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chahnniesroom · 5 months ago

Text

too close to home

pairing: none (platonic ot8 & female reader)

summary: as the only female of stray kids, you've always felt a little out of place. this comeback, the comments and criticism seem to hit a little too close to home and you start to think that maybe the group is better off without you.

word count: 8.5k

tags/warnings: 9th member au, hurt/comfort, angst, mean fans, anxious thinking, insecurities, overthinking

a/n: this is my first fic for my appreciation event! big thank you to everyone who has supported me and sorry this took so long to post.

special shoutout to @kangaracha who is basically the only reason i was able to finish this fic! she was my biggest cheerleader throughout my writing and if you would like to read an amazing 9th member fic, please please go read queenmaker.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

You had known from the start that it would be difficult being in a co-ed group. It was rare, especially in K-pop. But being outnumbered eight to one? It was unheard of.

You had been just as surprised all those years ago, when the company had pulled you into a room and offered you a position in the boy group that they were about to debut.

You had heard about the team that Chan had put together, every trainee had gossiped about how JYPE was trying something new with a self-formed team. You hadn't paid too much attention to it, you were busy enough with preparing for your own evaluations and the possibility of being included in what everybody had thought was a boys group hadn't even crossed your mind.

You had accepted the position almost immediately.

At that point, you had been a trainee for almost three years, but had only been considered for debut less than a handful of times. You knew with each line-up that hadn't worked out, you were closer to being forced to give up on the idea of becoming an idol. If you rejected the offer this time, you might not get another and you had been ready to do anything to achieve your dream.

Plus, you knew there was a high chance that they'd drop you from the group anyway. The position brought a lot of interest to the group, but you knew the company would be watching closely to determine whether it was worth the risk or not.

It had been a bit of a rocky start, but now the nine of you were close, you had to be when you spent most of your waking time together. You considered the boys to be your second family and you knew that they felt the same way.

It was just that there was clearly a difference in the dynamic when you were and weren’t with the group. It wasn’t necessarily bad just… different. The boys never excluded you or made you feel like you weren’t part of the group and you had great individual relationships with each of the members.

It was inevitable though, you had never shared a dorm with the group, especially earlier in your career when you were less familiar and it would have been entirely unacceptable. You knew that this was the main reason you didn’t feel quite as part of the group, there was just a level of closeness that was formed when you actually lived with someone.

Well, it was that and the nagging guilt because you knew that Chan had hand-picked every member of Stray Kids himself.

Every member except you.

While the members had promised that they were the ones who had the final say, you knew it wasn't quite what they had expected. All of you had been desperate to debut though and even if it wasn't ideal, nobody was going to say anything that might jeopardize this chance.

Still, you could tell that the boys did their best to include you and for the most part, they succeeded. Even early on when things had been a little bit awkward between you, they were fiercely protective. In interviews, they insisted over and over that they wanted you in the group and it had been nice to hear, even if you knew they were just saying it for the cameras.

They frequently invited you over for dinner or just to hang out, but you couldn't help feeling jealous when it was time for you to leave at the end of each night. It wasn't anything you could change though, so you just tried to appreciate their company while you had it.

So when the company brings up the idea of new dorm arrangements, you're surprised and a bit confused when they don't immediately inform you of where you'll be staying and kick you out of the meeting room. You've never participated in the discussions that the boys have regarding roommates, there has never been any reason to.

You're shocked by how easily things fall into place, even more so when Chan approaches you, asking if you'd feel comfortable living with him and Jeongin. They assure you that any of the pairings would be happy to have you stay with them though, and that they'd also understand if you preferred to live on your own.

You were hesitant at first. It had been out of the question when you had first debuted. Even if you and the boys had been comfortable with it, which you weren’t, the company would have totally rejected the idea of one girl living with eight boys.

Instead, their solution had been to force you to remain in the trainee dorm even after your debut which meant constantly listening to jealous girls criticize anything and everything about you. It had been exhausting, partly because you were getting used to balancing schedules with practice, but also because you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad at them. You were all too familiar with the disappointment and frustration that came with watching the people around you succeeding.

You had briefly considered asking about sharing with the boys when the dorms had split in half because you knew you needed to get out of the toxic environment the other girls were creating, but then the company had offered you an apartment to yourself. It had been one of the easiest decisions you had ever made.

It had been too good to be true, though. The apartment had given you the privacy that you had craved, there were a multitude of issues that almost made you miss being in the trainee dorms. Whether you moved to a new apartment on your own or into one of the dorms with the boys, you knew that it would be an improvement.

You’re curious what living with the boys would be like and honestly, you’re a bit lonely in your current apartment. It only takes a day or two of thinking before you confirm that you’d like to join them.

The moving process is quick too, at least for you. The boys offered to help you move, but you adamantly refused. Your place had been so tiny that you didn't have the space to store many things and you didn't like shopping that much anyway so all of your clothes fit into the couple of large suitcases that you kept under your bed. Since most of the furniture had come with the room, you were able to bring everything over to the new dorm before the boys had even finished packing.

It's hard to settle in at first. You don't have any siblings and have never had to live with boys so it takes some getting used to. Luckily both Chan and Jeongin are quite careful about being respectful of your space.

It's also a relief that you get to divide up some of the housework that you used to have to do all on your own. Even though it's not too much, it's nice to have more time in your day for other things and the three of you have developed a system that works well and feels natural.

Chan is meticulously clean and although you don't think you're that messy, you’re more careful to keep things in the right place. The worst part is that you know Chan won't complain or nag you if you leave your things around, he just quietly cleans up your messes which makes you feel both touched and a bit guilty.

You have no regrets about moving in with them, especially when you start to get more busy. It's nice to be living with people who have the same or similar schedules to you so you don't have to worry about losing track of time and being late to things.

Not only that, but you feel like you have more support. Jeongin reminds you to eat regular meals and Chan checks in when he notices that you're up later than usual. The three of you chat more than you did before and now have a number of different inside jokes.

You're especially grateful because you can already sense that this comeback is going to be hard on you. It's not the songs that have you concerned, all the recording finished smoothly and you're more than happy with how your parts turned out. You also really like the concept that's being proposed for the cover art and all the music videos.

It's the dance that's the problem.

As a trainee, you had always excelled in dancing and had actually had been assigned the role of main dancer in some of the girl groups that you were considered for. It made it especially hard to come to terms with the fact that when you had joined Stray Kids, you weren't even included in the dance line. You knew that your singing was nice and your voice added diversity to the group, but it had never been what you were most confident in and you felt inadequate compared to Seungmin and Jeongin.

But when it comes to this title track, it's especially obvious why you're not considered as one of the lead dancers. By lunchtime, everyone has memorized the moves, you included, but the choreography is definitely more suited for male dancers. No matter how much you focus on trying to match the style of everyone else, you're sticking out like a sore thumb.

Most of the members take a short break for lunch, but you're determined to keep practicing and Minho is willing to coach you through the parts that you're struggling with the most. On a technical level, you're hitting most of the moves, but you still haven't been able to do a runthrough that doesn't elicit at least a few corrections. You can tell that Minho is running out of patience and you're even more frustrated than he is.

Luckily the rest of practice is working on the different formations and angles for filming the music video, dance practice, and future performances. The details are less important and everyone is mainly focused on not crashing into each other.

You try to sneak in as many solo practice sessions as you can, but by the time filming for the dance practice rolls around, you’re still not feeling confident. In fact, you’ve been dreading the schedule for days and you feel a little queasy every time you think about it. It's far from your first dance practice filming, but something about this one just feels more daunting.

The morning of filming, you force yourself to eat a decent breakfast, knowing that skipping it would just make dancing more difficult for yourself. Chan had woken up early to prepare a simple meal while you and Jeongin had helped set the table and clean up afterwards. You're a bit more jittery than usual and you're pretty sure both of the boys have noticed, but they don't comment which you appreciate.

Everyone goes through hair and makeup fairly quickly, there's no elaborate outfits and crazy makeup for a more casual video like this. Your bad feeling for today just worsens when you see that while the rest of the boys are in their usual loose fitting sweats and shirts, you've been given a tight fitting outfit that reveals a bit more of your midriff than you usually like to show off. Even though you can't deny that it's a flattering look, it just makes you self conscious, feeling like you stood out even more than you usually did standing beside the guys.

Determined to power through filming, you warm up as quickly as you can so that you can spend as much time as possible reviewing the moves with the rest of the boys before the crew finishes setting up.

Your stomach is a flurry of butterflies as you get in position to start filming, even though you know that usually the first try is a throwaway. Not only is this the first time filming for the day, but the group hasn't actually done a performance of your new single, only practices.

You monitor the recording carefully. There's a few things to improve with the camera angles and position, that was to be expected, but you still have the nagging feeling that something about your dancing doesn't match the rest of the group.

You try to make your movements bigger in the next run through, while still looking natural and staying in time with the music. It's not quite right though and each time you try again, there's more and more things that you're unhappy with.

You can tell the rest of the group isn't pleased with how things are going either. You've been doing this long enough that these dance practices usually only take a couple hours to record, but now it's been at least three and none of the takes have even been considered as a keeper. A few times you haven't even been able to make it to the end of the song before someone messes up.

Your choreographer is in the back of the room and although he hasn't explicitly called you out, you can feel his gaze on you the longer this takes.

“Come on guys,” Minho complains after a short break. “Focus! Let's get it done this time.” You watch as his eyes flicker towards where you're standing for the faintest of moments as he says it. It feels like a blow to the stomach.

You hate disappointing people, you're only human after all, but something feels even worse when you know it's the other members that you're letting down. Especially when it comes to dance, because you've always wanted to impress Minho and his notoriously high standards. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach as you push through your growing fatigue and take your position in front of the camera again.

As soon as both the director and choreographer announce that you're finished for the day, almost everybody collapses on the spot. One-takes are always the most exhausting and everybody has to focus on keeping their movements sharp because it's extremely obvious when you aren't in sync.

You, on the other hand, make your way to the screens where they're showing the playback. Sweat is dripping from your neck and forehead and you absent-mindedly swipe it away as you watch. Someone drapes a small towel over your head and you look over to see that Minho and Hyunjin have crowded behind you to take a look.

“It's good,” one of the managers comments.

Instead of agreeing, Minho hums noncommittally. You feel yourself tense up.

“What?” the manager asks. “Don't tell me you want to do it again.”

“No, no, it's fine.” Minho says mildly.

“We can do another take,” the director offers. From behind him, one of the camera people groans quietly. You try not to wince at the sound and only partially succeed.

“I think this is the best we're going to get,” Minho replies, before he turns and walks back to where his things are, effectively ending the discussion.

“Sorry for making everyone stay late,” you say quietly, bowing quickly before trailing after Minho. Hyunjin eyes you weirdly as he keeps pace.

“Why'd you say that?” he asks as he packs his bag.

“I felt bad that they had to stay so long,” you say, confused. “We normally tell them that if filming goes over.”

“No.” Hyunjin pauses his movement to study you. You can't help but shrink away, feeling a bit like a bug under a microscope “We normally thank them for their hard work. You made it sound like it was your fault.”

“It's just been a long morning,” you deflect. “Are you heading back to the dorms now?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his wet hair, flicking sweat everywhere. “Have to shower and I have a bit of time before my vocal lesson. Want to head back together?”

“You go ahead first,” you reassure him. “I have a couple things left to do at the company so I'll stick around for a bit longer.”

“Sure. If you're finished early, feel free to drop by. We can have dinner or something together,” Hyunjin offers.

“Sounds good! I don't know if I'll have time, but I'll definitely see I can join,” you promise.

Lying always leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you know there's no way you're going to sacrifice time that you could be using to improve the dance just to hang out.

You stay late in the studio that night. Your only other schedule for the day is fittings for the music video and all the music shows, which finishes pretty quickly. Since you don't have much of an appetite anyway, you choose to skip Hyunjin’s dinner offer to continue practicing more. You had asked one of the managers to send you a copy of the dance practice and each time you replay it, the pit in your stomach seems to grow.

You lose track of time, picking apart each and every move to try and figure out what you're doing wrong. It's not until Minho knocks on the door and enters, startling you in the middle of yet another runthrough, that you realise how long you've been practicing.

“You still have so much energy?” Minho calls out as he walks closer to you.

“Just had a few things I wanted to fix up before I went home,” you explain in between breaths.

“And?”

“And what?” you ask.

“Did you fix them?” he replies, raising an eyebrow as he scans your sweaty form and the empty room. “Have you been practicing this whole time? You've been here so long that even Channie-hyung went home. He asked me if you were at our place.”

“What? I-”

“It's almost 2am,” he says gently. “It's time to go home.”

“Can I do one more run through?” you ask sheepishly. “Actually, it’s good that you’re here, I just want to make sure-”

“You've been practicing long enough.” Minho's voice turns stern and he grabs your hand to lead you to the couch to sit. “Did you even eat?”

“I wasn't hungry,” you say quietly.

“Y/n-ah,” Minho scolds you. “You need to fuel your body if you're going to work it so hard, you know we've talked about this.”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to practice more,” you say, staring down at your hands. You’re not allowed to pick at your nails since you just got them done, so you settle for fidgeting with one of the rings that you’re wearing. The sharp edges of the gemstones prick at your fingers but you can’t get yourself to stop. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just couldn’t get the dance right today. We had to film it so many times.”

“What are you talking about, Y/n-ah?” Minho asks, bewildered. “We weren’t- you weren’t the reason we had to redo the dance so many times.”

You look up at him finally and don’t see any of the annoyance that you were expecting. The concern and genuine confusion that you find instead catches you off guard.

“What? But- On our fourth take during the second chorus, my legwork was so sloppy compared-”

“Hannie literally forgot which direction we were supposed to move and he almost knocked into me,” Minho interrupts. “There was no way we were going to be able to use the footage, that’s why we stopped early.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

Minho taps a finger to his lips, deep in thought.

“Fifth take, well that was my fault, so we're not going to talk about that. Sixth try, Yongbokkie and Innie both missed a cue and crouched later than everybody else, that one made me want to pull out my hair.” He shakes his head.

“That’s when we took a break,” you realise.

“Yeah, we were hoping it would help us have a clean run. Jinnie had sweated through his makeup and needed touch-ups anyway.”

“I thought you guys were annoyed at me,” you say in a small voice. “You didn't seem happy with the final video.”

“It wasn't my best take,” Minho admits. “I kind of wanted to do it again, but I didn't want you guys to have to stay even later.”

“Did you even see yourself?” You reach for your phone and unlock it to show the paused dance practice video. “Look, I've been trying to copy how fluid you moved in this part. See there? I looked so stiff compared to you, it's awful.”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho says carefully.

“And look at this move,” you say, skipping ahead a couple seconds. “I couldn't quite-”

You cut yourself off mid-sentence when Minho leans forward to pluck your phone our of your hands and throw it off to the side. You don't even fight him, just stare with wide eyes, scared of what he's going to say next.

“You were fine, you did well. But even if you did mess up, it's okay. This dance is tiring, it's challenging. We all have bad days and it's okay to make mistakes.”

When you don’t say anything in response, he slowly moves closer and envelops you in a tight hug. You sniffle a little bit and when he starts to rub slow but firm circles onto your back, you can't stop the few tears that escape.

“Hey, what's going through your mind, huh?” he asks in a low voice. “Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

“I just don't want to let you guys down,” you say.

“Y/n-ah, you're not letting us down if we have to do a few more takes on a dance practice,” Minho says incredulously. “Is that all that's been worrying you?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “I was just nervous about filming the dance and disappointed when it didn't go like I wanted it to.”

“Silly girl,” Minho says, ruffling your hair affectionately. “You're doing just fine. It's okay to be nervous, but you don't have to be pushing yourself so hard. Come on, it's time to go home, we have an early schedule tomorrow.”

You follow him meekly as he leads you out of the building and to where a driver is waiting to take you back to your dorm. Even though you feel a bit better knowing that you weren't the cause of the schedule overruns, you're still not satisfied with how you're dancing, but you know that it's pointless to pick a fight. Not only is Minho just as stubborn as you, he's not afraid to bring in reinforcements and you'd hate for the rest of the group to catch on to how you've been spending most of your free time. They already have enough to worry about, the last thing you want is to add to that.

Moving forward, you don't stop practicing, but you do take more care to try and pretend that it's not eating up all your free time. You stop using your favourite studio, you know the dance so well that most of the time you don't even have music playing, and you make sure not to stay out late enough that it's noticeable.

You start to feel a little silly with how much time you've devoted to this, significantly more than the rest of the members, especially when the music video filming goes by without a hitch. By the time the Studio Choom video is filmed, you're a lot more confident about the performance and even starting to enjoy yourself.

The rest of the preparations for the comeback start to fly by, especially after the album announcement goes live. There's not a day that goes by that's not filled with different photoshoots or interviews.

Before you know it, the album is released and even though your schedule is absolutely packed, you spend all your free time reading through comments and reactions. Maybe it was cliche to say, but you really did treasure hearing from Stays and comebacks were always when you felt closest to them. You especially liked being able to interact with them on a more personal level.

You were almost certain that you were the most active member on Bubble, you liked to send daily updates on what you were doing and reminders to Stay about maintaining their health. It did sting that you were also pretty certain that you had the least subscriptions and likely some of them only stuck around because you thought it was funny to send candid photos of the boys every so often.

You had always looked forward to fan signs the most though. Before you had debuted, you had loved seeing footage of the cute accessories, silly pick-up lines, and heartfelt messages from the fans. Not only that, but it was the only chance to speak to fans in person, even if it was only for a minute or two.

You were immensely grateful for everyone that supported you, but maybe it was your eager anticipation for fan signs that left you feeling so disappointed and empty. You had slowly grown used to Stays ignoring you for the boys, for always being the one that didn't receive any gifts to play with, for having the smallest stack of letters at the end of each event. But somehow you were always hopeful that the next time would be different.

Of course, it wasn't like you resented everybody else in the group. In fact, you were genuinely glad that they were enjoying themselves because they deserved it. They worked hard, were amazing performers and talented at creating music, and as a result, the fans loved them.

You, on the other hand, were just missing something, and it seemed that nothing you could do would change that. You had bounced through different positions, focused on vocals, dance, rap, music production, writing lyrics, and had enjoyed yourself thoroughly the whole time. If only the fans had liked it as much as you.

At least with fan calls, it wasn't as blatantly obvious that you were the least popular, least favourite member of the group. In fact, sometimes you were glad because you knew the boys often had crazy fans who had absurd or cringy requests while most of the time you spoke with someone who was politely feigning their interest.

It's almost funnier when the company sits you all down in the same room for the calls like they do today because you get to witness and subsequently tease the boys for the aegyo and silly poses they're forced to do. It's not like any of you can refuse anything the fans ask you to do, not with the staff breathing down your neck the whole time.

As expected, most of your calls are fairly generic and you're grateful for it. You have easy conversations about the album, which dances are your favourite, and you get to share some stories from the tour that you recently finished. You're maybe halfway through the calls when things start to take a turn for the worst.

“I even think that you would have done great as a solo artist! Are you thinking of releasing any solo music soon?” the girl that you're talking to asks excitedly.

“Oh, thank you.” You smile back even though the innocent question makes your chest ache for some reason. “I- well, solo music-” You take a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “I don't know about the future, but right now I really can't imagine releasing anything other than music as a part of Stray Kids. I love working and performing with the rest of the members and I wouldn't want to change anything.”

It's how you actually feel, but you can't help the way that your eyes dart over to check on the staff member that's supervising your call. You feel a bit better when you see their nod of approval and try to focus on the fan to finish the rest of the conversation.

Thankfully you get a quick break before the next call. You know the fan was probably trying to be encouraging, she had started off the call praising your skills and was probably just curious. Still, there's a voice in your mind that tells you that she'd prefer it if you weren't a member of Stray Kids. Or rather, she'd prefer that Stray Kids didn't have you in it.

You try to bring a positive mindset into your next call, but it's with a Stay that’s decidedly less interested in talking to you. You exchange greetings and make small talk until she seems to get an idea that makes her sit up straight all of a sudden.

“I have a question for you,” she says, eyes glinting in a way that makes you a little nervous, even though you're not sure why.

“Go ahead,” you encourage her because you're mostly feeling a bit relieved that she's finally showing some emotion other than boredom.

“Which of the boys would you say is best in bed?” she asks slyly.

You stare at her dumbly, thinking that you must have misheard her.

“Sorry,” you say, laughing uncomfortably. “I don't- I don't think I understand your question.”

“You heard me,” she scoffs. “What's the point in having you in the group if you're not sleeping with at least some, if not all of them?”

“No, I- It's not like that, I don't-” Flustered, you stare desperately at the staff, hoping they'll step in and end the call. Instead they just motion for you to continue. “I mean, we're close, but not-”

“If you want, you can just tell me your favourites,” she giggles, as if she's just asked you what songs on the album you liked. “It must be either Chan or Jeongin, if you decided to live with them.”

“No!” you exclaim.

“So it's not either of them?” she says, tapping a finger against her lip in thought.

“That's not the kind of relationship we have.”

Mortified, you find that you're tearing up a bit. You've heard the theories before, know that there's a lot of gossip and rumours because you're in a group of men, but you've never been outright accused to your face like this.

From the corner of your blurry field of vision, you see Seungmin wave bye to whoever he's talking to. He must hear the distress in your voice because he glances over, then does a double-take when he sees just how bad you're doing.

“What's going on?” he demands, stalking over. Before the staff can do anything to stop him, he leans forward and disconnects the call without a warning. “Why didn't you do anything, isn't it obvious that something’s wrong?”

“Y/n-ssi was handling it,” the staff member says. “It’s not fair to the fans if you cut a call short without reason.”

“No reason? Do you have eyes?!” Seungmin motions to where you're surreptitiously trying to blot away the tears without smudging your makeup. He's gotten the attention of everyone in the room now, even the members who are still in calls and have to pretend nothing is happening in the background. You can only hope that the phones aren't able to pick up anything being said.

“Min,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you tug on his sleeve lightly. He glances back at you, eyes softening slightly. “It's okay, I'm fine.”

You're grateful that he's stood up for you, but all the scrutiny is getting a bit overwhelming. You just want to move on and pretend nothing happened because the last thing that you want is for the company to think you're a liability who can't even handle a nosy fan.

Seungmin crouches in front of you and studies you carefully. You're still clutching onto the sleeve of his sweater. You take a deep breath to compose yourself, then give him a watery smile.

“I was just being really sensitive today, I promise,” you plead. “Just let it go.”

He starts to say something, then cuts himself off, eyes watching something happening over your shoulder.

“Let's just take a quick break from the calls,” Chan says evenly. You didn't even notice that he came up being you and is standing behind you protectively. “We'll be back in 10 minutes.”

It's a command, not a suggestion, something that the staff would normally push back against, but for some reason they stay quiet, allowing the nine of you to filter out of the room unimpeded.

Nobody says anything until you find an unoccupied dance studio. Minho is quick to lock the door after you all pile in.

“Hey,” Seungmin says softly from where he's been stuck to your side. “You holding up okay?”

“Yeah, I don't know what happened. I'm fine now,” you say.

“Are you sure?” Felix asks from where he's sitting on your other side.

“Really, it was nothing,” you assure him.

“If you were upset, then it's something,” Seungmin insists. “We promise we won't think it's silly or anything. It's probably something we've all heard before anyway.”

You have to turn away from the way that he's looking at you with his huge, pleading eyes. But the rest of the group is also gathered around, concern lining their faces.

“She implied that the only reason I'm in the group is because I'm sleeping with all you,” you say stiffly, regretting it immediately when you feel both Seungmin and Felix freeze in place. “Which obviously is not true, so it's not a big deal.”

“Y/n, you know that's unacceptable, right?” Chan says slowly, through what sounds like gritted teeth. You finally tear your eyes away from where you've been staring at the patterns that you can see in the grain of the wooden flooring, to see that his jaw is clenched, neck muscles pulled tight.

“Fans say inappropriate things all the time, it's not like I haven't read things like that before. It comes with the job.” You shrug.

“That doesn't make it okay. This is serious. You shouldn't have to-” Chan cuts himself off when he notices that he's started to raise his voice and just pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, I know. I just- I don't want this to be a big commotion. It sucks, I didn't respond well, whatever, let's move on,” you say. “She's going to post about it online, but in a few days, nobody is going to remember anyway.”

“Hyung, can't we just end the call if they do anything inappropriate?” Changbin complains.

“You know that we can't,” you remind him before anybody else can say anything. “It's part of our contract.”

“I hate these stupid fan calls!” Hyunjin passionately declares from where he's sprawled out on the floor. “Channie-hyung, can we just cancel the rest of them?”

“Don't say that,” you scold him mildly. “You love fan calls the most out of all of us.”

“I love some of them,” he argues back. “But not if that's the way you're going to be treated during them. Plus, if another person asks me to call them mommy then I'm actually going to quit being an idol.”

“Ew, your fans are weird.” Jisung wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“They're your fans too!” Hyunjin shoots back.

“Okay,” Chan claps his hands together a couple times before things devolve further. “Unfortunately, we do have to continue with the rest of the calls and we can't delay things too much. It's time to head back.”

There's a bit of casual chatter as everybody heads back, but you can tell everyone is still feeling a bit tense. Seungmin only releases your hand when he absolutely has to and you squeeze a couple times before you let go to try and reassure him that you're going to be fine.

The second you sit down, a makeup artist descends on you, tutting her tongue when she sees that you've accidentally wiped away some of your eyeshadow. You obediently stay still, watching as Chan approaches your table too, stopping to lean down and say something in the ear of the staff member that has been monitoring you. The blood slowly drains from her face and she nods rapidly in agreement with whatever he tells her. He claps a hand on her shoulder and even though it's a light and friendly gesture, you can see the way she flinches slightly.

You raise an eyebrow when he looks your way and he just smiles innocently in return and makes his way back to his seat. You don't comment, not even when you notice that the staff's fingers are trembling so hard that it takes her a couple tries to connect you to the next call. You know that it's not her fault, she's just following instructions from the company after all, but you're not feeling very sympathetic at the moment.

Instead, you just try to focus and take on an upbeat persona in the hopes that nobody realises how upset you truly feel. You're hurt and a bit wary of what the fans might do next, but you don't want to take it out on the people who haven’t done anything to you yet.

Fortunately, the rest of the calls are rather uneventful and you leave the company feeling drained, but not as terrible as you had expected.

You spend the rest of the day thinking about what you could have done differently, how you could have handled the call more gracefully, what kind of answer you should give if something similar ever happens again. But no matter what, you just get stuck pitifully thinking to yourself that it's not fair, you shouldn't have to deal with these kinds of questions in the first case. You're sure the company will give you a briefing and some scripted lines tomorrow anyway, so it's probably for the best that you just try to pretend nothing happened at all.

That evening, you try your best to avoid social media, but you knew that some of the other boys had seen videos based on the stormy expression on Jeongin's usually smiley face when you got home and the way that Chan comes back from the gym with more bruises than usual from his boxing session with Minho and Changbin.

They never say anything, but they have been extra careful around you. Chan has brought home your favourite takeout without you asking and Jeongin jumps up to clean up the second that everyone has finished eating. After you decline to watch a drama with them, you can hear one of them pacing past your bedroom every few minutes, pausing right outside your door before continuing on.

You have just decided to muster up the courage to actually watch the recording of the video, it was embarrassingly easy to find one, when Seungmin video calls you. You immediately click away from where your own stupid looking shocked face is paused on screen to answer because you know Seungmin knows that you prefer to text unless it's an emergency.

“Hey,” you greet him warily. “What's up?”

“Felix is trying to kill me,” Seungmin complains.

“What now?”

“Just look!”

Seungmin changes to his back camera to reveal their kitchen, which is littered with baking supplies and seems almost hazy for some reason.

“Is that smoke?” you ask, sitting up in bed.

“I said not to film!” Felix's voice comes from somewhere outside of the frame. Seungmin pans over dizzyingly fast to show where he's crouched in front of the oven, streaks of flour smudged on his clothes and in his hair.

“I'm not filming,” Seungmin comments, unbothered by the fact that Felix is pulling out a pan of what looks like they should be cookies but look alarmingly similar to lumps of coal. “I'm on a call. Show Y/nnie what you made,” he prompts.

“What?? Noooo,” Felix whines. “Y/n don't look!”

“What are those supposed to be?” you laugh.

“I wanted to make something to cheer you up,” Felix says miserably. Seungmin cackles, moving the camera closer so that you first get a close-up of Felix's face, then a better look at the burnt baking sheet. You keel over, stomach starting to hurt from how hard you're laughing. “I was trying to clean up while they baked and didn't hear the timer go off.”

“Well I appreciate the thought,” you say, when you can finally catch a breath. “And you definitely succeeded in making me feel better. Didn't the fire alarm go off?”

“We just got it to stop,” Seungmin says, switching the camera so that you can see his face again. “It's freezing in here now, we had to open all the windows to air out the place.”

“You poor things,” you coo, leaning back onto your bed now that you aren't concerned that they're in immediate danger. “Do you want to come over to our place?”

“I want to, but someone has to make sure that sunshine over here doesn't burn anything else.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, making you laugh again. You hear Felix yell something in the background. “I just wanted a witness in case I don't make it to our schedule tomorrow. I think I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I think you'll be busy cleaning up the rest of the night. See you tomorrow!”

You end the call, plunging your room back into darkness. You lie on your bed for a few moments before unlocking your phone again.

Even though you knew that it wasn't wise, like clockwork you found yourself scrolling through social media after every comeback. It used to be worse, when you had been living alone and would spend countless hours curled up on your tiny bed, face only illuminated by your phone.

The rest of the members all know that you had private social media accounts, they all had them too even though you technically weren't allowed to. What they didn't know was how many nights you had wasted away, watching funny compilations, reaction videos, and analysis of performances. Sometimes, it even felt like you were subconsciously searching for the negative comments, wanting to understand better the mindset of the haters.

It was an old, but bad habit, so you had tried your best to stop once you moved in with Chan and Jeongin. But tonight you just couldn't sleep. After wandering into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, you end up getting distracted by your Youtube recommendations.

You don't know what kind of strings the company pulled, but by some miracle, there's no clips of your disastrous fan call circulating any more, although there were still a lot of people talking about it.

There had been mixed comments. Some of the clips had excluded the terrible questions and people commented on how bad your media training must have been, but a majority of people were furious on your behalf and complained about how out of bounds the comment had been.

You should be relieved that the videos have been taken down and you are to a certain extent, but just a couple days ago the dance practice that haunted you had been posted. Just one more thing to worry about. As you feared, while a majority of the comments were nice, there's already people picking apart your performance, comparing you to the boys.

You click from one comment to another, then move onto fan made videos, inevitably falling down a rabbit hole of the many edits that exist where you had been cropped out or digitally removed. It was almost mesmerizing, watching videos of how well the group worked without you, how natural it looked to see what it would have looked like if it was just the eight of them. Some nights, you could almost forget that the edits were exactly that, edits and not the reality.

