#this could of course be a found family thing just as easily | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inthelow · 7 days ago

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TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS — jeon jungkook (1).

summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?

pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook

genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc— This chapter contains a lot of sexual talk/scenes (fingering, penetration, oral sex, dirty talk). Read under your own discretion. — reader mentions her age but just for the plot of the age difference.

chapters: intro; one; two; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve; thirteen; fourteen; fifteen; sixteen; seventeen; eighteen; epilogue

You woke up to the smell of coffee. Not burnt espresso or whatever horror So-hee brewed from your capsule machine when she crash in your apartment — this was rich, earthy, and freshly ground. It filled the air like something deliberate. Comforting. Domestic. You blinked your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim, warm light spilling through the window. The sheets were cotton, the good quality, not stiff or scratchy. The bed was too big for one person but clearly used to being slept in alone. You could tell by the symmetry of the pillows, the quiet in the air. No mess. No clutter. No sign of another woman.

Your head didn’t ache. Your limbs didn’t feel heavy. There was no immediate rush of regret flooding your chest. Instead, there was quiet. You turned your face into the pillow, let out a breath, and muttered to no one, “Okay.” Time to face the uncomfortable talk after sex.

You sat up and took in the room. Simple. Masculine. Clean lines, warm colors, nothing flashy but nothing lazy either. There were books on the nightstand — actual books, not decorative ones —, a leather jacket slung over the back of a chair and some paintings around the drawers. On the dresser: a watch, a set of keys, and a single photograph of a little girl with messy hair and a missing tooth smile, holding a glitter-covered rock like it was treasure. You stared for a second and then looked away.

You found your dress draped neatly over the foot of the bed. Your heels were lined up side-by-side. Your phone was plugged in. He had plugged in your phone.

Jungkook was already annoying.

You uncomfortable put the dress on and wandered barefoot into the apartment, your shoes and bag in one hand. The smell of coffee led you to the kitchen, where you stopped. It looked like a catalog ad. Sleek counters. Stainless steel. A French press on the counter, half-full. And Jungkook — standing at the stove, shirtless, in grey sweatpants, flipping something in a pan like this was a Tuesday. You could see all his tattoos better now in daylight.

“Morning,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Hope you like eggs.”

“Are they poisoned?” you asked, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Only slightly,” he said. “I didn’t want you getting attached.”

You smirked, leaning against the wall. “You cook breakfast for all your one-night stands?”

“Only the ones who snore like they pay rent.”

“I don’t snore.”

He shrugged. “You snore pretty.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

There was something infuriating about how comfortable he looked. Like your presence didn’t throw him at all. Like he’d been cooking for someone his whole life and had learned the art of giving without asking. He handed you a mug of coffee without being prompted.

You took a sip. “Okay, fine. This is good.”

“Roasted it myself,” he said. You narrowed your eyes. He raised a brow. “What? You think tattoo artists can’t have hobbies?”

“No, I think you’re trying too hard to be impressive.”

“I’m really not,” he said, plate in hand now. “You’re just easily impressed.”

You followed him to the kitchen island, sliding onto the stool while he set down two plates — eggs, toast, avocado. Clean, unfussy, hot.

“You know,” you said between bites, “I was expecting more… chaos.”

“Because I have tattoos?”

“Because you have a child.”

Jungkook nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Fair. But I like things in order. When you’ve got a seven-year-old who believes glitter is a personality trait, you need to carve out the calm somewhere.” You paused mid-chew. He caught it. “Yeah, you saw the picture.”

“I saw a glitter rock,” you said carefully.

“Suni’s masterpiece,” he said. “It lives in my glove compartment now. She made me promise to take it with me ‘in case the car gets sad.’” You blinked, and for the first time that morning, something twisted slightly behind your ribs. Jungkook reached for the pepper grinder. “Relax. She’s with her mom this week. You don’t have to run screaming just yet.”

Now you knew his daughter’s name. You needed to leave that place as soon as possible.

“I’m not running.”

“Yet.”

You tilted your head. “You’re older than me, aren’t you?”

He smirked. “What gave it away? The bad jokes or the emotional regulation?”

“Both,” you said. “How old?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Shit.”

“You?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Seven years,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Not bad.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh, come on. That just means I had a flip phone while you were still wearing glitter lip gloss.”

You gave him a long look. “It was Dior glitter lip gloss, thank you.”

Jungkook chuckled. “Of course it was.”

You two ate in a companionable silence for a moment. The kind that only came when both people knew exactly what this was and weren’t pretending otherwise.

“You live alone?” you asked.

“Most of the time. Sunni’s here on weekends and some weeknights. Her mom’s got a career that eats up a lot of travel.” You nodded, impressed by how easily he said it. No drama. No resentment. “And you?” he asked. “What do you do when you’re not scaring men in bars?”

“I run a company.”

“What kind of company?”

“Some Italian restaurants” you shrugged.

Jungkook blinked. “You don’t look like a woman who tolerates gluten.”

“I don’t,” you said, joking. “But I respect the culture.”

He smiled. “You’re funny.”

“I know.”

