#take pictures/scans all the time i guess

[e-rated-beardo]

beardo's great breakdown adventure

or: the story of how I fucked up and un-fucked up and probably didn't learn anything

So last night was a time 🫠

Look at the little perfectionist (recovering) failing to paint a thing and having a whole meltdown! And the whole TBF discord having to deal with it! 🎉 (They were absolute stars obviously; they always are)

I had made this really nice pencil sketch and I'd inked it all pretty and all that was left was the watercolour (to clarify, I do this stuff with physical paper and brushes and stuff, because I'm a dinosaur and/or like it and/or don't have a tablet to draw on). So... of course I fucked up the watercolour. And past me wasn't wrong. It was bad.

I'm going to give you one example of how the shadows looked like actual dirt on the dude's face and one example of how I also cleverly managed to make it look like he'd pissed himself.

(This also shows you how inconsistent that shit was. The left might have been a vibe for Underworld fanart or something? The right... just looks like some reasonably competent child painted it with markers actually; not sure how I managed to do that with watercolour. Also, the green became turquoise? Idk why the background is pink either, everything about it was weird af idk what was wrong with me)

Next up on my schedule was a little breakdown, obviously. Because I'd also kind of slightly hyped this up already, and I wanted to give it away as fanfic fanart and like shameless flattery and impress everyone, and you can't give a pile of smudged dirt and questionable shading and ???? fuck knows to someone because it makes you look fucking weird. And there's no Ctrl+Z for watercolour on paper. So I'd taken a great sketch and a great ink drawing and turned into a shit painting. Wahoo 🎉

So I had my breakdown. Then I remembered I had one (1) semi-decent mobile camera photo taken just after I'd finished inking and I was like, you know what, this can't get much worse, I've coloured things digitally before, and three hours later, I had a good, cleanish digital line art drawing and... another shit colouring attempt. 🎉 Not even going to show it. It was embarrassing.

But then. Then I realised. I have a laser printer. The things laser printers print are waterproof. Like my ink.

How heavy paper can my printer take before choking?

About 170 gsm, it turns out. That's just about my lightest aquarelle paper and just above my good drawing paper, which I have successfully painted on before, with great care and my heart in my mouth.

Thus, four hours post-meltdown, I'd performed a 560-step ad-hoc "undo", and two (rather late) hours after that, I had what actually amounted to a decent picture. Something I could tidy up in GIMP and not feel ashamed of sharing.

I'd like to say I've learnt something from this. Not sure I have. It would be nice if there's a lesson to take away for someone else. "Don't have a breakdown just because your art sucks one time" sounds like a fair one. "Scan/take a picture at every step of the process + own a laser printer"?

That there's me whining to someone close to me AFK. Aren't I a delight when I've failed at something? 🫠 And like there's an irony here, right, because the fic I made this for talks so much about self-acceptance and getting over shitty self-talk and allowing yourself to be appreciated and here I am, like, the walking embodiment of no-one will ever love me so I must produce something beautiful and be of tangible value to get an approximation and maybe that's the lesson I didn't learn this time either?

That person in the green chat said,

Your skill isn't a rope that is tested every time you make something by flinging yourself off a ledge with it tied around you. It's a tower you build below yourself and sometimes you're gonna try to build a part on top of something that isn't properly set yet, or that you didn't realize was missing beforehand.

because they're a fucking dear and brilliant all the time. And I was like. Okay that sounds logical on paper, but it's not like that, okay, because for me it is a rope actually since I'm not good. 🙃 And then I went off and fixed the problem and made the fucking art anyway. Maybe that should have convinced me otherwise. Ha! Of course it didn't. I have almost forty years of knowing I'm a hack and maybe a couple of days in total of knowing I'm not, and that's a shameless paraphrase from the fic I drew this for, because the irony is so thick you can cut it with a knife.

Anyway.

I hope you've enjoyed this trip through my breakdown. Maybe you're also a recovering perfectionist/not hack and you Feel Seen now. Maybe you have your shit sorted out and this is like going to the zoo for you; look at the wild beardo in its natural habitat going absolutely ballistic. Here's a couple details from the finished art. The resolution is what it is but you can see what they are and that they aren't shit anymore

Here's the art post proper:

[sirfrogsworth]

How do you take a photo of time?

I've been watching the track events at the Olympics since I was a wee lad. It was a tradition in our family. We'd gather around our ancient low-definition 19 inch CRT television and watch tiny blobs compete against other tiny blobs and root for our country.

It was a bit like watching YouTube on your phone in 144p.

Several heroes emerged.

Jackie Joyner-Kersee was amazing.

You can't forget about Flo-Jo.

And then the Olympics decided NBA players were allowed in the competition.

Which formed... The Dream Team.

Was this fair?

Well... they won each game by an average of 44 points.

So... no. It was not fair.

Though it became more fair as time went on.

But, umm... yeah. The other teams looked like the Washington Generals and the US looked like the Harlem Globetrotters if they stopped screwing around half of the game.

But my absolute favorite Olympian was a runner named Michael Johnson.

He was cool as heck.

For one thing... gold shoes.

But he also had this crazy, upright, Tom Cruise-ish sprinting style that just made him look like a running robot on the track.

And in the 1996 Atlanta games he just trounced EVERYONE. I mean, it wasn't even close.

Yikes. Those losing blobs are probably really embarrassed.

Last night I decided to invigorate my nostalgia and watch the track events again. And I got to see one of the wildest races in history.

It didn't even last 10 seconds but it was one of the most exciting sporting events I've ever witnessed. Almost every runner won the race.

After I saw that initially, I was like... who the heck won???

Even in slow motion I wasn't sure.

This was one of the closest finishes in history. There has never been a race where all 8 runners were within this margin.

The arena was silent as the winner was being confirmed. The runners just kind of paced around waiting for official word. My best guess was the Jamaican runner, Kishane Thompson. But then the loudspeaker announced Noah Lyles.

The last tiny morsel of American pride burst out of me with a big "Wooooo!"

I forgot what it was like to be proud of my country. I wish it happened more often. But this young man, despite being last place in the first 3rd of the race, turned on the afterburners and won in a photo finish.

And that's when my inner nerd took over.

Because when they showed the photo finish image, it looked super weird.

Why is the track white?

Why do all of the runners look all warpy like that QWOP game?

So I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out.

Photo finishes are actually fascinating. The first photo finish captured the end of a horse race in 1890. But that was mostly luck and timing. The actual photo finish mechanisms weren't used until 1937.

Originally they would film the finish line through a physical slit.

And the first horsie head that appeared in that slit would be the winner. This technology ended a huge aspect of corruption in horse race fixing almost overnight.

But we have come a long way since then. And I'd like to introduce you to the Omega Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate.

This slow motion camera sits fixed on the finish line of every race. The concept of the photo finish has remained remarkably similar to the 1930s approach. The camera sensor is specially designed to only record a vertical slit.

Only the finish line itself is actually captured.

And because it limits what it records to only that slit, it can capture 40,000 frames per second to get amazing temporal resolution.

So why don't the photo finishes just look like, well... this?

That is because the camera takes a picture of time more-so than dimensional space. I guess it would be more accurate to say it *assembles* a picture of time.

As the runners cross the finish line, the camera combines all of the little strips of pictures into a single image.

It's almost like if you tried to reassemble a piece of paper after it had been shredded.

Imagine each strip of paper is a picture of ONLY the finish line, just at a slightly different point in time.

What if someone stopped on the finish line and didn't move... what would that look like?

Once they got there, the same part of their body would just be repeated.

So the right side of the photo finish picture represents earlier in time and it just assembles the image strip by strip as time passes and you literally get a picture of time itself.

NEAT!

Okay, but how do they determine the winner from the photo finish?

I mean, that shoe looks like it is ahead of Noah Lyles!

Clavicles!

The IAFF rules state the foremost part of the torso must cross the finish line first. And the endpoint of the torso is the outer end of the clavicle.

So if you get this bone across the finish line first, you win the race.

Two more fun facts!

The start of the race is actually just as carefully timed as the end of the race. There are sensors in the starting blocks of each runner.

The starting gun also has an electronic sensor.

They have determined the fastest a human can react to the sound of a gun is roughly 100 milliseconds. So if you start running before 100 milliseconds they know you didn't actually hear the gun, you just got antsy and started running too early.

And the final fun fact...

Did you notice the Omega logo at the top of the photo finish?

That isn't superimposed or added after the fact. That is captured by the camera.

But if this image is composed only of tiny little slivers, how did they get the Omega logo to show up?

That is a little display. And it is synchronized with the Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate to show a little sliver of the Omega logo for each frame captured.

So when the final image is stitched together, it looks like a cohesive logo at the top of the photo.

Pretty clever, Omega!

[prozacwhorehouse]

Clark Kent x reader request of the scene where he ducks that little girls head and it’s his daughter that he saved 🥺 after the explosion he scoops her up then finds the reader and both brings them to safety away from the battle <3

we’re not really strangers (dad!clark x mom!reader)

a/n hi hi i love this request 🥹 i realize the girl in the movie isn’t like a toddler but i made it a toddler for this bc I thought it was cute

summary: after losing your daughter in the crowd running away from the chaos, superman, also your husband, saves her.

It all happened so fast. You had just been walking Lara out of preschool, hand in hand.

“Mama!” she squealed when she saw you come through the door, launching herself into your arms. “Look! I made superman!” she holds up a very wonky looking picture of Superman, made of crumpled paper mache. you silently thank god that she told you who it was supposed to be first, because at first you had no idea who it and would’ve risked a meltdown if you’d guessed wrong. “I made it for daddy! ‘Cause he loves superman!”

“That’s right, baby. Daddy loves superman. I think he’s going to love your picture even more,” you reach out for her chubby hand, which she takes as you start towards the exit.

and now, you’re frantically ushering your daughter down the crowded street, trying desperately to locate your car. the sea of bodies and the screams distracting as you weave in and out of people, dragging Lara close behind you. The space between people is shrinking, and you feel it the crowd getting denser and denser - until you no longer feel Lara’s small hand in yours.

“Lara?” you call out, to no response. “Lara!” panic building in your voice, you’re pushing past people in the opposite direction. your heart is beating in your ears - all these people are running, running from something, and your baby is all alone.

it happens in slow motion. when you finally break through the end of the crowd and spot Lara, standing all alone in the middle of the street, you can’t even hear your own scream when a truck of tanks explodes behind her. it happens so fast, you can’t even register Superman grabbing her - barely - cowering over her and cradling her head to protect her from the blast.

when the dust settles, it feels like you lost time. it only takes a second to gain it all back, and you’re hit with the realization.

“Lara!” you yell, regaining awareness as your feet carry you towards the two. “i was holding her hand, then the crowd-“ youre tripping over your words as you skid to a halt infront of them, trying to figure out how that happened, how you could let that happen - why you didn’t hold her tighter, why you didn’t-

“hon-“ he interrupts, almost reaching out to you but catching himself before continuing, “ma’am, she’s alright.”

you have to stop yourself from throwing yourself at the two of them, and it hurts him just as much to not be able to hold and console the both of you, kiss you in the middle of the park and assure you that it’s all okay. instead, you have to pretend you’re a stranger to him, and you only know him as Superman.

he hands Lara off to you, prompting a relieved breath when you feel your daughter in your arms again. when you scan her, checking every inch of her small body for damage, and find nothing but dust splotches and the marker streaks from the daycare’s crafts. you hold her close, which Lara doesn’t understand the reason for.

“too tight mama!” she giggles from the crook of your neck, trying to pry herself out of your tight grip.

you wish you could be as naive and clueless as your daughter right now, who has no idea what happened, and is in a fit of shrieks over the man who saved her.

“Superman, mama, superman!” she points, practically bouncing with excitement.

“it’s nice to meet you, Lara,” he says her name with a smile and her eyes widen, a loud gasp escaping her mouth.

“you know my name?” she asks, deadpan. “you know my name!!” she exclaims, looking towards you to see if you heard the same thing. “daddy’s never going to believe this!”

you nervously laugh, still coming down from the previous adrenaline rush. “yeah, baby. he’ll be so excited. you can tell him all about it when he gets home. maybe he’ll be home early today,” you raise your eyebrows at Clark, hinting to him to do so. he subtly nods.

“you ladies get home safe, okay?”

“yeah, we will- thank you again, Superman.”

he mouths an I love you.

later that night, after getting home early, he’s holding you and Lara tighter than he ever has, assuring you you did nothing wrong, that it wasn’t your fault, and listening to Lara’s account of the situation as if he wasn’t there.

[unluckilyimnot]

Playing with their hair – aether, kinich, wanderer, rin, sae, sakura

note: i'm just in love with aether and kinich recently and i needed to write something with aether's hair so why not had some of my fav characters along with them. that's probably not really good but i guess it's cute. ooc

m.list | rules

Aether is used to your hands suddenly laying on his hair, running through them when you walk behind him – it’s like an urge, you just have to. You stopped on your track, bowing to kiss his head, inhaling his shampoo a little and hummed at the sweet scent.

“You took my shampoo again,” you mentioned, not in a warning way, more like you appreciate it. He nodded lightly, delighting himself from the feeling of your hands still running through his hair, scratching his scalp a little before kissing it again.

Sensing that you’re about to go away, his hands take yours gently and his head bent down to look up at you. “Already leaving ? We can both take a break…” he said, subtly implying you to not stop yet, making you giggle.

“Sure, we can.”

That’s basically how he ended up sitting on the floor between your thighs, watching a movie while you brush his hair for him, kindly letting your fingers run down his beautifully long hair – trying small, low buns to one high ponytail.

“Having fun ?” You can hear the smile in his voice, amused as always when he let you enjoy his hair more than he does.

“Always.” you said while kissing his nose from above, hiding the tv from his sight for a mere second but he still whines at you for doing so. Such a crybaby.

Kinich sighs as he feels your hands examining his hair again. “Would you stop doing that ?”

He knows you’re not doing this to annoy him, yet it always kind of stresses him to picture you scanning his scalp without any invitation to do so. He also knows that you don’t care about what he says, continuing to play with his hair while you swipe away some dandruff here and there.

“What’s the matter,” you talked back, seemingly frustrated. “You never say anything when it’s to help you fall asleep.” you argued, feeling really satisfied when he doesn’t find anything to say after that. It for sure helps a lot, he can’t argue with that, but he really hoped you could realize that it works all the time and not only when he wants it to – which means he was getting sleepy, slightly closing his eyes while he still had a lot to do.

A satisfied sigh escaped his lips before he could hold it in and you hummed teasingly. Your hands moved from his head to his chest, your arms caging him against you and you laid your head on top of his. “Tired already ?”

“Shut it.” he sounded harsh but he still rested against your chest as well, feeling at peace being so close to you. He wasn’t really tired but if you let him, Kinich would for sure appreciate some quality time with his head in your chest and your hands in his hair. Not that he’ll say it to you.

Wanderer honestly never mind when you ask him if you can play with his hair, he’s usually already busy and not moving so someone touching his hair while studying doesn’t change much for him. He won’t say that it doesn’t make it easy to concentrate since he, sometimes, tends to focus on this more than on the words written in front of him but he still appreciates how peaceful it makes him feel when he’s particularly worried or stressed.

Your hand running through his short strands of hair takes him somewhere else where he doesn’t need to worry as much, he likes it, even if he would never be physically capable of telling you.

“You’re braiding it ?” he asks, half absent in his question – he just wanted to confirm the feeling of your fingers brushing past his cheeks repeatedly. You hummed softly in response, leaving the braid dying the second you let it go since his hair was too short to handle it. It doesn’t discourage you though, and before he can ask what you’ll do next, he can already feel your steady movement back to the same scheme and a soft chuckle left his lips.

“You want me to stop ?” you asked under your breath, probably still concentrated on what you were doing but still caught his sigh.

“No, it’s fine. Go on.” he assured before stepping back again into his study, more than relaxing by this short break.

Rin loves movie dates to his core, but it always gets him when you start touching his hair in the middle of the movie. It's like he's never getting used to it and he's jolting a bit every single time, making you chuckle. But you always kiss his head as an excuse after. 

There's something relaxing when your fingers start to twirl around his short hair, making him wonder who appreciates it the most between you and him. Because he for sure loves it. 

His mind drifts away easily despite himself and how badly he wants to follow the movie. He always finds some way to lean into you, craving for more like a cat and more often than not, he ends up laying on top of you. 

“Don't fall asleep this time Rin,” you joke while scratching his head playfully. He simply nodded, absorbed in the movie more than you gave him credit for. He just didn't want you to stop.

Sae hates it when he feels your hands finding his hair in the middle of the day. He spends quite some time styling his hair in the morning, even if it doesn’t look like it, and you being nearby automatically becomes a danger for that.

Not that he doesn’t like you touching his hair, he’s fond of it, he wishes he could die with you touching his hair, but not during the day. So as soon as he feels it, he immediately gets up and warns you. “Please don’t.”

But he knows it can't be helped and soon your lips meet his, kissing him sweetly – your successful way to distract him – so you can end up with your hands reaching the hair in his neck. Twirling your fingers around it, pulling ever so slightly to annoy him but he still lets you. Not without a sigh against your lips, but he knows damn well he can't hold you back when you're determined to do something. 

He wishes he could keep his hair pretty for the day at least once in a while but he can't blame you ; both of you like it very much. He can forget his image for yet another day if that means he can appreciate the relaxing feint of your fingernails on his scalp. Even if lately it's starting to be everyday, he won't mention it – or not seriously. 

Your smile is more precious than some good hair day. 

Sakura still isn't used to you touching his hair, he hasn't been used to gentle gestures in his life before coming here  –  especially regarding his looks. The second your hands find his hair, he flinches by reflex even if he knows that it’s only you around him. He doesn’t turn you down anymore though since you always let him know how you love his hair, for the color or the fluffiness ; it’s just the best thing in the word and it got to be your boyfriend’s hair. You must be blessed. 

You still try not to frighten him too much, and start by touching his shoulders then going up to his neck and finally the hair in the nape of it. Twirling it lightly with your fingers and you’re sure to catch him snapping his head to you with a blush. 

“What are you doing ?!” he asked as always, flustered but not telling you to stop anyway which made you smile sweetly. 

“I’m playing with your hair ? You want me to stop ?” you tilted your head to the side, trying to act cute and confused so he doesn’t have the heart to tell you no. And with a resigned look but his brows still frowned, he compiled without adding anything.It’s a win, once again. 

You then slowly but surely brush through all his hair, tossing it one side to another, mixing the two colors together then separating it again like a puzzle. That’s something you grew to love, separating his hair for him and that’s also your best excuse to touch it even when there’s people around. Even if he’s not fond of it.

He tends to lay a bit in your hand when you do so, or when you stop your hand in his hair, quietly liking the feeling now that you’ve given him some time. Not that he’ll say it to you, never, but he doesn’t need to for you to know. It’s just like you to notice how he relaxes around you and when you do it. There’s a small smile on your lips when he tries to catch your eyes but looks away instantly, blushing again, and it makes you wonder when he’ll stop blushing around you. 

“You’re cute, Haruka,” you said, brushing away his bang to kiss his forehead. And without a second of hesitation – when in fact yes, but you tried to ignore it –  he was arguing with you about how he is NOT cute, simply proving your point again and again.

Let me know if you like it !

[m-robinavitch]

silent.

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Female!Reader Summary: No one pisses you off more than Jack. And no one frustrates Jack more than you. Sometimes you just can't take it anymore. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap (older man/younger woman), mean/dom Abbot

“Can we talk?” Jack’s voice pulled you from your frustration, the keys clattering under your fingers while ordering patient labs. 

“Just a second I’m-”

“Now.” His tone shook you, but didn’t really confused you- because he’s been on edge all fucking shift and now you guess it was your turn to feel his wrath. Good. You can take it. You know all his moods and he’s not going to get to talk to you how he wants.

“Yes Dr. Abbot?” You ask, fake innocence as he pulls you to the stairwell next to the viewing room. His eyes are set- hard and frustrated and you can see that he’s been running his hand through his curls from agitation. 

“Why did you ask Walsh for a consult on Bed 9?” Oh. That’s what this is about? MVC, two restrained passengers- male and female. You had the male and he seemed like he needed a chest tube- Jack told you to send the patient to CT but after Jack got pulled away on the female patient, yours started to crash. You figured his ribs were shoved into his heart and lungs from the force of the airbag- which you were right and CT would’ve just proved it and prolonged the operation. The chest tube wouldn’t have matter when the patient needed emergency surgery to remove the fucking bones from his lungs and heart. Jack knew that. 

“Because surgery was needed.” Was all you said, shrugging and starting to walk off when he grabbed your upper arm. 

“Why didn't you take the patient to CT like I asked?” He was angry now, voice raised a bit and getting into your space. You wrenched your arm free, turning so you can meet his harsh gaze, eyes narrowed and hard. You don’t need his fucking approval to do shit. You put the patient first. Always.

“Because I decided that surgery was necessary.” You’re not arguing this. You’re not justifying patient care to him when the outcome would’ve been the same. CT or no CT.

“CT could have shown something that would make surgery dangerous if they go in blind up there. We need scans to make sure that when they fucking cut into the patient they have the entire picture and they aren’ fucking him up more.” He wasn’t wrong. A scan could have helped out but there was no time. Your patient was crashing and Walsh was ready and the OR was prepped. 

“You need to get your head out of your fucking ass long enough to realize that sometimes fancy surgical procedures are needed to save the patient.” You’re chest to chest now, breathing heavy and so fucking angry because he’s in your face and telling you how disrespectful it was to go over his head to Walsh that way- how he’d expect this from anyone else but you. 

“And I’m telling you that it needs to be cleared by me before any other fucking departments can claim patient care.” Why were you fighting him on this? You know how he works- known for years and it’s pissing him off even more now.

“I’m not your fucking resident anymore Jack-” voice raised that it echoes through the empty hall, “we’re supposed to be equals. Colleagues. I don’t need to wait for your fucking approval anymore.” He scoffs at that, a little laugh because he trained you, taught you throughout your entire residency and- it was hard to see you not need him anymore. He was fucking proud- yes. But it still pissed him off so much how you just decided patient care with Walsh and didn’t think to consult him or listen to his direction. 

“I’m still the supervising attending that is responsible for this ER,” why did you like pissing him off? Why did you go rogue and do things your own way like, like- well like him? “You still need to run your diagn-“

“Do you ask Shen to do that? Or Robby? No?” You cut him off. Pissed and shouting and-

“Lower your voice.” He growls out, his voice low- like he’s daring you to challenge him more. He’s so fucking infuriating and you can see the flash of realization behind his eyes when you speak and- 

“Oh I get it. You think because I’m not one of the boys that I fucking can’t-” you stop, well- you’re stopped by his hand on your mouth. Shoving you into the empty viewing room and he doesn’t bother to turn the light on or lock the door when he kicks it closed. 

“I said lower your fucking voice- see?” He spits out, pushing you back against the empty bed to where you’re just on the edge of it. “You just can’t fucking listen can you?” Jack has his hand flat on your mouth, keeping you from answering him and his other hand comes up to your thigh to widen them- allowing him to push between your thighs. “You need to be taught how to shut the fuck up don’t you? How to listen and understand that you’re not always right?” You’re so fucking mad and in the dark you can’t see him but you can feel him. You can feel the length of him- hard against your clothed center and you thank god he can’t feel how fucking wet you are now and the force of him grinding into you has pushed you up higher on the fucking hospital bed. 

“Jack-“ you whine as he loosens the force of his palm on your mouth, just so he can use both hands to unbuckle his belt and he laughs- something dark and playful because you’re helping him. You’re unzipping his pants and shoving them down his thighs with his boxers and whine at the sight of how hard he is- how he’s leaking at the tip now. He doesn’t let you admire long- no he has a plan of action now. His large hands grab at your waist- finding the waistband of your black scrubs to pull them down to your knees along with your underwear. He doesn’t waste time. He hitches your knees under his elbows so he can shove them back as far as they’ll go and to get impossibly closer and deep once he’s actually inside you. You know it’s going to hurt- but you’re so fucking wet and he’s thick and he’s mad and it stirs something deep inside you now as he replaces his palm back on your mouth- shoving into your tight pussy with little resistance. It was embarrassing that arguing with him made you this wet. That going toe to toe with Dr. Abbot made you so fucking wet and he can feel it and laughs a little when he slide into you. You’re glad he had the foresight to cover your mouth because you can’t stop groaning. You can’t stop the gasps and groans leaving you and he fucking wrecks you with each thrust. They’re hard. Fucking fast and devastating. 

“Fucking little girl- thinks she can decide all for herself what to do?” He groans, finding it harder to keep quiet because your pussy was so fucking tight- even with how wet he made you. He knew it would feel good. As many years as he’s spent mimicking it and fisting his cock in bed thinking about it- he knew you would take him so well right now. But he’s talking too much- fucking Jack Abbot always talks too fucking much and never knowing when to shut the fuck up and you hear someone open the stairwell door so you shove your hand over his mouth as you clamp down on his cock to suppress his loud groan. But he doesn’t stop- he’s fucking into you harder now. Almost even angrier that you’ve silenced his words- but that’s fine. If he can’t tell you how pissed off he is- he’ll make you feel it. 

He pushing through your tightening walls- he’s shoving himself up into your wet cunt and you can only fucking let him. You can let him fuck you but not without some fight because he still fucking pisses you off. You reach up with your hand- fingers threading themselves into those greying curls at the top of his head and you tug, hard. Hard enough that his face screws up into anger and maybe a bit of pleasure. But definitely anger because- how fucking dare you? He’s giving you the best dick of your life right now- and you’re being so ungrateful. And the tug of his hair pulls his head down closer- forehead against your own now and you look into his eyes and for a moment, they soften. They softened and in some sort of desperation, the back of your hands are flush together now in a weird makeshift kiss- because if any of you were to remove your hands then you absolutely could not keep silent anymore. But you’re still angry. Still pissed off at him for being such an asshole that you clamp down- clench around him hard while biting his finger and his eyebrows are knitted together in anger again. Fucking brat. You feel his hips spring forward more- pounding into your cunt and the meat of your ass the only thing that helps dull the force. It's good. It’s so good. It’s so blindingly good. So fucking indulgently good that you feel- embarrassed almost, on how well you’re taking his cock. You can’t cum yet- that would be too fast and it wouldn’t only drive his stupid fucking ego more. 

One hand needs to keep his mouth from giving you both away to the entire Pitt and the other is clawing at his bicep now- trying to keep yourself from being too loud. Because even from under the weight of his heavy hand- you’re whimpering, you’re sighing and trying to not scream because his cock feels so fucking good. It’s thick, You would try to mimic the feeling with your fingers- when it’s early in the morning after your shift and you need to sleep but you’re too busy riding your fingers and biting your shirt so you don’t moan his name too loud. No one would hear it- but you would know that it was the fantasy of your attending, your fucking mentor, that had you fingering yourself, grinding against your pillow and whining as the sun started to peek through your blinds. 

You can hear the slapping of his hips against yours and you have to bite his hand for him to stop- he can’t fuck you that hard, it’ll give it away and fuck- he can’t ever do anything quietly can he? And okay? Well- you want him to not fuck into you as fast? Fine. He tilts his palm a bit so your face can follow and he makes sure you’re looking directly into his eyes as he pulls out- painstakingly slow. You feel every vein, every ridge, every centimeter that his cock has to offer until just the tip is kissing the leaking entrance of your cunt. Fuck. Again- so. Fucking. Slow. He’s sliding into you, shoving himself back into you. The tip breeches your entrance that has only just started to relax from being forced open- the sting just right as it’s adjusting to his girth again. You whine. Whine and sigh into his hand because it’s so fucking good. It’s so deliciously good how you can feel him rub against that spot- having you clench and see stars. Every time you clench you feel his muffled groan- feel him sigh against your palm and he’s trying so fucking hard to not fuck you into the hospital bed right now. You make him so fucking mad and he can’t enjoy this like he’s been thinking of. But he can make you whine. He can make you beg. He can punish you. 

He was fucking biting your hand now, not hard- but enough that if he kept it up for too long then there would be marks. And you’re groaning behind his hand, eyes going cross because he’s hammering inside you harder now and- fuck. You hear the slapping again. It’s so loud and you’re glad someone locked the wheels in the bed or you’re sure you’d be on the other side of the room by the sheer force of his cock spearing into you. Fuck you’re going to cum. His other hand pushes your leg back even farther and the angle has him just an inch deeper and if his hand wasn’t on your mouth the entire ED would hear you yell the name of the exact person who was ramming into your fucking guts right now. 

You can’t open your legs any wider because your scrub pants are around your knees and you’re trying to focus on the impending orgasm that’s coursing through your veins and ready to take root. If he could just- fuck if you could reach your clit maybe- just maybe you can cum because it’s so good but it’s not enough. It’s not enough and Jack doesn’t care. You’re being punished. You don’t deserve to cum. He pulls out of you- forces himself to pull out of your hot, tight, pussy and you groan because you need the sensation at this point. You flutter around nothing and whimper because he’s left you open and exposed. But he’s manhandling you to turn over- forces you to lay with your chest flat on the bed with your ass at his hips. You have a moment to register that your hand isn’t covering his mouth anymore but his is still on yours. Good. Because he's teasing you now- chuckling when you whine behind his palm as he drags the head of his cock up and down your wet folds. Fucking asshole. You groan- scream and wiggle your hips as much as you can. All you can do to indicate to him to fuck you again, to keep fucking you and not to stop even if someone opens that fucking door. They can watch for all you care at this point. And when he finally slams back into your cunt- you scream. You fucking see stars and his pace is brutal again. It’s fast and hard and his mouth is free to fucking spew whatever filth you had been holding back with your hand over his mouth. 

“F-fucking- brat,” he growls out, keeping one hand on your mouth and the other in your hair to pull you back to him. “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum- maybe then you’ll understand who’s in charge? Okay?” He knows you can’t answer him, knows you can’t do more than take what he gives but he stops- pauses the ruthless hammering inside your walls and you clench, spasm and writhe underneath him because he’s not moving anymore and- “I said okay?” Fuck- he wants you to acknowledge him somehow. Nodding- you force yourself to shake your head and whine a barely audible “uh huh” from behind his hand. 

“That’s my girl,” he sounded so fucking condescending and smug and you couldn’t snark back at him. Your weren’t his fucking girl anymore. You weren’t the puppy intern following around her attending- you weren’t pining for your mentor anymore. You’re not his. But fuck- the way he’s pounding into your heat right now? Rearranging your insides to fit all the cock he can shove inside you to where you’re sure nothing will be able to compare anymore? Maybe you were his girl still. Because your body is giving up now. Your body is succumbing to the heat and pleasure and slight pain of him- your pussy has molded itself around his cock and- yes you’re his fucking girl still. You never stopped. 

“That’s my fucking girl. So sweet for me, taking my cock so fucking well. Like you were made for me. Were you baby?” God dammit- he doesn’t stop talking and it’s making you convulse and the palm on your mouth muffles the high pitched whine you’re making. You’re close. You’re so fucking close now. You feel that impending drop- feel your gut lurch up and your lungs sting because you always hold your breath before an orgasm. The same way you did with your hands shoved into your panties early in the afternoon- replaying the way Jack whispered praise in your ear for a job well done. He bites your shoulder when he cums- moaning into your scrub top and whimpering just a bit when you clench around him, milking his cock for every last drop while he keeps thrusting inside you, pushing his cum as far as it’ll go. And you can feel yourself start to spiral and- he pulls out. He fucking- pulls out. No. No. No no no no. You were so fucking close and this bastard is chuckling in your ear again with a soft slap to your ass and-

“Clean yourself up. Get back to the Pitt.” He’s panting, zipping his pants up and redoing his belt and- no? No he’s not- he is. You hear the door open and shut- you’re still bent over the fucking hospital bed panting and- no? You can feel his fucking cum leaking out of you and- you’re pissed. This. Fucking. Bastard. You were turned over but you can imagine the evil fucking smirk on his stupid fucking face and- oh that’s just fucking mean. On shaky legs you stand upright, pulling your scrub pants back over your hips and you sit on the bed for a second. There’s nothing worse than a denied orgasm- you almost want to fucking cry because it was right there. He was about to give it to you and- insufferable asshole. You take a second- redoing your hair because more than a few strands have come loose. You have to finish the rest of your shift with Jack Abbot’s cum leaking out of you. You have 6 more fucking hours to go- buzzing on the energy of a denied orgasm. 

“You good kid?” One of the nurses asks as you try to not fucking hobble to a computer, so you can sit at the hub for a second and will the ache of your throbbing cunt away. 

“She’s fine- Dr. Abbot just needs some caffeine.” Jack answers for you. Insufferable asshole. You’re not sure why you married him at this point. You can hear the shift in his voice- much less tense. At least someone is sated. Maybe he can go the rest of the day without being an asshole now. 

“I’ll get you so coffee love, I need a pick me up anyway.” Patting your shoulder she gets up and- bless Helen. The PM charge nurse who takes care of you too well and treats you like her child. You smile- leaning into her touch and immediately go back to glaring at Jack who can’t hide his expression to save his fucking life. He’s so smug. So fucking pleased with himself. 

“I hope you’re happy.” You grumbled, typing away at your computer to check on your patient’s labs that you ordered right before he jumped on you.. 

“Fucking ecstatic,” He smiles, walking passed you but stops to lean down and press a chaste kiss to your temple. “Saddle up baby, 6 more hours to go.” He was enjoying this far too much for someone who’s sleeping on the couch later.

[rafesteddy]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: dom!rafe, possessive!rafe, softbf!rafe, pet names, swearing, dirty talk, icky “boy talk” at the beginning (not by rafe), protective rafe, boys tease the reader when she's not there, they see a picture of her in lingerie, they start a video of rafe and the reader having sex but rafe takes it from them, ownership kink, kissing, unprotected public p in v, butt plug, praise, cum tasting, wet and messy, squirting, cockwarming

All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! After a few drinks at a hockey party, Rafe gets teased about what a good girl you are, but Rafe knows the truth 💋

Reader's POV:

The basement of the hockey house is alive, post-game with a rowdy crowd. Cheap keg beer spills from red SOLO cups, the packed basement wall to wall with a mix of jerseys and ugly sweaters.

Rafe kicks his feet up, relaxing on the oversized couch with the boys, half-watching some hockey game as they shoot the shit. “Damn,” Alex groans, his wicked smirk glowing in the light of his phone. He zooms in on the screen, smiles, and tosses his head back.

“Jesus Christ,” Kemper hums as he looks at the message Alex got, lifting his phone to “snap” a picture of his—just givin’ Alex hell. “Get outta here,” he shoves him away with a laugh.

“She looks better in that jersey than you,” Kemper shoots back.

“No shit,” Alex pulls it up again, adjusting himself a second later. “She stole my jersey yesterday… Sent me that pic as a congratulations, I guess,” he smiles proudly.

“Where’s Max?” Kemper asks, eyes scanning your group before looking over the back of the couch into the crowd.

“Left about five minutes ago with Lexi,” Rafe adds. “He’s gone for the night.”

“Lucky bitch,” Kemper mumbles against the lip of his can before draining his beer.

“You that desperate, Kemp?” Rafe taunts, lifting an eyebrow in his direction, half-hiding his smirk with his drink.

“Fuck you, Cameron,” he clips as he crumples up his can, tossing the empty drink at JJ. “It’s his fuckin’ fault,” he gestures to Maybank, giving him the finger. “He stole her.”

“Stole her my ass. She wanted me. Not my fault either. You're a goalie, man. Maybe you could switch positions and get pussy from time to time-”

“I get pussy!” Kemper cuts JJ off, cracking another beer open.