“Hey,” Chan interrupts. He is obviously trying his best not to scare you, but you were startled anyway, dropping your phone on the counter. “What are you up to so late?”

“It's nothing,” you said quickly, fumbling to lock your phone so that he can’t see the video that’s playing, but Chan had scooped it up before you had the chance to pick it back up.

“What's this-” You could see the moment that he pieced things together, the way that even in the dim lighting you could tell how his brow had furrowed and his hand had tightened around your phone. “How come you're not in these videos?”

“Hm?”

“You were definitely in this performance,” Chan says, studying the paused screen. “You're supposed to be… They removed you.” He finally realises with horror. “Why are you watching garbage like this?”

“I just want to know what Stay are thinking.” You shrug. “I saw this video and couldn't help but watch. It’s not a big deal, I was just curious.”

“They're not Stay if they're not supporting the whole group!” Chan startles you with the sharpness of his voice. He catches sight of your wide eyes and softens his tone. “Sorry, I just hate akgaes and seeing these kind of posts.”

“Oh come on,” you say. “You're telling me that you've never thought about what the group would be like if you weren't being dragged down by me?”

“Dragged down- Y/n-”

“Don't lie to me, oppa. I know you've seen what people are saying about the group, about me. Have you seen some of these edits? Stray Kids looks good as eight,” you admit.

“I’m not lying! None of us would want to be making music or performing without you,” Chan insists.

“You don't have to say that just to not make me feel bad.” You shake your head.

“We’ve been together from the start, why would I have chosen you to be a part of Stray Kids if I didn't actually want you to be on the team?” Chan asks, sounding frustrated, but also genuinely curious.

“Because the company added me to the team at the last minute?” you say, as if it's obvious. Because to you, and basically everybody else, it is. “I know I wasn't part of the group that you picked. It's okay-”

“What are you talking about? You know that I chose you too, right?” he asks slowly.

“But the company-”

“They couldn’t have just added you to the group without our say.”

“No, I know that you guys agreed it to, but-”

“Y/n-ah, we didn't just agree to it. They told me they wanted us to consider adding a female member to Stray Kids. We thought about it and said yes. I was the one who wanted that member to be you.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Why are you so surprised? I saw your evaluations, you were one of trainees strongest in dance, probably the only one that could keep up with us, your singing has always been stable, and I know that based on your personality and work ethic, you would get along well with the rest of us. It was the obvious choice.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say, mind racing.

“You really thought the company just added your name onto the roster and we went along with it?”

“I don't know, I guess so?” you say sheepishly. “I was just so grateful to debut, it didn't matter at the time. It felt so out of the blue.”

“You know that one of the reasons that JYP didn't have you on that many of the girl group line-ups was because he was considering making you a solo artist, right?”

“Huh? There's no way,” you immediately deny. “Nobody ever mentioned that-”

“He told me when I brought up your name to add to the group. I guess they never wanted to get your hopes up.”

“I thought they were going to drop me soon,” you admit, scratching at the back of your neck. “I uh, I thought maybe I would do at most one more year of training and then move back in with my family. I had even started filling out university applications to keep my options open.”

“Y/n, you were consistently having amazing evaluations, you were being praised so much by everyone. Why would you doubt yourself?”

“Three years as a trainee and nothing to show for it. You know what it was like, how hard it was to see people come and go. It didn't matter how great my evaluations were if I never got to debut.”

“But-”

“Don't tell me that you never thought about quitting. Oppa, I thought that you of all people would understand what it was like.” You hate the way that your voice cracks.

“I thought about it all the time,” Chan says. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It's fine,” you mumble.

“Y/n-ah,” Chan asks tentatively, like he's afraid to learn the answer. “All these years that we've been together, did you really think we didn't want you?”

“Yes? Well, not really. I didn't think you guys disliked having me in the group per se, I just always thought that maybe you would like it more if I wasn't? And I guess it didn't help that there are a lot of people who thought the same way.”

“I'm sorry we didn't reassure you more.” Chan runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “How did we not see that you felt this way?”

“Because I didn't want you to? It's not like it was your fault anyway, I was just overthinking.”

“You know we're going to have to make it up to you, right?” Chan says, looking a little mischievous.

“Oh please no,” you say, backing away nervously thinking of how much coddling and smothering you're about to endure. You're pretty sure you're already one of the members that's doted on the most. “Things are good as they are.”

“Nope, I refuse.” Chan approaches you, reaching out and catching your wrist so that you can't get away. “We're going to give you so much love that you're not going to doubt yourself ever again.”

“No!” you squeal, trying to tug away from his grip. “I already-”

The rest of your sentence gets cut off as Chan pulls you into an embrace and your face gets smashed against his shoulder. He squeezes you tightly and contrary to your words, you just relax into his hold.

“What are you guys doing? You're being so loud.”

Both you and Chan freeze, then turn to stare as Jeongin shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his hair all mussed up. You turn back to Chan for a second before he replies.

“Just having a bit of a heart to heart, Innie. Come here, join us,” he invites.

“Ugh, why would I want to hug either of you?” Jeongin complains, wrinkling his nose before immediately walking over and enveloping both of you in his arms.

Even though you know you're going to have to leave for a schedule in a matter of hours, with both Chan and Jeongin's arms wrapped tight around you, you feel lighter than you have in months. You feel secure, at ease, and finally, like you've found a home in these boys.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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doggirlnarcolepsy · 4 months ago

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My wife's dentist has informed us that it will take at least another 8-16 months before they can start considering a solution to replace the teeth she's already lost plus the ones they're going to extract and the dental surgery needed for the ones they can't pull. We've been struggling a lot with making ends meet in the last 3 months after having to repeatedly restructure our meal planning around what little my wife can eat, pain management after a dry socket complication in the last extractions, and our medications.

Our already strained budget is being stretched so thin that we constantly have to skip meals despite already only having dinner most days, leaving us almost no energy to do household tasks, practice self-care, or prevent our already deteriorating mental health from worsening. Unfortunately, we're still a long way away from the finish line for her, and my own deteriorating physical health is making it harder for me to support her while also trying to get a diagnosis and treatment for my issues.

Thank you so much to everyone who donated to the other post thus far. We really appreciate the help we've gotten, and it's gone a long way to help with the stress of our current situation. We really hate having to do this and having to rely so much on the kindness of others, but we really don't have any other options left

My Paypal: queensizeddonger

$0 / ???

#sorry it took us so long to give an update on this #there's been multiple deaths in my family and I'm also dealing with a health scare of my own right now #everything has been so fucking hard lately...

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no-144444 · 11 months ago

Text

my girl- (o.piastri no.81)

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summary: fans made an edit of oscar and you being in love since your prema days.

pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x fem! driver! reader (no.28)

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Oscar Piastri being in love with Y/n Y/l/n for 15 minutes straight, and vice versa (F2 -> F1)

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Clip 1: Prema video

Bahrain Airport, F2 season beginning, March.

“And here we have the 3 year reigning champion of the Indycar Junior series, making her F2 pivot, Y/n Y/l/n!” Rob cheered as he woke you from your nap on the plane.

“Shut up,” you groaned, pushing the camera away with a chuckle. “I'm tired, leave me be.”

“The plane is landing, idiot!”

“Hush!” you laughed. “That means ages until we get off, get your camera away Rob!”

Rob and you had gotten the same flight from London, and you’d become fast friends. He was eccentric and overtop, but a good laugh. You were sure you looked crazy. 6 hour flights do that to a person. You and Rob chatted to the camera about the weekend, and you introduced yourself to the Prema fans. Not many people gave a shit about Indycar, and even less cared about Indycar junior.

As you disembarked the plane and got through security, people stopped you and Rob for photos and whatnot, then you finally got out of the airport. Angelina was standing there with a camera and a big ‘welcome’ sign, and another two very tired teenage boys beside her.

“Y/n!” she cheered, pulling you both into a hug. “Rob!”

Little did you know, Rob’s camera was pointed at Oscar, who turned to Fred with a shocked expression and whispered: “She’s gorgeous.”

Beside him, Fred chuckled. “Go for her.”

“No way I have any chance with her, I-”

“I can hear you, y’know?” you cut in, coming over to introduce yourself.

He went redder than a tomato, and you all just laughed.

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Clip 2: Sky Sports channel

Bahrain International Circuit, 27th of March

“And it’s No. 28 who sees the chequered flag first, the rookie, and the only girl on the grid, Y/n Y/l/n! Pole position in her first race!”

“That’s P1 Y/n, congratulations,” your race engineer, Pedro, beamed as you crossed the finish line.

“Motherfuck Guanyu is fast mate, we need to watch out for him- oh, and the other Alpine boy that was trying to flirt with me, what’s his name?” you answered. The Prema garage was full of laughter as you outed Oscar.

“Oscar Piastri? No.2,” Pedro chuckled. “He failed to flirt with you?”

“Well, bless him, he tried to,” you chuckled as you parked the car. “He’s cute though.”

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“That’s P6 Oscar, and just to let you know, Y/n Y/l/n has outed you on the radio and on live television saying that you tried and failed to flirt with her,” his race engineer said.

Oscar laughed, finding the situation funny. “My mum’s going to tweet about that.”

“She also called you ‘cute’, if that helps with any bruised ego?”

Oscar’s face lit up under his helmet. “It definitely does,” he chuckled. “Thanks mate.”

“I’d wingman you any time,” he chuckled.

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Clip 3: Prema video

Prema Headquarters, Grisignano di Zocco, Italy, April.

“Hello everyone,” Robert smiled at the camera. “Today we will be going for a drive, I’d better call Oscar in.”

Oscar sat in the passenger seat and did his belt as they caught up and told the viewers what they’d be watching.

“So, today, you will be joining us for a drive around the Italian countryside,” Rob smiled. “And we will be answering your questions.”

“Let the questions begin,” Oscar added. He pulled one out of the bowl and read it aloud. “Who’s your favourite Prema team member?”

Rob smiled. “That’s hard, I love the whole Prema team so much, but… yeah, that’s hard. Maybe my race engineer, Fred? I get along quite well with him,” Rob giggled as Oscar nodded.

“What?” Oscar laughed.

“I know your favourite,” Rob smirked.

Oscar looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Who?”

“La tua ragazza,” Rob chuckled as Oscar rolled his eyes. “What? It is true! You love her!” (La tua ragazza = your girl in Italian)

“I’ve met her once, mate!” Oscar laughed.

“So you don’t like her? I can ask her out?” Rob deadpanned.

“Well, no, you can't-” Oscar was cut off by Rob’s laughter and he decided to stop trying to fight him about it. Everyone on the team knew that Oscar Piastri was infatuated with you.

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Clip 4: Georgie O’Hara’s deleted youtube video.

Haileybury and Imperial Service College, England.

“Ok, that’s an awful idea!” Oscar yelled over his friends. “They already know you’re the ones doing it!”

“It’s fine! It’ll be fine!” Elijah, a good friend of his, smiled. They wanted to set off the fire alarms again, for the third time that week. Deodorant and stupid teenage boys did not mix, especially when they refused to put it on themselves and waste it on fire drills instead.

Georgie turned to his phone, addressing the viewers "Oscar's a goody-two-shoes, if you couldn't tell."

Suddenly his phone rang from an unknown number, and before he could leave it ring, Anthony (another friend of his) answered. “Oscar Piastri, incoming F2 champion’s phone, how may I help you?”

Oscar laughed, but suddenly stopped when he heard you.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” you chuckled at his friend. “Anyways, can you just ask him to ask Elijah not to do the fire alarm thing between 11pm and 2am? The girls in my room and I are sneaking downstairs to watch a film and we don’t really want to get caught.”

Oscar covered his face and groaned, then took the phone off Georgie. “Hey-hi, Y/n. Yes, of course, we won’t do the fire alarm thing, ever again. Sorry.”

He turned his back as his friends made kissing noises and certain gestures at him.

“All good, thanks Osc,” you smiled. “You and your friends are welcome to join us if you want.”

Oscar could’ve sworn his heart stopped beating. “I’ll ask them,” he smiled. He turned to his friends. “Y/n’s inviting us all to a movie, we’re sneaking out tonight,” he informed them.

“I don’t want to-” Anthony started, but Georgie silenced him with a kick to the shin.

“Mate, this is Oscar’s one fucking chance with his girl, shut up,” He scoffed.

“Is that a yes?” You asked over the phone.

“Yes!” they all answered.

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

As the night went on, you found yourself getting more and more tired. Oscar was beside you and you could tell how he was trying to play it cool, but failing miserably. You could practically see the way his heart leapt out of his chest when you held his hand. As ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ ended, you squeezed his hand before getting up and letting go.

“Alright, I’ll clean up, everyone else go back upstairs before you get caught,” you whispered. The ‘movie room’ as the students called it (it was technically the staff room but no one really cared) was a mess. Blankets, cups, wrappers and pillows were everywhere. The group slowly shuffled out as you were left with only Oscar. Georgie had forgotten about his camera and it was still recording where he’d put it down to get some shots of everyone watching the film.

“I can help,” Oscar whispered.

You shook your head. “Seriously, you go ahead. They already hate me at this school anyways,” you chuckled.

“Please let me help?” he asked again. You couldn’t exactly say ‘no’ to his puppy dog eyes, could you?

“Fine,” you smiled.

You two chatted quietly as you cleaned up the room, and finally met at the door to leave.

“I really enjoyed tonight-” You started, but you were cut off by Oscar kissing you. His arms wrapped around your waist and your arms wrapped around his neck once the initial shock wore off. You both pulled away after a few seconds. You stared up at him as his usually-blank face turned to one of panic.

“Sorry if that was forward, or-or weird- or-” He started, but now it was your turn to cut him off with a kiss.

He pulled back smiling, and he didn’t move his hands, or try to move away from you. There was a moment of silence. “Can I take you on a date?”

You chuckled. “Yes.”

Oscar was elated.

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Clip 5: Sky sports channel and Prema footage

Circuit de Monaco, Monaco, Monaco, May 22nd.

You were excited as you stepped onto the podium, victorious. It had been a difficult few laps at the end, Guanyu overtaking, then you overtaking, and over and over, but you got the chequered flag first. You were breaking records, breaking barriers as a woman in motorsports. You’d won Monaco, your first time racing there. In the Sprint, and the feature race. You were on top of the world. As you raised your trophy, the crowd cheered and Oscar was cheering the loudest.

You looked to your left, him standing on the podium for the first time this season, and you smiled.

“Feels good, huh?” you smirked.

“Feels great, but I’ll be coming for your step next,” he smirked.

“You wish Piastri,” you scoffed, then uncorked your champagne bottle and sprayed it on him and Zhou.

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Clip 6: Sky Sports channel, Prema footage

Autodromo Nazionale di Monza, Monza, 17th of July, Sprint Race.

“And it’s Y/n Y/l/n into the wall in a bad collision with Liam Lawson, only 2 laps till the end!”

Everything was in slow motion, one second you were in control, the next you were flipping into the wall.

“Red flag, red flag Oscar, huge crash in sector 3, come in, come in,” his race engineer said.

“Who was it?” He asked, slowing his pace.

“Y/l/n and Lawson, straight into the wall.”

“Is she ok? Is she out of the car?” he asked calmly.

“Not yet,” he answered grimly. The Prema garage was eerily silent as they watched the stewards struggle to get you out of the car.

As he came up on sector 3, he saw you. The car was upside down leaning against the barrier, they were putting out the fire. Shit. Shit. Shit.

You and Oscar had been dating for a few months now, and he really liked you. He passed by in horror as he saw that you weren’t out of the car yet. He was getting more and more nervous as the moments went on. He caught sight of Liam. He was out of the car. He beckoned Oscar over and he obliged, letting him hitch a ride back to the pitlane with him as he drove slowly. As they got back to the pitlane, they both jumped out as the race was finally deemed as cancelled, and the boys walked off, waiting for news.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It was a total mistake, my car had mad fucking oversteer and I just hit the throttle too hard, and then she was in the wall,” he answered. “She’s not even out yet.”

“She’ll be ok,” Oscar said, trying to convince himself as well as Liam. “She’s strong.”

Liam nodded, and went off to the RedBull garage with his head held low. Oscar walked into the Prema garage and his mom immediately pulled him in for a hug. Beside her was your parents, looking terrified.

“You’re ok, thank god,” she whispered. She didn’t care about the multiple cameras pointing at them, her son was alright.

“Is there any news yet?”

“They’ve pulled her out of the car,” your dad answered, eyes glued to the screen.

“Is she responsive?” Nicole asked.

“Yes!” You race engineer answered, happy that you were alive. There was a collective sigh of relief throughout the garage. “Complaining about lower back and leg pain, as well as a definite broken arm. She won’t be racing for a while,” he added, his tone becoming more and more sombre. Oscar watched as your mother broke down in your father’s arms, and he felt like throwing up. You wouldn’t be racing, you wouldn’t get to do the thing you loved.

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Clip 6: Prema video

ASST Brianza - Vimercate Hospital, 18th of July.

You woke up in blinding pain a few hours earlier. Everyone had worked so hard to make everything ok, to make you comfortable, but all night all you did was sob. The pain was unbearable in the car, you thought you were going to die, you thought you weren’t getting out of the car. 5 fractured vertebrae, 3 broken ribs, a fractured hip bone, and a broken arm apparently wasn’t a joke. No racing for the rest of the year. Your life was over.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you sat up and pain shot up your back.

“Hey,” Oscar’s soft voice brought you out of your upset, and back into the room. He took your hand. You felt bad, he’d been there the entire time, and honestly, he should probably be at the track already, ahead of today’s race. You’d tried to shoo him but he wasn’t having it, much more in favour of being with you and cluing you in on how your parents reacted to him being your boyfriend. Awkward. “Take your time.”

You nodded, grateful that he was there, then turned your attention to the camera Angelina had brought with her and set up to take a ‘statement’ video. “Hi Prema fans, and my fans. Yesterday was pretty rough, and with a heavy heart I have to tell you that I won’t be able to continue this season in F2. My back was badly damaged yesterday in my collision with Liam, which was a complete accident and not anyone's fault, and I definitely don’t blame Liam. I love racing, and I’ll still be at the majority of the races to support my teammates, and my boyfriend. This is just a very unfortunate event that pulls me out of the game for a while, but I’ll be back. I hope you miss me on track, and just know that I’m alright. Thank you for the support, bye for now, Prema family.”

Oscar wrapped his arms around you and smiled. “I’m the boyfriend,” he added, making you laugh.

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Clip 7: Prema footage

Jeddah Corniche Circuit, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, 4th of December

“And Oscar Piastri sees the chequered flag first! Winning a sprint race and the feature race this weekend!”

You jumped up and down beside Chris, his father, as he came into the pitlane. He was the lead of the championship. He was going to win F2. No doubt about it.

The past 5 months had been difficult. You’d been back at school for a while, only now cleared to travel again, but you were happy to be back at the tracks. It felt good to watch Oscar win in person.

Chris wrapped his arms around you as you both celebrated. Oscar’s radio came on.

“God guys, good drive. Looks like Y/n is my lucky charm,” he laughed over the radio. The last races hadn’t gone so well for him, but he was straight back to winning with you here.

You were smiling the whole way to the barricade, but that ended when about 50 people were against your back, pushing violently. Chris and Mark were trying desperately to get them to back off, but they couldn’t stop them. You promised them you’d be ok, but the pain was getting unbearable, and Oscar hadn’t come over yet.

“Guys, move back!” He shouted as he ran over, just finished taking off his helmet. “Make some space!” The team obliged, but he still decided to be dramatic and lift you over the barrier. “You alright?” he asked, but you just wrapped your arms around him.

“You’re incredible Osc,” you smiled. “I love you so much.”

And there it was, out in the open for the first time. Too bad you forgot you both had microphones on.

He smiled wider than you ever thought possible for his face. “I love you too. So much baby,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You should be up here with me,” he added and you nodded, it still being a sore subject. “And you will be. Next year.”

You nodded, grateful for the hope and support he offered you. “Go! Go to your team!” you laughed, pushing him on. Before he let you out of his grasp, he grabbed your waist and stole a sweet, quick kiss.

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Clip 8: Prema footage

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, 12th of December

He’d done it. He was the F2 champion. Sadly next year he would only get to be the Alpine F1 reserve driver, which meant no consistent racing, but that was still incredible.

You waited by the barricade as he came in, and he went straight over to you. He pulled his helmet off, then his bandana, and pulled you in for a kiss. The rest of the team ‘ohh’ed and ‘aww’ed but neither of you cared at all. He’d won.

“Congratulations F2 winner,” you smirked, pulling away.

“Thanks baby,” he smiled.

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Post-race interview

“So, how does this feel, Oscar?” she asked.

“It feels amazing, y’know, we’ve all worked so hard at this for the whole year and it’s just really special to have everyone here, especially my girlfriend Y/n. I’m missing her on track, so it’s good to still at least have her in the paddock,” he smiled, and the camera cut to you, beaming up at him.

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

Clip 9: Prema footage and Sky Sports channel

Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir, 19th of March, Sprint 1.

“We’re in the Prema garage,” Oscar explained to the camera in front of him. He was in full Alpine gear, being a reserve driver meant being a marketing machine, but this wasn’t for Alpine, this was for you. “And my girlfriend is about to go and do her first race back since the accident last season. Let’s go interview her about it!” He walked through the garage, searching for you, and finally found you. “Y/n! Any time for an interview?”

You turned to him and smiled. “I always have time for you,” you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close. His grip on you was tight but you didn’t mind. You pulled away and turned to the camera.

“So, how does it feel to be back?” He asked.

“Amazing. I thought my life was over when I was told I wasn’t allowed to race for half a year.”

“And who helped nurse you back to health?” He smirked, batting his eyelashes at you.

“Your mom mostly,” you chuckled. You’d spent the entire off-season in Australia with Oscar and his family, and Nicole had been so considerate and careful about your healing injuries.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Yeah… that’s probably true,” he chuckled. “How do you feel being on Pole?”

“It feels good. We just have to stay quick this season. I didn’t rush my healing just to lose,” you smiled then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve to get in the car now, love you,” you smiled. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his lips to yours with a ‘good luck’, then let you go.

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

“And can she do it? Yes she can! Y/n Y/l/n is coming in with a bang! A Sprint Pole and a Sprint win! That is a statement, ‘I never left’!”

“That’s P1 Y/n, well done!” Pedro called over the radio as the Prema garage went crazy.

“Thanks for everything guys, great car, great drive-”

“Great driver,” he added.

You pulled into the pitlane and got out of the car, celebrating as they got the photo of you on the car. You ran over to Oscar at the barricade as you pulled off your helmet and balaclava.

“That’s my girl!” he cheered as you pulled him in for a hug. “See? Nothing's changed.”

You pressed your lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m loving this WAG lifestyle,” he chuckled.

You laughed. “It suits you.”

He chuckled. “Alright, you’re being called for the interview. Love you,” he smiled as you walked off, giving your hand a squeeze. You blew him a kiss back.

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

Clip 10: Prema video

Prema Headquarters, Grisignano di Zocco, Italy.

You were laughing with Logan, doing a ‘Who knows who best’ challenge and both of you were failing miserably.

You put the headphones on and the music started, making it impossible to hear him. You watched as the room erupted in laughter, then Logan nudged you to take the headphones off.

“What is the most annoying thing about you?” He asked, holding back giggles.

“I know what you’d say,” you chuckled. “Me and Oscar.”

The room erupted in laughter as he nodded. “Exactly!”

“You’re just jealous,” you chuckled.

“Why? ‘Cause I don’t have a girlfriend?”

“No, because I have Oscar and you don’t,” you shot back, and everyone started laughing again.

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Clip 11: Sky Sports Channel

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, 20th of November

“And after a season of domination from the woman in red, Y/n Y/l/n sees the chequered flag first with a staggering 425 points! This F2 season will go down in history!”

You’d done it. You’d done it. You were an F2 champion, and next season you’d be in an F1 car fulltime, racing alongside Oscar, Logan, and Nick. You’d made it.

You jumped out of the car, amazed at your season. It’d been win after win, fastest lap after fastest lap, pole position after pole position. You’d worked so hard.

“You did it baby!” Oscar shouted as you ran over. You jumped into his arms, and let him hold you up. He looked at you like you held the sky up, like you were the greatest thing on the planet. “You’re incredible.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” you smiled. “ I love you so much.”

“I love you so much more,” he pressed kisses to any inch of skin he could, more than proud to be yours.

You chuckled as he tickled you with his kisses, before you realised that you needed to go fulfil your duties. He put you down, but before you could leave, he grabbed your waist again. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Osc.”

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

Clip 12: Sky Sports channel, McLaren footage, and RedBull footage

Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir, 2023.

“A disappointing result for Oscar Piastri, but an incredible run for Y/n Y/l/n, P1 in her first race! I’m sure he’ll be pleased with that for his long-time girlfriend!”

Oscar was pissed off, but his mood was lifted by your result. You were incredible. He cheered in his own garage, happy for your win. You’d won your first race. Who else did that? The first woman to ever do so.

He was in awe of you.

He exited his garage, ready to see you after your win. He saw you getting out of the car and running straight into the arms of your team and he smiled. He finally caught your eye after some time, and you ran over, wrapping your arms around him.

“I’m so sorry,” were the first words out of your mouth. “If I could trade our cars, I would Osc, I really would,” you sighed.

“Don’t even joke about that. Don’t make your first win about me. This is about you, my brilliant, incredible, winner,” he pressed his lips to yours in a short, victory kiss. “I love you, yeah?” “I love you too,” you smiled.

“You were amazing out there,” he smiled.

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

Clip 13: McLaren video

Jeddah Corniche Circuit, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

“Who is your teammate's favourite person?” Lando asked, then looked at the camera and rolled his eyes. “Oscar’s is Y/n because he’s a traitor.”

Oscar burst into laughter and looked at Lando. “That’s not fair! We started dating as teammates!”

“Oh sure Osc!” Lando sighed, playing up the drama. “That’s what they all say.”

“But it’s the truth!”

“Anyways, moving on from Oscar and his traitor girlfriend, who’s my favourite person Oscar?”

“Max Fewtrell?”

Lando thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Him or my parents or siblings.”

Oscar took another question out of the bowl and chuckled. “What’s the other person’s red flag?”

Little did he know, you’d come in to visit him and were actively sneaking up behind him.

“Yours is your refusal to ever use a hairbrush,” you answered for Lando, and Oscar jumped, making everyone laugh, especially Lando, who fell off his chair. You chuckled and wrapped your arms around Oscar's neck from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Came to say hi,” you smiled, kissing his cheek.

“Came to air out my business online?” He questioned, laughing. He took your hands and led you around his chair, sitting you on his lap. “When did you get in?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder as Lando tried to compose himself.

“Just now, came straight from the airport,” you nodded, leaning back against him.

“Bad flight?”

“Nah, I was on Max’s jet. He’s offered me to ask you two if you want to go back to Monaco after this weekend with him. I am,” you answered. He nodded, gently playing with your hands as he listened to you.

“Sounds good to me,” he smiled. “Tell him ‘thanks’, yeah?”

You nodded. “‘Course,” you got up to leave but he pulled you down by the arm and pressed your lips together quickly, then let you go. “Love you,” you called after yourself.

“Love you too,” he called back, ready to get back to the interview.

“Can we keep that in?” Ellie, their marketing manager asked.

He shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

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

Clip 14: Hattie Piastri’s tiktok vlog

Piastri residence, Melbourne, 2023

“Y/n’s over there with Oscar, and Addie is with May and mum and dad are with Tim over there,” she explained to the camera pointing everything out. In the video you and Oscar were laying on the grass in the setting sun, utterly exhausted from your weekend of racing where you’d gotten p2 and Oscar had gotten p8. His arms were wrapped around you as you lay on top of him, smiling.

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

Clip 15: Sky Sports channel, RedBull footage and Nicole Piastri’s instagram

Circuit Zandvoort, Zandvoort, Holland

“And can she do it? Yes she can! Y/n Y/l/n beats teammate Max Verstappen to first place, and she sees the chequered flag first! What an incredible season this has been for the rookie!”

As you crossed the finish line, you almost felt sick. You’d beaten Max, giving you a lead in the Driver’s Championship. He’d been 10 points ahead. Now, you were 15 points ahead of him.

“That’s P1, P1 Y/n congratulations,” Pedro smiled.

“Thanks Pedro, and thanks everyone, really well done. Car is perfect, thank you all so much!”

“And Oscar’s P9, if you're wondering.”

“When I get my fucking hands on Zak Brown I will rip his fake fucking toupée off for giving him such a shit car,” You groaned. “Great drive guys, thanks.”

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

You walked into the paddock as they all cheered both you and Max on. Max had gotten P2, unhappy with not winning, but not mad that you’d won. He saw what you were doing for motorsports all around the world, how much pressure you were under as the first female driver in a long time, and how hard you were working. He wasn’t going to make your life harder by being an asshole off the track too. He gave you a celebratory hug and moved onto his driver’s room, as you stayed out with the engineers, chatting and celebrating with them.

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

Nicole Piatri’s instagram live

“Hi everyone, Osc and I are right now, trying to sneak into the RedBull garage to see Y/n,” Nicole explained and behind her, Oscar smiled and put both thumbs up.

“I’m going to be told off for this by Zak, so, sorry Zak. I want to see my girlfriend, my bad,” he chuckled, his apology only half-assed.

Nicole and him continued faffing around the paddock for a while, until Nicole caught your eye through the window. You ran over to the door beside them and let them in, pulling Nicole in for a huge hug as Oscar waited behind her with a wide smile.

He spoke to the live. “Apparently my girlfriend likes my mum better than me-"

You cut him off with a kiss as you laughed at his antics. “Shut the fuck up,” you chuckled. “You’re such a baby.”

“I missed seeing you in the conference,” he shrugged, holding you close as his mum took the phone and documented this moment between the two of you. “I love you,” he smiled.

“I love you too,” you chuckled, kissing his cheek. “P9? Not bad.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled. “P1? Not bad,” he lifted you into his arms making you squeal.

“Osc! Put me down!” You squealed.

“Let me win next time,” he chuckled. “Then I’ll put you down.”

“What do you want me to do? Switch our cars?”

“Ideally,” he chuckled, kissing your cheek and putting you down. “But I guess I’ll settle for watching you be gorgeous on the podium every week.”

“The fans are loving this!” Christian joked as he watched over Nicole’s shoulder, seeing how the chat was going crazy.

You both turned to Nicole with confused faces.

“You’re still filming mum?!”

This live has now been ended by the host.

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

Clip 16: Sky sports channel

Lusail International Circuit, Lusail, Qatar

“Oscar Piastri has done the job brilliantly, the Australian driver will see the chequered flag first! Oscar Piastri wins the sprint to take McLaren to the top step once again!”

“That’s P2 Y/n, Oscar P1,” Pedro announced.

“WOOOOO!” You screamed, elated for him. “Fucking legend!”