There was a pause. He leaned back, watching you now. Not ogling, but observing. Calm. Focused. The kind of gaze that made most men look like they were fidgeting.

“You’re smart,” he said. Not like a pickup line but just a fact.

You didn’t hesitated. “I am.”

“Went to school for it?”

“Law. Worked in a firm for three months and then I got bored.”

“Of course you did,” he said. “You’ve got that ‘I will destroy you with precedent and poise’ energy.”

You laughed again. Goddammit. Jungkook reached for something on the counter — a pen, a sticky note — and scribbled quickly. Then slid it toward you across the granite like it was a contract.

“My number,” he said. “In case you ever want to feel in control again.”

You stared at it for a second, amused. “You giving this to all your hook-ups?”

“No,” he said. “You’re the first one who’s tried to negotiate my egg seasoning.”

You folded the note, sliding it into your bag. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Didn’t say it did.”

“I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“Neither am I.”

You two locked eyes for a beat too long. Then you stood, brushed invisible lint off your dress, and said, “Well. This was surprisingly pleasant.”

Jungkook leaned on the counter, smiling like a man who had nothing to prove. “You say that like it’s a threat.” You didn’t reply. He watched you slip on your heels, toss your hair over one shoulder, and head toward the door. “Hey, Y/n,” he called out as you opened it.

You turned. “Huh?”

“You left your phone” he said, holding it up.

You crossed back, snatched it from his hand, and paused. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

You left. And Jungkook… shirtless, with two empty plates and the smell of coffee still warm in the air, just stood there for a second. Then he smiled to himself, shook his head once and thought softly, “Trouble.”

———

The Mariani office didn’t look like a restaurant headquarters. It looked like a magazine spread — clean marble surfaces, white oak floors, carefully curated vases that changed weekly, and coffee that somehow tasted like it had flown first class. You stood at the far end of the long glass conference table, arms crossed, legs sharp under a tailored navy suit dress that made people listen harder. The sunlight hit your hair just right, enough to not make you more annoyed that you already were.

You weren’t yelling. You never needed to yell. You just asked one question, the kind of question that made three department heads rethink their career choices.

“Why,” you said, tapping your finger once on the printout, “are there plastic menus in a space with velvet chairs and hand-painted walls?”

The woman across the table, Marisa, Events Director, blinked once. “They’re temporary. Just for the soft launch. We thought—”

“No. You didn’t think. You assumed,” you said, calm as possible. “Do you know what assumption tastes like, Marisa?”

The woman swallowed. “…cheap.”

“Exactly.”

You turned, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the street below. Your office was just the penthouse floor of a restored building full of different offices in the heart of the city. Elegant but not flashy. Just like you. The newest Mariani location was three blocks away, still about to finish some last touches but the soft launch was already sending out invitations to critics and investors who had the collective power to destroy or elevate a brand in one dinner.

“Look, I’m not being difficult for sport,” you added, softer now. “We’re selling an experience, not just spaghetti and rigatoni. That means everything, from the plates to the fucking bathroom soap, tells the story of who we are. And we are expensive.”

There was silence. Then murmurs of agreement. You didn’t gloat. You just sipped your cold espresso and moved on when everyone agreed that it needed to be changed immediately.

Later that morning, you stepped into your personal office, shut the door with a firm click, and let yourself exhale. The new espresso cup you had was stale. You didn’t care. You hated interruptions when you were working, and this place - this bubble you’d built of quiet control - was the only space that ever felt fully yours.

You sat behind your desk and opened your laptop. Three dozen emails. Menu revisions from the Spain team. Budget approvals for Valencia. A note from the lawyer about a new licensing regulation. You moved through it fast, efficient, razor-sharp, completely in command. You weren’t just pretty or rich or terrifyingly well-dressed— you were brilliant. The kind of person who caught the missing zero in a spreadsheet before the finance guy noticed. Who remembered the name of the pastry chef’s dog and the exact shade of red the director had painted their front door.

And yet, despite your ruthless control, there was something fragile beneath it. Something you kept buried.

Halfway through responding to an investor memo, your phone lit up with a notification from the nursing home. You stared at it. Then clicked.

Rosa Mariani - Medical Update Available.

Rosa had been the only person who ever told you “no” and meant it. She had raised you between revolving door babysitters and parents who treated affection like a tax write-off. Rosa, with her gruff voice and soft hands. With her biscotti that could break teeth and the gentlest lullabies in Italian you had ever heard.

Now she was fading. Slowly, stubbornly, but definitely fading.

You sat back in your chair and ran a finger along the edge of your espresso cup. You didn’t cry. You never cried at work. Instead, you picked up your phone, dialed the facility, and asked for an update in that same composed, expensive voice you used with investors. After a few minutes of reassurance and politeness, you hung up.

Then you sat there for a moment, just breathing.

No one in the office would know that you were two seconds from driving to the other side of the city to sit at a bedside and beg a woman with Alzheimer’s to remember your name. No one would see that the CEO of and Italian chain food, a rich egocentric girl, was still the twelve-year-old girl who once clung to an apron and begged for another bedtime story in Italian.

You straightened. Pulled your jacket tight. And got back to work. Because vulnerability was not part of your brand. You decided to walk it off. Going to see the next thing in your list of duties of the day.