“Sure you do,” Rafe taunts, just stoking the fire. Attention naturally falls back to him, the boys ramping up to knock him down a peg. He stretches his big arms along the back of the couch, just waiting for the shit-talking to start.

“Yo, Rafe,” Alex calls out, and Rafe snorts out a laugh, rolling his eyes at the predictability.

“Yeah, man. Get on with it,” Rafe chuckles between sips of beer.

“What about your girl? How long has it been… three, four, five months?” Alex slurs.

“Since what, bud?”

“Since what?” He barbs, mocking Rafe like he knows the first thing about you. “Since you got your dick wet. What do you mean, ‘since what’?

The group erupts in laughter, Rafe's lips curling into an amused smile. He doesn't bat an eye— not hurrying to respond, either.

"She's perfect; that's all you need to know," he replies smoothly. He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair before turning it to the back.

"Come on, man," another chimes in, clearly not letting it go. "That’s it… That’s all we’re gettin’? Is it that fuckin’ bad?”

“M’sorry, Rafey,” Kemper chuckles, shooting him a crooked look.

The teasing continues, but Rafe just leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares them down, the picture of calm confidence. “You guys have no clue what you’re talkin’ about,” he speaks, his voice calm and smug.

“Sure we don’t,” Kemper laughs. “You tuck her in after the game or what?”

“She’s around here somewhere,” Rafe smiles, glancing at his phone again before setting it on the counter. He smiles to himself, recalling how you sucked his dick on the car ride home from the game; the man fucking you five inches from your life in the shower when you got back.

As much as you loved the side he showed you when no one was watching—soft and sweet. He loved the side of you that no one else got to see as well… filthy and insatiable, your sex drive giving Rafe a run for his money. Rafe didn't need to defend you—or himself. He knows the truth.

“What are you thinkin’ about, Cameron?” JJ asks, catching Rafe smilin—your boyfriend shrugging before he takes a swig of beer.

“None of your fuckin’ business, Maybank,” Rafe laughs.

The conversation drifts back to the topic of conquests, JJ bragging about the girl he snuck on the bus on the last away game, the two fuckin’ in the backseat all the way home.

Rafe’s phone lights up, buzzing on the coffee table. The screen with your name plastered on the front of it shines like a beacon.

"Uh oh,” Kemper pipes, “lover boy's got a text?”

Rafe unlocks the screen and smiles, spreading a little wider. “What the fuck?” He clips as Alex picks the phone out of his hand.

"Let's see what kind of cute little texts your girl sends, huh?” His voice trails away as he looks at the screen, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open as he catches you in nothing but black lace.

"What?" The others clamor, pushing towards Alex to get a better look.

”C’mon,” Alex whines as JJ plucks the phone off his hands, taking it for himself.

“Goddamn,” Maybank groans as he zooms in.

“Enough, man. What the fuck,” Rafe scoffs as he reaches for it. JJ quickly slides his finger across Rafe’s screen, skimming through the camera roll to find more.

Before Rafe can grab it, JJ lofts it to the next boy, slightly out of Rafe’s reach. Kemper flicks his fingers as well, his eyes doubling when he finds something new.

"Fuckkk, there's a video!" He responds excitedly, one hand gripping the phone, the other extended, fighting Rafe off as he tries to get the device back.

Your sweet moan rips through the phone’s speakers, sending the boys into a frenzy. Rafe's easygoing expression changes in an instant. His smile remains in place, but a razor-sharp edge of possession colors his movements as he stands up, snatching the phone back before they could play any more than a few seconds.

“You like that?” You breathe—your soft, sultry voice echoing faintly through the device before Rafe locks his phone.

The group falls silent, eating their words, struck dumb and speechless as they see a side of you they didn’t imagine existed.

"Like I said," Rafe drawls as he pops another beer, "you've got no idea what you're talkin’ about."

Before the boys can recover, a voice breaks through the haze. “Hey, baby,” you hum. All eyes shifting to you.

The group turns together, watching you step toward the party; your beautiful eyes lock on Rafe’s. He shifts slightly, extending a hand, quickly pulling you onto his lap with a smile. You drape your arm around his neck, Rafe’s arms dressing around your waist, his eyes matching yours, making your stomach flutter.

"Ready to go, baby?" You ask playfully, your intentions for the rest of the night clear in your tone.

“Always,” Rafe smiles as he wets his lip, leaning in for a kiss.

He doesn't hesitate, following you through the crowded hallway, his hand resting on the small of your back to keep you close. The two of you climb the stairs, ducking under tacky Christmas decorations and weaving around people playing beer games at the kitchen table.

Rafe grabs two Coors, popping open one for you and one for him. He sets it down and grabs you by your waist, lifting you onto the counter, moving between your thighs, tilting closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart. You know that?” He asks, his voice low and sweet.

“So are you, baby.” You lean in, pressing a tender kiss against his lips.

“Would you kill me if I told you they saw that picture you sent me?” He asks.

“Rafey…” You laugh gently against his lips, pecking at them again. “You’re givin’ away all my secrets, baby.”

“M’sorry-”

“ I don’t care,” you smile, gently brushing your lips against his. “Let ‘em know what a slut I am for you…”

“You are, aren’t you, princess?”

“Mhmm,” you hum against his lips before sucking off the bottom, making him groan against your lips.

“… You still wearin’ it, baby?” He drawls.

“You told me to be a good girl and keep it in... What do you think?” You flirt.

“Fuckin’ love you,” he hums.

Rafe wraps his arm around you, lifting you off the counter, pulling you through the packed living room: bodies upon bodies, wall to wall, the air thick with heat and booze—music blares from the speakers, pulsing in your chest.

Rafe crashes down on his favorite chair, the two of you snuggling up in the dark corner. His big hands slide up your thighs immediately, gripping your hips as your lips meet.

“I’m the luckiest man here,” he hums as his hands shift your ass, squeezing tight. One of his hands falls lower before rising again, drifting under your skirt.

Rafe rubs his fingers over your pussy, teasing your entrance over your lace panties, soaking them thoroughly. His rough hands trace up your ass, pressing against the plug, making you whimper against his lips.

“Mmm… Good girl,” he breathes. Rafe draws back enough to meet your gaze, making chills run down your spine. "You got no clue what you do to me,” he hums.

Your fingers scratch into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe you should show me.”

His eyes fall to your lips—his lusty smile spreading, matching your own. Rafe moves closer, burying himself in your neck, kissing higher and higher. His heavy breathing hits your ear, making your pussy throb. “Right here…” Rafe mumbles. “Let me put my cock in, princess.”

“You’re gonna fuck me right here?” You giggle dizzily, making him chuckle as well, pulling you in tighter.

“You gonna let me?”

“You know I will…” You coo.

“Thought so… Fuckin’ though? Maybe that's a little risky, even for us. You're just gonna keep me warm for a while…” He lies.

“That’s it?” You ask teasingly as you slip your hand between the two of you, cupping his stiff bulge, making him moan in your ear.

“What—you want more?” He taunts, giving it right back to you.

“I always want more,” you whisper. You slip out of his lap, turning around, facing the crowd, the lot lost in their own worlds. Rafe grabs your chin and turns your face, claiming your lips as he adjusts, pulling his pants down enough to release his aching cock.

His thick dick slaps against his shirt. You reach behind your back, wrapping your hand around him, stroking slowly. Rafe throws his head back on the chair, letting you work him in your fist, thumb skimming over his fat tip. You look over your shoulder, meeting his gaze as you put it between your plump lips, sucking it clean.

Rafe lifts your skirt slightly, pushing your panties to the side. You rise slightly as Rafe seizes his dick in his big hand, swirling around your soaked hole. You claw at the armrests, listening to Rafe hiss out a breath as you sink on his long cock inch by inch.

“Shit,” you whimper as you release your hands, fully sat, adjusting your skirt, feeling Rafe throb inside you.

He moves closer, wrapping strong his arms around your body, tucking himself in your neck. “Pussy’s just made for me, baby,” he breathes, hot against your neck.

You look out into the crowd, but no one is the wiser. Rafe turns your face again, pushing his lips against yours. Your clench around his cock, and he moans against your lips. His hands shift along your body, brushing over your tits, moving down your stomach, slipping just under your shirt.

He presses down on your stomach, making your thigh draw in. “M’so fuckin’ deep,” he whispers as he pushes again, making you gasp against his lips as he feels his own cock.

Rafe’s other hand moves lower, his two long fingers finding your clit over your clothes. Your eyes scan the crowd; the two of you are still in the clear as Rafe starts spiraling his fingers on your sex.

You know you should stay still, not wanting to give yourselves away, but you can help but circle your hips ever so slightly, grinding your wet cunt on Rafe’s lap with his cock buried so deep.

Rafe grabs your hips, his biceps, and forearms, flexing as he pulls you down as hard as he can, making your nails drive into his skin to keep from crying out as he splits you apart. Your head falls forward from the pressure between your thighs.

Your wetness drools from your tight hole, wetting the place between the two of you, making you both a sticky mess. He lifts your hips slightly, fucking up into your slick center, making your eyes roll back.

Rafe belts his arms around your waist, pulling you into him again as you feel your pleasure about to erupt; pussy tightening around him.

“Me too, baby. Me too,” he pants. “Do that thing you were doin’, huh? Grind f’me. Make a fuckin’ mess,” he mumbles. You roll your hips into him, panting against his lips, not caring who sees at this point, more concerned with your pleasure and his.

Your movements start to get sloppy as you lose control. Rafe grabs your hips, coaxing you to the edge. You gush around his cock, creaming and cumming with him, swallowing each other's moans between deep kisses.

The two of you breathe rapidly against each other's lips, little whimpers falling from yours in sensitivity as you feel his pulsing cock move deep in your guts, his cum and the plug making you feel incredibly full.

Rafe pulls you back on his chest, the two of you exchanging sweet kisses as you come down from your bliss. You giggle against his lips, and he smiles against yours at what the two of you just did. You’re shameless display of affection doing nothing but bringing you closer.

He helps you off his cock, buttoning up his pants before guiding you to stand. Before you can step away, he binds his arm around you, pulling you in, lips finding your neck. A sharp gasp and a throaty moan leave your mouth as you feel a loss.

“Why don’t we say goodnight to the boys and head to bed, yeah?” He asks as he tucks the butt plug in his back pocket. You feel the sensation of his warm cum slipping out of your puffy hole and your ass, dripping down your inner thigh. “I wanna be leakin’ out of you when we do, princess.”

[twoshootsofvodka]

Where Roses Bloom, Love Shall Blossom

Nana x Male Reader

length: 18k words

tags: fluff, smut, creampie, little bit of ass-play, L-bomb

A/N: This is my first ever smut or even fanfic, and I know there is a lot of room to improve, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I may have used a few too many references/memes, so sorry in advance if it throws you off. It’s just kind of my style. I also self-inserted on occasion (like the whole premise of the story that came to me after watching this video), but I hope it’s not too disruptive. If you have any suggestions, critiques, or requests, my DMs and Asks are open. Other than that, happy birthday to Best Girl Nana, and thanks for reading or even sharing!

_______________________________________________________

[It's mid-April]

- We are all done, Sir! - Your makeup artist announces, after putting on the finishing touches.

- Thank you!

From the mirror in front, a more handsome version of you is staring back. He is the new favourite variety show host of the nation, who can make any of his guests laugh to tears, improvise in an instant when his partner slips up, and even outside set, is usually the heart of the party thanks to his easygoing and sensitive nature. He is the perfect media personality. So much so, that even you like to watch him from time to time.

But actually being him? It does get a bit overwhelming. The busy schedules, having to always be on your toes so you don't miss an opportunity to crack a joke, which is even harder, since you are still not completely fluent in Korean, and the constant smiling, even to guests you would rather not have. It's just a bit much. But obviously, you wouldn't change any of it. It’s a dream come true, really, getting to meet all these fantastic people in the industry.

- Is everything all right Sir?

The woman asks worriedly when she sees you lost in thought, fearing she messed something up.

- Of course! I'm just always surprised how you girls always manage to turn me actually handsome. I swear this isn't even a mirror, just a recording of me with filters on. You reply with a warm smile, waving her worries away.

- Hehe! Of course it's not Sir. And I didn't even add much makeup at all. Just a touch up really.

- In any way, you did a fantastic job. Thank you!

- Thank you Sir, and you're welcome.

You stand up, and read some news while you wait for further instructions. You haven't checked any of the previous episodes of this show, because you wanted to make your appearance authentic. You also wanted to figure out your partner during the chat, without narrowing the possibilities down.

The only prep you had to do was choosing a nickname (truly a gamer's worst nightmare), and getting a picture of yourself as a kid. It took mere hours to find a name that could lead your partner into guessing who you are without immediately giving it away, or even the fact that they are talking to a foreigner: The Little Prince.

After a bit, the director finally calls for you. As discussed, you put in the noise-cancelling earphones, queue up some of your latest favourite songs, and take a seat on the left side of the set. The playlist consists mostly of K-pop songs, since it's highly likely that your partner is an idol, and the songs might help you figure out their identity, if their song comes up at a good time.

They tell you to scan the QR code on the table in front of you, which opens the chat room. Your partner enters right after, and you read their name: Judy.

*First clue. They are most likely a girl. In which case, I should take the initiative.*

Having worked with over a hundred idols, you start to wonder whether you've met them already

Hello there!

ㅎㅎ Hello

*Second clue: probably doesn’t know prequel memes.*

Should we drop the honorifics?

Oh, so suddenly? Sure

*Third clue: presumably Korean.*

How are you?

I'm great! You?

Me too

*Maybe I should have prepared some questions at least. Not particularly in the mood to improvise.*

Thankfully you don't have to think much, as you see three little dots pop up, indicating that the person on the other end is typing.

I was wondering What's your favourite season?

You don't even need to think about this. Spring for sure Not even close

OMO Mine too The weather has been so nice lately

YES!!! And the colours And the smells And the bees And the birds I love it so much

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ I see I feel the same way I already think we will be good friends

I hope we will bee Sorry I had to sneak in at least one pun

Don't apologise for being funny!

Heh, thanks How about sunsets?

I love sunsets! Half my gallery is filled with pictures of sunsets

Saaame One day, I saw the sunset forty−four times! You know−− one loves the sunset, when one is so sad...

Oh But How?

Oh, that's just a quote From The Little Prince

Aaaah Your name! Have you read it many times?

Once every year for the past few years I like to see how much more I understand every time I read it With that I know how much I've changed since last year

Hmm Very sentimental Maybe But back to spring and sunsets I have a great place I visit in late spring It's a bit far out from the city, but the flowers and sunsets are more than worth it I can show you one time, if you're down

Sounds great! I also have a place I visit when I'm free I can take you there in return

Nice

*Should I also reveal my birthday? Eh, why the hell not.*

Maybe you can take me there for my birthday It's coming next month

I can But only if you take me to your place on my birthday

Sure When is that?

This month

I see Another spring child No wonder we're on the same wavelength

That's what I was about to say!

The conversation dies off for a bit, but before you have come up with a new topic, the tablet in front of you comes to the rescue.

"Send each other your screenshot of your homepage"

You first check your screen to make sure there isn't anything on it that's scandalous, or would give you away. After not finding anything needing to be removed, you send 'Judy' the picture. Hers arrives shortly after that. At first glance, it's nothing special. Solid black background, neatly ordered folders with english names that all end with a blue heart emoji.

*Maybe she likes blue?*

You have similar folders, all in English too, but there are some extras. Notably meditation and gaming. The background is different though, as it's a picture of your beloved furry companion.

I see you have Netflix downloaded What have you been watching lately?

Ah, yes Mostly American teen movies so I can improve my English Nice

*Yeah, def Korean.*

But I also watch a lot of animations and YouTube

Like what?

Mukbang, and Jangbbijju Also this (네가 빠진 세계 - fall for you)

She sends you the thumbnail of an unfamiliar show

Never seen this Maybe I will watch it later You should! The fantasy genre is interesting And the heroine is really pretty

*Judy is a girl, all right*

Yeah, Nana is really pretty

Right? You know her?

I do But I know every idol I've never met her though Have you?

No, but I'd love to She seems fun

Right, she does

There is short of silence before Judy sends a message

Is that your dog in the background? It's really cute

Yes he is! He's my best friend He's turning 10 this year

Oh, he's getting quite old

Yeah, but he's just as youthful as a puppy

Awww Good to hear And I see you meditate?

Yes My days can get pretty hectic It helps me stay relaxed and focused

Maybe I should try it

You should It’s pretty easy I can teach you the basics if you want

Thanks ^^ Are you an idol? Is that why you do it?

Noooo I can't dance at all And I sound like an untuned violin played by a 4 year old

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ There are some prodigies who can play well at that age

Sure, but not this one

And the gaming folder? You got games on your phone? 👀

ㅋㅋㅋㅋ I have a few to pass the time I mostly game on PC But certainly not as much as I used to

And what do you play?

Some League and Overwatch with friends I also picked up the new Zelda game recently

I love Nintendo games!

Yeah, they rarely miss The company's shit though Super greedy

*That's gonna get cut from the video*

O.O Are they?

Uhh yeah But let's not get into that What music have you been listening to?

She sends you a picture of her Spotify queue

Interesting Much less Korean than I thought And I only know a few of them

Send me yours

One sex *sec!!! I meant sec!

*Good grief...*

Hmmm I don't know any of these

Yeah I thought you wouldn't Not the genre a 'Judy' would listen to

*hmph* I'll let you know, my music taste is very diverse I bet not even the viewers know these songs

I'll take that bet What do I win?

A kiss

HUH?

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Just kidding I'm not sure yet

Okay... How about you buy me some tteokbokki if I win?

Deal And if I win, you'll get me dakbal!

Deal Let's shake on it

Okay But don't look!

Fine, I wont

You get up from your armchair, head to the edge of the wall, and put your hand past the corner. After waiting for a few seconds, you don't feel anything, and moving your hand around a bit doesn’t yield any success either. Then it hits, that your partner is probably Korean and female, so she is likely much shorter than you. Carefully lowering your hand, it finally finds hers. The hand jolts a little at the first contact, but grabs your hand quickly after.

It feels delicate: Small and smooth with fingers you can only describe as elegant. It's not just their shape and how they feel in your comparably larger hands, but also the amount of rings decorating them. On top of that, you bet her manicure matches the lavishness. The handshake barely lasts a second or two, then you get back to your seats.

Okay I know exactly who you are

How?

You're a princess!

Won't lie I feel quite fancy right now

Knew it! Extremely generous of you to let me touch your hand Your Highness

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Do our 'dates' still stand, Princess? Can you set aside time from your schedule to meet a lowly peasant like myself?

Aahhh, well Princesses need to relax too And your proposition seems suitable So yes, we shall go on these 'dates'

You honour me Princess

Okay, okay that's enough But do you really know who I am?

I have some guesses You're def a female idol And I'm pretty sure we haven't met yet Which I can't say about too many people Do you have any guesses about me?

If you didn't lie about not being an idol Then I have a few But I don't know which one of them have met a lot of idols So I'm not sure at all

Well, I never lie Just keep thinking You might not eve know me But that's fine

Whit that last message sent, the screen on the table lights up once again

“Send your childhood picture to your partner”

*Oh, right. The picture. If she knows me, this will help her a lot.*

This should help you a bit

Aaaah, cute Wait Are you a foreigner? Here's mine

Maybe... Awww That's really cute too

The screen instructs you again: “Draw each other in one minute”

*One minute? Not like it matters. I can't draw for shit.*

The 60 seconds go by like a minute in Africa, and your masterpiece is done. Kind of.

Sorry, I tried my best.

It's good! Much better than mine, that's for sure

You look at the picture for a bit, and download it before the connection is severed and you're kicked from the chat room. That signals the end of this section, so now all that’s left is to stand up, and meet this ‘Judy’.

*Okay, who is it?*

You stop the music, take out your earphones, and wait for the director's signal. When it arrives, you slowly, but confidently walk towards your partner's part of the studio. Once past the corner, you dramatically turn a 90 degree angle, and find yourself face to face with an angel. Or maybe it's a fairy? Or a nymph? Whatever she may be, it is not exactly human.

Her flawless fair skin is glistening in the studio's brilliant light, creating a picturesque contrast with her silky dark hair. It's neatly styled in a typical way: behind her ears, running down on her back one side, and on the other, resting on her front, bumping over her modest breasts. Your gaze moves further down, checking out her fuzzy two part dress, coloured in white and blue.

*Yep, blue is her favourite colour.*

The top stops just high enough over her pencil skirt, so that you can make out the tiniest bit of her midriff. You follow along her smooth legs, all the way to her feet, then quickly look back up. Her eyes meet yours, but not before catching a slightly mischievous smile form on her glossy lips.

*I guess she figured out who I was*

This all goes down in a mere second. It does have some benefits to have your brain running at FTL speed. After finishing the survey, you take a theatrical bow.

- Princess Nana.

She cracks up. Her laugh is just as magical as her whole being. You have heard it a handful times before, but never in person.

And boy, does it hit like a baseball bat live. You have had countless groups come to your variety show, but you can only gather up a single other idol with such a delightful laugh (Miss Song Yuqi).

*Man, I could listen to both of them for the rest of my life.*

You straighten back up, and take a step closer, at the same time as Nana. Your assumption of her height during the handshake was correct: she barely reaches up to your chin, but it plays to her advantage; makes her look even more adorable.

Her smile never faded, and now that she is right in front of you, you can see a glint of happiness and recognition in the vast, dark ocean of her eyes.

- It's you!

- It sure is.

- I knew it the moment I saw your baby picture.

- Ah yes, that was a dead giveaway.

- But I thought of you beforehand too.

- Oh, really?

- Yeah! I watched every episode of your show, and you did seem like we had a lot in common. Our conversation proves that.

- Yes, and thank you. - Feeling her boundless energy, and seeing her cute, perky personality, you can't help but smile along with her. - I can't believe this is the first time we meet in person.

- Right? I guess our schedules never aligned. But I'm really happy to meet you!

- As am I. - you cross your hands suddenly - But you lied to me!

- Huh? When?

- You said you've never met Nana.

She scratches the back of her head with an embarrassed chuckle. - Oh, right. Well I could argue that it's not a lie in a literal sense.

- Hmmm. I'll let it slide this time. But I have to warn you, I don't invite liars onto my show.

She gasps in a fake shock, and bows as she apologises. - I promise not to lie anymore! Please invite us to your show!

You laugh at her playfulness. - How could I say no to a princess? I'll make sure to have an episode set aside for you during your next comeback.

- Yay, thank you!

Her cuteness is almost overwhelming. The way she looks at you with those doe eyes, like you are her favourite person on this planet (which in reverse, might be true at this point). Her radiant smile, that emits such precious laughter, the sound of is more wondrous than Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Or the way she seems to cling onto your every word, as if you were Jesus preaching on the Mount of Beatitudes, and how she parrots your thoughts, just coated in that honeyed voice.

The director cuts into the meeting, and asks Nana to give them an interview about your chat. Yours will follow after. When you're both done, they tell you to take a selfie for the show. You oblige, but ask Nana to take it. The height difference doesn't even seem to be a problem. Rather she turns it into an advantage, and snaps a few nice pics. As the shooting comes to an end, you thank each other and the crew for everything, and before Nana could disappear into her room, you call out for her.

- Sorry, I don't intend to hold you up for long, I'm sure you have better things to do.

- Oh no, it's fine. What do you want?

- I just thought we could exchange numbers. Not for my show, that'll be done through our managers, but for our bet. Not sure how serious you were about it, but either way, I wouldn't mind taking you out for dinner. And I still need to take you to that spot on your birthday.

- Absolutely! And I'm completely serious about the bet. I don't just shake hands for nothing. My schedule is going to be hectic in March, but I'm sure I will be able to create some free time.

- Oh, if it's bothersome, we can go later too. Or earlier. Whatever works for you. I can get busy myself, but I always ask the groups to clear their schedules for the day before and after, so we all have some room if anything comes up.

- That's smart. Maybe I'll live with the opportunity.

- You totally should. 

She hands you her phone, and you dial yours. She saves your contact as 'The Little Prince', while you save her as 'Princess Nana'.

- I guess that's all. Again, it was really nice to finally meet you. Hope to see you soon.

- You too! Can't wait for my free chicken feet!

You chuckle, and bow to say goodbye, which she politely returns. Before she could get out of sight, you decide to look behind your back to catch one final peek of this angel. She walks with such grace, but you can still see that playful attitude hidden beneath. Maybe it's the way she sways her hips. Or that cute little butt.

*I wonder if it's more like a soft pillow, or firm and fit from all the workout.*

You slap yourself softly, and turn your head back around.

*Idiot…*

Unbeknownst to you, just after you do this, Nana also looks above her shoulders, searching for you. She barely catches the last moment of your little act, but she knows. She knows, but she is doing the same, so she can't really judge you for it.

Your heart still pounds noticeably faster than usual after you've changed back into your comfy clothes. The little cramp in your stomach is not letting its presence be forgotten either.

*Fuckin’ hell. What am I, fourteen? *

You take a deep breath, drink a cup of water, and focus. Within a few minutes, your body finally listens to the brain, and settles down. You sigh in relief.

- That's better. … - But I need a drink.

You take your stuff, and head outside. On the street, you catch Nana one last time. You wave and smile at each other as her manager helps her get in their car. Yours is already waiting for you on the passenger side, tapping away on his phone, since you almost always drive yourself. You shove your things in the trunk, then hop into the driver seat.

- Took you long enough. - your manager blurts out without looking up.

- Yeah, sorry. Upset stomach.

He acknowledges your excuse with a grunt.

- Back to your place?

- Yeah. But I wanna stop at a convenience store for some alcohol.

- Huh? Was it that bad? You seemed to be having fun. - He finally looks up at you, with the smallest hint of concern on his face.

- Yeah, I may have enjoyed it a little too much.

- Hmm. I see. So that upset stomach?

He doesn't even need to say it, you both know what he means.

- Yerp. Fucking butterflies.

Again, he just scoffs. Your manager is the best you could ask for. Professionally. But as much as he helps you in your work, he helps as little with personal stuff. You know it's better that way. You're not paying him to be your therapist, but you would like him to lend you an ear from time to time.

- Whatever. I'll get drunk tonight, and lose some ranks in League with the boys.

- Hmm. Just don't get too drunk.

You fasten your seatbelt, start up the car, and zoom through the city to your first destination. You grab a few (more than a few) bottles of different flavoured soju, and some instant ramen. The cashier is a young dude, probably a uni student working part-time. He realises who you are, so you chat for a bit. When he finally scans your items, you pay by cash, and leave him a hefty bonus, which he thanks profusely. You get back in the car, and drive to your manager's place to drop him off. From there, it’s only a few-minute drive to home.

_______________________________________________________

You struggle with the lock long enough that you hear your dog making a fuss inside.

- One second bud. I’m an alcoholic.

As soon as you open the door, he starts jumping up and down in excitement.

- Hello, you little rascal! - you greet him in a high pitched voice. - Have you been a good boy? - A rhetorical question to which the answer is (almost) always yes. You scratch behind his ears, and give him a treat, which he gobbles up in the blink of an eye.

- You will never guess who I've met today. - You start as you take off your shoes, and walk towards the kitchen to put the purchased beverages into the fridge. - It was my future wife! - you announce, posing with the exaggerated swagger of a black teen.

Bingley tilts his head in confusion.

- Yeah, I know. I’m cringe. But! I haven't felt like this since high school. And that was a whiiiile ago.

You step into the living room and settle on the sofa. Bingley waits for the signal of invitation before he joins you, and licks your hand to ask for pats which you happily provide.

- Honestly, I don't know how I should go about it. We hit it off well, and she seemed interested too. I mean she agreed to meet two more times. Plus once for my show, but that's different… For the first one, I will take her to our favourite place.

As you mention that, your companion perks up.

- Oh, sorry. I think you're going to have to stay behind. I want it to be just her and me.

Bingley’s head falls on your lap in defeat with a sad whine.

- Don't worry, I will take you there next week.

You take out your phone, and send tonight's plan to your friends. To pass the time, you decide to put on that new (well it was new like 3 months ago) Netflix show you haven't started yet for whatever reason. That, along with some takeout, is engaging enough to keep your mind off of today's events, all the way 'til the alarm rings in reminder for the games.

You gulp down a whole bottle of soju during your first game, and the next ones follow quickly after. The alcohol kicks in right as you're queueing up for the third game of the night. Senses dulled, reflexes slowed, vision blurry. Palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. Your teammates have been keeping up the pace with various types of spirits, turning every game from here on out into a clown fiesta. Muscle memory at least keeps them somewhat competitive, but no one really cares about winning. It's all about forgetting about the everyday struggles. The shitty bosses, the annoying exes, an unlucky puncture on the way to work, your baby puking on your favourite shirt, burnt food, the seemingly never ending house chores– falling head over heels for a girl you've only talked to for half an hour, of which only a few minutes were in person. Whatever. Everyone has their reasons. Meditating can only do so much. And it's nowhere near as fun as this.

The hours fly by, and it's regrettably time already to end the therapy session. Not all your pals have such flexible schedules as you, so they have to call it before midnight. Barely being able to walk straight, you conclude brushing your teeth and pouring a glass of water for tomorrow morning is more than enough exercise before bed.

Waking up is obviously the biggest disadvantage of these endeavours, but you take a pill with the prepared water, then a cup of coffee, and the headache is soon gone. You don't have the stomach for a proper breakfast, but you still force down a slice of toast. You let Bingley out, and sit on the porch, soaking in the morning sun, listening to the sound of nature, and enjoying the smell of the blooming tulips and violets in your garden. - Spring is fucking awesome…

_______________________________________________________

The next few weeks go by without much happening. The blind chat episode drops on YouTube, and surprisingly, dozens upon dozens of people comment, shipping the two of you. It’s endearing, really; a nice reassurance that what you felt during and after the show, was not exclusively in your head, as others seem to have noticed the connection and matching vibes (hopefully not just the parasocial delulu fans, who name themselves after funny videos, and would go on to write fanfictions about it).

You exchange a few texts with Nana during these days, but she seems busier than expected. It could be because of an upcoming comeback, but they came back with Rollercoaster only a few months ago. So you try not to give it too much meaning, but in the back of your head, a devilish voice insists “she doesn’t like you bro”. Your worries are lifted when they announce ‘Queendom Puzzle’, and all its participants in the following days. Hey! I see you’ll be on Queendom Puzzle, congrats! I’m sure you will crush it! Hiya! Thanks I hope so I have been practicing a lot for this

Yeah, I figured The competition seems strong But I would bet on you making it into the group I’m a bit worried But your confidence in me means a lot😊 An ace like you should have nothing to fear! You’re right 😸 If the crowd sees the effort I have been putting into my craft They will have to vote for me …right?

Of course! You were meant to be on top

*of me, hehe*

Yeah! I’m gonna be a star! That’s the spirit A few seconds go by with Nana seemingly typing out an essay. I wanted to ask you for something

Your pulse quickens, and you sit up straight on your couch. With dilated eyes, and gently shaking fingers, you type back. I’m all ears

I hope it’s not too much of a bother But could you take me to that place you talked about?

Of course! That was always the plan, no?

Yeah but I mean like This weekend

You have to check your schedule to make sure you’re free, not that cancelling every plan and recording would be a tall order, or a big price to pay to spend time with her. Sure, I can make it Great! I just know I won’t have much time until Queendom ends And if I do end up on the team It will take even longer before I can take a break

There is no ‘if’! But I get your point Both days work for me, so you choose I checked the weather, and Saturday will be warmer So we could watch the sunset too if you wanna

*How the fuck would I not?* Sounds perfect

Nice How about we meet up at 4? You could show me around the place And we could have a picnic

Even more perfect I’ll be there Great And thank you 😊

My pleasure

The chat dies off, but it doesn’t bother you. The high of finally meeting Nana lingers for the rest of the night, giving you one of the best sleeps since you moved to Korea.

_______________________________________________________

As the planned outing approaches, you remember something from your first encounter: her birthday is in spring. Even after remembering it was in March, you still decide to get her something. Surfing the internet for half an hour, you find a few decent ideas, but none of them strike you as THE perfect gift.

*Maybe I should read about her, see what she likes.*

As you press search, the first few results are about another celebrity, who shares her stage name: Im Jinah.

You quickly add ‘wooah’ to the query to get the desired outcome. Reading through her wiki, an uneasy feeling slowly creeps up on you.

- Well, this is just weird. I feel like I'm stalking her.

Even though you have done this for every idol who has appeared on your show, it's just not the same. You're not gathering information to create the best possible games and scenarios for entertainment, but to wow her. With that thought, you close the tab, and start to think.

- Okay, let's just not. I can work with what I know already. She likes Nintendo games, the colour blue, animation, and spring. And dakbal! She most likely has a Switch already, and there is no way of knowing what games she has or wants without snooping around. I could take a gamble with the animation, and get her a plushie, a shirt, or something of Doraemon. He's blue too, so that's nice. But that is lacking in the ‘personal’ department. So spring, huh? What can I do with that?

You spend the whole day deciding on what to buy, and instead of one big present, you end up with a few smaller ones. You pick all of them up in the coming days, and get the groceries for the picnic on the day before.

The 'date' is set two days after the recording with Cravity, who made their comeback with Groovy last week. You feared that the upcoming meeting with Nana might get in your head, and ruin the show's quality, but it all worked out perfectly. You spend most of the following day going on a big hike with Bingley, and continuing the Netflix show you started. After that it’s time for bed, as tomorrow's going to be busy. The trek tired you out, yet sleep doesn’t come easily. You lay awake until it actually gets annoying, and opt for a sleeping pill. The drug does its magic, and you wander off to dreamland in no time.

_______________________________________________________

The alarm rings at 7 AM sharp, and you blindly search for the phone to shut it up.

- Mmmm… Just five more minutes…

But as soon as you pull the blanket over your head to block the rising sun, the reason for the alarm registers. Your eyes pop open, and the drowsiness is gone in an instant. After hurriedly finishing the usual morning routine, including your obligations to Bingley, it’s time to go through the checklist for today's tasks.

First on the agenda is preparing the food, 'cause if you mess it up, you will have time to try again. Thankfully, apart from a wasted egg, some spilled milk, and a fierce battle with the sizzling oil, everything goes fine. Second is wrapping the gifts. Usually a bag would do, but not today. Not for Nana. Or rather, Princess Nana. You waste a lot of time and wrapping paper figuring out what's the best way to go about it, but the end result is more than acceptable. Third is packing up - food in the basket, gifts hidden in a bag, and a blanket to sit on. Next up is lunch. You don't have neither the time nor the willingness to cook more right now, so some takeout will have to do. Then it’s time to take out the dog. For a walk, Jimmy... That's number five, check. The last thing to be done is texting Nana the rendezvous point, which you do while you eat the ordered pizza.

Although you'll only have to leave in an hour, you decide to dress up now in today's carefully picked outfit: a floral linen shirt, dark blue shorts, and a few accessories. Nothing too fancy. A few (hundred) TikToks help pass the remaining time, before you pack everything in the trunk of the KIA. After making sure for the third time that everything is in order, you lock the house and get in the car. The V6 engine of the K8 eagerly purrs to life, as if it felt and shared your anticipation for today’s events. You type the destination into the GPS - not that it was needed; you have been there countably infinite times already, and could drive there with a blindfold on. But as they say: better safe than sorry.

Some music and sunshine keeps you company during the fortunately eventless half hour drive. Once you arrive and park in the shade of a huge oak tree, a notification pops up from Nana: “I'll be there in a few!” Not even 5 minutes later, another KIA pulls into the parking lot. The passenger-side door swings open, and the angel you have been waiting for steps out with the same gorgeous smile on her face she last said goodbye with.