“I said P2 for you,” he reminded.

“Shut up and be happy for him, just once,” you chuckled, pulling into the pit lane to park. You watched as Oscar got out of the car as you got out of your own car. Immediately, he ran over to you, wrapping you up in his arms as you celebrated together.

“You did it!” You shouted, jumped around in each other's arms. “You’re fucking incredible.”

“You put up a good fucking fight,” he chuckled, smiling like a kid.

“You’re going to look so sexy at the top of the podium,” you smirked and he blushed hard.

“I wish you wouldn’t say stuff like that in public,” he chuckled, then hid his face in your neck as you laughed.

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

Post-sprint conference

“So, this is a question for Y/n and Oscar,” an interviewer started. Both of you looked up, exhausted from the late night race. “Does your relationship prohibit you from racing to your full potential? I believe Y/n, you could’ve caught up. Did you give him this win?”

You scoffed, appalled that anyone would have the audacity to ask such a thing. “For fuck’s sake,” you sighed. “No. I couldn’t have. You know how you know that? Because I would’ve if I could’ve. I love Oscar, and I’ve loved him since I was about 14 years old, but that doesn’t mean that I let him win. He’s a ridiculously talented driver, and a fucking genius with strategy. His car is great too. But out there today? That was pure talent. I can love him, and wholeheartedly race him too,” you answered, getting annoyed at the comments like these you two constantly got. “And another thing, I’m getting really fucking sick of the questions about our relationship. Do you really think we’d be together if we couldn’t race each other and not come back to each other and be proud of each other? Seriously? Where is your critical thinking?”

The room was full of whispered conversation as you dropped the last diss, and beside you Oscar was looking at you with huge heart eyes. Anyone could see it from a mile away, he loved you. He chuckled, wanting to add his two cents as well. “Yeah, exactly. The only thing she lets me win in is chess, right?” He looked at you with a smirk and you rolled your eyes.

“You won once, asshole,” you chuckled, pushing his hand off your thigh.

“Then we stopped playing,” he shrugged, a cocky smirk very-present on his face.

“We ran out of time,” you shrugged, feigning innocence.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Sure.”

The tension in the room had been dissolved in the comedic moment, and you were thankful for Oscar’s calm exterior. You moved closer to him on the couch, and he wrapped an arm around you, smiling wide as you pressed a kiss to his hand, the one closest to your face.

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

Clip 17: Drive to Survive

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi

“How are you feeling?” Oscar asked, sitting in your driver’s room with you before the race. He knew how worried you were, how much you wanted this. You had to win. You and Max were neck and neck. You just had to get more points than him, starting from P2.

You sighed, standing between his legs and messing with his hair, favouring trying not to think about it rather than talking about it. He grabbed ahold of your waist and pressed his face into your torso, pressing kisses to wherever he could reach, trying to make you laugh.

You chuckled and pushed him away, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m alright, I promise. Just stressed.”

“You won’t be stressed in a week,” he smiled. “We’ll be in Melbourne.”

You smiled, and kissed him again. “We will. Waves and relaxing. Nothing else.”

“Well, and Logan,” he chuckled. “So… ‘Merica and all that,” he smiled as you laughed at his bad joke. He got you down to his lap and he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You’ve got this, don’t worry.”

“Wow, anxiety cured,” you replied sarcastically, making him laugh.

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Clip 18:��Sky Sports Channel

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi

“And it is an incredible season for the first female in modern F1, Y/n Y/l/n sees the chequered flag first, with a Driver’s Championship 1-2 with her teammate Max Verstappen! This makes her the first female ever to win the F1 Driver’s Championship title! What an inspiration!”

You’d done it. You won your rookie season. You were World Champion. You were a legend.

“WOOOOO!” You screamed as tears rolled down beneath your hemet. “We did it! We did it!”

“We did it!” Pedro screamed. You knew the entire RedBull garage was going crazy right now. “You did it Y/n!”

“Thank you, everyone! This would’ve been impossible without you all! Amazing year! Incredible work!” you beamed.

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

“That’s P6, P6 Oscar,” his race engineer announced.

“Did Y/n get it? Did she win?”

“Yes, your girl is a World Champion,” he smiled.

“YES! YES! THAT’S MY FUCKING GIRL!” he screamed, elated at the news. He knew you could do it. He’d always known you could do it.

He rushed to get to the pit lane, ready to celebrate with you. He jumped out of the car and pulled off his helmet as fast as he could, watching as you ran over to him.

“You did it!” He cheered. “My fucking girl.”

“I did it!” You cried, over the moon. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” you smiled.

His eyes filled with tears as his heart swelled with pride. “You’re amazing. I love you so much Y/n.”

Neither of you cared about the cameras around you as you went in for a kiss. You didn’t care about how sweaty and gross you both were, you didn’t care about the grief that the pr team would give you, you didn’t care.

You were a World Champion. He was your everything. You were his everything.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula one #mclaren #oscar piastri x fem!reader #f1 fluff

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shy-writer-999 · 6 months ago

Text

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that and licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly wish you didn't overshare, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

click here for part 2! also here's my masterlist if you're interested!

#this may be my fave thing i've ever written idk why i just like it a lot #sanji smut #op sanji smut #op smut #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you

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boypied · 2 months ago

Text

𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜...

𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛; 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘

CHARLIE COX x M!READER

MDNI + FDNI, mature content ahead.

WARNINGS: age gap, oral sex (r!giving), cum swallowing, swearing, hair pulling.

SUMMARY: you return to school after leaving so many years ago, and you visit your favourite teacher. one thing led to another, and you're on your knees in the very class that you were taught in.

After a medical emergency a couple of weeks ago, you received a letter in the mail that your medical bills have started to build up, you only know one person who could help you out and try to make these unfairly high bills some how lower and actually manageable and that person is your old high-school teacher who you had a major crush on the entire time, it was obvious to everyone who even thought to pick up on it. Your heart races practically pounding out your chest as you park up at the school and make your way inside.

You walk through the old hallways that you used to walk down every single day only a couple of years ago. It didn't long for you to realise where you want to go... well, it's more like who you wanted to visit. “Afternoon Sir.” You say in a low tone, not wanting to entirely disrupt his class. “Oh! Long time no see...” he chuckles to himself while the rest of the class just stares at him as they are waiting for him to give them the signal that they can leave.

“The class was just finishing up anyway, take a seat... I'll be with you in a moment.” he mumbles to you in his usual calm tone, which strangely sends shivers down your spine and makes your knees weak. You are immediately drawn back into the trance you were in all those years ago when you first had him as your teacher. After Charlie sends his students to lunch, he turns his attention over to you, “So, what brings you back to my classroom, mister?” he smirks as he sits down behind his desk, leaning back to crack his back and his shirt lifts up ever so slightly revealing his happy trail that drives you wild, and you pull up the chair to get closer to him.

“I've been having some trouble with some bills and being overcharged and stuffed... you know, adult stuff... and I was just wondering if you could possibly help me out with that? It's just that I remember that you talked about this in one of our lessons, and you were skilled and stuff.” I start blabbering on about my reasons for even being here as I don't want to come across as a creep that peaked in high school and is desperately trying to relive those moments.

He just smiles at you as you stumble over your words, he leans forward and places his hand on your thigh giving it a slight squeeze, “Of course I'll help you.. you always were my favourite student.” he chuckles as he spins his chair round to face his computer as he starts working on his way to help you out whilst you stare blankly at him as your face reddens.

After a rough forty-five minutes of research, emails and phone calls you finally manage to get through to the hospital and get your bills lowered to a manageable amount that you can pay over a month or two. “Thank you! Thank you so much.” You gasp down the line in relief as you hang up and Charlie celebrates as he throws his fists up in the air, and jumping up to give you a hug but before he could do that you place your hand on his chest and you push him down against his chair without even saying a word you begin unbuckling his belt, “w-what?” he mumbles out in confusion as he watches you do this, his eyes widen as you pull down his trousers as well as his underwear letting his cock spring free

Your eyes dart up to meet with his as you lean down and take his semi-hard cock into the warm wetness of your mouth and the moment that it happens his cock immediately becomes grows in your mouth hitting the back of your throat which causes you to gag slightly. Charlie's head falls back slightly as he feels the warmth of your mouth coat his entire cock, his hand shakily grabs his glasses and he throws it onto his desk which knocks off a bunch of his students papers, you pull off his cock and lean up, “Should I pick those up?” You say softly, and he grips your head and pushes you back down on his cock.

“No! It's fine... just keep sucking. They can all have a B anyway...” he chuckles, which turns into a breathy moan. Charlie's eyes flutter open slightly after being shut from the blissful pleasure that was your mouth around his cock and he sees the time, “F-Fuck! We only have fifteen minutes.” he smirks as he runs his hand through your hair and gives you a helping push you down helping you take more of his cock into your throat. A smirk grows on his face, feeling your throat contract around his length because of how long it's been so long since he's had any sort of sexual encounter with someone in months.

You let his cock pop out of your mouth as you trace kisses along the side of it whilst using your hand to pump it up and down inching him closer and closer to the climax that he's been waiting for. “You taste so good” you mumble out before you take his cock back into your mouth all the way allowing your throat to coat his tip. “I never would've thought an o-old student would be giving me the best blowjob... i-i've ever had...” he rubs his temples whilst laughing, which quickly turns into low grunts.

You wrap your hand around his base as you continue to swirl your tongue around his base and pump his cock to give him the ultimate feeling of pleasure and helping him build up to possibly the best orgasm of his life.

“Keep sucking!” Charlie practically begs you as his eyes flutter back, and his toes curl as he nears his release and his cock is buried deep in your throat. Your hand reaches up and begins gently squeezing away at his balls, and that was enough to completely send him into overdrive as his cock starts squiritng his thick ropes of cum down your throat as he slightly bucks his hips up into your mouth pushing his cock deeper than before, his load just running down.

He pulls on your hair and you throw your head back as his spit glistening cock pops out of your mouth. Your lips are all puffy from the intense blowjob you just gave, and Charlie runs his thumb across your lower lip as he breathes heavily, “Finished with five minutes to spare.” Charlie says in a playful, celebratory tone, which causes you both to laugh.

You help him pull his trousers up and look some-what presentable for his next class. You lick your lower lip, tasting the residue of pre-cum and you just smirk “Tasty” You mumble out with a wink and he just smirks as he grabs your waist and pulls him closer to his body, “Some of my students are probably on their way...” he whispers to you as he grabs his phone and sends you his address.

He leans even closer and whispers right in your ear “The key is under the flower pott... be there in my bedroom, ass up. I'll make sure to right after this class.” he gently places a kiss on your neck and pulls away letting go of your waist, “See you soon, boy.” he says to you as he watches you walk out, “I'll be waiting... Sir.” You say with a wink and he just bites his lip.

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alsofoundinpeas · 9 months ago

Text

In the Blink of a Lens

Summary: When Spencer Reid finally succumbs to technology and gets a smartphone, he takes a tentative step into the digital world by sending his best friend (and colleague) Y/N a picture. What starts as an innocent attempt to embrace modern tech leaves Y/N flustered as the seemingly innocent gesture forces her to confront feelings she’s been ignoring for years. Neither of them is prepared for the powerful impact of a single, innocent photo as the lines between friendship and something more start to blur.

(AKA Spencer sends the above selfie and reader gets horny because his hand is quite literally swallowing the phone HAHAHA)

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Hand kink/fixation. Overstimulation. Oral (both m and f receiving). Fingering. Unprotected sex/P in V sex (do as I say not as I do and STAY PROTECTED IRL!!). Dirty talk/praise kink. Softdom!Spencer and bratty!sub!reader. Some religious phrasing (because who are fanfic writers really without it?) Pull-out method used (again, do as I say not as I do!!) Very brief mention of a sex toy (doesn't get used). Fluffy smut. Two idiots in love/best friends to lovers trope. <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This is my humble contribution to the Spencer Reid hand kink supremacy (no but seriously how are his hands THAT attractive??). This is kinda sorta an AU I guess because I wrote this with season four Reid in mind but I'm not sure (and Google will not give me a clear answer) if that type of iPhone was around then so let's just pretend it was for the sake of the fic pls. :') Also the "Sincerely, Spencer Reid" was a direct nod to B99's very own Raymond Holt because I could definitely see him and Spence handling tech the same way LMAO. As always, please tell me what you think! :) If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)

Am I doing this selfie thing right? Sincerely, Spencer Reid

The screen felt almost blinding in the dim lighting of Y/N's bedroom as she stared slack-jawed at the image open on her phone.

Spencer finally upgraded to a smartphone a week ago after an unfortunate crash to the ground (stupid raised sidewalk) shattered the old flip phone that had long ago earned him the nickname "Grandpa" from his pain-in-the-ass-loving best friend. Y/N had never seen a man so devastated over losing what was essentially a brick that made calls, so to cheer him up, she helped him pick out a new phone and set it up.

She was beginning to regret that decision as she gawked at the selfie Spencer had sent.

It was sweet—an innocent photo of him sitting in his car, just after finishing the paperwork he’d insisted on handling alone, despite her offers to help. He'd banished her to her apartment, as stubborn as ever. The shot was taken in his rearview mirror, a faint grin tugging at his lips, his maple-toned eyes obscured by the phone. There was nothing about the image that should have made her pulse quicken. But when the realization hit her, a rush of warmth flooded her face.

It was his hand.

His hand seemed almost too big for the phone, dwarfing it as he snapped the picture. It wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed how large his hands were—everyone did—but she’d never given it much thought. Until now. Watching the way his fingers effortlessly swallowed the device, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. There was something about the sheer size of his hand, the way it seemed to overpower the phone, that made her suddenly hyper-aware of every detail.

His fingers were long, elegant, and well-cared-for; fingers that seemed capable of touching parts of her she'd never been able to reach on her own—

No. No, no, no. There was absolutely no way she was having these thoughts about Spencer Reid. Spencer, her endearingly awkward best friend of four years. Her rock. Her partner in the field. The man she’d always thought of as just that—nothing more. Well...

Y/N did have a crush on him once, in the earliest stages of their friendship. But it was just a small, silly, unreciprocated crush that she locked away in the deepest parts of her subconscious so that she could at least still be his friend. She accepted that it would never happen and moved on. Or she thought she had...

A muffled curse leaves Y/N's lips as she realizes she never responded, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard as she struggles to think of a response. Since when has she ever struggled to talk to Spencer? Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with her tonight? Was she ovulating?

Y/N: Next time, show off those pretty brown eyes of yours and you've got it down pat :)

Okay... That sounded way flirtier than she intended... But that's how they usually joked with each other, right? She was just overthinking everything because she was exhausted from their most recent case. That's it.

Y/N: Also... why have you not put your phone case on yet?? You're practically begging for another sidewalk incident to happen, Grandpa.

That's better. That feels normal.

She sets her phone down on her nightstand, picking up her abandoned book to continue reading. Y/N's heart rate is almost back to normal when her phone's ringtone blaring startles her, the book falling to her lap with a muted thud. An annoyed groan rumbles in her throat as she reaches over to grab the device, internally praying it wasn't Hotch calling with another case. They had JUST gotten back from Ohio not even six hours ago and she just wanted to rest—

To her surprise, it was Spencer calling.

"It's awfully late for you to be calling, Grandpa," Y/N drawled as she answered the call, her lips curling up into a grin as she heard Spencer scoff on the other line. "Shouldn't you be in bed by now?"

"I am in bed," Spencer grumbled in response, and she could hear some shuffling as he got comfortable. "And I put the case on right after I sent the selfie, thank you very much. Speaking of, did you know that the origin of selfies was actually believed to be..."

Spencer launched into a thorough explanation of not only the origins of selfies but also a detailed account of why self-portraits came about. Y/N hung onto every word, just as she always did when he spoke. Most people found his rambling to be annoying, but not her. She thought it was fascinating how much information he kept tucked away in that brain of his and was more than willing to listen and ask questions about anything he blurted out.

The conversation stretches on for another hour, neither of them wanting to be the one to end it. It’s not until the fifth yawn escapes Spencer that Y/N finally chuckles into the phone before reluctantly saying goodnight. Spencer’s voice is warm as he wishes her sweet dreams, and the call ends with the soft beep of disconnecting. And, for the first time in a long while, sweet dreams she did have…

"Does that feel good? Hm, pretty girl?" Spencer murmured into her ear as she writhed between his spread legs, her bare back pressed flush to his clothed chest.

The night had started with celebratory drinks after finally closing one of their more grueling cases, the team getting some much-needed relaxation and bonding in. Spencer was Y/N's designated driver as per usual since he didn't drink, instead choosing to nurse a soda as he eyed Y/N down from across the booth.

He was directly across from her, snugly between Derek and Hotch. But he wasn't paying attention to them. His eyes had been fixated on her from the moment she'd come back from the bar with Emily and Penelope, tracing the contours of her flushed face as she tipped her head back and took another shot.

Y/N had no intentions of getting completely drunk, instead choosing to remain just tipsy enough to enjoy the warmth that flowed through her body from the alcohol and maintain a steady buzz. That way she could be aware of her surroundings while also enjoying herself and the company of her team.

The bar was dim, the pounding of her heartbeat matching the beat of the music bumping overhead as her gaze fell on Spencer. Her brows furrowed at the unabashedly hungry look in his eyes, her tongue poking out to wet her lips subconsciously. She had to have been hallucinating. There was no way he'd be looking at her like that... right?

But he had been. And that same look is exactly what led them to where they were now, with Spencer propped up against her headboard holding her at his mercy while his fingers pumped tirelessly into her drenched pussy. She was sure the sight of them was downright filthy, an erotic contrast of her completely bare body pressed against his fully clothed one.

Y/N was in shambles, her legs trembling as her nails dug uselessly into his thighs while soft whimpers and moans flowed freely from her kiss-swollen lips. Her mind was reeling, a dizzying mixture of the remaining alcohol in her system, the pleasure coiling tightly in her lower stomach, and the knowledge that it was Spencer causing said pleasure.

She was so, so close... just a few more strokes of his fingers and...

A sharp gasp sounded through the bedroom as Y/N jolted awake, her chest heaving as she shakily sat up to turn off her alarm. She blinked hard, attempting to clear the fog from her vision as she fell back into her pillows. The dull aching between her thighs served as a sore reminder of what she was so close to achieving in her dream...

Her eyes snapped open as the memory of the dream hit her like a tidal wave. Guilt, confusion, and sheer horror crashed over her, and she groaned, her hands dragging down her face in frustrated disbelief. She’d just had a dream—a wet dream—about Spencer Fucking Reid.

What had gotten into her?

Before she could dive too deep into why her crush on Spencer had apparently resurfaced with a vengeance after being dormant for so long, her phone dinged with a message from the genius himself. It felt like the universe was rubbing salt in the wound, taunting her for the forbidden thoughts she couldn’t seem to shake about her best friend.

Spence <3: Are you going to get coffee? Sincerely, Spencer Reid

Y/N snorted out a laugh at how he signed his text, shaking her head as she responded.

Y/N: ... Spence, you don't have to sign your name on each text. I have your number saved. And yes, I am :)

A minute passes before his response comes through.

Spence <3: Oh. Well then, can you also bring me coffee please?

Y/N: Of course I can <3

Her earlier guilt lingers in the pit of her stomach as she sets the phone down, rolling out of bed with a sigh to begin getting ready for work. How was she going to face him after having a dream like that? Maybe it was a fluke; a one-off occurrence manifested from her lack of sexual endeavors so her brain had no choice but to use Spencer as a fill-in for her fantasies.

Opting to pretend it never happened so she could face her best friend later, Y/N finished getting ready and left for the café, determined to get there on time for work.

The elevator dinged as Y/N strolled into the bullpen, her and Spencer's usual orders in hand and a soft smile on her face. Thankfully, today was a paperwork day—a task most of the team dreaded, but one Y/N welcomed. It gave her a chance to recover from the constant motion sickness from the jet and the relentless flirtations of the officers when they worked cases out of state.

"Mm, my very own coffee fairy!" Spencer grinned, setting down the stack of papers he’d been poring over. His eyes sparkled as she made her way across the room, finally meeting his gaze from across the desk as she stopped in front of him. "Have I ever told you you're the best?"

"Yes, you have," Y/N teased with a playful grin, holding out his coffee. "But I don’t mind hearing it more often."

Her dream, it seemed, hadn’t been a fluke, a realization that hits her as Spencer grabs his coffee. Her eyes involuntarily track the way his fingers curl around the Styrofoam cup, and a shiver runs up her spine when they inadvertently brush against hers. Her cheeks flush as she quickly pulls her gaze away, meeting his curious eyes instead.

"You feeling okay, Y/N? You look a little flushed," Spencer murmured, his brow furrowed in concern as he eyed her over the rim of his cup.

Y/N blinked, her heart pounding in her throat as she swallowed and nodded. The sight had sent her mind reeling, the memory of those same fingers buried deep inside of her in her dream the night before surfacing against her will.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm fine I just-"

Before Y/N could finish stammering out her lame excuse, Morgan sauntered into the bullpen with Garcia, the pair immediately honing in on her and Spencer as they made their way over.

"Oh, c'mon Y/N! Seriously? Pretty boy here gets a coffee but the rest of us don't?" Morgan taunted, chuckling as Y/N reached out to playfully swat at his arm with an eye roll.

"Well obviously! He's her work husband," Penelope chimed in matter-of-factly, giggling as she wiggled her eyebrows. "It would mean a divorce was brewing if she didn't."

The team had started the joke years ago, teasing her and Spencer for being the youngest members and for how quickly they’d clicked. To everyone else, it was obvious their friendship ran deeper than either of the two realized. The problem was that neither one of them could see it. Some profilers they were.

No matter how many times the joke was made, Spencer’s face still turned bright red every single time.

"Har dee har har," Spencer scoffed, his eyes shifting to the cup still gripped in his hand.

The banter was cut short as Hotch stepped out of his office, everyone mumbling their goodbyes and scurrying back to their desks to get their work done. Y/N welcomed the distraction with open arms, diving into her work to try to get her mind off of her conflicted feelings towards her best friend.

All day long, Y/N fought the growing urge to watch Spencer’s hands, but it was impossible to ignore. Her eyes were drawn to the way his fingers traced the edge of a case file as he analyzed it, or how they drummed a steady rhythm on his desk, each tap somehow amplifying the tension she was trying to suppress.

Her breaking point came when the team was wrapping up for the day. Spencer, eager to show off, insisted on demonstrating a new cardistry trick he’d learned. The rest of the team gathered around, and Y/N felt herself drawn in, unable to look away. Her eyes locked on his fingers as he deftly manipulated the cards, the muscles in his hands flexing with each smooth, controlled movement. She barely registered her open mouth or the way her pulse quickened—every part of her attention was on him.

Y/N was jolted back to reality when Emily nudged her, a raised eyebrow full of amusement as the rest of the team cheered and complimented Spencer on his newly acquired skill. Rather than meet Emily’s knowing look, Y/N quickly murmured her praise for Spencer, then hastily made her exit, claiming she needed to hit a store before it closed.

If she thought that day was bad, the next few weeks were hell.

The BAU had two back-to-back cases, leaving them no time to rest as they flew straight from Tennessee to Arizona. The dry heat seemed to make Spencer restless—constantly running his fingers through his hair, fidgeting with his watch, or rolling up his sleeves. Meanwhile, Y/N felt her sanity slipping away, her thoughts unraveling as she stumbled over her words or completely lost track of what she was saying—because she couldn’t stop staring at those goddamned hands.

Spencer wasn’t blind to the shift in her behavior. He’d noticed how she started to occupy herself with something whenever he entered the room, or how she became increasingly uneasy around him—spinning the rings on her fingers, tugging at the necklace he'd given her for her last birthday, or even finding reasons to leave the room entirely the moment he stepped in.

Y/N's usual teasing had begun to feel hollow, and the familiar touches she used to give him—guiding him gently by the hand, rubbing his shoulder when frustration set in, or planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek before leaving—had completely disappeared.

He felt gutted, unable to think of a single reason for Y/N's sudden distance. The uncertainty gnawed at him, twisting his stomach with worry. What if she was tired of him? Or worse… what if she had finally seen through his feelings for her and was repulsed by them?

When the team wrapped up in Arizona and boarded the jet home, Spencer made up his mind.

After Y/N chose to sit next to Emily instead of her usual spot beside him, he couldn’t take it anymore. The not knowing was eating at him, and more than anything… he missed her. She was the one person who saw him for who he truly was, the one who understood him better than he understood himself. The one who brought him solace during the toughest cases and reminded him why he kept going. The thought of losing her was unbearable, and he promised himself he’d do whatever it took to fix whatever had gone wrong.

As soon as the jet touched down in Quantico, Y/N quickly muttered her goodbyes and made a beeline for the parking garage. Finally, she was free. Free to go home, shut herself off, and stop behaving like a complete mess around Spencer. She hated how distant she’d been, but she couldn’t help it. The weight of her obsessive thoughts about him and the feelings she’d tried to bury for so long had completely overridden her rational thoughts, leaving her acting out of control.

Fingers closed around her upper arm just inches from her car, and a sharp yelp escaped her lips. She spun around, startled, to find an equally surprised Spencer standing there. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn't heard him following her.

"Jesus, Grandpa! Make an announcement before you sneak up on people!" Y/N complained loudly, turning away from him to unlock her car and toss her go bag into the backseat.

Spencer couldn't help but feel some relief at the nickname, a surge of hope coursing through him. Grandpa. She hadn't called him that in almost two weeks. He cleared his throat, holding onto his courage as he finally addressed her recent behavior.

"Sorry! Sorry, I just— I wanted to make sure we were okay? I’ve noticed you’ve been acting… not like yourself lately. Not that I’m calling you weird or anything—"

Y/N's heart broke at the nervous rambling spewing from his lips as he stood before her, tucked into himself and fidgeting with his hands as he tried to speak. God, she was such an asshole.

"Spence," Y/N murmured, gently interrupting him before letting out a soft sigh. "I promise, we're fine. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed distant. It’s just… I’ve been so stressed with the cases, and compartmentalizing has been harder than usual. I guess I didn’t want to drag you into it. I’m really sorry."

It wasn't necessarily a lie. She really had been stressed and struggling with compartmentalizing... just not because of their job.

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed, his tense expression softening into one of understanding. “You know I’m always here for you, right? You don’t have to carry that burden alone. I’d much rather you let me in than struggle with it on your own."

Scratch that. She wasn't just an asshole. She was the biggest asshole in the world for making him feel the way he had.

"I know that. I really do," Y/N murmured, her fingers nervously playing with her lip. "It's just… I get way too independent sometimes." She sighed, then brightened. "How about this? Tomorrow’s our first Saturday off in over a month… Why don’t you come over and we can do a movie marathon? We could use some good 'work spouse' bonding, don’t you think?"

Spencer’s smile stretched across his face, his voice a little more eager than usual and his cheeks flushed. "Yeah, I'd, uh... I'd love that. Let's do it."

Y/N returned his grin, her heart fluttering from how excited he looked. Relief flooded through her veins as he agreed to her plans, not realizing how much she had truly missed him the past few weeks since she'd been so focused on trying not to gawk at him every five minutes.

"Perfect. It’s a date,” Y/N teased, her smile widening. “Now, get in. I’m not letting you take the train back this late."

"What? Isn't this what you wanted, sweetheart?" Spencer crooned into her ear, tightening his hold around her wrists as he kept them pinned above her head.

Another frustrated whine left her lips as she tugged uselessly against his hold, but they both knew she didn't actually want to slip free. One of his hands was wrapped tightly around both of her wrists, his other tracing maddeningly up and down her side.

"Or did you want Officer Davidson's hands on you instead?" His tone was taunting, a hint of jealousy tainting his words as he tightened his grip.

The moment they stepped into their shared hotel room after leaving the precinct, Spencer was all over her. She’d noticed the heated glares he shot her way while she stood across the room, wearing a bored expression as Officer Davidson repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) tried to flirt with her.

They hadn't announced their new relationship status to the team yet per Spencer's insistence, but it was obvious from the intensity in Spencer’s eyes that he wanted to shout it to the world now. The way he glared at Davidson made it clear he was ready to stake his claim, watching the officer eye her like prey.

Now they were here, with Spencer hellbent on making sure she understood that she was his.

Y/N shook her head, looking up at Spencer pleadingly as she tilted her hips up in search of his. "No, never. Only want you, Spence."

A dark chuckle escaped him as he smirked down at her, his hand, which had been trailing along her side, now cupping her chin. His fingers gently squeezed her cheeks, coaxing her lips into a pout.

"Only me? Is that right, sweet girl?" Spencer cooed, loosening his grip to press on her bottom lip with his thumb before sliding the digit into her mouth. "Because it sure looked like you were enjoying his attention."

The flushed head of his cock teased her entrance, pressing between her folds as his hips slowly rocked back and forth, prolonging her teasing instead of giving her what she wanted. She groaned around his thumb, sucking the digit further into her mouth and holding his gaze in an effort to tempt him into finally fucking her instead of just grinding against her.

A soft hiss fell from his lips as his gaze darkened. He shifted his weight above her, keeping her wrists clasped in his hand and shoving them into the mattress as he began to rut against her harder. Her sharp gasp sounded through the air as he angled his hips up, the tip of his cock dipping into her deliciously before he halted his movements, keeping only a few inches inside of her.

Y/N writhed beneath him, whimpering her protests around his thumb as her jaw slackened, muffled pleas spilling from her lips as she began to beg uselessly for him to just fuck her already.

Spencer pressed down on her tongue with his thumb, a grunt escaping him before he yanked his thumb out of her mouth, using the hand to pin her down instead.

"Be still—"

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, the harsh light of morning pouring through her curtains, and she let out a disgruntled groan as she blindly searched for her phone on the nightstand. After weeks of peaceful, dreamless sleep, of course she would dream about Spencer the night before their hangout. Wait—

Y/N sat up abruptly, unlocking her phone to check the time, only to notice a message waiting for her on the lock screen.

Spence <3: I’ll be there in an hour with a surprise.

Sent twenty-three minutes ago.

Fuck. She'd completely forgotten to set an alarm to get ready for their movie marathon, despite being the one who had suggested it in the first place. Whatever brain cells that photo had scrambled in her brain needed to get a grip so she could function on a level above Neanderthal.

Y/N: Surprise? You spoil me, old man. I'll see you then :)

Y/N exhaled wearily, rolling out of bed and dragging her feet across the plush carpet. She shuffled over to her dresser, picking out an outfit consisting of black yoga pants and an old band tee before heading to the bathroom for a cold shower. Maybe it would clear her head—or at least get rid of the incessant aching between her thighs. It worked on men, right?

One miserable shower and a change of clothes later, Y/N finally managed to clear some of the fog clouding her mind. She darted around her apartment, tidying up in a flurry before Spencer arrived. Moving between the kitchen and the living room, she gathered everything for their movie marathon: a pile of 90's slasher films spread out on the coffee table, her biggest throw blanket draped across the sectional, and a bag of popcorn popping away in the microwave.