The new photos of the new - at least, about to be- Mariani location in Spain was a construction site dressed in potential. You were sure it smelled like sawdust and cement dust, but you could already picture the finished space in perfect detail: soft warm lighting, high arches, the curve of the host stand, the brass cutlery that would feel cool in a diner’s hand. You could see it like memory— because you’d built it in your mind a hundred times. You were ready to invest in that place. A step closer to Italy.

With a better mood, you decided to visit the new location in Seoul. The one that was about to launch soon and was just some streets away from the office.

You moved through the site in Louboutins, naturally. Your team… architects, designers, the head chef, a frazzled assistant named Gina with three iPads and a mild caffeine addiction, swarmed around you like bees trying to keep up.

“This wall was supposed to be Venetian plaster,” you said, voice calm, pointing at a freshly primed panel. “That’s drywall. Fix it.”

“Noted,” the contractor muttered, scribbling.

“And the sconces?” you asked, turning toward the entryway.

“Delayed. Backordered,” Gina jumped in, already scrolling.

“Find alternates. Hand-blown, amber glass, minimum three inches in diameter. If you show me anything that looks like it belongs in a Marriott I will walk into traffic.”

“Yes, boss.”

You turned on your heel, barely glancing at your tablet. “And where’s the espresso machine?”

“We change it for the bigger one you wanted. Shipping tomorrow,” one of the kitchen leads said. “Alessandro said he’d handle the calibration once it lands.”

“Good. Alessandro likes the pressure at 9 bars, not 11. It messes with the crema. And it actually makes the cortado taste better.”

There was a pause. “How do you know that?” Gina asked, blinking.

You looked at her. “He’s always bitching about it”

You knew the effect you had in people. The scary boss, the annoying CEO. The hateful manager. You knew what most people thought about you the first time they met you. Annoying, only cares for money and her business. It was true, in part.

You never smiled for effect. Never performed softness. But you remembered birthdays and food allergies. You caught mistakes before they became issues. You knew which chef refused to work under fluorescent lighting and which server got anxious before inspections. You expected excellence but you rewarded loyalty. And most people would rather disappoint a god than disappoint you. So you let the hate happened, because your team knew you by now. Specially when the pressure got you.

This, the life you had worked for. It was something that made you happy.

———

Your apartment sat like a crown atop the building — two floors of steel, glass, and unapologetic luxury. The kind of place people only saw in movies or real estate porn. High ceilings, dark marble floors, a spiral staircase that curved up like sculpture. Every detail was intentional. The lighting was soft, the art minimalist but personal — a giant abstract canvas from an artist Bohyung had once drunkenly hooked up with in Berlin, a few framed black-and-white photos from a trip the three of you had taken to Tokyo five years ago. The penthouse smelled like fresh basil and roasted tomatoes, the aftermath of your very rare decision to cook. Not that you couldn’t cook, because you definitely could. But it usually meant taking time for it — and you couldn’t waste seconds when you were running a big company— so you just preferred not to, unless you were showing off or trying to forget something.

Tonight was neither. Tonight was routine. Tuesday night dinner. An unspoken tradition between your two best friends and you, no matter how busy or jetlagged or generally dramatic your lives got.

Bohyung was already barefoot on the couch, swirling wine in one hand like a bored nobleman. His linen shirt was half-buttoned, his hair messily perfect. He worked in luxury estate acquisitions aka convincing rich people to buy even more properties they’d never live in. He had a gift for languages, for diplomacy, and for saying devastatingly rude things with a charming smile. Se-hoo sat across from him, legs crossed, sipping slowly from a glass of Barolo she’d brought. She ran a private consulting firm for high-profile rebrands — politicians, CEOs, scandals waiting to happen. She had a mind like a scalpel and the emotional range of a Russian novelist. Beautiful, deliberate, and cool as ice — except when she laughed, which was rare but honest.

You and Bohyung had been friends since kindergarten— trauma bonded over ballet recitals and broken curfews. Se-hoo arrived later, in your second year of university, transferring in after a semester scandal involving someone else’s fiancé and a shattered Baccarat tumbler. You two hated her for a week, then fell in love with her for life.

“You used real garlic,” Se-hoo said, tasting the pasta like she was judging it for a Michelin star.

You poured yourself a glass of wine. “I’m not a monster.”

“I mean, you are,” your other friend said, “but a monster with taste.”

“Thank you,” you said, pleased.

The three of you sat around the open-plan kitchen island, warm lighting and an already half-finished bottle of wine in the centre. The three of you ate, the three of you bitched. The three of you gossiped. And eventually, after the pasta had been cleared and the gelato opened, Bohyung struck.

“So,” he said casually, “how was mystery man?”

You rolled you eyes. “There is no mystery. He was just… you know.”

“Oh,” he said, lips twitching. “Just a fuck.”

“Exactly.”

Se-hoo raised an eyebrow. “A nameless fuck?”

“Jungkook,” you muttered.

“That sounds hot. He was hot.” she pointed out

Bohyung snorted. “Oof. That’s such a daddy’s name.”

You took a slow sip of wine. “Funny you say that.”