You take a few steps closer, and bow. - Hello! I hope it wasn't too hard to find the place.

- Oh, not at all. - She bows, and says hello too, then looks around to admire the greenery, and the sunshine seeping through the leaves, illuminating everything in sight. It arguably does a worse job than her smile, but the Sun does give you that vitamin D, whereas Nana only gives your D vitamin. And your soul with the cute outfit she is sporting: it’s a red, floral patterned sleeveless top tucked into a tight blue skirt with a very similar motif. As the colour scheme would suggest, it’s downright magnetic. You find yourself unable to look away from her, until a light breeze, paired with the rattling of leaves knocks you out of your daze. When you look up and lock eyes with Nana, you notice her cheeks have copied the colour of her shirt. *I may have stared for too long. *

- Almost didn’t notice you there with the camouflage. - you jest, trying to play it off.

Nana giggles, and spins around to give you a full view. In any other circumstance, your eyes would have probably shifted downwards, but her hair steals away your attention, dancing in the air graciously like she does on stage.

- Looks cute, doesn’t it? - I think we all know what he thinks about it. - her manager speaks up from behind. She hands Nana a bag, most likely filled with food for the picnic. Before turning away, she gives you a stern look. - Call me when you are done, Nana, and I’ll come back for you as discussed.

She drives off, leaving the two of you alone in a serene, only slightly awkward silence. You grab your stuff from the car, and lead Nana up the path, towards the field. On the short walk there, she keeps looking around in awe, amazed by the scenery. Gotta give it to her, it looks like it was taken from a painting. Birds singing from the blooming trees, butterflies chasing one-another above the lazily swaying, lush grass, and bees hauling their fat fluffy butts from flower to flower.

- It’s perfect! - she squeals with joy as she bends down to touch the silky grass.

- I knew you would like it.

- I love it!

You walk past Nana, who seems completely mesmerized by the clearing, and a pair of Barn Swallows, as they scurry across the sky, most likely hunting for food. She smiles at them, then catches up with you and helps with the picnic blanket, for which you have already found the perfect spot. It’s on a slightly more elevated piece of ground, from where you can see above the city, and across the green sea. While you unpack, Nana goes on about how glad she is to be out here in the sun, with you, how pretty the place is, and how excited she is for Queendom Puzzle.

- It’s an interesting changeup, isn’t it? - she asks with sparkling eyes.

- For sure! Definitely interesting for the fans, and even more so for the contestants.

- I know! I can’t wait to meet all of them. I haven’t even talked to some of them before.

- Well, you could call them now, because we might have overdone it with the food.

You share a laugh, then take a look at the feast you two whipped up. Even without plating the desserts, it’s still enough for at least one other pair of lovebirds. Your schnitzel sandwiches look ‘rustic’ at best next to Nana’s three different types of home-made kimbaps, but you wanted to bring something that you would bring at home too. 

- The one with the omelette strips has a pinch of honey in it. I thought it would be your style. - she explains with a never fading smile.

You take a slice, and push the whole thing into your mouth. Sure enough, she hit it right on the nail. The basic, but undefeated blend of omelette, avocado and tuna is freshened up by the pickled radish, and brought together by the subtle, yet lingering sweetness of the honey. You let out a satisfied hum, and swallow before praising her.

- You are right on the money with this one. It’s phenomenal!

She giggles triumphantly, and takes a roll too.

- Mmmmh, it’s so good! I never thought about adding honey to a kimbap before. But when I was getting the ingredients, I thought about you, and the bees, and I knew I had to do it.

- It’s for sure the best kimbap I have eaten so far. Good job! - you raise your hand for a high-five, which she happily accepts.

- Thanks! Now, let’s see what you cooked up.

- Well, I know it doesn’t look as fancy as yours, but I promise it tastes great. - you hand her a sandwich, and take one for yourself too. - It’s kind of a timeless classic in my country. Whenever we go to a beach, on a road trip, or a hike, it’s the go-to snack. It’s just fried chicken breast, some veggies, and your choice of sauce in a bun, but that’s the point. It’s simple, but effective. You can never go wrong with these ingredients, and it never disappoints.

She takes a bite, after you downplayed and hyped up the sandwich at the same time. She munches on it for a few seconds, nodding understandingly.

- I see what you mean. It’s just really nice. I could see how it would be sort of a comfort food.

- Right? - you light up from her words of appreciation, and take a bite of home. - I don’t think I could ever get tired of this.

An endearing smile paints Nana’s face, which you don’t even notice at first, too caught up in the nostalgic dish.

Being the first proper one-on-one talk between you two, the conversation starts off with the usual topics: work, hobbies, friends, family, pets, etc. Still, with how engaged and honestly curious she is, it doesn’t feel like the typical, going-through-the-motions, getting-the-mandatory-stuff-out-of-the-way kind of chat. And unsurprisingly, her enthusiasm rubs off on you. You find yourself nodding or laughing along with all her stories, aww-ing at pictures from her childhood or of her family dog, and taking mental notes of every little titbit she shares about her life. It’s all so easy, so natural. Sure, you are still cracking some jokes, but it’s not the same as if you were in front of the cameras. There is no preparation, no script, just chemistry. When you reach into your basket for a second bottle of soda, you grab onto something else by accident. It’s one of Nana’s presents. You have completely forgotten about it, too engaged in the chatter. You take the two small boxes out, and hide them behind your back while your partner is pouring herself a drink.

- Nana?

- Hmm? - she doesn’t look up just yet, preoccupied with choosing the next kimbap to devour.

- I know your birthday was like- two months ago.

- Yeah? - now she lifts her gaze, and notices the jewellery box in your hand, coated in deep blue velvet. - Oh, Y/N! - her voice is laced with surprise and appreciation, which also reflects on her face. - You really didn’t have to.

- Of course I did!

- Now I feel bad, because I didn’t bring you anything. - she pouts, but her frown is immediately turned upside down when she flips the top open. - Wait, is this..?

She holds onto the medallion with one hand, letting the golden chain dangle freely in the warm wind.

- Yeah. A Triforce necklace.

- It’s so pretty! Quick, help me put this on.

Nana turns around and sits closer to you, so you can secure the clasp on the back of her neck. She stays like that, admiring the metallic trinket, until she leans back against you. Your mind freezes for a second, but your body reacts to her, and your arms wrap around her waist.

- Thank you…

Her words jump-start your mind, and you squeeze her tighter.

- Don’t thank me just yet. - you untangle one arm, and reach backwards for another smaller container, neatly wrapped in pink paper. She handles it with care after feeling the weight of it.

- Another one?

She rips off the wrapping, and gasps when she recognises the baby pink coloured box.

- You know, I almost bought this when I last went shopping.

She removes the plastic, then takes out the rose-scented perfume to try it out. She sighs in satisfaction when the smell envelopes the air around you, dulling out the flowers nearby.

- Mmmm~ This bottle won’t last long, I can tell you that much!

Your chuckle is cut short by her lips on your cheeks, a smile, and her nuzzling into your embrace again.

- Thank you Y/N~

- You are very much welcome Nana.

She stays in your arms, letting the minutes pass by, until the dryness in your throat becomes annoying, and you have to let go of her for a drink. She gives you a playful pout before standing up to stretch, as you have been sitting on the ground for quite some time now. That’s when a familiar, raspy voice calls out to you from close by.

- Y/N? I thought you would come here today. And with a girl, to boot! You turn around with a curious look, and stand up to greet the elderly woman and her husband.

- Of course I’m here! Would have been a crime to stay inside in this weather.

- Ain’t that the truth. - the man concurs with a subtle nod, then turns to Nana. - And who is this pretty lass you brought along? Won’t you introduce your girlfriend to us? - Oh, we’re not… - you try to deny in such a hurry, that even catches Nana off guard. You look at her in hopes of reassuring her, and her beaming smile greets you, though you notice there is something sombre about it compared to usual. - We are just… colleagues, kind of. It’s only the second time we’ve met.

The pair looks at each other with a suspicious, knowing look. You can almost hear a whole conversation play out between their gazes. It’s just one of those things that come with years, or in their case, decades of love and partnership.

- I see. - the woman says without much conviction once she looks back at you. - So it’s not a date? We heard you two laughing from a mile away. Her question throws you for a loop, and while you try to figure out how to word it so you don’t possibly hurt Nana more, she answers before you could come up with the proper phrasing.

- No, it is a date. - she states with unshaken confidence, which pleases the couple. - I’m Nana by the way.

They bow with a sincere smile, and introduce themselves as Mr and Mrs Kim.

- I see you weren’t dropped on your head, missy! - the man titters.

You want to look back at Nana, but she is already by your side, hooking her arm into yours and pressing herself closer. At first, it feels a bit strange to call it that, but it only makes sense when you give it another thought. It’s just a word that you have given too much meaning over the lonely years, and it messes with your head.

- I’m sure he wasn’t either. - she jokes, and bumps your side.

- You will soon learn of that, sweetheart. - the lady pipes up. - He is as sweet as honey, but denser than concrete at times.

They all laugh at that, and you join in after letting go of your now seemingly dumb worries.

- All right, young'uns. We will leave you to it. Gotta get back home before my back gives in.

- Just a second, Mr Kim. - you speak up, and excuse yourself from Nana. You take a few pieces of the layered cake, and stack them in a box. - Please take this. I baked it, but it’s not poisonous. I think.

The couple smiles warmly at you, and takes the box.

- See? Sweet as honey. - The madam echoes her own words with a sly wink aimed at your date.

After that, Nana gifts them some kimbap too, which they thank profusely, then go on their way.

- Oh my god, they were so nice! - Nana asserts as she sits back down.

- They are, yes. I meet them every time I’m here. They visit this place almost every day in the warmer seasons.

…

- So it’s a date, huh? 

- Of course. What else would you call an afternoon like this? A one-on-one picnic in one of the most magical places in this city, with someone you like and want to get to know better. Wouldn’t be fair to label it as ‘hanging out’, or something simple like that.

- True…

This time it’s you, who smiles first, but you are not alone for long. Your hand reaches out for hers as you scoot closer on the soft blanket, and she readily accepts the contact, placing her palm on top of yours. It’s not the ‘electric touch that sends a jolt of shiver down your spine’, it’s just what it is: a touch. Warm and slick, but at the end of the day, nothing out of the ordinary. It’s the circumstances, and the owner of the other hand, that’s really special about it. The half-spoken admission of your feelings, a silent promise of more to come, and the most wonderful girl on this planet you share these with. The silence remains even while you eat the muffins, bar Nana’s compliment for the chocolatey sweetness, and the birds singing in the background. You imagine they are watching this romantic scene unfold in front of them, witnessing love blossom on the field they call home. The little angel stays in your arms, although she feels more like a kitty right now as her warm and petite body lays against you soothingly. You can feel her breathing as her chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, and you realize your pulse is matching hers when you hold her hand tighter.

It’s probably a super corny display from the outside, when the Sun starts to near its resting place, painting the skies in the colour of the flowers in the surrounding field. And if not for a certain girl in your arms, it would have been the prettiest sight of the day. The other thing that the sunset loses in, is the warmth. The temperature drops surprisingly quickly on this cloudless night, and no matter how hot the woman is beside you (in all senses of the word), the chilling winds become a bit too harsh to ignore. So you pack up, dividing the leftovers equally while Nana speaks with her manager on the phone. Hand-in-hand, you walk back the path towards the parking place with Nana lighting the way with her phone. Her manager said she will arrive in 10 minutes, so you sit in the K8 to stay warm until that. Nana sits in the passenger seat, and sees something in the backseat that catches her eye.

- Aww! What a cute flower.

- Oh, right! - you reach back for the pot. - It’s your last gift.

- Another one? For real? - she takes it from you, and admires the flowerless green plant.

- Of course! It’s a Clitoria Ternatea, aka Butterfly Pea. It will bloom with gorgeous little blue flowers in the summer, and as the name suggests, you can even make tea out of it.

She looks at you with a playful squint and a smirk, the somewhat lewd Latin name of the flower not escaping her attention. You laugh it off, and she leans in for a hug to thank you. It lingers for long seconds, until she gets a text from her manager, stating she is almost there. You both sigh. It’s a mixture of sadness and contentment. It was probably the best afternoon either of you have spent in a long time, and now that it’s come to an end…

That’s not even the worst part. It’s the fact that there is no way of knowing when there will be a chance to do this again. But if all goes well for Nana in Queendom Puzzle, it’s most likely months. She places her hand on top of yours, and looks you in the eye.

- Thank you for this day, Y/N. You can’t even fathom how much it all meant to me. And I don’t just mean the gifts, and the picnic. I’m talking about spending time with you, laughing, talking, hugging… And I really want to do it more. To get to know you better, and see where this goes.

- I would love that. - you clutch onto her hand, and give it a small squeeze -  Because I think–  I think this connection is something very special.

- I think so too.

Her grip on your hand tightens, and she moves her body closer. It’s barely noticeable, but you see it. You see it, because you are doing the same. You see her lips parting, her eyes nervously glancing at yours, and it makes your heart pound out of your chest. And though Nana may seem timid from the outside, she pushes forward with zero hesitation. Unrelenting, unwavering. She wants this badly, and so do you. So even when her manager pulls up, you don’t pull away. The headlights of her car shine right at you when your lips meet. And oh, what delicious, soft lips they are. It makes you forget to breathe, and doubles your heart rate, like a dose of a new designer drug that gets you addicted the moment you use it.

Neither of you break the kiss, and when you shift in your seat so your spine doesn’t twist out of its place and move away from her slightly, she chases after you. She even reaches for your shirt with her free hand, so you don’t pull away again until she has had her fill. It doesn’t take too long, because the uninvited audience does start to make Nana somewhat self conscious now. When your lips separate, you let out the air you have been holding in for these past twenty-something seconds. It’s hard to tell whether it’s this, or the power of the kiss that leaves you lightheaded, but one thing is for sure: you have fallen deeper than you thought, and so has Nana. She chuckles when she notices your reddened ears, breaking the tension.

- That was… - you start, but find it hard to say the right words. - Surreal but, um… but nice.

- Yeah. It was.

She gives one last gorgeous smile, and a sorrowed but reassuring goodbye before she leaves you on your own. The kiss replays in your mind repeatedly, and it makes you ache for more: more kisses, but also more than just kisses.

- “Surreal but nice”? What was I thinking?

_______________________________________________________ The following few weeks after the start of Queendom Puzzle are just as sweet as that goodbye kiss. The late night chats with Nana, her random selfies from practice, during meals, or after recording, and occasional video calls. Naturally, you text her after every episode, praising her performance. She responds in kind, applauding your MC skills, and rambling about her experiences with the other participants. The relationship stays this vibrant and strong for a while, and the energy you get from it shows in your variety show, propelling its popularity into new heights. Which, sadly, means more interviews, ads, and what have you. All of that, paired with Nana having to practice more for the final few episodes, meant a little less time spent talking every day. It never dried out at least, but you wished you could actually see each other in person at times, and hoped she felt the same.

Then it finally arrives. It’s the 15th of August, and the airing of the final episode of “Queendom Puzzle”. Nana (obviously) made it into the last 14 with flying colours, raking up MVPs, and a solid spot in the rankings. Still, there was a chance, however slim, that she could falter at the last hurdle. You knew she wasn’t the type to fall into a false sense of safety, but it still felt appropriate to give her the extra motivation she might have needed. So you asked her manager in secret for the place and time of the shooting. Without much reluctance, she hooked you up, but advised caution.

Getting past the security was a bit tricky, but still possible. With an iced americano in one hand, and a box of spicy chicken feet in the other, you make your way through the maze of corridors, full of purpose. Room 8 was your goal, and, as Murphy's law dictates, it was at the very back of the corridor. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that actually does, is to meet Nana, and put a smile on her face. That ever radiant, healing smile. One can never get enough of it. To make sure that the surprise works, you arrive a solid 20 minutes before she does, so it’s time to catch up with the latest gossip. Nana’s manager - now also your wingwoman - texts you as they get past security. Your heart skips a beat, and you jump from the chair you have been sitting on ‘til now. After quickly hiding her presents, you fix your attire, and wait patiently. At least that’s what you hope it looks like, but even a blind man could tell how eager you are. Your quickening pulse, fidgeting fingers, and deep, long breaths are a dead giveaway of your true feelings.

You can hear as Nana nears the room, her voice echoing down the hallway as she practices her lines for the show. The door handle pivots, and the awaited angel finally steps into the room. She stops dead in her tracks the moment she sees you. Her eyes widen, and her jaw hangs agape for a moment, but then… The change in her expression is like a slow motion study for AI training: her slightly open mouth shifts into a wide smile, showing off her pearly whites. Her eyes sparkle with an adoring glint, as if she just saw the cutest thing in the world. And, as usual of her when she gets this excited, she pushes her tongue out slightly, and bites down on it gently.

- Hello, princess. - you greet her with a bow. Nana loses it right then, and rushes up to you with a loud squeal. You plant a little kiss on her cheek, and hug her close. Or at least try to, but she starts to jump up and down giddily, making it hard to properly hold onto her. Before she pulls away, she returns the kiss. Holding hands, you stand there, mere inches separating you, just staring at each other for a few seconds. Your adoration reflects in her brown eyes, glistening like morning dew on the petals of a Chocolate Cosmos. The laughs and shouting of some other contestants from down the hallway kick you both out of your trance.

- Oh, right! - you spin around, and grab the iced americano. - I got you this.

Her eyes light up instantly.

- Oh my god! You are a lifesaver!

She pounces on you like a panther, and snatches the cold beverage before you could say ‘meow’. You watch with an adoring, cheeky smile as she swallows gulp after gulp, a bit of coffee even missing its mark, dripping down on her chin in the big hurry.

- Whew… I needed that. Would you believe that my manager - she points theatrically at the woman - forgot to buy me coffee? Today of all days?! - Uh… That’s on me. - you admit, scratching your head with unease. - I kind of asked her to… Nana crosses her arm, and squints at you suspiciously. She walks up to you with playfully angry stomps, which end up making her look adorable, rather than threatening, like a kid who didn’t get the toy they wanted.

- You don’t mess with a girl’s coffee! - she lashes out, reinforcing her point by tapping your chest with her index finger. Her faux outrage melts away after she sees how taken aback you are. She smiles at you sweetly then, and kisses your embarrassedly flushed cheek. - No need to plan stuff like this so you can swoop in like a saviour. - she stops mid-thought to take another sip. - I already like you, dummy.

You hear a scoff from her manager, and catch her rolling her eyes. You just smirk to yourself, knowing how cheesy it must seem from her POV.

- Sorry Nana! - you turn your back to her, snap up the bag with the dakbal, and offer it to her. A due prise for her winning the bet from the video, but it's also for motivation. - I hope this makes up for it somewhat.

With one eyebrow raised, she nabs the chicken feet tentatively. Or rather the box of chicken feet. Or rather the box of chicken feet inside a box. Or rather the box of chicken feet inside a box of chicken feet. Or rather the box of chicken feet inside a box of chicken feet inside a bag. Regardless, her face lights up for the third time today the moment she takes a whiff of her favourite delicacy. And that’s the point of it all. Not just seeing that contagious smile, but also the knowledge that you made her day just a little better. The way she dashes to you again, screeching joyfully as if she just won the lottery, and hugs you so tight that she squeezes the air out of your lungs, tells you that it may have made it more than just a little better.

- You are already forgiven!

She breaks away in a hurry, scattering to the chair to indulge in her precious dakbal. She hums in satisfaction as the flavours fill her mouth, which elicits an even wider grin from you. From the corner of your eyes you catch as Nana’s manager nods approvingly. Still, she has to be the responsible one when you are together: - Just don’t eat too much. You still have to perform.

- Mhm! - Nana acknowledges half-heartedly, gorging down on one chicken foot after the other. Her manager shakes her head disapprovingly, but can’t hold back a low chuckle.

- Whew… That should give me enough energy for a while. - she wipes her hand and mouth, and thanks you again with a kiss on your cheek. - Gotta go now though. Need to change and get my makeup done. Will you watch from here? - she asks with a hopeful tone.

- Of course! Will be cheering for you from here all the way ‘til the end. And I will keep your manager company too. Whether she likes it or not. - you add with a wink aimed at said lady.

- Could be worse, I guess… - she shoots back with a barely visible smirk.

Nana gives her manager a hug too, and they exchange a few words in secret. 

- Good luck, princess. Not that you need it.

The idol hugs you one last time, grabs her coffee, and waves the two of you goodbye before sauntering out the room.

- She is gonna kill it. - you break the few seconds of silence - You can just tell.

- Yeah. Especially with you here now. - the manager concurs, and nudges you in the side.

You watch the show with her, laughing, cheering, or crying along. After every performance is concluded, they invite the girls back on stage; it’s time to reveal the winners. Taeyeon calls them out from third place to sixth, and Nana is not amongst them. Of course, she was second during the previous vote, so it doesn’t phase you. Too much. Then the anxiety starts to eat at you when Hwiseo takes first place. Still, not too surprising, considering she finished there during the last episode as well.

Then finally, she is announced as the sixth member to join EL7Z UP, placing second overall in the votes. By that time you chew down every single nail on your fingers despite being sure she would make it. The other idols still on stage gather around her, cheering her on while also calming her down. When she takes the mic, it seems like she isn’t even crying anymore, but as soon as she tries to speak, her voice cracks in the cutest way possible, and it’s followed by an even cuter whimper. She gives her speech with a trembling voice, thanking everyone she can think of, and finally joins the other 5 girls on the pedestal. Her rightful place. You sob during it all, chuckling shakily during her most adorable moments. Even Nana’s cool calm and collected manager wipes a tear from her eyes. - Never once doubted her. - you break the melancholically cheerful silence - But damn it feels good to see her win.

- No kidding…

After Yeeun is revealed as the final winner, and EL7Z UP’s line-up is complete, they celebrate on stage for a while. You chat with the manager about the ups and downs of the show, weighing in about the winners, the performances, and how amazing Taeyeon is. After a good half an hour, Nana finally returns, jumping into your arms. She lets out her remaining tension, soaking your shirt with her tears. You caress her back lovingly, whispering sweet little nothings to soothe her. The clock ticks by relentlessly, and Nana has to go again. She lets go of you with a long sigh, and wipes her face with a handkerchief her manager hands her. - I wish I could stay for longer. But I have to change, fix my makeup, talk to the girls– - It’s fine, princess. - you cut in - I will see you later, yeah? - Yes! How about this Friday? - she perks up - I know it’s soon, but I won’t have much free time before our debut. And I want to show you my favourite place before it starts to get cold. - Sure. I will make time for you. Whatever it takes. - you agree without hesitation. - Great! - she plants a quick kiss on your cheek, and skips out of the room.

You breathe out slowly. It’s finally over. Well, kind of. The stress of the survival show may be gone, but now comes the debut. The stakes might not be as high, but Nana will surely give her best, meaning you really won’t see her for the next few months. Again.

Why did I have to fall for an idol? - you ask yourself, but realise it’s no use to dwell on it. Such a fantastic girl is more than worth waiting for. It’s not like you are not busy yourself, and she won’t be active all year long. Still, it feels like the whole industry is against you, hell-bent on preventing this relationship. And it’s not completely false. Her agency would most likely not allow for it: Nana was already their best asset, and now she became even more valuable. Who cares? As long as her manager is chill with it - which she most definitely is now - and you two are careful, it should be fine. Should be. Has to be.

_______________________________________________________

Her sanctuary, as she calls it, is a smaller penthouse on the outskirts of Seoul. It’s a simple, cosy flat that feels perfect to come home to after a long day of work. It has everything you need, nothing less, nothing more. one bedroom with  a queen size bed, a decently equipped kitchen, a bathroom with a freestanding tub, and a cutesy living room. It’s just far away from the centre, so that the noises of the city can be faintly heard from inside, and just barely more from the balcony. And what a balcony it is. It’s the part that really screams ‘Nana’. Full of flowers and greenery, two blue lounge chairs with a glass table between them, and on it, a sight that melts your heart: the butterfly peas you bought her for her birthday. - Did you try making tea out of it? - you ask as you trace your fingers along the vibrant blue petals.

- No, not yet. I have barely been here since Queendom Puzzle started. I did have someone to water the plants though! They even cared for the plastic ones. - she adds with a melodic giggle.

- Wanna try now?

- Sure! Although… I would hate to pluck it when it’s still so beautiful…

Nana admires the plant with a sombre look before you speak up.

- Well, they are about to lose the flowers soon anyways. The days are getting colder and shorter.

She lets out a long sigh before agreeing to it. She takes a handful of pictures before you pluck the flower heads ever so carefully and rinse them. While you boil the water, the 1 girl grabs 2 cups and a jar of honey to prepare them. You wait 5-10 minutes until the hot water brings out the flavours and colours of the petals, then you indulge yourselves in the heart-warming delicacy.

- Mmmmh~ That’s nice. - Nana remarks as she slowly sips on the blue tea.

- Tastes like spring, doesn’t it?

Nana quickly nods in agreement.

- Now watch this. - you grab a wedge of lemon, and squeeze some of its juices into your cup. The liquid changes its deep blue hue to a glamorous purple within seconds as the acidic drops dissolve.

- Wow… That’s gorgeous! But I like mine blue.

- I’m not surprised.

Compared to the first date, this feels even less tense. No preparations, no stakes, no nerves. Nana and you are already more than close friends, so there is no need to win her over. Now it’s really all about enjoying each other’s company and talking about anything and everything. She tells all about her pre-debut activities, her school years, and the shenanigans she got up to as a child. You in turn recount anecdotes from the same times of your life, sprinkled in with the first few months after coming to Korea, and starting your own variety show as a foreigner. The tea is followed by a few bottles of soju, along with some takeout. “Some”. It’s kind of a feast (again), but it all disappears eventually as the conversation goes on and on, delving more into your past adventures, your present passions, and your hopes and dreams for the future. The alcohol does its work in the meanwhile, smoothing out the already relaxed nerves even more, and colouring Nana’s porcelain skin in that Asian flush, giving her an ethereal look as the Sun starts to dip below the horizon. Your hand finds hers, and the two of you sit in a tranquil silence, watching the sky and clouds dance in the colours of the setting star.

- You know… - Nana cuts into the quiet, giving you a warm, pensive look. - One can love the sunset, when one is happy, too.

It takes you a few seconds before it clicks, then your face lights up with a tender smile.

- You remembered?

- Of course! I haven’t found time yet to read it, but I will.

- Because of that one line? - No. Because it’s important to you. Such a simple statement, yet so powerful. If anyone ever wondered how someone can confess their feelings without saying it outright, they would have found it right here. Just as the last rays of sunlight dim, you bring her hand to your lips, and plant a compassionate kiss on the back of her palm. After that, looking into her eyes, you both understand the depth and strength of this connection within a moment’s notice.

- And you are so much more important, princess.

The equally corny and touching response earns you Nana’s signature smile, though it seems different from the usual: more sincere and less practiced. Something that merely a couple people have seen if you had to guess. And as many times before, your heart turns into mush, a sweet concoction of affection and adoration, with a pinch of lust.

While the night claims its domain, coating the skies above in pitch black, you clean up the remains of the feast, and grab two blankets. You stay out stargazing for a long while, searching for constellations, and admiring the waning Moon before you move back inside the apartment. Just as Nana is about to dive into her next story, a long yawn interrupts her. It’s not that late yet, but the day was long. For her the whole summer was long.

- I guess it’s time I head home. You should rest while you can. - No! - she objects instantly, then sinks into the couch with a sheepish smile. - Would you stay for the night? Please? You chuckle faintly, and sit down right next to her.

- If that’s what the princess wants…

She leans her head on your shoulder with a tired giggle. Your hand reaches around her, rubbing her side ever so slowly. The little incubus at the back of your head is screaming to lunge at her, but you kill the voice, knowing it’s not the time. Not yet. Maybe you won’t see her until her promotions end, but if you cross this bridge now, it might be even harder on the both of you, having to go without intimacy for months after a most likely wonderful night together. So you bide your time. It will be worth it in the end, even if holding back at the moment feels awful.

While Nana takes a shower and washes her face, you drive home for your pyjamas and a toothbrush. Once you are back, she is already lying on the bed, mindlessly scrolling on her phone. She flashes you a weak smile, though you barely catch it, as the view of her bare legs distract you. You grit your teeth, and head to the bathroom to change and wash up, cursing your luck. It should have been obvious that she would be wearing shorts to bed in the summer, but your mind was elsewhere when you agreed to sleep over.

You step back into the room, and join Nana under the covers. You decide it’s best not to poke the bear in your boxers, and stay on your side of the bed, but Nana has other plans. “She needs cuddles” - she says. “It helps her sleep better, and she missed it so bad.” - she explains. You can’t say no to her pouting lips and puppy eyes, but what comes after is the true challenge. She nestles into you, not leaving any space between your bodies, not even in the most intimate places. Her round and firm backside assumes its position against your pelvis, pressing into you as if she didn’t know it was one of the most seductive things a girl could do in this situation. You have to call upon every god in the sky, on Olympus, in Asgard, on Mount Meru, and in Takamagahara, to help you out in this seemingly unwinnable battle. Their combined might is indeed enough to suppress your desires, and you relax with her, hugging her close like a plushie. - Good night princess. - your voice is groggy as you place a kiss on the back of her head. - Good night Little Prince. - she is already fading away into sleep, but she holds onto your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours before she drifts off. You follow suit, her soft whimpers lulling you to rest in no time.

_______________________________________________________

One of the drawbacks of living on the top floor, is that the Sun disturbs the idyllic early mornings, totally unasked for. With eyes wide shut, you turn away from the celestial intruder, meeting face to back with an angel. Instead of wings, her chestnut locks spread out on the mattress before you. It obviously wouldn’t be courteous to wake her, but it’s also a crime not to cosy up to a sleeping beauty in a moment like this. So you scoot closer, and ever so cautiously wrap an arm around her petite body. If it wasn’t for the deities who helped you yesterday, you would be in an awkward situation again, but your little buddy decided not to give Nana a rude awakening.

- Hmmm~ I could get used to waking like this. - she mumbles as she finally wakes, and wiggles deeper into your embrace, snuggling up to your warmth like a cat.

- And I could get used to sleeping like this.

She lets out an amused sigh, and starts to run her fingers along your forearm, carefully scraping it with her nails.

- Too bad we can’t stay here all day, huh?

- Yeah… too bad. Maybe if you weren’t such a great performer, you wouldn’t have made it into EL7Z UP, and you wouldn’t have to go to practice and meetings today. - you tease her.

- Maybe… But sorry, I am not throwing that away for you.

- I would rather have you throw me out if I actually asked something so ridiculous of you.

- Good. Now shut up and kiss me! - she demands out of nowhere, and flips around in a flash.

You don’t even have time to protest - as if you wanted to - before her lips press hungrily against yours. Your stale morning breaths take nothing away from the enjoyment and the beauty of the act. The chirps of birds and the early commotion of the waking city fade into the distance, replaced by Nana’s barely audible moans, your heavy breaths, and the smacks of your lips. The make-out is just as sweet as it is urgent, but you refrain from using your tongues for the sake of keeping it PG - you know you wouldn’t be able to hold back if she let you venture further. She is not so restrained though: her fingers run through your hair as she pulls you in deeper, and her soft little breasts squish against your chest, drawing blood to your nether region. But before things could get out of control, your rumbling stomach comes to the rescue. “If only it didn’t need to.” - you curse silently in your head. With flushed cheeks and short, shallow breaths, Nana pulls away.

- Breakfast?

- Breakfast… Do you have eggs and bacon?

- I should, yeah. Want me to make some?

- No thanks. I can do it. Do you want some too?

- Uhmm… Sure! I would like a proper breakfast while I can. But I wanna help!

- You’re the boss, boss.

She steals one last cheeky kiss before jumping out of bed, and chassés out of the room. You follow her (butt) with your eyes, then join her in the kitchen.

- Can you grab the things please? - Nana asks as she turns on the stove, and pours the oil into a large pan.

- Sure thing.

Despite you telling her beforehand that you would do the cooking for both of you, she doesn’t give you a chance. Wanting to be a good host, or so she says. You are not one to complain about a lack of work in the morning, so you at least have to pay her back somehow, right? And what better way than a playful bump of your hips against hers, an affectionate hug from behind, or a few delicate kisses on her neck and shoulders. Nana doesn’t reject her payment, and you can feel her skin heat up under your touch. It could be from the fire of the stove, but her crimson ears let you know it’s your doing. When she is almost done, you set the table, and pour out two glasses of orange juice.

You eat in mostly quiet, watching the Sun climb higher on the cloudless sky, only occasionally speaking up. Exactly like on the first date though, it’s not an awkward silences, it’s just… comfortable. You will have many more times in the not so near future to discuss any hot topic, or whatever’s on your minds, but this serene morning needs none of that. It only needs the two of you, stolen glances, exchanged smiles, and some cold oj to flush down the tasty food.

She offers you coffee after you’re done; an offer you can’t refuse, but state one condition in return: “I’m doing the dishes then.” She brings the soul warming beverage to the sofa, where the two of you cuddle up, watching some dumb morning show for entertainment. Your hand roams along her body dutifully through it all, earning you hums of delight. Sadly, the good times come to an end sooner than expected when Nana gets a call from her manager, informing her about a crucial, and certainly critical conference in the coming hour.

- I’ll let you get ready, then. - you tell her, slightly dejected, but not at all surprised.

- Yeah, thanks… You first do the dishes as promised, then head to the bathroom to dress up while she does the same in her bedroom. After a long kiss, you say your goodbyes.

- I’ll see you… whenever, I guess. - you say with a bitter smile.

- I’ll try to make time for you, but I can’t promise anything. - her eyes cast down on the floor, trying not to face the inevitable.

You grab her chin, and bring her eyes up to meet yours briefly, before you give her one more peck on her lips. For the first time you have known her, they were slanting down, but you pour every bit of reassurance into the kiss, and though she doesn’t exactly smile after you pull away, she at least looks less gloomy.

- You just focus on this group first, okay? Don’t push yourself too hard, because I will wait for you, however long it takes.

She darts at you with a tight hug, not letting go of you until she has committed your scent and feel to memory.

- Thank you. I will do my best for you.

- I don’t doubt that for a second. But do it for yourself.

_______________________________________________________

You knew what you signed up for, but that still doesn’t console you. Working, and meeting up with your friends can’t replace Nana’s absence in your life. She puts most of her energy into preparing for her debut, understandably so, and the two of you barely even chat during her promotions. Meetings are almost completely out of the question, bar a few coffees, and a short walk with your dog here and there. The only positive thing about all of this is watching Nana shine on stage more than ever. Even during the rendezvous, she goes on about how much fun it is with the new members, how talented and kind they are, and how much she loves the songs, dances, and concepts. She can’t hide her fatigue though, tainting the sweet times with a somewhat bitter undertone. They even travelled to Japan two times, once to France, and once to Saudi Arabia, and no matter how much you wanted to follow her, there was no way it was ever feasible or logical.

And of course, once the promotions for their first EP 7+UP ends, they almost immediately announce their next comeback in early 2024, threatening even more packed schedules for her, and even less dates for you. Fortunately or not, that somehow fizzles out, but of course, Nana’s agency jumps on the opportunity, riding her newfound fame, striking while the iron is hot: they announce WOOAH’s single releasing in April. Between all this chaos and dickering, only one thing is for certain: you have to meet. You have both waited enough, sacrificed enough, now it’s time to reap in your rewards.

