiled into it, biting her lip as he pulled away. A warmth settled in his tummy, he felt like he could float—

happy that he could taste cherries again.

[catchastarorten]

—Two sides of a coin.

Pairing: Young-il / Hwang In-ho x fem!reader

Summary: when he went into the games and blended in as a player, he didn’t expect himself to start caring for you so much. However, during Mingle, he realized you might not be so different from him…

Warnings: In-ho & Young-il are interchangeable—I used both in here, violence, death, him being concerned for you a lot, fast-paced, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 2.0k

You had caught his attention early on, long before you had even spoken to him. You weren’t like the others—no frantic alliances, no desperate pleas. You moved through the games like a shadow, calculating but not ruthless, detached but not cold. You held people at a distance, but you weren’t cruel about it. That intrigued him.

He watched how the others in his group gravitated toward you, despite knowing next to nothing about you. You let them in just enough to function as a team, but no further. And yet, there were moments when you let something slip—when your guard lowered just slightly, a half-smile at Jung-bae and Dae-ho, a quick hand extended to steady Jun-hee when she winced in pain, her hands covering her stomach.

It made In-ho wonder. Who were you, really? What had brought you here?

More than that—why did he care?

He wasn’t supposed to. He was here with a purpose. Not to get attached. And yet, every time a new game started and ended, his first instinct was to check on you. To make sure you were still there. Still breathing. Still alive.

Like now.

The platform beneath him whirred as Mingle began again, spinning slow but fast enough to disorient, especially in a state of panic, though he barely felt it. The more players lost, the more chaotic it became. Fear made people desperate, and desperate people were unpredictable.

His eyes stayed on you.

You stood with your usual quiet focus, weight balanced perfectly, already anticipating the moment the platform would stop.

The moment the platform jerked to a halt, the voice crackled overhead:

“Five.”

Panic erupted around him instantly.

People lunged, grabbing at whoever was closest, shoving and clawing to form groups. He ignored them all, moving toward you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your wrist—

And then someone crashed into him.

The impact sent him stumbling just enough to lose sight of you.

His heart pounded against his ribs.

No.

Shoving past bodies, he searched for you, ignoring the hands trying to pull him into groups, or Dae-ho’s constant call for him. The countdown was already ticking down, but his only thought was find her, find her, find her.

Then he saw you.

You had spotted the others—Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Dae-ho. They were waving at you, shouting from the front of one of the rooms they found empty.

Four.

They needed one more.

You didn’t make a move right away, your head turning around as if you were looking for something—or someone. Then, your eyes locked with In-ho, the lingering look told him to go with the group, and he felt his breath hitch.

Before In-ho could try to communicate that you needed to be the one who’s safe—you ran.

Not towards the room, but into the waves of people scrambling to find others to get into a room.

He cursed under his breath and ran toward the other four, who all shouted for him.

The doors slammed shut. His breathing quickened by the thought of you being eliminated. What if you didn’t find another group? What if you didn’t find a room?

A moment later, the final buzzer sounded, and the doors locked.

The ones who had failed to form groups pounded against the locked doors, their screams cut short by the inevitable gunshots. The guards moved in, silent and efficient, dragging the bodies away.

It should have been routine. In-ho had seen this before. He had orchestrated it before.

But he barely saw any of it.

Because all he could think was—was she inside?

Had you made it?

When the clean-up was over, the doors unlocked, allowing the players to come out of the rooms. In-ho’s first thought was to look for you in the crowds of players.

You stepped out from another room. Alive.

He felt the air rush from his lungs.

For a second, he didn’t move. Just stood there, taking in the sight of you, as if his mind needed proof. You walked out with that same composed stride, only the slight rise and fall of your chest betraying the fact that you had almost died.

And then—then you smirked.

That soft, knowing smirk. Like you were telling him, I’m fine. See? You didn’t need to worry.

Something inside him snapped.

Before he could stop himself, his feet carried him forward, fast, almost desperate. He barely registered the others, barely cared if they noticed.

He just needed—

He stopped inches away from you.

His breath was steady, but his hands twitching at his sides. He had almost lost you. The realization crashed into him harder than it should have. It unsettled him, made his pulse hammer in a way he didn’t like. He had known fear before, but never like this.

And you—damn you, you just stood there, watching him with those unreadable eyes. You had no idea. No idea how close he was to pulling you into his arms just to make sure you were real. To confirm you were still here. He forced himself to breathe, to shove the instinct down.

You smirked again, tilting your head slightly. “Missed me?”

“You worried me.” Young-il said simply, trying to calm himself, giving you a smile, though it felt a bit forced.

“I saved you too.”

—

The last round.

The tension was suffocating.

126 players left. Only 50 rooms. It meant 26 people were guaranteed to die if the remaining players were required to form pairs.

You felt it in the way the bodies around you tensed, the way some players shifted closer together, while others eyed their competition like prey.

The platform had barely stopped spinning when the announcement came.

“Two.”

Young-il didn’t hesitate. He didn’t stop to think, didn’t give himself a moment to assess. His body moved purely on instinct. His hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist in a firm grip, and before you could react, he pulled you forward.

“Come on!"

There was no time to wait. No time to look for anyone else. He needed you by his side, needed to ensure that you wouldn’t be swallowed by the chaos erupting all around.

And it was chaos.

Players lunged for one another, hands grabbing, shoving, desperate to form pairs before the rooms filled. The knowledge that not everyone would make it—that some would be left behind to die—drove them to madness. Some scrambled without thought, others moved with purpose, pulling people down, throwing punches, trampling those too slow to keep up.

The room was in sight.

Not far. Just a few more feet.

Then something slammed into him.

A body, heavy and frantic, slammed into his side with brute force, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the ground. The grip on your wrist slipped away as his back hit the hard platform floor.

The player who tackled him was bigger—strong, but wild with panic. His hands clawed at Young-il’s teal tracksuit, trying to shove him back down. A split second’s hesitation in a game like this could mean death. He knew that.

But before he could fully react—before he could twist the man off him and take back control, you were already moving. No hesitation. You grabbed the man’s collar, your grip brutal and sure, and yanked him off with shocking strength. Young-il barely had time to register the movement before—

Crack.

A sickening sound, one that echoed in the madness.

Your foot came down hard, precise, against the man’s leg. The force of it snapped the bone like it was nothing more than a twig beneath your heel.

The man screamed—a raw, gut-wrenching sound—but it was already over. He collapsed, writhing, his face twisted in agony. But you weren’t looking at him, you were looking at Young-il.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, In-ho was stunned. Not by the violence. He had seen worse. Done worse. 

But by you.

The sheer efficiency of it. The lack of hesitation, the brutal finality in the way you moved. You didn’t even look at the man after you broke him. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t tremble, didn’t stop to think about what you had just done. There was no regret in your eyes. No guilt. Just cold, calculated action.

For a single breath, he just stared at you, trying to make sense of what he had just seen, of who he was looking at.

Then your fingers curled around his arm, yanking him to his feet with a sharp, urgent tug.

“Move!”

That single word shattered whatever had frozen him.

He shoved the thoughts aside and ran with you, the chaos of the game roaring in his ears. He could process it later. Right now, all that mattered was survival.

The room was just ahead, one of the few left.

One last sprint.

Young-il pulled you forward, feet pounding against the floor. Almost there. 

You both got inside.

The door slammed shut behind you.

For a moment, the world outside faded, the noise of screams muffled by the walls enclosing you both. The sheer brutality of the game had been left outside the door. Inside was silence, heavy and suffocating.

But then—a presence... A third person in the small room with you and Young-il.

A man stood against the far wall, panting, sweat forming on his forehead.

Young-il’s stomach coiled.

You weren’t safe yet.

“There’s only room for two,” he said, voice calm, controlled.

The man’s breathing hitched. His wild, panicked eyes darted between you and Young-il, looking for a way out, a way through.

“I—I was here first,” the man stammered. His voice wavered.

Young-il stepped forward, his presence looming, his voice quiet but sharp.

“Get out.”

The man flinched but held his ground. Desperation flickered in his expression, the refusal to accept his fate. “No way,” the other player tried to sound firm, his eyes flickered between the two of you again, desperate. “Please.”

Young-il exhaled sharply. There was no point in wasting words.

In a single, fluid motion, his arm shot out, wrapping around the man’s throat. The struggle was brief. Short-lived. The other player clawed at Young-il's arm, his legs kicking as they slowly slid down against the wall.

A sharp, sickening crack filled the air, final and absolute.

The body went limp against him. Dead weight.

Young-il let go of the body.

His breathing was quickened, but his eyes were steady. His heartbeat calm. He had done this before. Many times. It didn’t shake him. Didn’t bother him.

He looked up at you, and once again, you surprised him.

Because you weren’t shocked. You weren’t even remotely fazed. You stood by the door, blocking it, your eyes locking with his as if you had expected this outcome from the moment you entered and saw the other player. You hadn’t gasped, hadn’t flinched, hadn’t looked at him like he just committed some great treason.

You had simply accepted it as fast as it came.

And that—that sent something twisting inside him in a way he didn’t fully understand.

He had seen it in the way you moved, in the way you made decisions without hesitation. He had seen it in the way you had broken that man’s leg without a second thought, in the way you had looked at him after—assessing, calculating, but never afraid.

And now, in the quiet aftermath of the kill, you weren’t recoiling from him either.

No.

You were simply watching.

Like you had known all along exactly what he was capable of. And you didn’t care.

That sent a strange, sharp feeling through him. A curiosity. An understanding.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The doors locked with a click as the timer ran out, the sound of gunshots filled the air, the distant screams beyond the door fading as the game ended.

Finally, he exhaled, his fingers twitching at his side.

“We’re alive,” he said, voice steady. You just gave him a nod, turning your back to him as you looked to the chaos outside through the small space on the door.

Young-il rested against the wall, his mind processing all that had happened.

Then, his lips curled, a soft smirk that you couldn’t see.

[hoshigray]

HII idk if u already did this but can u do first time with college guy nanami plz? ^-^

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg stop, this is perfect !! also happy early bday to me & my bday twin/hubby, nanamin, mwah

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Nanami x afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college juniors - first time; virginity loss - fingering (f! receiving) - kissing; making out - nipple sucking - missionary position - protected sex - pet names (angel, baby, honey, love) - nanami is so soft and gentle w/ you <333 - mention of tears and pain.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k

“Shit…you feel okay, baby?”

“Hahhh, yes, Ken…Mmmm, please, keep going…”

Nanami should’ve known something was fishy the moment his partner asked to come over to his apartment to study in the middle of a Friday night — the weekend had just started, and you wanted to work with him at his place? No way…But he voices no complaints whatsoever. 

You lay on his bed, the bedroom lights dimmed and emphasizing the skin of both you and Nanami’s nude bodies. Your boyfriend above you, kissing your forehead as his left hand is busy fingering your bare chasm and coating your labia with the lube he applied on his fingers. You moan sweetly at his touch, his digits nestling between your folds, and gasping at the slow insertion of his middle finger. Your inner channel clamps onto it, twitching around it as his right hand kneads the flesh of your inner thigh to soothe you.

Nanami presses his forehead to yours after placing kisses on your hot cheek. “Shhh, it’s okay, angel,” your sobs quiet down with his words, wailing softly at the curl of his middle finger scraping your velvety texture. “I’m right here…”

Tonight was significant, not just for him but for you too. Two virgins came together for a night of passion and union; however, Nanami didn’t want to ruin this moment just for his pleasure. He’s sharing this with you and wanted everything orchestrated perfectly for your comfort. You were his top priority above anything else, so he wanted you to be content.

Kisses trail down from your cheek and chin, and his lips lick around your nipple as he sucks the bud in, his tongue lapping around it makes you jerk along the rub of his finger. 

“Ahaaah, oh God,” you throw your head back. “Kento, I–Mmmph…I want it, please…”

He releases your nipple with a pull of his lips before peering into your eyes, chocolate orbs scanning your expression with sincerity. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yes, I’m ready,” you nod and spread your legs further, exhaling once he removes his middle finger from your soaking slit. “I know you’d never hurt me, Ken.”

Nanami can’t fight the smile creeping on his face as he situates himself, kissing you tenderly while he positions his erect cock to you, sheathed with a rubber. 

The tip of his length greets you, pushing itself lightly to the very entrance of your vagina. The initial pain makes itself known in seconds, having you whine into his mouth and your body involuntarily flinching. Yet, Nanami is there to relax you. “It’s okay,” he reminds you. “Relax your body; don’t be tense, baby. Breathe.”

A piece of advice you know would be beneficial so you construct a pattern to breathe adequately. And he watches every inhale and exhale, allowing you to ready yourself with every intake of air and pushing his tip further as you expel. Biting on your bottom lip, hands gripping the sheets, eyes watering from your shut eyelids—this experience was propelling you to suffocate in the sensation alone. And he hasn’t even put the cockhead in yet…

But when he does, it’s a revelation to the deepest part of your soul. You arch to the addition and gasp with Nanami, a foreign feeling of your hole being stretched. You were rigid, alarmed to take another breath; trembles came up your legs to your shoulders, and your toes locked to a curl. 

“You okay?” You nod ever-so-slowly, breathing with an agape mouth. “Hnnmm, good…Going to start moving now.”

His hips go excruciatingly sluggish, and leisure strokes drive his dick further into your warm channel, leaving the boy moaning with flattened lips and trenched brows. Your tightness feels snug to him, gripping nicely around his cock as if he could melt. And your quiet shrieks sound so cute, and he keeps coaxing you with every inch taken until his golden pubes meet yours.

Cautious strokes begin, and your voice is dialed to a higher volume. Hands find their way around Nanami’s neck, same with your legs coming around his waist. His movements are nothing harsh or rushed; they’re gentle and patient, permitting you to adjust to him and his body being one with yours. 

“Ohhh, hoooh, Kentoo,” you whimper in the air between you two. “Oh God—Ahhaa!!” The tip grazes your walls to the point of your nerves spiking. “Yesss, yeeeess…!”

“Hnnmm…Haaahh, fuck,” he curses to himself, his nose brushing yours. “You feel so good, honey…” He brings his face in for another kiss, this one more lustful than the last yet just as loving and secure. Hips grow confidence, thrusts pounding to you more selfishly while maintaining a moderate pace. He drinks your moans with his mouth, shivers slithering up his spine with the clasp of your cunt. 

The pain from before is long gone, exchanged with pleasure now that your lower region is accustomed to the commotion. The poke to your walls is sudden yet euphoric, same with the stretch of your entrance while he rubs on your texture and reaches in places you never imagined. It’s so good; it feels so fucking good!

“—Mmahhh, Kent—Toooh!” You break the kiss, yet Nanami keeps the closeness intimate with his cheek to yours. “OhhmyGod, right there! Right…Hmmm, maah!!” Nails dig to the skin of his back, your pitch gets higher and higher, and your awaited climax awards you. 

 Your tender walls flutter with the arrival of your orgasm, shrieking as your figure sinks to the pleasure as shocks of your crescendo flourish. And Nanami continues to rut into you until his drive comes to an end, groaning to your ear as he jerks and his cock spurts his load into the condom. The cling of you on him pulls him in, and you hold him close until both your heaving bodies are tranquil.

He then straightens to examine you, noticing the tear that dared leave your eyes. And as the benevolent boyfriend you fell in love with, he brushes his thumb on your cheek to wipe. “Thank you,” you giggle.

And he smiles back. “So beautiful, love.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[moonstruckme]

maeee…maaaaaeeeee…….. can I pls request this dialogue prompt maybe with Spencer Reid? 🥺 I mean we KNOW how much I (we) love a good hospital fic & I just thought it’d be perfect for him……. 🥹 pretty pls with a 🍒 on top!

Thanks for requesting lovely Elle <3 I hate not to use the exactttt prompt but I changed it just a little bit because unfortunately (and yk it breaks my heart to say this) I don't see Spence as a heavy pet name user so I dole them out very sparingly. Hope you like it though!

cw: nonconsensual drug use aftermath, hospital, Mr. Scratch (eek!)

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 920 words

You wake to the dawning realization that your throat hurts. It’s dry, scratchy, like you’ve shouted yourself hoarse for hours. You try to swallow, but your tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth. 