There was a beat of silence before Se-hoo blinked. “No way.”

“Yeah.”

“Like… actual dad?” she asked.

“Seven-year-old daughter,” you said, licking a bit of pistachio gelato off your spoon. “Mild glitter obsession, according to him.”

Bohyung leaned back. “Jesus. How did that come up? During foreplay?”

Se-hop snorted. “Did he show you her report cards between rounds.”

“No, he didn’t. And Ew, disgusting.”

Your friend raised his glass. “Honestly, missed opportunity.”

“He mentioned it over breakfast.”

“Oh, you stayed?”

“He made eggs. I didn’t want to be rude.”

Bohyung put a hand over his heart. “Wow. Look at you, supporting single fathers. You’re basically a philanthropist.”

You gave him a flat look. “It was good sex. He was hot. I was bored.”

“And emotionally repressed,” Se-hoo added helpfully.

“Exactly,” you nodded.

“He was hot.”

You laughed. Not in a cruel way — just the kind of laugh that came with knowing someone too well to lie. The kind of laugh that loved you, even when it roasted you.

“He was…” you trailed off, then shrugged. “Fine.”

Bohyung narrowed his eyes. “Oh no. She said fine. He was not fine. He was big and broad and responsible, wasn’t he?”

“He owns a tattoo shop,” you said, as if that answered something.

Se-hoo blinked. “Of course he does. Did you fuck a romance novel, Y/n?”

Your other friend leaned forward. “Wait. Does he have forearms? The kind that look like they could carry you and the weight of your childhood trauma?”

“Dude.”

“Did he call you sweetheart in that ‘I pay my taxes and use my hands to built furniture without instructions’ voice?”

You bit back a smile. “You are both insufferable.”

Se-hoo smiled lightly. “You’re still thinking about him.”

“I’m not. He gave me his number and I took it because I’m polite. I don’t even know his last name.”

“Sure,” Bohyung said. “And I only follow hot rugby players for their footwork.”

You moved on, eventually— because you always did.

Talk shifted to other things. Se-hoo’s newest nightmare client — a tech CEO with the personality of a wine cork. Bohyung’s latest business trip to Paris where a billionaire tried to buy a 17th-century chateau without seeing it. Your upcoming launch event and whether or not you were going to wear the red heels that cost too much.

It was comfortable, easy. The kind of dinner that felt like a deep exhale. A reminder that no matter what the world expected from you all — clean lines, sharp deals, expensive control — here, in this room, you could let it bend.

As the night wound down, Bohyung curled into the corner of the velvet couch and sighed. “Honestly, I love us.”

Se-hoo drained her glass. “I tolerate us.”

You leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, lips twitching. “You both wish you were me.”

The girl stretched. “I do wish I had your closet.”

Bohyung smirked. “And your apartment.”

“And your cheekbones,” she added.

“But not your daddy issues,” he said.

You raised your glass. “Cheers for that.”

You clinked glasses

Somewhere in the city, Jungkook was probably folding glitter-stained laundry or putting a little girl to bed. And here, in your castle in the sky, you were full, half-drunk, adored. And exactly where you belonged.

———

It was almost midnight when you stepped into the coffee shop.

The street outside was mostly empty, lights low and hazy from the rain earlier. The café sat on the corner of a quiet neighborhood you rarely visited— a little too slow, too far from the pulse of the city. But you’d had a meeting nearby that ran late, and after hours buried in contracts and menus and talking to architects who couldn’t follow instructions, you needed caffeine and a quiet table that wasn’t backlit by luxury branding. The place was warm, dim, and half-empty. Mostly college students with headphones and a couple of people staring blankly into their screens. The barista looked half-asleep. Jazz played low on the speakers, old-school and moody.

You stepped in, ordered a double espresso with an oat milk cookie— which took longer than it should— and turned to find a seat… when you heard it.

“Y/n.”

You looked up. Jungkook sat in the back corner, sleeves rolled, sketchbook open in front of him, a pen twirling loosely between his fingers. There was a mostly empty mug beside him, and a pastry he’d clearly forgotten existed. His hair was a little messy. He had glasses. His eyes were calm and sharp and amused… He looked better than you remembered. Or maybe exactly the same, and that was the problem. It had been almost three weeks.

“Well,” you said, walking over slowly, one brow raised. “If it isn’t the tattooed dad.”

Jungkook grinned. “Still remembering me by my most defining trait, I see.”

You sipped your coffee. “You wish. You’re also ‘that guy who made very decent eggs.’”

“High praise from a woman who probably eats in Michelin star kitchens by accident.”

“I don’t eat in them,” you said, sliding into the chair across from him. “I own them.”

He laughed, low and warm. He seemed amused by you “Of course you do.”

There was a pause. A beat where the past sat between you two like static. Both maybe trying to remember what was said that morning after the one-night stand. The first one that wasn’t awkward for you.

You tilted your head. “What are you doing out here? You work… where, exactly?”

“Ten minutes that way,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the window. “I was working late at the shop. One of the guys stayed late to finish a sleeve— and the AC jammed. Took me an hour to fix it.”

Of course he fixed it.

You nodded, leaning back. “So, caffeine and quiet?”