Spencer's signature knock rang through the apartment at the same time the microwave started beeping, signaling that the popcorn was done.

"Coming!" Y/N shouted from the kitchen, opening the microwave door so it wouldn't repeat the shrill noise before making her way to the front door.

She swings it open with an excited grin, her gaze immediately dropping to the bag in Spencer's hand. She beckons for Spencer to come in, trying to sneak a peek at what was in the slightly crinkled paper bag.

"Geez, don't look too excited to see me," Spencer chuckled, following Y/N into her kitchen.

She waved dismissively, laughing softly as she grabbed the bag of popcorn and a bowl to pour it into. Spencer sat the bag on the counter, finally revealing its contents as he pulled out a tub of ice cream and some sour gummy worms.

"A man after my own heart!" Y/N gasped with an exaggerated swoon, cackling as Spencer swatted at her playfully.

"You said you were stressed, and I know you’ve got a sweet tooth just like me, so I figured it’d be perfect for our movie marathon," Spencer said with a shrug, the faintest blush creeping up his neck.

That kind of thoughtful behavior was just another reason her emotions had been in turmoil for the past few weeks. The selfie had opened a door to a spiral of introspection, one that made her revisit every moment they’d shared. She had always known their friendship straddled the line between platonic and something more, but she’d convinced herself it was simply because they were so comfortable with one another. It wasn’t until now that she began to wonder if those boundaries had been blurred intentionally — if, deep down, they both had wanted more all along.

The movie marathon kicked off after a bit of grumbling from Spencer, who finally gave in to watching the cheesy slasher films he’d insisted were beneath him. A few awkward moments of shifting on the couch later, they settled into a comfortable spot—Y/N tucked into his side, both of them with snacks in their laps and the throw blanket wrapped around them, ready to dive into the horror-filled lineup.

As they settled into the movie, Spencer’s gaze lingered on Y/N for a moment too long. He noticed the drip of vanilla ice cream at the corner of her mouth, the sight causing an unwelcome tightness in his pants. Before he could stop himself, he reached over. His thumb gently swiped the sugary trail now pooling along her lower lip, a soft swipe that left his hand lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"Here, you've got a little..."

The words died in his throat as her lips wrapped around his thumb, both of their eyes widening as their gaze met.

In that moment, everything fell into place for Spencer. It wasn’t stress that had been driving her distant behavior—he realized with a sudden jolt—it was something else entirely. The way she'd been pulling away, the tension between them… it wasn’t just exhaustion or anxiety. No, it was something far more complicated. It was desire.

Y/N jerked backward, nearly sending all of their precariously placed snacks to the floor as her face burned with embarrassment. "Oh, my God I- I'm so sorry Spence," she stammered, her words tripping over each other. "I have no idea why I did that-"

"Y/N."

Spencer cut her off with a hushed murmur of her name, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stopped her nervous rambling.

"It's okay. I-I liked it," Spencer reassured her softly.

Y/N stared at him, dumbfounded.

"What?"

"I liked it."

Spencer repeated himself surely, but the tremble in his voice gave away the fact that his brave front was exactly that: a front.

"I—" He hesitated, a heavy sigh escaping him. His hands fumbled with the snacks for a moment, setting them carefully on the coffee table as if buying time. He finally turned to face her fully, the weight of his words settling in. "Y/N… I've been in love with you since the moment I met you. I never said anything because I was scared… scared you wouldn’t feel the same. And after everything these past few weeks, with you pulling away, I thought maybe you’d figured it out and hated me for it. But… maybe I was wrong. Maybe you actually feel the same way I do..."

Y/N’s mouth parted in shock, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. Spencer loved her. He always had. And she had spent all this time convincing herself her feelings were one-sided, certain he couldn’t possibly feel the same way.

Spencer's voice wavered as he spoke, his eyes searching hers with a quiet intensity. "Please, tell me I was wrong. Tell me you feel the same." His words hung in the air, and he held his breath, waiting, afraid that his confession might have been the thing to push her away for good.

The raw vulnerability in his voice broke through the fog in her mind, and without thinking, she nodded quickly, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.

"Yes! Yes, Spence, I feel the same way," she breathed, her voice shaky as she looked up at him, eyes wide with a mix of relief and disbelief. "I always have… I just… I convinced myself it was impossible. I never thought you could feel the same."

A soft laugh escaped him, his grin widening as he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. "How could I not, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "You’re everything to me. You’re the reason I started believing in soulmates… because I know I’ll never find anyone more perfectly made for me than you. You’re it. Always have been."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, her eyes welling up involuntarily. No one had ever spoken to her with such reverence, and in that moment, she realized she held him in the same regard. But where Spencer's words were so effortlessly beautiful, hers often fell short. So, instead of trying to find the right ones, she chose to show him just how deeply he mattered to her.

Within seconds, her lips were on his, her hands gently cradling his face as she pulled him closer. Spencer surrendered to the kiss, his hands sliding to her waist, mirroring her movements and pulling her in.

It started as a slow, hesitant kiss that rapidly devolved into something more desperate as the weight of years of silent longing melted away between them. What Y/N couldn't articulate into words she poured into touch, threading her trembling fingers into his soft hair and tugging, urging him to hover over her as she laid back against the couch. Her lips moved against his fiercely, trying to convey the silent message that she was just as in love with him as he was with her.

The movie had long since faded into the background, its faint dialogue and sporadic screams now an odd soundtrack blending with the muffled whimpers and soft pants that filled the space between them as their hands began to roam. Spencer's hips were nestled between hers, unmoving and stiff as he tried not to mindlessly hump against her like an animal in heat.

Y/N noticed Spencer's rigidness, breaking the kiss to look up at him with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong?" She breathed out, propping up on her elbows and brushing their noses together. "Are we moving too fast? We can stop if you want, I-I'm sorry—"

"No!" Spencer borderline shouted in his haste to ease the insecurity he saw creeping into her eyes, his face flushing as he cleared his throat. "No, no that's not it at all. I just, um... I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I wasn't sure how far you wanted this to go."

Y/N’s shoulders relaxed, a small frown giving way to a playful smirk. She idly twisted the loose curls at the nape of his neck between her fingers, her gaze locking with his.

"I want you, Spence. All of you. If that's what you want, too."

Spencer's nod was immediate, his forehead almost knocking into hers, causing her to laugh at his eagerness. "God, yes. I want that, so much. I want you so much."

Y/N grinned as she tilted her head to brush their lips together, landing a chaste kiss on his mouth before she tugged him down, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. "Yeah? You wanna fuck me, Spence?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as his head fell into the crook of her neck. If he were younger, he probably would have just cum in his pants from her words alone. But he was a man now. A barely composed man who was dizzy from the intoxicating scent of her perfume crowding his nose and the most painful erection he's had since puberty straining against his slacks.

"Such a crude mouth you have," Spencer murmured in feigned disappointment, shaking his head before pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the skin of her neck. "Maybe I should fill it up until you learn some manners, hm?"

He traced the fingers of his right hand up her side as he pulled back enough to look into her eyes, his left hand pressed into the cushions to keep him from laying all his body weight onto her. He'd caught her lingering glances at his hands throughout the last few weeks. He just hadn't been sure why she'd been staring at them so hard... but now? Now, he knew exactly why she'd been so fixated on them, and he planned to use that to his advantage.

The whimper that slipped from Y/N's lips as Spencer slid two fingers into her gaping mouth confirmed his suspicions, the shit-eating grin on his face growing wide as he pressed the digits down against her tongue. She began to suck at his fingers eagerly, the feeling of her tongue laving over them making his body tremble in anticipation.

His hips began to rock against hers, slowly grinding against her aching core as he pressed kisses up and down the side of her neck. Once he was satisfied with his teasing, he pulled his fingers from her mouth with a slick 'pop', replacing them with his tongue as he kissed her deeply.

Y/N’s mind whirled, both surprised and intrigued by the sudden shift in his demeanor, captivated by how effortlessly he stepped into control. It wasn’t what she’d anticipated at all. She’d seen glimpses of this side of him—brief moments in the field or during interrogations—but never like this. The man before her was assured and confident, a stark contrast to his usual, endearing awkwardness.

Their kiss grew hungry as Spencer continued where they had left off before, his hands sliding under the hem of her shirt and bunching the fabric as they trailed up. He broke the kiss long enough to help her out of the shirt, tossing it somewhere in the direction of the TV before capturing her lips once more. He was a man ravenous, consumed by the sweetness of her lips, and even the seconds it took to remove her t-shirt felt like an unbearable eternity without them.

Her hands were just as busy as his, dragging down his clothed chest before finding the button of his slacks in the cramped space between them. Her fingers fumbled with the button blindly, and her movements faltered when his teeth gently tugged at her lower lip.

"Off," Y/N whined indignantly against his mouth, tugging frustratedly at the button. "Take them off."

Spencer obliged, helpless to her commands as he sat back on his heels, easily undoing the pesky button that was keeping her from what she wanted. She went to sit up to help with his zipper, but in her rush to get his pants off, she didn't realize just how close his knee was to the edge of the cushion.

The motion knocked his knee outwards, a surprised yelp leaving his lips as he instinctively reached out for her to steady himself, but it was too late.

A startled squeal slipped from Y/N as they both tumbled to the floor, landing with a muted thud on the plush carpet. Spencer’s hands shot to her waist, his eyes wide as he glanced up at her, now sprawled on top of him, her laughter filling the air at their unexpected fall. He joined her, chuckling loudly.

They were a perfect chaos—rumpled clothes, kiss-swollen lips, tangled hair, and eyes full of love. But neither of them minded, because they finally had what they’d both been yearning for all this time: each other.

The fall did little to curb their desire for each other. Y/N ducked her head, pressing her lips to Spencer's with renewed vigor as her hands slipped underneath his sweater. She giggled as he squirmed underneath her touch.

"You're such a wiggle worm!" Y/N huffed, pulling back just enough to let the words slip free into the air between them as she lifted the sweater up and over his head.

Spencer scoffed, his own hands slipping beneath the waistband of her yoga pants and shoving them down her legs. "I can't help that your hands feel like ice!"

A quiet hiss left her lips at the feeling of his equally cold hands brushing against the skin of her thighs. She wriggled on top of him, kicking off the remaining fabric that had wrapped around her feet.

"So do yours, but you don't see me acting like a baby about it!"

"Oh, I'll show you a baby—"

Y/N cackled as Spencer rolled them over, hovering above her once more with a cheeky grin and soft chuckles. He bombarded her with kisses all over her face and collarbones, ignoring her hands swatting at him playfully as he continued his attack. Soon his pants joined the growing pile of clothes near the entertainment center, the soft glow of the TV illuminating the room as the final scenes of the forgotten movie played out. His hands made swift work of removing her bra, leaving her lying underneath him in only her lacy underwear.

Their laughter died out as they stared into each other's eyes, the weight of what was about to change—what had already changed—settling over them. But fear didn’t touch them. There was no reason for it. This was always meant to be; written in the stars, woven into their destiny long before they existed.

Spencer closed the gap between them, kissing Y/N tenderly as he lowered himself just enough for their bare chests to press together and their hips to align perfectly. A sigh escaped her at the feeling of his hardened cock grinding against her, the thin fabric of his boxers and her soaked panties doing little to conceal what lay beneath.

Neither of them had ever pictured their first time unfolding on the living room floor, but in a way, it made the moment even more unforgettable. It was a testament to how desperately they wanted each other—so much that they’d choose the roughness of the carpet and rug burns over the luxury of her bed to avoid the few minutes apart it would take to get to her room.

"You're sure you want this?"

Spencer broke the kiss, his eyes tracing hers for any trace of hesitation or doubt. Y/N's lips curved into a faint smile as she reached up to caress his face. Her thumb stroked the skin of his cheekbone as she nodded.

"More than anything."

The look in her eyes told him that she was being completely honest. That was all the confirmation he needed. His shaky hands found the edges of the lace adorning her hips, inching his body down as he tugged the soaked-through fabric down her legs.

Y/N's face scrunched in confusion as Spencer moved lower, her brows furrowing as he pressed a kiss to her knee. "What are you-"

Her words cut off with a sharp moan as Spencer latched his mouth to her clit, her head tipping back against the floor as her hands buried themselves into his disheveled strands. Her back arched as her legs spread instinctively, making room for him as he began to devour her. He shifted, grabbing ahold of her thighs and placing them over his shoulders as his tongue alternated between teasing kitten licks and long, drawn-out laps up and down her pussy.

Y/N struggled to open her eyes, peering down at him as pleasure began to flood her veins. The sight of his hands—those beautiful goddamned hands that had inadvertently caused this to happen— gripping her thighs hard enough to leave bruises had her mouth hanging open, small whimpers and moans flowing freely into the open space.

"You taste exquisite, sweetheart. So, so good," Spencer mumbled against her slick skin before sucking her clit into his mouth gently.

Y/N cried out, writhing underneath him as the pleasure in her lower stomach began to build rapidly. A loud groan wrenched itself from her throat as Spencer grabbed her hips, pinning them to the ground as he continued to ravage her in a way that rendered her useless.

"You can take it, pretty girl," Spencer cooed, placing a kiss on her clit before one of his hands left her hip to trace her folds. "Cum for me so I can fuck you so good you'll never want anyone else again."

Who the fuck taught him how to talk like that?

Y/N couldn’t speak to tell him that she’d never want anyone else anyways; that he was etched into her very soul, and every part of her would forever long for his touch and his touch alone. She cried out as his middle finger prodded at her entrance before slipping inside, her orgasm so close she could almost taste it.

Spencer moaned against her from how little resistance her walls had against the intrusion, immediately adding his ring finger to the mix. He thrusted them into her hard, curling the lithe digits in search of that rough patch of skin that would give him what he wanted. It took all of three strokes before he found it, his mouth forming a smirk as she gripped his hair and yanked, grinding her hips up into his mouth as she thrashed beneath him.

"Spence! Fuck, I-I'm cumming—"

Y/N barely uttered the words before her climax seized her, her toes curling as her vision whitened and the world shattered around her. She could vaguely register Spencer's sweet voice coaxing her through it, his forehead now pressed to hers as his fingers continued to gently thrust into her through the aftershocks. Only when she was trembling and weakly shoving at his wrist did he finally stop his movements, his lips meeting hers in a series of soft kisses as her chest heaved beneath him.

"Yeah?" He murmured with a smug grin, pulling back to smooth her hair away from her damp face with his clean hand as she stared up at him in bewilderment.

Spencer Reid had just caused her to cum harder than she ever had in her life. Spencer—the same Spencer that was too shy to look her in the eyes for a solid month after first meeting her— just made her cum so hard she almost blacked out. She understood why he was a man of magic now... and it had nothing to do with the novelty tricks he was always showing off.

"Yeah," Y/N whispered in response, still reeling from her orgasm.

If that was the type of climax she could reach simply from his tongue and fingers, she was convinced that she'd never actually experienced one with anyone else.

"Do you want to stop there? Or do you want to keep going?"

Spencer's voice was soft as he stared at the gorgeous woman beneath him. He found it ironic that he was already kneeling between her thighs because that had now become his place of worship. His redemption came in the form of her essence, dripping from his fingers as they rested against her hip. He'd never need anything else as long as he had her.

"Keep going. I want to keep going," Y/N pleaded softly, her hands reaching for his boxers. "Just—c'mere. Wanna taste you before you fuck me brainless. Please?"

A pitiful whine left Spencer’s lips as he felt his composure crack slightly. He wasn’t prepared for her to practically beg to suck his cock. He found himself nodding mindlessly, his hands going to help her strip him of his boxers before he remembered the mess still clinging to his fingers.

“Clean these for me first, sweet girl. Then you can.”

Spencer brought his fingers up to her lips, watching in amazement as she obeyed without a fuss. She even went as far as moaning while she licked his fingers clean of her, holding his gaze while she did. Y/N knew what she did to him. She knew he was just as affected by her as she was him. And she reveled in it.

Once he deemed them clean enough, he pulled them from her mouth before ridding himself of the last shred of fabric between them. The second that Spencer was bare before her, she pounced. Her hands pushed at his chest, urging him to lie back as she crawled on top of him.

“You’re so pretty, Spence,” Y/N breathed dazedly, pecking his lips before trailing her kisses down his chest. “God… look at you.”

Spencer flushed bright red while she continued to murmur her praises as she gripped the base of him, his cock twitching in her hand.

He had never been particularly confident—growing up as a child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school had stripped him of any sense of self-worth before it had a chance to take root. Unlike Morgan, he didn’t have the muscles or the easy charm with women. He could count the number of sexual encounters he’d had on one hand. His dates rarely progressed beyond the first, driven away by his nervous rambling and the unpredictable demands of his job.

The only way Spencer even knew how to make Y/N feel so good was because he had studied every piece of material he could find on the intricacies of female anatomy and sexual pleasure on the off chance one of his dates would blossom into something more than an uncomfortable hook-up and dash situation. It also helped that he’d pined after her since he’d known her, that longing translating into a dire need to make her feel the best she ever had because that’s what she deserved. She deserved to feel pleasure in its purest form, to feel cherished and worshipped because that’s how precious she was to him.

And in this moment, as she gazed at him with the kind of reverence that made it seem as though he was the center of her universe, Spencer believed that maybe, just maybe, he deserved to feel that way too.

His fingers grasped helplessly at the carpet beneath him as her beautiful lips wrapped around the flushed head of his arousal, a muffled curse falling into the air as she swirled her tongue around him. Y/N smirked around her mouthful, her eyes glinting with amusement as she inhaled through her nose and pushed lower, taking him into the back of her throat. The gag that she emitted from the motion had his hips jerking up, a flurry of apologies spewing from his mouth.

Instead of responding verbally, she simply grabbed his hands and guided them to her hair, encouraging him to take hold and move her as he pleased. Once he threaded his hands through her hair, she continued. Her own hands planted firmly on his thighs as she began to bob her head around what she could fit, a soft hum vibrating around his length as her eyes fluttered shut.

Spencer was speechless— absolutely floored as he stared slack-jawed at the woman moaning around his cock like she was the one receiving pleasure from it. He gave an experimental tug of her hair, his head falling back with a thunk as she moaned louder and moved faster. It was as though she were unraveling his very soul with her tongue, hurtling him towards an orgasm he didn’t want to have just yet.

“Y-Y/N wait I— ngh!” Spencer groaned, his grip on her hair tightening unintentionally as he tried to pull her off of him. “I won’t be able to fuck you if you make me cum down your throat, pretty girl. P-please—“

Y/N whined in protest but finally eased herself off of his cock, a trail of spit bridging her lower lip to the head of him as she stared up at him with watery eyes and swollen lips.

Spencer felt delirious as he took in the sight. It was something he’d dreamed about (albeit guiltily) for years, and having the real thing in front of him was infinitely better than anything his subconscious had conjured up during those restless nights. She was a vision; a work of art that deserved to have a museum dedicated to her and her alone.

“Oh, don’t pout. Unless you don’t want to be fucked anymore?” Spencer chuckled breathlessly, arching a brow as she moved to straddle him. His hands found their way to her waist, a shudder running down his spine as she settled over him.

“If you won’t fuck me… I have a pretty nice dildo in my bedside drawer that should do the trick,” Y/N hummed coyly, dragging her heat across the length of him with a soft sigh.

Spencer’s eyes darkened at that, his grip on her hips tightening to put a halt to her subtle movements.

“Yeah? You think it’d make you feel better than I could?”

Y/N swallowed hard, the aching between her legs starting to override her logical thinking. She knew the answer he was looking for; the answer that would give her exactly what she wanted. But she decided to be a smartass instead.

“Maybe,” She answered with a shrug, nibbling at her lower lip as she tried to fight against his hold to get the friction she craved.

“Go get it then.”

Spencer leaned forward, his nose brushing hers as she sat in his lap, a challenge in his gaze. He knew she wouldn’t—she was getting restless, just like him. But if this was the game she wanted to play, he was determined to win.

Panic spread across Y/N’s face at the cold, indifferent look in his eyes. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her frown betraying the sinking realization of the hole she’d dug for herself. They were both ridiculously competitive, so why she’d started this—rather than just admitting how badly she wanted him buried inside her—was beyond her.

“I was kidding,” Y/N huffed, tilting forward in an attempt to capture his lips.

Spencer leaned back, keeping his lips just out of reach. He shook his head, smirking softly. “Nope. Either go get it, or say you’re sorry.”

Y/N hesitated, frowning as she weighed her options. She wanted him so badly it hurt. But pride was a hell of a thing. She knew he wouldn’t back down. Normally, she wouldn’t either. But his cock was pressed so deliciously against her clit that she decided it would be more than worth it to lose just this once.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, barely audible.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

Spencer’s taunting made her groan in frustration before she sighed and tried again.

“I said I’m sorry—“

He shifted them so that his back was against the couch, her knees on both sides of his hips digging into the carpet hard enough that he was certain it would sting once they started. He’d make sure to take care of her afterward, though. He gazed up at her with adoration, thoroughly enjoying how needy she'd become. Her breath hitched as he adjusted his hips, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

“One more time, hm?” Spencer coaxed, his hands now rubbing up and down her sides but still holding her tight enough that she couldn't rock against him. If he was honest, his resolve had crumbled as quickly as hers, but he couldn’t help from teasing her for just a little longer.

“I’m sorry!” Y/N cried out, her forehead pressing against his as she whimpered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Spencer finally pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling back, his lips brushing against hers as he crooned. “Good girl, baby. Thank you.”

Hearing the praise fall so easily from his mouth had Y/N canting her hips down eagerly, willing to do whatever he wanted just so she could hear his sweet words over and over again. Her determination didn’t waver, her hips pushing down insistently. Spencer’s hold on her waist faltered, and for a brief moment, gravity claimed its victory.

A startled gasp slipped from her lips as the tip of his cock pushed into her, followed by a guttural moan that had Spencer's ears ringing as he cursed loudly. She had been so used to his hold that she wasn't prepared to support herself, his hands having barely caught her from dropping completely. He immediately yanked her up, the cool air against his skin a shock after having felt her warmth for the first time.

“God—fuck!" Spencer groaned as his head tipped back against the couch cushions, straining against every instinct begging him to just drive into her and utilizing every muscle in his body to keep her suspended as she wriggled impatiently.

"Baby... how are you— how are you wanting to do this?” Spencer whispered, swallowing before he continued. “I’m pretty sure I have a condom in my wallet, but I… um. I’m clean...”

Their hearts pounded in their chests as his words lingered in the air, the only sounds in the room being the repeated menu options from the forgotten movie and the ragged rhythm of their breaths.

Y/N meweled, reaching down to realign him with her entrance. “I’m clean and on birth control… Can we...? Like this? Please—“

“Yes.”

Y/N chuckled at his blunt response, though she was just as desperate to feel him after having the faintest taste of what he felt inside her. Her lips found his for a chaste kiss before she finally began to lower herself onto his cock, this time without his resistance.

Her laughter died in her throat, morphing into a choked whimper from the stretch of him. Even with how aroused she was, trying to make him fit was a struggle. Spencer was easily the biggest out of anyone she’d ever been with— a feat she hadn't quite realized until she was pausing halfway down his cock with a stuttered moan, slowly circling her hips in an attempt to adjust to the sensation.

Spencer was convinced he'd somehow died and ascended to paradise as he gazed up at the angelic woman hovering above him, enthralled by watching her fight to take the full length of him into her depths. His hands massaged up and down her trembling thighs, hoping to help her relax enough to take the rest of him without it hurting. Hums of encouragement rumbled from his chest as he stared unblinking at her, the warm amber of his eyes almost consumed completely by his blown pupils. His thumb found her clit and rubbed small circles into it as her eyes fluttered closed and she inhaled sharply through her nose.

"That's it, sweet girl," He cooed, continuing his gentle ministrations as she whined from deep in her throat. "Just like that. You're taking me so well. My gorgeous girl."

There was a pleasant burn as Y/N gingerly lifted her hips, leaving only the head of him inside of her. The way her hardened nipples brushed against his bare chest had her shivering lightly, the touch sending small sparks of pleasure jolting through her. Soft whines spilled from her lips as Spencer moved his hands around to grip her ass, gently massaging the flesh as she raised up on her knees.

With a committed roll of her hips and a quiet grunt, Y/N finally took the rest of his length, their bodies now flush together as her head dropped into the crook of his neck. The whorish moan Spencer released into her ear as he bottomed out had her clenching around him, a dire need to cause more of those sinful noises prompting her hips to begin moving. The raw stinging against her knees as she began to ride him in earnest only spurred her on, her nails digging into his shoulders as her head lolled back.

"Spence—" Y/N whimpered, resting her forehead against his as she panted out his name again and again, chanting it as though it were a mantra.

Spencer shushed her, understanding exactly what she couldn't manage to vocalize. He nodded against her as their bodies moved in tandem. "I know, baby. I know. You feel divine. My sweet angel." He continued to murmur out his praises as his head rested back on the edge of the couch cushion, small fingerprint-shaped bruises marking her skin as he clung to her.

Her hips began to falter as exhaustion started to settle into her bones from the vigorous pace she'd set, her second orgasm brewing in the pit of her stomach as though it were a wicked thunderstorm in waiting, ready to roll in and wreak havoc on her entire body at any minute. The slick sounds of their bodies connecting over and over paired with the symphony of heady moans and whimpers spilling between them—it was all driving her closer and closer to ecstasy.

Spencer noticed the fumble in her movements, his brows pinched together as he fought to keep his own climax at bay so he could enjoy the sensation of being wrapped up in her walls for a while longer. But he couldn't let his pretty girl do all of the work, could he? That would be cruel.

He planted his feet into the ground, beginning to pound into her from below. A satisfied smirk adorned his face as Y/N cried out, her head falling into the crook of his neck once more as she began to babble incoherently against his skin. The pace he set was wild and unrestrained, the angle allowing him to drive into her g-spot repeatedly.

"Take it, take it, take it—" Spencer hissed through clenched teeth before he latched his mouth onto her right nipple, sucking at the bud and swirling his tongue around it.

Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair, hanging on tightly as Spencer ravaged her. Her mouth hung open as moan after moan wrenched itself from her core and embedded into his damp skin. The pleasure searing through her veins was consuming her, burning her from the inside out. She was so close—

The catalyst for her orgasm came in the form of Spencer's hands slipping down her ass and underneath her thighs so that the tips of his fingers were brushing against where they were connected with each thrust. All it took was that one simple touch for the tension in her body to snap, her teeth digging into his shoulder as she tried to muffle her screams while her walls pulsed around him violently. Her eyes squeezed shut as she wailed his name loudly, not caring if any of her neighbors heard them at this point. She wanted the world to know exactly who was making her feel this good.

Spencer toppled them over onto the ground as she came around him, pinning her to the carpet and rutting into her fervently. Something akin to a sob fell from his lips before he abruptly pulled out, jerking his cock in quick strokes before he was spurting his cum across her stomach and tits with a cry of her name.

He crumpled to the ground beside her, pulling her into his side before he slung an arm over his face. Their chests heaved as they came down from their highs, both of them completely spent after such depraved lovemaking. His free hand stroked up and down her slick skin as she rested her head on his chest, calming the tremors wracking her body as they caught their breath.

Once Spencer regained feeling in his legs, he scooped Y/N from the floor and into his arms, hauling her off toward her bathroom as giggles bubbled from her lips at his surprising show of strength. Y/N watched with pure fondness as he started the shower, her heart swelling as he glanced back at her with a tired grin. When the water was warm enough, he held her hand as he helped her step in, following behind her with a hand wrapped around her waist to hold her steady.

After a shower spent lost in love-struck gazes, soapy caresses, and slow, tender kisses against the tiles, they ended up wrapped in each other's arms in her bed. It was only midday, but it was Saturday—so why not indulge in a nap? They had more than earned it after their (failed) movie marathon.

"Y'know," Y/N started, her voice low as fatigue began to cloud her mind. "You really do have massive hands." She took his hand, which had been resting loosely between them, lifting it to align with hers for comparison. His hand was nearly twice the size of hers, and the sight made her smile with amusement.

Spencer snorted, his nose scrunching as he laughed quietly at her observation.

"Well, yeah... I am 6'1", sweetheart. It would be abnormal if I didn't have massive hands," He stated matter-of-factly. "Besides, you love them. Really love them," He added with a sleepy smirk.

Y/N's face burned as she rolled her eyes, playfully shoving him with a scoff. "Yeah, yeah. It isn't my fault you have hands that were crafted by Michelangelo himself," She murmured defensively.

Spencer pulled her closer, brushing a kiss against her forehead, then her nose, her cheeks, and finally, her lips.

"You know I'm just teasing you. Did you know that—"

As Spencer began to prattle on about the variations and degrees of hand kinks and fetishes, Y/N's mind drifted back to the picture that had unknowingly set everything in motion. She couldn’t help but thank that raised crack in the sidewalk for pushing her old-fashioned boyfriend (that still felt so surreal to say) to embrace modern technology—because without it, she might have spent even more time blind to the fact that she was utterly, hopelessly in love with the man lying before her.

And as they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, Spencer felt a deep sense of gratitude for finally being able to love the beautiful woman in his arms the way he’d always dreamed of.

Continued A/N's: I felt evil for my first (published) fic being so angsty so I decided to write this as a formal apology LMAO. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. Please tell me what you think and let me know if you'd like to see a sequel for this as well! :) K <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x bau!reader #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #best friends to lovers #two idiots in love

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cherrysinner · 5 days ago

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JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY ♡

♡ pairing: clark x coworker!reader

♡ summary: clark gets jealous of the new guy flirting with you.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff! wc: 1k

♡ author's note: for the person who requested this!!

CLARK KENT MASTERLIST ♡

clark had never really considered himself a jealous person. sure, he had his moments, just like everyone, but he'd always thought jealousy was a petty moment.

you'd been going out for about a month, but due to his second job, it made it difficult for him to really commit to anything, even though he wanted to. you'd come to work at the daily planet half a year ago, and it took him a month to be able to approach you, and another few months for it to develop into what he referred to as 'coffee maker flirting', until he finally got the guts to ask you out. and now you'd been going out.

clark could tell that you wanted to make it official, to be a proper couple, but he was scared. what if you got together, and once he was ready to tell you about his secret identity, you wouldn't want him anymore? wouldn't smile as easily, wouldn't laugh as hard... what if you changed when he told you who he was? what if you didn't look at him the same anymore?

but as he watched you stand at the keurig, waiting for your coffee to be ready, and the new junior editor walked up to you with a smirk for the fourth time that week, the boy leaning close and tugging some of your hair behind your ear as he licked his lips, clark's ink pen snapped in half, spilling some ink on his hands.

clark felt like there was a green little creature controlling his thoughts and actions. he wasn't a jealous man. he wasn't someone who saw the person he was dating talking to another guy and got territorial. but for some reason... you made him like that.

you seemed clueless to the boy's antics. you just stood there, like the pick-up lines he was throwing your ways were just random, friendly quips. you didn't look down at your feet all shyly, or laugh overexaggeratedly when he told you a joke. you just nodded and smiled in a friendly manner.

of course you knew what the junior editor had been doing. you'd have to be blind to not see what he was trying to get at.