“Hey,” says a gentle voice. You know it before you open your eyes, finding soft brown ones waiting. Spencer must have been watching you already. At the slow pull of your lids, he scans you over, a familiar notch appearing above the bridge of his nose as he assesses your face for signs of…you don’t know what. “How are you feeling?” 

You attempt to take an inventory of yourself. Sore in various places, exhausted in a bone-deep way that feels strange after just waking up, but nothing seems broken or torn. You rub your lips together. They’re dry, too. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” you say. It’s not a question, but you are asking for confirmation. 

Spencer gives it in the grim pinch of his mouth. “No,” he replies. “It wasn’t.” 

You look down at the thin sheets of your hospital bed. You don’t remember how you got here, but you can guess. The last thing you can recall with certainty is Mr. Scratch’s too-wide smile as he lowered a breathing mask over your face. Everything after is hazy and unreliable. 

“Can I have some water?” Your voice cracks. You hope you can pretend it’s from a dry throat. 

“Yeah. Of course, here.” Spencer reaches for a side table, passing you a small plastic cup. He keeps hold of it even when you have it in your hand; it’s a good thing, because as you lift the cup you can see your hand is trembling. You bring it to your mouth together. “What do you remember?” he asks gently. 

You swallow, the cool water a soothing burn down your throat. “I…we got in a crash, I think. Morgan was driving. Is he okay?” 

“He’s okay,” Spencer reassures you. “Everyone was fine, it just stunned you all.” 

“Scratch did it?” 

Again, that tightening around his mouth. Spencer’s eyes are big and sorrowful. “Yeah. It was either him, or he orchestrated it.” You lower the empty cup from your mouth, and he sets it back on the side table. “He took you from there. JJ said she thought she saw him, but she wasn’t sure.” 

You wet your lips. “Did you catch him?” 

“No,” says Spencer. Softly, like it’s his own private shame. 

You sit in silence for a little while. You’re sure the rest of your team is nearby, waiting for you to wake up, but Spencer doesn’t call for them. You appreciate it. After the confusion that took over your night, you think you need some time to get your bearings. 

Spencer holds your hand while you do. His fingers move over the grooves of your palm. You wonder if he’s memorized them sometimes, with the way he traces the lines so perfectly, even the ones too shallow to feel. He follows them until they disappear and then rubs his index finger over the bump of your pulse like you’re something to be handled with care. 

Finally, you work up the courage to ask, “What did he make me do?” 

Spencer’s expresion turns impossibly tender. “We don’t know.” Your eyes sting. He keeps talking while you turn them up to the ceiling, still holding your hand. “It doesn’t seem like he hurt you,” he says gently. “We don’t think you hurt anyone else, either. There was no blood in the warehouse where we found you. We think he may have just been trying to get information from you.” 

A tear escapes from the corner of your eye. You feel it arc down your cheek before Spencer catches it, cupping your face in the hand not holding yours. 

“It’s okay,” he nearly whispers, though he sounds agonized himself. “We have you. You’re safe.” 

“I don’t remember what I told him,” you choke out. 

“It’s okay.” 

“It could have been important.” 

“That’s not your fault, sweetheart.” 

“And he’s still out there.” 

“I know.” Spencer finally seems assured enough of your okay-ness to stop being cautious with you, dropping your hand to slide his arm around your shoulders. You put your face in his neck. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Spencer might look all long limbs and sharp angles, but he gives surprisingly good hugs. Your heart doesn’t flutter or thrum or any of the things you think it’s supposed to do when you’re in love; it’s almost like it sighs. Like even your most vulnerable organs know that with Spencer, it’s safe to relax. 

You give yourself a minute there before forcing yourself to return to reality, pulling back to knuckle the dampness from beneath your eyes. “It’s not your fault, either,” you say. 

“I know,” he says, in his sweetly candid way. “I just wish I’d been there.” 

“Well.” You shrug. “I’m glad you weren’t.” 

Spencer doesn’t reply to that. He takes your hand again like it’s a new reflex to always be touching you in some way or another. “The sevoflurane made you dehydrated,” he says, thumb sweeping over your knuckles. “You have to stay here until you’re back to normal, but I was supposed to get the team when you woke up.” 

Though you love them, you feel yourself pout. “Do you have to?” 

A smile tugs at Spencer’s lips. “Garcia’s been pacing in the hallway outside since six this morning.” 

You sigh. “Okay. Let them in.” 

Spencer squeezes your fingers as he gets up.

[voiid-baby]

Charity Work (Walker Edition)

[Bob Edition] // [Bucky Edition] // (Coming Soon)

Pairing: F!Avengers!Reader x John Walker (undefined but established relationship) Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: Smut, P in V sex, creampie if you squint, mentions of alcohol, Walker gets jealous, Reader is written to be a bombshell, relationship built off of banter, Walker is a certified yapper. Summary: Valentina has put you to work for the first annual New Avengers gala, smiling for donations while the rest of your team is unaccounted for. You catch Walker looking, leading you both into hot water.

You're tense. Maybe it's your dress. Too tight around your body and too exposing around the neckline. A beautiful red with a tiny shimmer, chosen at Valentina's behest. Something about bringing out your eyes, and definitely nothing to do with the fact that it's cinching your tits to your throat. When you first tried it on back at the tower you hadn't noticed; simply nodding along to make her happy, but now it's all you can think about. Keeping to your pillar, you wait. One step closer to the middle and you'll become live bait. A beacon of bare skin and high heels. The suits around you only make you feel even more like a sore thumb; a sea of black and white only accentuating the scarlet fabric adorning your form.

Tonight is a celebration of the team's few successes now that it's been a full year since you had all become 'the New Avengers'. Or in other words, the biggest charity gala Valentina's managed to host yet. Hiring out The Glasshouse for the evening for any guest who paid the right price to enter, she had spared no expense in making the perfect venue for schmoozing. An elegant live orchestral band and an open bar was hard for anyone to say no to. While her greed didn't sit right with you, it did also get the tower an indoor pool. At least tonight she'd given the team her word that the earnings of the evening would be going to the New York repair fund. That is, as long as the team did a good job earning the donations.

The team you seem unable to find. Bob is a given, he's probably dipped after one look inside the premises. Alexei? Valentina could have lost his invite. Congressman Barnes has already said he'll be late. Maybe the girls are like you, avoiding the main action before the piranhas in rental tuxedos strike. Your lips stay pressed together, thumb gently gliding over the rim of your champagne flute. An unfortunate truth of the matter is, if no one else is willing to to the work of flirting out some cash, you've got to step up.

As you scan the hall for your first target, you actually spot Walker. In truth, you'd forgotten about him– or at least forced yourself to. He's relaxed, lingering by one of the pillars with a drink in his hand. While usually his machismo would earn a gag, you can't help but admire the way he looks tonight. Broad shoulders squared off in a nice suit. Nicer than any he's worn– not that you're keeping track, but it's nice. No gaping, no pulling, perfectly tailored to outline the muscles you claim not to notice. Fake smiles and small talk isn't something he stands for, but by now you know attention is something he craves on a platter.

His drink is for show, obviously. It's not like he needs one. He doesn't need liquid confidence if his whole existence is built on exuding it. There's enough of a group around him to tell he's making good conversation. Maybe he's sharing a war story or two. Whatever it is, he’s working the crowd like a pro. All white teeth and sparkling eyes as he boasts about his history. Each word from his lips draws the pompous laughter you can't stand, but his smile captivates you enough to keep looking. The sight is mesmerizing enough you almost don't catch the throat clearing to your left.

"Hello?"

It's a man. On the shorter side, in a suit that gapes at the lapel. While you don't bother flicking over his entire build, you can tell he doesn't fill out the pant legs, either. A tight smile graces your face– No, it doesn't meet your eyes. You hope he can tell. You hope he sees how there's absolutely no twinkle in your less than adoring stare, but he doesn't. The man stands, watching you expectantly as you blink. All too quickly are you reminded of why you're there in the first place. Schmoozing. Relinquishing your tight lipped smile, you extend your hand.

"I'm sorry, I was lost in thought." In an instant, the charm is on. You tilt your head just enough to look interested, smile finally finding your gaze as his hand meets yours. "I'm–"

"Oh, I know who you are."

Of course, by now, who doesn't? Your face has only been on the news every other week. In magazines and on billboards. Valentina doesn't pull any punches when it comes to marketing, does she? As the man takes your hand you can't help but notice his limp shake. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice you scrunch your nose.

"I'm a big fan," He begins, lightly out of breath as he adjusts his tie. "Of the new Avengers, and of you, specifically."

Of course he is.

"Really?" You tuck a stand of hair behind your ear, maintaining the façade of interest with a pearly smile. "I'm flattered, and you are?"

The man, whose name you forget instantly, goes on, and on, and on. You placate with sweet smiles and the odd giggle. His whole life story is recounted through monotonous tones, occasionally cut through with a frankly atrocious snort. Public relations or not, you need to get away from this guy. It's at that moment; while you're tracking the room for an escape, do you realize that Walker is watching you. His tongue is pressed into the inside of his cheek, icy blues narrowed at your stiffness. You revert your gaze back to the man to offer an answer to a question he clearly just asked.

"Yes, definitely," You nod, placing a hand over your chest as if truly taking it to heart. "Absolutely, I–"

"You'd like to?" The man is practically beaming.

"Excuse me?"

"Horseback riding, with me, yes?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes widening in regretful horror as his words hit your ears. Gazing at Walker has landed you in a thousand and one awful places, but this might just take the cake. Horseback riding with some short ass with a comb-over is not your idea of a good time. As your mouth opens, desperately racking your brain for a kind way to put this man down, a different voice rings out.

"As much as our favorite bombshell loves horses," It's Walker. Thank Christ. "We don't have a lot of time between hero work for riding."

Within seconds, the shorter man is stumbling over himself– a red flush washing over his features. Riding. Yeah, you all knew what he was really asking for. Anger burns like acid on your tongue, which you swallow bitterly. Walker's euphemism crashes over like dead weight, forcing you to glare as the man bashfully excuses himself. All you offer is a wave, he doesn't give it back.

"Horseback riding." He repeats to you with a click of his tongue.

"He seemed nice." You shrug back, ignoring the steady relief flooding your system.

"Oh, I'm sure." Walker notes, and while he's not letting it show, his smirk is laden behind his words. "Too bad he's not your type."

"And my type is?"

"Oh, you know," He shrugs, that nonchalant little hunch of his shoulders that makes your lips twitch. "Tall, handsome, strong."

"A little whiny and full of himself, too?"

"Didn't realize you were Bucky's date tonight."

That earns a laugh. A real one; which you quickly cover with your hand as a few other attendees walk past. You can see he's reveling in it, Walker's eyes quickly lighting up as you catch your breath. Your cheeks flush. Curse his ability to make everything feel so warm.

"No, I think he's bringing someone else." You nod in acknowledgement.

"Oh really, so no date tonight, then?"

He has the audacity to ask as his hand ghosts over your hip. Not quite touching. Walker wouldn't dare. Despite the thunderous beating of your heart, once was enough. Anything more than once meant that whatever it was between you was something– something you keep telling yourself is nothing.

"No. No date, John." His first name burns on your lips. You catch his nose twitching.

"That's a shame." Walker clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a playful laugh. "All dressed up in that pretty red dress—"

"We're supposed to be chatting up the attendees, John?" You cut him off with an arched brow. "Not each other."

"Gave up on that plan the moment you started giggling over some prick with a comb-over."

There's no hollowing of his eyes or pout of his lip. Walker's nostrils flare, eyes darting back to the man he'd so easily ushered away. You watch acutely as his jaw clenches, gut twisting as you feel your cheeks burn. It's unfortunate how good he looks when he's mad. A traitorous blush flushes your cheeks as he leans in, breathing hot against your ear.

"Secret or not, I don't like sharing." 

Walker makes quick work of guiding your hips, easing you through the crowd you'd both been ordered to work. It's clear Walker isn't phased. His long legs move you with urgency towards the large doors. It's not long before you're met with a near empty hallway. Within seconds, the hustle and bustle is drowned by silence, violins muffled by the closing door. As his eyes scan over every door, you finally figure out what he's planning.

"You're horny?" You sigh, trying your best to sound reluctant.

"Wow, that's forward." He pretends to huff, a falsely offended hand coming to his chest. "And here I thought we were trying to keep things–"

"Bathroom's that way."

"Perfect."

Even as he raises a hand in mocking surrender, Walker is still steering towards where you just pointed. The women's bathroom. Most likely cleaner than the men's; or at least, you hope, given that's where Walker's taking you. He might be focused on the door, but your focus is on your surroundings. One pair of eyes catching you both, and you'd never hear the end of it. Not from Valentina. Not from the world. Not from the team.

As you come up to the bathroom, you dart your head inside. With no one around, and each lock flicked to empty, your panic dims. Looking back at Walker, you nod your head. He follows. Quick to lock the door behind him, Walker seals you away from the rest of the world inside the pristine bathroom. There's no need for words. The way his hands grip at your hips is enough. He ducks his head enough for your noses to brush together, breaths mingling as you're pressed into the door.

To your surprise, he doesn't kiss you. Usually Walker is all in the second he can get his hands on you. But tonight, he hesitates; licking over his lips as his gaze trails your form. Through half-lidded eyes and fluttering lashes, he lingers.

"I meant what I said." He catches your confusion, and as your mouth hangs open to respond, he adds: "Your dress. Your hair. It's... You look good."

"That almost sounds sweet, Walker." Your lip catches between your teeth, sparkling eyes watching the blush grow on his cheeks. But then– a tentative inhale.

"I kinda don't have a condom."

"Jesus Christ." You groan, head lolling forward to press against his sturdy chest. For a moment, you had let yourself get lost in the romance; totally forgetting just who has you against the door. To make matters worse, you feel him laughing. His shoulders shuffling as he stifles the chuckle deep in his throat. "You said the same thing last time."

"I didn't have one last time, either." He huffs out the reminder.

That's all he says before he lifts you. Two big hands scoop behind your thighs hauling you up without so much as a grunt. Your hands snake around his neck, legs squeezing around his waist as you're brought to the countertop. Walker moves with a painful lack of hesitation, clumsy fingertips clawing the skirt of your dress up to your hips. 

"Don't rip it." You frantically hiss, batting his hands away to pull the rest up yourself.

"Chill out." He rolls his eyes, taking the moment to fumble with his belt buckle.

He stands tall between your legs, belt hitting the floor with an echoing clank. Quiet. Pure silence lingers save for the strained breath– you're unsure whose it is. Even under the fluorescent lights, he looks divine. Suit jacket thrown to the side. Top button popped. Hair falling into his face. It's hard to think straight once you spot the sweat on his neck, glistening as his Adam's apple bobs. Walker clearly notices your breath hitch. 

"Take it you're ready?"

"Yeah," You're shamefully quick with your answer, hands shifting to grip on his biceps. "Just don't come in me."

"Noted."

Dragging you right to the very edge, Walker keeps his head down. He can't help but be fixated on the way your drenched panties cling to your puffy lips. Two thick fingers sink into the waistband. For a second, you swear he's panting just from this. You might be, too. Walker drags them down, gliding it down the perfect slope of your legs until the skimpy lace is dangling off one ankle. With your slickness exposed to the cool air, you gulp.

"You're going so slow." You whine, bringing his head down to press a kiss to the side of his mouth.

"You're being too needy." He retorts, teasing a finger through your folds before kissing you sweetly. "She wants me bad, huh?" 

You grab his hand quickly, gesturing to the door. 

"I just don't want to get caught, John. Hurry up."

He pauses at the notion, brows raised as if he hadn't actually considered the repercussions. His ignorance earns a blank look. Your lips press together, holding back any usual bite just to move things along. Walker inches down his pants enough for you to catch a glimpse of of his downy curls.

"God, just give it to me." Your head lulls back, hitting the mirror.

"Told you." His lips curl as he grabs himself, nudging his shaft out from his briefs. It's already aching, throbbing in time with his heartbeat as he squeezes the base tight. "Needy."

You're about to bark a retort when he guides himself to your core. Any smart quip you could have made dies in your throat. Walker is a gentle man, easing the fat crown of his flushed cock against your fluttering hole. Panting breaths escape your parted lips. Then comes another whine as he begins to sink himself in.

"Easy," he soothes, free hand scrambling to the nape of your neck, "breathe. Didn't prep you, did I?"