“Exactly. And you?”

“Work. I had a meeting with an investor who likes to schedule things at strange hours like he’s in some kind of high-stakes European thriller. I was ready to strangle him halfway through.”

Jungkook grinned. “Did you?”

“No. I just charged him an extra three percent.”

He laughed again. “Still terrifying.”

“I’m efficient,” you said, lips twitching. “Terrifying is a bonus.”

You two talked for a while. Nothing big. Just easy words in a quiet space. About the neighborhood (you still hated it), about tattoo machines and supply issues, about espresso and bad lighting and why good jazz never played in the places that needed it most… It wasn’t flirty. Not obviously. But there was something in the way he looked at you — calm, curious, still very much aware of every detail. And something in the way you kept glancing at his hands, remembering without meaning to.

Eventually, you both stood up at the same time.

Outside, the air was cool, damp from the earlier rain. Your steps slowed at the corner, where you’d have to split.

Jungkook looked at you. You looked back, lifting an eyebrow. “What?”

“You never saved my number, did you?” he stated more than asking.

You smirked. “I didn’t think we were doing that.”

“We weren’t.” You two stood there for a beat. Then he asked it. Quiet. Direct. “Do you want to come back to my place?”

You didn’t hesitate. You just smiled and said, “Lead the way.”

You walked off down the street. Not together, exactly. Just side by side. No promises. No labels. Just two people with unfinished business and nothing to explain.

His house wasn’t that far from the coffee shop. You remembered. Since he didn’t bring his car, he took your keys from your hands and drive you both to his place. At least you had a drive for later to go back home. It didn’t take you too much to arrive. Five minutes later you were walking inside his building and he was already grabbing your hand to lead you to the elevator and to his apartment.

It didn’t take him long to lose control and kiss you

Jungkook leaned you against the wall of the hallway, next to his door. His hands wrapped around the sides of your face as he kissed you hard and needy, as if he had been waiting for this more than he would like to admit. His lips pressed against yours with strength and excitement. It made you remember the first and only night you spent together. Slightly - too - drunk to remember it perfectly but sober enough not to forget how good it was.

His touch. His lips. His naked body against yours. You remember every moan and every thrust. You could remember the feeling of every sigh and every touch.

You wanted him more.

His lips were soft. His kiss searing and full of desire. The fire inside you almost flooded his, flaming and full of heat. His hands roamed to your body, from your cheeks to your hips, tracing every part of you with his fingers, burning every part of your skin over your dress and under your coat. He pressed harder on your hips and moved the hem of your dress to start pulling it up slowly until your your panties showed. The dress giving him better access to you.

He was burning for you. You could hear your heart trumping in your ears, Jungkook made you feel so alive and energetic— and you knew you made him feel the same way, for the way he kissed you hard and deep, coaxing your lips open and forcing his tongue inside. He wanted to burn his name inside your mouth and keep anyone else from kissing you again.

He takes one hand on your jaw to keep your mouth open and pliant while the other travels down to squeeze your hip and run wildly across your tummy to your core. Jungkook moved his mouth to your jaw, sucking the skin and trailing his lips down to your neck. even just touching you through your panties is getting him lightheaded. His fingers moved down to your center, his thumb starting to rub your clit on top of your underwear.

You threw your head back to the wall, sighing of pleasure.

“Wait— Jungkook, we’re in the…”

“Let me take care of you, pretty.” he didn’t let you finish, finger working on making you wet. His tongue laves over your skin as he pants into your neck. He has to keep himself from rutting against your thigh, getting too heady at the feeling of finally touching you again. “Tell me you like it.”

You sighed again, feeling your panties getting soaked wet, his fingers working slowly on you. Your voice barely hold its own. “I like it.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

He wants to see your knees buckle and give up. He wants you crying. He wants to watch your eyes get glossy and wet. He wants you trembling and begging for mercy, wants to give you more and more because he knows that you’ll be good and take it. Because this time he wasn’t going to give you the control, he was the one to have it.

You gasp as his fingers circle your clit, and he’s starting to feel how wet you are even through the layers of clothes. He moves your underwear, his fingers tease your entrance and he presses down on your clit, watching your mouth drop open as he swipes it fervently, needing to get you dripping and ready. He steals your lips for another kiss, letting you pant into his mouth as he takes everything he wants from you.

“You want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby?” He asked, voice lower and rough, full of desire. “Is that enough for you, uhm?”

Baby.

“Shit— Just fuck me.”

Your voice was low, trying to keep it together. Jungkook liked how you tried to keep control, even in this situation. So he chuckled, a dark and grutal one that made you freeze slightly.

“Not yet, pretty. I’m just starting with you.”

He circles his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirm before slowly fucking two fingers into you, with the intention of making you lose your mind little by little.

And he wants to smile. With the way he has you pressed against the wall of his building, fingering you slowly and making you sigh in pleasure with the low lights of the hallway barely holding on. And he wants to fuck you there, where anyone can show up and see you breaking apart like this— but he has enough control to just made you lose your mind to have you beg for it. Just enough so you could ask for it— His cock sits hot and heavy in his pants, but he barely pays it any attention. He’s much more focused on working you up, make you dripping on his fingers.