"so, you ever been to that sushi place downtown?" he asked with a lopsided smirk, but you simply smiled, "oh, yeah!" you exclaimed, "it was probably the best sushi in metropolis. i even got a coupon for a free drink."

or...

"god, your hair looks so good..." "thank you!" you exclaimed sweetly, "you know, when i got to metropolis, it took me forever to find a good hairdresser, but i finally found one. do you want her number?"

or...

"damn, that skirt looks hot on you." he looked at you up and down, "thank you!" you smiled sweetly, "i'd send you the link, but i got it from a thrift store and they'd already cut the tags. sorry."

somehow, the guy just wouldn't take a hint. it was like the man liked the sound of his own voice so much he started conversations with others.

however, you were interrupted by clark's large frame scooting in between you, holding the cup you'd gotten him for his birthday, "excuse me." clark mumbled, and you couldn't help but admire his side profile as he was waiting for his coffee to be ready, the superman mug you'd gotten him as a birthday gift waiting for coffee.

"dude, we were talking." the junior editor piped up. clark straightened his back, making the shorter man step back, "sorry. i just wanted some coffee." he smiled, the keurig just having finished spitting out his coffee.

clark turned to you with a smile, "you look lovely today." he said, before pulling away, your gaze staying on clark as he walked back to his desk, "can you believe that guy? he just interrupted my talking and..." the guy you'd been talking to might as well not exist. not when your eyes were on him.

you were in the middle of watching your tea soak into the water you'd boiled just like you did every night, only for your routine to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

you furrowed your brows as you made your way to the door, peeping through the peephole only to find... clark standing there. you pulled the door open with a small chuckle, "clark, what are you doing-"

before you could even finish your sentence, clark had you pinned to the wall opposite from where you'd just been, his lips on yours, hands on your waist, pulling you into his body. his tongue teased your lips until-

you pulled away from clark breathlessly, your pupils blown wide as you looked to him, "what... what are you doing here?" you mumbled.

"be mine." clark said, pushing some of your hair behind your ear, making you let out a chuckle, "wh-" "please. please be mine. i can't handle it if someone keeps hitting on you and i can't intervene and say that you're with me. please."

you couldn't help but smile, running a hand through his hair as you looked up at him through your lashes, "i'm yours, clark."

"promise?"

"promise."

clark looked at your face up and down before taking in a deep breath "let's… let's be together." the man's statement made you raise your brows, always having been avoidant of putting a label on what was going on with you. "you really want that?"

clark cleared his throat, "i don't just want it. i need it."

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writingslob · 3 months ago

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(Part 2) Lin Ling's guide to becoming an emotional support civilian [YANDERE EDITION]

[TO BE HERO X] x [LIN LING] [Part 1; Part 3 can be found here!]

Context warning: Cursing

Author's note: Finally! I'm finished! This took a hot second, but I hope you guys enjoy this as much as the 1st one!

Once again, thank you @kiraisrika for the idea! [ Also, @izarosf1833, you now owe me your firstborn. I'll be expecting it by mail on Wednesday >: ) ]

Lin Ling was having one hell of a weird day.

Not a bad day, not a good day.

Just a weird day.

Following Miss Juan and her crew into the lobby of Hero’s Tower. (His heart was beating frantically in his chest. He can feel his inner child fist-bumping the air because he’s finally here! After all these years, he’s here-!) He can’t help but try to get out of Nice’s grasp, his white hair tickling his jaw. “Man, can you like” —stop clinging to me like a koala— “not?” No matter how hard he tugged, Nice’s grasp was as hard as steel.

“Nope!”

And that was that.

The elevator ride was an equally awkward affair—the only sounds being the dull music, tapping of nails on tablet, and the light breaths of everyone in the elevator. The only one who wasn’t awkward was Nice, but Lin Ling, drunk off of hysteria and exhaustion, suspected that he had taken something and was high off his rocker, if only to make sense of this nonsensical situation.

Like he knew he had ‘relaxation powers,’ but his number wasn’t nearly high enough for this! Hell, it wasn’t even affecting Miss Juan and the other men who were standing at arm’s length of him! Really, the only thing his powers should be doing is offering the same calming effects as lavender, not acting like…like-like catnip to drug-addicted cats!

‘Holy shit, I compared Nice to a drug-addicted cat. What is my life?’

“We’re here,” Miss Juan announced, breaking him out of his thoughts before they could spiral even further. Stepping out into the apartment, he looks around, and he has to admit.

It sucks.

Now, when he imagined a superhero’s apartment, and one belonging to the 15th hero at that, he imagined something grand, with white walls lined with gold and classical elements strung around to give it a real luxurious, Victorian feel. But even without those expectations, this is just a sad apartment. What with its barren walls devoid of life, not a single small plant to liven the space, and the less said about the gaudy, grandiose statue in the middle, the better.

“Do you like it?” Nice ask, turning to look at him. Lin Ling doesn’t know what face he is making, but it must have shown his true feeling as Nice barks out a laugh. “Yeah, me neither.” He perks up. “But! Since you’ll be living here from now on, you can redecorate all you want! No budget! Here, let me give you a tour.” Detaching himself only to immediately grab onto his hand, Nice floats into the sky and begins to tug him when-

“Not so fast.” A hand shot out and grabbed onto Nice’s cape, yanking him back down to the ground. “We don’t have time for house tours. You two are coming with me and are going to sign enough papers to make your hands bleed, do you understand?” All Lin Ling can do is nod. Nice rolls his eyes, but they both dutifully follow Miss Juan as she leads them to the office.

The office was just as sparsely decorated as the rest of the house, with only two white couches facing each other, a long glass table in between, and bookshelves sandwiching everything together. The only good part was the window wall, letting in enough light that they didn’t need to turn on the lights if they wanted to.

Sitting stiffly on one couch with Nice and Miss Juan on the other, what ensued was a full hour and a half of back and forth between Nice and Miss Juan that was one blow away from a full-blown fistfight. He also had to sign enough papers to—like she said—make his hands bleed.

His vision started blurring around the fifth paper, and by the 20th, his eyes were gorilla-glued together. It took all his strength not to faceplant into the stack of papers and sleep away the next year and then some.

“- He will not be joining you in your stunts with Wreck. How many times do I have to tell you before you get it through your thick skull?! “And how many times do I have to tell you that if he’s not joining me, I’m out! Permanently! What? Do you want me to spell it in blood? I’ll do it!” “Oh, for the love of God, you are acting like a child!” “And you’re acting like a bitch!” “You-!”

Okay, that’s it. “Can I go to the bathroom?” He asked quietly and flinched slightly as both snapped their heads at him. “Fine. Be quick.” “I’ll go with you!” They both said simultaneously. Miss Juan intensified her glare at Nice, but he was already getting up from the couch to follow him.

“Huh? What? No! I- Thank you, but I really don’t want you following me to the bathroom.” Realizing a beat too late that it sounded a tad too rude, he awkwardly tacked on “Besides, you two still need to finish up...whatever you guys were talking about! Don’t worry! I’ll be back in a flash!”

Nice narrows his eyes, looking like he wants to argue further. After a second and a half of silence, Nice sighs.

“Promise?” Lin Ling nodded in rapid succession, “Promise!”

He jogged out of the office. The door clicks softly behind him. Not looking back, he runs.

He didn’t know where he was headed, and frankly didn’t care. This wasn’t how his day was supposed to turn out. He was supposed to be at work, hunched over his computer as he edited frame by frame, or he was supposed to be in his boss's office, getting yelled at over his promo videos. Or, he was suppose to be at the ledge, looking death in the face before chickening out and going back to his shitty one bedroom apartment to enjoy another cup noodle dinner.

He wasn’t supposed to be here—why was he even still here in the first place? He should just take the elevator down and go back home. Leave this all behind him and—

“Hey! Cheer up!”

The elevator was in sight; just a few more steps to get there. But, even if deaf and blind, he would recognize that voice anywhere. Turning his head, he saw a blimp outside, displaying.

“....Moon?”

“Being alive means experiencing many challenges, but please, don’t lose faith!”

Moon voices wash over him, and he can’t help but remember the long nights spent at his desk—the only light coming from the bright LED monitor in front of him, burning his eyes with its glow, and how the only thing that kept him going was her encouragement.

Does he want to leave Nice?

Sure, the last few hours were the most overwhelmed he has ever felt and sure, Nice was- well pushy was to put it mildly. But, does he really want to leave? Leave Nice and go back home to no one? Continue his life like this never happened?

You don’t have a responsibility to Nice.

No, he doesn’t; he knows that. But… Nice’s mental state is clearly in tatters, and if his presence—if his ability—can bring him some peace, then he’ll stay. He may not be a hero, but if he can help one person, then that’ll be enough.

If Lin Ling can be a hero to one person, that’ll be enough.

Stepping back into the room (he did genuinely need that bathroom break), he was surprised to find the place as neat as when he first walked in. Honestly, he was expecting a war zone.

Miss Juan looked like someone had pulled multiple teeth out of her—scowling and rapidly typing something away on her table. Meanwhile, Nice looked like he just caught the canary. His smile was wide, smug, and real. (Looking at it, he can’t help but compare it to all the others he's seen before- plastered on billboards and ads. He never noticed how fake they were before.) “You came back.” Nice tilts his head to look at him, his smile softening.

Lin Ling tilted his head back at him. Of course he did. “Of course I did,” he answers simply, taking a seat back on the couch. Nice wastes no time in scooting over until their bodies touch. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Nice’s tense body relaxing, his shoulder slumping, and his perfect posture faltering just a bit.

“Ehm,” Miss Juan cleared her throat, breaking Lin Ling out of his train of thought. He turns back to her, “We finally managed to draft up a final contract for your—” Wait, what? “Hold on, what were the ten million other papers I signed before for then?” She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “NDAs, of course. Since you will be living here, you are bound to see other superheroes and their teams. So, you have to sign an NDA for every single one of them.”

“Now this—” She waves a single white paper up in the air before placing it on the table. Nice reaches out to straighten it out while she continues, “—is an offer of employment to join Treeman Corp as Nice’s emotional support civilian. Inside, I have outlined all of the benefits you will receive when you join us.”

Yeah, that makes sense- Hold on. Snatching the paper off the table, his eyes skimmed to- Holy shit, there it is. Written in bold black ink.

“EMOTIONAL SUPPORT HUMAN!? Why is that the name!?” He stares up incredulously at Miss Juan, only for Nice to reply.

“It fits, no?” He cocks his head as he skims the contract. “Originally she wanted your title and job to be one of a personal assistant, but!” His smile widened, bordering on blinding. “You will not have to lift a single finger as long as you stay by my side! So, we changed it to this!”

“…”

“Do you like it?”

“…Just hand me the pen.”

Lin Ling was starting to get nervous.

After signing the contract (He tried getting the name changed to anything- anything else, but, coupled with Nice’s puppy eyes and Miss Juan pointedly looking at the clock, he gave up and just accepted his fate, his embarrassing, embarrassing fate), Miss Juan immediately chaperoned them to True Love Recipe’s studio where they were shoved into the makeup room with what he assumed to be the script and were told to wait for the makeup artist.

They were told that 30 or so minutes ago at 7:00 pm.

It was now 7:43 pm

The show starts at 8.

Lin Ling was getting anxious, and from the sound of Nice reshuffling every item on the desk and him glancing at his phone every minute, so was he.

“Shouldn’t the makeup artist be here by now?” Nice looked up, offering a reassuring smile to Lin Ling. “Don’t worry, he’s often late, so this isn’t out of the norm for him.” He gnaws on his lip, glancing at his phone. “Still,” He presses, “It might be a good idea to do your own makeup, Nice. Just in case he’s a no-show.”

Nice hums, “I should." He pauses, "There is a problem, however.” Holding up a finger, he turns to Lin Ling with an almost embarrassed smile, “I don’t know how to do makeup.”

“For real?” “Yes.” He turns back to the assorted makeup, picking up two of the nearest bottles. “It shouldn’t be too hard, though, it’s just blush and cream, right?” Lin Ling couldn’t help but snort, the sound making Nice blush a faint pink. “Here,” Getting up from the couch, he walks over and plucks the two bottles out of his hands. “Sit, I’ll do it for you.” Nice stared at him in shock before immediately slamming himself down into the chair.

Leaning in close, he can’t help but marvel at how smooth his face is, not an acne scar in sight. This will make his job real easy then. Looking at the makeup supplies on the desk, he picks up a highlight and contour palette along with a big bristle brush. Opening the thing up, he begins to paint.

He should keep the makeup light, he muses to himself as the soft, repetitive motion of blending and smoothing things out lulls him into a trance, just enough so the stage lights won’t wash him out. Stepping back half a step and deeming the contour complete, he picks up a blush to continue the process.

Nice observes him with half-lidded eyes, “You’ve done this before.”

“Mmph,” he nods, carefully applying the blush. “A coworker of mine got really sick and begged me to fill in for them as the makeup artist for some small commercial. Feeling bad, I agreed.” A grimace tugged on his face as he further recalled the memory. “My boss got on my ass about it, though. Assigned me so much work after because ‘-If you have the time to play around with dress-up, you have the time to finish these by Monday!’ God, I had to pull so many all-nighters to finish those.” During his semi-rant, he didn’t notice how Nice’s eyes narrowed into slits, his hands clenching into fists.

“Why didn’t you quit?”

Lin Ling freezes for half a step, his hand reaching for the gloss. He laughs, “Well, because I liked the job.” He starts, turning around with the gloss in his hands. Bending in closer, he uncaps the lid. “Sure, it wasn’t my dream to work there, and my boss was an absolute grade A asshole, but,” Tilting Nice’s chin up, he began to apply the lip gloss, the stick sliding across Nice’s lips, leaving them shiny and plump. “I always wanted to help, and what’s better than to help out heroes from behind the scenes?”

(He doesn’t mention the fact that his actual want was to be a hero, to punch bad guys and save innocents. He doesn’t mention the fact that when he was a child, he would look up at heroes like Nice and want.) Dammit, a bit of the gloss got onto his skin. Swiping it off with his thumb, he steps back to admire his work and—

Nice’s face was red. Pure tomato red.

Shit “Did I hurt you?" Fuck, fuck, fuck "I am so sorry! What do I do!? Are you allergic to something!? Hold on, let me go find a doctor!” Turning around, he was about to sprint before a hand shot out to stop him.

“...No, I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.” Turning back around, Nice’s once tomato-red face has calmed to a dusty pink. “Still, shouldn’t you get checked out? I'm sure I can find a doctor before the show starts.” Lin Ling argued. Nice’s mouth opened to retort when-

Miss Juan bursts into the room, tablet in hand.

“What’s taking so long!?” She demands, “We’re airing in 5! Get your asses on set!”

Oh, Lin Ling,

Does he know how much he is affecting him?

How must know. He must know how much he drives Nice mad.

His heart is still beating uncontrollably in his chest, the touches left by Lin Ling burn on his skin, and the way his face was just a breath away, his cute eyes focusing on him and only him. Oh, how it took all his patience not to pounce on the boy and take him right then and there.

The anger—the absolute fury he felt when Lin Ling began talking about the despicable man who was once his boss took him by surprise. A day ago, he could barely muster the energy to get out of bed, but now? His vision was filled with red and how he wanted to hurt. Hurt all who dared to lay a finger on Lin Ling. Lin Ling’s boss is a dead man on borrowed time because the minute he gets his hands on him—

Perhaps he’ll present his head as a gift to Lin Ling, showing him how deep his devotion goes. Show him that whatever he wants, Nice will provide.

Oh, Lin Ling, you truly are my heart.

Now, if only filming could end right so he can take Lin Ling back home. But alas, he must suffer sitting next to Moon as this new host, what’s-his-name, goes wildly off script, rambling about one thing or another. Really, the only thing stopping him from killing the guy was Lin Ling.

Lin Ling, who is standing behind the host. Far away from him so the camera can’t see, but close enough that Nice can see all the intricate details on his pretty little face. Nice smiles.

Ah, what a good day.

#to be hero x #tbhx #Lin Ling's guide to becoming an emotional support civilian #emotional support civilian #to be hero x nice #to be hero x lin ling #tbhx nice #tbhx lin ling #yandere nice #Yandere to be hero x Nice #Yandere tbhx nice #Nicest #Nice x Lin Ling #Niceling

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stevesgother · 3 months ago

Note

constantly thinking about how steve was alone in the back of the ambulance at the end of season 3 watching everyone else reunite with their families

baby boy needs a hug

STOP it. i will throw up.

his sailor's uniform that was once so cheesy and endearing is covered in blood and sweat and vomit; his left eye so swollen that he can barely see out of it.

he can't find his car keys, so he's kind of resigned himself to walking all the way from the mall with a definite concussion and probably at least one broken rib. every intake of breath hurts.

and you spot him from over your mother's shoulder, though you're not sure what to say. what could you possibly say to console anyone who just went through what the whole of you went through?

you can barely get your mom to release you from her iron-clad grip long enough for you to go see if he needs anything. a ride home or a hug or a joint. something.

he's the only person here who doesn't have a mother holding him in her arms. the EMT's have even stopped paying attention to him. there's no reason for him to still be sitting there-- wrapped in that tinfoil blanket-- and yet, he hasn't left.

steve offers you a weak, barely there smile that doesn't reach anywhere near his eyes when he spots you approaching. his grins usually incite the cutest crow's feet by his eyes, smile lines adjacent to his lips. but not tonight.

"hey," he whispers when you reach him

"hey," you whisper back, "what did they say about your--" you gesture around your head, your torso.

"pretty gnarly concussion," he tries to play off, "bruised...everything else," he chuckles but it's so obviously not funny. you don't even crack a smile.

"steve..."

"listen, um," he clears his throat, "this is so--lame, god-- but could i maybe crash at your place tonight? i swear, i'll go home in the morning--"

"steve--" you take a microscopic step forward, hesitant to touch him, to comfort him, but aching to. "of course you can. you can stay as long as you need to. c'mon," you settle on offering him a hand to help pull himself up. at least that could be played off as simply friendly-- if either of you are capable of remembering this night years from now.

steve takes it, his hand clammy and blood-streaked in yours. you hope you won't have to do much convincing for your parents to let a boy stay over, given the circumstances.

"mom, this is steve. he needs somewhere to stay tonight--"

you aren't even able to finish your sentence before your mother, ever the caretaker, interrupts you, "of course, sweetheart. oh, you poor thing." you're not entirely sure whether she's referring to you or steve. maybe both.

after refusing your mother's several offers to swing by his house on loch nora to grab a change of clothes, she finally accepts and lets him borrow a pair of your father's sweats and a t-shirt. he's settled into the pullout couch in the basement.

"um, if you need anything, my room is the first door on the right upstairs."

he nods, you can tell it hurts him to do so, "thanks. and thanks for letting me stay, you didn't have to--"

"don't." you tell him firmly, "you shouldn't have to be alone."

you're unsure what time it was-- having never checked your alarm clock-- when steve trudged his way up to what he really hoped was your bedroom door, nudging it with his foot. you were still awake to no one's surprise, staring blankly at your ceiling fan as it spun in an endless, hypnotizing circle-- it's only job in life. how enviable.

you let steve crawl into your bed beside you after he'd confessed he couldn't fall asleep downstairs. mindful of his injuries, you pet his hair, smoothing it away from his face as you did. you hugged him close to you after that, rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscles of his back. you were acutely aware of his shoulders shaking at one point, a wet patch on the shoulder of your sleep shirt where his head rested. you wondered when the last time that anyone held him was. you didn't call attention to his obvious weeping.

"you're safe, steve. you can rest now." you whispered softly into the shell of his ear.

his nod was nearly imperceptible, but he did sleep that night. and even despite the circumstances, better than he had in a long, long time.

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iamthatonefangirl · 4 months ago

Text

miss possessive part 3 - nsfw congressman bucky barnes

okay so forgive me i know nothing about how it works to be elected for congress i apologize

also just pretend that Bucky's assistant is like lowkey his campaign manager ok please humor me.

✦ part 1 - part 2 ✦

~~~

nothing could have prepared you for the utter chaos that would come when you got the news.

he's been elected.

everyone in the office is running around. the constant ringing of phones continues to fill the room, people are loudly talking over each other, trying to celebrate and stay on task at the same time.

it's insanity, really.

right now, you feel like you're going crazier than anyone else. you have to coordinate everyone, make sure things are getting done, and you're scrambling for time.

Bucky has to give a speech tonight that you have to prep him for, accompany him to, and you've barely even finished making the arrangements for the press and the location and the timing and where the hell is Bucky?

you're just trying to keep up, let alone remind yourself that you're going to be jobless after this.

you're on the phone, still on hold, all while typing out your formal thank-you note to go out to the donors.

amongst all the chatter and everyone continually bothering you, you were getting fed up of sitting at your desk. so when you found Bucky's office empty, you figured it's a relatively quiet spot. you can finally get some work done, and no one will look for you here. perfect.

when the person on the other line finally takes you off hold, Bucky opens the door and walks in. you mouth sorry to him for having taken up his desk, and try to make your phone discussion as short as possible.

he's standing there, on the other side of the desk, watching you with a small smirk on his face. you can't help but smile back at him while you continue to talk, maintaining the intense eye contact you've held since he entered.

fuck, he looks good. hands in his pockets, hair slicked back, wearing that navy blue suit that makes his shoulders look broad and his waist look snatched as fuck.

the past months have been insanely stressful, both of you working long hours, all of it leading up to today. yet it's been utter bliss getting to spend every minute with him, getting to sleep in his bed on nights you work way too late and are too tired to drive home.

you finally hang up the phone and sigh in exhaustion, leaning back into his chair and rubbing your forehead. "fuck, who knew it would be this crazy when it finally happened?" you comment.

"I just can't believe it happened," he admits to you, still standing there, still looking so delectable.

you look back up at him. "of course it happened. you deserve this."

he can see the tiredness in your smile, the way the stress has been following you around all day. he knows you're both going to be here late tonight, even after he gives his acceptance speech this evening.

he watches as you prepare to stand from his chair, shutting your laptop. "sorry for stealing your office, my desk-" you begin, but he interrupts, walking around the desk and standing in front of you.

"where do you think you're going?" he teases.

"uh, my desk," you quip back. what's he getting at...

"nope. you're not going anywhere," he smiles, gently urging you to sit back in the chair. you do, but begin to protest, "Bucky, I have so much-"

your words catch in your throat as you watch him get down on his knees in front of you.

it's probably the hottest thing you've ever seen, but you have so much work, you can't do this here, not now-

"Bucky," you gasp as he begins to run his hands up your thighs, under your pencil skirt. "I'm so busy, and we're literally in the office, and..." you trail off as he begins to put his mouth on the inside of your thighs.

you try to protest some more, but he tells you off.

"you gonna keep whining, or are you gonna let me make you feel good?"

you feel lightheaded in only the best way. you nod. this is so reckless, and so unlike you, but fuck if you don't love the sight of him on his knees in front of you.

you let him lift your hips as he rolls the skirt up just high enough to expose your entire lower half, still in awe of how strong he is, how easily he can move you without even trying.

you feel him run his thumb up and down the wet spot on your underwear. you can't even feel embarrassed at how quickly he turned you into a drenched mess because you know he loves it.

"that's it, that's right," he coos as you lean back in the chair, letting your eyes shut. "just relax for me."

if you had told yourself when you first started this job that you would end up sitting in your boss' chair, with said boss about to eat you out in said chair, you wouldn't have believed it. you'd have called yourself delusional. and yet, here you are.

you watch him use both hands to peel your panties down to your ankles before diving in.

fuck, his tongue is exquisite.

this is so wrong. you have so much to do. you can hear the people outside buzzing around the office, trying to get things done for you and for him, and you're in here doing this?

you don't care.

you run your hands through his hair, gripping tightly as you grind your hips against his face. in this moment, screw everything else. it's just you and him.

the five o'clock shadow on his face does nothing but work you up even more. you lean into the feeling, letting go of all the stress, and reminding yourself of the good things, like Bucky's mouth between your legs.

you're probably suffocating him, you realize, and force yourself to get a grip, letting go of his hair to give him room to breathe.

he pulls back. "nah, baby, come on-"

"don't want you to asphyxiate," you pant.

"fucking hell, baby, want you to take what you need."

no way you're saying no to that.

you lace your fingers back in his hair, interlocking them at the back of his head, and you do exactly as he told you.

you're probably a fucking sight right now, rutting against his face like there's no tomorrow, but god it feels so good.

he loves when you finally let loose, letting go of all inhibition to let him get you off.

"that's right, baby, come on," he encourages, pulling back for just a minute, replacing his mouth with his fingers. "look at me."

with all the strength you can muster, you look down at him, eyes surely black with lust for him. god, his face is soaked. you let out a groan at the sight.

"you're gonna come like this, with my mouth on you, then I'm gonna bend you over my desk, got it?"

he doesn't give you the chance to respond before his tongue is back on you, and it doesn't take much longer. your mind goes fuzzy, cotton in your ears, and you're willing it, just waiting for the drop–

you exhale deeply when it finally happens, and you let him work you through it until you twitch from overstimulation.

a moment passes where you finally catch your breath, and then he’s picking you up by the hips and seating you on the desk. your hands come to his shoulders lazily as he manhandles you, not even opening your eyes, too engulfed in the aftermath of the pleasure he's just drawn from you.

you suppose he forgot about bending you over the desk, because he’s facing you and pulling you in to kiss him as he unbuckles his belt and pushes your legs apart with his hips.

“you okay, baby?” he asks.

you nod your head, eyes still shut, smiling. he chuckles. “there you go. that’s what I like to see, all fucked out 'cause of me, isn’t that right, pretty girl?”

you nod as he brings his hand to your face, cradling your head and running his thumb over the faded scar on your forehead before bringing his lips to press a light kiss to it.

you know he still feels terrible about the accident, even months later. you remind him as often as you can that it’s not his fault, shit happens. he makes sure to remind you every day how beautiful you are, scar or no scar.

and then he’s stretching you out on his dick, making you moan out wantonly.

he begins rambling in your ear as you cling to him, barely able to listen to his words with the feeling of him fucking you on his desk.

“this is all I’m gonna be thinking about tonight, baby,” he begins. “gonna be at that podium… reading whatever fuck-ass words on the teleprompter… thinking about you, baby,” he says, rubbing his hand over the scar again. his words are messy and breathy as he tries to get them out, but it’s music to your ears, listening to him as he takes you apart, only for him.

“love you so much, don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispers. you lift your head from his shoulder and press your lips messily to his. there’s little coordination, and you’re too busy moaning out into the room, barely making any effort to actually kiss him, but it’s perfect. with him, it’s always perfect.

“love you,” you whine as you get closer. “so… much… love you.”

“gonna let me fill you up, baby?”

the fog in your head lifts for a moment as you remember where you are. you shake your head. “not now… later,” you urge him. “later, Bucky, promise.”

he nods, and you dig your nails into his shoulders as you clamp down on him, reaching your peak.

he pulls out only moments before he comes, making a mess all over his hands.

you breathe heavily, leaning back on the desk, resting your weight on your palms as he cleans the both of you up.

your eyes barely open to look up at the clock. fuck, you just lost so much time.

“Bucky, fuck, I have so much to do–” you begin, but he cuts you off with his lips on yours.

“I know, baby. I know. but just think, tonight, after my speech, we’ll come back here and do this all over again, yeah?”

you nod. the night ahead is guaranteed to be the busiest one yet, but you know he’ll make good on his promise regardless. he’d do anything for you.

~~~

✦ part 1 - part 2 ✦

✦ masterlist - join a tag list ✦

tag list:

@starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @josis-teacup @idkman5335

#fem reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier x reader #congress bucky #congressman bucky #congressman barnes #assistant!reader #iamthatonefangirl #thatonefangirlwrites

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lostintransist · 4 months ago

Note

Would love a continuation to your gym antics with maybe possibly Simon meeting Reader and seeing her deliver 23 psychic damage to every creep in the gym.

Then MAYBE they all realize that they’ve all been interested in (respectfully obsessed with) the same person (reader). They witness The Ultimate Douchebag Takedown and watch her do reps with said douchebag’s max weight with so much spark in her eyes. Then they see her be super sweet with a younger beginner or the gym’s dog that roams the shop or some shit

So sometimes stories get away from me and I couldn't figure out why they would all be at a public gym at the same time. My brain kept going, but if they are all together why wouldn't they be on base?? Anyway, my incessant need to answer the unspoken why has led us here. Enjoy! ☺️

If the damn desk jockeys would get off their asses and finish dealing with the fucking problem they would be able to go home. Two weeks in this hotel because the paper pushers wouldn’t approve something more than an economy room in a relatively cheap option. The core of Task Force 141, Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap were nearing blows.

Two queen beds made it hard for any of them to get enough space to stretch out. Everyone took turns rotating who shared with Soap. The man rolled. He didn’t just roll, he would cuddle and then end up sideways in the bed over whoever happened to be sharing with him. Made sleeping rough.

The piss-poor gym/pool set up on the first floor became an outlet for every man. They went in shifts. It wasn’t discussed so much as whoever was the closest to sending a brother through the wall between the bedrooms and the bathroom would nip out to run down their anger on the treadmill or splash laps in the pool.

Now due to the lack of overlapping none of the men knew they had their eye on the same bird. It wouldn’t have helped if they had known.

Price and Ghost ran into you more than once in the hot tub. They would slip into the chilly water and push until their muscles burned and then join you who read or watched something on your phone. Gaz and Soap found you on the treadmill singing quietly as you walked at a speedy clip. Every time the door opened to the gym you stopped singing.

Gaz spoke to you first.

“You can keep singing, don’t mind me. Feel free to turn up the volume on the music too.”

Instead of complying you laugh. Kyle stands near the door, arms folded as he squinted at all the equipment.

“Na, I get a bit shy. Thanks, though.” You offer a smile that is reflected in your eyes. “You here long?”

Gaz laughed through his nose, “Who knows? Trying to get home but the paperwork people at the job are apparently not in the same kind of rush.”

“You too? Damn. What is with them? Do they think I like sleeping on the cardboard they call a mattress?” The animation in your face pulls Gaz in. Bright expressions that show not an iota of mistrust or hiding something.

“They must not travel much for work or they would get us home faster huh?” He crosses the room and points to the treadmill next to you, “Mind if I join you?”

“Go right ahead,” you gesture at the machine. “Conversation would be a nice change.”

The two of you laughed through the last twenty or so minutes of your workout.

Price met you next.

He was one more stupid pun away from unloading his service weapon into his men. He had slammed into the muggy air of the pool room. Without even a glance around he stripped down to his speedo and stomped down the steps into the water. Fucking hotel pools were never deep enough for diving. Five laps and his shoulders burned enough to slow down. Pushing back against gravity he stood. Running a hand over his hair, face, and head, to clear some of the water he looked around for the first time.