You shake your head, wincing as his thickness stretches you wide. There's no burn— thankfully you're worked up enough for an easy glide. He's kissing you again, mouth engulfing yours as you take him deeper. His beard scrapes at your soft face. It doesn't stop you from chasing the kiss back.

"You feel so good for me." He whispers against your lips. Something in your belly twists at the reverence in his tone. Blue eyes sparkling, Walker gazes down adoringly. "So perfect."

Instead of responding, you kiss him. Tongues dragging together in a desperate exchange of spit. You and Walker slowly start to move. You're more rigid than he is, one hand in his hair, the other on his arm as you begin to grind your hips down. Walker, meanwhile, is everywhere. He chases the curve of your body; squeezing at your plump chest, tangling in your hair, whatever he can take in his hands as he thrusts up into you.

"John—"

"I got you."

It's slow at first, but even so, the sheer size of him is enough to punch air out of your lungs. His tip kisses your sweet spot every time his hips roll into your own. Unable to stop the pleading whines, you wrap your arms around his neck. Walker takes the hint, gripping at your sides to pull you into his grinding hips.

"Feel you squeezing me." He grins, teeth clattering against your own. "You feel that?"

"Stop talking." You manage to growl between panting breaths.

"You like it." 

You do. It's obvious in the way you take him; fluttering walls perfectly engulfing his shaft with every slow drag, soft moans escaping you both. Feeling the heat pool in your stomach, you snake a hand down your torso. As much as you wish you could prolong it— the more time you spend building up, the more chances you could get caught.

Pressing two fingers onto your clit, you circle it feverishly. You can only hide your moan by buring your face into his chest. He's fucking into you with reckless abandon. His hands pulling you completely off the edge to take control of the rhythm. Again and again, the flesh of your ass slams against his thighs.

"'M gonna come soon, where do you—"

"In me." It's spoken through gritted teeth, your fingers grinding your pulsing clit with growing urgency.

"You said—"

"I'm not letting it get on my dress," Another moan, "John, please."

The rolling of your hips becomes urgent; rutting into his with a slap that reverberates off the walls. Walker's fingers dig into your sides hard enough to bruise. Your foreheads press together, both breathing too hard to speak. Walker's brows are furrowed, eyes clamped shut as his grunts pick up volume.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" He pants under his breath dribbling into his beard as his head lulls back. "Come on, wanna feel you."

Walker chokes back the sweetest moan you've ever heard.

"Please, baby. Come for me."

That's all it takes. A break in his gruff tone just to beg. Everything tenses. The fingers on your clit work in overdrive, sending you keeping forward until the only thing you see is white. Walker doesn't stop; thrusting erratically as he holds you tight. You whimper into his chest. Almost a sob as your orgasm hits.

"That's it. That's it. God, I can feel it."

Walker can't get anything else out. His fingers flex around your hips just before they grab. He rams your body into him, chasing his own high until finally, he seizes. Rapid thrusts die into weak rolls as he spills into you. Your chest heaves. So does his. For a super soldier, Walker almost seems painfully out of breath.

Silence. Well, save for your panting.

"You okay?" You manage to rasp.

"Yeah," He exhales, forehead grazing against yours. "We should get back out there."

His head gestures towards the door as he gives a reluctant smile, all the while his cock stays buried deep inside of you. You sigh in agreement. While you only move your legs an inch, it's movement enough for some of his release to bubble from where you're sealed around him. Walker takes that as his cue to pull out. Blue eyes immediately dart down. As no surprise, he's transfixed on the milky fluid dripping from your worked hole. You whine.

It takes a few minutes for the two of you to be presentable. Walker fixes your hair, and you fix the lipstick smear that had dragged into his beard. Your palms glide over his chest, adjusting the lapels of his suit before you give him a smile. He's beaming. Part of it you know is because you're wrapped around his finger– the other part definitely because of what's soaking through your panties.

"Ready to head out?"

"Yeah," He confirms, though he raises a brow, mischief already building back up behind his eyes. "You sure you can walk right?"

"Don't flatter yourself." You roll your eyes.

Just as you're easing the door shut behind you, the men's room's swings open. Out strides Bucky– fixing his own suit jacket. He spots you at the same time you spot him. A cocked brow. A concealed smirk. Bucky's eyes dart between you both before he can't hold in his laugh. Walker bites his tongue, you see it in the way his jaw clenches. Your own cheeks flush. Before you or he can speak, Bucky does.

"Glad I didn't miss anything important." He shrugs, the teasing quip mostly geared towards Walker's expense. The two exchange a glance before Bucky gestures towards the gala hall. "See you guys inside."

The two of you stand, watching Bucky swagger towards the main doors. Your mouth hangs open. Walker's tongue drags along his bottom teeth, brows furrowed.

"We're never living this down." You mumble.

"I doubt it." Walker inserts. "He had lipstick on his collar."

A/N: It's been a painfully long time since I've written anything for Marvel, and god, how much I've missed it! I have two more gala pieces in the works— One for Bucky and one for Bob. Stay tuned for those. Feedback is welcome, reblogs appreciated <3

[d-targaryenshoe]

Drunk On Love - Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: Love is beautiful yet when one is drunk it can rather be a little confusing and breathtaking.

Word count: 1210

Benedict Bridgerton prided himself on many things, his artistic talent, wit, and ability to hold his drink.

Yet tonight, the second Bridgerton son was wobbling on his feet, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, a cravat dangling loosely from his neck like a sad ribbon on an overindulged present.

The Bridgerton house was alive with music and laughter.

Eloise had declared it a night for frivolity, dragging everyone into the drawing room after dinner to play a raucous game of charades.

Wine flowed like the Thames, and for once, Anthony and Kate didn’t step in to regulate the chaos.

“Benedict,” Colin chortled, pointing as his elder brother attempted to lean casually on a settee and nearly toppled over, “I think you’ve lost the ability to differentiate between horizontal and vertical.”

“I’m perfectly... perpendic... perpendicular!” Benedict slurred, wagging a finger in Colin’s direction.

“Indeed,” Eloise said dryly. She raised her voice, addressing the room. “I give it five minutes before he collapses entirely. Any takers?”

“Oh, stop betting on him,” sighed Daphne. “Where’s y/n? Benedict always behaves better when she's around.”

Benedict blinked hazily around the room.

His siblings’ teasing words blended into the merry chaos, but one name struck a chord, y/n.

Who was y/n?

And why did that name feel like a golden thread pulling at his soul?

He turned his head too quickly, the room spinning in response.

His gaze landed on a figure near the pianoforte—one so radiant it was as though the heavens had gifted them the very stars.

“Who... who is that?” Benedict whispered, stumbling toward Colin and yanking on his sleeve.

“Who?” Colin asked, bewildered.

“That divine creature,” Benedict gestured dramatically, “by the pianoforte. Look at her, Colin. Just look! She's perfect.”

Colin stared at him for a moment, then burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh, this is too good. Benedict, that’s your wife”

“My what?” Benedict spluttered, recoiling as though he’d been doused in cold water.

“Your wife, you fool. Y/n. The person you married three years ago.” Colin’s grin was practically audible. “You have children with her, by the way.”

“Children?!” Benedict gasped, clutching his chest.

His mind raced. Surely, he would remember such monumental details.

A wife? Children? His heart thundered as he stared at you, as you were now laughing with Hyacinth and Gregory.

Every movement you made felt hypnotic, like watching sunlight dance on water.

“I don’t believe you,” Benedict declared, his voice rising above the chatter.

“Shall we fetch the marriage certificate?” Anthony drawled from his seat by the fire.

He smirked, swirling a glass of brandy. “Or the children?”

Before anyone could stop him, Benedict crossed the room with all the determination of a soldier marching to battle.

He nearly tripped over Daphne’s gown in his haste, earning a glare, but he pressed on.

As he approached, you turned to him, your face lighting up with warmth.

“Benedict,” you said, a fond smile gracing your lips. “You look like you’ve had quite a bit of—”

“Are you my spouse?” Benedict interrupted his voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

You blinked, glancing around the room as though to confirm this wasn’t a joke orchestrated by his siblings. “I am. Last time I checked, anyway.”

“And we have... children?” Benedict pressed, his hands flailing for emphasis.

“Two of them,” you replied slowly, your brow furrowing. “Are you feeling all right?”

Benedict staggered back a step, clutching at his heart as though Cupid himself had struck him anew.

“I don’t believe it. How could I have forgotten marrying someone so... so—” He gestured helplessly at you, his words failing him. “You’re perfect. Stunning. A masterpiece! Surely, I would remember creating something so beautiful with you.”

From the corner, Colin let out a loud snort of laughter, while Hyacinth whispered something to Gregory, both of them dissolving into giggles.

You, however, softened, recognizing the sincerity behind Benedict’s intoxicated declarations.

“Benedict,” you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t forget. You’ve just had a bit too much wine tonight.”

“I could never drink enough to forget you,” Benedict declared, his eyes wide with conviction.

“But I must have been a fool not to spend every waking moment worshiping you. Tell me, y/n—how did someone like me manage to convince someone like you to marry me?”

Your laughter was soft, your affection for him evident in every glance. "You painted me a portrait. You said it was the only way to capture what words could not. And then you kissed me.”

“I kissed you?” Benedict repeated, his voice trembling. “I kissed you and lived to tell the tale? Remarkable.”

The room erupted into chaos as the siblings could no longer contain their laughter.

Daphne leaned against a chair for support, Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose in mock exasperation, and Eloise whispered something scandalous to Francesca, who chuckled into her wine glass.

“You’re all horrible!” Benedict shouted, turning to glare at his family. “How dare you mock a man rediscovering the love of his life?”

“You’re rediscovering her because you’re drunk,” Eloise pointed out, her tone laced with amusement.

“Drunk or not, my love is real,” Benedict retorted dramatically, turning back to you. “Y/n, my muse, my heart—can you forgive me for not loving you loudly enough?”

“You love me plenty loudly, Benedict,” you replied with a smile, your eyes twinkling with mirth. “Especially when you’re drunk.”

At that moment, the door to the drawing room opened, and a pair of small children toddled in, guided by their nurse.

The eldest, a dark-haired boy of about three, immediately ran to you, clutching your leg.

The younger, a baby with Benedict’s dimpled cheeks, squealed happily from the nurse’s arms.

Benedict froze, staring at the children as though they were mythical creatures.

“Are these... mine?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” you said, picking up the boy and balancing him on your hip. “This is Thomas and that little one is Edith.”

Benedict dropped to his knees, staring at his children in awe. “Thomas. Edith. My heirs. My legacy.”

“They’re not royalty, Benedict,” Anthony deadpanned.

Benedict ignored him, his eyes welling with tears. “They’re perfect. Just like their parents.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “All right, darling. Let’s get you some water.”

The next morning, Benedict woke with a pounding headache and a vague sense of humiliation.

As he shuffled into the breakfast room, his siblings greeted him with a chorus of applause and cheers.

“Well done, Benedict,” Colin teased. “You fell in love with your wife all over again.”

“Most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” Daphne added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Benedict groaned, sinking into his chair. “Please, tell me I didn’t embarrass myself too badly.”

You entered the room, setting a cup of tea before him. “You were charming, as always.”

“Was I?” Benedict asked, peering up at you.

“You were,” you said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Though I think you owe me another portrait. You did promise one last night.”

Benedict smiled sheepishly, his love for you as steady and enduring as the sunlight streaming through the window.

“Anything for you,” he murmured, vowing to remind you every day just how deeply he adored you—drunk or not.

[letsgoletsgetit08]

one last night

warnings/tags: mdni, non-graphic smut, emotional hurt/comfort

pairing: Luigi Mangione x f!reader

summary: All you want is one last night with Luigi before he would be taking the fall for a crime he helped orchestrate.

word count: 1.3k

author's note: Luigi, my man. This one's for you. No, this is not typically what I write, but I was inspired by everyone's favorite folk hero so here you go!

ao3 link: one last night

one last night

Luigi would be leaving soon and all you wanted was some time alone together before he had to go. Just one last night.

You and Luigi were childhood best friends. After he moved into your neighborhood, everything changed for you. Your family was the only one in the neighborhood with kids even close to your age, so you and your sister were thrilled when the Mangione’s moved in next door.

He was yours, now. When he could be. Which was much more often, once upon a time. The past year or so, he was so tied up in planning that you barely saw him. You understood, of course. The work was important, bigger than you, the finger that topples the first domino of many.

Even more than that, it was personal. 

Luigi and your sister were the ones who were childhood sweethearts. Her death brought the two of you together. Grief is funny like that. Hers was a claim of many that was denied all so a billionaire could become wealthier. A somewhat experimental procedure could have saved her life - it also could have killed her, but she was dying anyway, and the reward far outweighed the already inevitable risks. Your parents couldn’t afford it uncovered. You never got the chance to see if it would have been worth it. 

It was important work. Knowing this didn’t help you worry any less. It didn’t help the jealousy you felt sometimes. It was hard being with someone who was made for such bigger things than a mundane life. Sometimes you wished Luigi was just a normal man so you could be sitting down with him for a quiet dinner on an average weeknight rather than force feeding him as his nerves grew, knowing this was your last night together for the foreseeable future. 

It was important work, being the lover of a mastermind who was helping plan his very own demise. Yes, Luigi would be a folk hero, but it didn’t change the fact that it meant he would be facing the harsh realities of the criminal justice system. That was part of the point, though. You understood everything perfectly, as much as you were allowed to know for your own safety. You were oddly relieved that Luigi wouldn’t be the one to actually pull the trigger, though you agreed that it should be done. Everyone would think it was him. Everyone would unite behind him because of it. You weren’t prepared for the love of your life to be famous in this way, but you were endlessly proud of him. He was one of the strongest people you had ever met. Intelligent and kind with a wicked sense of humor. You glanced over at him from your spot in the kitchen as he loaded his backpack full of Monopoly money on the couch, trying to soak in every detail of his handsome face. His dark curls and that charming smile that could win over anyone he fixed it on. 

You plated the cacio e pepe and grabbed the bottle of wine, walking over to sit beside him, “You have to eat, baby. Please. It might be your last good meal.” 

He looked up at you through soulful brown eyes, “Thank you, love. I’ll try.”

The two of you ate together, but his gaze was still distant, brow furrowed. A look you knew meant he was deep in thought. 

“I’m so proud of you, you know?” You asked, elbowing him lightly just to see the corner of his mouth curl into a smile like you knew it would. 

“Yeah? You’re not mad at me?” He looked at you bashfully. It was a conversation you’d had before. 

“No, Lu.” You placed your hand on his knee to reassure him, “Never. I’m sad and I’m going to miss you more than you’ll ever know. But I’m not mad. Promise. Besides,” You reached down to take a sip from your wine glass, “I’ve already started planning my visitation outfits. I thrifted a really cool fur coat the other day, I think you’ll love it.” 

“Baby,” He couldn’t help but giggle at your words, “You’ll be the hottest person there. Easily. No competition.” 

“Just promise me you won’t fall for anyone in prison.” You stared him down, trying to look serious, probably failing. 

“Never, darling. You’re it for me. Promise.” He gave you a quick peck on the corner of your smile, pulling back slightly to look at you. “I’ll miss you, too. Every day. I can’t believe I got so lucky.” 

“I’m the lucky one.” You blushed despite the fact that it wasn’t even close to the first time you’d had the same exchange.

“Fine, we both are.” He concluded, standing up to clear the table. Once he returned, you saw the worry fall back over his face. 

“Lu,” You caressed his cheek with your hand, “Baby, you’ve done all you can do tonight. Can we just spend one last night together? Please?”

“Sweetheart,” He breathed, leaning into your hand, taking a lengthy deep breath, “I feel like I shouldn’t but I have no good reason not to. You’re right, everything is in place. I think I’m scared to take my mind off it.” 

“Let me take your mind off of it.” You offered, thumb tracing across his cheekbone. “We deserve to have this. You deserve it. You’ve worked so hard, baby.”

“Everyone has.” His eyelids fluttered open, his gaze meeting your own, “You included.”

You leaned in, lips grazing his as you spoke, “Just take the compliment for once.” You couldn’t help but tease. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He whispered, his voice going raspy as his desire grew. 

Your lips landed on his just like they had a thousand times before, but this felt different. You imagined this is how the last people on the earth might feel during the apocalypse. His lips turned fervent, tongue delving into your mouth, dancing with your own. 