He increases his pace a little more, curling his fingers up and fucking you harder. It takes him a minute to find the spot he was looking for, but he knows he’s got it when you moan and your leg kicks out helplessly. He keeps pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

“Ngh— shit, go harder.”

“Yeah?. Are you feeling good?” He increased his pace, fucking his fingers deeper into you. “You’re dripping on my hand, baby.”

His fingers continue to rub recklessly at your cunt, making you a little dumb. For a moment, Jungkook doesn’t care about being sweet or gentle or slow— he wants you to be blinded by your need for him, to ache for him so bad you’d cry. But then— he feels you tightening around his fingers so hard he can barely move, stuck pressing into you relentlessly to get you to your peak. And you’re getting there, so fast and excited—

But it stops.

Your orgasm doesn’t come.

Jungkook takes his fingers out of you and your hips involuntarily move to reach them in a needy way. He presses his palm to your tummy and you make a sweet little noise of complaint that he founds adorable and so hot it makes his cock twitch in his pants.

“What are you doing?” your voice sounds more needy that you wanted it to be.

“I won’t fuck you here, baby. Come on now.”

You blinked. Thinking how you were so horny you didn’t mind getting fuck like a whore in the middle of a hallway. But it makes you feel a little good how he was such a man to not do it and take you to his bedroom to fuck you properly.

It doesn't take you two long to get to his room. Jungkook giving you a quick kiss on the lips before pushing you onto his bed, moving you with little to none delicacy so he can spread your legs and kneel in front of you. Knees pressing hard on his cold carpet. He holds your legs open, staring at your center with a wicked grin, your panties ruined and soaked in full display. He kisses up your leg until he gets to your core, ghosting his lips over your heat and blinking up at you.

“I’m going to taste you. And I want you to look at me until you come in my mouth.”

His voice was rough. It wasn’t a request, it was a command.

And you were dripping for him. He was so hot you wanted him to fuck you all day long. The only thing you could do was nod slowly. And he smirked. Because you were such a bossy bitch and now you were spread, lying in bed and nodding like a good girl for him. And you knew how much he wanted that after the first night where you had him under you, grunting and trying to keep his composure while you were taking control.

He likes you that way. Too much to admit. Spread for him and ready to take him in any way. His hands roamed over your tights before taking your panties off. And it doesn’t take him long to give you what you want. Because he wants you more than he likes to admit. In less than a second, he’s salivating like a dog, abandoning all his patience and smothering his face between your legs without a care in the world. He brings his mouth to your clit, sucking lightly and rolling his tongue over the bud his tongue dives into your cunt, desperately pushing into your walls. He wants to hear you cry, to feel you squirm— for him. He likes to find relief in knowing he can make you feel good.

His nose is right against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you. You’re moaning out, a little louder, much whinier than the first night you had and what he’s heard from you. And that does crazy things to him. He wants to fuck you so bad. He’s rock hard, almost leaking from his jeans. Your fingers fist his hair, your back aching at the pleasure that his tongue was giving you.

Jungkook pushes his face further against you, desperate to get as close as he possibly can, reach as far into your cunt as his tongue will allow. He is aching to finally taste your orgasm. His fingers immediately moved to your cunt across your clit, he comes back down to your hole, lapping up the arousal that spills out of it hungrily, moaning at the taste.

But before he can taste all of your juices, your cunt dripping of your orgasm, you pulled his hair to look at him— too serious that he freeze for a moment.

“Jungkook, fuck me already.”

And he obeys.

He immediately pulls away from your cunt— not before sucking one last time your clit—, he stands up and kneels in bed, between your legs. Quickly taking off his shirt in one motion before using it to clean off your juices from his jaw. And he looks so hot on top of you. Perfect clean skin. Broad shoulders and back. Toned arms and abs. Tight stomach and narrow waist. He looked like a sin, specially with one arm all inked full of tattoos you want to lick to death.

Jungkook moves over you. His heat poured onto your torso immediately and you shivered, letting your fingers glide over his narrow waist, getting under the waistband of his jeans and pulling them down to his thighs with his underwear. You see his cock, jumping hard until it hits his lower stomach. Red, veiny and big, his tip leaking pre-cum. You wanted to lick it off clean. He was so hot and such a manly man.

Jungkook fisted your hair before kissing you, hard and open. His hands moved to your dress, taking it off fast as possible and leaving you naked. His body stretched as he reached for his bedside table, opening the drawer and haphazardly pulling out its contents until he found what he was looking for. Your mouth only left his mouth once he rose up, taking out a condom, looking down at you from between your legs. His eyes never left your body as he pumped his cock slowly, leaking more. He looked like a sin staring down on you as he rolled the rubber on.

“You looked so hot” He told you a little breathless. “I’m gonna fuck you hard now, okay?. And you’re going to take it.”

Jungkook kissed you again, hand in your jaw to keep you in place. He taps his tip against your entrance. And before you have time to register he slides his cock between your slick folds, aching to be inside you. You wrap around him tight, making his head spin, nothing but primal instinct driving his actions. He groaned into your mouth as he fucked you, keeping your hips still with his harsh grip.