While her bosses deal with legal stuff between WOOAH an EL7Z UP, and set up for the release of BLUSH, you have a few weeks of freedom, and you use it to the fullest. You drink and dine out, go to karaoke and bowling with friends, and during all this, your love for Nana only grows. Finally being with her again, fully, and this frequently, reminds you why you fell for her in the first place: her carefree but never careless attitude, her kind words, her playful teasing, her precious smile and even more precious laughter, her perfect body in your arms, and those soft lips that taunt you to kiss her every time your gaze lands on them, even if there are people watching.

And naturally, it doesn’t take long to give in to the desires you both have held back for God knows how long. After the first few dates, it’s time you cross this bridge. It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you met up in the afternoon in early February for a BBQ with her friends, but it was always in the cards. Valentine’s day was just around the corner, and you could have waited to make it the most special day of all, but something about today just felt right. Maybe it was how she fed you while you cooked for the group, how she kept looking at you with those curious, adoring eyes, how she snuggled close whenever she could, how she leaned her head on your shoulder, how she clung onto your hand during your walk home, or most likely all of the above.

In any case, it led you here, to this exact moment. You are lying on your bed, and for the first time in many months, it’s not your dog you share it with. Nana is on top of you, her tongue pushing against your lips as you make out, impatiently searching for a way in, which you hastily surrender to her. You have never seen her this zealous, this hungry for you. “I guess she has had enough too.” Sensing her intentions, your hands creep down from her back, and land on her perky ass. It’s time you shed the pretences, and go for what she is offering. What’s yours for the night, and most likely for the foreseeable future, but hopefully forever. You fondle the supple flesh and spread her cheeks apart as much as her jeans allow. She rewards you with moans you can only describe as lewd. Especially for such a gracious girl as her.

Her hands are holding either side of your neck, pulling you impossibly close, deepening the kiss, like she feared you would get away if she let go of you for a second. Her fingers then snake down on your chest, her fingertips tracing teasing circles around your nipple before feeling up your pecs and abs. She moans into the kiss again, but it’s this time more out of appreciation for your fit physique than from the heat that’s building inside her. In the meantime, you reach under her top to rub along the smooth skin of her lower back. The feeling presumably ignites something within her, because she starts to grind against your growing bulge, eliciting a hushed groan from you this time.

It’s a risky limbo of long suppressed lust and never-ending affection. One side of you simply wants to pin her down, and fuck her brains out until she is addicted to you, to your cock, but the more sentimental side yearns for her gentle touches, her sweet kisses, and her soft whimpers of satisfaction, were you to slowly make love to this princess on top of you. The way she quickly reaches for your groin, but stops at the edge of your pants in hesitation, lets you know she is battling with the same demons. And being the sensible man you are, you won’t force her into something she is not hundred percent comfortable with. Nevertheless, you lift your hips, seeking her touch, while also giving her the green light she might have needed.

She doesn’t bite just yet though - except for your lower lips at times. Instead she matches the movement of your hands, and her digits sneak under your shirt to explore your tensing muscles. The arousal is literally palpable, even your clothes start to feel too hot now. As the restrictions start to crumble, Nana takes the first real step: in the blink of an eye she breaks the kiss, sits up, and pulls off her shirt in one move. You barely have a second to admire her athletic upper body, because as soon as she throws her top away, her lips are pressing against yours again. It doesn’t take long for her to reach for your top after that; her fingers hook into the fabric, and you lift from the bed to help her remove it. This time she takes a few seconds to drink in your sight; that lets you enjoy her tantalizing fitness in return.

- Fuck… You are so-

You can’t even finish the sentence, because with a wide grin, she lunges at you, continuing her oral assault where she left off. The sloppy sound of your make-out fills the room, along with heavy breaths and muffled whimpers of arousal. Her fair skin is like velvet under your fingertips as you brush them across her back with unrestrained need. The back of her bra gets in the way of the exploration, but she gives you a quick approval for you to unclasp it. She wiggles out of the pesky piece of fabric, and again, she gives you a mere glimpse of her pert tits before pressing them against your chest to resume with the smooches. Her lips slowly leave yours, and make their way down your jawline, across your neck, and onto your chest. A move you would have rather done to her yourself, but certainly aren’t against to be on the receiving end of. Persistently, she moves further south, only stopping when she reaches your abdomen. She looks up at your flustered face, and with a sly grin, she unbuttons your pants, and unzips your fly. With the lowered resistance, your erection bursts forward, tenting your boxers, the last barrier between you and heaven. Nana tugs at your pants; doesn’t even wait for you to raise your hips, she just yanks it off, but in doing so, your underwear comes off with them. Your cock springs free, and stands at attention proudly, twitching in anticipation. As your princess marvels at your manhood, you get to gawk at her modest, perky breasts. You swear you can see her pink nipples harden, and you give yourself all the credit, since the air in your room is more than warm at this point.

Nana’s mouth hangs agape as she cautiously drops to her knees. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look of her reaching for your pole. Her delicate fingers wrap around your girth tentatively, mapping your pulsing veins. Her clutched palm moves along your shaft in a measured fashion, her eyes locked onto her prize. - Such a nice cock… You look at her curiously, somewhat caught off guard by her statement, but before you could give it much thought, her lips are already hovering your leaking tip. She looks up at you with those innocent cocoa-hued eyes, though you can’t find any trace of modesty in her gaze. It’s filled with lust and hunger as she opens wide to take you inside. You hiss at first, when her hot breath hits your meat, then you let out the air in a shaky breath when she envelopes you in the slick and soppy embrace of her mouth. Your head cocks back for a second, but you regain composure, just so you can look into her eyes. She never breaks eye contact as she dutifully takes more and more of your length into her greedy mouth. She pushes her tongue out with practiced ease, making sure your main vein slides nicely alongside the rougher surface.

Your glans reach her uvula, but she doesn’t gag, merely pauses for a second. Even that’s just for show, because she grins (as much as you dick inside her mouth lets her), and in a heartbeat, she has swallowed you whole, leaving you dazed, reeling, about to break, but above all, impressed and extremely horny. Her eyes start to tear up after a few seconds, and only then she starts to remove your member in a leisurely manner. Her drool covers you from head to balls as she slowly jerks your cock, still looking into your widened eyes, spittle dripping down from her chin.

- Holy shit, Nana.

She flashes you a cheeky, victorious smile. - Not gonna lie, I didn’t think I could take it all. I haven’t been with a guy in quite some time, and none of them were packing like you. Her smirk fades, replaced by a sulking pout as she sees your confused expression. - Did you not like it?

You shake your head.

- No, I did! It felt fucking amazing. It’s just unexpected, is all. I never imagined you to had this side.

- It’s kind of new to me too, to be honest. But I’m sooo horny right now. Have been for a long while, to be honest. You were just so nice today. To me, to my friends, even to the cashier at the shop. You always have been, and you don’t even know what that's doing to me. I have never felt this attraction to anyone, and I… I can’t help it. I want you. So fucking bad.

You reach for her blushing cheeks to caress her, which she welcomes with a satisfied sigh. - I want you too, Nana. But I’m sure you know that.

You lean down, and bring her face to yours for a kiss. It’s sweet and sensual, unlike the ones a few minutes ago. Those few words along with this romantic smooch is all she needed for reassurance. She steps away with a wink, and stares at you as she finally takes her pants off. It’s slow and measured, challenging you to stand up and rip them off, but you are too focused on her slender legs, and the blue-striped panties to move even a muscle. When the jeans finally are off, she kicks them to the side, and with short, calculated steps, she makes her way back to you. With both hands on your shoulders, she pushes you onto your back so she can straddle your lap. The wetness of her core seeps through her underwear as she desperately grinds against your throbbing cock. When you reach for her ass again, you realize it’s not just any pair of panties: it’s a thong. When she sees your surprise, she just grins. - I need you in me right now.

To back up her words, she peels the thin, moist fabric to the side; she can’t be bothered to waste another second to actually take them off. She drags her soaking folds across your spit-coated rod a few times, giving it another layer of her slick juices. You hold your breath to listen to the barely audible wet noises, but her quickening squeals of delight suppress the noise. After a few seconds, when she deems you well lubed enough, she lifts herself, and brings your tip to her entrance. Again, you barely have a second or two to take in the glorious sight before she moves. A sharp inhale, then she sinks down on you. Not slowly. Not carefully. And despite her incredible tightness, she manages to take all of you in a single, reckless motion.

- What the- Jesus! - she screams as you bottom out.

- T-take your time, princess. - you suggest, but it’s for your own good too, because the snugness of her raw pussy is almost unbearable. You don’t even question the foregoing of condoms, you assume she knows best.

She doesn’t even seem to have heard your words, too lost in need, too impatient, after having to wait months for you. Without warning, or any easing into it, she rises up, until only your tip remains inside her silken warmth, then slams down onto you. The sharp slap of your skins echoes through the room, but not for long; this wasn’t a one time trick, or something to show off, just an appetizer. She repeats the motion again and again, harder and faster each time. Her legs can barely handle the brutal pace her body demands, so she fixes her position. With her feet planted firmly on either side of your hips, and her hands propped on your chest for support, she resumes pounding you. It might sound ironic, but there is no arguing about it: she is the one in control, she is the one doing all the work, practically using your pulsing heat as a living dildo to vent her pent up frustrations out with. - Fucking hell… Slow down! - you plead between short, ragged breaths as you hold onto her thighs for dear life, leaving red marks on her flawless skin. - I- I can’t… I need this… I need YOU, damnit! I have waited long enough…

She looks you in the eye, and in it, you can see it all. The glints of almost obsessive adoration fuelled by months of longing and affection. The guilt of hidden desires and the fire of hardly concealed lust. It’s all there, and you can’t believe it’s all for you. You can’t believe how lucky you are to have this angel turn into this insatiable succubus, drunk on your love, riding you into a world of pleasure that may have never been discovered by any other. And within those passion-darkened eyes, you see yourself: a perfect reflection of all her feelings. It’s not like she was the only one who has been fighting back their urges for days on end.

- You understand, right? - she asks, still smashing her ass against your pelvis with unwavering cadence.

- Of course… - you admit between groans. - Let me prove it. You clutch onto her legs with force to keep her in place. She cocks her head in confusion– then you thrust into her. She yelps. Her back arches. Her nails dig into your chest. And the erotic display is fuel to the fire, to your pistoning cock. The pace she has set before? You double it. That causes her voice to grow in volume two-fold too.

- Ah! Y/N! - she cries out, which spurs you on to fuck her even harder.

Now that you have taken the lead, and aren’t just along the ride - though what a ride it was - you have the chance to examine her petite body. You start from the top with her face, or at least want to, but her head is still thrown back, moaning your name between obscenities as pleasure takes over her mind. Her reddened neck looks primed to leave hickeys on, albeit that’s for another time. For an occasion when she doesn’t have to cover it up with makeup from prying eyes. Below that, her small, perky tits bounce with your every stab into her needy cunt. You reach for them with both arms, and grope her soft mounds. She bites her lips from that, but then her jaw slacks open with a guttural howl when you pinch her aroused pink nipples, and roll them between your fingers. The reaction is exactly what you hoped for, so your digits stay on her itty-bitties to continue their work. Your eyes continue their work in the meanwhile. They land on her tummy. Her abs flex constantly as she tries to keep herself steady on top of you. Her skin is patterned by little drops of sweat, some of which give in to gravity and roll down in the crevice of her toned midriff. And the more you fuck her, the more her body glows with sweat. Not too far underneath her cute belly button, the sight of her completely shaved pussy greets you. It’s arguably the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, even in its current state. Or maybe that’s exactly what makes it so enticing. It’s swollen and flushed, her folds already covered in grool, yet your pounding draws even more of the precious nectar out.

*What a shame I couldn’t taste it. Yet. * - you think to yourself.

Nana finally gets a hold of herself, at least enough to look at you. The craving in her eyes is softened with an infatuation that makes you blush. She leans forward with a weak smile, her fingers brush along your cheekbones in a soothing way, raising goosebumps on your arms. The stark contrast between the gentle touch and the obscene slapping of flesh against flesh throws you off, but your hips are moving on their own at this point, unbothered by the sudden show of affection. Not that she intended for you to slow down anyways, just wanted to look at you, adore you, one last time before she comes undone.

Because after holding back for months, this first orgasm comes fast and hits hard, like a bullet train of pleasure. Her eyes are still on yours, but glassy and unfocused now. She bites down on her tongue, trying to hold back a moan, as if she was suddenly self-conscious about making so much noise (little does she know, there aren’t any neighbours around to worry about). You give her taut ass a sharp whack, and that’s enough to get her to scream and arch her back.

- Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-yes!!!

You don’t just let her savour the orgasm though. No. You fuck her through it. Overwhelming her senses to a degree she can’t contain. You press your thumb onto her clit– a few circles around her pearl is all it takes to turn her into a quivering mess. Her legs give out, and she drops onto your lap, practically impaling herself on your dick, preventing you from pounding her further. Her mouth is open, and you wait for a moan, a curse, a cry, but none of it ever comes. Nana doesn’t even breathe. The only sign of life you get is her walls squeezing around you periodically, clamping down on your rock solid pole.

It’s sort of a miracle you don’t lose it right there. But you hold back because you want more. More of her moans. More of her tight, silky heat. More of her pretty face distorted with pleasure. More of her jiggling breasts. More of her firm ass. More of Nana.

- Holy fuck! - she finally speaks up amidst shallow breaths - That was incredible… I never… I never came so hard in my life.

- Yeah, that felt unreal. - you agree, lacing your fingers through hers. - You are fucking perfect.

- But… But you didn’t finish yet. - she notes, slightly disappointed, but not discouraged, evident by her playful smirk. - Maybe a good look at my butt would help.

With your cock still inside her drenched slit, she spins around, and nestles into your lap. She tries to go fast right away, but her still sensitive pussy forces her to take a moment before she could properly ride you. At first, you grab onto the sheets, just watching as ripples tear through her glistening ass. But you can’t go on like that for long. Not when such perfection is right in front of you, taunting you, begging to be played with. And so you reach out, take both her taut cheeks in your palms, and give them a nice squeeze.

- Mmmh~ I knew you would like it.

- I fuckin’ LOVE it. - you correct her. When she looks back at you over her shoulders, her hair cascades down on her back, sticking to her sweaty skin. Her lust-filled gaze finds yours, stuck to her cute little bottom, and to the puckered hole in its centre. A knowing smile tugs at her lips as she turns forward again, and she rides you even faster. You spread her cheeks to get a better look at her rear entrance; it twitches, daring you to make a move. And you don’t need to be asked twice. After licking your thumb to lube it up, you inch closer and closer to her backdoor, and since Nana doesn’t protest, you press forward. To your surprise, it gives way to you without much resistance, as if she was prepared for it, wishing for it even. And judging by her loud, almost deafening moan, that’s exactly the case.

The added sensation makes her already tight cunt clench your dick even harder. She gasps, shuddering, but she doesn’t stop. She can’t. She wants to push you to your peak and past that. She wants you to cum for her, to show her how much you adore her, how much she turns you on, how good she feels. If only she knew.

- Come on Y/N… Cum for me! - she begs as she rolls her hips in a way only a practiced dancer like she can.

Your reply is a moan. A desperate, covetous wail, that gives away just how close you are to the edge. Teetering on the brink, facing the abyss… An abyss of pure bliss and overflowing emotions. Its pull is irresistible, as is Nana, and you feel the inferno in your abdomen building up, threatening to erupt at any time. And no matter how wet she is, how much she is leaking all over your lap and onto the bed sheets, it only feeds the fire more, along with your own unravelling. You are almost there, and Nana knows it too from the way your length twitches more and more inside her, and from your short, laboured breaths through gritted teeth.

- Please just fill me up already! Now that’s just cheating. One that probably works eleven out of ten times. Your body locks up as you drown in the pleasure. You try to hold her still against your pelvis as you start to unload inside her welcoming little hole, but she slaps your trembling hands away, and rides you even faster.

Did you really think she wouldn’t pay back for the ‘favour’ of you overstimulating her when she came? You should have known better.

She fucks you, until you’re a shaking mess under her– until her second orgasm hits. The way your combined moans fill the room (the whole house, really) along with the wet sounds of your mixing juices, as it sloshes around lewdly with Nana’s every movement, is completely obscene. It’s a beautifully filthy symphony, played by and for the two of you.

A/N: Your dog is in the garden, preoccupied with searching for a treat he buried a week ago, in case you’re wondering.

Nana rolls her hips slowly to ride out the last moments of her orgasm, while also milking your cock for every last drop of cum you have to offer. She purrs in delight as you fill her thirsty womb, then, once you have nothing left to give, she turns around and collapses on top of you– entirely spent, and thoroughly satisfied. Her hot breath tickles your neck as she lies on your chest, but you barely register it. Your brain is locked onto the receptors in your nether region. Still, with how out of it you are, you manage to command your body to do one thing: hug Nana close.

The two of you stay in that sticky embrace, your chests heaving against the other’s with each shallow breath while your spunk slowly drips out of her used slit. It takes a few minutes before either of you come down from the high, able to speak again.

- You are way too good at that. That had to be my biggest load yet.

- Thanks, handsome~ You are no slouch yourself. - she returns the flattery along with a small kiss, then looks at you. Her eyes sparkle with the afterglow of your ravenous lovemaking, but she has a slightly bashful expression on. - This- This was the first time anyone came inside me. I don’t know what came over me, I was just so turned on, so horny, and I really wanted to know what it felt like, and I wanted it to be you, because I didn’t know when we could do this again… And I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of girl, who just sleeps around for the heck of it, opening her legs for any-

You shut her yapper with a deep, passionate kiss, until she finally relaxes in your arms.

- You have nothing to explain, Nana. Not to me, not to yourself. - your fingers brush through her hair for further reassurance.

She stares back with adoration, then lays her head on your chest with a sigh. The stark contrast between the rough sex and the intimacy of this moment doesn’t elude you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s not like you went all out because there was not even a trace of emotion between you; it’s the exact opposite. You were both so starved for physical affection, so head over heels for the other, that this was the best and only way to release everything that’s been consuming you since your first kiss.

- I hate to be this responsible right now, - you disrupt the blissful peace - but I should take a piss. And I really need to hydrate.

- Sure… You go ahead and do that… I’ll just… wait for you here…

You steal a kiss before she rolls off of you, then you leave the room in your boxers. After you accomplish your mission and let Bingley inside, you return to Nana with two bottles of water.

- Here. You should drink too.

- Oh yeah, thanks.

- Want me to lend you a shirt for the night? - you ask after emptying half the bottle.

- Hmmm, no. I want to fall asleep cuddling like this.

- As you wish, princess.

You discard the soaked blankets for a clean one, take off your boxers, then lie behind Nana with your arms wrapped around her exhausted body. The strong scent of sex lingers in the room, only dampened by the sweetness of Nana’s shampoo. She settles deeper into your calming embrace, her bare skin still warm and damp with exertion, and it feels sooo nice against your body. Like she was always meant to be right there. Right here. With you. The only sound disturbing the tranquil silence is the nestling from her thighs as they absentmindedly rub together at the delicious soreness you left in her. Until you remember something.

- Oh! Just one more thing.

- Mmm? - she groans, barely awake.

- I love you.

- I know. - she leaves the words hanging for a few, very uncomfortable seconds - I love you too.

Her breaths become silent purrs, and her pulse slows to a soothing thrum against your palm on her stomach. She threads her fingers through yours, content, loved, comfy, pleased.

- Good night princess.

- Mmm~

You stay awake for a while, drawing little circles on the back of her hand, replaying the events of today in your head. Especially this last half an hour. Would she have been like this if you went all the way earlier? Who knows? Who cares? Was it worth the wait regardless? Absolutely. Because all that matters is her, lying in your arms, naked, after the best sex of your life. So far! Because with Nana, you know you will have all the fun in the world– in and out of bed. And doubtless, she will prove that in the morning when she wakes up by your side. By her beloved Y/N.

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 beach

synopsis: after zoro finds you unconscious on an abandoned beach, he quickly takes you to shelter... where he learns that something's off.

cw: possible multiple parts, fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is so lost, reader's is a bit dense (only because she doesn't know), let's be real i think we can all tell what she is, miscommunication (kinda resolved), zoro is a gentleman

a/n: let's all pretend mermaids don't already exist in the one piece world <3 and look at my man's back in the picture yummy!

"Huh... I could've swore we left the Sunny right here..." Zoro muttered to himself, confused, as he scratched his chin, eye scanning over the expanse of the empty beach.

There wasn't a single ship in sight, nothing but waves and sand seeming to stretch for miles before him.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken that right back by at docks.

With a sigh, the Zoro dropped his shoulders, arm resting limply over the hilts of his swords as his free hand came up to shade his eye from the scorching sun.

"Guess there's no harm in walking a little further," he caved, pressing forward. "I stick to the shore, I'm bound to come across the Sunny eventually."

The crew had dropped anchor on a nearby port island for a much needed supply run, and after the girls split to go shopping, and the boys went chasing after Luffy, the swordsman decided to take his time exploring the island, leisurely sightseeing as he nursed a bottle of sake.

But, in true Zoro fashion, he managed to get himself turned around and eventually lost in the maze-like pier, the winding turns and frequent dead ends finally leading him to the edge of the island.

Hard Rock Cove.

Letting out another tired sigh, Zoro raised the sake bottle to his lips, taking a small sip before promptly pulling away, his expression contorting into one of disgust.

The summer island heat had turned drink unpleasantly hot.

'Jeez...'

If there was anything the swordsman wanted more, it was to be in the safety and shade of the crow's nest; where he could finally have a moment away from the broiling air and take a nice, well-earned nap.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

"Other plans" being you.

As he wiped the sweat off his brow, Zoro turned to look further into the beach, only to see an odd-looking figure lying on the ground, surrounded by seagulls.

'The hell...?'

He took a moment, eye squinting to get a better look, only to quickly widen once he realized what it was.

A woman.

You were lying there, unconscious and helpless to the screeching birds that had already begun to peck at your flesh.

"Crap," he hissed under his breath, breaking into a mad dash. "Damn things are gonna eat her alive!"

As he ran over, he started making loud noises, growling and roaring in order to scare the birds away from your possibly-living corpse.

"C'mon! Get outta here! Damn vultures! Leave her alone!"

Terrified, the seagulls quickly flapped away, squawking and shrieking at each other as they left to go find another meal.

With that out the way, Zoro sighed, allowing his shoulders to sink as he finally turned to you.

In which... he finally realized that you were completely naked.

"Crap!" he flushed, eye wide as he quickly turned his back toward you. "Where the hell are her clothes?!"

Not wasting a second, he shrugged off his robe, leaving himself shirtless as he draped it over your exposed body.

"She must be shipwrecked or somethin'. She's soaking wet," he muttered to himself, scratching the back of his neck. "Doesn't look too banged up, though..."

Bending over, Zoro carefully scooped you up, hooking his thick arms under your thighs and behind your back, cradling your—most likely—concussed head.

"Still, I should probably bring her back to Chopper. She might have somethin' wrong anyway."

Slowly, his gaze traveled toward your face, his breath hitching slightly as he finally got a good look at you.

Your skin was delectably sun-kissed, the water droplets creating a natural dew and giving it an alluring, ethereal shine.

Your hair was surprisingly soft and silky, cascading down your back and adorned with a few seashell-like, pearl-encrusted hair clips, two small strands of hair falling before your ears.

Your face was soft, long eyelashes fanning your naturally peachy cheeks while your plush lips remained in a perma-pout, your resting expression downright adorable.

Zoro's heart added another beat to its pattern, feeling as if the skin on his chest was heating up and tightening over himself, rendering him unable to breathe.

You were a vision—easily one of the prettiest women he had ever seen.

'Good thing I stumbled across her and not the damn cook.'

Out of nowhere, a water droplet hit the swordsman's nose, forcing him to glance up at the quickly darkening sky, the rain slowly beginning to pick up.

"Damn. I can't carry her through this. She'll die before I even make it to Chopper," he cursed, frantically glancing around for somewhere to hole up. "There gotta be somewhere around here we can lay low for a while..."

Luckily, he spotted a cave not to far away, large enough to shield you both from the weather.

"There."

Slightly stirring, you let out a faint groan, your eyes still unable to open.

"Relax. I'm getting us someplace safe," Zoro assured, picking up the pace as he made his way over to shelter.

A crackle of lightening punctuated his sentence, the suddenness causing even him to flinch ever-so slightly.

"Just sit tight."

Weakly, you let out another whimper, still stirring from your sprawled out spot on the cave floor.

"Still out cold..." Zoro grumbled, crouching down to your level before beginning to lightly tap your cheek. "Wake up... C'mon, woman, wake up... wake up."

Though, sadly, you didn't budge—quite literally out like a light.

"Damn... maybe I should move her closer to the fire?"

The two of you had been safely hidden away for quite some time now, and the swordsman was beginning to worry seeing as you had yet to wake up.

'Maybe she hit her head... got one of those brain-dead situations...'

If Zoro was being honest, he was probably the worst person to have around in this particular predicament.

Sure, he could keep you from being devoured by ravenous seagulls, and give you his clothes to keep from catching a cold, but past that he was pretty much useless.

He didn't have a single ounce of medical knowledge past Me hurt, me train, which was, to anybody else, pretty much inapplicable.

"Mmmph..." a light voice suddenly hummed, snapping the swordsman out of his thoughts.

Turning his head, his eye landed on you, watching intently as you slowly sat up, eyes fluttering open and brows furrowing.

"Good, you're awake," he nodded, a small smile rising to his lips. "Took your sweet time. You were startin' to make me worry."

"ᝰ.ᐟ꩜" you exclaimed, excitement apparent in your tone as your gaze settled on the flames not too far away.

Instantly, Zoro's expression fell, his relief replaced with confusion.

"Huh?"

Starstruck, you quickly crawled over to the fire, seemingly attempting to start a conversation.

"٠࣪⭑꩜.ᐟ ᯓ ⋆˚｡⋆ ꩜ .ᐟ"

"Hey, are you... all right? You hit your head out there or somethin'?" Zoro asked, raising a brow.

But you completely ignored him, too entranced by the dancing magic before you.

"⋆｡𖦹°‧.ᐟ"

Without thinking, you reached out to touch it, only to let out a squeak and quickly recoil at the painful burn.

"Hey! The hell are you doing? Don't touch that!"

Swiftly, Zoro strode toward you, carefully taking your hand to inspect the damage.

"Jeez, what the hell were you thinking? You trying to hurt yourself?" he grumbled, brows cinched as he took a better look. "What the—? Why the hell is the blister (f/c)?"

It rested on the back of your hand, far too soft and colorful to be a burn scab.

'Maybe that's just how she scars?'

Thoughtlessly, he grabbed it, attempting to pull it off quickly, but apparently it was really stuck on there.

"ᝰ.ᐟ" you yowled, clutching your hand and jumping back with a suspicious glare. "˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚.ᐟ"

"Uh..." Zoro paused, completely and utterly lost. "I didn't catch that?"

Confused, you raised a brow, sizing him up with the same look.

"٠࣪⭑꩜ ?"

"Well, look. At least let me cut that thing off. I don't know what it is, but it doesn't look good."

Slowly, he began to draw one of his swords, your eyes shooting wide at the sight.

""ᝰ.ᐟ"

Terrified, you tackled him to the stony ground, quickly crawling on top of his lap before weakly slamming your fists into his chest, forcing the swordsman to turn beet red.

"What the—?! Hey! Cut that out! I'm trying to help you!"

"𖦹⋆｡₊˚⊹☆.ᐟ"

"C'mon, get the hell off me! You're naked! You keep movin' around, that thing's gonna fall off!

"☆.ᐟ"

Letting out a sharp groan, Zoro grabbed you by your wrists, pulling you off and placing you down on the ground, much to your struggle.

"Hey, easy, alright? I'm not gonna hurt you, so take a second to calm the hell down," he ordered, tone firm as he held your arms still. "I get it. You woke up half-naked with some random guy and your scared. And you don't seem to speak the same language."

Scanning over your face, he watched as your eyes began to turn glassy, lip jutting out in a slight tremble.

His chest slightly sank, a bit of guilt sinking in as he realized his harsh tone probably wasn't the best choice.

Taking in a deep inhale, he decided to try again, re-calibrating himself for a softer approach.

"Look, I'm sorry for being so rough. It's just... I didn't expect this whole thing when I found you washed up."

Somewhat perky, you sat up straight, carefully taking his calloused hand in a handshake.

" ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ ᯓ ⋆˚｡⋆ ꩜ 𖦹⋆｡₊˚⊹☆.ᐟ"

You spoke eloquently, making a long, heartfelt speech about the importance of kindness, and how you would like to get to know the pretty, green man better in order to make him your friend.

But once again... Zoro caught none of it.

"I have no idea what you just said," he sighed, swiping a tired hand over his face. "Alright, maybe the sake's getting to me..."

Just then, a clacking-crawling sound began to echo within the cave, turning both your attention to the cave's entrance.

Where a vibrant blue crab ran in.

"What the—"

"࿓.ᐟ"

Overjoyed, you happily greeted the crustacean, scooping him up in your hands as he frantically rambled in your language.

"~ .° ｡𖦹˚.ᐟ"

"The crab can speak?!"

Quickly, it handed you a glass bottle, which was full of sparkling, swirling, purple liquid.

Suddenly understanding, you nodded, swiftly popping off the cork.

"Wait a second. You're not gonna drink that, are you?" Zoro asked, warily.

His suspicions were confirmed when you began to raise it to your lips.

"Hey! Stop it! You don't know what that is!"

But before he could lunge forward and smack it out your hands, you had already downed the entire thing, licking your lips and humming at the delightful taste.

"Mmm! Delicious, Sari! Thank you so much!" you grinned, smiling from ear to ear as you pulled the crab in to hug your cheek.

Zoro's jaw instantly fell slack, the man utterly floored by what he just witnessed.

'Yup... definitely the sake.'

"Y'know what... I'm gonna check on the fire," he caved, honestly done with this fever dream of a night.

"Hey, I can understand you now! How wonderful!" you gasped, pleasantly surprised. "Y'know, human language is complicated. You guys should really work on that."

"Human?" Zoro cocked a brow, now even more confused. "All right, woman, just who the hell are you? And what the hell were you doing washed up on the beach?"

"Hey, mister, why's your shell on me?"

"My... shell?"

"This green thing. It's sticking to me and, um, very uncomfortable. I wanna take it off."

"Nuh-uh! If you're doing anything, you're keeping that thing on," Zoro quickly denied, flushed, as he ran a tired hand through his hair. "Jeez, you must've hit your head harder than I thought. Just lay down."

"But I have so many questions..."

"I do, too... but as far as I'm concerned, I've had all I can handle from you tonight. So just lay down."

"But I wanna hold this bright, moving thing!"

"Quit trying to touch that! Just go to sleep!"

"But—"

"Sleep."

Offset by his rudeness, you let out a harsh huff, cheeks puffing in an adorable look of frustration.

"Fine! But I am going to stare at you so angrily!"

With a sigh, Zoro flopped down to the ground on his back, staring blankly at the cave ceiling.

"As long as you stay quiet and keep your clothes on... I don't care what you do."

[deonsx]

Hi!!<3 i really love your writing!! Im kinda new to tumblr but i was wondering if u could do like blue lock boys w a gf whos obsessed w jellycats?? That'd be really cute! Ty in advance!! ♡♡

Lesgoo with jellycats!!! Hiii i hope you will love this (≡^∇^≡)sae,nagi,kaiser

Sae Itoshi

Sae wasn’t one to get easily surprised or caught off guard but when he first walked into your room and saw the mountain of Jellycats he had to pause. There were bunnies cats whales and even an avocado plushie staring back at him with those signature beady eyes

He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms his usual deadpan tone slipping out “Do you… collect these or do they just multiply when I’m not looking?” You shot him an offended look clutching a bunny plush close to your chest.

“Sae collecting is an understatement. Jellycats are a lifestyle. Look at this face. Doesn’t it make you feel anything?” He tilted his head staring at the plushie like it might reveal some profound truth about life “It’s… fine I guess. It’s soft. But I don’t get why you need twenty of them”

Despite his stoic demeanor Sae slowly started to indulge your obsession in his own quiet way

♡ On one of his overseas trips he sent you a picture of a rare Jellycat he spotted in a boutique. Along with it was a message: “Do you want it Don’t make me regret asking"

♡ He once walked into your room to find you cuddling a Jellycat sloth while watching TV. He sighed but sat beside you subtly shifting the sloth onto his lap while pretending not to notice how soft it was.

♡ Occasionally he’d randomly toss a plushie at you muttering “Here you forgot your emotional support avocado”(づ ◕‿◕ )づ)

Nagi Seishiro

When Nagi first stepped into your room he froze. His usual sleepy expression shifted into mild confusion as he scanned the shelves bed and even the floor all covered in Jellycat plushies. There were so many that for a second he thought he might’ve walked into the wrong place

“Uh… what’s all this” he asked lazily scratching the back of his head. You looked up from where you were arranging your newest addition a chubby Jellycat turtle and grinned “They’re my Jellycats Aren’t they adorable”

Nagi squinted at the nearest one a large bashful bunny sitting on the edge of your desk. He picked it up and gave it a half-hearted squeeze “Kinda squishy… but why do you need so many They’re just plushies right”

You gasped dramatically snatching the bunny from his hands “Nagi take that back They’re not just plushies they’re family” Nagi blinked at you his usual blank look making it hard to tell what he was thinking “That’s a lot of family” he mumbled looking around again

Nagi wasn’t one to judge. If anything he thought it was a bit of a hassle but he quickly got used to the Jellycat invasion in your room

♡ One time during a gaming marathon at your place he fell asleep on your bed surrounded by plushies. When you came back you found him hugging a Jellycat shrimp to his chest completely knocked out. You couldn’t resist snapping a picture

♡ He once pointed at your new Jellycat sheep and said “This one looks weird… but I guess it’s okay.” That sheep became his favorite though he’d never admit it

♡ Occasionally when you weren’t paying attention he’d stack a few Jellycats on top of each other to see how tall he could make the pile before they toppled

Kaiser Michael

Kaiser prided himself on being a man of taste and sophistication. So when he first stepped into your room and saw an entire army of Jellycats staring back at him with their beady eyes, he was… speechless “Schatz, what… is this?” he asked, gesturing dramatically to the plushies scattered across your bed, shelves, and even the floor. You beamed, holding up a Jellycat penguin.

“These are my Jellycats. Aren’t they cute” He stared at the penguin, unimpressed “Cute? Sure. But why do you have so many of them? This looks like a toy store exploded in here” You frowned, clutching the penguin closer

“Kaiser, they’re not just toys. They’re art. Look at their craftsmanship. Their charm. Their squishiness”He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose “Of course. How could I possibly understand the ‘art’ of a stuffed avocado” he muttered under his breath

As much as Kaiser teased you about your Jellycat obsession, he couldn’t deny how happy they made you and begrudgingly, he started to indulge your quirky hobby

♡ On one of his trips to Europe, he sent you a picture of a Jellycat lion he saw in a boutique, along with the message: “Would this make your little collection complete or is it still missing a giraffe”

♡ He occasionally picked up a random plushie while lounging in your room, twirling it in his hands as he scrolled through his phone. Once, you caught him absentmindedly squeezing a Jellycat otter while pretending to ignore you

♡ He loved teasing you by calling your Jellycats “my competition” and dramatically acting jealous whenever you cuddled one more than him

Enjoy!