There you were, eyes carving lines long his muscles from the hot tub.

“Need something, sweetheart?”

The time it takes you to drag your gaze from the water lapping at his stomach to his eyes sends chills down his spine.

“Na, just enjoying the view. Not often I get a strip tease by accident.”

Price couldn’t help but laugh. He had to have several years on you but the way you look at him has him wishing he were here alone.

“Sometimes a man forgets he might not be the only person in the pool.”

Snorting, you step back and sink lower into the bubbling water.

The bubbles dissipate as you become a floating head.

“Shit,” straightening you look to the wall where the timer is.

“If you don’t mind company I can fix that on my way over?” Price offers, lifting a brow and his cheeks in a smile.

“I would love some company, in fact,” you give him a sultry smile.

Since your face firmly tracks his motion up and out of the pool and to the timer by the time he steps into the heated water his cheeks are as red as his speedo. He is pruned when he finally leaves. You left twenty minutes before he could stand straight without the pressure of his speedo cutting the blood supply off to his everything.

Soap is neck deep in a maladaptive daydream about having a wife and three bairns screeching across the heath as the wind plucks at them when you enter the gym. He moved at a light jog. Feet falling lightly on the belt he isn’t breathing hard.

A clang and ringing of metal is enough to pull Soap back to his body. Glancing over he sees you wincing and pressing your massive water bottle to your chest to stop the metal from singing.

“All good over there?” He lifts both brows as his head tilts slightly.

Your tongue makes an appearance under your top lip as you push a lung full of air from your nose.

“Ever just have one of those days where the seconds take too long to pass?” You looked at him so earnestly that Soap reached out and slowed down to a walking pace.

“Too many damn times. Would a chat help reset the clock watching?”

The fight to keep from your face crumpling had Soap pulling out his threadbare handkerchief and passing it over.

“Time does tricky things to me too,” Soap offered softly.

You pressed the fabric to your nose and coughed to clear your throat and eyes.

“Thanks.” Sniffing you take a shaky breath, “Watching anything interesting lately?”

“Can’t sit still long enough for TV but been seeing the wildest one-person skits on my socials. Favorites have to be a girl’s group chat gone wild and an enemies-to-lovers story with family drama and an ex who won’t get out of the way.”

You light up, hand flying away from your face as you lean toward him.

“Oh my god! Do you think she is the other woman and that’s why she didn’t tell anyone what the hell was going on?”

The time is spent passing back and forth thoughts on stories more interesting than what writers’ rooms had put out in decades.

Ghost meets you last. Well. Yes, he was last but he didn’t really meet you so much as wake trying to avoid being smothered to death.

Falling asleep in the hot tub is not recommended. Even if he could keep his nose above water while sitting at the bottom of the small pool, he shouldn’t fall asleep. He had been the one to share a bed with Soap last night. Instead of swaddling the man like a newborn Ghost had given up on sleeping through the night. Haunted him now.

Eyes snapping open he glares up at you. His head is pinned between your hand and the floor. A quick external assessment tells him that his mask is still on, and the bubbles have stopped. He must have passed out hard.

“Hi,” you study both his eyes before blinking and taking in him. “Since you woke and have normal pupil reactions, I am going to assume you don’t need any naloxone?”

“No.”

“Okay.” The odd look you give him is overshadowed by your fingers sliding off his skin. Damn. Why did that feel so good? “Can you move your long ass legs then so I can enjoy some time in the water?”

Snapping into a sitting position Ghost curses the fact his ears are out. He gets pink in the tips of his ears when embarrassed.

“Sorry.” Ghost ran a hand through his short hair, surprised by the wetness there, “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

A jet caught him in the back. With a grunt he shifted. The pressure from the blasting water left his skin itching. The bubbles were nice though. Stretching his arms along the curve of the tiles he notices your eyes follow his wingspan.

“Do they even make beds big enough for you here?” You question as you step in with a hiss and hand clutching the balance bar.

He doesn’t know why he replies. He isn’t normally this chatty. The lack of sleep must be stealing away his senses and filling him up with a bevy of words.

“I’m not that big.”

You sit across from him. He can feel the drift of your legs in the water above his where they stretch along the bottom.

The glance you send him lands somewhere particular, even with the barrier of the moving water. A slow bob of your head and the lift of your brows accompany your disbelieving tone.

“Must have been the water distortion.”

“Lots of things about me are distorted,” Ghost mutters.

The sputtering laugh you let out has you covering it up with a cough.

“That was terrible. Are all of your jokes that bad?”

“Worse.”

“Ooh, honesty. Well then, let’s hear them?”

Ghost narrows his eyes at you as he tells you the tank joke.

“I see your tank joke and raise you one of my own; two soldiers are in a tank; one looks at the other and says blub.” The waggling of your brows is what tipped him over the edge into snorting.

Back and forth it went until you rub your fingertips together and proclaim yourself cooked. With a smile and a nod you disappear. Ghost spends far too long staring at the ceiling thinking about your hands on him.

They run into you day after day after day. Sometimes in the coffee shop within walking distance or a cafe. But they always run into you alone and never mention you to the others. When orders finally arrive that they can return home each man searched the building over twice looking for you. No luck.

Check-out runs smoothly, leaving them loitering with their gunny sacks in a pile by the complimentary couches and chairs in the lobby. Was there an actual purpose for these couches other than decoration? No one ever seemed to use them. This was the discussion happening between the men that seemed to conveniently forget that their asses sat on the decorations.

Ghost’s eyes widening have everyone looking.

There you are. Backpack over on shoulder and a small suitcase wheeling

Not one of them is confident enough to approach you with the others watching. That leaves all of them waiting and hoping you stop and say hello and here is my number before goodbye.

“Thanks! I had a good stay,” your voice carries over your shoulder to them. Each man tightens up like they were about to breach a building.

Turning a saccharine smile settles on your face as your eyes connect to each man in turn. Striding up to the chair placed neatly between the two couches they sat on you settle both hands on the back, the luggage near your leg.

“Gentlemen, thank you for making the say endurable. I will be sending your warmest regards to Colonel König when I get back to base.” Lifting your hand to your forehead you flick them a bastardized salute and stride out the front door.

The only sound following your pronouncement is the ringing of the phone behind the front desk.

“Did we get fucking honey potted?” Gaz looks at Price, aghast.

“It’s only honey potting if you spill state secrets,” Soap chimes in as he pops his neck slowly.

“Says the man who has been honey-potted before,” Ghost snarked, fingers digging into the weave of his jeans.

“It wasn’t Soap,” Price mutters as his fingers begin to work his mustache, “That John wasn’t SAS.”

“Wait,” Soap looks at each of them with a sharp gaze. “She got all of us? How the hell did she manage that?”

“Looks like KorTac has gotten a better hiring manager,” Price slaps his hands to his thighs, standing. “We will not be discussing this again.”

A chorus of ‘agreed’ and they consider the matter closed.

And other than the time they run into you in the field, that is.

Masterlist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap cod #john price x reader #soap mactavish #price x reader #kyle gaz x reader #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #captian john price #johnny x reader

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secretneverland · 5 months ago

Text

best friend's uncle | han jisung

pairing: han jisung x fem reader

genre: smut - 18+ only, MDNI

word count: 1865

warnings: slight age gap, fingering, unprotected sex

disclaimer: age gap is not very large, and reader is very much an adult!

18+ mdni

smut below line!

it's christmas time once again, and your best friend nara invites you to her christmas eve family dinner like she has every year since you met in high school. you two pack your bags and drive back home, staying for a few nights with her parents while you celebrate.

this year, she had informed you that her uncle would be attending for the first time in a while. he hadn't been in so long, you had never met the man, but he sounded like a decent man.

apparently, he went through a bad divorce, and it pushed him into being sort of a hermit, keeping to himself and staying inside his home most days. your friend seemed excited to see him again, so part of you was also excited to meet him.

donned in your new christmas sweater you bought specifically for this evening, you sat on the couch beside your friend and one of her cousins who was your age. more family filed in as the three of you chatted, her mother gasping and approaching the front door.

"jisung!" she exclaimed, hugging her younger brother with tears in her eyes. "i'm so happy that you're here."

they shared a loving embrace before others went to embrace the man as well, greeting him warmly. nara excused herself, getting up to hug her uncle, too. she then took his hand and brought him over to you.

"uncle jisung, this is my best friend, y/n," she introduced, gesturing to you as you sat on the couch.

you finally looked at the man, stunned as you took in his appearance. he was wearing a gray and black zip-up jacket, tight black jeans, and a pair of dress shoes, along with some large metal frame glasses. his ash blonde hair was slicked back, giving you a good look of his face.

his eyes were wide and bright, cheeks full, which gave him more of a youthful glow and look to him. he was clean shaven, aside from a hint of stubble on his chin and upper lip.

he was definitely younger than nara's mother, but he had a few wrinkles to show that he was older than you by more than a few years.

you shook his hand, snapping out of whatever sort of trance you were in. "it's nice to meet you. i'm nara's best friend. we're roommates in college, and i'm usually here for the holidays." you smiled brightly. "it's nice to finally meet you."

"it's nice to meet you, too," he spoke softly, hand slightly shaky in yours. you could sense his nervousness in his eyes, so you gently gave his hand a squeeze.

"they've all been really excited to see you, you know. it's all your sister has been talking about today."

his gaze softened, and he thanked you before joining his sibling in the kitchen.

sitting back down on the couch with nara, you lightly slapped her arm. "you didn't tell me your uncle was hot!" you whisper-shouted, slapping her arm.

"i will actually kill you," she threatened, pointing a finger at you. "don't even think about it."

laughing, you nodded. "i'm not! i'm just teasing you." she narrowed her eyes a bit before nodding as well.

the night went on like it usually did every christmas eve. you ate a wonderful dinner and dessert before all gathering in the living room to play some games, finishing off the night with a small present exchange.

eventually, everyone left except for you, nara, and her uncle jisung. he was going to be staying through the entire weekend to catch up with his sister.

the five of you sat around the family room, sipping on hot cocoa while you watched a classic christmas film. you couldn't help but steal glances at the older man, feeling somewhat interested in him despite your best friend's threats.

nara's parents retired to their bedroom once the movie was over, you and nara splitting off into her room also.

the two of you laid there just talking for a while until she eventually dozed off. you tried to sleep, but your body wouldn't physically shut off, so you quietly made your way to the kitchen to get something to drink.

shuffling over to the cabinets, you stretched your arm up to grab a glass, but it was just out of reach. suddenly, you felt something warm press against your back.

"let me help you," the voice was soft, the owner grasping the cup and gently placing it onto the counter in front of you before removing themselves from you.

quickly, you turned and were face to face with nara's uncle. "th- thank you," you stuttered out, adjusting your tank top that had ridden up.

he nodded with a polite smile. "sorry if i startled you. i just haven't been able to sleep."

"no worries. that's the reason i'm here getting a drink. my body just won't shut down for me to fall asleep," you explained, turning the kitchen faucet on to fill the glass halfway.

the man leaned back against the counter, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "got something on your mind that's keeping you up?" he inquired.

biting your lip, you softly answered, "maybe a little something."

"do you want to talk about it? i've been told i'm a great listener." his smile was slightly shy but bright.

you took a drink of water, purposely spilling some down your chest. "well, you see, there's this guy, but i really shouldn't try to pursue him because it would make someone upset."

jisung nodded his head in acknowledgment, fighting to keep his eyes above your neck. "i see. what about it would cause such an upset?"

glancing down inside the glass, you sighed, "he's a bit older than me - which i don't mind - but he's also my best friend's uncle.."

when your eyes met his again, he swallowed thickly and nervously readjusted his glasses before briefly eyeing your chest. he looked away, running a hand through his already slightly messy hair.

"that is quite a situation you have there, but.. i think that if both parties in question consent, it shouldn't matter what anyone else thinks," he boldly stated, looking at you.

you set your glass down on the counter, barely breathing out an agreement before pressing your mouth against his. he eagerly responded, hands quickly finding your waist to pull you even closer.

jisung backed you up against the counter, helping you sit up on it as he kissed you more desperately, his tongue shoving its way into your mouth. you happily accepted it, hand fisting his hair as one of his was sliding up toward your chest.

"please touch me," you begged, placing his hand directly on your breast. "please, jisung."

"fuck, y/n," he frowned, forehead resting on your shoulder. "don't talk like that. i won't be able to hold myself back."

you used your hand in his hair to make him look at you. "i don't want you to hold back."

his eyes searched yours for any hesitance, but he found nothing that gave him even a hint that you didn't want this, so he nodded and kissed you once more, hands fondling your breasts.

your own hands explored under his shirt, feeling his abdomen before moving lower to lightly rub him through his sweatpants. the moans against your lips only encouraged you to continue.

his mouth moved down your neck, hand slipping into your sleep shorts, feeling your wetness through your panties.

"is this all for me, princess?" he asked, lips brushing your ear.

you whimpered out a 'yes' as his fingers dipped into your panties and began rubbing your clit in slow circles.

"p- please.. put one inside," you begged softly, afraid to wake your best friend or - even worse - either of her parents.

although the risk definitely turned you on even more.

to imagine your best friend finding her uncle making her closest friend cum on his fingers was so dirty, yet it made you even wetter.

the older man did as you asked, pushing a finger inside, and it didn't take long for you to ask for a second.

"you're so fucking wet for me, baby. gonna cum on my fingers for me?" he ground his palm into your clit as his fingers thrusted inside of you.

nodding, your thighs soon squeezed around his wrist as you let go, a hand over your mouth. he slowed his actions down as you rode it out, popping his fingers into his mouth afterward and humming at the taste. "as much as i'd love to make you cum on my tongue, i need my cock inside of you."

you removed your sleep shorts, watching in anticipation as he pushed his sweatpants and underwear down his thighs. your cunt gushed at the sight of his cock. it wasn't too long, but it was thick, and you just knew he'd fill you up nicely.

he stroked himself a few times before spreading your legs. he gripped himself, running his cock through your folds to collect your slick before positioning himself.

"please put it in," you pleaded, "i need it so bad. need your cock."

"shh, i've got you, baby," he reassured, kissing you as he began to inch himself inside of you. he used his thumb to circle your clit and help you relax until he finally bottomed out.

you wrapped your legs around him, face buried in his neck. "oh, fuck, j- jisung..'

"mm, i know, baby. you're so fucking warm and tight and- and wet.." he groaned. "'m not gonna last long."

once he started to move, he set a brutal pace, fucking into you desperately. his hands held your hips firmly, and you just knew they'd be bruised in the morning, but you couldn't care less. all you cared about in the moment was the delicious spot his cock was continuously hitting.

jisung tongue kissed you messily, saliva dripping down onto your chest. he collected some of it with his fingertips, using it so his fingers would glide along your clit smoothly to help bring you to your second orgasm.

feeling the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten, you bit down on his shoulder to quiet yourself as you came around his cock. he then thrusted faster, chasing his own high as you whimpered in sensitivity.

tears rolled down your cheeks, jisung lapping them up before his hips finally stilled and began to fill you with his hot cum. his hands then came to smooth along your back, peppering kisses along your shoulder.

"you okay, sweetheart?" he asked, pressing a kiss to your temple before brushing your damp hair out of your face.

"perfect," you hummed, nose nuzzling against his. "merry christmas, jisung.

he chuckled a little, kissing your forehead. "merry christmas, y/n."

—

"morning, nara," you yawned, stretching your arms above your head.

"morning," she responded before making a face. she got closer to you, inhaling. "you smell like.. cologne...?"

her eyes widened. "no you fucking didn't."

smiling sheepishly, you knew you didn't even have to respond. it was written all over your face.

"i am not calling you aunt."

want more? check out my masterlist!

#stray kids oneshot #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #skz x reader #skz smut #skz imagines #skz oneshots #skz han #han jisung smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung

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kitchen-spoon · 6 months ago

Text

It was a Rainy day in April when the ER doors flew open and Eddie was called over to an ambulance that just pulled in. A gurney was being guided out the back and on it lay the most beautiful man Eddie had ever seen. Tan, and muscular in a basketball jersey covered in mud. Somehow even soaking wet and dirty the mans hair was immaculate. His head was thrown back in pain, eyes squeezed shut as he gripped at his swollen very dislocated knee.

Normally being a head orthopaedic surgeon he wouldn’t be down in the pit but, chicago Easts E.R lost power due to the storm and has started referring everything over to them. It was all hands on deck right now.

“Put him in trauma room 2, I’ll take care of it, it’s a simple dislocation.” Eddie ordered. He followed them inside and helped transfer the man over onto the bed. “Someone tell me who this guy is.” He called out exasperated.

“Steve Harrington.” The man - Steve pipped up.

“Thank you.” Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. He took Steve’s chart away and shooed everyone else from the room.

He approached the bed again, gloved hands settling on Steve swollen purpling knee. Steve hissed at the slightest touch of the area. His kneecap was raised and twisted to the left.

“Your knee is dislocated Steve, its swollen but once its re-located the swelling will go down with some elevation and icing. Also, You should wrap your knee for the next month if your going to be playing sports again.”

“All that without any X-rays or tests?” Steve chuckled. One of his eyes was squinted open and he was smirking at Eddie, his eyebrow raised.

Eddie wasn’t one to brag but, he also wasn’t one to waste a chance to peacock a little in the name of flirting with a tan, hairy, muscular man with perfect hair.

“I’m the head orthopaedic surgeon in this hospital. I deal with much more complicated circumstances than this everyday.” Eddie shrugged, smirking back.

“Why do I get the best of the best then if i’m just a simple dislocation?” Steve’s body didn’t tense up this time when Eddie touched him, too distracted to notice yet. “Did you get in trouble or something?” He giggled.

“No.” Eddie looked up at him, smiling proudly as he spoke. “I’m head of my my department Sweetheart, and I’m good at what I do. Best of the best like you said.”

Steve finally winced, looking down as Eddie lined his hands up, he didn’t apply any pressure yet. “The Chicago East ER is shut down so we are taking the over flow from the storm.” Eddie continued on, he watched Steve face as he gripped his knee.

“Guess I just got lucky then.” Steve laughed tightly.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can Stevie.” Eddie said as he locked eyes with Steve’s wide hazel doe eyes. He looked like a baby deer it made Eddie’s heart squeeze. “On the count of 3 Stevie, you got this.”

Steve nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. He counted out, “one…two..”

Eddie braced his feet on the floor and bent his knees on one. And on two he forced Steve’s leg straight and pushed his kneecap back over.

“Mother fucker.” Steve grit through his clenched jaw. His hand reached out and landed on Eddie’s forearm gripping tight.

Once his knee was in place Eddie let go and held Steve’s hand instead. “Good job sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” Steve replied automatically, then blushed when he caught himself.

“I’ll wrap your knee, remember to ice it.” Eddie got up and grabbed the stretch bandages from the cart.

He wrapped Steve’s knee methodically, occasionally looking up to check on Steve. Every time he did Steve was laying there with his eyes closed a smile on his face.

“All done.” Eddie said quietly as he finished, he didn’t want to startle Steve. Instead he slid a hand up Steve’s outer thigh.

Steve laid there for another 10 seconds then opened his eyes and looked to Eddie, silently reaching a hand up to ask for help.

Eddie complied of course, he slid his hands into Steve’s and gently pulled the man up. Once he was sitting up Steve didn’t let go of Eddies hands. “Are you single Eddie the head orthopaedic surgeon?”

Eddie smiled, “I am. But how old are you.” Eddie was hopeful but he still wanted to ask. He wasn’t going to date a college student at 35.

“I’m 29.” Steve sounded hopeful.

“I’m 35,” Eddie squeezed his hands.

“Take my number?” Steve bit his lip.

It was Eddie’s turn to blush as he nodded, grabbing the note pad off the supply cart.

Steve wrote his number in big swoopy strokes and singed his name off with a heart. He handed it to Eddie then got up off the chair. “Call me.” He whispered in Eddie’s ear as he passed by, placing a hand on his shoulder. The fingers on his free hand rested on Eddie’s chin turning it towards him, he leaned in slowly, eyes watching Eddie closely until their lips finding touch and they slipped closed. He ended the kiss off biting Eddie’s lip, dragging it between his teeth has he pulled away.

“Bye Eddie.” He whispered, then turned away walking out of the trauma room.

Eddie watched him go, and when he couldn’t see him any longer he looked down at the paper with Steve’s number and bit his own lip.

The moment didn’t last long, a nurse crashing through the door and calling him over to a trauma bay. He put Steve’s number in his pocket and tied his hair up, heading over to his next patient.

566 notes · View notes

heartsriki · 6 months ago

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FLIRT ALERT! ⌇ 애인

An enhypen written one shot series!

꒰ CUPID’S CHAOS 🏹 ꒱ — HEESEUNG ⌇

— synopsis: You accidentally become the campus’s cupid, delivering love letters to everyone— no exception to the one meant for Heeseung even though you had the biggest crush on him. When he asks for help finding his secret admirer, You scramble to keep your own feelings hidden… until you realize that love letter was your own. ⌇ read!

꒰ SYMPHONY OF US 🎸 ꒱ — JAY ⌇

— synopsis: As music majors in college, You and Jay have always been seatmates in class—passing notes, sharing playlists, and teasing each other between lectures. But when you get paired for the annual Valentine’s Open Mic Night, your usual banter turns into long practice sessions, late-night coffee runs, and a song that sounds a little too much like a love confession. ⌇read!

꒰ CANDY HEARTS 🍦 ꒱ — JAKE ⌇

— synopsis: You and Jake are co-workers at a candy shop. While You are content by just doing your job, Jake has a habit of leaving little candy hearts with cheesy, cryptic messages for you every shift. At first, You think it’s just a quirky joke—until the messages start feeling a little too personal, and you begin to wonder if Jake’s sweet gestures are more than just fun and games. ⌇read!

꒰ OUR WHITE GARDEN 🐰꒱ — SH⌇

— synopsis: On Valentine’s Day, you discover a serene white garden where you meet Sunghoon, a quiet stranger who appears to visit often. As you talk amidst the flowers, a silent connection forms between you two, leaving you both intrigued and wondering if your paths were meant to cross. ⌇ read!

꒰ ONCE UPON A VALENTINE 📔 ꒱ — SN⌇

— synopsis: You and Sunoo have always been close, but your friendship has never crossed into anything more. That is, until you’re assigned to work together on a Valentine’s Day-themed literary project for your English class. The task? To write a modern fairy tale. As you two spend late nights brainstorming and writing together, the lines between your fictional characters and your real feelings begin to blur. ⌇ read!

꒰ VALENTINE’S CONFESSION 💌 ꒱ — JW⌇

— synopsis: On Valentine’s Day, Jungwon surprises you with a bouquet of flowers and chocolates, confessing his feelings after months of silence. As you spend the afternoon together, the quiet atmosphere turns into a heartwarming night. ⌇ read!

꒰ LOVE SOUNDTRACK 🎧 ꒱ — NI-KI⌇

— synopsis: Riki creates a playlist for you, each song reflecting your shared moments. As you listen, you uncover his hidden feelings and the confession tucked within the final track, leading to a sweet, music-filled moment where your love story plays out in perfect harmony. ⌇ read!

— Release order: oldest to youngest

Want to be tagged for a specific member or ot7? Comment! This is not my perm taglist! I’ll make one of those in the future! (Make sure your visibility is fixed)

you wont be tagged in fics that are already out!

All fics should be finished before February ends!

word count for each fic is 2k-8k

Do not steal my plots or banners!

A valentine’s month special :)

💌 ⌇ I just recently hit 200 followers which might mean nothing to some but I JUST started posting on tumblr so thats so crazy to me! Shout out to all my loyal rebloggers love you! I don’t usually do series esc things but i’ll try THANKS GUYS, and if this flops turn your head away-

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arilevenatz · 6 months ago

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Heart At Sea

Pairing: Pirate!Wooyoung x reader

Genre/trope: Fluff, pirate au

Word count: 14.4k

Warnings: Self-harm, scars, whipping, Imk if I missed any!

AN: Finally woo gets his fic! I'm so excited to finish all 8 fanfictions of the members! I've had so much fun writing this. Also yes I did cry while writing this thank u very much. I just love wooyoung being so sweet and he's extra sweet to mc. I think everybody deserves a wooyoung in their life

Masterlist

On the island of Seagrove, YN was known as the pharmacist's daughter. Her days were spent behind the counter of her father’s small shop, nestled near the docks. With her sleeves rolled up and her hair tied back, she sorted herbs, prepared remedies, and greeted customers with a quiet confidence.

Her father often ventured into the wild parts of the island, gathering rare plants and ingredients, leaving YN to tend the store. Though young, she had learned much from him—how to grind herbs into powders, mix tinctures, and recognize the faintest symptoms of illness. To the townsfolk, she wasn’t just a girl helping her father; she was a steady hand they could rely on.

The shop itself was simple but full of life. Shelves lined with glass jars and wooden boxes gave the space a calming scent of lavender and eucalyptus. The faint hum of the bustling harbor outside mixed with the occasional jingle of the shop’s bell, marking each new customer’s arrival.

A few townsfolk trickled into the small shop as the morning sun cast golden light through the windows. YN greeted each one with a warm smile that seemed to brighten the entire room.

“Good morning, Mr. Harris!” she chimed as an elderly fisherman stepped inside, clutching his back. “Here for the ointment again?”

“Aye, lass. This old spine of mine doesn’t let me forget it,” he grumbled, though his face softened at her cheerful demeanor.

YN bustled behind the counter, quickly grabbing a small jar of salve. “This should help, just like before! And don’t forget to warm it a little before applying—it works better that way,” she reminded him with a wink.

As he handed over a few coins, another customer entered—a young mother with a baby on her hip. “YN, do you have more of that chamomile tea? It’s the only thing helping my little one sleep these days.”

“Of course, I do!” YN said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. She fetched the tea leaves from a neatly labeled jar and handed them over. “Make sure to steep it for just a few minutes—too strong, and it might be a bit bitter.”

The mother smiled gratefully, the weight of her exhaustion easing just a bit under YN’s sunshine-like warmth.

One by one, people came and went, leaving the shop not just with their medicines but with lighter hearts. YN’s genuine kindness and optimism were infectious, and her presence made the small shop a place of comfort for everyone who stepped through its doors.

Every day, YN spent her hours in the shop, tending to customers with her signature warmth and energy. From sunrise until late afternoon, she ground herbs, mixed tinctures, and offered advice to anyone who came through the door. Her genuine care for others made her beloved in the town of Seagrove.

The shop’s bell jingled throughout the day, announcing each visitor. Sometimes it was a sailor seeking relief for a sore shoulder, or a mother in need of remedies for her child’s fever. YN treated them all with the same unwavering kindness, her cheerful voice and bright smile a constant in their lives.

When the day quieted, YN carefully closed the shop, counting the coins she had earned and tucking them into a small leather pouch. Slinging her basket over her arm, she walked the familiar cobblestone streets back to her home, greeting everyone along the way.

“YN! Thank you for the tea yesterday—it worked wonders!” called a baker as she passed by.

“Anytime! Let me know if you need more,” YN replied, waving with a grin.

The townsfolk adored her. To them, YN wasn’t just the pharmacist’s daughter—she was the heart of their little island, always ready to brighten someone’s day. As she reached her modest home, the warm glow of lantern light spilling from the windows, YN felt content. She had done her part for her community, as she did every day.

Aboard the Halazia, the sea stretched endlessly around the sleek black ship as it cut through the waves like a predator on the hunt. The crew was busy at work, each man fulfilling his role with precision honed through years of sailing under Captain Hongjoong’s command.

On the quarterdeck, Hongjoong stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes fixed on the horizon. His captain's coat billowed in the salty breeze, and a faint smirk played on his lips. “How much longer, Navigator?” he called without turning his head.

“Two hours at most, Captain,” Yunho replied from the helm, his hands steady on the wheel. His calm demeanor matched his confidence in guiding the Halazia through the labyrinth of islands and open waters.

Below deck, Yeosang organized his medical supplies in the dimly lit infirmary. The ship’s rocking didn’t bother him as he meticulously sharpened his tools and checked the cleanliness of bandages. He always prepared for the worst—life aboard a pirate ship demanded it.

Meanwhile, San was in the armory, inspecting the blades and sharpening the cutlasses. His focus was intense, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous energy. As the battle master, he made sure that every weapon on board was in top condition.

On the main deck, Mingi oversaw the crew, his booming voice carrying over the sound of the waves. “Secure those ropes properly! I don’t want to see slack before the next storm!” His role as boatswain made him responsible for the ship’s upkeep, and he took it seriously.

Wooyoung emerged from the galley with a knife in one hand and a basket of freshly cut fruit in the other. “Anyone hungry? I’m not making this twice!” he called out, his mischievous grin suggesting he’d already eaten more than his share.

Down by the cannons, Jongho stood inspecting the weapons that were his pride and responsibility. He ran his hands over the barrels, checking for cracks or defects, and tested the ammunition. Each cannon was polished and ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

Above them all, Seonghwa moved seamlessly between tasks, keeping the crew in line and ensuring the captain’s orders were carried out. As quartermaster and first mate, he was Hongjoong’s right hand and the ship’s enforcer. His sharp gaze missed nothing.

The Halazia wasn’t just a ship; it was a well-oiled machine, and its crew was a family forged by countless battles and storms. Today, however, their mission had a specific target—the peaceful island of Seagrove.

The island of Seagrove had always been a neutral land, a safe harbor for travelers, traders, and even the occasional pirate crew. Its position in the Azure Archipelago made it an essential stop for ships to restock supplies and repair damages, but the island’s policy of neutrality demanded careful diplomacy.

When the Halazia docked at Seagrove, the townsfolk took notice immediately. The sight of its dark sails and ominous figurehead was enough to send a ripple of unease through the streets. While it wasn’t unusual for the infamous crew to stop by, the knowledge of their ruthless reputation made the air feel heavy.

“Looks like the Halazia is back,” muttered an old fisherman, his eyes narrowing as he watched the crew disembark.

“Better keep your heads down,” his companion whispered. “They may not cause trouble, but it doesn’t mean they won’t if given a reason.”

The townspeople moved cautiously, their smiles forced and voices hushed. They weren’t hostile, but they walked on eggshells around the crew, offering a nervous politeness that thinly veiled their fear.

The crew of the Halazia, however, carried themselves with practiced nonchalance. They strode through the cobblestone streets as though they owned them, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight and their gazes sharp.

“Do you think they’re just here to restock?” a shopkeeper murmured.

“They always are,” another replied. “But you never know with pirates. Best to stay out of their way.”

Even as the Halazia crew wandered the town, visiting taverns or inspecting the market stalls, the people of Seagrove remained wary. Neutral land or not, the presence of the crew was enough to keep everyone on edge.