He squeezed your thigh, pushing it down on the mattress, and you spread your legs wider. A whimper leaving your mouth when he came down grinding on you. Your back arching, eyes closing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth

His hips dipped again, rolling against you. And you bit your lips, pulling his face toward your mouth. “You told me—” you tried as another roll of his body made you clench. “Uhm— Is this hard for you?.”

Jungkook stops before looking at you. His hand in your jaw moving to your cheeks to squeeze tight, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“This isn’t hard for you?” he nods, looking at your eyes. Dark and blown out. “This isn’t enough, right?. You’re a greedy girl, you want more. Fucking—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he proves you wrong. He slammed his hips into yours with strength. He sank into you, filling you to the brink, so deep, stretching you so completely that a single whimper torn straight from your throat. His mouth crashed into yours, making you moan, bringing your legs to the small of his back as he withdrew and sank back in deeper and harder. He fucks you hard, not faster. He thrust into you with meaning, deeper and meaner. Jungkook pressed a hand hard in your lower stomach, making you feel him better.

Your back arches and you moaned his name with meaning, feeling him so good, so rich. Jungkook rolled his hips into you on command. Sweat glistened your bodies, and it was getting hard to breathe for both of you. You moaned, relishing how he stretched you. You gasped, trying to mold his body to yours as your orgasm started building. Your nails dragged down his back, burning his skin as you arched into him again. His mouth finds your neck again, kissing harder. His fingers in your cheeks find your clit, moving them to it faster so you could reach your high.

“Shit— Jungkook. Fuck, wait—”

“No.” His voice is demanding, manly. In a way that makes you know you’re not in control. “This is what you wanted, right?. You can take it. You’re gonna take it, pretty”, Jungkook bites your neck and your eyes get glossy in tears. “Shit— Come on, you’re so good. You’re doing so good for me…”

You squeezed him hard, and his hips stumbled at the feeling. He moans, and lets a growl when you moaned his name into his ear. A sweet noise he’s sure he will remember for weeks. You cried out as you found your release. The world spinning, your body wrecked as euphoria crashed into you. Jungkook came completely undone a few erratic thrusts later, with the sexiest moan you’d ever heard in your life. He managed to hold himself from collapsing on top of you, shifting gently to the side.

It takes you both some minutes to come down from the high. Your body too tired to even get up to shower or clean yourself. Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice because— after catching his breath— he stands up to grab some tissues and clean you and him. With a softness that didn’t match the way he was fucking you just some minutes ago.

When he finish cleaning you off and putting his shirt over you, your face touched his pillow and you almost passed out of tiresome.

And you knew, that wasn’t going to be the last time you’ll be seeing Jungkook.

———

Sunday morning in the city was quiet in the way you liked: no traffic, no emails, no one asking you about marble tile samples or supplier invoices or which appetizer would look better on the press photos. Just the low hum of things waking up slowly — the clatter of silverware in cafes, the hiss of espresso machines, the shuffle of strollers and dogs and hungover twenty-somethings pretending they were early risers.

You were already on the street, oversized sunglasses on, coat tied loose at the waist. You hadn’t slept over. You never slept over. You’d left Jungkook’s place around five… still dark enough to pretend it was nighttime, early enough to pretend it wasn’t a walk of shame. Not that you felt any shame. You’d brushed your hair with your fingers, borrowed his comb, stolen a sweatshirt that definitely didn’t match your skirt, and left with your heels in one hand and your phone in the other. No kiss goodbye. Just a muttered “see you” that didn’t mean anything.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

By the time you reached the café, Bohyung and Se-hoo were already seated at a sidewalk table under the heaters, sipping coffee like they’d been there for hours instead of ten minutes.

“Y/n,” Bohyun said, without looking up from his phone. “You look like a sexy widow escaping a crime scene.”

“I am,” you said, slipping into the chair between them. “And I’m very tired of hiding the body.”

Se-hoo handed you a coffee. “Who was it this time?”

You took a sip before answering. “Same as last time.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “The tattooed dilf?.”

“God,” you groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Well what do you want me to call him?” Bohyung asked. “Zaddy Ink?”

Se-hoo smirked. “How is he, anyway?”

You shrugged. “Still hot. Still knows what he’s doing. Still very much not my boyfriend.”

“Good,” your other friend said, dramatically relieved. “Because if you start dating a man who’s emotionally balanced and knows how to make eggs, I will actually die of neglect.”

“He does make excellent eggs,” you muttered.

Bohyung clutched his chest. “This is how it starts.”

“It’s not anything,” you said. “We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks. We text. I go to his place. We have sex. I leave. That’s it.”

“No sleepovers?” Se-hoo asked, eyebrow raised.

“No after we establish this was casual sex,” you said firmly. “And before you ask—no, I haven’t taken him to my place. I’m not an idiot.”

Bohyung leaned in. “So you’re just casually boning a very hot, very grown man with a child, feelings nowhere in sight, and no complications whatsoever?”

“Exactly.”

He nodded. “You’re going to explode.”

“I’m fine,” you said, half-laughing. “You two are so dramatic.”

“You say that like it’s an insult,” he said, biting into a piece of toast.