[megumismyhusband]

you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the photo frame in your hands. it was the one picture of you both where rin actually smiled, a rare moment that now felt like a distant memory. you didn’t know when that smile had started to disappear, but you sure as hell knew it had. his absence felt like a gaping hole in your chest, one that only seemed to grow bigger with every second that passed.

it was stupid to think, even for a moment, that maybe he would remember. maybe this time would be different. but soccer had always been his first love. you had accepted that long ago. still, it stung like hell when you found yourself dressed up, waiting in vain for a man who was so lost in his own world, he couldn’t even spare a moment for you.

the dress you wore felt like an armor now, something to hide the hurt that was bubbling up inside. You could barely recognize the woman in the mirror anymore, the one who had once believed that maybe, just maybe, she was important enough to be his priority.

rin didn’t even notice the time slipping away as he came home, a faint scent of sweat and grass lingering on him. he stepped into the room, eyes scanning the space. his gaze fell on you, sitting on the bed, all dolled up, but it only caused confusion to flash across his face. "why are you dressed up?" he asked, voice detached and unbothered.

you didn’t answer immediately, still holding the frame in your hands. you could feel the tension between you two, the weight of all the unsaid words that had been building up over the years. finally, you looked at him, eyes empty. "no reason," you said in a voice so flat, it could have been mistaken for indifference.

he frowned but didn’t push further. instead, he walked to the closet to change into comfortable clothes, leaving you to stew in silence.

it wasn’t until you were in the kitchen, now dressed in sweatpants and a loose shirt, that rin finally spoke up. he walked in, standing in the doorway, his brow furrowing at the sight of you. "what’s wrong?" his voice was softer now, but there was an edge of frustration creeping in.

you leaned against the counter, staring at him. "take a guess," you muttered, unable to hide the bitterness in your tone.

he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling in frustration. "You always do this, you never fuckin’ communicate. Use your fuckin’ words for once," he snapped, irritation slipping into his voice.

you laughed, but it wasn’t the kind of laugh that conveyed humor. it was dry, devoid of life. "communication? is that really what you want to talk about right now? you’ve been so wrapped up in your own shit, i don’t even know why i bothered."

his face faltered, confusion overtaking his annoyance for a moment. "what the hell are you talking about?"

you shook your head, the anger finally boiling over. "you forgot again, rin," you spat, your voice thick with emotion. "you always forget. you’re always too busy with soccer, and i just—" you cut yourself off, not wanting to break down in front of him.

rin’s jaw clenched. "i’m sorry," he muttered, but it didn’t sound like an apology. It felt like an excuse, like he was saying it because it was the thing he was supposed to say.

"are you even happy?" you ask, your voice cracking.

his breath hitched at the question, the silence stretching between you both. "what?" his voice was softer now, less defensive. "of course i am, why wouldn’t i be?"

"then why does it feel like i’m the only one trying here? you always choose soccer over me, rin." the words were out before you could stop them, a raw confession of the frustration that had been eating away at you for far too long.

he hesitated, the words caught in his throat. "i don’t know what you want me to say," he finally admitted, his tone quieter, more vulnerable than you’d heard in a long time. "i’m doing the best i can."

"your best?" you scoff, your voice trembling. "rin, your best isn’t enough anymore. i’m not asking for much, just... for you to care, for once."

he took a step toward you, the frustration turning into something else, regret, maybe, or guilt. "i do care. i really do. i just—"

"you’re too busy for me," you finished for him, your heart aching at the realization that you’d been holding on to something that had already slipped through your fingers. "and i’m not doing this anymore."

he stood there, the words hanging in the air, both of you unsure how to move forward. you couldn’t tell if the relationship was salvageable. but right now, you weren’t sure you cared anymore. all you knew was that the man standing in front of you, the one who had once made you feel like you mattered, had long since forgotten how to make you feel that way again. and you were tired of waiting for him to remember.

rin opened his mouth to speak, but you turned away before he could say anything else. you weren’t sure what would come next—whether it was the end or just another cycle of waiting and hoping for change—but for now, you were done.

gen m.list | join taglist here!

[neeeooon]

two-way mirror ;

4 | awkward silences

ft. fem!reader & sae, rin

cw. take the title for what it is, cussing, mention of self-bruising (once), and other anxious tendencies

you sat at the cafe across from the itoshi brothers, your hands clutched so tightly in your lap you could feel bruises forming.

the older of the two (you assumed, based on the way he sat straight and didn’t avoid eye contact like the slouched one beside him) scanned over your photos with a certain eagle-eye precision that made you feel nauseous. of course, he’d scrutinize your work; his little brother was your target. you swallowed roughly and cleared your throat to cover it.

“um, i have a few more, if you want…” you trailed off when he looked up, and sank further into the plush cafe seats, praying they’d suck you in and teleport you back home.

someone placed a water cup in front of you, and you’d been so spaced out, daydreaming about your couch, that the action made you flinch in surprise. you looked up to find ichika smiling softly at you before she turned her attention to the others there. “hope i’m not interrupting! want anything to eat? you know you get a discount when i’m working.”

“part of the reason why i wanted to meet here,” sae grumbled, but his lip curved into a small grin when he put your photos down and handed his menu to her. “i’m okay with black coffee. rin?” rin mumbled something you missed over ichika’s sudden gasp.

when you glanced in her direction, your face burned at the sight of your photos in her hands. “wow! you took these? they’re amazing!”

“yeah..” you replied anxiously. you had to get used to people seeing your work. praising it, even. you were already familiar with criticism, especially after getting rejected from art school.

as if she could sense your hesitancy, ichika carefully placed the photos back on the table and jotted something down in her notebook. “black coffee and an oreo milkshake—“

“i didn’t—“

“—got it! anything for you, y/n?” you gestured to your water, and ichika left to grab their things. it grew quiet without her there, and you returned to picking at the drawstrings of kiyora’s sweats.

sae smirked. “i’ve seen enough. you’d make a great addition to our team.”

“thank you,” you said, silently praising yourself for not stammering.

“that makes the majority a yes,” he continued, silently sliding the photo of rin over for him to see. “if you’ll excuse me, i’m running to the restroom.” he didn’t directly say that it was to give rin some time to speak up, but his intentions were obvious.

you almost asked him to stay, and you could practically see the same question in rin’s glare as he followed his brother’s retreating form with wide eyes. sae disappeared around the corner, and you were left alone with rin. you accidentally caught his eye and immediately looked away, rin doing the same.

it was uncomfortably quiet. you weren’t sure what to say, and usually, you could get away with not saying anything at all, especially since you didn’t often put yourself in one-on-one situations with people you weren’t familiar with. you opened your mouth, desperate to break the awkward atmosphere, but nothing came out.

“‘s good.”

your gaze snapped up to find rin peering down at the picture you took of him. again, you tried to form a reply, but thankfully, he continued.

“the lighting is cool. i guess. i don’t know much about photography.”

“… thanks. it wasn’t anything i did, though. the lights you had at the show were really pretty. i guess i was drawn to them, or something. i don’t know.”

rin hummed, not once looking up at you, but now engaged in the conversation. “kaiser and shidou argue about it a lot. the lighting, i mean. kaiser thinks blue makes him stand out more, and shidou thinks blue dulls him, or something. i tune them out when they get annoying.”

he was being awfully social, but you were grateful, since it meant you didn’t have to speak—

“how did you get the background to blur?”

shit.

gulping down your nerves, you wrung your hands out as you fumbled your reply. “the lens. i use a wide aperture ‘cause the shallow depth of focus is the point. since the lens is more open, more light reaches the sensor. plus, i have my camera all set up so when i apply a little pressure to the button, it’ll focus on what’s centered without taking a picture. the background blurs better with my lens and stuff. i mean, at least i think it does.”

you didn’t mean to talk so much, but you couldn’t stop once you started. your face flamed. “sorry. that was a lot.”

rin hummed as he picked one of the photos up. “so you don’t add filters or anything to your pictures?”

“i try not to. i want them to be as authentic as possible.” you rubbed your hands over your pants. “keeps it real. the only filters i add are, like, black and white ones, sometimes.”

“cool.”

“thank you.”

it got quiet again, but it didn’t feel nearly as tense this time around. rin continued looking at the photograph in his hand, and you snuck the one closest to you so you weren’t just sitting there doing nothing. sae returned a few minutes later with his coffee and rin’s milkshake. rin scowled at the sugary drink but used his straw to spoon some of the whipped cream into his mouth.

“so,” his brother said, eyes already on you when you looked over. “have you two decided?”

you blinked. “on..?”

“on if you can work together or not.”

right. that was the whole reason you were even at that table in the first place. your face burned, and rin stabbed mindlessly at his milkshake. “fine. it won’t be the worst thing in the world, i guess.” his words were a little grumbled, a little distracted, but you were grateful for it.

“yeah,” you replied, trying to force a bit of enthusiasm into your voice. “i think it could work.”

sae flashed a rare smile and waved his hand as he spoke. “great. i’ll send you our offer, the starting amount, and give you three days to formally decide after reviewing it. sound good?”

you nodded. “yeah. you have my contact info.”

masterlist // previous (ch 3) // next (ch 5)

notes -> chat is this two awkward people trying to have a conversation orrrrr ? ALSO ALSO do you want me to add ichika to the ft. section or no since she isn’t a real character

tags -> @90s-belladonna @angelin4ssss @stal1n33 @ravenbc @s4turnx1 @heartsforfeitan @pumpkinpiegobbler @xoxojisu @vinzcoke @tenjikusstuff4 @n0tbelle @lylisimps @silverwings920 @saekisserfr @kuromixheartzzz @angelhqlo1111 @viaelax @rainychi2 @kai-zawa @wxwoobe @kaz-0e @ichcocat @saeglazer @ieathairs @kuronarnze @kyaanii @ilovealligators11 @cyberasterrr @akis-crazy-world @opheliuzz @jellychee @dontmindtheevie @tired-child00 @ranzess @introspectiveintroverthere @soph1sticatedly @kyeeeeeeeweeeeeeewi @cutonmyhrt @scoosh4you @ilovewonyo @mivqko @levihanmyotp @mihyas-dieehefrau @sapph1r3x @sst-4rl1ghttt @evilenchantresss @berrytyunnie @xynazylei @nor3ne @hanselate

© neeeooon, 2025

[whowrotethenote]

Write a cm punk x reader x Roman smut but they’re basically Paul Heyman in the situation

Disclaimer // Main Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist

A/N // Thank you to the anon for that creative ass request. @novamystxcxox sent me something similar, but I had already started this💗 Hope you both like it!

I did not make this x reader because I'm not good at those. I have to give my characters personality, backstory & physical characteristics. That's just my preference.

Also, the smut is reserved for the OC & Roman because... that's my man and I love him.

I do not take requests yet. Mostly because I barely have the time to write as is and I know they would just be sitting in my asks collecting dust like this one was for so long. This was just too good to not pursue. One day. Just not today lol. Okay, bye.

Pairing // Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC (Paula Heyman) x CM Punk

Warnings // Profanity // Smut [minors DNI] // Toxic behaviors // Age Gap

Word Count // 6.5k

“It’s going to be five versus five…”

Paula watched in the adulation that replaces the smug pride after waiting for his music to play. The entirety of Green Bay, Wisconsin buzzed with every emotion given to the human race as they recognized the infamous theme song.

Nothing feels like this. No amount of alcohol. No drug. Nothing can mimic this feeling of a live crowd giving back tenfold what’s given to them. 

He brushed past her, wrapping his hand to meet the rest of them inside the ring. A full on war breaking out the minute he slid inside. Five exceptionally large men, all cleared out the ring by her boys. With ease. It's how she knew she made the right decision. She knew no one else would carry it out like he would.

She made her way to the side of the ring just in time for their stare down. All the faces in the stands losing their minds.

CM Punk! CM Punk! CM Punk!

The pressure of the cheeky grin pushing through was heavy. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t seen Roman in months. Hadn’t seen Punk even longer. But as soon as she called—he came. 

“Why are you here?” She read Roman’s lips as he squinted. 

“To save your ass,” was his reply. 

He was pissed. His pinched brows. The tension in his broad shoulders. The tightness of his mouth. The flexing of his jaw. His hand, opening and closing in a tight fist. No—he was fuming. But that’s only because he couldn’t see the bigger picture right now. That’s where she came in. That’s what warranted her presence in his life a necessity. If it wasn’t more obvious before tonight—amongst all the chaos that had ensued in her absence— it was now shoved in his face.

“Thank you. Really.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Punk smiled unwrapping his hand. “That was only half the job.”

Her head swiveled slightly watching the hustle of the backstage crew. Gathering equipment, everyone mic’d up and moving with a purpose. She missed this. 

She nodded. “He’ll come around. Trust me.” The pressing matter of Roman’s disapproval of his presence was heavy. It lingered above them like a storm cloud. It put the biggest wedge between them. Something that was never there before in their relationship. “I just have to talk some sense into him. He’s emotional right now.”

“I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about you, Paula.” His eyes, sincere—always opposed to his appearance. The tattoos, the foul language, the attitude—none of it ever complimented his kind eyes. “I’ve seen the way he talks to you. The way he talks to everyone he loves.” He raised his brows.

Immediately defensive and strangely protective of her current client, she shook her head. “He’s just…used to betrayal. He keeps everyone at an arm’s length. It's his way of keeping control.”

“It doesn’t make it right.” He stood firm. The affection for his best friend and former manager, overriding any excuse she felt compelled to give him. He didn’t care for any of it.

“I guess I’ll let you go, then.” She scanned him once more, already thinking of her next phase of business. She didn’t have the luxury to sit and tangle in emotions. She was a woman working in sport’s entertainment. They already looked at her as if she was Barbie dropped in the jungle. And they expected her to get invested in her work in a way that was overlooked in men. Flirting and sleeping around and whatnot. But that wasn’t Paula Heyman.

She vowed to never get entangled with clients. It was business first, always. She was about business. That’s what they loved about her. The men—charismatic and dominant as they are—were off limits. But every now and again, she found the lines between client and manager blurring. Things get sticky. Lines get crossed.

Her first blurred line—Phil Brooks. Best in the world. And to the world he was CM Punk. The bad ass that swept the WWE universe off their feet.

They developed a friendship that transcended client and manager. An intimate kiss between the two, one drunk night celebrating another victorious defense of his title reign—almost led to something more. Thankful for the little voice in her head, she stopped it. Things were different after that. She put up boundaries, but it did nothing to ease the ache of what if. That same ache presenting itself right now, like it did every time they found themselves this close and secluded.

“Thank you, Paula.” He held a hand out. A spot in WarGames benefited him as much as it benefited the Bloodline and she made that possible. She gladly took his hand, until he pulled her all the way into him—foreheads kissing. “You think about what I said the other day?” He whispered. 

She sighed deeply. “Punk…”

“I know you remember what it felt like. All those years ago. Just the two of us. Young, wild, and hungry as hell. Kicking ass and taking names.” She released air from her nose reliving the memories. She had never felt more alive than she did with him. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit to missing those days—and him. But that was then. This was now. She wasn’t that girl anymore. So, she kept that sentiment to herself. But he didn’t need to hear it. Because the same way she was now in synch with her current client, she once was with him. He could still feel it. “It’d be just like that. But better this time.” She opened her eyes that were met with his—specks of olive always so alluring. 

“Just think about it…Alright?” He pulled away as she nodded. Their hands lingering before he completely turned and left her there. 

She looked around, now aware of the world around her again, hoping no one saw their moment. Everything gets back to him here. Him.

Paula swallowed knowing she’d have to face him. She made a menacingly slow stride to his trailer after leaving the arena. She knocked twice. Then three more times, before she heard the familiar voice tell her it was open. 

She walked in the small but familiar space as he removed his OG Bloodline shirt with a heavy sigh, releasing all the weight that’s been dumped on him since losing his title. You’d think the load would be lighter now. The saying is supposed to go—heavy is the head that wears the crown. He had given his crown up, or rather it was stolen by the American Nightmare, and yet he still felt like the King. On top looking down at everyone else, even in his untimely absence. And Solo had presented him with an entire new set of weight with this whole New Bloodline mess. 

The muscles in his back flexed as he slightly stretched and rolled his head. The silence was agonizing. Gnawing at her because she could already feel whatever he wasn’t saying. 

“Where have you been?” He finally questioned. His back still to her. “I’ve been calling.” He took a sip of whatever he poured. 

She squinted at him once he finally turned to face her. His chest—one she’s seen plenty of times—still, a distraction as she attempted to just zero in on his static expression.

“That’s funny. Considering you went M.I.A. long before I did.” She crossed her arms, causing her full breast to push up, catching his attention for a split second. “My calls fell on death ears as well.”

“I asked you a question.”

“After Mania you vanished. You left me here. Vulnerable. Alone. Defending you. Fending for myself—”

The cup met the counter harder than he intended, summoning dead silence again as she swallowed the remainder of her rant. He had already lost his Bloodline before all this—then his title. He didn’t need another crash course on all the ways he’s fucked up. 

“I’m here now.” She spoke again when she felt it was safe enough to. “You’re here. Jimmy’s back. Jey’s back. Sami’s here. Things are back to normal.” As close to normal as possible without Solo and that belt hanging from his waist. 

He gradually nodded. Her words sinking in. He didn’t want to fight. He fought enough tonight. She turned to leave, knowing he preferred solitude at the end of the night.

“Don’t forget who you work for.”

She scoffed. Only Roman would leave her to fend for herself after he lost his little title and decided to tuck tail, just to come back and want to run shit again—as if he never left. But that’s just the kind of man he was. He wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it and he didn’t care who he had to run through to get it. That’s what drew Paula his way in the first place. Her contract was ending and she was looking for some else to counsel on the roster. There was not a single person that housed half as much charisma and hunger as the Roman Reigns. 

Their journey has been the epitome of a rollercoaster. By his side in feuds and every climb of the ladder. Reaping the benefits of accompanying such a charismatic figure in his own right. Her life went from great to legendary. Now, she sits on the Island of Relevancy as they call it—pockets as fat as they had ever been, and her life looks exactly the way she’d dreamed. 

But no good deed goes unpunished.

“How could I?”

Roman checked the time on his expensive watch again—only moments after the last check. Leg bouncing, jaw ticking, with that infamous stone cold exterior, that screamed he was not to be fucked with. Long fingers smoothed the hair above his plump top lip, until he reached the dark and greying hairs of his chin.

Whatever he was feeling, Paula felt in her bones tenfold. She shifted in her seat, unable to keep still. In the dark room, the only thing they could hear was her irregular breaths and his less than impatient sighs. 

She couldn’t explain it if someone were to ask her. It was as if signing the dotted line and agreeing to manage him put a hex on them. This invisible string—this unimaginable force pulling them together in every instance of every universe formed. She felt this burning,  unwavering loyalty to him. It was sick and twisted. The lengths she’d go to please him—to carry out his wishes. How empty, aimless and useless her life had felt these past months without him. Not even so much as a text from him. It took every fiber of strength to not answer that call. But she needed him—if only for a second—to feel what she had felt since Wrestle-mania. 

His brown eyes pierced her, feeling like another beam of light in place of the one they sat under at the stretched table. Three seats. One at the head where Roman sat of course. Another next to him, always reserved for her. Lastly, a vacant one at the other end. 

She knew what was coming next.

“Paula.” His deep voice made her heart stutter. Out of fear, relief and every other emotion in between.

“Yes, My Tribal Chief?” She answered trying her best to keep her voice steady amidst the storm of emotions brewing inside of her. 

“Where the fuck is he?”

Turning to meet his hard stare, she hesitated. Raking through her brain to find the words that wouldn’t tick him off. But considering the flex of his jawline, she could tell it was too late and it didn’t matter what she said—he was already at the edge of the cliff. 

“He’ll be here,” she assured. Only she hoped. Punk just like Roman liked to play mind games. Toy with his prey before he caught it. Please not today, she thought. She prayed their years of friendship and building a bond outside of their old contract was enough to get him to pull through for her. 

“I don't understand. He’s going around calling you his Wisewoman. He’s butting in on family matters. And now he’s got me waiting like I’m some errand boy. As if my time isn’t valuable.” The legs of the chair made a violent shriek as his towering frame began to rise. “Let’s go.” It wasn’t a question, nor was he looking for her opinion, but Paula still placed a hand on his forearm to stop him.

“Roman—”

On cue the slam of the heavy door that granted entry to the empty vast room sounded. Paula’s heart sighed watching him make his way to the empty seat. Looking back at Roman she silently challenged him to sit and he obliged. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” Punk checked the time on his watch. Paula rubbed her forehead feeling an oncoming migraine. These two men—with the whose dick is bigger games—were going to be the death of her. She had never faced a bigger challenge in all her years in the business. They were going to collectively chase her into an early retirement at the ripe age of thirty-one. 

Just get through the weekend, she thought. Then it’ll all be over…right? A dream. That’s what she was selling herself. As long as that hex she spoke about was still alive between her and her current client, she’d never know peace. With the fuck you, pay me attitude he rendered and big bully on the playground persona he carried with him like a purse, pissing anyone within a five mile radius off—it’ll never be over.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at your watch for. We’re on time. You’re the one that’s late, Junior.”

“Yeah, well I’m here. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. But you need something from me. So, I’d think you’d turn your asshole down just a little bit.”

“I don’t need shit from you.”

“You sure about that?” A snort pushed through his throat. “Cause the way you’ve been face down on the mat every week at the hands of your family says otherwise.”

Paula sat back like a child witnessing her parents have their first post-divorce argument. It was no point in getting in between these two. She knew better. They had to figure it out.

“Listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me. I came here for two things. One,” he held his pointer finger up, “to make it very clear that I’m not doing this for you.” He nodded in Paula’s direction. “I’m doing it for her. I’m not here for you—it’s all for her.”

Roman smiled so deeply his dimple showed as fine lines creased around his mouth. He sat back in the chair eyeing them both. Paula could feel the heat radiating off his body as she fiddled with the Bloodline ring he gifted her years ago, refusing to return eye contact. 

“I’m happy for you two. Really, I am.” Whatever feeling was opposite of happy on the spectrum, was what he was actually feeling inside. “Finding each other again after all these years. The story’s lined up perfectly. It’s beautiful. Poetic almost. But, that also has nothing to do with me. That’s y’all shit.” His hand shifted between the two of them. Paula flinched at the heightening aggression she recognized as a precursor before he usually put his hands on someone. “I don’t want—need—whatever you wanna call it—your help tomorrow night.” He spoke like a dragon emitting fire with his every word. 

Over his antics and borderline temper tantrum, Punk adverted his gaze to the only person in the room he deemed worthy of any acknowledgment. She took the deepest breath before finally speaking up for the first time since he entered. 

“My Tribal Chief.” She placed a dainty hand in front of where he sat on the table to disarm him first. He looked down at it as if it was a cuff restraining him. “With the way Solo has gone about things—especially after Crown Jewel—it wouldn’t be very wise to turn down a helping hand.” She spoke like a circus tamer trying to calm the big cat before it went rogue. “Now, I can find someone else. But there’s no one I trust to do this as much as him.”

Roman tried his hardest to accept her words, but the smug smirk on Punk’s face was pulling him in the direction of irrationality. 

“And you.” She continued only turning her head in Punk’s direction. “You think Solo is just going to forgive and forget what you’ve done?” The smirk vanished. “You speak like someone who has a choice, but let’s be all the way real here. If you don’t help, you’ll just move up on the list of people he plans to run through after he wins. We can do more together than apart. You mean to tell me the two of you can’t put these petty ass differences aside for just one night, to conquer a common enemy?”

Both men regarded one another. A silent battle that couldn’t have been louder in the ears of the woman between them—who knew both like the back of her hand. Punk was the first to come forward as he slid his forearm on the table.

“You don’t like me and I don’t like you. That much is clear. But Paula’s right. We can get through one night. One common enemy. One win. One time.”

“One time,” Roman agreed. 

“When it’s all over and done—you and I can have a different conversation in the ring, maybe.” He smiled pushing the chair back.

“What was the second thing?” Roman interrupted his attempt to remove himself from the meeting. The room grew eerily quiet. “You said you came here for two things.” He clasped his fingers together. “What was the second thing?”

Paula’s relief was short-lived as she watched the look he always had when he was up to no good present itself. “To make sure I get what I’m owed when it’s all said and done with,” he revealed. 

Roman scoffed with wide eyes. “I’d owe you a favor?” Punk immediately shook his head. 

“No—no, you don’t owe me anything.” His eyes flicked longingly to his best friend who he’d been removed from all these years. “My best friend—our Wisewoman will owe me a favor.” 

Paula subtly shook her head, hoping her eyes could relay what her mouth feared to speak. She remembered the conversation after he came out to help the Bloodline. How he begged her days before to just consider the idea of coming back home—as he referred to it as. In his corner, supporting him and counseling him. Keeping him on top. Although she never gave him a direct answer, she knew after tomorrow night, it’d go from an inquiry, to something owed—just as he spoke of now. 

Oh, but she was so wrong. About everything. While Punk did yearn for his friend to come back and play for his team—he had a bigger picture in mind. One he didn’t plan on revealing until every thing was all over, to eliminate the risk of this said favor not being carried out. 

Joy reflected in his eyes as he watched the shift of tension build within the two other parties at the table—but that wasn’t his problem. So, he got up and left them to deal with the mess. 

“Wisewoman,” his authoritative voice called to her. 

She winced. Her wish that he would just leave it alone until after WarGames, completely in vain. 

“Yes, My Tribal Chief?”

She met his dark eyes. “What is this favor he’s talking about?” He pressed.

“Uh—” Paula didn’t truly know and she knew that wasn’t an answer he was going to accept. She was only guessing that the favor had to do with their previous conversations. A topic way too touchy to present to Roman. He was already hanging onto his sanity by the thinnest thread. The contingency of losing his Wisewoman after just gaining her presence back, would sever that thread completely.

“Let’s just get through tomorrow night. Okay?” She flashed that pretty smile. Not at all ready to become the object of his wrath—like she’s been plenty of times before. “We can talk about it after. I promise.”

Again, she twisted the band gifted to her by the man seated next to her. Always by his side. Always the master pulling the strings to ensure him and his family stayed out in front. What she tried her best to conceal, was that she needed him as much as he needed her. It was a two way street. It wasn’t just the inevitable betrayal that she anticipated. It was the unprecedented emptiness she’d feel again without him.

WarGames was its namesake. A full on fucking war. A civil war amongst men of the same Bloodline, which made it that much more brutal—because it was rooted in love in place of hate. But in the throws of the obvious war between the original Bloodline and this new one—there was an equally intense war within what was supposed to be two men playing for the same team.

Every side eye and hateful glare that transpired, she shifted and sighed to herself. Anxiety growing until she had a garden full of concern and angst with her at the ringside table with the announcers. Two bombs that always seemed to be ready to detonate at any given moment.

She paced. She ran hands through her blowout frustratedly. She had to do away with the suit jacket. She was hot with worry. She didn’t know which was worse. Them in the confines of a cage outside the ring, or them inside a bigger cage in the heat of battle. She just kept praying that they made it through the night without killing each other and winning of course. 

When Roman wedged a hand out to prevent Punk from entering the match, Paula nearly lost it. She was sure they were going to kill each other before even stepping foot inside the ring, then. Mean ass, she thought as he waved a hand at an exhausted Punk whom he disregarded to help the rest of the Bloodline on their feet.

Proud. That’s what the pinball of her emotions landed on at the end of the night. Her boys fought valiantly and the win was well deserved. Punk and Roman even shook hands. Two of her favorite men, now coming to an understanding. A mutual respect. She did that. 

At the end of it all, Roman met her down the steps of the ring—a strong hand cupping her face. His thumb grazing her cheek three times. I love you was the hidden significant message. Something he started years ago. Too prideful to speak it, he’d stroke the words with his thumb. On her wrist, her arm, her knee. Today, her face. It’s when she knew she made the right decision. The war was over. 

In the wee hours of the night, she found herself in his trailer. He called her over and offered a bottle of champagne that they popped open together in celebration. Things were finally looking like they were coming together after being abruptly dismantled. 

On their second glass now, they stood reminiscing on all it took to even get to this point. How far they had come and how much further they planned to take it. Somewhere in the expensive champagne and the fog of taking a jog down memory lane, Roman was feeling more sentimental than usual.

“You know I appreciate you right, Paula?” Thank you would’ve been too much. But even him extending his appreciation was something she didn’t see often. It had her momentarily melting like ice cream on a stick in ninety degree weather. 

He knew he lashed out more than what was needed. Talked to her like the shit on the bottom of his shoe at times. He threw more than enough responsibility in her lap. Threw a fit when things didn’t go his way. Created more problems for Paula to come behind and clean up, instead of solutions. But his worst crime of all—leaving her alone after losing at Mania. He was ashamed. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t ready to face the universe of WWE yet. More importantly, he wasn’t ready to face her. She worked her ass off, day in and day out, to guarantee he made it to the top of the mountain—and he lost it all in one night. 

“Next phase of business—putting that Ula Fala back around your neck where it belongs.” Already onto the next phase—moving the goal post back. “Only halfway there, Chief.” She offered a half smile.

Always so professional—so well put together. Composed. He always yearned to see her come undone. Touched himself to vivid imaginative flashes of what that must look like. Loose curls cascaded around her, head rolled back and mouth agape. Him beneath her, admiring his new canvas—her. He couldn’t help but to paint a picture of what Paula Heyman would look like as a mess, losing control—just for him. Desperate. Begging.

She was strong. Resilient. But even the most unwavering women—solid as a sculpture in Italy—could always use the reactive force of a stronger man. 

Those lips. They were naturally pouty and plump. Every time she talked, he found himself drawn to them and how they curved at certain letters. He deemed them perfect. Only able to use his imagination, he thought about how they’d feel wrapped around him. How’d they look. 

“When’s the last time somebody fucked you?” He blurted out. She nearly choked on the bubbling champagne. He stood unmoved, expecting an answer.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” He placed his glass down. His dick pressed uncomfortably against his pants. He was losing every ounce of patience and composure he had. He was done playing games. He respected her and her hustle, but it did nothing to put out the fire inside of him whenever he watched her interacting with other men—especially that motherfucker Punk.

“And I’m not talking about the last time you had sex—no. I mean the last time somebody fucked you so hard, you forgot to breathe. So good you felt it everywhere. It was all you could think about after the fact.” 

Her skin heated up to an uncomfortable degree. The kind that warrants tiny tingles and possible rashes all over your body. Her breathing pattern kicked up at the smoldering look in his eyes. She couldn’t mistake his intentions now. Especially after her eyes flickered to the bulge in his pants. 

He made a step toward her. The heavy thud of his giant boot meeting the floor sounding as a doomsday soundtrack for her professionalism. She knew she was in trouble. “Roman—”

“Shh,” he hushed her and smiled wickedly. His sharp canines on display. He relieved her of the glass and sat it on the counter her ass was rested on. She didn’t even understand how he’d gotten so close so fast. She was sure he could hear her heartbeat, as it was booming in her own ears now. “Relax,” he whispered. “Let me thank you properly.” The wicked smile had vanished in a flash and in its place was an intense concentration. His brown pupils blown and trained on her lips.

He was going to kiss her. And as much as Paula’s head screamed no—her body conforming to his and her mouth falling open before he even reached her, told a completely different story.

The air around them was so charged, if anyone else walked in they’d be electrocuted on sight. His fingers found their way into her hair, tangling and fisting it, earning a gasp from her. Leaning in, his tongue swept her mouth fiercely. He didn’t need to test the waters with a timid peck. For what? She was his Wisewoman and he planned on making that very clear tonight. In the sickest part of his membrane, he wished he could sit Punk down and make him watch what he planned to do to her. 

Paula’s hands found his muscular and tanned arms as his free one roamed the meaty flesh of her ass though her skirt. Always galloping about in the highest heels, shortest skirts and tightest dress pants. He craved to know what it felt like under his palms. To squeeze and knead it as he was now. His dick was so stiff, it was almost painful. 

The eruption of their kiss quickened. It was messy now, as they couldn’t even keep up with their own lust—passionate and scorching with the heat of hell. 

“How long?” He mumbled in between the kiss. Still, expecting an answer. 

“I—I don’t know,” she admitted. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had blown her mind in bed. She tried for years to make some sort of connection, but it was pointless. This job—governing Roman, had become her life. It consumed her and men could see that. She opted for the occasional fling here and there, but they were all pointless. Always leaving her dissatisfied and half full. So she scrapped the idea of men and dating altogether. 

Roman roughly turned her by the hips. Pushing his pulsing member on her ass and growling in her ear at the friction of her writhing against him. She was soaking and he barely touched her.He could smell her and it ignited the beast in him. 

This was a new frequency of intimacy for her. No man had ever been so exhilarating and demanding in his approach. He commanded things from her body without even speaking a word. It was sorcery, really. 

She felt his hands next. Big, calloused, and firm. They slithered over her thighs as his warm breath and facial hair tickled her ear. Under her skirt, they disappeared until it was bunched around her waist. She got lost in the heat and hardness of his body. Her eyes popped open after hearing the violent tear of stocking material. The cotton of her panties snapped next. 

“Ro—Unnh!” 

She gasped violently at his entry and he wasn’t even halfway in yet. No condom. Nothing between them except passion and the longing of two people who underhandedly craved each other for years and couldn’t do anything about it. Hatred and frustration, that only two people who loved one another could muster—sprinkled on top.

He eased his length in, inch by inch, watching the pinched look on her gorgeous face. This was better than he had imagined. Crinkle between her curved brows, hands spread on the wall, mouth as wide as it can go. All because of him.

He stretched her out to his liking, until he reached the end and then pulled back. He slammed back in almost losing his nut at the squeeze she granted around his thickness. It felt like the best hug he ever received—warm, wet, and tight as fuck. A small hand slithered between them, to which he easily caught. Using one strong hand to pin both her wrists together above them on the wall. 

Leaning back slightly, he admired the view. Her round ass perked up and pushed out. Puffy lips  wrapped tight around him, glistening under the lights of his trailer. The deep line in the center of her arched back with a thin layer of sweat.

“You’re perfect. Just like this.”

“Roman,” she whined. Frustrated and helpless to move as he had her trapped. 

He smiled against the side of her face. “You feel so good to me.” Another gasp as he began to push in and out at a steady pace. Squishy and sloppy sounds filling the small space around them. “Can’t believe you kept this shit from me for so long, baby.” His free hand came down on her left ass cheek before he dug his finger in her hip, guiding her up and down his massive dick. He let her adjust and find her own rhythm—too fixated on the little sounds from her mouth and the contortions of her pretty face, to do anything himself. “Yeah. Keep throwing that pussy back on me.”

“It's so big,” she moaned. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He talked too much shit to not have the means to back it up. He grinned smugly.

“You can take me. Right, baby?”

Struggling to locate her voice she just nodded against the wall profusely. Afraid he might stop and put an end to this immeasurable sensation he awakened. It hurt so good. He was creating a monster and he didn’t even know it.

“Keep them hands right there. Don’t move,” he instructed. He used his own to grab handfuls of her ass in both palms, stretching her wide so he could get a clear shot of her wetness pulling on him. Every time he withdrew she sucked him back in. A trail of white stuff lingering as evidence to how good he was making her feel. “Making a fucking mess,” he grunted. He let his possessive hold go, loving the recoil of her ass on his pole. It was hypnotizing. He questioned how long he could hold out like this. 

Against what his body was advising him—which was to pace himself—he violently pounds into her drenched hole over and over and over again. Beating her up. 

“Oh my—fuck! Yesss.” She was a glutton for punishment. His punishment disguised in gratitude. His frustrations took control of the wheel. Her going ghost on him was unacceptable. He was losing his fucking mind. A fact he’d never admit out loud. It didn’t go well with his, I don’t need anybody—head of the table—persona. 

Teeth barred down and upper lip curled into a snarl, he continued his assault, but that little pussy packed some power. It fought back. A fight he wasn’t prepared for. She was leaking. Juices running down her toned leg and his balls that hit her clit with every connect. 

“Damn, girl.” His head falls back for a second. 

“Right there—oh my goddd!”