You sucked on his bottom lip and heat coiled in your abdomen at the groan he let out at the sensation. 

Before you knew it, he was carrying you bridal style into your bedroom, laying you down gently on the mattress. He removed your clothes piece by piece, kissing every inch of you as he went. His own clothes followed. You tried to memorize every inch of his beautiful body as it stood before you, the knowledge that it would be the last time in a long time you would see him sitting heavy on your conscience. 

He took you apart meticulously, like a seasoned watchmaker, orchestrating every move towards your release in perfect concert, winding you tighter and tighter until you were panting out his name as the waves of pleasure rolled over you again and again, right on time. 

When he finally entered you, the stretch around his large size being one of your favorite sensations, maintaining eye contact as he landed his strokes, you felt tears escape your eyes. He wiped them away with gentle thumbs, shushing you sweetly. Eventually, he released inside of you, calling out your name like a prayer, a mantra he had practiced an infinite number of times before. You hoped he had gotten you pregnant. 

The two of you cleaned up and returned to bed. Luigi pulled you tight to his chest, stroking your hair and kissing the crown of your head, “You know you’ll always be my girl, right? No matter what happens. I’m yours, my love. For as long as you want me.”

“Luigi,” You sighed, not wanting to cry again, “I’ll always want you. I promise. Nothing can take that from me.”

“They’ll try.” He warned.

“They can try all they want.” You leaned up, planting a kiss on his jaw, “They can’t take Luigi Mangione from me. I love you so much, baby.”

“I love you more.” He tugged you tighter to himself. 

You knew he wouldn’t sleep well that night, but it didn’t matter, really. You were together one last time, and that was the only important thing to either of you in that moment. You had one another. Everything else was secondary.

[helioooss]

i was never there

synopsis: yu jumin joins novis corp as it’s head corporate lawyer, but her boss, y/n, remembers her eyes from somewhere else.

w/c: 3k+

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! stripper by night, lawyer by day karina, swearing

a/n: a short one for the books, this is more a prompt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sun had barely crept over the horizon when your sleek aston martin pulled up to the curb of novis corp’s headquarters; the tech conglomerate you had built from scratch. the building, a masterpiece of modern architecture with its reflective glass and sharp geometric lines, it stood as a monument to your success.

as you stepped out of the car, the valet offered a polite bow before retreating and you adjusted your tom ford suit — a deep charcoal grey that sat perfectly on your shoulders, tailored to a level of precision; its silk lining was monogrammed with your initials, a subtle mark of exclusivity.

in your world, every single detail mattered.

as soon as the glass doors opened into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted immediately. the soft murmur of voices hushed to a whisper and employees straightened their postures instinctively as they caught sight of you.

your presence demanded attention, not because you sought it, but because you simply carried an aura of authority. heads bowed as you passed, a wave of respectful acknowledgment rippling through the space.

“good morning, y/n,” someone greeted softly, their voice tinged with awe.

you simply offered a slight nod, your expression unreadable as you stepped into the private lift. the moment the polished steel doors slid shut, the world outside felt momentarily silenced. you allowed yourself a brief glance at your reflection in the mirrored walls, backing a strand of misplaced hair and smoothing down the lapel of your jacket before the lift opened to the top floor.

here, the energy was palpable. this was where the very lifeblood of novis corp flowed, where your senior executives and teams orchestrated the daily operations of the tech giant. the open floor was a hive of activity: assistants juggling tablets and documents, executives murmuring into headsets and a faint hum of urgency in the air.

the moment you stepped out, it was chaos aimed at you.

“miss l/n, the european market data is ready for your review.”

“legal flagged the merger contracts; they need your approval before noon.”

“the board wants confirmation on next quarter’s strategic pivot —”

amidst the shitshow that you specifically called ‘the everyday’, your personal assistant, claire, darted towards you, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor as she clutched a stack of files to her chest whilst her usually composed demeanour was slightly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with you.

“y/n,” claire began, her voice soft but persistent, “i apologise for the interruption, but felix has been trying to reach you all morning. he said it’s urgent, and i tried to hold him off, but he’s really insistent.”

you glanced at her, stride unbroken whilst offering a faint smile that was more a gesture of reassurance than warmth. “i’ll take care of it, claire. thank you.”

she gave a slight nod, relief evident in her expression, stepping back as you pushed open the heavy oak doors to your private office. the room was a reflection of your meticulous standards: minimalist yet luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of new york city. a sleek, dark wood desk sat in the centre, flanked by leather chairs and a low cabinet housing bottles of vintage scotch.

oh, and the air carried the faintest scent of bergamot, a signature detail you had to have.

as soon as you set your briefcase down, you loosened your tie slightly and sank into your chair. the intercom blinked with pending calls, but you ignored it for now, reaching instead for your personal phone. scrolling through the missed calls, you found felix’s name and with a small sigh, you hit dial.

he answered right after the first ring. “finally!” his voice was a mix of relief and mischief, as it always was when he called you.

“what’s so urgent, felix?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“okay, hear me out,” he began, a tell-tale sign that whatever followed would likely test your patience. “there’s this club. super exclusive. like, billionaires-only exclusive. i’m talking black cards, champagne fountains, and the kind of entertainment that makes even the rich blush —“

pinching the bridge of your nose impatiently, you groaned. “just get to the point.”

“well, if you must insist,” he continued, “i need someone to vouch for me. someone who ticks the billionaire box. someone, you know, like you.”

“felix, why on earth would you want to go to a place like that?” you sighed, shaking your head. “everyone will just be as obnoxious as mum.”

“research,” he said, a little too quickly. “and before you ask, yes, it’s legit. i just…need to see it for myself. one night, y/n.“

“research,” you repeated, unimpressed.

“please, my dearest sister,” he pressed. “i promise it’s harmless. just one night, and then i’ll owe you. big time.”

he had always been the rebel — tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves, a penchant for bending rules and a charm that got him out of most trouble. he was your stepbrother, younger by five years and despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for him.

he’d been your constant companion through a tumultuous childhood and for all his recklessness, his loyalty to you was unwavering.

you exhaled deeply. “if this turns into a mess, i swear, felix —”

“it won��t, i swear,” he interrupted eagerly. “you’ll barely even have to do anything. just show up, look rich — which is easy for you and let me in.”

there was a long pause. you weren’t one for foolishness, specially not something as absurd as this, but he had a way of getting under your skin and despite your better judgment, you relented.

“fine,” you mumbled; annoyance evident in your tone. “but this better not blow back on me — the press are already on my ass for not being present enough.”

“you’re the best!” he exclaimed, his relief palpable. “i’ll text you the details.”

shaking your head, you hung up and pressed the intercom button on your desk. “claire,” you began. “i need you to do something for me.”

“that’s my job, y/n,” her voice came through immediately.

“clear my schedule for tonight,” you carefully instructed. “reschedule all appointments and let the rest of the world know i’ll be unavailable after six.”

there was a brief pause from her end. “understood.”

staring out at the sprawling skyline, you heaved out a sigh. this wasn’t your usual scene, but something about it intrigued you nonetheless. tonight promised to be unlike anything you’d done before.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hum of the limousine was almost soothing as it glided through the city streets, the blacked-out windows shielding you and felix from the world outside. the interior was nothing short of opulent: plush leather seats in a deep oxblood red, a bar stocked with rare whiskies and chilled champagne and soft ambient lighting that cast a warm glow over the polished surfaces.

felix was seated across from you, his legs stretched out casually as he swirled a glass of whiskey he’d poured himself. his usual rebellious flair was subdued tonight, though the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his excitement.

he was dressed sharply, his dark green blazer and crisp black shirt a rare effort on his part. the tattoos that normally peeked from his sleeves were hidden, though you knew they were still there, a reminder of his defiant streak.

you, on the other hand, wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans.

“so,” felix began, his tone light but probing, “how’s the empire going?”

you gave him a sideways glance, your fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. “the empire is fine, felix. novis is on track to secure the venatrix deal by next quarter and the sirocco expansion is finally moving forward.”

“of course it is,” he said with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. “you’ve got the golden touch. everything you touch turns to money.”

“it’s not magic,” you replied, your voice steady. “it’s work. a lot of it.”

he shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “and that’s the problem, y/n. you work too much. when was the last time you actually did something for yourself? and don’t say this counts,” he added, gesturing around the limousine.

you gave him a small, wry smile. “this is for you, not me.”

“exactly my point,” he said, leaning back. “you need to live a little. have some fun. maybe get a girlfriend for once in your life.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “a girlfriend?”

“yes, a girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle. “you know, someone to share your life with? someone to remind you that there’s more to life than spreadsheets and board meetings?”

you exhaled softly, turning your gaze to the city lights flickering outside the window. “it’s not that simple. i’ve got responsibilities. people rely on me. there’s no room for anything else right now.”

“that’s the excuse you always use,” he said, his tone softer now. “but you’re going to wake up one day and realise you’ve built an empire but never lived your life. is that really what you want?”

his words lingered in the air and for a moment, you simply let them. as the limousine turned down a quieter street, the glow of the city fading into the background, you thought about what he’d said.

was he right? was there something missing in your meticulously crafted life?

before you could dwell on it further, the car slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming black door, illuminated only by a discreet gold plaque that read elysium.

the driver opened your door and the moment you stepped out, you felt the shift in atmosphere. the door was opened from the inside by a tall, sharply dressed man who exuded an air of authority.

“miss l/n, mr. l/n,” he greeted warmly, his deep voice carrying just enough deference to make you feel like royalty. “welcome to elysium. my name is pierre and i’ll personally ensure your evening is nothing short of exceptional.”

“thank you,” you replied, your tone polite but guarded as pierre stepped aside, gesturing for you both to enter.

the interior of the club was breathtaking — sleek and sophisticated, with an undeniable air of exclusivity. red lighting bathed the room, casting a sultry glow over the rich leather furniture and dark wood accents. the faint hum of low music filled the space and the scent of expensive cigars and perfume lingered in the air.

pierre led the way, his posture immaculate. “we’ve limited the floor capacity tonight to ensure you have a comfortable experience. it’s not often we host guests of your calibre.”

your gaze flicked to your brother, whose smirk grew with every step deeper into the club.

“they’re really rolling out the red carpet,” he whispered to you, amusement lacing his tone.

there were silhouettes moving across the far end of the room. they were fluid, deliberate, their movements drawing attention like a magnetic pull.

it wasn’t until you caught the glint of polished metal — a pole, that the realisation struck.

this wasn’t just a private club. it was a strip club.

“i thought you said this was a fucking nightclub,” you muttered in that scolding tone of yours. “or whatever you said it was.”

he laughed at your comment and had deliberately chosen to ignore you, clearly revelling in the attention. as you passed, heads turned subtly, and even the staff seemed to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

“our girls,” pierre continued as he walked, “are among the finest in the world. each performance is curated to perfection. should you require anything — anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“a dance costs a million for each hour,” felix raised his eyebrows playfully. “i can afford it, you have nothing to worry about.”

i’m going to kill him, you thought.

the corridor opened into a sprawling room bathed in deep red light, the glow casting shadows that danced across the rich leather furniture and polished dark wood accents. chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal facets scattering faint prisms of light though the overall effect was moody and intimate rather than pretentious.

pierre, ever the professional, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the exchange. “elysium prides itself on discretion and sophistication,” he explained, leading you toward the bar. “our performers are not only the best in the industry but also highly selective about where they work. we cater to an exclusive clientele and tonight, they are all eager to perform for you.”

the words hung in the air and while his tone remained formal, there was no mistaking the double meaning.

this wasn’t just about entertainment — it was about status, yours specifically.

“you’ve truly outdone yourselves,” you said evenly, though your tone betrayed nothing of the thoughts swirling in your mind.

“only the best for our esteemed guests,” he replied, stopping at the bar. “would you care for a drink before you settle in? our bartenders specialise in rare and exclusive cocktails.”

“i’ll take a manhattan,” felix answered, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place.

pierre turned his attention to you. “and for you, miss l/n?”

“call me y/n, please,” you requested, keeping your composure. “i’ll have a glass of champagne for now.”

felix shook his head, whilst pierre only nodded. “don’t worry, pierre, this is a good sign — champagne is telltale of the kind of night she plans to have.”

you gave him a look, one that could silence an entire boardroom, but it only made his grin widen.

as the bartender prepared your drinks, your eyes scanned the room. the performers were elegant, their movements slow and deliberate as they worked the poles or engaged in subtle conversations with other guests. the lighting accentuated every curve, every flick of hair, every step in towering heels.

it was seductive, but there was a sophistication to it.

felix clinked his glass against yours when your drinks arrived, his grin mischievous. “welcome to the real world, y/n. you might even have fun tonight.”

before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with pierre, who gestured towards a hallway deeper into the establishment. “y/n, may i guide you to our private bar? we’ve reserved a section just for you.”

you nodded, offering a faint smile. “lead the way.”

he guided you through a discreet side door, the noise from the main hall fading into a low hum as you stepped into a quieter corridor. the lighting here was softer, the air perfumed with hints of amber and bergamot.

the sound of your shoes against the polished marble floor echoed faintly as you trailed behind him.

then, he stopped at a heavy door, its deep mahogany finish gleaming under the warm light. with a subtle bow, he pushed it open, revealing a private space that was both opulent and refined.

the room was bathed in a soft golden glow, with leather seating in a deep burgundy hue arranged around a bar made out of white marble. a crystal chandelier hung above, its light refracting into subtle rainbows across the room. the air was cooler here, yet tinged with the faintest trace of something warm and intoxicating.

“we’ve taken great care to ensure your comfort,” he gestured for you to step inside. “a selection of our finest performers has been prepared exclusively for this space tonight. as per tradition, all our vvip performers wear masks to preserve their mystique.”

your gaze shifted to the centre of the room, where a single pole stood illuminated by a spotlight. at its base, a woman danced, her movements fluid and hypnotic.

she was dressed in black, the fabric clinging to her graceful frame in ways that accentuated her every curve. a delicate mask adorned her face, its intricate lace design concealing her identity while leaving her eyes and lips visible.

and those eyes…

almond-shaped and lined with the faintest hint of shimmer, their depth was startling. they locked onto yours the moment you entered and for a second, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of you.

her lips were no less striking, painted a deep crimson that contrasted beautifully against her glowing skin. they moved subtly as she shifted her expression, curving into a faint smile that was neither coy nor brazen but perfectly balanced between the two.

you moved to one of the leather chairs directly in front of the pole, lowering yourself gracefully into the seat. a glass of something pale and sparkling had already been placed on the table before you — krug, if you had to guess.

she danced as though gravity held no dominion over her, movements slow and deliberate; her body bending and turning with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

her eyes never left yours.

there was no touch, no exchange of words. only the silent conversation carried through her gaze.

you sipped your champagne, the crisp bubbles fizzing faintly on your tongue as you watched her.

“her name is karina,” pierre’s voice broke the silence, soft and almost reverent as he stood to the side. “one of our most gifted performers. she never agrees to private dances, but tonight, she insisted.”

you raised an eyebrow at his comment but said nothing, your eyes still locked with hers.

her lips curved slightly, a small but unmistakable reaction to his words. whether it was amusement or approval, you couldn’t tell.

there was a certain kind of power in her performance, an effortless command of the room that rivalled your own presence in the boardroom. it wasn’t just her beauty — it was the way she carried herself, the silent confidence in her every movement.

for the first time in a long while, you felt captivated.

as the music swelled, she climbed higher up the pole, her body arching and twisting with a grace that seemed to defy logic. the light caught her skin as she spun, casting shadows across her toned figure.

her gaze found yours again as if she had never looked away.

the song ended, the final note hanging in the air as karina stilled, her body poised and elegant as she held your gaze one last time. then, without a word, she stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as swiftly as she had appeared.

you leaned back in your seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“she’s…impressive,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“indeed,” he replied, his tone pleased. “shall i have her return for a performance, miss l/n? or would you like to see the next girl?”

you glanced at the glass in your hand, then back at the empty spotlight.