The Halazia crew spread across Seagrove, blending into the island’s usual bustle, though their presence kept the townsfolk on alert. Conversations among the crew were as varied as their personalities, with each man displaying his unique quirks.

In the marketplace, Wooyoung strolled between the stalls, his sharp eyes scanning the goods. He held up a peculiar-looking fruit, turning it in his hands.

“Think this is edible?” he asked, tossing it to Mingi, who had wandered over.

Mingi caught it effortlessly, giving the fruit a skeptical glance. “Edible, sure. But are you willing to test it first?”

Wooyoung grinned. “I’ll pass. Maybe I’ll give it to Yunho—he’s got the stomach for weird stuff.”

Nearby, Yunho overheard and called out, “Don’t think I didn’t hear that, Wooyoung! You’re not slipping anything strange into my food again!”

Wooyoung shrugged innocently. “Last time it was harmless! How was I supposed to know it’d turn your tongue blue?”

Down at the docks, Jongho was inspecting a stack of cannonballs that had just been unloaded from the ship. San leaned against a post nearby, watching him with a smirk.

“You check those like they’re treasure,” San teased.

“They might as well be,” Jongho replied, not looking up. “A bad cannonball could cost us a fight. I’m not taking chances.”

San crossed his arms. “You’re too serious. Maybe you should come spar with me later. Get rid of some of that tension.”

Jongho raised an eyebrow, finally meeting San’s gaze. “Spar? With you? You just want an excuse to show off.”

San grinned wider. “Maybe. But if you’re scared, just say so.”

“Sure.” Jongho rolled his eyes but didn’t rise to the bait.

In a quiet corner of the town square, Seonghwa and Hongjoong stood under the shade of an awning, observing the crew as they mingled with the townsfolk.

“They’re behaving themselves,” Seonghwa said, his tone neutral.

Hongjoong smirked. “As they should. We don’t need unnecessary trouble here.”

Seonghwa glanced sideways at his captain. “You say that now, but when have we ever left Seagrove without some kind of incident?”

Hongjoong chuckled. “Fair point. Let’s hope this time is different.”

In the shaded alleyway near the market, Yeosang stood at a herbalist’s stall, quietly inspecting bundles of dried plants. His sharp eye quickly sorted the useful from the unnecessary.

“These are poorly dried,” he remarked, holding up a brittle bundle of valerian root.

The herbalist, a wiry older man, looked startled. “I—I’m sorry, sir, but that’s all I’ve got right now.”

Yeosang sighed softly, placing the bundle back. “I need quality. If it crumbles before it’s used, it’s worthless.”

From behind him, Yunho approached with an easy grin. “Always so picky, Yeosang. It’s like you expect perfect conditions out here in the middle of nowhere.”

Yeosang didn’t glance back, his hands moving to inspect another jar. “A surgeon doesn’t get second chances, Yunho. The better my supplies, the better I can keep the rest of you alive.”

Yunho leaned against the stall, arms crossed. “Fair point. Still, you could try to lighten up a bit. It’s not all life and death.”

Yeosang turned to him, an unreadable expression on his face. “For you, maybe.”

Meanwhile, Wooyoung spotted Yeosang as he walked away from the stall. “Hey, doc!” he called out, jogging to catch up.

“What is it, Wooyoung?” Yeosang asked, his tone even.

Wooyoung waved a bright yellow fruit in front of him. “You think this could kill someone if I cook it wrong? Or should I give it to the captain and find out?”

Yeosang raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “It’s a mango, Wooyoung. Unless you’re planning to drop it on his head, I doubt it’ll harm anyone.”

Wooyoung grinned. “Good to know! Maybe I’ll add it to dinner tonight. Think the captain likes tropical flavors?”

“I think the captain has more pressing concerns than your culinary experiments,” Yeosang replied, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he walked away.

In the distance, Hongjoong watched the exchanges with quiet amusement. Seonghwa, standing beside him, noticed his expression.

“Just as I thought they were behaving. They’re restless,” Seonghwa remarked.

Hongjoong nodded. “Let them stretch their legs. We’ll need them sharp soon enough.”

Seonghwa tilted his head. “And where does that leave us?”

Hongjoong’s gaze drifted toward the apothecary shop again. “For now? Let them play. But keep an eye on Yeosang. He always finds trouble where no one else is looking.”

Seonghwa chuckled. “That’s because he’s too clever for his own good.”

Hongjoong stood at the edge of the marketplace, his sharp gaze fixed on a small shop nestled between two larger buildings. The apothecary. It wasn’t his first visit, though his trips there were rare and purposeful. The shopkeeper had proven useful in the past, supplying him with everything he needed, no questions asked.

He turned to Wooyoung, who was busy juggling a few apples he’d “borrowed” from a stall.

“Wooyoung,” Hongjoong called, his voice firm.

Wooyoung caught the apples mid-air and grinned. “Yes, Captain? Need me to charm someone, or are we raiding the tavern early?”

Hongjoong smirked. “Neither. You’re coming with me to the apothecary. I need someone to carry what I buy.”

Wooyoung pouted dramatically, tossing one of the apples back into a basket. “What, I’m just your pack mule now?”

“Call it an extension of your scavenger duties,” Hongjoong replied, already heading toward the shop.

Wooyoung sighed, but his grin quickly returned as he jogged to catch up. “Fine, fine. But if they’ve got anything interesting, I’m keeping it.”

The bell above the door jingled as they stepped into the apothecary. The air inside was heavy with the earthy scent of dried herbs and freshly ground powders. Shelves lined every wall, filled with jars, bottles, and bundles of various remedies and ingredients.

YN stood behind the counter, her hands busy organizing a set of vials. She looked up at the sound of the bell and froze for a moment. It wasn’t every day the captain of the Halazia walked into her shop.

Hongjoong’s sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on her. He stepped forward, his coat swaying slightly. “You’re the pharmacist’s daughter,” he said, more a statement than a question.

YN straightened, her sunshine-like demeanor returning despite the intimidating presence before her. “That’s right. My father’s away, but I can help you. What do you need?”

Wooyoung leaned against the counter with a grin, glancing around the shop. “This place smells great. Got anything fun for a bored pirate like me?”

YN raised an eyebrow, but before she could reply, Hongjoong spoke. “Focus, Wooyoung.” He turned back to YN. “I need these.” He handed over a neatly folded piece of parchment with a list of items.

YN took it, her eyes scanning the list. Some of the ingredients were rare, but she recognized most of them. “I should have everything you need. Give me a moment.”

As YN moved around the shop, gathering items, Wooyoung leaned closer to Hongjoong and whispered, “She’s surprisingly cheerful for someone dealing with us.”

Hongjoong smirked but said nothing, his eyes following YN as she worked efficiently, placing jars and packets on the counter.

When she returned, she began explaining each item. “This powder needs to stay dry, and the tincture should be kept cool. And this—” she paused, holding up a small vial, “—is very potent. Use it sparingly.”

Hongjoong nodded, impressed by her knowledge. “You know your trade well.”

YN smiled warmly. “It’s my job.”

Once everything was packed, Wooyoung grabbed the bundle, pretending to stagger under its weight. “Oh no, Captain, it’s so heavy! What if I collapse under the strain?”

YN stifled a laugh, while Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “Stop complaining, or I’ll make you carry more.”

As they turned to leave, Hongjoong paused at the door, glancing back at YN. “Tell your father our deal still stands. I’ll be back when I need more.”

Just as Hongjoong and Wooyoung stepped toward the door, YN's curiosity got the better of her. She cleared her throat and asked, “What deal?”

Hongjoong stopped mid-step but didn’t turn around immediately. Wooyoung, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow and shot YN an amused look. “Curious, aren’t we?” he teased, leaning against the counter again.

Hongjoong slowly turned to face her, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. “Your father and I have... an understanding. He provides certain items I need, no questions asked. In return, I ensure that no harm ever comes to this shop or your family. A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?”

YN blinked, trying to process his words. “So, you’re protecting us? That’s what this is about?”

Hongjoong’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “You could say that. But don’t mistake it for charity. It’s business.”

Wooyoung chimed in, his tone light but with an edge of truth. “Think of it as an investment. The captain doesn’t waste time on things—or people—that aren’t worth it.”

YN frowned slightly, crossing her arms. “We don’t need protection. Seagrove is neutral ground.”

Hongjoong stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to be serious but not threatening. “Neutrality doesn’t stop trouble from finding its way here. Pirates, mercenaries, kingdoms—they don’t care about rules when desperation strikes. Your father knows this. That’s why he agreed to our deal.”

YN held his gaze, feeling a mix of defiance and unease. She wanted to argue but couldn’t deny the truth in his words. “Fine,” she said, her voice steady. “But if this is about protection, it works both ways. You might find yourselves needing supplies when no one else will sell to you.”

Hongjoong’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with approval. “Smart girl. Your father taught you well.”

With that, he turned and pushed the door open. Wooyoung gave YN one last playful wink as he followed the captain. “See you around, sunshine,” he said before the door closed behind them, leaving YN standing there with a mixture of curiosity and newfound wariness.

She looked down at the counter where the parchment list lay. Her fingers brushed against it as her mind raced with questions. Whatever deal her father had struck with the Halazia crew, it was clear this wasn’t just a simple exchange of goods.

After the encounter at the apothecary, Wooyoung couldn’t help but find his thoughts drifting back to YN. There was something about her—a bright, carefree energy that contrasted so sharply with the rough, unpredictable life aboard the Halazia. Her genuine warmth had lingered in his mind longer than he expected, and before he realized it, he found himself making excuses to return to the shop.

A few days later, the bell above the apothecary’s door jingled again. YN looked up from where she was sorting herbs, her face lighting up when she saw Wooyoung standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe with his usual mischievous grin.

“You again,” she said, her tone teasing but friendly. “Didn’t you stock up enough last time?”

Wooyoung shrugged, stepping further inside. “Captain wanted to make sure we didn’t miss anything important. And, well...” He paused, picking up a small jar of dried lavender from a shelf and inspecting it idly. “I thought I’d keep you company. Can’t have you getting bored all alone in here.”

YN laughed, a bright, cheerful sound that filled the small shop. “Bored? Hardly. This place is always busy. Besides, I’m pretty sure pirates don’t come back just to check on someone.”

Wooyoung placed the jar back and leaned on the counter, his grin never fading. “Maybe not, but I’m not like most pirates.”

YN raised an eyebrow, her hands moving automatically as she arranged some vials. “Oh? So what makes you different, Mister Pirate?”

He smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “Well, for one, I appreciate good company. And two...” He trailed off, letting her fill in the rest.

Despite her initial resolve not to get too involved with the Halazia crew, YN found herself smiling. His playful energy was contagious, and she couldn’t help but be drawn into the banter. “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that,” she said, shaking her head.

Wooyoung chuckled. “Smooth enough to get a discount?”

She laughed again. “Not a chance.”

Over the next few weeks, Wooyoung started appearing more frequently. Sometimes he claimed he was running errands for the crew; other times, he didn’t even bother with an excuse. Each visit felt a little more natural, as though he was slipping into the rhythm of her world.

At first, YN kept her guard up. She reminded herself that he was a pirate, part of a crew that carried a reputation for chaos. But Wooyoung’s charm was disarming, and her naturally talkative, sunshine-like personality quickly overshadowed any hesitation.

He’d sit on a stool by the counter, chatting with her about everything and nothing. She’d tell him about the townsfolk, the busy days at the apothecary, and the little joys of living on Seagrove. In return, he’d share stories from the sea—some clearly exaggerated, others tinged with surprising honesty.

One day, as YN handed him a small satchel of herbs, she said with a grin, “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re just here for the company.”

Wooyoung took the satchel, his smile softening. “Maybe I am. Got a problem with that?”

She shook her head, laughing. “Not really. Just don’t scare off my other customers, okay?”

Despite herself, YN found that Wooyoung’s presence didn’t feel like an intrusion. In fact, it felt oddly... comforting. And though Wooyoung never said it outright, he started looking forward to the quiet moments in the apothecary, away from the noise and chaos of life aboard the Halazia.

For now, neither of them thought too hard about what this strange, unexpected connection might mean. They simply enjoyed the moments they had, both of them quietly grateful for the fleeting peace they found in each other’s company.

Over time, Wooyoung became a regular sight in the apothecary. He would stroll in with his usual grin, plop himself onto the old wooden stool by the counter, and watch YN work.

At first, he was content just to chat, but as the days passed, he started offering to help.

“Here, let me do that,” he said one afternoon, stepping behind the counter and shooing YN away as she struggled with a particularly heavy crate of supplies.

She raised an eyebrow at him but stepped aside. “Are you sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to stick around?”

Wooyoung shot her a wink as he effortlessly lifted the crate onto a shelf. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

Soon enough, he became more than just a fixture in the shop. He started assisting her with customers, surprising her with how quickly he learned.

An older woman entered one day, asking for a salve for joint pain. Wooyoung, leaning casually on the counter, chimed in before YN could answet.

“Second shelf on the left,” he said, pointing. “Green jar with the brown lid. That’s the one you want.”

The woman looked at him, then at YN, who nodded in confirmation. “He’s right.”

The woman smiled and handed over her coins, muttering something about how “helpful young men” were hard to find.

After she left, YN crossed her arms and gave Wooyoung an appraising look. “You’re actually pretty good at this.”

He smirked. “Told you. Many talents.”

Not all of his interactions in the shop were so lighthearted, though. Occasionally, a customer would walk in with an attitude—someone trying to haggle too aggressively or speaking to YN with unnecessary harshness.

One such day, a burly man stormed in, slamming a few coins on the counter. “This isn’t enough,” he growled, pointing at a small pouch of medicine YN had just handed him. “You’re overcharging.”

YN opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Wooyoung stood up from his stool and stepped forward, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something far more dangerous.

“She gave you the price,” Wooyoung said, his voice low and sharp. “Take it, or leave.”

The man turned to Wooyoung, clearly unimpressed. “And who do you think you are?”

Wooyoung’s grin returned, but this time it was anything but friendly. He leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. “I’m someone you don’t want to mess with. Now, are you going to take the medicine and go, or should we make this... interesting?”

The man hesitated, clearly weighing his options. After a tense moment, he snatched the pouch from the counter and stormed out, muttering under his breath.

YN let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly.

Wooyoung shrugged, sitting back on the stool and spinning it lazily. “Nobody talks to you like that while I’m here. That’s a rule.”

YN smiled despite herself. “I don’t know whether to thank you or scold you for almost starting a fight in my shop.”

Wooyoung grinned. “Thank me, obviously.”

And she did, though she didn’t say it out loud.

With each passing day, Wooyoung’s presence in the shop felt more natural, like he belonged there. The townsfolk began to notice, too, casting curious glances when they saw the pirate helping YN arrange shelves or handing a bag of herbs to a customer. Some whispered about it, others just smiled knowingly.

And though YN had told herself not to get too involved with the crew of Halazia, she couldn’t deny that having Wooyoung around made her days a little brighter—and a lot more entertaining.

It was an ordinary evening aboard the Halazia when Seonghwa walked into the captain’s quarters, a folded letter in his hand. His expression was calm, but there was an edge of seriousness that made Hongjoong look up from the maps spread across his desk.

“What is it?” Hongjoong asked, leaning back in his chair.

Seonghwa handed him the letter without a word. As Hongjoong unfolded it, his sharp eyes scanned the neatly written words. It was from the pharmacist on Seagrove, a message laced with urgency.

“They’re coming back,” Hongjoong muttered, reading aloud. “The same goons who wanted his land before. He says they’re planning to create trouble, maybe worse. He’s asking us to protect his daughter while he’s away.”

Seonghwa crossed his arms, nodding. “It seems they’re waiting for the perfect moment, knowing the island has no real enforcement.”

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table. His mind worked quickly, weighing the situation. The pharmacist had been a valuable ally, and they owed him for the resources he’d provided in the past. Letting this go unanswered would be a stain on their reputation—and, truthfully, Hongjoong didn’t enjoy leaving favors unpaid.

He looked up at Seonghwa. “We can’t ignore this. We’ll need to send someone to keep an eye on her.”

Before Seonghwa could respond, the door swung open, and Wooyoung strolled in, as casual as ever. “Someone say watch over her?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing grin.

Hongjoong arched an eyebrow at him. “Eavesdropping now, are we?”

“Not eavesdropping. Just walking by,” Wooyoung said innocently, though his smirk betrayed him. “So, what’s the plan? I’m assuming it involves our little sunshine at the apothecary.”

Seonghwa sighed. “It’s serious, Wooyoung. The pharmacist says trouble’s coming her way, and she’ll need protection while he’s gone. This isn’t just a casual errand.”

Wooyoung’s grin faltered slightly, his playful demeanor softening. “I know that. And that’s why I’m volunteering.”

Hongjoong studied him for a moment, noticing the uncharacteristic determination in his eyes. “You’re volunteering? That’s a first.”

Wooyoung shrugged, though there was no hiding the slight tension in his posture. “She’s a good person, Captain. She doesn’t deserve to deal with scum like that. Besides, I’ve been spending the most time with her. Makes sense for me to step in.”

Hongjoong exchanged a glance with Seonghwa, who gave a small nod. Finally, the captain leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Fine. You’ll handle it. But keep a low profile—no unnecessary fights unless it’s unavoidable. And if you need backup, you call for us immediately.”

Wooyoung grinned, his confidence returning in full force. “You got it, Captain. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Later that evening, Wooyoung gathered a few essentials before heading toward the apothecary. As he walked through the dimly lit streets of Seagrove, his mind raced with thoughts of YN.

He didn’t know why, but the idea of something happening to her lit a fire in him that he couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was her kindness, her unshakable warmth, or the way she always smiled, even when dealing with stubborn customers. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to let anyone take that away from her.

When he reached the shop, the bell jingled softly as he stepped inside. YN looked up from the counter, surprised to see him.

“Wooyoung? You’re back already?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

He nodded, his usual playful grin softening into something more genuine. “Yeah. Looks like I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

Her brows furrowed slightly. “Why? What’s going on?”

Wooyoung hesitated for a moment before leaning against the counter, his voice gentle. “Your dad sent us a letter. Said some people might cause trouble while he’s gone. So... I’m here to make sure they don’t.”

The morning sun bathed Seagrove in a warm glow as YN stepped out of the apothecary with a basket in hand, ready to run her errands. She hummed softly to herself as she walked down the cobblestone streets, her mind focused on the list of things she needed.

But she wasn’t alone.

Though his footsteps were silent and his movements careful, YN could feel the weight of a gaze following her. She smirked to herself, pretending not to notice as she turned a corner, heading toward a quieter part of town.

When the street became deserted, she abruptly stopped and turned around, catching Wooyoung mid-step. He froze like a child caught sneaking sweets, his wide eyes meeting hers.

“So,” YN began, tilting her head and walking backward to keep her eyes on him. “You’re basically a bodyguard now?”

Wooyoung let out a small sigh, shaking his head as he caught up to her. “Careful, you’ll trip if you keep walking like that,” he said, his tone light but protective.

“I’m serious,” she pressed, ignoring his warning. “Isn’t this what bodyguards do? Follow people around, stay hidden, and swoop in dramatically when there’s trouble?”

Wooyoung chuckled, crossing his arms as he walked beside her. “Something like that. But I wouldn’t call myself a bodyguard. More like a... pirate with a purpose.”

YN laughed at that, the sound echoing through the quiet street. “A pirate with a purpose? That sounds so noble for someone like you.”

“Hey,” he said, feigning offense. “I’m plenty noble when I need to be. Like right now. I’m literally protecting you.”

“From what?” she asked, her voice full of innocent curiosity. “There’s no one around.”

Wooyoung glanced around, his eyes scanning the surroundings instinctively. “You’d be surprised. Trouble doesn’t announce itself, you know. One second everything’s fine, and the next... well, it’s not.”

YN stopped walking backward and faced him fully, her brow furrowed. “You really think something’s going to happen?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, and he shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But your dad was worried enough to ask for help, and I’m not taking any chances.”

She blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. For all his jokes and playful attitude, there was something reassuring about knowing he took her safety seriously.

“So... what do I call you now? Protector Wooyoung? Sir Wooyoung?” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

He rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Just Wooyoung is fine, sunshine. Now, can we please focus on where you’re walking? If you trip, I’m not carrying you back.”

YN laughed again and turned to continue her errands, her steps lighter than before. Despite the strangeness of being followed, she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of comfort knowing that, no matter what, Wooyoung was there.

A few days passed without incident, though the air felt charged, as if something unseen was brewing. YN went about her routine with Wooyoung never far behind, always lurking in the background or perched casually on her shop’s stool, keeping watch.

But then, late one night aboard the Halazia, a lowly pirate messenger arrived with urgent news.

Hongjoong sat in his quarters with Seonghwa when the messenger was brought in. The scruffy man, clearly uneasy in the presence of the infamous captain, fumbled with his words but got the message across clearly:

“The goons you’ve been watchin’ out for... they’re plannin’ to hit the apothecary. Heard it straight from one of their lot.”

Hongjoong’s face darkened as he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “When?”

“Soon,” the messenger replied. “Could be tonight, could be tomorrow. They’re waitin’ for the right moment.”

Hongjoong dismissed the man and turned to Seonghwa, who stood silently by his side. “We can’t risk it,” the captain said. “The girl’s too vulnerable in the shop. Wooyoung needs to bring her here—now.”

Seonghwa nodded. “I’ll send the word.”

At the apothecary, YN was cleaning up for the night when Wooyoung walked in, his expression unusually serious.

She glanced up at him and immediately noticed the shift in his demeanor. “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting down the jar she was holding.

“We need to leave,” Wooyoung said, his voice firm but calm.

Her brow furrowed. “Leave? Why? What’s going on?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The goons your dad was worried about... they’re planning to attack the shop. Captain’s orders are to get you to the ship where you’ll be safe.”

YN’s eyes widened. “The ship? Halazia? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” Wooyoung said, stepping closer. “It’s not safe here, YN. I can protect you better if you’re with us.”

She hesitated, looking around the shop she’d grown up in. “But... what about the store? What about my father’s work?”

Wooyoung softened, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to it. But right now, you’re what matters. We can’t replace you, sunshine.”

Her heart skipped at the unexpected tenderness in his words, but the gravity of the situation quickly pulled her back. She nodded, her resolve hardening.

“Alright,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear creeping in. “Let me grab a few things.”

Wooyoung watched as YN quickly packed a small bag with essentials—some clothes, a few jars of medicine, and a small book she seemed hesitant to leave behind.

As they stepped out into the cool night, Wooyoung’s eyes scanned their surroundings, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. The streets were quiet, but he knew better than to trust the stillness.

“Stay close,” he whispered, his voice low but firm.

YN nodded, clutching her bag tightly as they made their way through the town toward the docks.

The journey felt longer than it should have, every shadow and faint sound putting them both on edge. But eventually, the silhouette of the Halazia came into view, its sails swaying gently in the night breeze.

As they approached the gangplank, Wooyoung turned to YN, his usual grin making a rare appearance despite the tension. “Welcome to the Halazia, sunshine. You’re about to meet the best—and most chaotic—crew in the seven seas.”

As soon as YN stepped onto the deck of the Halazia, she froze, her wide eyes taking in the sheer majesty of the pirate ship. The towering masts, the intricate ropes, and the faint smell of saltwater mixed with wood—it all felt surreal, like she’d stumbled into one of her dreams.

Her fear of ships and the open sea had always held her back from venturing onto one, but now, standing here, it felt like that fear had melted away, replaced by pure wonder.

“This is... amazing,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle creaking of the ship.

Wooyoung, who had been following her with her bag slung over his shoulder, smirked as he watched her light up like a child discovering a new world. “You act like you’ve never seen a ship before,” he teased, though his tone was soft.

“I haven’t,” YN admitted, turning to him with an excited grin. “Not like this! I mean, I’ve seen them from the shore, but actually being on one? It’s completely different!”

She wandered across the deck, her fingers brushing against the railings and ropes, her eyes darting to every detail—the cannons lined up neatly, the sturdy wheel, and the faint reflection of the moonlight on the water below.

“This is incredible,” she said again, more to herself than to Wooyoung. “I never thought I’d actually step foot on a ship.”

Wooyoung chuckled as he trailed behind her, carrying her things without complaint. “Well, you’re lucky this isn’t just any ship. You’re standing on the Halazia, the finest vessel on the seas.”

YN turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “The finest, huh? You don’t seem very humble about it.”

“Why should I be?” he said with a grin, leaning casually against a mast. “The Halazia deserves to be shown off. Just like me.”

YN rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. She turned her attention back to the ship, climbing a few steps to the raised quarterdeck and looking out over the bow. The gentle rocking of the ship made her heart race, but it wasn’t fear—it was exhilaration.

“You look like a kid in a candy shop,” Wooyoung said, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and fondness as he watched her.

She spun around, leaning against the railing with a bright smile. “I feel like one. This is so much better than I imagined.”

Wooyoung’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he watched her. He wasn’t sure what it was about her—maybe the way her excitement was so contagious, or the way her wide eyes seemed to find magic in everything—but seeing her like this made him forget, even for a moment, the dangers that had brought her here.

“Alright, sunshine,” he said, breaking the moment. “As much as I’d love to let you explore all night, you’ll need some rest. The captain will want to speak with you in the morning.”

YN nodded, reluctantly tearing herself away from the view. “Okay, fine. But I’m not done exploring. You’ll have to show me everything tomorrow.”

Wooyoung laughed. “Deal. But for now, let me show you where you’ll be sleeping. Come on.”

He led her below deck, still carrying her things as she followed him with the same wide-eyed wonder. And though the weight of what lay ahead lingered in the back of his mind, Wooyoung found himself smiling, content in the moment.

When Wooyoung led YN to a small cabin below deck, she stepped inside and immediately felt the silence pressing in around her. The cozy space was nothing like her home, with its small wooden bed, a lantern casting soft light, and the faint creaking of the ship filling the air.

“Here you go,” Wooyoung said, setting her bag down by the bed. “It’s not much, but it’s cozy enough. You’ll be safe here.”

YN nodded, clutching her arms tightly. “Yeah… it’s nice.” But her voice wavered slightly, betraying her unease.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, noticing the way her eyes darted around the room and how she hesitated to step further in. “Something wrong?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

She shook her head quickly, forcing a smile. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just… not used to being alone, that’s all.”

His smirk faded as he studied her. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a small sigh. “A little. Back home, I always stayed with my aunt when my dad wasn’t around. I’ve never really been by myself at night. It’s… it’s just something I’m not used to.”

Wooyoung frowned, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. He could see the fear in her eyes, the way she fidgeted nervously. It wasn’t something he was used to—seeing someone so openly vulnerable. Most people tried to hide their fears around pirates, but YN was an open book.

“You know,” he started, his voice softening, “I could always stick around for a bit. Keep you company until you fall asleep. That way, you’re not completely alone.”

YN’s eyes widened. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m your bodyguard, remember? Can’t let anything happen to you, even if it’s just a bad dream.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she nodded. “Okay. Just until I fall asleep.”

Wooyoung pulled a chair over and sat down near the bed, leaning back comfortably as YN hesitantly climbed under the blankets.

For a while, the only sound was the gentle creak of the ship and the distant crash of waves. YN lay on her side, her gaze fixed on Wooyoung, who seemed completely at ease, his legs stretched out and arms crossed behind his head.

“You’re really not going to leave, are you?” she asked quietly.

“Not until you’re out like a light,” he replied with a grin.

She chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “Thank you, Wooyoung.”

“Anytime, sunshine,” he said, his voice dropping to a soothing tone.

Slowly, her eyes began to droop, the sound of the ship and the comforting presence of Wooyoung lulling her into a sense of safety she hadn’t expected to feel. And true to his word, he stayed right there, watching over her until her breathing evened out and she drifted into sleep.

The next morning, Wooyoung leaned against the doorframe of YN’s cabin, watching her stretch and yawn as she woke up. Her face was lit with the same cheerful glow he’d come to recognize, her fear from the night before seemingly forgotten.

“Morning, sunshine,” he greeted with a teasing grin. “Sleep well?”

YN sat up, her hair slightly messy, and nodded enthusiastically. “Like a baby. I guess ships aren’t so scary after all!”

He smirked, stepping aside to let her step out. “Told you you’d be fine. Now come on, let’s get some food. The others are already up.”

As they walked toward the breakfast hall, YN’s natural curiosity bubbled over. “So… aren’t you ever scared the ship’s going to sink?” she asked, tilting her head.

Wooyoung snorted, looking at her like she’d just said the most ridiculous thing. “Scared? Me? Sunshine, this ship is sturdier than a fortress. She’s not going anywhere.”

“But what if a giant wave crashes over it?” she asked, her eyes wide with imagined catastrophe.

“Then we ride the wave,” he answered smugly.

She hummed thoughtfully before hitting him with another question. “What if a whale bumps into it? Wouldn’t that cause trouble?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “A whale? Do you think whales just swim around bumping into ships for fun?”

She giggled, shrugging. “I don’t know! Maybe they’re curious.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but the fond smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “Alright, sunshine, what’s next? Got any more doomsday scenarios for me?”

“Many. What about sharks? Aren’t you worried they’ll try to bite through the hull?”

Wooyoung stopped walking, staring at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Sharks, YN? Biting through the hull? What kind of stories has your dad been telling you?”

She shrugged with a playful pout. “I don’t know! I just thought… maybe it could happen!”

He shook his head, still grinning as they resumed walking. “I promise you, sharks don’t want to eat wood. You’re safe.”

“What about storms?” she asked next, her voice full of innocent curiosity. “Have you ever been caught in one? Like, a huge one that flips the ship upside down?”

Wooyoung gave her an exaggeratedly serious look. “Oh, sure, all the time. And we just flip her back over and keep sailing.”

YN gasped. “Really?!”

He laughed, ruffling her hair as they walked. “No, sunshine, not really. But we’ve weathered storms before. This ship’s been through it all.”

As they reached the breakfast hall, YN slowed down, looking up at him. “One more question,” she said, her tone quieter but still curious.

“Shoot,” he replied.

“Have you ever been scared on this ship?”

For a moment, Wooyoung paused, his grin fading into something softer. “Maybe once or twice,” he admitted. “But not because of the ship. Because of what might happen to the people on it.”

YN blinked, surprised by his honest answer, but before she could ask more, Wooyoung opened the door to the hall with a dramatic flourish.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced loudly, “the sunshine of the seas has arrived!”

As YN stepped into the breakfast hall, the chatter of the crew quieted, and all eyes turned toward her. Though most of their expressions were neutral or curious, the sheer presence of eight men in one room felt overwhelming. She froze for a moment, clutching Wooyoung’s shirt from behind like a lifeline.

Wooyoung glanced over his shoulder, noticing how she shrank behind him. He let out a soft laugh but didn’t comment, allowing her to use him as a shield.

“Don’t be shy,” he teased lightly, his tone warm. “They don’t bite. Well… maybe San does, but only if you get on his bad side.”

“Hey!” San called from across the room, earning a chuckle from the others.