“He can’t help you right now.” He teased huskily. 

“Please, Ro.”

“Please what? Huh?”

She didn’t even know what she was pleading for. Mercy? Release? She wanted more of everything. More of him, if possible. 

They found themselves in the space of his bedroom. He wanted to try every position, but he knew he’d have her in here until this same time the next day to fulfill that fantasy. So he opted for the position where he could see everything.

He had her on full display. Button down now completely off, her breast hung freely over the lace bra after he pulled them out. Stockings still obliterated, the hole he made had grown. He could see everything. Her swollen lips surrounding her poking clit. The tight ring of her ass that he vowed to play with later. The wetness smeared everywhere. 

He gripped himself—heavy and strong—at the base to ease back in where they both needed him, but not before slapping it down twice, loving how reactive she was to every little thing. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she hadn’t been touched in years.

She was enamored with his body. The way his smooth bronze skin stretched over every defined line and cut. How his tattoos—reflecting the armor of a Pacific warrior—danced with every flex of muscles. He had the body of a god. If only it wasn’t attached to such an asshole.

His hand found her breast. He pinched the chocolate nub until it hardened again. 

“Push ‘em together for me.”

Hastily, she cupped both D cups together. Her chocolate peaks to the forefront as they bounced with every salacious thrust of his hips. 

He planted two swollen fists on either side of her head to lean all his weight down. His mouth latched onto her, igniting a tingle in her clit as she clenched around him. 

“Mmm,” he hummed like he was tasting the most delicate and richest piece of chocolate straight from the factory. Flicking, sucking and swirling. He was in heaven as she watched in awe. The most dominant man on the current roster, feasting on her. He bit down on one nipple causing her to jolt up slightly. One last suck as he pulled back, releasing her, and leaving her nipples tender. “Tastes sweeter than you look.” He bit down on his bottom lip. 

He hooked his hands under her knees and pushed until they met the bed to get a deeper angle. The sounds—loud and erotic slapping of flesh, as he buried himself inside of the softest place on earth. She fit like she was molded specifically for him. And in this moment, you couldn’t convince him that she wasn’t.

“You’re mine.” He growled in between pants. “You belong to me. You hear me?” There it was again. That deadly sense of loyalty encompassing her. The looming of Punk’s claim and this damned favor, hanging above his head. 

“Yes,” she barely whispered. 

“Yes, what?” He pushed. Thrust growing erratically sharper and more intense.

“Yes, My Tribal Chief.” 

Satisfied, he rewarded her with another overpowering, sloppy kiss. His hair covered them both. Her hands came up to cup his face—grabbing desperately at his beard as their tongues tangled. But his mission was only halfway complete. He wanted that nut. She earned it. She made him feel like a winner even in the absence of a title or Ula Fala. 

He didn’t want to, but he rose up breaking the intimate kiss. Picking his pace back up. All the way in and all the way out. Hitting that spot that had her pulling at her own hair. Eyes rolled back into her brain like she was possessed.

“I wanna feel you cum on this dick. Come on,” he begged. “Cum for me Paula. Cum for Your Tribal Chief.”

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Like an unforgiving flood coming through a broken dam, she exploded on him just as he requested. Forgetting to breathe. Shaking uncontrollably—she felt him everywhere. 

Attentively, he ogled at every change in her beautiful face, every shake of her body—as she unraveled on him, shedding every bit of composure she had left. “That’s it,” he commended breathless. Loving the scene before him. His big palms, rubbing up and down the length of her soft thighs and stomach, to help her come back to center. 

She was shook. World completely knocked off its axis to the point where tears threatened to spill from the corners of her almond eyes. 

She knew working for him came with its perks—but this? This shot straight to the top of the list of all the benefits that came with being his special counsel.

A/N // Of course, if you read it or even a portion, thank you. Feedback is always welcomed💗

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[mrs-kmikaelson]

Eleanor Rigby

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader, Derek Morgan x reader Summary: When your boss leaves for an assignment without saying anything, you think you're all alone. Derek Morgan shows you otherwise. Warnings: angst, assistant!reader, takes place in the gap between s6 and s7, references to doyle arc, hotch goes to pakistan, musical references to eleanor rigby from Yellow Submarine (beatles) and the world is yours from Illmatic (nas), r wears glasses, unrequited love, emotional infidelity maybe, satc reference, fades-to-black intimacy, cm-level violence, murder, complex mental health issues, very slow burn, (is this a love triangle? it's not), many time jumps, long Eps incl: S6E18 (lauren), S7E1 (it takes a village) Words: 11.4K

Series Masterlist | CM Masterlist | Navigation

a/n: new series alert!! yes i will bring u a part 3 to simple truths. for now, here's this! i plan to show the slow burn throughout the seasons of cm.

June 13, 2011

You found out about Aaron leaving from someone else. 

Derek was offhandedly saying he didn't want to be to chief. "Hotch's job is a pain in the ass," he said. "But he's gotta go, so I guess I have no choice but to take it."

It was almost like you didn't hear it right. You kept pouring creamer into your coffee until you jolted forward, like some external force was acting on your body, spilling the creamer onto the breakroom counter.

"Woah, Y/N, are you good?"

You turned to him, your face a picture of confusion. "What do you mean 'he's gotta go?'" you repeated. 

That didn't make sense. You were Hotch's assistant. You planned the meetings and made the calendar. If he had to go anywhere, then you knew about it. No— you were the first to know about it.

Knowing that simple fact, Morgan's brows furrowed. "Pakistan. He leaves today?" He phrased it like a question. It wasn't a question.

You picked your jaw up off the floor, shaking your head. "I—" you set your coffee down, nearly dropping it on the floor. "I have to go."

"Y/N—"

You were out of the breakroom before he could say another word, traversing the bullpen and climbing the steps to Hotch's office like you had tunnel vision. 

You threw the office door open, finding it empty but so full at the same time. The picture frames on his bureau hadn't been touched. But the files on sitting there were organized so neatly that they didn't look touched. The same files you dropped off last night.

You slowly scanned the room. You would've thought he never even entered the office that morning, had it not been for the envelope placed in the middle of of his desk.

Narrowing your eyes, you strode over to the desk until you were close enough to read the messy cursive handwriting.

Y/N.

You stopped in your tracks. A shaky breath left your lips. Something like a laugh. Something like the exact opposite.

Footsteps sounded behind you. Then, "You didn't know."

The solemn tone of Derek's voice sealed it in for you. It was real. This really happened.

Hotch left.

"No." You paused. "I didn't."

Quiet words had never been so loud.

❧ ❧

Hotch's favourite song off Yellow Submarine was Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds. You weren't much of a Beatles fan, but after working for Hotch for nearly a decade, you'd picked up some of the songs.

At that moment, Eleanor Rigby played on your head in a loop.

All the loney people. Where do they all belong?

"Want me to top you off?"

You glanced up, seeing Derek standing above you, holding the bottle of scotch. Maybe it was wrong to drink in your boss' office after hours with his replacement. But maybe it was wrong of him leave you in the first place. "Yes, please," you requested, holding the glass out.

It was awful to think of it like that, and you knew it. Like Hotch left you. He left all of you, not just the assistant he brought to the BAU. But that's what it felt like. It felt like he left you with nothing to show for your relationship except a letter in an evelope you wouldn't open. 

Maybe that was your problem. Thinking you and Hotch had a "relationship" in the first place.

Derek took his seat next to you on the couch. "I can tell you're thinking hard about something," he commented.

You were. But these were quiet thoughts you'd never voiced out loud. So you traded one bad thought for another and shared the least worse one. "I'm wondering if I even have a job here anymore." Right after you said it, you took a swig of the scotch, hoping it'd take the edge off. It didn't.

Incredulity was all over Derek's face, and his voice carried the same sentiment. "What?" He put his glass down on the coffee table, despite never having taken a sip. "Pretty girl, what are you talking about?"

"He didn't tell me, Derek." Finally, you looked up at him, your eyes laden with defeat. "I'm his assistant, and he didn't tell me. I mean, this job basically doesn't exist. I don't have any real place here—"

"Woah, woah, woah, I'm gonna stop you right there," he cut you off, a tiny fire blazing in his eyes that you'd only seen a few times before. "Y/N, your place on this team is not dictated by anyone else's presence. You're not just anyone's assistant—"

"Derek—"

He didn't let you say a single thing, fixing you with a steely gaze. "I'm being serious. This train wouldn't run without you. The things you do for this team are indispensable, and you have a mind we'd be fools to let go of."

You pursed your lips like you didn't quite believe what Derek was saying, but you ended up sighing, dropping the argument. He took that as a win.

He grinned. "Besides," he bumped shoulders with you. "You can be my assistant now."

That caused a real smile to spread across your face, only making Derek's grin widen. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I mean, I'm no Hotch, but if you need a new ride or die—"

"Ride or die?" Laughter laced through your voice.

He chuckled with you. "Yeah. Ride or die."

You shook your head at his antics, but then nodded right after. "Okay," you said. "Ride or die." You held your pinky out to him, pretending and failing to look serious.

Derek's laugh became hearty, but he linked his pinky with yours, anyway. You spent the rest of the night finding things to laugh about.

You think Hotch's office saw more laughter that night than it ever did.

March 7, 2011

The whole of the BAU sat in a hospital waiting room. Spencer walked back and forth, coffee in hand. He'd offered you one, but you were wide awake without the caffeine, despite the exhaustion seeping into your bones.

Your leg bounced up and down uncontrollably, only stopped when Hotch put his hand on your knee. 

You swallowed, looking at him to see that his eyes were already trained on you. His expression didn't give much away, but you could trace the concern outlining his eyes.

"Tell me she's gonna be okay," you whispered. It wasn't fair of you to ask. None of this was fair at all.

Hotch opened his mouth only to close it right after. You almost thought he had something to say. But then the sound of heels clicking ended your conversation before it even started.

Your head turned to see JJ walk into the room, her eyes rimmed with red. Her lips wobbled. The silent words reverberated throughout the room before she even said a word.

"She never made it off the table."

The sob that left you wracked through your body. "No—" Hotch wrapped his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest. Your tears immediately soaked his white shirt. But he held you, and he didn't cry at all.

And when he eventually asked Morgan to console you, you were too out of it to even notice him walk into the hallway, let alone to notice JJ following him.

None of this was fair.

July 2, 2011

You entered Derek's office with your tablet in hand. The door was open, so you didn't knock. Not like you knocked much these days, anyway. 

"Hey, Morgan, I think I have a case for us."

"I'll look at it in a sec." He barely glanced at you, too busy fiddling with the telephone on his desk. But when he looked up, it was to say something unrelated. "I'm about to have Hotch on a secure line," he told you, holding the phone out like an olive branch. "You can brief him on the case, too, if you want?"

Your mood soured instantly, and it showed on your face. "No, that's alright," you declined. "I'll e-mail you the file."

"Y/N—" Derek tried to call your name, but you were already out the door. You couldn't have been out of there sooner.

You knew what Derek's stance was on all this. He thought you should at least try to talk to Hotch. You wouldn't get these chances often—you didn't know how long he'd be gone, so the right thing to do would probably be to pick up the phone and talk to him.

But you couldn't. How could you when he left? How could he leave after— 

You found yourself standing in front of Emily's photo, on a wall of other dead agents you'd never met before. Now, after the amount of times you'd stood there, their names were etched into your memory.

You took a deep breath, and then you returned back to the bullpen, walking to your office.

The sixth floor had never felt so empty.

April 9, 2005

"Sorry I'm late."

You set your menu down on the table, a smile lighting up your face. "No, that's alright. You're a big-shot FBI agent now; it's expected."

"Expected, huh?" The corner of Hotch's lips curved up into a crooked smile as he pulled his seat out across from you. This café came at his recommendation. He knew the city better than you, despite both of you having lived in DC and despite the fact that he lived in Seattle for a time while you stayed right there.

"Yes, I expected it, and I ordered you a coffee. Black, 3 sugars," you clarified, only the slightest bit smug. "If that's still you take it?"

Hotch huffed a laugh through his nose. "Yes, it is."

"Good, it's on its way." Your smile widened just enough to still be real. "Speaking of expecting things, how's Haley?"

Hotch's smile became more real. "She's good. The baby is, too. This kid I work with—he's a child prodigy—told me it's the size of a pear now. It never ceases to amaze me."

You didn't know if he was talking about the child prodigy part or the pear, but you didn't ask. You just congratulated, "I'm happy for you."

You really were happy for him—for them. Haley was a friend, too. But your happiness came with an ache in your chest you couldn't get rid of, no matter how hard you tried or how many years it'd been.

The server arrived, setting both of your coffees down on the table. You smiled at him in thanks.

Hotch nodded at your cup. "Let me guess: latte with 2 shots of espresso, filled to the brim with milk."

Playfully, you narrowed your eyes. "Okay, Mr. Profiler. You missed the pump of vanilla, but I'll give it to you."

He raised a brow, taking a sip of his coffee. "Vanilla? That's new."

When you were done taking your first sip, you shrugged. "Life needs a little sweetness to it."

The crooked smile was back. "How's life going at the DA's office?" 

You sighed. This was the part of the meeting you weren't looking forward to. While Hotch had climbed the ranks all the way to one of the FBI's most elite units, you stayed stagnant. "I'm a receptionist now. I answer phones all day, basically," you told him. "Not as exciting as being your assistant if I'm being honest, but it pays the bills."

Hotch took one more sip of his coffee, and then he set it back down on the table. Almost sheepishly, he admitted, "That's actually why I asked you here."

Your brows raised. "You asked me here to discuss how I'm a receptionist?"

"No." He folded his hands together on the table, making himself look more serious but still giving you the same soft look as before, like a friend and not a boss. "I'm here to discuss a job proposition for you."

You went silent. At first, you didn't process it, but the surprise was on your face within seconds. "What?"

"What if I offered you a job as my assistant again?"

Hotch didn't speak in hypotheticals. You leaned forward. "You're offering me to be a job as your assistant?" you echoed.

He tilted his head at you. "You said it yourself. Things were better back then."

You ignored him. "Do you even have the authority to offer something like that?"

He sighed, as if he didn't want you to ask any questions at all. "My unit chief has been on leave. They want me to take over in his place."

Your eyes widened. "So the position you're talking about doesn't even exist?"

"Doesn't exist yet, Y/N," he corrected. Just like the Hotch you remembered. Finding loopholes and jumping through them like it was effortless. He paused, a more serious look overtaking his features. "I'll tell them I won't take the job unless you can come with me."

"Hotch!"

He wasn't even listening to you. "You have a dual degree in psychology and criminal justice. I'll make it a no-brainer for them."

You scoffed a laugh, dumbfounded by how sure of himself he sounded. "Are you being serious right now?"

He replied in an instant. "Extremely." 

The smile on your face faltered. He was being completely serious. Confident and collected, like the only version of him you had ever known. You tried to reason, "It's been nearly 10 years since we last worked together."

"It feels like it was just yesterday to me." God, he had no idea how hard that hit you, no idea how much you were still wrapped around his finger. "So," he continued, his eyes earnest. "Will you do it?"  

He didn't even have to hear the word leave your mouth to know your answer.

July 16, 2011

The team trudged into the hotel lobby with Morgan immediately going to the front desk to get your room keys. He was just as eager as the rest of you to get to your rooms and sleep.

The flight wasn't long enough for any shut-eye, and it didn't help that you left at 2 in the morning. You really hated that it was now your job to make that call, waking everyone up in the middle of the night.

It surprised JJ. This was her first case back with you—not as a liason, but a profiler-in-training. 

"I didn't know you took over so much of my old job," she'd said.

Part of you wanted to bite back, Who else would it have been? But you saved yourselves both the trouble, replying, "Yeah." The words travelled unsaid, anyway.

When Derek got back, it was with 4 cards in hand. "4 rooms," he confirmed. He didn't look any more excited than the rest of you.

"I call the single," Rossi announced, jumping at the opportunity to go solo. That left the rest of you staring at each other, uncertainty in the air. JJ's eyes met yours.

It wasn't lost on any of you that JJ and Emily used to room together. The same way you and Hotch used to room together.

Neither of them were here now.

JJ's mouth opened to say something, but Reid was faster. "Do you wanna room together?" He turned to her with hope in his eyes. You could've nearly thanked him for it.

She glanced at you one last time before smiling back at him. "Sure, Spence."

Derek looked down at you. "Guess that leaves you and me, pretty girl." He smirked like it was an inside joke. You were sure it was; you just didn't get it.

You played along. "Lead the way, Morgan."

You all departed to your rooms. You were so tired your legs felt like jello. That must've shown, because Morgan offered you the shower first. You weren't polite enough or awake enough to refuse.

The hotel's water pressure wasn't great, but it was warm enough to distract you from that. You could've fallen asleep right there. You couldn't remember a time in your life when you had ever been so tired but so unable to rest. So exhausted but running faster than you'd ever been.

When you got out of the shower, you got dressed, moisturizing your face. You looked at yourself in the mirror, analyzing the dark circles beneath your eyes. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You're okay, Y/N. You're okay, you're okay, you're okay, you chanted. You chanted that to yourself until you believed it.

Derek was up and off the bed as soon as you left the bathroom, going to take a shower for himself. He'd taken the bed closest to the door, so you went to the other one.

Instead of lying down, you pulled your tablet out of your bag and sat criss-crossed on the bed, putting your glasses on so you could go over the case file again.

You weren't a profiler. But Hotch had taught you to never stop looking for puzzle pieces in everything you saw, until it all fit together.

Stop thinking about him, your mind chided. You sighed.

Some puzzle pieces just didn't make any sense. Not anymore.

You don't know how long you were staring at the same sentence until Derek's voice broke you out of your trance, remarking, "Hey, you don't wear glasses anymore."

You looked up, throwing him a lazy smile. "I wear contacts in public."

He smiled back at you. In the jogging pants and T-shirt, he looked more like the Derek you were used to than the one that wore suits. "I always thought the glasses were cute, y'know."

You fought the warmth rising on your cheeks. "Shut up, Morgan."

"No, really, I did." His smile turned into smirk, like he was admiring the embarrassment he caused. It confused you—the embarrassment confused you. Then, the smile lessened altogether. "You wanna talk about why you were so reluctant to room with JJ?"

You sighed. Lately, Derek had been keen on knowing your 'reluctance' about everything. "I wasn't reluctant," you denied.

"You were."

Your jaw tensed, annoyance building within you. "Is this you as unit chief trying to see if there are any rifts in your team?" 

"No." He sat down on the bed, facing you. "This is me as your friend, trying to see if you're okay."

This time, when you sighed, it was signalling that you gave up. "She just came back, Derek. Out of the blue."

"She never wanted to leave, Y/N."

"I know that," you responded. "And I've never held it against her that she had to go. But— but would she be here if Emily hadn't died? It..." you paused. "It feels like she's trying to fill a spot on the team that isn't open to take."

He sighed. "Y/N..."

"Look, I know it's irrational—"

"It's not irrational. You're entitled to how you feel, especially after all that's happened this year." His words carried an extra weight, and you weren't sure if he intended for them to have it.

Maybe it's because you were tired. Or maybe it's because you didn't like the way Derek was looking at you, with pity in his eyes. But you whispered, "Nothing ever happened between us, you know." You didn't state anyone's name, but you could tell he knew who you were talking about.

Derek gave you a sad smile. "I know, Y/N."

The two of you sat there looking at each other for too long before you took off your glasses, making the world a bit blurrier. "Goodnight, Derek."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

You turned off your sidelamp, engulfing the room in darkness.

May 30, 2005

A knock resounded through your new office just as you were placing a box down. Quickly, you turned around, finding a man with warm brown skin standing in your doorway. You gave him a smile. "Hi. Can I help you?" You omitted the fact that it was your first day and you likely couldn't help him if you tried. He could probably tell, anyway.

The man's lips curved upward. "Hi, I just came by to see who the new pretty girl was."

You breathed out a laugh, despite a flush overtaking your face. "Oh, really? Pretty girl?" You wiped your hands onto your jeans. "Does that work with every girl?"

"No, I just hope it works on this one." You laughed again, having no other real response. He stepped past the threshold, extending his hand to you. "Derek Morgan. Really, I'm not using a line on you. The glasses just remind me of my colleague—I call him pretty boy."

"Oh." You adjusted your glasses and shook his hand, unsure if you were disappointed that he wasn't flirting or relieved. You didn't know what colleague he was talking about, but he himself was certainly pretty. "Nice to meet you."

The smirk on his face didn't relent. "Can I know your name? Or should I just keep calling you pretty girl?"

Another laugh. You hoped he couldn't tell how flustered you were, but if he was a profiler, then there was no use.

"I—"

"Morgan, don't pester my assistant."

You both turned to the door, seeing Hotch walk in. He stopped when he was right beside you.

Derek's brows furrowed as he glanced between you. The smirk on his face had disappeared. "Your assistant?" he echoed.

Hotch sighed, and you not only realized that Derek was a member of his team, but also that this was something he hadn't explained to them yet. "This is Y/N Y/L/N," he introduced. "She's going to be handling administrative tasks for me."

Derek continued to glance between you curiously. His eyes landed on you for too long before they were back on Hotch. "The brass just handed you an assistant?"

"No, Y/N and I worked together in '92 up until I joined the Academy."

You weren't a profiler by any means, but you could see the moment something in Derek's countenance shifted. As if something had just clicked and then closed off a door altogether.

When he turned back to you, it was different from before, less free, more practiced, more controlled. "Well," he held out his hand a second time, "It's nice to meet you, Y/N."

You shook his hand again. "Likewise, Derek."

You had a light handshake back then, light but firm. You were so young, thinking you were so old.

Young and excited for what lied ahead of you.

July 17, 2011

Morgan drove fast on the road, whizzing past cars like it was no issue for him as you gave directions. "Go right."

He followed your instruction, swerving onto another street. The other FBI issued SUV had already gone left about 4 blocks ago, heading for the unsub's workplace while you took the house.

"Keep going straight."

Cars turned into blobs on the road. Reid told you a statistic on sirens once, how the sound could give victims hope. You hoped this victim was still alive to hear it.

"There, stop!"

The car came to a screeching halt in front of a rundown house. You, Morgan, and Rossi got out of the car immediately. They reached for their guns; yours stayed in the same place, resting heavy on your hip.

You used your eyes instead, immediately spotting the sight in the window.

Rossi's face turned grim as he stared at the same thing as you. "They're in there alright."

There was your unsub, Carter Wilson, holding a knife to Vanessa Peters' throat. "He's obscuring his face," you remarked. "You don't have a shot."

Morgan sighed, speaking to Rossi. "We have to wait for JJ and Reid. Profile says he's insecure; he'll be agitated if a man walks in there. Might kill her, anyway."

Your brows knitted together, and then you turned around before you could really think the idea through. "What if you send me in there?"

Derek immediately protested. "No, absolutely not—"

"We don't have enough time," you reasoned. "I'm wearing a vest—I can do it."

Rossi cut in, "You don't have any negotiation training, Y/N."

"I've seen enough negotiations to have a basic idea," you countered. "Look, you said it yourselves, he'll respond best to a woman. This is the best chance we have with time."

You turned back to Morgan, nearly pleading with your eyes for him to see it your way. Eager eyes met troubled ones. You felt crazy for even asking—Hotch never would've said yes to something like this.

But Derek wasn't Hotch.

To both Rossi's and your surprise, he conceded. "Fine." You didn't let your shock show on your face. "You need to appear unarmed. Do you have—"

"Yes." You took your gun out of its holster, placing it on the hood of the car.

"Okay. You need to seem empathetic. Agree with everything he says. Don't make it about Vanessa. Make it about him. Him surrendering, his best option. Do you understand?"

You nodded. "Yes." Your heart thumped wildly in your chest.

"Okay." Derek nodded back at you. "Go."

Without wasting another second, you turned around, walking straight for the house. You thanked God your legs weren't shaking, recalling every negotiation you'd ever seen. Many were led by Hotch, and many were led by Morgan; that's how you knew you could do this.

The wooden boards of the porch creaked as you stepped onto it, twisting open the golden doorknob and walking into the house. You announced your presence. "Carter Wilson?"

"Who the fuck are you?!" His seething voice resounded throughout the small area, mixing in with the Vanessa's sobs.

You swallowed, stepping further into the house. "I'm unarmed—"

He cut you off, "You think I won't kill her?" He stepped away from the window. Good. He was stepping toward you, giving you his attention. "I will slit her fucking throat right now."

Vanessa's cries got louder. You raised your hands into the air. "Mr. Wilson, my name is Y/N." Inflate his ego, make yourself smaller. "I just wanna talk, okay?"

"You just wanna talk." He laughed maniacally, then jabbed the knife at you. "All you fucking whores say that!" He quickly placed the knife back at her throat, but you were getting somewhere. If you could get him to redirect his anger—

"I know, Mr. Wilson. But I really do just wanna talk." You stepped forward. "I know what she did to you. She made you feel unwanted—"

"You don't know shit about what she did to me!"

You inhaled. Move on, make a connection, build rapport. "I know what it's like to feel unwanted." Another step forward. "But if you do this, you won't ever get to see her again." Make him feel in control of what happens.

He scoffed. "I won't get to see her again either way."

"Mr. Wilson, if you kill her and go to prison, you won't even be able to see her grave." Another step forward. "You won't get to see the way her family cries over her death. You won't get to see the way any of your hard work pays off."

"And what are you suggesting, Y/N?" He spat your name out like it was poisonous. You could've flinched. "That I'll magically be able to see that if I let her live?"

Deep breath in, deep breath out. "If you let her live," another step, "then you leave her forever knowing that she could've died right here, and you granted her that mercy when she didn't deserve it."

You were playing into his grandiose sense of self-importance, making him feel like God. You just needed to wait for a— 

Crack. Your eyes zeroed in on his hand, shakily leaning away from her neck and into the air. If he wasn't holding her tight enough, then this could work. If you redirected his anger at you.

"Vanessa, run."

Before either of them could fully process your words, you were crashing into Carter, aiming for the side of his body holding the knife so that it was angled as far away from her as possible. Startled, his grip on her loosened, and you repeated yourself. "Vanessa, run!"

Vanessa took off, bolting to the door while you succeeded, making Carter angry. 

"You bitch!"

Carter threw you to the floor, knocking the wind out of you. But you could see his figure marching toward you, causing adrenaline to rush through your veins.

Quickly, you reached for your ankle, grabbing the gun hidden under your pant leg and aiming.

Front sight, trigger press—

Follow through. You kept your aim even as his body fell to the ground, keeping your breathing level.

You stayed that way until footsteeps came rushing into the house, Morgan shouting your name. "Y/N!"

Finally, you let out a sharp breath. "I'm fine!"

He ran to the unsub first, checking his pulse, and then he was immediately making his way toward you. His brows pinched together. "You're bleeding."

"What?" you panted. You looked to your shoulder, seeing a cut that you hadn't noticed before. As soon as you looked at it, you felt the stinging pain, making you wince.

Derek helped you up, grabbing your non-injured arm as officers came in for the unsub. "Come on, let's get this patched up."

As he guided you out, you didn't look at the body on the floor once.

❧ ❧

You sat on the back of an ambulance as the EMT stitched up your wound. All the while, Derek watched with a critical eye.

As the EMT finished up and walked away, you turned to Derek, reassuring him, "I'm fine, you know."

He didn't look quite convinced. "You got hurt on my watch."

"Morgan, it's just a graze. I've been hurt worse on the job before." That was the whole reason why you were gun-certified, anyway. To help you better protect yourself.

He clicked his tongue in disagreement. "I shouldn't have let you in there."

"Derek, it's fine." You got up, wiggling the newly stitched arm to prove it to him. "See?"

"Stop— Y/N— will you stop doing that—" Abruptly, he grabbed your arm, stopping the motion. "Fine, I believe you. Just— just take it easy, alright?"

You smiled at him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, we're ride or die, remember? You're gonna have to do a whole lot more than that to get rid of me."

He shook his head at you, but you could see the beginnings of a smile making its way onto his face. And a smile from Derek was nothing if not contagious. 

"Nice shot in there, pretty girl." Pretty girl. That's how you knew you were okay. Derek switched the subject. "So how'd you get him to let his guard down enough to let Vanessa go?"

You shrugged your shoulders, ignoring the slight ache, and quirked your lips up. "I think I might've used some Morgan techniques."

He snorted. "Really? Not Hotch techniques?"

For the first time in a while, your smile didn't fall when hearing his name. "No. Not as much."

Not as much at all.

December 20, 1993

"Is it true that Mr. Brown was an unreliable person?"

You lifted your shoulders into a shrug. "I never said that."

"You implied it—"

You cut him off, "Stop arguing with me. Arguing with the witness makes you look unorganized, and it makes it seem like you're trying to push your own narrative."

Hotch sighed, rubbing one hand between his brows and using the other to drop his notes on his desk. His tie was loosened, and his blazer was sitting on his office chair. Yours was discarded in a similar fashion.

When Hotch asked you to help prepare for his cross-examination the next day, you didn't expect to still be at the office until 12AM. But then again, when he asked you to jump, you had a habit of asking how high.

You didn't particularly like staying at the office so late with your boss. Not because you didn't enjoy the company, but because of this. The camaraderie that came after too many cups of coffee. The feeling that felt like more than camaraderie when he started rolling up his sleeves. The feeling of guilt when you realized that, even though his finger was naked now, a ring would soon be sitting there.

He and Haley were engaged. High school sweethearts. You wondered if they were the couple who coined the term; Haley was a sweetheart if you'd ever seen one. That's why you felt so guilty. So terribly, terribly guilty.

"Sorry," Hotch apologized, dropping his hand from his face. He sat down on his desk beside you. "I'm just frustrated. This is the biggest trial of my career."

You sent him a teasing smile. "You've barely started your career, Hotch. I'm sure more trials will come."

He didn't look any more at ease after you said that. A pensive look overtook his face. In the year that you'd been his assistant, you'd learned that Hotch was the kind of man who thought too much for his own good.

Suddenly, he questioned, "Does it ever bother you?" When he saw your brows furrow, he added, "Knowing that there's always gonna be another trial. Does it bother you?"

Your brows didn't unknit. "Are you asking if the work bothers me?"

"No, I mean—" he let out a breath, looking as though he couldn't find the right words. "Not the work. But knowing that there will always be people comitting crimes to be tried for?"

Slowly, you nodded. "It does. But that's just the nature of the job." 

In truth, you and Hotch didn't have the same job, so it couldn't compare. He was the prosecutor; you were the assistant. Albeit, you were a legal assistant, so you handled more than just a typical PA, but still.

Sometimes, it was the job that bothered you. You always wondered if you should be doing more, if you were doing enough. With your degrees, you didn't think you'd end up anyone's assistant, but that was the job that was available to you, so you took it.

It wasn't all terrible. You'd grown to like it. But sometimes you wondered if you liked the job, or if you just liked the fact that you worked for Hotch. You tried not to think about it.

Hotch lightly shook his head. "This case... Harrison Brown murdered 2 people in cold blood. And I get to prosecute him, sure, but... it feels like I'm too late."

You tilted your head. "Hotch, it's not like you could've prevented any of this. None of it is your fault."

"No, but what if— what if I could prevent it?" He turned his entire body to you suddenly, conviction swimming in his eyes.

"How would you do that?" you asked. You hoped he didn't suggest becoming a vigilante.

Later, you'd think that vigilantism might've been a better option. "I applied to Quantico."

Your eyes narrowed. "Quantico? Like the FBI Quantico?"

He didn't at all look deterred by your tone of voice, confirming, "Yes."

"Hotch, what?" You didn't have to say what you thought for him to know. The incredulity was brightly painted onto your face.

"I took a chance. I don't even know if I'll get in."

You were too in shock to form any other thoughts. "Does Haley know?" The way he grimaced told you your answer. You scoffed, "Hotch—"

"I just want to see what happens," he rationalized. He was good at rationalizing things. You weren't sure if this could be one of them.

"But if you get in, you'll go?" It was a pointless question to ask. You knew the answer. You both knew the answer; he only gave you the grace of pretending to think about it.

"Yes."

You sighed, and because you felt your eyes start to burn, you looked away from him. You didn't know why. You didn't have the right to be upset. If anything, it was his fiancé who was about to be blindsided, not his assistant. Not you.

It wasn't wrong of Hotch to want to pursue another career. When you met him, you knew that this couldn't have been it for him. He looked like he wanted to change the world.

How could you fault someone for wanting to do so much good? For wanting to be great?

You couldn't. That's why you stood up, looking for your blazer. "We should probably get going," you said. "It's getting late."

He followed you up, searching for your eyes as you refused to make eye contact. "Y/N—"

You looked at him, forcing a smile. "Hotch. It's getting late. You need to be sharp for your cross-examination tomorrow. We can talk about this another time."

His pursed his lips. "Promise me we'll talk about it another time." You didn't know why he cared so much.

"I promise." You didn't intend to break that promise. When you could find a way to feel about this, you'd talk to him. Until then, you wouldn't.

You grabbed your blazer, quickly bidding him goodnight and leaving his office before he could say anything else.

He didn't try to stop you as you left.

July 20, 2011

You sat down in front of Morgan's desk, a mug in your hand fill to the top with coffee that you tried to not to spill on all the files splayed out in front of you. 

Derek's voice sounded in front of you. "Come on, pretty girl, you don't have to stay this late."

Once you had comfortably settled, you raised a brow. "Please. You stay, I stay. You know how this works by now." And that he did. At this point, you spent more time at the BAU then you did at your own house.

The rest of the bullpen had cleared out by now. On paperwork days, most people worked until 5, maybe 6 or 7 at the latest. Most people were not the unit chief and his assistant.

You understood why Derek didn't want this job. It was full of paperwork. And considering everything that'd happened in the last few months, you had a lot more paperwork than usual.

Derek's eyes crinkled in a way that told you you'd get your way. "Fine. But we leave at 10."

The corner of your lips quirked up. "Fine."

It was easy to work with Derek. He'd play old hip hop as you worked, the voices of Lauryn Hill and Nas gracing his office. It was as far away from the Beatles as you could get, and that made you appreciate it so much more.

Whose world is this? The world is yours.

The world is yours.

The sound of papers thudding against wood made you look up, seeing Derek put his pen down and lean back in his chair. You glanced at the clock, seeing that it read 11:39.

You dropped the file you were working on, rubbing your eyes. "I guess we worked past when we were supposed to." Your voice faded into a yawn at the end of your sentence.

"Alright, pretty girl. Let's go—I'll drive you home." Derek was standing before you could process it.

You stood up, too, your brows pinching together. "What? But my car—" your voice trailed off as Derek helped you into your jacket. It didn't escape you that he grabbed yours before his own.

He waved you off. "Don't worry about it. I'll just pick you up in the morning."

"But—"

He fixed you with a half-amused, half-serious gaze. "Y/N. It's too late, and you're tired. I just wanna make sure you get home safe."

You gave in, a quiet "Okay" slipping past your lips.

You didn't say you could take yourself, or that you lived in a secure apartment building, or that you weren't that tired. If Derek wanted to drive you home, you would let him. He'd been more protective ever since the Wilson case, so if this made him feel better, so be it.

Being chief was hard enough as is. Like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

The world is yours.

You and Derek got into his car with you giving him instructions on how to get to your apartment. Nobody from the team had ever been there except for Hotch. He was the one who helped you find a place closer to Quantico so the commute wouldn't kill you.

Emily had come over once, too. It was one of her first Christmases with the Bureau, and she didn't want to spend it with her mother. You just didn't want to spend it alone. She gave you a bottle of wine, wouldn't tell you how much it cost, and then said to save it for a celebration.

That bottle had never been opened.