“perhaps,” you said, your tone deliberately nonchalant, though the way your thoughts lingered on those eyes and that smile betrayed you entirely. “i’d like to see karina again.”

he gave a slight bow, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. “i’ll leave you to enjoy the performance, y/n. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

you sent him a faint nod, watching as he quietly slipped out of the room — the air seemed heavier now, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

the soft spotlight followed her, casting her in a halo of warm light as she emerged out of the shadows. her movements were deliberate, the sway of her hips measured, her body arching with the kind of elegance that felt effortless. the music swelled, a sultry melody that filled the private bar, wrapping itself around you.

the pole became an extension of her, her fingertips grazing it lightly as she spun effortlessly, hair cascading over one shoulder like silk.

pushing yourself up in the leather seat, you cradled the crystal glass in your hand, the crisp bubbles fizzing against your tongue were forgotten.

your attention was fixed solely on her.

her gaze was dark and unrelenting, as though she could see through every wall you’d ever built. it made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to, yet you couldn’t look away.

for years, your life had been a steady climb to the top. every decision and sacrifice you made — it had all led you to become one of the youngest billionaires in the world; a life of luxury and power, yet moments like this felt foreign to you.

you had never allowed yourself distractions. relationships had always been a distant thought, something you dismissed as incompatible with the weight of your responsibilities. and yet here you were, sitting in the middle of a dark room, utterly captivated by a woman you didn’t know.

as the music deepened, so did her movements. she slid down the pole with precision, her legs extending gracefully before she landed softly on the floor. then, she began to close the distance between you.

you stiffened slightly as she approached, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor. her every step was a calculated mix of power and allure, head tilting slightly as her eyes burned into yours.

when she reached the edge of your seat, she leaned down, her hands bracing against the armrests on either side of you. the faintest scent of her perfume: something floral with a hint of musk wafted over you.

your breath hitched.

karina’s face was mere inches from yours, her lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile.

she tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder and as she leaned closer, her lips brushed against yours — not quite a kiss, but enough to send a jolt through your body.

the touch was light, but it lingered. your hand tightened slightly around the glass, though you made no effort to pull away.

her eyes locked onto yours again, the corner of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. she didn’t move, staying close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of her breath against your skin.

“you’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with amusement.

“you’re not what i expected,” you replied, your tone steady despite the way your pulse raced.

her smile widened just a fraction, her lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. “and what did you expect, miss l/n?”

you let the question hang in the air, unwilling — or perhaps unable to answer it.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes flickering over your face as if she were committing every detail to memory.

then, with a graceful turn, she returned to the pole, leaving you frozen in your seat, every nerve in your body alive.

but your focus wasn’t on the dance anymore.

it was on her.

the song reached its end, her final spin slow and graceful, her legs extended as she descended to the floor.

when the music ended, she stayed still for a moment, catching her breath, before calling out softly, “cut the music.”

the silence was deafening.

she stood up, reaching for a glass of water placed on the table near the pole. she sipped it slowly, her back turned to you, before setting it down and facing you again.

“you’re y/n l/n,” she said, her voice carrying an easy confidence, as though she were stating an undeniable fact.

you straightened in your seat, your composure returning. “i am indeed, and you’re karina.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she stepped closer, her mask framing her captivating eyes. “so, you’ve heard of me?”

“pierre mentioned your name,” you replied. “and according to him, you never agree to private performances.”

“ah, pierre,” karina chuckled softly, a low and melodic sound that sent another ripple through you. “that’s true, but you’re not exactly a regular guest.”

“why did you agree?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

she tilted her head, her smile deepening. “curiosity.”

“about what?”

her gaze didn’t waver. “about you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “me?”

“it’s not every day the most eligible bachelorette in the world walks into a place like this,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “how could i not be curious?”

her honesty was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“you don’t seem like the type to come here,” she continued, her voice softer now. “i wanted to see what kind of woman you are.”

“and?” you asked, meeting her gaze.

karina smiled again, enigmatic as ever. “i think you’re a woman who knows exactly what she wants, but you haven’t decided if you’re ready to take it.”

her words hung in the air, sharp yet tantalising. you swallowed hard, the weight of her observation pressing against you.

before you could respond, she glanced at the clock on the wall, her expression softening. “unfortunately, my time’s up — but i will see you again, hopefully.”

you watched as she stepped back, her movements as graceful as ever. “thank you.”

she turned back to you, her dark eyes glimmering. “the pleasure was mine, miss l/n.”

“please call me y/n.”

she nodded and then, just like that, she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her lips brushing against yours.

moments later, pierre entered the room, followed by an awestruck felix.

“holy shit,” felix yelled, his wide eyes taking in the space. “this room is insane. do you know how much this costs?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, still feeling the warmth of karina’s presence. “do i want to know?”

“five million dollars. per dance,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

you smiled faintly, your thoughts far from the number. “well, tonight was the most expensive night i’ve ever had then.”

he put an arm around you, ruffling your hair. “told you you’d enjoy it!”

-

the limousine hummed softly as it glided through the quiet streets. deeply in your thoughts, you sat stiffly in your seat, legs crossed, arms folded, the leather cool beneath you.

the night had been…complicated, to say the least.

felix, sitting across from you, looked far too pleased with himself, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk that only irritated you further.

“never again,” you said sharply, breaking the silence.

he glanced up, the smirk widening as if he’d been waiting for this. “never again, what?”

“you know exactly what i mean,” you snapped, glaring at him. “you are never taking control of a night out again.”

he raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “elysium? come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“felix,” you said through gritted teeth, “it was a strip club. a strip club. do you have any idea how bad that looks for me? if anyone had taken a photo of me, it could’ve been a PR disaster.”

he laughed, leaning back lazily against the plush seat. “oh please, that place is so exclusive. and anyway, it’s not like you were doing anything scandalous. you sat there, drank champagne and watched a performance. you didn’t even touch anyone. honestly, it was boring.”

you stared at him. “boring? you dragged me to a place where the floor alone costs millions to reserve and you think it’s fine because you had fun?”

“well yeah,” he said casually, shrugging. “and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself. i saw your face during that dance.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away sharply, your fingers tightening around your arm. “that’s not the point, felix.”

“oh, it absolutely is,” he countered, leaning forward. “look, you’ve spent your entire life building this empire. you’re brilliant at what you do but you don’t live, y/n. you don’t even let yourself breathe. all i did was give you one night to do something out of the ordinary and now you’re acting like the world’s going to end.”

“because it could,” you shot back. “my name, my reputation — it’s all tied to novis. if anything jeopardises that, the fallout would be catastrophic. you don’t understand what’s at stake.”

he tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “no, i don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “because unlike you, i actually let myself live every now and then. when was the last time you did something just for yourself, y/n? when was the last time you let yourself feel something that wasn’t tied to work?”

his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. you glanced out the window, the city lights blurring as the limousine sped through the streets. “this isn’t about me,” you muttered, though the defensiveness in your tone betrayed you.

“oh, it’s absolutely about you,” he said with a knowing grin. “come on, admit it. you didn’t hate last night as much as you’re pretending to. i mean, you could’ve walked out anytime, but you didn’t. you stayed.”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “felix, i can’t afford to have nights like that. my life isn’t like yours.”

“and that’s exactly the problem,” he said, his voice more serious now. “you’re so afraid of messing up, you don’t even let yourself enjoy anything. y/n, you’re one of the most powerful people in the world and you’re scared of living? what’s the point of all this success if you never let yourself have anything?”

you didn’t answer, his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. instead, you stared out the window, your reflection blurred against the city lights. he leaned back, clearly feeling like he’d won the argument, though he said nothing more.

as the limousine approached your building, you sighed deeply, finally breaking the silence. “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. no more clubs, felix. ever.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “we’ll see.”

as it rolled to a stop, you stepped out without another word, the weight of the conversation lingering as you made your way inside.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the way karina had looked at you — as if she saw right through the walls you had spent years building.

her eyes haunted you, dark and full of secrets you suddenly found yourself wanting to uncover. and for the first time in years, you wondered if there was something, or someone, outside your carefully constructed world worth stepping into the unknown for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the morning was as chaotic as ever, the hum of novis corp’s top floor vibrating with urgency the moment you stepped out of the private elevator. polished shoes clicked against a mix of wooden and marble floors, assistants and executives alike moved from desk to desk, each with something that required your attention.

“y/n,” the updates for the venatrix deal are ready.”

“legal has flagged the elara contract for revisions.”

“the team needs your approval on the new AI interface by noon!”

normally, you thrived in the controlled storm of your office. today, however, your mind was elsewhere. your focus wasn’t on contracts or product launches — it was on her.

the memory of last night lingered in sharp detail: the intoxicating crimson glow of the club, her sharp gaze, the brush of her lips against yours.

karina had left an imprint you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

the design meeting was supposed to centre you. the team presented mock-ups for novis’s latest AI interface, a sleek design meant to revolutionise smart tech, but as the lead designer droned on about user functionality, your attention slipped.

their words barely registered. your eyes were on the screen, but your mind was still in elysium. the feel of her perfume in the air, the way her eyes had locked onto yours: daring you to react.

“y/n?” samuel, the lead designer’s voice, broke through your thoughts, ultimately bringing you back to the present.

you blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. “yes?”

“we were asking for your feedback on the gradient colour scheme versus the flat monochrome,” he said, his tone careful.

you glanced at the screen, the options displayed clearly, but for once, the answer didn’t come easily. “the gradient,” you pointed after what seemed like at eternity. “it’s fine.”

a few of the designers exchanged surprised glances. it wasn’t like you to give such a vague response.

when the meeting ended, you stepped into the hallway, only to find giselle waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a look of exaggerated curiosity.

“well, that was weird,” she said, falling into step beside you.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your tone clipped as you navigated through the bustling corridor.

“you,” she replied, waving a hand dramatically. “you’ve been off all morning. normally, you’re snapping necks and giving ted talks in these meetings. today, you were practically sleepwalking. so, spill. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you said curtly.

she narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. “is this a felix thing? what did he do now? start a crypto farm in the middle of montana? buy a haunted house because ‘it looked cool’? or, wait — did he drag you to one of those ridiculous underground poker rings again?”

you gave her a sharp look. “felix has nothing to do with this.”

“so there is something,” she said, her smirk growing. “come on, boss, you can’t keep secrets from me. i’m like the human recourses version of sherlock holmes.”

“giselle,” you warned, stopping in your tracks and fixing her with a pointed glare, “drop it.”

she raised her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn’t waver. “fine, fine, i’ll drop it; but if you spontaneously combust during the next board meeting, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

as you started walking again, she called after you, “oh, by the way, your new head corporate lawyer is waiting in your office. yu jimin. punctual, sharp as a blade, and word on the street: dangerously hot. good luck!”

the name sent a jolt through you, stomach twisting as you reached your office doors, the memory of last night rushing back with startling clarity.

when you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the figure standing near the window.

she was dressed sharply in a black suit that fit her perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it undone just enough to convey confidence without stepping into arrogance. her posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other at her side.

her dark hair was pulled back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of her face. when she turned at the sound of the door, your breath caught.

her eyes met yours, and for a split second, the world tilted.

it was her.

the woman who had unraveled you the night before, the one who had danced with the kind of precision and allure that left you spellbound.

karina.

no, yu jimin.

“miss l/n,” she greeted, her voice smooth, calm, and so painfully familiar. “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

you forced yourself to nod, gesturing toward the chair across from your desk. “miss yu, please, have a seat. and call me y/n.”

you walked quickly to your desk, avoiding her gaze as you settled into your chair. when you finally looked up, the intensity in her eyes was undeniable.

she sat with perfect posture, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her expression polite but unreadable.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat, “tell me about your experience. what drew you to novis corp?”

her lips curved into a faint smile, one that sent a chill through you.

“my career has largely focused on high-stakes corporate law,” she said smoothly. “mergers, acquisitions, billion-dollar lawsuits — you name it. novis corp stood out to me because of its reputation for innovation and precision. it’s a company that demands excellence; i happen to provide that.”

her tone was professional, poised. but then her eyes glinted, and her smile widened just slightly.

“but if i’m being honest,” she added, “it wasn’t just the company that intrigued me. after last night, the person behind it all captured me.”

your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to maintain a neutral expression.

“i’m not sure what you’re referring to,” you said evenly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“of course not,” she said, her smile deepening, though she didn’t press further.

the rest of the meeting passed in a blur of questions and answers, though the tension in the room never dissipated. every time her gaze lingered on you, you felt your resolve crack, memories of her dance, her eyes and her lips flashing vividly in your mind.

when it concluded, jimin stood gracefully, smoothing her blazer as she moved toward the door.

just as she reached for the knob, you hesitantly called out, “and miss yu?”

she paused, turning back to face you. “yes?”

you met her gaze, forcing your voice to remain steady. “i was never there.”

her smile returned, slow and knowing, her eyes glinting with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “don’t worry — the only person in that room was karina.”

for the second time in two days, yu jimin had left you completely undone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

[writingforstraykids]

You have the right to remain mine

Pairing: Mob Boss!Minho x Chief of Police!Reader

Word Count: 6589

Summary: You're the youngest Chief of Police in the city’s history. Unfortunately, fate has a twisted sense of humor. Because the kingpin you’ve been chasing across rooftops and back alleys for years? You’re married to him. Lee Minho, your husband of five years, is the elusive, impeccably dressed, frustratingly clever Mob Boss at the top of your most-wanted list. You raid his warehouses. He sends you flowers the next day. He burns down a rival gang's casino, and you make sure the surveillance footage ‘malfunctions.’ It’s a dance - a dangerous, unspeakably stupid battle of law and love. But it's yours.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, betrayal, short mention of blood, guns, they're idiots, suggestive, bickering

A/N: You voted, here it is. The opposite pairing will be posted soon as it's been a close call (yes, it'll be a different storyline)🤭🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Seoul doesn't so much wake up as it murmurs itself into motion - slow, heavy-lidded, and restless beneath a pale, smog-soft sky. The glass buildings catch the low morning light like mirrors trying not to remember the night. Somewhere far below, a siren wails, more tired than urgent, swallowed by the hum of early traffic and the scatter of footsteps on wet pavement.

Your apartment sits high above all of it. Too high to hear the chaos. Too quiet to forget it.

The scent of freshly ground coffee drifts into the bedroom long before you do. You linger by the doorframe, still adjusting your badge and tugging at the too-stiff collar of your uniform, as if somehow you could pull yourself tighter into your role. One hand rests on your holstered sidearm - not out of habit, but because it’s grounding. Something that has never lied to you.

Which is more than you can say for the man in your kitchen.

Minho stands with his back to you, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the curve of his forearm flexing as he sets your coffee down beside the usual folded napkin.

He’s barefoot on the cool tile, hair still damp from a quick shower, wearing the kind of perfectly worn-in hoodie that screams domestic bliss instead of what it should: most wanted criminal in Seoul. If you hadn’t seen him orchestrate a warehouse bombing with a whisper and a smirk, you’d believe he belonged here.

He glances over his shoulder, one brow lifting. “You’re up early.”

You step fully into the room, the clink of your belt and gear cutting through the silence like warning bells. “Didn’t sleep,” you murmur, wrapping both hands around the ceramic mug he offers without ceremony.

“Nightmares?” he asks, but there’s a gentle note under it, like he's actually asking if you’re okay.

“Paperwork,” you reply, and sip too fast. The burn is welcome.

Minho makes a quiet, sympathetic sound. “Worse then.”

You should leave. You have thirty minutes to make it downtown, brief your team, and pretend convincingly that you’re not married to the man your department has spent the last years trying to hunt down. And failing.

You lean against the counter anyway. He watches you from the other side, arms crossed, mouth curved in something between amusement and exhaustion. You both look like people playing house. Like two civilians exchanging sleepy words in a kitchen touched by sunrise. And maybe, in another life, that’s all you would’ve been.

But in this one?

You’re Seoul’s Chief of Police. And he’s its most slippery, terrifyingly brilliant kingpin.

“What happened at the docks last night?” you ask, too casually, because dancing around it feels worse.

Minho’s expression doesn’t shift, but something behind his eyes sharpens. “You tell me.”

“Two bodies in a van. Bound. Shot clean. Dumped like trash. No prints. No traceable bullets,” you list the facts.

“Sounds like professionals,” he says, tone mild.

You raise an eyebrow. “Your professionals.”

He shrugs, slow and infuriating. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

You exhale through your nose. “You’re making it harder and harder to protect you.”

He steps closer, barefoot pads silent on the tile, and reaches out to brush a non-existent wrinkle from your sleeve. His hand lingers. “You’ve been protecting me, hm?”