Hongjoong, seated at the head of the table, gave her a reassuring smile. “Good morning, YN. Don’t let them intimidate you. They’re loud, but they’re harmless.”

She nodded shyly but didn’t let go of Wooyoung’s shirt. The rest of the crew exchanged glances, some amused, some curious.

“Alright, alright,” Wooyoung said, clapping his hands to break the awkward silence. “Let’s get the introductions out of the way so sunshine here can relax.”

He stepped aside, gently nudging YN forward, though she still kept close to him.

Hongjoong stood first, his presence commanding yet calm. “I’m Hongjoong, the captain of this ship. You’ll be safe here, YN. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

Next was Seonghwa, who gave her a polite nod. “Seonghwa, the quartermaster and first mate. Welcome aboard.”

Yunho, the navigator, grinned warmly. “I’m Yunho. I make sure we don’t get lost. Nice to meet you, YN!”

Yeosang, the quiet surgeon, gave her a small smile. “Yeosang. If you ever get hurt, come to me.”

San leaned back in his chair, flashing a mischievous grin. “San, the battle master. Don’t worry, I only bite if provoked.”

Mingi, the boatswain, waved enthusiastically. “Mingi! I keep the ship in shape. You’re gonna love it here!”

Wooyoung gave her a playful nudge. “And you already know me, your personal bodyguard and scavenger extraordinaire.”

Finally, Jongho, the master gunner, nodded firmly. “Jongho. I handle the cannons. Welcome to the Halazia.”

The introductions helped ease her nerves, and soon enough, the crew’s warm smiles and lighthearted jokes began to make her feel more comfortable.

“Thank you,” she said softly, glancing around at the group. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Wooyoung said, guiding her to a seat at the table, “let’s eat. Sunshine needs to keep her energy up, after all.”

As the crew returned to their meals, YN slowly started to join the conversation, her natural warmth and curiosity shining through. By the end of breakfast, she wasn’t hiding behind Wooyoung anymore—instead, she was laughing along with the rest of the crew, feeling like she might actually belong.

After breakfast, Wooyoung led YN back out onto the deck. The crew had dispersed to their duties, leaving the ship relatively quiet. He decided it was the perfect time to give her a small tour—not of the whole ship, but just the places he knew she’d actually need.

“Alright, sunshine,” Wooyoung said, walking ahead of her with a slight bounce in his step. “Since you’ll be with us for a while, you should know your way around—at least enough so you don’t get lost.”

YN’s eyes sparkled with excitement, her earlier shyness completely replaced by her usual sunshine-like demeanor. “Okay! Show me everything!”

“Not everything,” he corrected with a chuckle. “Just the essentials. Come on.”

He started with the main deck, pointing out where the crew stored extra supplies and how to tell which ropes were safe to touch—“Don’t go pulling random ones unless you want to drop a sail on your head,” he teased.

YN followed closely, hanging on to every word he said, her excitement growing with every little thing he explained. She’d occasionally gasp or ask a question, her enthusiasm contagious.

“This is where the weapons are stored,” Wooyoung said, gesturing to a small hatch near the mast. “But you probably don’t need to mess with that. Leave the fighting to us.”

“Noted,” YN said with a grin. “No weapons for me. I’ll stick to not breaking anything.”

They moved below deck next, where Wooyoung showed her the mess hall, the kitchen (“Wooyoung’s kingdom,” as he called it), and a few storage rooms.

When they reached the small infirmary, YN gasped. “Oh, it’s so organized!”

“Yeosang keeps it that way,” Wooyoung said with a shrug. “Don’t mess with his stuff, though. He’ll know.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, her eyes wide as she peeked inside.

Finally, Wooyoung led her back up to the quarterdeck, where the ship’s wheel stood. YN looked out over the vast ocean, the sun sparkling on the water like diamonds. Her grin grew even wider, and she spun around to face him, her hands outstretched.

“This is amazing, Wooyoung! I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like a whole new world!”

Wooyoung leaned against the railing, watching her with a soft smile. Her joy was so genuine, so unfiltered, that it tugged at something deep in his chest. He’d spent years on this ship, but he’d never seen it through someone else’s eyes like this.

“Glad you like it,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

YN turned back to the ocean, leaning against the railing as the wind played with her hair. “I can’t believe I was scared of this. It’s beautiful.”

Wooyoung found himself staring, his heart doing something strange—something he didn’t quite understand. He’d been around plenty of people, but there was something about YN’s presence that felt… different.

Shaking off the thought, he smirked and nudged her lightly. “Well, sunshine, you’re part of it now. Welcome to the Halazia.”

She looked up at him with a radiant smile. “Thanks, Wooyoung. I think I’m going to like it here.”

He didn’t say anything, but as they stood there, watching the endless expanse of ocean together, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to like it even more now too.

As they leaned against the railing, watching the endless stretch of blue, YN broke the comfortable silence with a quiet question.

“Are you scared of the ocean?”

Wooyoung glanced at her, slightly taken aback. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged, her fingers lightly tracing the wood of the railing. “It’s just… it’s so big. And unknown. You don’t really know what’s down there. I’m scared of it. Always have been.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened as he watched her. For all her bright and cheerful energy, there was a vulnerability in her words that struck him.

“I’m not scared of it,” he said after a moment. “But I get why someone might be.”

YN turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face. “You don’t think about it? How deep it goes? How it could just… swallow you up?”

Wooyoung chuckled softly, leaning his elbows on the railing. “I guess I’ve been around it so long, I don’t think about it that way anymore. The ocean’s unpredictable, sure, but it’s also… home. It’s dangerous, yeah, but it’s beautiful too.”

“Beautiful and dangerous,” she echoed, looking back at the waves. “I guess that makes sense.”

He glanced at her, his tone softening. “But it’s okay to be scared of it, you know. Everyone’s scared of something. The important thing is not letting it stop you from living.”

YN nodded slowly, his words sinking in. “I guess that’s why you’re here, huh? To make sure I don’t let my fear stop me?”

Wooyoung smirked, his usual teasing tone returning. “Exactly. Think of me as your very own fearless tour guide of the seas.”

She laughed, the sound light and free, and for a moment, her fear seemed to fade. “Thanks, Wooyoung. You’re not as scary as you pretend to be.”

“Don’t let the others hear you say that,” he said with a wink. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

YN smiled, her earlier worry replaced by warmth. Maybe the ocean was still scary, but with someone like Wooyoung by her side, it didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.

As the day passed, Wooyoung found himself growing increasingly aware of YN’s presence. Whether it was her soft laughter when she found something amusing, the way she tilted her head with curiosity at every little thing he showed her, or even the quiet moments when she was simply taking in the ship’s vastness—he couldn’t help but feel something stirring within him.

It wasn’t just her cheerfulness that got to him. It was the way she spoke with an honesty that seemed so rare, the way she made everything feel a little brighter, even in the vastness of the open sea.

At one point, YN was sitting on a crate near the mast, her feet swinging lightly as she hummed to herself. Wooyoung had been organizing some ropes nearby, but his hands slowed as he glanced over at her. She was just sitting there, doing nothing in particular, and yet he found himself staring.

What is wrong with me? he thought, shaking his head.

“Wooyoung?” her voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned to see her looking at him with her usual wide-eyed curiosity.

“Yeah?” he asked, quickly snapping out of his daze.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked bluntly, tilting her head.

He blinked, caught off guard. “I wasn’t staring.”

She gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t believe him. “You totally were. Do I have something on my face?”

“No!” he said quickly, waving his hands. “I was just… lost in thought.”

“About what?”

“Stuff,” he replied vaguely, avoiding her gaze as he returned to the ropes.

She frowned a little but didn’t press him further. Instead, she hopped off the crate and walked over to him, standing by his side. “You’re weird,” she said with a laugh, nudging him lightly.

“Thanks, sunshine,” he muttered, though there was no bite in his tone.

As the day wore on, Wooyoung couldn’t shake the strange feeling. It wasn’t a bad feeling—just… unfamiliar. He found himself smiling more than usual, his mind wandering whenever she was near.

By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Wooyoung was leaning against the railing, watching YN as she marveled at the view.

She turned to him, her face lit up with excitement. “Is it always this beautiful?”

He nodded slowly, though his eyes weren’t on the horizon—they were on her. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice barely audible. “It is.”

And for the first time in a long while, Wooyoung found himself wondering if the ocean was truly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

A few weeks had passed since YN stepped onto the Halazia, and in that time, the ship had somehow begun to feel like home to her. She leapt around the deck with her usual cheerful energy, helping wherever she could, whether it was Wooyoung in the kitchen, Yeosang in the infirmary, or even Seonghwa and Hongjoong with their work.

“Hold this for me, YN,” Seonghwa said one afternoon as he handed her a map while he adjusted the compass in his hand.

“Like this?” she asked, holding it up as if she were presenting a prized treasure.

Seonghwa chuckled. “Perfect.”

When she wasn’t assisting Seonghwa, she was often seen pestering Yeosang in the infirmary, her endless questions making him both amused and slightly exasperated.

“What does this do?” YN asked, pointing to a jar of some strange salve.

“It’s for burns,” Yeosang replied patiently, though he didn’t miss the way she scrunched her nose at the smell.

“That smells awful!” she exclaimed.

“It’s medicine,” Yeosang said with a small smile. “Not everything can smell like roses.”

She laughed and quickly moved on to the next question, her curiosity never-ending.

And then, of course, there was Wooyoung.

She spent the most time with him, naturally. Whether it was helping him in the kitchen or following him around during his scavenger tasks, she was always by his side, her bright personality lighting up even the dullest moments.

But for Wooyoung, those weeks had been… confusing.

The strange feeling he had whenever he looked at her had only grown stronger. It was there in the way his heart would skip when she laughed, or the way he’d find himself looking for her whenever she wasn’t around.

“Wooyoung!” YN called out one morning, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning to see her balancing on the railing, arms stretched out for balance.

“Look! I’m not scared anymore!” she said, beaming.

“Get down before you fall!” he scolded, rushing over to steady her.

She laughed, hopping down with ease. But not without Wooyoung holding onto her. “I wouldn’t have fallen. You’d catch me anyway, right?”

Wooyoung sighed, shaking his head, though there was a small smile on his lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re grumpy,” she shot back with a grin, poking his arm.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him. She had that effect on everyone, he realized—not just him. She had somehow charmed the entire crew, even the usually reserved Yeosang and the ever-serious Seonghwa.

But for Wooyoung, it was different. The way he felt when she was near wasn’t just fondness or friendship. It was something more, something that made his chest tighten and his heart race.

And as he watched her skip off to bother Hongjoong about something, laughing and smiling as if the world was nothing but sunshine, Wooyoung realized he was in trouble.

Big trouble.

That night, like every other, YN was tucked into the small bed they’d arranged for her in one of the crew’s spare quarters. Wooyoung sat on the floor near the door, leaning back against the wooden wall, his legs stretched out comfortably. It had become their nightly routine—talking about anything and everything before she drifted off to sleep.

“Wooyoung,” she started, her voice soft and a little drowsy already, “why do you like being a pirate? Isn’t it scary, always running into danger?”

He chuckled, resting his head against the wall. “Nah. It’s what I’m good at. And besides, it’s exciting. Who doesn’t like a bit of adventure?”

She smiled faintly, her eyelids heavy but still determined to stay in the conversation. “I think it’s cool… but I’d be too scared to fight. I’d probably just hide behind you.”

“You already do that,” he teased with a grin.

“True,” she murmured with a sleepy laugh. “You’re good at making me feel safe, though.”

His heart clenched a little at her words, but he kept his tone light. “Of course I do. That’s my job, sunshine.”

For a while, they continued their usual back-and-forth, her words growing slower and quieter with each passing minute. Wooyoung found himself doing most of the talking, filling the silence as she nodded off.

Then, mid-sentence, he heard her breathing even out. He paused, looking over at her. She had fallen asleep while he was talking, her head resting on the pillow, her face peaceful and relaxed.

A soft smile spread across his lips as he watched her, the moonlight filtering through the small window casting a gentle glow on her features.

“She’s cute,” he muttered to himself before he could stop the thought.

It hit him then, like it had been building up for weeks and finally clicked into place—he was falling for her. Hard.

But Wooyoung knew one thing for sure: even if it was love, he wasn’t going to say anything. She was his friend, his sunshine in an otherwise stormy world, and the last thing he wanted was to burden her with his feelings. She had enough to worry about, and he wasn’t about to make things harder for her.

Instead, he sighed quietly, leaning his head back against the wall as he closed his eyes. If staying silent meant she could keep smiling and talking his ear off every night, then he’d take that. For now, just being close to her was enough.

Wooyoung stood up quietly, ready to leave her room and let her sleep peacefully like every other night. But as he turned to glance back at her one last time, something caught his eye.

Her blanket had slipped down, revealing her arms—usually hidden under long sleeves. He moved closer, intending to fix the blanket like he always did, making sure she was comfortable.

But then he saw it.

His breath hitched as his eyes fell on her wrists, faintly illuminated by the pale moonlight. There were marks and scars, some faint and others deeper, etched into her skin like silent memories of pain.

Wooyoung froze, his heart tightening painfully in his chest.

No… he thought, his mind racing. She’s always smiling. Always happy.

He couldn’t reconcile the sunshine YN he knew—the one who laughed at his jokes, who skipped around the ship with boundless energy, who asked him silly questions every day—with the person who bore these scars.

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at her sleeping form. She looked so peaceful, so innocent, and yet those scars told a story he didn’t know—a story she had never shared with him.

He clenched his fists, a wave of emotions crashing over him. Anger, sadness, confusion. How could someone as bright as her carry so much pain? And why hadn’t she told anyone?

Wooyoung gently pulled the blanket back up, covering her arms again. His hand hovered for a moment before he stepped back, his movements slow and deliberate as if he might wake her.

He sat back down on the floor, his back against the wall, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He replayed every interaction they’d had, every laugh, every smile. Had he missed the signs? Had she been hiding this from everyone the whole time?

And yet, despite the questions and the pain in his chest, one thought rang louder than the rest.

I’ll protect her.

Whatever she had been through, whatever had caused those scars, Wooyoung silently vowed that she would never have to feel that kind of pain again. Not as long as he was around.

The morning came with the usual rhythm of life on the Halazia. The crew went about their tasks, the sounds of footsteps and distant laughter filling the ship. YN, as always, was a ball of energy. She skipped onto the deck, her bright smile lighting up the day as she greeted everyone she saw.

“Good morning, Wooyoung!” she called, waving cheerfully as she spotted him leaning against the railing.

He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something had shifted within him since last night, and even though YN seemed like her usual, bubbly self, he couldn’t stop the protectiveness that now gnawed at his chest.

As she wandered off to help Yeosang in the infirmary, Wooyoung found himself watching her closely, more vigilant than ever. His heart felt heavier, knowing the scars she carried beneath her sunshine exterior. He couldn’t let this eat him up inside—it was too much.

Without thinking too much about it, he made his way to the captain’s quarters.

Hongjoong was seated at his desk, a map spread out before him as he carefully marked their next route. He glanced up when Wooyoung knocked and motioned for him to enter.

“What is it?” Hongjoong asked, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms.

Wooyoung hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to put his swirling thoughts into words. But this was Hongjoong—his captain, his guide, his second guardian. If there was anyone he could trust, it was him.

“It’s about YN,” Wooyoung began, closing the door behind him.

Hongjoong’s brow furrowed slightly. “What about her? Is she alright?”

“She is,” Wooyoung said quickly. “At least… I think she is. But…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

“But what?” Hongjoong pressed, his tone serious now.

Wooyoung took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. “Last night, I… I saw something. She always wears long sleeves, and I never thought much of it, but her blanket slipped, and I saw her wrists.”

Hongjoong didn’t say anything, but the sharpness in his eyes told Wooyoung to continue.

“They’re scared,” Wooyoung said quietly. “Like… she’s been through something. Something bad. And she’s always smiling, always acting like she’s fine, but I don’t think she is, Captain. I don’t think she ever was.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he processed Wooyoung’s words. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because I don’t know what to do,” Wooyoung admitted, his voice almost breaking. “I want to protect her, but I don’t know if I’m doing enough. I don’t want her to feel like she’s alone. And—” He hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing. “I care about her, Captain. More than I probably should.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of Wooyoung’s words hanging in the air.

Hongjoong studied him carefully, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Wooyoung, you’ve always been someone who cares deeply about the people around you. That’s one of your strengths. But you need to tread carefully here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Hongjoong said slowly, “that YN isn’t just anyone. She’s someone who’s clearly been hurt before, and if you push too hard or too fast, you might end up hurting her even more.”

Wooyoung nodded, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’d never hurt her.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Hongjoong said, his tone softening. “But she might not be ready to talk about whatever’s happened to her. You have to be patient. Be there for her, but let her come to you when she’s ready.”

Wooyoung exhaled shakily, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I just… I hate the thought of her suffering alone.”

Hongjoong gave him a small, understanding smile. “You’re doing more for her than you realize, Wooyoung. Just keep being her friend, her safe place. That’s what she needs most right now.”

Wooyoung nodded again, his resolve strengthening. “Thank you, Captain.”

As he left the room, Wooyoung felt a little lighter, though his heart still ached for YN. He would take Hongjoong’s advice to heart. He would wait, be patient, and let her set the pace. But in the meantime, he’d keep being the one thing she could always count on: her protector, her friend, and her silent guardian.

Wooyoung stepped out onto the deck, the salty breeze ruffling his hair as his eyes scanned for YN. He spotted her near the railing with San and Jongho, her arms waving animatedly as she spoke. The two men stood there, half-amused, half-bewildered, listening to whatever silly tangent she was on this time.

“Wait, wait, let me get this straight,” San said, holding up a hand to stop her. “You’re asking me if a sword can cut through a cannonball?”

“Yeah!” YN exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I mean, they’re both metal, right? So if you hit it hard enough…”

San burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. “You’ve been reading too many stories, kid.”

Jongho, who had been leaning against the railing, shook his head but couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Even the sharpest blade would shatter before it cut through solid iron.”

“Aw,” YN pouted, crossing her arms. “I thought pirates could do anything!”

San laughed harder, wiping a tear from his eye. “We’re not magicians, sunshine.”

Wooyoung stood off to the side, watching the scene unfold. A warm smile crept onto his face as he saw how easily YN interacted with them now. When she’d first come aboard, she’d been hesitant, hiding behind him whenever the others were around. But now, here she was, chatting away with San and Jongho like they’d known each other forever.

It felt good to see her like this—happy, carefree, and finally warming up to the crew.

“You’re really curious about everything, aren’t you?” Jongho said, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement.

“Of course!” YN said brightly. “I’ve never been on a ship before, so I want to learn as much as I can. Like… do you guys ever get scared of storms? Or, oh! What happens if someone falls overboard? Do you just throw them a rope, or—”

“Whoa, slow down,” San said, holding up his hands. “One question at a time, sunshine!”

Wooyoung chuckled softly as he approached them, leaning casually against the mast. “Looks like you’ve been keeping my brothers busy.”

YN turned to him with a beaming smile. “Wooyoung! Did you know San once fought off five guys by himself?”

San puffed out his chest, clearly enjoying the attention. ��It was six, actually.”

“Here we go,” Jongho muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Wooyoung laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t let him fool you, YN. He probably tripped over a barrel and took them all down by accident.”

“Hey!” San protested, but YN was already giggling, her laughter light and infectious.

As they continued talking, Wooyoung couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. She wasn’t just his sunshine anymore—she was becoming theirs, too. And that made him happier than he could put into words.

The gentle sound of the waves lapping against the ship provided a soothing background as Wooyoung and YN sat on the deck. The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink. YN was carefully folding a piece of parchment, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration as she tried to perfect the origami bird Mingi had taught her.

Wooyoung watched her with a soft smile, his elbow resting on his knee as he sat cross-legged beside her. He loved seeing her like this—calm, happy, and free to express herself.

“Wooyoung,” she suddenly said, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Let’s play a game.”

“A game?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes! It’s simple. One person asks a question, and the other has to answer truthfully. No skipping. Deal?” She held out her pinky finger, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Wooyoung chuckled and linked his pinky with hers. “Deal.”

The game started innocently enough, with lighthearted questions that made them both laugh.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?” she asked.

“Once, I fell off the ship during training and blamed it on a loose rope,” Wooyoung admitted, grinning sheepishly.

She burst into laughter, nearly dropping her origami. “You didn’t!”

“I did. Yunho still hasn’t let me live it down,” he said, shaking his head.

When it was Wooyoung’s turn, he asked, “What’s your favorite food?”

“Anything sweet,” she answered easily. “The sweeter, the better!”

The game continued, each question becoming a little more personal, a little more revealing. Wooyoung learned that YN’s favorite color was blue because it reminded her of the ocean and that she used to dream of being an adventurer before life tied her to the store.

Then, as the playful banter lulled, Wooyoung asked the question that had been weighing on his heart.

“Where are the scars from?”

As soon as the question left Wooyoung’s mouth, YN froze, her body stiffening as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“W-what?” she stammered, her voice shaky, eyes darting to her hands in panic.

“Your wrist,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer this time but unwavering. “I saw the scars. Tell me what happened.”

Her heart raced, her palms growing clammy as she clutched the half-folded paper bird. She couldn’t face him, couldn’t answer the question. Without another word, YN shot up from her spot and darted away, her footsteps echoing across the deck.

“YN!” Wooyoung called after her, but she didn’t stop.

She didn’t know where she was going, her mind clouded with panic, but her feet carried her to Seonghwa’s quarters. She knocked quickly before opening the door, her chest heaving as she stepped inside.

Seonghwa was seated at his desk, a book in his hands, but he looked up at her abrupt entrance. He immediately noticed her pacing back and forth, her hands trembling as she fidgeted with the sleeves of her shirt.

“YN,” Seonghwa called gently, setting the book down and standing up. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” she started, but the words caught in her throat. She stopped pacing and turned to him, her eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears.

“YN,” he said again, walking over to her slowly, his voice calm and reassuring. “Breathe. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I…” She hesitated, her mind racing. She couldn’t tell him about her wrists, couldn’t tell him about the scars, but she didn’t know how to explain the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

Seonghwa waited patiently, his arms crossed but his gaze kind. When her bottom lip quivered and her eyes spilled over with tears, he stepped closer and placed a steady hand on her shoulder.

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone,” he said softly. “You can tell me, YN.”

Her shoulders shook as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her sleeve, trying to compose herself. “It’s just… it’s too much,” she finally whispered.

“Too much?” he prompted, his voice careful, coaxing.

She nodded, her voice trembling. “I—I don’t know how to explain it. Everything’s just… overwhelming.”

Seonghwa nodded in understanding, guiding her to sit on the edge of his bed. “Take your time,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her.

She clutched the fabric tightly, sniffling as she stared at her lap. “I just… sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up. Like I’m trying so hard to be happy, to be… me, but it’s exhausting.”

Seonghwa crouched down in front of her, resting a hand on her knee. “You don’t always have to be the sunshine, YN. It’s okay to feel tired. It’s okay to need help.”

YN's chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the weight of her emotions overwhelmed her. Her hands trembled as they clung to Seonghwa’s forearm, her grip so tight it felt as though she was holding onto him for dear life.

Seonghwa didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he stayed perfectly still, a steady anchor in the storm of her panic. He knelt in front of her, his calm presence a stark contrast to her spiraling emotions.

“YN,” he said softly, his voice like a gentle tide. “Breathe with me. In through your nose, slowly… and out through your mouth.”

She shook her head, her tears streaming freely. “I—I can’t,” she choked out, her voice cracking.

“You can,” Seonghwa reassured her, his tone unwavering. “I’m right here. Just focus on me. Look at me, YN.”

She hesitated but finally met his gaze, her teary eyes locking onto his calm, reassuring ones.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Now, follow my breath. In… and out.”

She tried, mimicking his slow breathing, though her breaths still hitched with sobs. Her fingers dug into his arm, and he didn’t so much as wince. Instead, he reached up with his free hand and gently dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief, his movements deliberate and careful.

“It’s okay to cry,” he said softly, his voice unwavering. “It’s okay to feel scared. You don’t have to apologize for how you feel.”

Her sobs quieted slightly, though her grip on his arm remained as strong as ever. She clung to him as though letting go would cause her to crumble entirely.

Seonghwa stayed patient, his calmness never faltering. He wiped her tears every so often, his hand moving with the same care as someone handling something fragile. “You’re safe here,” he reminded her. “Nothing’s going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

His words were like a lifeline, grounding her enough to slow her racing heart. After a few moments, her breathing began to even out, the tightness in her chest loosening bit by bit. She loosened her grip on his arm but didn’t let go entirely, her fingers still clutching him lightly as she hiccupped through her tears.

“Better?” he asked softly, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied gently. “You’re not alone, YN. You never will be.”

Though her tears hadn’t fully stopped, a flicker of warmth spread through her chest at his words. Seonghwa’s presence was steady and unwavering, and in that moment, she felt just a little bit lighter.

After leaving Seonghwa’s room, YN made her way to her quarters. Her steps were slow, her mind a swirl of emotions she couldn’t quite pin down. She opened the door quietly, her gaze immediately landing on Wooyoung sitting cross-legged on the floor near the door, as he always did at night. His head lifted when he saw her enter, concern evident in his eyes.

“YN, I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted firmly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind inside her. She stood before him, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the hem of her sleeves.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she silenced him with a look. Slowly, she rolled up her sleeves, the fabric slipping upward to reveal the scars etched into her wrists.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched as he saw them up close for the first time, the pale lines stark against her skin. His heart ached, a heavy weight settling in his chest as he looked at her, at the vulnerability she was showing him.

“This is what you wanted to know, right?” YN said, her voice soft but laced with a mix of courage and apprehension. “You wanted to know where the scars came from. Well… here they are.”

Wooyoung stood slowly, his movements careful as if afraid any sudden action might scare her away. He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze flicking from her wrists to her face.

The silence lingered for a while before YN took a shaky breath, her fingers twisting together in her lap. She stared at the floor, her voice barely above a whisper as she finally began to speak.

“My mother…” she started, pausing to collect her thoughts. “She wasn’t… normal. She was cruel. A maniac, really. She’d punish me for anything and everything—spilling a drink, speaking too loudly, even just… existing.”

Wooyoung sat perfectly still, his gaze fixed on her, his heart breaking with every word.

“And her punishments,” YN continued, her voice trembling, “they weren’t like what most kids go through. She didn’t yell or ground me. She… she used a whip. Always on my wrists. Always in the same place. I can still feel it sometimes, even now.”

Wooyoung’s fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t interrupt, letting her speak at her own pace.

“My father tried to stop her,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “He did everything he could, but she didn’t care. She was… relentless. And then, one day, she just… overdosed. Died right there in the house.”

She swallowed hard, her hands shaking as she rubbed at her sleeves. “You’d think I’d feel relief, right? That the nightmare was over. But I didn’t. I fell into this… dark hole. A part of me hated her, but another part of me missed her. I was so confused, so… lost. And that’s when it started.”

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat as she glanced at her wrists, her voice quieter now, as if she were confessing a sin.

“I started hurting myself,” she admitted, tears welling up in her eyes. “At first, it was just to feel something—anything other than the emptiness. But then it became… addictive. Like I couldn’t stop. Every time I felt overwhelmed or scared, it was my way of coping. It felt like the only thing I could control.”

Her voice broke, and she wiped at her cheeks, the tears now falling freely. “I hate it. I hate what I’ve done to myself. But it’s so hard to stop. Even now, there are days when the urge comes back, and I have to fight it with everything I have.”

Wooyoung moved closer, his heart heavy as he watched her crumble in front of him. “YN…” he said softly, his voice laced with pain and understanding.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and shame. “I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I thought I’d be fine keeping it to myself, but now… now I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore,” Wooyoung said firmly, his voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside him. “You have me. You have Seonghwa, the captain… all of us. You’re not alone, YN. Not ever again.”

Her lips quivered, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue, but then she nodded, the smallest bit of relief shining through her tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Wooyoung reached out, hesitated for a moment, and then gently placed his hand over hers. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said softly. “And I’ll remind you of that every day if I had to”

For a moment, she saw nothing but sincerity and warmth in his eyes. “I’ve already burdened Seonghwa enough tonight,” she said with a small, forced laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re not a burden,” Wooyoung said immediately, his voice firm. “Don’t ever think that. Not to him, not to me, not to anyone.”

The corner of her lip twitched upward, a small, grateful smile breaking through. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Wooyoung nodded, his expression softening. “Always.”

Without another word, she sat down on the edge of her bed, and Wooyoung returned to his spot on the floor near the door. The air between them was quieter now, but it wasn’t heavy. It felt lighter, like a silent understanding had settled between them.

And for the first time in a long while, YN felt a small sliver of peace.

The following days on the ship were like a fresh breeze in YN’s life. The weight she had carried for so long didn’t feel as heavy anymore. She laughed more, her usual sunshine-like personality shining even brighter now that the storm inside her had started to clear. She could feel it—she wasn’t alone anymore.

Wooyoung noticed the change in her, and it made his heart swell with pride and affection. She still leaped around the ship like a child, asking silly questions and sometimes pestering the others for answers. But now, there was something different about her—the way her laughter came from a place of genuine joy, the way her smiles reached her eyes.

And Wooyoung… he couldn’t stop looking at her. Every time she smiled, every time she glanced his way, his heart raced. He knew what it was now, that feeling that had been growing inside him from the moment he met her. He loved her.

She had become his light, his reason to be better, his reason to fight. And though he wasn’t brave enough to say it aloud, he showed it in every little thing he did. Whether it was sitting outside her door at night to keep her company or silently slipping her favorite snacks into her bag, his love for her shone through his actions.

For YN, Wooyoung had become her pillar, her safe place. She loved the feeling of knowing someone had her back, someone who cared for her as deeply as he did. It was something she’d never had before, and she treasured it more than anything.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, YN sat on the deck, her feet dangling over the edge. Wooyoung sat beside her, his usual playful demeanor softened by the quiet moment.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly, her voice carrying a softness that made Wooyoung turn to look at her.

“For what?” he asked, tilting his head.

“For being here,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the endless ocean before them. “For being my friend, for being my… everything.”

His heart skipped a beat, and he smiled softly. “You don’t have to thank me for that, YN. I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

She turned to him then, her eyes shining with gratitude and something deeper. “You’ve made me feel… safe. Happy. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t say anything, afraid he might ruin the moment. Instead, he reached out and gently took her hand in his, giving it a light squeeze.

And in that quiet moment, with the ocean stretching endlessly before them and the stars beginning to appear in the sky, they sat together, content in the knowledge that they had each other.

For YN, it was the start of a new chapter, one where she wasn’t defined by her scars but by the happiness she was finally allowing herself to feel.

And for Wooyoung, it was enough to simply be by her side, loving her quietly but completely, knowing that she was his light just as much as he was hers.

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