Derek pulled into your parking lot. He insisted on walking you upstairs. "Such a gentleman," you teased. It was the least you could do to invite him inside for a cup of tea.

"Nice place you got here," he noted, stepping past the threshold.

You replied while undoing your alarm. "Thanks." Meanwhile, Derek locked the door for you. And if he thought the number of locks you had was unusual, he didn't say anything about it. 

You made your way into the kitchen, opening up the cupboard where you kept the tea. "Black or green?"

"Green, please."

You pulled out the box of tea bags and pretended the wine wasn't there at all. Then you filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. The rickety dial creaked as you turned the heat up.

You went to go sit next to Derek at your table while you waited for the water to boil. Not wanting to sit in silence, you said, "Y'know, you've never struck me as much of a tea man." 

Derek's lips lifted into a soft smile, different from the playboy smirk you were used to, but it tugged at your heartstrings all the same. When he spoke, his voice was dulcet like honey. "And what kind of man have I struck you as, Y/N?" 

You inclined your head, giving him a good look. The dark blue dress shirt that he made look casual. The leather band of the watch on his wrist. How nothing about him screamed for attention yet he still had it anyway. And the way he knew it.

"I don't know. Strong, like coffee. The kind of guy who wakes you up." 

Derek probably meant for his words to be light, but you felt its weight hit you at full force. "You know, when I met you, I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen."

You inhaled, and then—just like when you met—you exhaled a laugh. You laughed because he wasn't laughing. Because he sounded like he meant it. "Are you flirting with me right now?" You really didn't know.

He didn't respond right away, as if he had to think about it, but then he responded, "If I was?"

Maybe it was the fact that he didn't look like he was joking. Maybe it was because you were tired. Or maybe it was because confessions came easy with Derek. But the whisper left you before you could stop it. "I would tell you to keep going."

"Okay." He maintained eye contact with you, not once breaking it. "I still think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Your heart sputtered. Not pretty. He called you beautiful. "Beautiful?" you echoed.

"More than beautiful." He leaned forward in his chair, no longer laid back, like he wanted you to know how much he meant what he was saying. "Brilliant. You could have the world in the palm of your hand, if you wanted to."

The world is yours.

"Do you want to?" he asked.

Did you? You leaned forward. "Yes."

Derek continued to lean toward you. Your eyelids fluttered closed in waiting. And just as you felt his breath on your face, you heard the kettle whistle.

Your eyes flew open. Derek quickly stood up, walking over to your stove and turning it off, moving the kettle to another burner. You followed suit. "Derek—"

Within less than second, he spun around and his lips were on yours. You felt it all at once—the passion, the longing, desperation. He kissed you like time was running out, like he was chasing something bigger than himself. 

This was bigger than the both of you.

You kissed him back with the same fervour, knowing that this was Derek Morgan, the same man you'd worked alongside for years, the same man who called you his pretty girl like the term meant nothing. But this meant everything.

He pulled away from you, cupping your face with two hands. He made you feel warm all over. His forehead leaned against yours. "I've been waiting a long time to do that," he confessed.

Your chest rose up and down. Your first instinct was to ask Why didn't you do it sooner? but the answer came to you after barely having to think about it. And you didn't want to think about it. So instead you asked, "Why don't you do it again?"

Derek's lips curved up, and you could feel his smile as his lips met yours. And as he kissed you, you could feel him kicking down the doors you'd locked up tight.

Then, when he opened the door to your room, the loop of Eleanor Rigby in your head went silent, replaced by Illmatic melodies.

The world is yours.

March 14, 2007

You sat at the bar, running your finger along the rim of your glass. You'd ordered a cosmo, wanting something sweet, but it didn't look as appealing now that it was in front of you.

Life needs a little sweetness to it. You were right when you said that.

Nothing about this life was sweet.

"Hey, pretty girl."

You looked up to see Derek standing beside you. You tried reciprocating his smile as best as you could. You should've known he'd see right through it.

"You okay?" he asked. Quietly, like any loud noise could cause an explosion. Worriedly, like your own worry hadn't been hidden well at all.

You sighed, glancing around to see the rest of the team scattered around the bar. You had half-expected Derek to find a group of girls to go dance with, yet there he was, staring at you as he waited for an answer.

You didn't bother with the smile again. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" you countered. Fatigue laced through your tone, like you were saying, No, I'm not okay, anyway.

You both knew why you wouldn't be okay. You also knew that Derek wouldn't say it out loud. It was a catch-22: you both knew the answer, but it didn't help either of you.

He sat down on the barstool next to you and lied, "No reason."

Memories from earlier flashed through your head. Hotch, standing in the middle of bullpen, being served divorce papers. Hotch, secluding himself away right after.

There was the reason. But in reality, it was no valid reason for you to not be okay. This is why neither of you voiced it. But it was so obvious that the words might as well have been tattooed on your skin.

Sometimes, you wondered if Hotch's name was like that. Like a tattoo on your mind that you couldn't get rid of. To the point where he asked you to pick up everything and start over and you did it.

Like he could hear your thoughts, Derek suddenly said, "You've gotta take care of yourself, Y/N."

You glanced up from your drink, seeing him already staring at you intently. It felt chastising and caring at the same time. I'm trying, you wanted to say. You didn't know if either of you would be able to believe it.

So you just nodded, telling him, "I know." I know, and I'm trying. I'm trying my best.

You felt silly. Wanting for what you couldn't have. Sitting over your cosmo like you were Carrie Bradshaw, wanting for a Mr. Big that would never want you back.

You felt like everyone knew and they were just being polite by not mentioning it. Then you wondered if Hotch knew and your heart started to hurt.

Neither you nor Derek talked about it anymore. He changed the subject, talking with you about random things and office gossip, making you forget why you were down in the first place.

He sat with you the whole night.

July 21, 2011

When you woke up, the sky was still dark, and you were lying on something rock solid. In the darkness, you could make out Derek lying next to you.

So it wasn't a dream.

You slept with Derek Morgan. Derek Morgan slept with you.

You let out a breath, trying not to make noise. It was surreal to you. You never thought it'd escalate past flirting, that the cord of tension between you would snap. There was always a wall between the two of you, a line drawn in the sand of what was real and what was play.

And God help you, this felt real. This felt so real that you could feel your heart hammering against your ribcage. This felt more real than anything you'd ever done, and that terrified you.

You knew what it was like to fall for important men. To be in over your head. Was this the same thing?

Derek's chest shifted beneath you. "I can feel you thinking," he murmured, his eyes still closed.

You tensed, thinking of all the other similar situations. Derek asking you what you were thinking about only for you to lie. It was a defense mechanism, a way to protect yourself from having to deal with a reality that wasn't sweet by falsifying sweeter things.

But you wanted to be truthful. You wanted to know— "Is this real?" You immediately wanted to hit yourself. Too blunt. Too honest. Too scared.

Derek's eyes opened. And despite how tired you both were, you could tell he was being sincere. "It's real to me." He paused. "Is it real for you?"

You both knew what he meant, the question beneath the question. But for the first time in a long time, you weren't thinking about a cold man who left you behind. You were only thinking about the warmth of the man who was staring at you currently.

"Yes," you whispered. "This is real for me." 

The way he was looking at you, like you were the only dream worth paying attention to, was real. The way his arm was wrapped around you was real. The way you felt like you could finally breathe was real.

"What happens now?" you asked. What you wanted to know was, Does this change everything?

Derek's response was natural, but it wasn't easy. "We can see where it takes us." Yes, it changes everything, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing.

You nodded, telling him that would be okay with you, and then you laid your head back down on his chest. His heart was thumping just as wildly as yours.

Yes, this was real.

And you were okay with that.

August 3, 2011

Your voice was amplified by the microphone in front of you. "This man is someone's neighbour, someone's coworker, someone's friend. You know him. He'll be behaving strangely, paranoid and keeping secrets. You might be worried about him. So please, seek help. If you have any insight on his identity, please contact the tip line. Thank you."

You concluded the press conference by stepping away from the podium. The cameras continued to flash and reporters continued to ask questions, even as you walked away, but you were less fazed by it now. It was getting easier each time you did it.

Derek stood waiting for you on the inside as you entered the station. He wore his approval the way he wore his badge: proud but unobtrusive.

He complimented you, "You did good out there, pretty girl."

Your lips curled into a smile, the same way they always did when he said it. Pretty girl. You were never anything but that, and nobody else could receive the title but you. 

It felt a little different now, ever since what happened. More than casual teasing between friends. As if you were his pretty girl.

His pretty girl. You liked that more than you'd admit.

"Thanks, D."

He cocked his head at you curiously. "You ever think about it? Taking the job full time?"

You tilted your head back. "Like becoming the liason? Officially?"

"Liason. Communications director." He shrugged his shoulders. "Something that gives you the credit you deserve."

You took in a breath. What Derek was talking about was giving you recognition. And he was talking about it like you deserved it. 

He was offering you a chance to do more, to be more after being an assistant for years.

His voice echoed throughout your head. You're not just anyone's assistant.

After a beat, you responded. "I'll... I'll think about it."

Derek nodded, not looking surprised by your answer at all. "Think about it. We can talk later."

His voice was resolute, as it always when he was talking to you. Like he was trying to prove to you that you were more than what you thought you were.

Like you were worth the trouble.

September 2, 2011

You sat in Derek's office, no file in your hand, just ideas. Ideas bouncing off the walls of your brain to the point where it was giving you a headache.

You found out about his secret project about a month ago when you were still his assistant. It was hard for someone to keep secrets from their right hand, let alone their partner.  

You'd been trying out the word girlfriend in private, feeling shy every time you thought about it. Derek didn't bring it up to you, so you weren't sure, but you felt like that's what you were.

Girlfriend. Communications director. You were still settling into so many new roles. And now, despite the novelty of it all, you were looking over an old case with new eyes.

Garcia waltzed into the room, her heels click-clacking against the floor. "Okay, Emily needed to get Declan a new identity." She sat down in the chair next to you. "So she must have used someone she trusted."

You chuckled. "That's not a very long list." You weren't too bitter about it. If you were a spy, you wouldn't trust anyone, either.

"It's probably not even written down," Derek added. "Even if it was, she's had contacts all over the world."

"Oh, tell me about it," Penelope chimed, handing him a file. "Two columns, domestic and imports."

"Hey."

The three of you simultaneously turned to the new voice, seeing JJ hanging in the threshold with an easygoing smile. "You guys seen Spence?"

You watched in real time as Garcia's light extinguished. "He's at the firing range."

JJ raised a brow. "Again?" 

You felt irritation simmer beneath your skin at her question, because it forced Garcia to explain, "Ever since Prentiss died, he..."

JJ at least had the decency to look sorry for asking. "Right." She glanced at you, then looked away. Her eyes always flitted in your direction but never stayed on you for long, like there was a conversation she was supposed to have with you but didn't want to initiate. "Uh..." she stepped forward, her tone becoming hopeful. "Did you guys get a new case?"

Derek shook his head, dismissing it. "It's just an old one." 

JJ still looked hopeful, proposing, "Do you want some fresh eyes?"

Politely, Derek declined, "Not just yet."

"Okay." JJ hid her dejection behind a smile, glancing at you one last time. "Um, well, let me know."

Garcia's face fell as JJ left the room. She looked at Derek. "Shouldn't we tell her?"

You looked down, hating the way you could hear the longing in her voice. Whereas you could only feel the rift in the team now, Garcia just wanted to bridge it.

Derek set down the file in his hands. "Garcia, this has been a long shot for 6 months. Why get her hopes up?"

Quickly, she asked, "What about Hotch?" She glanced at you right after, almost apologetically. You were noticing that people did that whenever he was brought up.

Derek glanced at you, too, but in a different way. Only he and you knew you were dating. You thought it'd be better that way, but it was times like these that made you wish everyone else knew. 

"He knows I'm doing this," he responded.

You wondered how much truth there was to that. You made a mental note to ask him later. You didn't sit in on their phone calls, and Derek had long since stopped asking you to.

Garcia was just as surprised. "He does?"

Derek made a face. "Not technically, but he knows I'm not about to let Doyle roam free."

"Does he know we're looking for Declan?"

Another odd face, telling you both no. "I just figured I'd call him when I have something to report," he justified.

Seeing the dissatisfaction on Garcia's face, you gave Derek a look. She followed up, "Okay. But it feels weird not sharing."

"Baby girl. You don't have to do this." He looked at both of you. "Neither of you do."

She assured him, "I know."

He looked to you, but you didn't have to say a word. "I told you. Where you go, I go."

His eyes softened. "Okay." Promises of ride or die echoed in your head. You hoped he knew you meant it.

You re-directed to the case at hand. "Okay, what about domestic contacts?"

Garcia perked up. "Yeah, Em was already in the states when she faked Declan's death, so... her associates must be in Boston?"

Derek lightly shook his head. "No, Garcia, she would have covered her tracks better than that." Garcia sighed, resting her face on her fist while Derek fiddled with a pen. "Alright, why did Prentiss join the BAU?"

You furrowed your brows. Why did you join the BAU? Besides Hotch, what reason did you really have? "For a different life," you answered. "A normal life."

"She could have gone anywhere with her skillset, but she chose DC."

Garcia suggested, "Maybe to be close to her mom?" 

"No. No way, that was just by default. She did all of this protect a child."

"Right. So you're saying... she came here just so she could be close to the kid."

You tilted your head in Garcia's direction. "Which would mean she had people she trusted right here."

Garcia lifted her finger, looking down at her papers. "Right. Domestic contacts. There are a surprising few in our nation's capital... one of which is dead." She handed Derek a paper. "Ben Corelli."

Derek looked at the list, recognition flickering across his face. "He was the forger. Doyle killed him and Prentiss' friend. He worked out of his apartment, remember?"

Your eyes widened, the realization dawning on you. "Oh my God, we processed his belongings."

And just like that, the puzzle pieces fell together.

October 23, 2011

You, Morgan, and Garcia found Declan living in Stafford county, Virginia. 

All signs point to a really well-adjusted kid, she'd said. He's an honour student. He plays lacrosse. He's winning science fairs. It looks like he's got the life Emily wanted him to have.

Talking about Emily always made your chest feel heavier, but you couldn't deny that she did good.

Derek ended up watching him whenever he could. You knew it was important to him to have Declan under surveillance, to know when Doyle would come out of the woodworks.

And then exactly that happened.

Garcia found footage of Doyle in his son's neighbourhood. You'd hit the ground running since then.

Doyle was in FBI custody, but Declan was missing. Derek was interrogating him as you underwent an entirely different interrogation in your office.

"Chief Strauss—"

"Do you have any idea the gravity of this situation?" she cut you off, her voice shaking with anger. "A terrorist in our custody while that boy is God knows where!"

You took a deep breath, trying your best not to yell back at her. "Agent Morgan is making progress. We will find him."

You might as well have been lying. You had no idea if Derek was making progress or not. You'd been stuck here ever since he got back, but you hoped he was doing okay.

"And how can you be sure of that, Y/N?" You weren't. She stepped closer to you. "Did you and Agent Morgan just think you could go rogue, investigating whatever you please?"

You matched her fury, stepping forward. "All due respect, ma'am, but if it weren't for Agent Morgan, a terrorist would be out roaming the streets. If anything, you should be thanking him for capturing a national threat."

A fire burned in Strauss' eyes, reminiscent of all the other times she had argued with you. Then, it was about Hotch, but now— "You best be careful, Y/N. People might become curious why you defend your superiors so ferociously."

You caught the veiled threat, but you were running on so many fumes that it only fed you. You stepped closer, and then just above a whisper, you shot, "If I were so pedantic, I would read into that, too."

"Chief Strauss." The hairs on your neck stood up at the sound of the gruff interruption. Strauss glanced behind you, looking no more pleased. "May I have a word with Y/N?"

Strauss sent you one last glare. "Fine. But I want you in my office in 5 minutes, Aaron." 

She angrily strode out of the room, leaving you alone. The door closed behind her.

You didn't turn around. He didn't ask you to. Instead, he walked in front of you, practically forcing you to look at him. And then there he was.

Hotch.

Bearded and different, but still the same Hotch that left you in Virginia. Even if you weren't the same you.

You cleared your throat. "What are you doing in here?'

His head inclined. "We have to talk."

Remnants of your argument with Strauss still lingered in your body, making you more honest than you might've been under different circumstances. "No. You had the chance to talk 4 months ago and chose not to, so now isn't the time."

His brows pinched together. "I left you a letter."

A bitter laugh left you. "A letter. Look, Hotch, we have things to do, so if you don't mind." You actually didn't care if he minded at all.

You didn't wait to see if he'd listen to you—because when did he ever listen to you—and instead you swung open your office door and left.

4 months of distance. 4 months, and now he was here.

You had never been farther away.

April 7, 2011

You sat on your couch with Hotch sitting right next to you. The TV droned on quietly in the background, but neither of you were paying attention to it. Neither of you were talking, either. Lately, you and Hotch had developed a habit of sitting in silence.

The silence gave you time to think. Time to think of everything you did wrong. Everything you could've done better. Time to wish you could've profiled Emily and realized what was wrong before it was too late.

Only now, it was too late. Her body was in the ground, but her ghost haunted your apartment and every dream you had.

Sometimes, when it was quiet, you swore you could hear her voice. Perhaps that's why you spoke up. "It's been exactly one month since she died." Your voice was hoarse and low. You'd been crying earlier.

You heard Hotch take in a breath. "I know." You all did.

Tears welled up in your eyes, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. "I miss her so much." Your voice broke into a sob. One sob snowballed into another, and another.

Hotch cradled you into his chest, but said nothing. Nothing he said could comfort you, and you both knew it.

All he said was, "I miss her too."

Your cries rang through the apartment.

October 23, 2011

Your fingers brushed against Derek's as you followed him and JJ into the briefing room. 

"You get anywhere with Doyle?" Reid immediately asked.

Derek sighed, his fingers parting from yours as you entered the room. "Doyle doesn't think Gerace has the guts to take him on."

Garcia disagreed, "But that's definitely Gerace on the tape."

Behind her, Hotch walked into the room, and your whole body tensed. Your fingers twitched, reaching out for Derek's again, but you knew better, stopping yourself.

Derek glanced at you from the corner of his eyes before looking back at Hotch. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," he said before promptly ordering everyone to take a seat. You furrowed your brows. Everyone but you, him, JJ, and Derek sat down. JJ went to stand next to Hotch while you and Derek remained on the other side of the table, making it oddly feel like you were in teams against one another.

"Why?" Derek questioned. "What's going on? Everything alright?"

Hotch didn't answer outright, continuing to look down at the roundtable instead of at any of you. A pit grew in your stomach. "7 months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle."

You interrupted him. "I don't understand. Why are we talking about Emily?"

Hotch's eyes met yours, and you didn't have to be a profiler to see them flicker with remorse. "The doctors were able to stabilize her," he stated. "And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration."

You recoiled. What Hotch was saying didn't make any sense. This didn't make any sense— 

"Her identity was strictly need-to-know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to, for her security."

The silence was thick until Garcia tearily broke it. "She's alive?"

Your eyes were zeroed in on Hotch, waiting for him to answer the question. He expertly dodged your gaze.

Spencer cut in, voicing your confusion. "But we buried her."

Hotch looked to Spencer before looking to the rest of you. "As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me."

You scoffed while Derek echoed, "Any issues?" His voice raised. "Yeah, I got issues."

Hotch looked like he was about to respond, but then everyone's attention turned to the door. Tears raced down Penelope's cheeks like a waterfall.

You turned around, and your heart stopped. Because standing right there was Emily Prentiss, alive as ever.

A tear fell down your cheek, and Emily looked at you, a small, sad smile arising on her face. "Y/N."

"Oh, my God." That was her voice. On instinct, you walked towards her, tentatively reaching out, but nothing about Emily's movements was tentative. She pulled you into her embrace, hugging you tightly. 

More tears fell down your face. After months of wishing you could hug her again, she was here.

She was alive.

Realizing that fact, you pulled away. Emily took the opportunity to hug Reid and Garcia while your mind was reeling. She was alive.

"I am so sorry," she apologized. "I really am. Not a day went by that I didn't want to—" her eyes darted to Derek, still standing there in shock. She walked toward him. "Really, I— you didn't deserve that. And I'm so sorry."

She wrapped her arms around him. Slowly, he reciprocated. But she was alive.

But JJ told you she was dead. She said she never even made it off the table. Those words had been engraved into your memory, and now Emily was alive?

That could only mean—

You looked at JJ, and then you looked at Hotch while everybody else was distracted, seeing him already looking at you. The words left your mouth instantly. "You lied."

He didn't have anything to say in his defense. He lied. 

And just like that, Eleanor Rigby was back in your ear, destroying any semblance of peace you thought you had.

All the lonely people.

Where do they all belong?

taglist: @saturnscomedown @percysley @c-losur3 @todorokishoe24

link for the taglist → here

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I would die for a poly!marauders x reader where reader gets a bloody nose and almost passes out. This has happened to me and I wish I had the boys 😅 of course only if this sounds interesting!! 🫶🏼

Thanks for requesting love!

cw: blood, near fainting

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 642 words

You’re mid-story when Remus’ expression shifts. 

“And he didn’t even…ask…” You trail off as James’ eyes flare suddenly. Remus is scanning the room like he’s searching for something. “...what?” 

“I’m just looking for the tissues…” 

You feel your expression crease.

“Don’t worry,” says Sirius, in a no-nonsense tone you don’t hear often. “Just pinch your nose shut and close your eyes, okay?” 

“What…” You touch your fingertips to your nose, and the second the bright red pads come into your view you’re overcome by a wave of nausea. 

“Don’t, don’t.” James takes your hand, bloody fingers and all, hiding them away. Your head fills with cotton. Remus gets up and goes into the kitchen. “Baby, that’s what we’re trying to keep from happening.” 

The feel of something splattering on your thigh has you looking down on instinct. You barely process the bead of blood curving down your thigh before your vision starts to blacken. 

“Okay.” A hand cups the back of your head, cold fingers pressing into your scalp as it takes your weight, and another pinches your nostrils. “None of that, doll, c’mon. You’re okay.” 

You blink a couple of times before the fuzzy darkness clears enough for you to see Sirius in front of you. He’s the picture of calm, while James’ eyes are magnified cartoonishly wide by his glasses. It takes you a second to figure out you need to breathe through your mouth. 

Sirius nods as you inhale. “Good,” he says. “Just keep your eyes on me, doll.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” James quips, and Sirius’ lips quirk but he doesn’t take his eyes from yours. 

“It’s a happy consequence.” 

“Sorry,” you say, voice sounding whiny all stuffed up. 

“You’re good,” James reassures you. “Rem’s gonna get you cleaned up in just a second. It seems we’ve misplaced the tissues.” 

“Found them!” Remus announces from down the hall. “Who put them under the bed?” 

You and Sirius look to James. He shrugs, sheepish. “That’s my bad,” he admits. “My allergies were bothering me, and I didn’t feel like getting up.” 

“Hoarder,” Sirius accuses fondly, letting go of your nose briefly to allow Remus to swipe at the skin beneath it. 

“Close your eyes,” Remus warns softly, and this time you listen before you can see the tissue. You feel him blot at your nostrils and then wipe up the blood on your hand and leg, keeping your eyes squeezed shut tight. “Good girl.” The lid of the trash bin clangs shut. “You can open now.” 

You replace Sirius’ hand with your own, and he gives you a cautious look as he lets go slowly. “You sure you’ve got it?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “I don’t mind.” 

You smile at him, closed-lipped and trying not to think about what you’re staunching. “I’m good, thanks.” 

Remus sits back down with a heavy sigh. James nods his agreement heartily. 

“Since when do you get nosebleeds?” he asks you. 

“Since now, I guess,” you say. “It’s not my new favorite thing.” 

You’ve always fainted at the sight of blood, so spontaneous bleeding is probably one of the top ten worst things that can happen to you. 

“It’s a bit worrisome,” Remus agrees. “What happens if you’re driving and your nose starts bleeding again? You can’t very well pass out behind the wheel.” 

You level him with a deadpan look. “I’ll try to refrain.” 

“It won’t happen again,” Sirius says surely. He’s eyeing you in a peculiar way, somehow both assessing and decided at once. “We’ll figure out what caused it, and make sure it doesn’t.” 

You look to Remus for an eye roll, but both of your boyfriends look about as trusting in this plan as Sirius. 

“How?” you ask. 

He gives you an indulgent smile. “Don’t worry about it, baby. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you.”

[pucksandpower]

Brake Balance

Charles Leclerc x mafiosa!Reader

Summary: something about the brake issues that Charles had to deal with in Bahrain just seems off … so you take matters into your own hands while your boyfriend is none the wiser

Warnings: depictions of violence and minor-character murder

You make your way through the paddock of the Bahrain International Circuit, weaving between team members and mechanics as they go about their pre-race routines. The energy in the air is electric, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first race of the season later tonight.

You flash your paddock pass at security and head into the Ferrari garage, eyes scanning the organized chaos for the familiar mop of brown hair.

There he is, sitting in his red race suit that matches the iconic color of the Ferrari he drives, focused intently as his mechanics make some last minute adjustments. You walk up behind Charles and place your hands over his eyes.

“Guess who?” You say playfully.

Charles reaches up and removes your hands, a smile breaking across his face as he turns in his seat. “Ah, mon cœur! My favorite surprise.”

You lean down and kiss him softly. “How are things looking for today?”

“Good, good,” he nods. “The team had to change the left front brake duct exit deflector earlier, just as a precaution. But I’m feeling optimistic, the car has been solid all weekend. I think I might even be able to challenge Max for the win if everything goes to plan.���

His confidence makes you smile. Charles has been working so hard, both physically and mentally, to start this season strong. You know a win today would mean the world to him.

“I’ll be cheering the loudest when I see you on that top step today,” you say.

Charles grins. “We’ll see. Still have a race to get through first.”

You lean in to give him a quick kiss and head to the back of the garage so you’re out of the way. The mechanics are in full focus mode now, choreographing their dance around Charles’ car with practiced precision.

Charles goes through his usual pre-race routine — sips of water, reviewing data on the screens, and loosening up his muscles. He’s the picture of calm, but you know him well enough to see the coiled adrenaline thrumming just under the surface, ready to be unleashed once he settles into the cockpit.

The time comes to head out to the grid. Charles pauses before he puts his helmet on, meeting your gaze. You close the distance between you and cup his face in your hands, kissing his lips sweetly. Then you take the helmet from him and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips over the smooth surface where his would be.

“Be safe out there,” you say softly.

He nods, face disappearing behind the tinted visor, and climbs into the Ferrari. You watch as the car pulls away, weaving between other vehicles making their way to the starting grid. With a deep breath, you head deeper into the garage and take a seat next to Charles’ performance coach, Andrea. He hands you a headset so you can listen to Charles’ radio during the race.

“Let’s hope for a good one today,” Andrea says.

You nod, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fit the headset over your ears. On the monitors, you see Charles lining up on the grid in P2 after the formation lap, Max Verstappen’s Red Bull beside him on the front row in P1. The lights go out and the cars leap forward, engines roaring to life. Charles gets a good start, but Max keeps the lead through the first few turns.

The pack of cars higher up on the starting grid stays bunched up through the first few turns, but then you notice Charles starting to fall back little by little. His lap time slows as Max opens up a gap in front.

“The car doesn’t feel right, something with the front end,” Charles says. Your brow furrows in concern.

Only a lap later, George Russell in the Mercedes overtakes Charles on turn 4. Then Perez in the other Red Bull breezes past not long after.

“Come on Charles, stay focused,” you murmur under your breath. But things only seem to be getting worse. Carlos battles with Charles and eventually gets by, which frustrates you to no end. Charles fighting his own teammate for position is the last thing you want to see.

“Something felt very wrong with this set, the fronts were locking up like crazy,” Charles reports over the radio. Your heart sinks. Andrea shakes his head, equally perplexed.

The issues continue to persist. “What’s going on with my front left?” Charles asks, audible tension in his voice. “I just cannot get out of front locking. Everywhere ...”

Xavi, his race engineer, replies calmly, “We have temperature imbalance, higher front left.”

“How much is the imbalance?” Charles asks.

“Around 100 degrees.”

You grimace. That kind of discrepancy could make the car undriveable. Sure enough, Charles continues to struggle. It’s clear he’s fighting with the car now rather than racing the drivers around him.

“My car is fully going to the right when I am braking. With this I cannot fight, it’s dangerous,” Charles says, frustration seeping into his tone. You chew your lip anxiously. The rational part of you wishes Charles would just retire the car before he gets himself hurt trying to wrestle with it. But you also know that’s never been in Charles’ nature — he’ll keep fighting until the very last lap, no matter what.

Lap after lap, Charles battles to keep the car under control. “I think we can forget about driving now. It’s pulling everywhere,” he finally concedes. For a brief moment, you wonder if he’ll pull into the pits and call it a day. But no, your boyfriend is never one to simply give up. After the radio, through sheer force of will, Charles somehow overtakes George to reclaim P4. You can only imagine how hard he must be having to fight to keep the car in the track.

In the end, it’s a disappointing P4 for Charles while his teammate makes it on the podium in P3. As Carlos is lead to the cooldown room with Max and Checo, you watch Charles, frustration etched across his face as he tugs off his helmet and balaclava. He doesn’t even glance your way before the mechanics descend on him to start looking over the car.

Clearly the brake issues have cost him any chance at challenging for the win today. Most other drivers would have given up even trying to reclaim P4. But not your Charles. Never your Charles. Your heart aches for him.

Charles gets led away swiftly for the usual post-race weighing and interviews. You know from his body language that he’s utterly deflated by today’s results.

While the reporters pepper him with questions, you pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts. Enough is enough — something is clearly not right with Charles’ car and you want answers.

Your finger hovers over the call button as you contemplate who to reach out to. The last thing you want is for Charles to have to fight against his own machine again. A solution needs to be found immediately, and you know just the person who can help.

With a determined nod, you press call and lift the phone to your ear, ready to get to the bottom of these brake issues once and for all.

***

The phone only rings once before a gruff voice answers. “Boss?”

“Hello, Gianluca,” you say. “I need you to do something for me.”

You go on to explain in detail the brake issues Charles faced during the race, how the problems started right after they replaced the left front brake duct exit deflector.

“I don’t think it was just bad luck,” you say. “Something seems off about the whole situation. I want you to look into it, see if anyone on Charles’ side of the garage could have tampered with his car.”

Gianluca is quiet for a moment. “Sabotage, you think?”

“Possibly. I just … I can’t shake this feeling that someone meant for this to happen to Charles’ car. He truly thought he could at least try to challenge Max for the win, then suddenly it’s like he’s driving an entirely different machine. Too much of a coincidence for my liking.”

“I’ll look into it boss, don’t you worry,” Gianluca says. “I’ll go through the team with a fine tooth comb, see if anything seems out of the ordinary. If someone did intentionally compromise Charles’ car, I’ll find out who and how.”

You let out a breath. “Thank you, Gianluca. Let me know as soon as you learn anything. Charles can’t afford issues like this again.”

“You got it. I’ll be in touch.”

The call ends and you lean back against the garage wall, gaze fixed unseeingly out across the pit lane. Your mind turns over the events of the race, Charles’ baffled frustration over the radio. He’s worked too hard for too long to have valuable points stolen away by something like this. If there is sabotage afoot within the team, you’ll get to the bottom of it.

A few days later you’re back in your study after flying home from Bahrain. A knock at the door interrupts your work and you call for them to enter. Gianluca steps in, an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.

“Boss,” he greets you. Wordlessly, he steps forward and places a thick manila folder on your desk. You flip it open, eyes scanning over photos, documents, even what looks like stills of CCTV footage. Gianluca remains silent, allowing you to take it all in.

“I went over every inch of security camera video from the Bahrain paddock and garage,” Gianluca finally says. “And I found something.”

He leans over your desk and flips to a page in the folder, tapping a finger on a freeze frame showing one of Charles’ mechanics.

“This is Tomaso, one of the brake technicians,” Gianluca explains. “I noticed him acting strange all race day. Fidgety. Nervous. He was trying to hide it but his body language gave it away.”

Your eyes narrow as you study the photo. There is a shifty, almost guilty look about the man as he glances over his shoulder.

“I watched him like a hawk after that,” Gianluca continues. “When the team went to change the brake duct exit deflector, that’s when I saw it happen.”

He flips to another page, this one showing screen captures of CCTV footage in the Ferrari garage a few hours before the race start. You can make out Tomaso slipping the replacement deflector into his pocket before taking out another piece and installing it in Charles’ car. Your blood turns cold.

“He tampered with the part,” Gianluca confirms grimly. “There’s no doubt in my mind he switched that deflector with a compromised one. Sabotage, just like you suspected.”

You sit back, shaking your head in disgusted disbelief. “Why? Why would he do this?”

Gianluca shrugs. “Hard to say for sure. Could be someone paid him off, wants to see Charles fail. But what I know for certain is that he meant to damage Charles’ car.”

You drum your fingers on your desk, thinking hard. This level of betrayal from someone Charles trusts, it’s unthinkable. An affront you won’t let stand.

“You’ve done excellent work, Gianluca,” you finally say, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for getting to the bottom of this. I’ll handle it from here.”

Gianluca nods. “Of course, boss. Let me know if you need anything else.”

He turns and leaves your study, closing the door quietly behind him. You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled under your chin. Your expression is stone, but internally your thoughts roil with anger. Tomaso will pay for this, you’ll see to that.

Charles has enough challenges to face without sabotage from his own team. Your resolve hardens — you won’t stop until justice is served and he can race with full confidence again. The treachery ends now.

***

After Gianluca leaves, your mind turns over what to do about Tomaso. The team flew straight from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia to prepare for the next race, so he’s out of your reach for now. Still, you won’t let him slip away that easily. You pick up your phone and call a trusted associate, instructing him to organize a surveillance team to keep constant eyes on Tomaso until you arrive in Jeddah yourself.

The days crawl by painfully slow as you wait to confront the saboteur. You resist the urge to call Fred Vasseur and have Tomaso removed from the team immediately — better to handle this yourself. Finally, it’s time to fly out for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Upon landing, your associate meets you at the airport.

“We have eyes on the target,” he reports. “He’s currently at the hotel bar, quite intoxicated.”

You nod curtly. “Good. Let’s pay him a visit.”

You’re led to the hotel and pointed towards the bar. Sure enough, there’s Tomaso, stumbling drunkenly out the door into the night. Now is your chance. You follow him down the street, waiting until he turns into a shadowy alley to make your move. In a flash you have him by the collar, shoving him against the brick wall.

“What the hell, let me go!” Tomaso slurs, trying to shove you off. But drinking has made him clumsy and weak.

“I don’t think so, Tomaso,” you reply coldly. “We need to have a little chat.”

His eyes widen in fear and confusion. You press on before he can respond.

“Let’s see, Tomaso Barbieri, born May 5th, 1992 in Turin. Moved to Maranello in 2021 to begin work as a mechanic with Scuderia Ferrari. Parents Lucia and Giacomo Barbieri, both schoolteachers. Sister Cecilia studying abroad in London.”

As you rattle off details about his personal life, Tomaso’s eyes grow wider and wider.

“What the hell, how do you know all that?” He stammers. “Who are you? Does Charles know the ugly truth about his girlfriend?”

You fix him with an icy stare. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know exactly who you are, Tomaso. A mechanic for Ferrari … and apparently a master of espionage and sabotage in your spare time.”

Tomaso’s eyes dart wildly, still trying to make sense of the situation in his inebriated state. He attempts an unconvincing laugh.

“What are you talking about man? Sabotage? I think you’ve had too much to drink ...”