“Don’t be cute,” you warn him.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he grins. His voice lowers. “Do you want me to stop?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because if you do, the whole threadbare illusion you’ve managed to drape over your life might finally tear. Instead, you down the rest of your coffee, place the mug carefully on the counter, and turn away - half to grab your keys, half to remember how to breathe.

He follows you to the door, as he always does. Like he’s simply your husband walking you out for work and not the man you're supposed to have handcuffed in an interrogation room.

“I’ll be late tonight,” you say without looking at him.

He leans one shoulder against the doorframe, watching you clip your ID to your uniform. “Working late, or pretending to work late?”

“There’s a task force in town. Federal.”

His gaze darkens just slightly, but his voice stays smooth. “They’re watching me now too?”

“They’re watching everyone.”

He hums softly, a sound that tells you nothing and everything. “Be careful, Chief.”

You pause at the door, fingers tightening around the handle. “You, too. Please.”

There’s a long, slow moment where neither of you moves. Then…

“By the way,” Minho says casually, “if you’re wondering why your office phone’s been making that weird clicking noise-” You turn, narrowing your eyes. He smiles, smug as hell. “I might’ve planted a bug. Just to make sure your new federal friends weren’t getting too nosy.”

“You planted a - Minho!”

He shrugs. “Occupational hazard. Love you.”

“You’re insane,” you hiss, pulling the door shut behind you.

“Text me when you miss me!” he calls after you, voice sing-song sweet.

You pretend you don’t hear it. Pretend that your heart doesn’t twist every time you walk away from him. Pretend you’re not still waiting for the day one of you stops pretending. Because the roles this world has pushed you in are screaming at you to do so.

You're the youngest Chief of Police in the city’s history - sharp, principled, and dead set on dismantling the criminal networks ruining your streets. Unfortunately, fate has a twisted sense of humor. Because the kingpin you’ve been chasing across rooftops and back alleys for years? You’re married to him.

Lee Minho, your husband of five years, is the elusive, impeccably dressed, frustratingly clever Mob Boss at the top of your most-wanted list.

You’ve both agreed (unofficially, of course) to ‘try’ catching each other without actually catching each other. You raid his warehouses. He sends you flowers the next day. He burns down a rival gang's casino, and you make sure the surveillance footage ‘malfunctions.’ It’s a dance - a dangerous, unspeakably stupid battle of law and love. But it's yours.

Five years ago

It was raining the night you married him.

Not the soft kind that politely patters against windowpanes, but the relentless, sideways kind that slams against rooftops and turns gutters into rivers. Thunder rolled across the coastline like it was laughing at you, shaking loose something deep in your chest. Somewhere beyond the glass walls of the hotel room, waves crashed angrily against the breakwater.

The storm was the least reckless thing happening that night.

You stood barefoot on a plush rug in a borrowed suite far from Seoul, hair damp with seawater and adrenaline. Your hand trembled slightly in his as you stared at a man who shouldn't have been touching you - shouldn’t have known you beyond coded messages and surveillance reports. But somehow, you’d spent the last year learning everything about him anyway.

Lee Minho.

The ghost at the edge of every case file. That last name your officers whispered like a curse. The man whose empire grew quietly in the dark, elegant and cruel, all silk gloves and bloody rings. And the man who, six months ago, had cornered you in a back alley after a botched sting and said, “You’ve been chasing me so long I’m starting to think you just like the view.”

And God help you, you stayed to hear what he’d say next.

You never planned for it to go this far. You never planned to see the way he looked at you when you called him by his real name instead of a title. You never planned to care what happened to him when an enemy gang planted a car bomb outside his nightclub, or when he disappeared for three weeks without a word.

You never planned to say yes.

Because when you got to know him, he was nothing but a shy, self-made CEO, wanting nothing but winning your heart. And oh, he had managed to do so so easily.

But then there you were - standing in a hotel room with no witnesses, no priest, no flowers - just the quiet, awful honesty of two people who knew this would ruin them and were still too stubborn to walk away.

“I know this is stupid,” Minho had said, that night, his voice hoarse with something raw and real. “I know what it makes you. What it makes me. But I’ve had people swear loyalty to me with guns in their hands and lies on their tongues. I want something different. Just once.”

You could’ve said no. You should’ve.

But the truth was - you didn’t trust anyone either. Not your deputy. Not the system. Not even yourself, on some nights.

But him? You trusted him to never lie about who he was. And somehow, that counted for more.

So you took the ring.

There wasn’t even a real ceremony that night. Just a whisper. A vow that didn’t make sense outside of the room.

“If they find out…”

“This doesn’t leave these walls.”

“It won’t,” he promised.

“They won’t.”

“We can’t be caught.”

“Then we won’t be.”

You remember the way he pressed his forehead against yours after, breathing like he’d run miles. You remember his hands on your waist, grounding you, reverent. You remember the silence between you - not empty, but thick with something unspeakably terrifying: love, in its rawest, ugliest form.

And you remember thinking, God, this is going to hurt later.

You were right.

Because five years later, you’re standing in your department’s war room staring at a board of photographs and red lines, all leading back to Minho, and pretending your heart doesn’t seize every time someone suggests killing him would be cleaner than an arrest.

Because five years later, every time you kiss him goodbye, it might actually be the last time.

The only hope you have is that no one knows who's the head of the Lee family. Even his enemies don't know his face. He's been careful and it made a legal wedding, one year later, with his public persona possible. It doesn't ease your fear, though.

And because five years later, you still haven’t figured out how to be both the hand that cuffs him and the one that reaches for him in the dark.

The precinct smells like burnt coffee and cheap floor polish. You walk in just after eight, weaving between buzzing desks and half-drained paper cups, your boots echoing off the scuffed tile. The murder board’s already lit up at the far end of the bullpen, center stage, like always. Red thread, handwritten notes, blurry surveillance photos. It’s a mess of dead leads and unsolved violence.

Present Day

Your team is already gathered: Detective Yoon flipping through files with one hand and a granola bar in the other; Jae, your resident tech, is half-asleep behind his tablet; and Songhwa, sharp as ever, is tapping her pen against the board like she’s trying to will the mystery into solving itself.

And at the heart of it all, as always, is one name in bold letters: LEE FAMILY SYNDICATE.

“Morning, Chief,” Yoon calls as you approach. “Coffee’s fresh, if by ‘fresh’ you mean still vaguely warm and legal to ingest.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, already reaching for the pot.

Jae grins at you over his screen. “We’ve been going through the most recent surveillance dumps. Still nothing. Whoever’s running point for the Lee family is either a ghost or some AI experiment gone rogue.”

Songhwa doesn’t look up. “No digital trail, no voice ID, no clean photos. Even the security footage from the port incident last week was jammed the moment they got close to the site. These people move like they know our next move before we do.” You take a long, steady sip of the coffee. Bitter and burnt. Perfect for mornings like this. “They’ve got a strategist,” Songhwa continues. “Someone clean. Disciplined. Not like the other mid-level idiots we’ve hauled in.”

Yoon gestures at the board. “We’ve got, what, forty-seven photos up there now? All suspected affiliates, and none of them confirmed as the one calling the shots.”

You arch a brow. “It’s Seoul. If we put up a picture of every person named Lee, we’d run out of wall and all retire with migraines.”

Jae barks a laugh. “Careful, Chief. You’re a Lee by marriage, right? We’d have to stick your photo up there too.”

Yoon whistles low. “Your husband’s a Lee, right. That’s suspicious enough. Handsome CEO. Vaguely mysterious. What do we know about him, anyway?”

You don’t miss a beat. You laugh, lightly, just the right note of self-deprecating humor, and shake your head. “All I know is he sleeps like the dead and always forgets to take the laundry out of the machine.”

“Classic criminal behavior,” Songhwa mutters dryly, clicking her pen and pinning another blurry face to the wall.

You sip your coffee again to keep your mouth from twitching. Because the last time Minho did the laundry, he used it to sneak a flash drive past your department’s scanner system.

The morning wears on. Names fly. Leads fizzle. You nod in the right places. Pretend like your skin doesn’t crawl every time someone says ‘the Lee syndicate.’ Pretend you don’t recognize the code name from the intercepted email, because it was Minho’s old alias, back before you even knew what he looked like in daylight.

You’re trained to lie. Undercover, interrogations, courtroom crossfire - you’ve lied a thousand times. But this is different. Because this lie wears a ring and keeps a toothbrush next to yours.

“Hey, Chief?” Jae calls, tapping a file. “We’ve got an anonymous tip that came in this morning. Says the next weapons shipment’s going through Jungbu Pier tomorrow night.”

Your pulse flinches. You walk over slowly, reaching for the paper. “Do we know who sent it?”

“Untraceable IP. But the language was… clinical. Precise. Too clean for a street rat. Might be someone on the inside.”

You study the printout. The phrasing is unmistakable - your husband’s kind of clean. If he sent this, it means something’s wrong. You’re not sure if he’s warning you away or pulling you in.

Yoon glances over your shoulder. “You think it’s real?”

You fold the paper and tuck it into the folder like it’s just another lead. “Only one way to find out.” You don’t say more. You don’t need to. You're the Chief. They trust you.

And you? You trust exactly one person.

The man this whole board is trying to catch.

The first time you saw him, you didn’t know his name.

Seven years ago

The nametag on his lapel said ‘Lee Minho’ printed in silver foil beneath a title that sounded important: CEO, Entertainment Group. Vague, polished, safe. The kind of label people wore at charity galas when they didn’t want to be asked real questions. The kind of label that made it easy to forget.

But you didn’t forget him.

You were only a few weeks into your new role then - a freshly promoted detective still getting used to wearing pressed collars and not kicking in doors. You hadn’t even planned to attend the fundraiser that night, but your captain insisted you start ‘rubbing elbows’ with the upper crust if you wanted to get promoted again someday.

So you went. You wore a dress you borrowed from a cousin. You showed up fifteen minutes late. You drank exactly one flute of champagne and scanned the room like you were casing it. Old habits died hard. And that’s when you saw him.

Leaning against the edge of a glass balcony, posture perfect but relaxed, fingers curled lightly around a tumbler of whiskey he hadn’t touched. He was dressed in black-on-black, tie knotted like he hadn’t meant to look that good but did anyway. He looked… effortless…but terribly lonely.

And when his gaze caught yours across the crowd you felt it like a hook beneath your ribs. You should’ve looked away. Instead, you stared back.

You didn’t speak that night. Not really. Just a polite nod when you passed near the bar. A shared glance as some investment banker droned into the microphone about “rebuilding communities” and “strategic giving.” But his presence clung to you like perfume long after you left.

-

You thought about him the next morning. And the next. And then you buried the thought beneath twelve-hour shifts and case files you weren’t supposed to bring home.

You saw him again nearly five months later.

-

Another charity event - this one for arts education, hosted in an upscale gallery in Gangnam. You arrived late again. Alone again. You’d almost convinced yourself that the man from the last gala had been a passing distraction, a moment your brain had romanticized out of loneliness.

Until you turned toward the exhibit hall and there he was - Lee Minho, nametag and all - standing in front of a minimalist painting, head tilted, eyes sharp with the kind of focus people pretend to have when they’re trying not to stare at something else.

Except this time, he didn’t just glance. He smiled. And then he walked toward you like it had always been part of the plan. “You came late again,” he said softly.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I was hoping you’d show up,” he clarified. “But… you’re late.”

You laughed before you meant to. “I didn’t realize I was expected.”

“I didn’t realize I was hoping,” he said, then paused, like he wasn’t sure if it was too much. It should have been. It wasn’t. His voice wrapped around you like sweet honey.

He offered you a drink. Nothing flashy. Just a glass of white wine, dry, good quality. He didn’t ask what you did for work. Didn’t try to impress you. Just asked if you liked the painting behind you. Then another one. Then asked if you wanted to dance.

You hadn’t danced in years. But you took his hand. The music wasn’t even slow, it was jazzy, uptempo, slightly chaotic, but he moved with you like you’d practiced. Like he could read your rhythm before you even found it. And when he laughed, when you stepped on his foot and muttered a curse under your breath, it was this quiet, surprised thing that made your stomach twist in the best way.

You fell before you knew it.

The next six months came like a dream made of soft lights and quiet corners.

-

He took you out to dinner: not places with dress codes, but places that served your favorite food the way you liked it. He made reservations under fake names, but you assumed it was a CEO thing. He never showed up with a bodyguard, never flaunted money. Just handed you jackets when it rained and always asked if he could kiss you first.

He cooked for you in his sleek apartment overlooking the river. Pastas, rice dishes, once even pancakes at midnight when you showed up shaking after a bad day on the job. You liked that he never asked questions you didn’t want to answer. You liked that he listened when you talked, really listened, the way no one else in your life did without scribbling it down in a report.

He took you to bookstores on quiet afternoons, letting you pull him down aisles like he belonged there, like he wasn’t a man made of shadows and carefully constructed silences.

And all the while, you told yourself he was just Minho.

Sweet. Smart. Unexpectedly shy. Mysterious, sure, but so are most men who get rich too young - that’s what you thought. That’s what you let yourself believe.

You didn’t look too closely. Not yet. Because you were happy. God help you, you were happy.

And when he pulled you in at the end of a bookstore date one night, cupping your cheek with reverence and whispering, “I’ve never been good at this, but… I really like you,” - you believed him.

The precinct hums even after dark. Most of your team has gone home, their empty coffee cups abandoned like casualties of war. But you’re still at your desk, hunched over the printout from this morning’s tip, the fluorescent light above you buzzing like it knows you’re lying to everyone around you.

Present Day

You read it again. The location. The time. The language - clinical, restrained, purposeful. It sounds just like him.

If Minho sent it… you don’t know whether it’s a warning or a test. Either way, it’s working. Because your hands haven’t stopped shaking since you folded that paper and told your team you’d look into it.

Your phone buzzes on the desk.

Minnie love🤍: You’re still at the office. Come home. What do you want for dinner?

You hesitate before typing a reply. Minho picks up his phone at home.

My Sweetest Crime🖤: We need to talk.

By the time you reach your apartment, it’s nearly midnight. The city has quieted into its low, breathing hush, traffic down to a whisper, neon lights bleeding softly into the slick asphalt. But inside your high-rise, everything feels too still. Like the air’s been holding its breath for hours.

-

You open the door. Minho’s waiting in the kitchen. Same as this morning. Same hoodie, same mug. But this time, he doesn’t smile when he sees you. He just watches.

You shut the door behind you with a soft click. The quiet stretches, brittle. “Was it you?” you ask, setting your keys down slowly. “The tip?”

His jaw flexes, just once. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Answer mine.”

He doesn't blink. “Would you rather I lie?”

You cross the room in slow steps, each one tightening the coil in your spine. “You can’t keep doing this,” you say, voice low. “Sending things through anonymous proxies, playing games with my team, with me. It’s reckless.”

He laughs once, hollow. “You think I’m the one being reckless?” You flinch. Minho moves closer, but doesn’t reach for you. His hands stay in his pockets, like he doesn’t trust himself either. “I watched your press conference,” he says quietly. “The one about the task force. You looked the Commissioner in the eye and promised you'd crack the Lee syndicate wide open.” His gaze narrows. “That includes me, doesn't it?”

Your breath catches. “Don’t.”

His voice drops. “Don’t what? Don’t say it? Or don’t make you say it out loud? Don't make it real? Because you just did.”

You don’t answer. You can't. Because it’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either, and the space in between is where you live now.

He exhales sharply, stepping back, running a hand through his hair. “I gave you the tip to keep your people alive. That shipment is real. And it’s not mine. I don’t touch weapons. But someone wants it to look like I do.”

“Then why not tell me directly?” you snap. “Why go through the back door?”

“Because you’re the Chief of Police,” he bites. “You have a unit listening to your every call, and a federal team crawling through your files. If I hand you anything, they’ll trace it back to me, and you’ll burn with me,” he snaps at you.

That stops you. You stare at him, and for the first time since getting that message, you don’t see the kingpin or the liar. You just see him. The man who once pressed a cup of tea into your hands when your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The man who folded your laundry without asking and read every book you left face-down on the couch. The man you married in a storm with no witnesses. “You think I can’t handle it,” you say quietly.