Your response is to slam him hard against the wall, causing him to grunt in pain. You lean in close, anger simmering in your eyes.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Tomaso. I know what you did in Bahrain, switching out the brake duct deflector to sabotage Charles’ car. Did you think you could get away with it? That there wouldn’t be consequences?”

Up close, you can see the color drain from his face, eyes wide with fear. He tries to retain some composure.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats weakly. “I would never sabotage Charles’ car, I want him to win ...”

You slam him against the wall again, cutting off his lies.

“I said, enough bullshit!” you snarl. “We have you on video. We saw everything. We know you pocketed the real deflector and installed a defective one instead.”

He is trembling now, any hint of drunkenness replaced by sobering fear.

“Please,” he whimpers pathetically. “I’ll do anything, just please let me go. I made a mistake ...”

You shake your head in disgust. “A mistake? You betrayed Charles’ trust and tried to ruin his race out of what? Jealousy? Greed?”

Tomaso says nothing, eyes downcast in shame. You take a breath and continue in a low, menacing tone.

“Here are your options. One: you go directly to Vasseur first thing in the morning and resign from Ferrari immediately. You will leave the team and ensure you are never so much as in the same country as Charles again. Two: I deal with you myself, in a much less pleasant manner. The choice is yours, Tomaso. What’s it going to be?”

He meets your steely gaze again, jaw clenched. “I can’t just quit,” he says hoarsely. “My job is my life. You might as well just kill me.”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “I was afraid you’d say that. Very well.”

In one swift motion you draw your gun from its concealed holster and press the barrel firmly under Tomaso’s chin. He recoils in terror, plastered back against the wall.

“Last chance,” you say calmly. “Walk away from Ferrari and never look back, or your days end tonight in this alley.”

Sweat drips down his brow as the gun digs harder into his throat. His eyes are saucers of fear, flitting between your steely gaze and the weapon poised to end his life.

“Well?” You ask after a long silence. “What’s it going to be?”

Tomaso swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against the gun barrel. When he speaks, his voice is a terrified croak.

“I … I won’t quit. I can’t.” He closes his eyes in resignation, awaiting his fate.

You click your tongue in disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

Your finger tightens almost imperceptibly on the trigger …

“Wait, wait!” Tomaso cries out, hands raised in desperation. “I’ll do it, I’ll quit! Just please, don’t hurt me!”

You pause, gun still aimed steadily at his throat. “And why should I believe you now?”

He swallows hard, eyes brimming with tears. “I swear, I’ll resign first thing tomorrow. You’ll never see me near the team again. Just let me go, I’m begging you!”

You consider him coldly for a moment before lowering the gun. Tomaso sags back against the wall in relief. But you’re not done with him yet.

“Who paid you?” You demand. “Who put you up to sabotaging Charles’ car?”

The blood drains from his face again. “I can’t tell you that. They’ll kill me, and my family ...”

In a flash the gun is back at his throat, your grip like iron on his shirt collar.

“I assure you, I can do much worse than they ever could,” you say menacingly. “Now give me a name, or you can say goodbye.”

Tomaso shakes uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. You can see the internal struggle, debating which is the lesser evil — defying you or those he conspired with. Finally, he slumps in defeat and leans in close, voice barely a whisper.

“It was ...”

He utters a name directly into your ear. Your eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing again. You release Tomaso and take a step back, processing this new information.

“I see,” you say slowly. You nod over your shoulder and two of your associates emerge from the shadows.

“Get him out of my sight,” you order. They grab Tomaso roughly by the arms. He sags between them, the fight gone out of him completely. You fix him with an icy stare.

“My men will escort you to the airport,” you inform him. “You will be on the first flight out of this hemisphere. And you are never to go near Ferrari or Charles again — don’t even think about trying to contact the team to explain yourself. As far as they will be concerned, you simply resigned. Am I clear?”

Tomaso nods wordlessly, defeated. The men begin dragging him away towards a waiting black SUV.

“Oh, and Tomaso?” You call after him. He glances back warily. “If I ever see or hear of you so much as setting foot in a paddock again, you won’t get a second chance. You’ll simply disappear. Permanently.”

The color drains from his face one final time. Then he is shoved into the back of the SUV, the door slamming shut behind him. You watch impassively as the vehicle drives off into the night, carrying the saboteur away for good.

Or so he thinks.

Unbeknownst to Tomaso, you have contacts everywhere, including at his destination. The second he steps off the plane, thinking he’s escaped your wrath, your local associates will be waiting. And his life will be ended swiftly and permanently, as promised. You don't make idle threats after all.

Betrayal of this magnitude must be punished, no matter how far Tomaso runs. The message will be clear — cross you, and nowhere on Earth will be safe. You've given the order, and your associates are nothing if not ruthlessly efficient. By the time the sun rises, there will be one less threat to Charles’ success. The sabotage ends here and now. You'll see to that personally, no matter the cost.

For a moment you simply stand alone in the dark alley, processing everything. This is bigger than you initially realized. Tomaso was clearly just a pawn, the sabotage orchestrated by someone higher up the chain — someone with enough power and influence to scare a man into risking his career and life.

Your jaw clenches as you think about Charles being targeted like this, not only being robbed of a deserved finish but also put in danger as collateral. Well, it ends now. The shadowy orchestrator thinks they can get away with playing games in the dark? They’re about to realize just how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Now that you have a name, you can start unraveling the web, tracing every thread back to find where it leads. And when you do find the spider at the center? You’ll make sure they can never endanger Charles again. For good.

Satisfied with this plan, you straighten your dress and exit the alley onto the brighter streets. Time to put your considerable resources to work. Phone records, financials, travel records — you’ll dig through it all, leave no stone unturned.

And you have a feeling the name Tomaso gave you is only the first thread. This goes deeper. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve dealt with far more dangerous criminal elements before. These shadow games don’t scare you. You’ll keep following the threads until you reach the source, uprooting the entire enterprise in the process.

By the time you reach your car, your phone is already buzzing with incoming calls and updates from your associates. They know the drill by now — when you give the word, they mobilize into action immediately, utilizing the full extent of your influence and power.

For you, they’ll tap every resource, call in every favor owed. Because you protect what’s yours at all costs. And Charles? He’s under your protection now, whether he knows it or not. So for his sake, you’re going to find the ones trying to undermine him, and you’re going to tear out the threat root and stem. Permanently.

Let them keep playing their games for now, oblivious to the axe hanging over their heads. They’ll find out soon enough that nobody crosses you and gets away with it. And when that time comes, no mercy will be shown. No loose ends left to unravel.

Time to remind them exactly why your reputation precedes you in certain circles, why your name is uttered only in hushed whispers. They’ll regret the day they dared threaten someone you care about. You’ll see to that personally.

With your jaw set in determination, you climb into the idling car. Time to go hunting.

***

Two days after dealing with Tomaso, you make your way through the Jeddah Corniche Circuit paddock towards the Ferrari motorhome.

Your stiletto heels click along the pavement and you glance down, frowning slightly at the flecks of blood still staining the pointed toes of your red soles. Such a shame about these Louboutins, you really love this pair. But a bit of blood is a small price to pay for protecting Charles, especially after personally dealing with the orchestrator who had been paying Tomaso off.

You had tracked them down and made sure they could never threaten Charles’ success again. Subtly, you crouch down and wipe at the stains, managing to remove the worst of it.

Satisfied, you straighten and continue on your way. The familiar bright red motorhome comes into view and you sweep inside, immediately spotting Charles standing with some team members. His face lights up when he sees you, excusing himself to rush over.

“Mon amour, you made it!” He exclaims, enveloping you in a tight hug. You melt against him, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss seeing you race for anything,” you reply, pecking his lips sweetly.

Charles takes your hand, leading you to a quiet corner where you can talk. “I missed you so much while you were away,” he says. “But I’m so glad you’re here now.”

You smile and stroke his cheek. “Me too, darling. But I’m here now and I’ll be cheering the loudest for you all race.”

Charles’ grin falters a bit. “It’s been a strange few days actually. Tomaso, one of my mechanics, just up and quit in the middle of the week. No explanation or anything.”

You school your features into a look of surprise. “Really? That’s so odd.”

Charles nods. “Very weird timing to just resign like that. But maybe it’s for the best if his heart wasn’t fully in it anymore.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” you agree. “The team is better off without any negativity.”

Before Charles can reply, Andrea enters the motorhome. “Charles, time for some quick physio before the race.”

Charles sighs but nods, giving you a swift kiss before following Andrea out. You watch him go fondly before making your way trackside to the Ferrari garage. The mechanics are in race mode, voices terse and movements precise as they make final adjustments on Charles’ car.

You stay back, letting them work, thoughts drifting back to everything you did to get to this point. A small price to pay to ensure Charles can race with a fair chance again.

Finally it’s time for Charles to get in the car. You approach as he’s putting on his helmet and balaclava, stealing a tender kiss that he returns happily. Then you lift the helmet and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips softly over the smooth surface where his lips would be. Your ritual.

“Be safe out there,” you murmur. Charles squeezes your hand, then lowers himself into the cockpit. You watch tensely as the car pulls away, the lights of the circuit glittering against the dark night sky.

In the garage you pace anxiously throughout the race, listening to the radio chatter. Again Charles qualified P2, behind Max Verstappen’s Red Bull. But this time, you have no sabotage to worry about. The Ferrari proves fast and consistent all race, not quite keeping pace with the Red Bull but allowing Charles to maintain P2 smoothly.

The SF-24 doesn’t have the speed to challenge Max, but there’s no issues, no sudden grip loss or components failing. Your shoulders finally uncoil with relief as Charles crosses the line to take P2, securing a podium finish.

The garage explodes into cheers and applause as Charles pulls into parc fermé. He’s beaming as he climbs from the car, pulling off his gloves and balaclava. You run over to the barriers and throw your arms around him ecstatically as soon as he nears.

“I’m so proud of you!” You exclaim. Charles hugs you back tightly.

“Thank you, mon cœur,” he says warmly. “It felt good to finally have a clean race again.”

You just smile knowingly, heart bursting with joy at seeing Charles on the podium where he belongs. During the celebrations, he keeps meeting your gaze in the crowd, smiling and pointing down to you in the crowd of red. As he sprays champagne with Max and Checo, he looks utterly elated and at peace. No frustration or disappointment, just the satisfaction of a hard fought race with the result he deserved.

Afterwards, in the privacy of Charles’ room, he takes you into his arms again. “I don’t know what changed or why, but the car just felt right this weekend,” he says. “It makes me so optimistic for the rest of the season.”

You stroke his face gently. “You deserve it. All your hard work is paying off.” Inside, you allow yourself a small, satisfied smile. Charles doesn’t need to know just how much work went on behind the scenes to get here. He only needs to focus on driving his heart out, and securing the championships you know he’s destined for. The rest is simply details.

“Thank you again for being here,” Charles murmurs, pulling you close. “Having your support means everything to me.”

You rest your head on his shoulder contentedly. “Always, my love. I’ll be right by your side.” And you mean that with every fiber of your being. No matter what happens going forward, whoever tries to interfere or stand in Charles’ way, they’ll have to go through you first.

You won’t let anyone toy with Charles’ performance and safety again. The lesson has been sent — Charles is untouchable now. Dare to threaten the success that is his, and you’ll come for what’s theirs.

But Charles doesn’t need to carry that burden. He just needs to keep his head held high and drive his heart out. You’ll handle the rest. It’s the least you can do for the man you love more than life itself.

So as Charles holds you close, you silently promise to always shield him from the ugly underbelly that lurks beneath the glitz and glamour of Formula 1.

He gives so much of himself already in pursuit of greatness. Let others vie for power and influence through dirty tricks and mind games. That’s not Charles’ way, which is why you’ll ensure he remains untainted. For him, you’d walk through fire without a second thought.

So really, what’s a little blood on your Louboutins in the grand scheme of things? A man like Charles Leclerc deserves that and so much more. And you’re going to give it to him, no matter the cost.

Let them keep playing their games in the shadows. Little do they know, you’ve already checkmated them all.

[sanakiras]

FRIENDLY COMPETITION

PAIRING — hong joshua x reader (+ yoon jeonghan x reader)

WORD COUNT — 5.1k

SYNOPSIS — nothing quite compares to the bitterness left by a best friend’s betrayal. joshua knows he should probably just let it go; if only he didn’t hold a grudge like it’s a hand.

TAGS — infidelity (by like. everyone in this fic. several times. it’s crazy), some mlm action, explicit sexual content, this wasn’t supposed to be a love triangle fic but i rewatched challengers recently so it took a turn, all three main characters are nasty, intentionally vague fic bc it was originally meant to be longer, i’m ngl it’s so messy sorry 😭

♪ — saint avangeline - lilith / charli xcx - good ones / partynextdoor - make it to the morning

THEY SAY BEING THE BIGGER PERSON IS A SIGN OF GOOD CHARACTER.

but joshua has never really given a damn about being a good person.

with a glass of champagne in hand, he glances across the room, the expression on his face completely blank. the fabric of the suit fits his body like a glove, perfectly tailored to his measurements.

he doesn’t really fit in with this crowd. not that he’d want to.

jeonghan did always have a knack for surrounding himself with the most pretentious of people, but then again, he has always carried himself with a certain sense of... superiority.

his eyes scan the room in hopes to find a certain person. trying to look for someone you’ve never met before is more challenging than he thought it would be.

“i don’t think we’ve met.” he hears behind him, and he turns around, only to be met with one of the most beautiful smiles he’s ever seen.

joshua’s greeting is said near absentmindedly, as he’s clearly taking in the sight of you.

sure, he’s seen the pictures of you online after rigorously searching up everything he could find about you. he recognizes you easily, though he finds the pictures don’t do you justice.

you’re the daughter of a renowned, successful businessman, though from what he’s gathered, you’re also considerably more private than most people in your circle, so it was hard to find anything about you other than basic things like your birthday and education.

but he can work with what he has.

“yeah, this isn't my usual scene.”

“what brings you to the scene here, then?”

joshua’s eyes are sweet, completely hiding the self-serving revenge plan he’s actually here for. “i was invited by a business partner of mine.”

surprisingly enough, you don’t often meet handsome and intriguing strangers at events like these. but joshua here is a refreshing, new face in the midst of everyone you already know and always have to talk to.

“something tells me you don’t really enjoy being here.”

“am i that obvious?”

“a little.”

not really. you’ve just had your eyes on him since he walked in.

“can i say something brutally honest?” he asks, and when you nod, he slightly leans closer to your face, lowering his voice. “you don’t really seem to be enjoying yourself either.”

a scoff escapes your mouth while you still have a glass of champagne in hand. “what makes you think so?”

joshua shrugs casually. “gut feeling, i guess. but i’m right, aren’t i?”

when you don’t refute his words, the corner of his lips curls up for a split second, his cockiness briefly slipping underneath his facade. yeah, he thinks to himself, i know you’re unhappy with that shitty husband of yours. it’s been in the gossip magazines several times at this point.

there’s something captivating about him. clothed in a clearly expensive two-piece suit, jet-black hair framing his soft features. he looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, and you catch the piercings in his ear — it leaves you wondering who the hell this is.

“normally, this is my crowd, but unfortunately there’s not much place for honesty here. so when i’m having a shit day, i still have to put up a smile and act like i’m so interested in whatever business everyone’s doing these days.”

“well, if you need to pour your heart out to a stranger, go on ahead. i won’t judge, promise.”

his smile is infectious. you hope the heat isn’t visible on your cheeks. after hesitating for a moment, you open your mouth, about to tell him why your week has been so utterly bad when you feel a presence behind you, the familiar hand sliding around your waist.

“joshuji — it’s been a while.”

that fucking nickname. it used to warm his chest, now it just fills it with a sharp pain.

joshua’s mood instantly sours, and he has to force himself to hide the disdain on his face.

his heart sinks familiarly at the sight of him. the memories with him flash through his mind — the complicated history that had them go from best friends to strangers.

“jeonghan,” he returns the greeting rather stand-offish, “it sure has.”

“i see you’ve met my wife.” jeonghan’s smile turns into something more genuine once it’s directed at you.

“you two have history?” you ask, feeling a bit left out now that you’ve discovered the two of them know eachother.

before joshua can answer, jeonghan does so for him. “from high school, yeah. we were classmates.”

classmates. that’s a hell of a way to put it.

jeonghan catches the dark glare joshua sends his way, but ignores it entirely. your husband squeezes your waist tighter than usual, more possessively — it sparks curiosity in you.

after exchanging some tense lines of small talk, jeonghan gives some bullshit excuse to get you to go home with him, and you agree, though not without subtly giving joshua your card; with your number on it.

he triumphantly grins to himself when watching the two of you leave.

as much as jeonghan might want to keep you away from him, you certainly don’t have the same plan — just as he’d hoped.

when joshua makes the bold move of inviting you out for drinks a few days later, you shamelessly agree to it. of course there’s nothing wrong with getting to know someone in a friendly manner, but you’re not quite sure if it’s friendship that you want from him.

just as the first time you met, he’s charming. he easily makes conversation, and you enjoy his company just as much as the glass of red wine sitting on the table before you. you drink, talk and laugh together, and the hours pass by faster than they should.

“is there no girl waiting for you at your house at this hour?”

with a glass in hand, he shakes his head. “no, there’s not. i’ve been single for a while now. though you can’t say the same.”

the mention of your husband instantly affects your body language. “no, i cannot.”

“i don’t mean to pry, so if you don’t wanna talk about it, just say the word — but you seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind. which you didn’t get to tell me about last time.”

a huff escapes you. joshua is a welcome distraction, and for once in your life, you’re interested in someone else’s opinion on your personal life.

so you tap your nail against your thigh, admitting why your life has been feeling irritatingly hectic lately. “i keep finding these tabloids writing about me and jeonghan, our relationship and all — it annoys me. do you know how much work goes into suing those assholes?”

“not really, but i can imagine. what’re they saying about you?”

“that our marriage seems strained at certain moments, or that we’re never really seen together outside of events… the usual.”

“i’m glad to be out of that kind of spotlight.”

“yeah, well, i’m not just in it — i’m married to someone who’s also in it. god, if i could get a fucking break and be single again, i would.”

“so i take it the not-so-happy-marriage rumors they’re all writing about are true, then?”

“kind of. but it’s not what you think.”

“i’m all ears.”

“well, for starters, i’ve never been in love with him.”

“you’re—you’re not?”

“i’m not. at least i don’t think so. i’ve grown to love him, definitely, but… i just don’t know if i’m in love with him.”

“but why would you marry him, if you felt like that?”

“it was initially just a business thing, our parents pretty much paired us together. but he’s charming, intelligent, not bad on the eyes at all. even though he’s in love with me, he still holds me at a distance. i doubt i’ll be able to fall in love with him if he doesn’t let me in.”

joshua has to surpress a knowing grin. jeonghan’s always been like that, even with him — the type of guy you could pour your heart out to, never getting the same in return.

“and there’s no way to get out of it?”

“legally, i could get a lawyer and file for divorce, but it’s still a business deal at the end of the day. it’d do damage to all our reputations, which i don’t want to be the cause of, and despite everything, jeonghan still treats me well. i guess i should’ve known i would have to live this way when i agreed to sign the contract.”

jeonghan treats you well.

of course he does.

before orchestrating his plan, it was difficult to think of a way of hurting jeonghan deeply, the same way the latter did to him years ago. but joshua came across a video of you giving an interview to some reporters after a ceremony, and when he caught how jeonghan looked at you, he knew exactly what to do.

jeonghan is utterly and completely in love with you. it shows in every photo taken of you two together, even the articles in the papers where he talks about you. there’s no one he holds in higher esteem than his wife.

so joshua figured you had to become the key to his bitter, borderline childish plan of revenge.

now that you’re telling him you don’t even reciprocate your husband’s love, it might be a whole lot easier than expected to carry it out.

“so you just have to remain stuck in your marriage?”

“pretty much.”

he bites his lip, looking at you a certain way, and it makes you raise a brow at him.

“what is it?”

“no, i just thought of something, but i shouldn’t ask.”

“i’ll be the judge of that. c’mon, say it.”

joshua presses his lips together, and you don’t miss that glint in his eyes. with another sip of alcohol, he asks you what he’s genuinely curious of. “i just wondered if you two ever…”

“what?”

“… you know.”

“wow, you’re cheeky.”

“i’m just asking.”

“mhm.” you hum playfully, at which he chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “sometimes, we do.”

he’s thankful for the darkness of the restaurant and the table covering his crotch. the image of jeonghan and you in bed together, all naked and intertwined and warm, it gets a rise out of him. he subtly shifts in his seat.

“look, i’m not asking this because i have some ulterior motive or something, but...” a funny choice of words, “if it’s business, you’re free to see others, right?”

“we’ve never discussed it.”

“what would your gut tell you?”

“my gut is wondering why you care so much, joshua.”

“because—” he lets his teeth sink into his lower lip, “because if you are, i’d like to let you know i’m more than willing to… give you whatever you need.”

“and if i’m not free to see others?”

dangerous territory to be in, you both find.

his response comes out low and breathlessly. “then i’d still be here for you.”

you push your tongue against the inside of your cheek. in any real relationship, you’d never condone cheating. jeonghan is your husband in name only, and while you’ve both been loyal to each other so far, he’s getting more out of your marriage than you are.

and joshua, who simply waltzed into your life at the moment you needed it the most, is offering to give you something you’ve been craving.

agreeing to this dimly lit cocktail date with a man who gazes at you like that — you should’ve known it meant drafting up a sin that’s been lurking underneath the surface.

it takes exactly fifteen minutes for you to be pushed into the dark alleyway between the restaurant and the five-star hotel next to it. his hands are bigger than jeonghan’s, something you already concluded when he put his hand on your lower back while walking out of the entrance.

his lips are on your jaw, trailing down your neck, his hands hungrily grabbing onto your thighs.

he’s itching for some kind of relief, pupils dilated from lust, your lipstick smeared around his mouth. “let me touch you.”

you nod, breathing into his mouth, and he reaches down, easily pushing your panties to the side with that skirt you’ve got on. hot arousal sits between your legs, and when he feels it, he’s close to crying out from how wet you are.

his lengthy fingers make their way inside you easily, your reaction to the intrusion making him smirk.

“next time your husband does this,” he groans at the feeling of his fingers getting coated in your wetness, “i want you to think of me. of this moment.”

even through your lustful haze, you pick up on the snide undertone of his comment, and it only makes you chuckle. “that depends.”

“on what?”

“on how hard you make me come.”

now it’s his turn to laugh. oh, he’ll give it to you, all right. so much for holding back because you’re in public.

joshua proves himself more than worthy when he has you seeing stars not much later, your knees almost giving out on you. he keeps you standing upright, and once you’ve regained a clear sight, you find him licking his fingers, his body still pressed up against yours.

“if you want me to fuck you here, say the word and i will. though it might be smarter to go back to my apartment.” he whispers, simultaneously pushing his front against you. he’s rock-hard, aching to be inside you, willing to give you whatever you ask of him.

a flash of guilt spreads through you when you realize you could still call it a night and go home. you’ll tell jeonghan that you let his former classmate finger-fuck you in a dark alley and he’d probably let it be, too — but you’re greedy.

and you let it consume you.

his apartment is down the street. you let him fuck you with long and deep strokes, and it has your eyes rolling back, only moans, whimpers and his name tumbling from your lips.

his muscles are stronger, more visible than jeonghan’s. you see them in every thrust of his hips, every grab at your breasts, every move he makes. his big eyes are hypnotizing.

so hypnotizing that you don’t know he’s recording all of this.

only audio — it’ll be more than enough to prove to jeonghan that you’ve been in his bed, if necessary.

once you’ve had eachother for several rounds, you slip into a different conversation. your hopes and dreams in life, how you feel you’re not living the life you want, and all the struggles that come with it.

you talk about music, what kind of home you grew up in, and all kinds of experiences that make you both laugh. you enjoy his company, and he enjoys yours.

it’s his turn to feel guilty now. this sweet girl, who he happens to be wildly attracted to, is so lovely — he doesn’t want this to be the last time he talks to you.

so, going against his own plan, he meets you again, a few days later. and it happens again, and again, and again; he has to face the truth.

he’s falling for you.

his heart skips a beat when he sees you, gazes at you. how your hair gleams when the sun shines upon it, the sound of your laughter, those sarcastic little comments that make him crack up every time.

he doesn’t want to lose you. he’s aware that you’re falling in love with him too, and he genuinely wants to be with you, to have you be his completely.

but at the same time, he cannot let go of the past. he can’t not see his revenge through.

joshua faces a choice he never thought he’d have to make — you, or jeonghan.

two months later, when you get home late again, your husband finally speaks his mind. he does his best to sound somewhat casual, but fails.

“you’ve been awfully late these past weeks. hard time at work?”

in the living room, you press your nails against the inside of your palm. truthfully, you’d planned to tell him of your affair when you got home that night. rip the band-aid off while the wound is still fresh.

but he was in a good mood, and all you could think about was how much he cares about you. how much he loves you.

because for whatever reason, he does.

so you chose to keep quiet, vowing to tell him the next day. but when you woke up beside him in your shared bed, while he was sleeping soundly, you looked at his face and felt so terrible that you just couldn’t do it.

you planned to go to joshua’s and tell him you couldn’t do anything together until you’d told jeonghan.

yet you somehow landed on top of him within several minutes.

about a week later, you wanted to test out the waters. see if jeonghan would be open to you going out with others.

but the moment you asked, it’s like you could see his heart breaking. perhaps you didn’t quite grasp how much he was in love with you until that moment, and when he said he’d promise to try and be more open with you, to give you an opportunity to understand him better, you couldn’t bear the idea of hurting him even more.

the two contradicting voices in your head keep justifying both sides of your situation, of having something with both of the men currently in your life.

now, it seems, you’ve finally mustered up enough courage to be honest with him.

“no. it’s not work.” you admit, nearly hurting your jaw from how much you’re clenching your teeth. your heart pounds in your throat. “i haven’t been honest with you about what i’ve been doing—”

“you’re seeing someone.” he interrupts, his hands folded together when he sits with his legs spread apart in the chair. “i figured already.”

you wait a moment before responding, giving an honest apology without excusing your behavior. “yeah, i am. and i’m sorry for not telling you.”

jeonghan nods, and he’s surprisingly calm, more sadness than anger to be found in his body language, as if he’s miserable only about the fact that he didn’t get you to fall for him before some other guy came along.

“just tell me one thing,” he says sternly, managing to come across as gentle at the same time, “are you fucking him?”

with a quiet nod, you lower your head.

he moves on to the question that might be the most heartbreaking to him. “who is it?”

the look in his eyes is so utterly depressing. he wants—no, needs to know who it is that captured your heart, solely so he can compare himself to him. surely this other man must have something he doesn’t.

“joshua hong.”

it’s so silent after you say his name that you could hear a pin drop. with his head lowered, you think he might be crying, but then he turns to lock eyes with you, and there’s a mean, knowing smirk on his face.

“let me guess. after you met, he reached out to you?”

“is that so strange?”

“it’s not. but i don’t think your loverboy’s been completely honest with you.”

he stands up, his glossy eyes set dark and harsh, at which you frown, not having a clue what he’s trying to say here. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“look, i know that you’re not in love with me. but you shouldn’t think he’s in love with you.”

tilting your head, your face falls, expression fading from pity into hurt. “is this the length you’re willing to go to get me away from another man?”

“no, you don’t get it. joshua and i have history. we didn’t leave things on good terms. now all of a sudden he’s back in my life, flaunting the fact that he’s got you right where he wants—”

“what the fuck are you even talking about? what happened between you?”

“it doesn’t—it doesn’t matter. what matters is that you need to understand he’s using you to get to me.”

“that’s bullshit.”

“go on and ask him about it. see what he says.”

“you’re an ass, jeonghan.”

“he’s the one playing you, not me.” he shrugs, going upstairs for some solitude. you remain frozen in your spot for a bit, thinking about what he’s just told you, and you grab your phone from your backpocket, calling joshua to check if he’s still home.

when you confront him in his apartment, he’s clearly surprised that jeonghan told you about their history at all. the brief hesitance in his voice and the flickering of his eyes was enough to give away that at least some part of it had to be true.

so you told him to leave you alone for a while.

he was using you, and you walked into a trap without knowing it.

unfortunately, you did fall in love with joshua. and even you’ve felt that he harbors some feelings for you, too. but you don’t want to think about it.

you return home in the middle of the night. jeonghan is half-asleep on the couch, a lukewarm cup of coffee on the table in front of him. you feel terrible, not just for waking him, but for treating him the way you have.

“i guess you were right.” you manage to push out of the depths of your throat, a few tears rolling down your cheeks. “i’m sorry. for everything.”

even when you fight with him, there’s a comforting warmth to your home that you have yet to find anywhere else.

maybe it’s because he’s here.

now fully awake, he stands up from the couch, wrapping his arms around you, allowing you to sink into the heat his body.

“take whatever you need from me.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

there’s something sad about it — you’re upset about being used by joshua, and you seek comfort with jeonghan, who’s directly asking you to use him, because for now, it’s the only way he can have you.

and very selfishly, you do use him, all in an attempt to forget about joshua.

he’s swiftly got you splayed out on your dinner table, and the way he looks at you when you’re left in only your lingerie — that is what you crave right now. so much longing, desire. only jeonghan can look at you like that.

he pleasures you for what feels like hours. licking your pussy, sliding his fingers in and out, fucking you and rubbing your clit; he knows you like the back of his hand.

in a way, you do want him. and he feels it, too.

the fresh rift in your relationship with joshua drives you and your husband closer. you begin to appreciate him more, the sex feels more intimate, but that distance between you is still there, and he has yet to tell you what it is that drove him and his former classmate apart.

when joshua calls you, you ignore him. why should you give him your attention?

eventually, he chooses to go by your house with the hope of fixing things, assuming that jeonghan is away at work.

you haven’t shut the door in his face yet only to tell him off. “this whole thing is kind of a dealbreaker, don’t you think?”

“i’m sorry.”

“sorry’s not gonna cut it. why should i believe anything you say? for all i know, you’re still lying to me right now.”

“i’m an asshole, i know. i’m genuinely, really sorry and i know i fucked up. whatever you need me to do, i’ll do it. but please, just—just give me a chance to make it up to you.” he begs, stepping closer to you.

he doesn’t say it literally, but you can both fill in the blanks.

he misses you. and truth be told, you miss him too. as much as you love jeonghan, your dynamic with joshua is vastly different, and it’s something you need to have now that you’ve tasted it.

from his spot by the front door, he suddenly catches the sight of jeonghan in the kitchen, walking around with damp hair and a towel sitting around his hips, his chest completely bare.

it’s hard to take his eyes off him, and his pupils dilate the same way they always do when he looks at you.

“i’ll think about it. just—just go. i don’t want him to see you.” you tell him, missing the way he stared at your husband, pushing him away from your porch and shutting the door with a loud thud.

“who was that?” jeonghan asks, walking over to you with his bowl of breakfast in hand.

you shrug. “mailman. had the wrong address.”

he only hums in response, not letting you know he already recognized joshua when he looked outside the bedroom window after getting out of the shower.

and he decides to take matters into his own hands.

about a week and a half later, you and jeonghan find yourselves at a charity event hosted by an acquaintance, your outfits beautifully matching, which you receive many compliments for.

joshua, you later find, is also invited. when he eventually goes outside through the backdoor, hoping to get some fresh air despite the fact that it’s been raining for hours already, suddenly has jeonghan standing right in front of him.

“enjoying your night, joshuji?”

well, he was.

“i have nothing to say to you.”

“no, but you wanted to have something to say to me, didn’t you?” jeonghan asks rhetorically, his tone so deeply condescending that it makes his former best friend want to jump him.

“leave it to you to be a belittling prick to the guy who’s been having an affair with your wife.”

“all i wanted to say was that your little plan completely backfired. you having ulterior motives with her drove her right into my arms. our marriage has never been better.”

“and yet she’s still not satisfied.”

jeonghan chuckles out of amusement and pride. “look at you. you’ve gotten more bite over the years. i knew you had it in you.”

joshua finds it in him to ask a genuine question. “after everything i just did, she just did — how can you still act like you came out on top?”

“because i know you better than you know yourself. have you never wondered, after all these years, why you’re still so bitter about it?”

he silently glances at him, puzzled.

“you’ve been fucking my wife for one single reason.” jeonghan continues, his voice lowering with each step he takes forward. “because she’s the closest you can get to having me.”

“oh, bullshit.”

“then tell me. why did you go after her in the first place?”

“because she was yours. the one person you love most. i didn’t expect to fall for her along the way.”

the words make jeonghan chuckle, a sound laced with arrogance. “you know, i vaguely remember you using those words, a while ago.”

there’s a dawning horror on joshua’s face when he realizes it — he did use those words years ago, when confessing his love to his best friend.

he tries to regain his composure, but jeonghan has already caught and read his expression. he knows him like the back of his hand, even to this day.

“i broke your heart. you wanted revenge, so you decided to go after my biggest weakness, and as always, you let your feelings get in the way.”

“don’t patronize me.”

“i’m not,” he shoots back immediately, “i’m just stating the truth.”

“whatever. i don’t owe you an explanation. it’s not my fault she fell in love with me instead of you.”

“you’re right, it’s not. but don’t you think she deserves to know that she’s not the only one you’re in love with?”

joshua freezes in his place. it takes him a moment before he can even get anything coherent out of his throat. “if you really think i’m still in love with you after everything that’s—”

“you are. admit it.”

“no.”

“right. i see the way you look at me, shua. how you can’t take your eyes off me when i’m around, or the way you stared at me when i came out of the shower. just own it. for once in your life.”

“what does it even matter? it wouldn’t change anything.”

“you know what i don’t get? why you’ve never asked me about my feelings.”

the words almost render him speechless. because as always, he annoyingly makes a point.

“i just assumed—”

“you just assumed that i didn’t like you back? wow, that’s solid.” taking a step closer, his voice becomes quieter, tauning. “go on. ask me.”

joshua looks up to find a pair of vulnerable, honest eyes staring back at him. it takes him a moment to muster the courage, but he does.

“did you ever have feelings for me?”

jeonghan bites his lip, meeting his eyes with that subtle, lazy smirk he always wears. “i wanted you long before you wanted me. it’s not my fault you didn’t see it.”

this — this is certainly new information. all those years joshua spent resenting him, entirely unaware of this information… he feels like an idiot.

it’s caught him so off guard that he doesn’t know what to say.

jeonghan doesn’t back away from him in the slightest, shrugging his shoulders. “you’ve grown out your hair, like i hoped you would. every time you sat next to me, i kept wondering if you ever noticed how my eyes always lingered on your hands. god, i was so obvious.”

“i never… i never saw.” joshua stutters out absentmindedly, unable to take his eyes off him.

as heavier rain begins to pour down from the sky, jeonghan finally manages to be completely open about his feelings. “but things have changed now. i’m the one who’s in trouble. because i’m in love with two people, neither of which want me back. and that leaves me completely alone.”

jesus christ.

jesus christ.

jeonghan isn’t just in love with you, his wife — he’s also in love with him, and he probably has been since day one, but he’s always kept it buried because he thought it wasn’t going to be reciprocated anyway. fuck, no wonder he was never open to you, either.

it really is insanity.

for years, joshua has imagined what revenge would taste like. so he pulls jeonghan in for a harsh kiss, cups his jaw and pulls on his jacket as if he were angry at him, all in the hope that it will give him the feeling he’d hoped for.

but jeonghan’s lips taste more like reconciliation, a taste he craves more of, and he finds himself giving into his greed.

perhaps revenge is overrated.

aaaand mc watches and cheers like zendaya at the end of challengers. the end :D

thank u for reading, let me know if u enjoyed it <3

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.