“I think you’re already handling too much,” he whispers. “And I don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending this isn’t killing you.” You blink fast. Once. Twice. The burn behind your eyes threatens to spill over. Minho steps forward, slowly now, gaze softening. “Tell me to back off, and I will. I’ll disappear again. I’ll play the shadow you always said I should’ve stayed. But if you still want this, us, then let me help you. Let me protect you the way you keep trying to protect me.”

You don’t move. The silence between you stretches again—but this time it’s different. Not brittle. Just full. Your voice is barely there when it comes. “You said you don’t deal weapons?” He nods. “Then who does?”

Minho hesitates. “Someone who doesn’t care if you’re in the crossfire.”

The case wasn’t supposed to lead to him. You were deep in it by then - twelve months into a city-wide investigation that had quietly escalated behind closed doors. Someone was moving shipments through the underground, laundering money through mid-tier shell companies, consolidating control of the scattered remnants of old gangs and turning them into something terrifyingly efficient.

Six years ago

They called it The Lee Family, but no one knew who was at the head of the table. No clear face. No voice recordings. Just strategy, silence, and power. Until your team intercepted a burner call. Just this one.

It had been scrubbed, distorted, buried in white noise. But you stayed late anyway, alone in the evidence room with your laptop, eyes aching from hours of decrypting audio.

And in the final minute of the file, just for a breath, you heard it. That voice. Low, controlled, almost amused. You knew the moment that giggle you've gotten so used to hearing could be heard - awfully distorted, but unmistakably your boyfriend.

Your whole body locked, ice rolling down your spine like someone had just opened a door in the dead of winter. You hit replay, over and over, but there was no need. You didn’t need audio analysis. You didn’t need your team. You knew that voice.

Because it had said I love you just four nights ago, into the soft curve of your neck.

You don’t remember driving home. Not really. Everything outside the windshield blurred into a smear of neon and tail lights, your breath shallow and uneven, as if the truth had shoved itself into your lungs and refused to let go. You didn’t take the elevator when you got to his building. You took the stairs, fourteen flights, because you needed something to burn the panic out of you before you saw him again.

-

You let yourself in with your key. Of course he’d given you a key. The lights were dim. Jazz played softly through the speakers. He was in the kitchen, barefoot in his favorite black sweater, sleeves rolled up as he plated something warm and slow-cooked. The kind of meal that takes hours. Fuck.

He smiled when he saw you. “You’re early.” You didn’t answer. He stopped in his movements. The air shifted. He felt it - how still you were. How tightly you held your bag to your side. “What happened, my dearest?” he asked, careful now.

You pulled out the USB. Tossed it onto the counter like a knife between you. “You tell me.” He didn’t even look at it. His eyes stayed on you. You hated how calm he was. You hated that part of you still wanted to believe it wasn’t true. “I recognized your voice, Minho. Your stupid giggle,” you said, each word deliberate. “Do you want to lie to me now? Or later?”

Silence stretched thin between you, his shoulders sagging. “No,” he said softly. “No lies. Not anymore.”

Your heart cracked so sharply it felt audible. “So it’s true,” you whispered. “The syndicate. The ships. The shell companies. The things that have been robbing my sleep for months now. All of it - you.” He nodded, just once. Like this, he didn't look like he'd be capable of it. He looked like a wet cat, big sad eyes meeting yours, frustration and fear radiating off him. “And you knew who I was from the beginning,” you said, voice thick now, shaking. “You knew I was a detective. And you still…you still took me to bookstores and out for pancakes.”

His voice barely held together. “I did. I took you to bookstores. I held your hand when you were too tired to speak. I made you laugh when you forgot how.”

You stepped back. “Don’t you dare make this romantic.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“But it did. And you let it.”

He came around the counter, slow and unthreatening, like approaching a wild animal. His hands were loose at his sides. “I knew you were going to be promoted,” he said quietly. “I knew who you were before you even looked at me that night in Gangnam. I wasn’t supposed to get close.”

“Then why did you?” you asked, shoving his chest. And God, you hated how broken it sounded coming out.

Minho’s voice cracked for the first time. “Because I’d never met anyone like you. And because I wanted, for once, I wanted something that wasn’t made of blood and fear and silence. I wanted you. Even if I only got a few months.”

“You didn’t give me a choice. I should've been able to choose,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in front of you, swallowing softly. “Are you going to arrest me now?”

Silence crashed in like a wave. You could’ve screamed. You could’ve cuffed him. You could’ve walked out and never turned back.

But you didn’t.

Because love doesn’t care what job you have.

And betrayal always cuts deeper when it comes with wine and a quiet jazz track. “I need air,” you whispered, already reaching for the door.

He didn’t stop you. He just stood there in the kitchen, your favorite dish going cold on the counter behind him, and let you leave.

You didn’t plan to go. You told yourself the ache would pass - that if you just focused on work, on the cases piling up on your desk, the headlines, the weight of your badge - you could push him from your chest like a splinter. But Minho had always lodged too deep. Like breath. Like blood.

-

So you showed up at his apartment two weeks later. Just past midnight.

The hallway outside his door smelled like the city- wet concrete, exhaust, something electric in the air. Your hand hovered at the door longer than it should have, knuckles tense, heart rabbit-fast. When it opened, you didn’t say a word.

Minho’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but not shock. As if he’d known you’d come eventually, but hadn’t let himself believe it.

Neither of you said anything. Not when he stepped back to let you in. Not when he closed the door behind you. Not even when you looked at him like you hadn’t seen color in days.

-

Minho touched you like he remembered every time you’d flinched and softened beneath him. He moved slowly, with a softness that made your throat ache. His lips trailed down your shoulder like he was relearning the parts of you he’d memorized. You let him. You let yourself fall apart in his hands like he was safety, not risk.

It happened in fragments. A kiss that wasn’t a question. Hands that knew their way even after the silence. Your jacket hit the floor. His sweater followed. The sound of your name from his mouth like it was still sacred.

And for a moment, just one, you let yourself pretend that none of this was wrong.

That love wasn’t supposed to be weighed down by secrets and laws and the sharp edge of what-ifs.

Afterwards, the silence pressed in again. Minho’s arms were still around you, his breath soft against your temple, your skin damp with sweat and rain and guilt. The sheets tangled around your waist like a crime scene. You didn’t know when the tremble started, but it had.

-

Your fingers curled into the sheet. Your throat closed. And then the words broke loose in a whisper, as helpless as a confession in the dark. “I shouldn’t have come.” Minho didn’t move. “I’m a cop,” you said, voice splintering. “I’m a cop, and I just—” Your eyes burned. “I shouldn’t be here.”

You pulled away, just enough to sit up, the sheet falling from your shoulders. You wrapped it around you like armor, like it could make you clean again. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You turned away from him, as if that would help.

“I’m a cop,” you said again, weaker now, like maybe if you said it enough, it would undo what just happened.

Minho sat up behind you. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he reached out and gently cupped your face in both hands, guiding you to look at him. “You’re still a cop,” he said, voice low but certain. “You didn’t stop being that just now.”

Your eyes welled again. You nodded, slowly, painfully. “Yeah,” you choked. “And I’m in love with a criminal.”

Minho’s brow knit. His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek. And then he shook his head, soft, firm, unflinching. “That’s not all I am,” he said gently. “You know that.” You tried to speak. Tried to argue. But nothing came. “If that’s all I was,” he whispered, “you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have come back.”

And you hated that he was right.

Because it would be easier if he was just a name in a case file. If he was just power and blood and silence. If he wasn’t the man who knew how you liked your coffee, who kissed the back of your hand when you couldn’t sleep, who read novels just to talk about them with you. But he was all of that. And you didn’t know how to love him and leave him in the same breath.

So you let him hold your face. And when you leaned into his palm, eyelids fluttering shut, you weren’t a cop. You were just someone in love with a man too complicated to explain.

The banquet hall is dressed in gold. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, glimmering like a thousand fragile truths. The room is full of sharp suits and softer lies, wine glasses clinking, silk dresses trailing over polished marble. On paper, it’s a fundraising gala for urban renewal. In reality, it’s a nest of money launderers, illegal dealers, and connections so deeply entangled in Seoul’s underbelly they can’t be separated without something bleeding.

Present

You walk in at five minutes past eight - fashionably late, as your husband would say. Your badge stays hidden in your jacket pocket. Your team is already in place - Yoon near the fire exit, Jae posing as waitstaff, Songhwa stationed by the stage. You make your way through the crowd like smoke, your earpiece buzzing softly every few minutes with updates. So far, it’s quiet. Too quiet.

You scan the room again. And then you see him. Minho, in a charcoal-gray suit that fits like it was tailored from shadows, a wine glass in hand and his expression unreadable. He’s alone. Standing just beside a business mogul your department has been tracking for months.

He doesn’t move when he sees you. But his eyes, warm, dark, familiar, catch yours across the sea of strangers. He knows. He knows something's about to happen. “Oh, you fucker, you weren't supposed to be here,” you curse beneath your breath.

“We’ve got movement,” Songhwa whispers in your ear. “Package is leaving the side room. Confirmed: two of the targets are armed.”

You touch your earpiece. “On my count. Three... two...” The music swells, and then fractures.

“Seoul Police! Hands in the air!”

Chaos erupts. A scream tears through the room. People scatter, chairs tip, dishes crash to the ground. Someone draws their gun, shots start falling.

You drop low, gun out, eyes scanning for the shooters. One by the bar. Another by the stage. Civilians run screaming in every direction. The chandeliers sway above like glass hearts about to shatter.

Then, someone draws their gun, much too close to Minho who looks like he's debating if pulling out his own gun is a better option. You raise your gun and seemingly aim at the guy behind him.

You hear it before you see it: the thud of his body hitting the floor, the sharp inhale, the muffled curse of someone trying not to cry out. Another shot follows and the man behind him drops down dead.

Songhwa’s voice cracks in your ear. “Back-up arrived.”

You reach Minho before you even register moving, dropping to your knees beside him as more officers flood the room. He’s on his back, breathing hard, a bloom of red spreading from his thigh. His jaw is clenched, his fingers digging into the fabric around the wound. “I’m fine,” he bites out through gritted teeth, already pale.

“Shut up,” you snap, pressing down on the wound, your hands shaking now. “You got shot.”

He gives you a strained smirk. “Oh, don’t you sound guilty.”

You glare at him, heart pounding. “I am guilty.”

“You gonna read me my rights?” he mutters, eyes fluttering as the adrenaline dips. “Or do I get a hospital ride first?”

You don’t answer. You just press harder and yell for medics.

The hospital corridor is quiet when you push the door open. Minho is propped up in bed, one leg immobilized, IV in his arm, skin pale but calm. His hair’s a mess, and he’s wearing the worst hospital-issued robe known to man. He looks both exhausted and smug. You hate how much you missed him in the four hours since they wheeled him away.

-

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “So… how was your day at work?”

Minho doesn’t miss a beat. “You fucking shot me. That was my day at work.”

You huff a laugh before you can stop it, dragging a hand over your face. “It was your leg, and I was aiming for the guy with the Glock.”

“Guess my thigh looks more threatening than his face,” he huffs.

“Apparently.” There’s a beat of silence. Then, more gently, you say, “You’re not listed as a suspect. Just a guest who got caught in the crossfire.”

His gaze meets yours, something softer behind it. “That's your gift to me?”

You shrug. “What’s more believable than an innocent bystander who got shot at a mob event?”

“Ah yes,” he mutters, closing his eyes, “and to think I doubted your romantic streak.” You smile. Just a little. Then sit down beside him. “You owe me new dress pants,” he says without opening his eyes.

“And you owe me an explanation for why you were anywhere near a known arms broker.”

He cracks one eye open. “I was tracking them. Quietly. Until someone blew the doors open.” You shake your head, jaw tightening. “I told you I’d help,” he adds, more serious now. “Not hide.”

You reach for his hand beneath the sheets. He lets you take it, fingers curling around yours, warm and steady. “I’m sorry for hurting you. But you left me no choice, idiot.”

“Oh, I'll remember the sentiment,” he snorts.

For now, the hospital is still. The police haven’t asked the right questions yet. Your team still thinks you’re the hero who neutralized the threat. And Minho? He’s just another unlucky name on a list of civilians caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You both know it’s only a matter of time before the cracks start to show.

But for this moment, just this one, you let it be quiet. Let him be safe. Let yourself pretend that chaos isn’t waiting outside the door again.

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[tsuutarr]

Yandere!childhood friend x reader

“Hey, can I talk to you?” a classmate in one of your university classes calls out. He’s blushing, looking completely flustered. You’d have found it cute, really, but there are several factors that make you want to groan.

One, you’re not in a good mood right now. And two–

“You’re friends with that pretty girl, right? Jieun? Uhm. Can I get her number?”

He’s not confessing to you. 

You bite back a sigh. “Look, I can’t just give out my friend’s number like that–”

“But–”

“Darling!” you’re interrupted as someone clings onto your arm. They intertwine their fingers with yours, giving your classmate an icy smile. “I’m so sorry, but we have plans.”

“Oh, t–that’s fine!” your classmate exclaims, voice cracking. He looks at your friend, completely enamored. “But, uh, can I get your–”

Before your classmate can finish his sentence, your friend has already dragged you away. 

Soon, you’re seated in a cute coffee shop your friend had found earlier that week.

“I can’t believe that guy was confessing to you,” your friend scoffs, taking a sip of their matcha latte. “You’re so out of his league.”

“He was actually asking me for your number,” you respond, making your friend’s eyes widen.

“Me?” There’s genuine surprise on your friend’s face as they clasp their manicured hands. “Well, I suppose my makeup skills are pretty amazing.”

“Yeah, it’s always surprising that you can go from Jiu to Jieun and back so easily.” 

And you mean it – your childhood friend, Jiu Oh, has built up his life as his father’s perfect son. Yet, at the same time, he has a secondary identity – Jieun – that he uses whenever he wants to indulge in cute things and fashion, things his father thinks no man should ever have an interest in.

“It’s pretty fun,” Jiu hums, twirling a long strand of his pink wig on his finger. His pretty lips stretch into a smile. “You should let me doll you up sometime, too. Only if you want to, though. You’re already beautiful as you are.”

You give him a bitter smile, a sigh leaving your lips. “If only my ex-boyfriend thought that, too…”

Jiu gasps. “You guys broke up?”

“Yeah.” With a few taps of your phone, you pull up the chat between you and another friend. There, right on the screen, is your ex-boyfriend on a date with a blonde woman.

“I can’t believe it. He cheated on you?” Jiu looks at you, his perfectly styled eyebrows furrowed. “I knew he was trash.”

“Yeah, you were right. I guess I just…” your voice drops to a whisper, making Jiu gently hold your hand.

“Aw, darling – it’s not your fault. It’s that trash’s fault for cheating on you.” Gently, he gives your hand a soft squeeze. “How about we hang out tonight? To take your mind off of things? We can watch your favorite movies and bake something? And I’ll do your nails!”

“...You know what, yeah. That sounds good,” you agree, feeling lighter. Time spent with Jiu is always fun, after all.

“Wonderful! I’ll prepare everything and text you when I’m ready!” Jiu grins. “Ooh, you’ll love the new bath bomb I got!”

His enthusiasm is infectious and you can’t help but smile. Yeah, who cares about your shitty ex when you have a great friend like Jiu?

What you don’t know, though, is that the blonde woman in the photo is Jiu. He had carefully orchestrated everything so that you’d break up with your boyfriend.

You also don’t know that he has tabs on you at all times – whether it’s by your phone or the people around you. You don’t know that the whole reason you got into your university in the first place is because of Jiu.

Jiu’s control over your life extends even beyond that, too. It’s impossible to know the full extent of the control he has over your life and maybe you never will – not when you’re his, anyway.

[obeythebutler]

Hi! I'm new to your blog so I apologize if I mess anything up.

Could I request MC surprising the brothers with a feast they accidentally cooked up because they were worried that there worried that their wouldn't be enough food for the brothers?

It's 7:30am and his brother still aren't ready for RAD.

Hell, they haven't even stepped down for breakfast. Even Beel, never the one to miss it is missing.

Did all his brothers decide to skip today's classes? Were they orchestrating some other useless prank?

Lucifer stares at his watch, waiting. If they don't come down in the next five minutes he's going to leave them at home and give them detention. Maybe he'll have to pull Mammon out of his bed again, or carry Belphegor down the stairs.

The thought of dragging his brothers like sacks of potatoes down the stairs makes his head ache. It’s always been like this, him caving in so easily to his brothers demands, being so lax on them.

The saving grace is the human exchange student.

MC.

They're on breakfast duty today, and Lucifer can smell the pleasant hint of roasted hellfire mushrooms. Cinnamon too. They've always been a diligent person when it comes to their work.

Unlike his brothers.

Sigh.

"If you all don't hurry up, the food is going to get cold!" Their voice rings from the kitchen, and Lucifer opens his mouth to give one last reprimand to his brothers, to hurry up and come down before he drags them.

There's a blur besides him then, a flurry of moment that messes up his perfectly styled hair.

"Food cooked by the human! I call dibs on it, I'm the great Mammon after all!"

The eldest gawks at his brother, perhaps in disbelief or surprise, and then fixes his hair in resignation. Whatever makes him be on time, his scoldings or MC's voice.

Lucifer rolls his shoulders, steps forward to get into the dining hall instead of the hallway, but then he senses footsteps on the stairs. Five pairs of shoes, each distinguishable from the other.

His brothers are a blur as they surpass him to get to the dining hall.

What the—

At this point, all the man can do is to slap his palm on his forehead.

They won't listen to him, but they'll willingly rush to the dining hall when MC calls, huh? For the sake of hell and everything that is corrupted, they're such simps that its intolerable to watch.

As soon as he steps in though, Lucifer is rendered speechless by the sight in front of him. So are the brothers.

There's just.....so many plates of food. Creamed Bonnacon, Devil Zebra Bacon Sandwich, Hell Pancakes, and that doesn't even cover it. Blood Strawberries, Caramel Shadow Tart, Ghost Watermelon....It's a feast fit for a banquet, and it must have taken so much time to cook all that...

"T-That's......that's just like that anime! Where the main character cooks up a feast for their roommates because they didn't want them to go hungry so they woke up at the crack of—"

"Shut yer mouth Levi." Mammon says, although there is no irritation in his tone as he gapes at the dining table. He can spot some of his favorite foods, given that there are plates and plates of them. He mentioned some of his favorite things to eat to MC long time back, but he didn't think that they would remember.

The fourth-born has a smile on his face now, as he stares at the cat drawn on his pancake with blueberry syrup. It's so cute.

He remembers MC placing some pots and utensils on the table the night before, stating that it would be less time-consuming in mornings given the rush.

His cheeks feel hot.

"Now, darling, that is quite a feast you have cooked up for us!" Asmodeus hangs behind MC's shoulder as he compliments them. There is still flour on their cheeks, and so he wipes it away from them using his thumb, earning squawks of protest from both Levi and Mammon. "Thank you so much! This is soo going on Devilgram!"

"I thought the usual wouldn't be enough," They mumble, nervously shifting their gaze from the brothers to the table. Asmo's weight on their shoulders is a comfortable one, yet the intense scrutiny they are subjected to makes them want to hide away. "Next thing I knew was that I kept adding and adding ingredients until I realised what I did. So you better finish it all."

Belphegor giggles. "That won't be a problem." He can sense his twin's growing hunger at the sight of the feast before him, and food does taste better when cooked by your loved ones. The demon is glad that he chose to be on time today.

Wait, Beel was right besides him, he isn't here....

"Woah—" MC can only stumble out the words as they are caught off guard when pulled into a hug by the sixth born. He's tall, and so warm. "Easy there!"

"Thank you MC!" Beel's voice is full of happiness, and he can't help but hug them for it. He knows his gluttony is a lot to handle, and it causes a lot of trouble for others, but them going out of their way to make extra efforts and ensuring that he and his brothers won't go hungry makes him feel loved.

He'll wait this time, to eat with MC.

"At what time did you wake up to cook all of this?"

You turn your head towards Satan, who is now besides you. Gazing at you ever so softly. "I woke up around three, couldn't sleep since I had drunk a lot of coffee the night before."

"Your sleep schedule will be messed up if you continue," He reprimands you, but his tone is light.

"Thank you for ensuring that we all don't go hungry though." Lucifer smiles as he says that.

Maybe this is what home is.

You and the brothers, cooking too much and enjoying it nevertheless. Casual conversation drifting across the table, with Hell coffee as bitter as ever, packing some for Purgatory Hall residents and leaving together for RAD as the gates to the house close behind you all in remembrance.

[purplereina11]

In Honour of England vs Spain

I wrote this in about an hour and not proofread it but enjoy a very little brief update of these two!

The roar of the Wembley crowd is deafening, a mix of English and Spanish chants echoing through the stadium. You stand tall between the goalposts, your England jersey clinging to your skin, the number one printed boldly on your back. Across the pitch, in the fiery red of Spain, your Barcelona teammates exchange knowing looks. Among them, Aitana Bonmatí—your girlfriend, your heartbeat, and tonight, your fiercest opponent.

You’ve trained with her, laughed with her, loved her. You know her movements, the way she feints left before cutting right, the fire in her eyes when she spots an opening. And she knows you. Knows how you like to rush out, when you hesitate, where your hands falter. There are no secrets between you—except for the one that lingers in the air now.

When the whistle blows, the game is war.

Spain dominates possession, their tiki-taka passing slicing through England’s midfield. Aitana is everywhere, orchestrating, dictating, controlling. Then it happens. A perfectly weighted through ball from Alexia Putellas finds Aitana’s feet. She takes a touch, lifts her head—your eyes meet for the briefest of seconds.

Then she shoots.

You dive, stretching every muscle, fingers grazing the ball just enough to send it wide. The crowd erupts. You land hard, pushing yourself up in time to see Aitana standing there, hands on her hips, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Nice save," she mouths.

The game goes on, a battle of wits and will. Every time she gets the ball near the box, your heart pounds. Every time you deny her, the fire in her eyes burns brighter. It’s exhilarating, maddening, intoxicating.

Then, in stoppage time, Spain wins a free kick just outside the box. Aitana steps up. Your pulse quickens. She’s scored these in training a hundred times. You shift your weight, watching, waiting. She takes her run-up, strikes the ball, and you manage to move your feet quick enough and get your hand in the opposite corner to tip the ball over showing your world class.

The final whistle blows.  

Your body is aching, your heartbeat still hammering in your chest, but none of that matters. The scoreboard tells the story—England 1-0 Spain. A hard-fought victory, one that came down to every fingertip save, every rushed clearance, every desperate dive. You played one of the best games of your life.  

And yet, your eyes immediately search for her. You didn’t see her as you were smacking hands sharing smiles and small words with your Barcelona teammates before being dragged into the England huddle. Your eyes met Keiras who smiled as it came to end hands coming in the centre Keiras words silenced the team. “Someones waiting for you”

Aitana stands near the centre circle, hands on her hips, staring at the ground. The golden streaks in her ponytail catch the stadium lights, but her usual glow is dimmed by frustration. You know this look—you’ve seen it after tough losses with Barcelona, after games where nothing went right. 

You smile as you look back only Keira in this team knew about you and Aitana all though you’d been dating 3 months now she wasn’t officially your girlfriend and you hadn’t told her you loved her but she had turned you into a bit of a softy, you weren’t very forthcoming in telling people. You were a private person, the ribbing it seemed Aitana was getting from teammates it told you that she was telling people. “You and Aita?” Lucy Bronze put the pieces together, “No, I don’t believe you”

“You don’t need to believe me” You smiled at Lucy turning and walking away

You pull off your gloves, tucking them into your waistband as you approach her, you smile as she finally looks up when you reach her, eyes locking onto yours. There's a flicker of something—pride, annoyance, something in between. Her arms instinctively come around your neck as yours went around her waist you lifted her and walked a few more steps with her before setting her back down.

"You were impossible today," she mutters in Spanish, arms crossed.  

A smirk tugs at your lips. "Had to be. You’re too good otherwise."  

Aitana rolls her eyes but doesn’t fight the small smile creeping onto her face. "That last free kick… I thought I had you."  

You exhale sharply, replaying it in your mind. The way she struck the ball, how it curled toward the top corner, how you barely managed to tip it onto the crossbar. A goal on another day, against another keeper.  

"You almost did," you admit, nudging her gently with your shoulder. "I know you too well, though."  

Her brows lift in playful defiance. "Or maybe I let you save it so you wouldn't cry if I scored."  

You laugh, shaking your head. "Keep telling yourself that, cariño."  

For a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the space between competition and love. But then Alexia Putellas jogs past, clapping Aitana on the back. "Vamos, we've got media," she says, before casting you a knowing glance.  

Aitana sighs, tilting her head at you. "I'll see you later?"  

You nod. "Of course. I owe you a kiss, remember?" You’d kept in contact over text and Aitanas idea was the winner had to give the loser a kiss and an apology.

She smirks. "Yes, you do. And I expect a proper apology for ruining my night."  

You grin, leaning in slightly. "I’ll make it up to you."  

She lingers a second longer before jogging off with her teammates, leaving you standing there, still feeling the rush of the game and the unshakable pull of her presence.  

You had won tonight. But the real challenge? That awaited you off the pitch.  

The media duties are finally over. You’ve done your interviews, answered questions about the match, your performance, the clean sheet. But your mind has been elsewhere the entire time.

Now, in the quiet of the stadium tunnel, away from the cameras and the roaring crowd, you wait. The post-match adrenaline still hums in your veins, but it isn’t the win you’re thinking about. 

It’s her

You lean against the cool concrete wall, arms crossed, waiting. You should be celebrating with your teammates, soaking in the victory, but instead, you’re here.  

Waiting for Aitana.  

And then—finally—she appears.  

She walks toward you, still in her Spain tracksuit, her ponytail slightly disheveled, her expression caught somewhere between frustration and amusement. You can see it in the way she moves—the sharp edge of competition still clinging to her shoulders, but there’s something else beneath it.  

“You took your time,” you tease, leaning against the wall.  

She huffs, clearly still annoyed. “Blame the media. They kept asking how it feels to lose to you.”  

Your lips twitch. “And what did you say?”  

Her eyes narrow, her chin lifting slightly. Eyes locked into yours. “That you got lucky.”  

You let out a short laugh. “Oh, come on, you know I—”  

She cuts you off by grabbing your jersey, yanking you forward, and pressing her lips to yours. Pulling you down as she presses her lips to yours. The kiss is firm, quick, but charged with all the unspoken words between you, filled with leftover frustration. When she pulls back, there’s a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“That’s for being annoying,” she mutters.  

You blink, caught somewhere between amusement and arousal. “Didn’t know I annoyed you that much.”  

Aitana smirks, tilting her head. “You have no idea.”  

And then she kisses you again—properly this time. Slower. Deeper. Her fingers stay curled in the fabric of your jersey, her body pressing just a little closer, her lips moving against yours with the kind of ease that makes your heart pound louder than the stadium had.  

By the time she pulls away, you’re both slightly breathless.  

“And that,” she whispers, her forehead resting against yours, “is because I missed you.”  

You exhale softly, your hands still resting lightly on her waist pulling her just a little bit closer, “I missed you too.”  

There’s a moment of quiet between you, a rare pause where the world outside doesn’t exist—just the two of you, the warmth of her body against yours, the faint scent of her shampoo, the way her fingers rest lightly against your chest. Caught in that space between rivalry and something softer.  

Then—  

“You could have let me score, you know.”  

You groan, throwing your head back. “Aitana.”  

“What?” she says innocently, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eyes. “I’m just saying. You like me, right?”  

You narrow your eyes at her. “Of course.”  

“Then let me score next time.”  

You snort, shaking your head. “That is not how this works.”  

She lifts a brow. “Hmm. But if I had scored, maybe you’d be the one kissing me right now.”  

You fold your arms. “Oh, so now I earn kisses?”  

Aitana shrugs. “Maybe.”  

You scoff. “Okay, let’s test that theory.”  

Before she can react, you lean down and kiss her again—slow and deliberate, making sure she feels every ounce of satisfaction in the way you take your time. You feel her exhale softly against you, her fingers twitching at your jersey, betraying her resolve.  

When you pull back, you raise an eyebrow. “Still think I needed to let you score?”  

Aitana stares at you for a second, as if trying to compose herself. Then she smirks.  “Yes,” she says, stepping back 

You blink. “What?”  You smirk. “And ruin my clean sheet? Never.”

Aitana groans, lightly smacking your chest. “You’re impossible.”

A loud voice echoes down the tunnel.  

“Oi! Lovebirds, we need our keeper back!”  

You both snap apart—well, mostly. Aitana’s hands linger at your chest for a second longer before she lets go, shaking her head with an amused sigh. One of your England teammates walks past with a knowing smirk.  

Aitana groans. “Your teammates are just as annoying as you I see”  

You grin. “They love you, to.”  

She glares. “That’s the problem.”  

You chuckle, then reach for her hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go. “You need to go” She just laughs, disappearing around the corner.  

You groan, dragging a hand down your face.

Yeah, you won tonight.  

But with her?  

You never really win.  

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.  

You were in Belgium your last game of this camp before going back to Barcelona, this was the longest you and Aitana had gone without seeing each other every day at work and spending time together afterwards and it seemed Aitana was struggling with that.

It’s late. Too late, probably. But your phone buzzes anyway, Aitana’s name lighting up the screen.

You don’t even hesitate before answering.

The screen flickers, and there she is—hair messy from sleep, hoodie slightly too big on her frame, curled up in bed with her face half-buried in her pillow.

You smirk. “Didn’t peg you as the clingy type, Bonmatí.”

She glares, though it’s weak, softened by sleep. “Shut up.”

You chuckle, shifting on your own bed. “Miss me already?”

She huffs. “No.”

Your smirk grows. “Oh, really?”

Aitana exhales, adjusting her phone so you can see more of her bed, her arm slipping under her pillow. “Maybe a little,” she mutters.

You tilt your head. “What was that?”

She groans. “You heard me.”

You laugh, lying back against your pillows. “Mmm, can’t say I did. Maybe say it again?”

She glares. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

She doesn’t answer, just tugs her hoodie up slightly to hide the small, reluctant smile playing at her lips. That wasn’t something either of you had said to each other yet and you in your sleepy awoken state hadn’t realised what you had said.

You shake your head, amused. “You know, you could’ve just texted me if you wanted to talk.”

Aitana scoffs. “I did text you.”

You glance at your phone. Sure enough, a single text from her sits unread.

Aitana: awake?

You smirk. “Oh, yeah. Real romantic. I’m swooning.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not my fault you take forever to reply.”

“Sorry, princesa, I was busy—” you pause for effect, “—winning.”

She groans so loudly you’re sure half her apartment hears it. “You are the worst,” she mutters.

You grin. “And yet, here you are. FaceTiming me at 3 AM.”

Aitana glares. “I regret this already.”

But then, as the teasing dies down, a quiet settles between you. Aitana shifts slightly, resting her chin on her pillow, eyes softer now.

“How’s camp?” she asks, voice lower.

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “Long. Intense. Same old.”

She hums. “Tired?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She watches you for a moment, then exhales. “I wish I was there.”

Your chest tightens slightly. “Me too.”

Her lips press together. “It’s stupid. We do this all the time. Games, camps, flights… I should be used to it.”

You tilt your head. “Not since I met you.”

She exhales through her nose, fingers idly tracing patterns against her pillow.

You study her, the way her eyelids are growing heavy, the way her breath is starting to slow slightly.

“You should sleep,” you murmur.

She shakes her head. “Not yet.”

You smile softly. “Aitana—”

She cuts you off. “Just… stay on the call.”

Your chest warms. “Okay.”

A few moments pass in comfortable silence, the sound of her breathing evening out. She’s close to sleep now, her blinks getting slower, her grip on her phone looser.

Right before she drifts off completely, you hear her mumble something.

“Hmm?” you hum.

Aitana exhales sleepily. “Don’t let me dream about you saving that goal.”

You burst out laughing.

Her eyes snap open just enough to glare at you. “Not funny.”

You grin. “A little funny.”

She groans. “I hate you.”

You shake your head. “No, you don’t.”

She mutters something in Catalan that you think translates to something rude, but her eyes are fluttering shut again.

You lower your voice. “Sweet dreams, princesa.”

She doesn’t answer, just breathes softly.

You stay on the call a little longer, just watching her sleep, before finally whispering a quiet, “Goodnight,” and ending the call.

And yeah, the distance sucks.

But moments like this?

They make it bearable.