You settled into your chair, sighing like you were exhausted by them both but secretly comforted. You liked this part of your life — the routine of brunch with your friends, the rhythm of easy conversations that didn’t require explanation or effort. The way Se-hoo always ordered the same thing and ate it with a knife and fork like a villain. The way Bohyung flirted with the waiter just enough to get them free mimosas but not enough to get banned.

You talked for a while. about her latest campaign (a tech CEO with a scandalous burner account), his new client (a Russian heiress trying to buy a vineyard in Spain because she liked the name), and whether or not you all should all just run away to Tokyo again and start over.

Then Bohyung leaned back, stretching, sunglasses catching the sun. “Oh, by the way,” he said, casually. “Your parents’ thing is next week.”

You groaned. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You can’t skip it,” Se-hoo said, not looking up from her phone.

“I absolutely can.”

“You skipped last year,” she reminded you. “And the year before that.”

“And the year before that,” Bohyung added.

“And you know what happened?” you said, sipping your coffee. “Nothing. They made awkward conversation with people who don’t know my name, toasted to overpriced wine, and pretended to love each other. No one died.”

He grinned. “Come on. It’s a party. The food’s good. The gossip’s better. And your dad always hires at least two jazz bands for no reason.”

“Because he likes to feel cultured,” you muttered.

Se-hoo put her phone down. “You should go. Show face. Wear something sharp. Remind them you exist and are terrifyingly successful.”

You made a face. “You mean remind them I’m successful thanks to their money and that I didn’t marry Jungwoo and give them photogenic grandchildren.”

“Oh god,” Bohyun said, dramatically fake-gagging. “Jungwoo. I forgot that was almost a thing.”

“Same,” you lied. “Blessed amnesia.”

“Please, you loved him” Se-hoo said to your friend. “Smart. Witty. Generous. Could keep up with us.”

“Honestly, he was kinda perfect” Bohyung sighed. “Knew too much about my job and the laws of it. Was pretty funny, smart and hot. The perfect man— except for his ability to disappear for weeks because of his job.”

“And you didn’t have to have sex with him,” you said dryly.

He shrugged. “A perfect arrangement.”

You laughed, finished brunch, and ordered another round of coffee just because you could. After some talk, you said goodbye to your friends, you called your driver to start work.

Your car moved through the city like it had memorized every route. Your driver, Oscar, barely spoke unless you asked — which you never did — and the ride was silent except for the quiet hum of pop music from the speakers and the steady tap of your acrylic nail against your phone screen. You were way to a meeting with a wine distributor who had the social skills of a taxidermied cat but owned vineyards in Tuscany, so charm was optional. Your mind was already sifting through numbers, names, details — the things that mattered.

Then your phone lit up.

The name of a woman you knew.

You stared at the screen for a second before picking up. You adjusted the volume and cleared your throat.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Honey! Good morning,” your mother said, voice like a soft silk scarf — warm, polished, controlled. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“I’ve been up since five.”

“Of course you have,” your mother said with a light laugh. “You’ve always been my little early bird.” That wasn’t true. you hated mornings but always did the effort for work. “How are you?” she continued. “I feel like we’ve barely spoken this week.”

You tilted your head back against the seat, watching the buildings pass. “Busy. I bought the place in Spain so the launch it’s calculated to be in eight months or less so everything’s chaos.”

“You’ll make it perfect. You always do.”

There was something in the way she said it — kind, proud, but… automatic. Like she was reading it off a script.

You exhaled through your nose. “Thanks.”

“And how’s everything else? Life, love, health? Eating well?”

“I’m fine.”

“Just fine?” you mother’s tone lifted slightly. “You’re not burning yourself out again, are you? You know you tend to overdo it when you’re in your perfectionist mode.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s every mode.”

“Well,” she laughed, “then I suppose it’s genetic.”

Another thing that wasn’t true. You had no idea what mode your mother operated in. You barely remembered her outside being on a plane or in another time zone for most of your childhood.

“What about you?” you asked. “Where are you guys now?”

“London. Your father’s giving a lecture at the Royal Academy, something on architectural postmodernism and Eastern symmetry—I stopped trying to follow halfway through.”

Right. Your father and his lectures. Your mother and her panels and consultancy projects. They were always somewhere. You sometimes joked with Bohyung that you learned geography based on your parents’ voicemail greetings.

“How long are you staying?”

“Just until Thursday. Then back in time for the gala.”

You tensed slightly. “Oh, right.”

“I just wanted to remind you,” your mother said gently, as if she sensed it. “Next Saturday at the house. Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight. You don’t have to bring anyone, of course.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“But you’re coming?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. Her voice softened. “I know it’s not your favorite thing. But it means a lot to your father.”

“I know,” you said. “It’s fine.”

It was always “fine.”

The party wasn’t a surprise. They hosted them every year… formal, elegant, full of silver cutlery and floral centerpieces and the kind of people who called you “impressive” and then forgot your name. Technically, it was a fundraiser — your father’s favorite word for throwing himself a well-lit celebration. This year it was for the city’s heritage commission. Last year it was for a scholarship. The year before, clean energy. All good causes. All good optics. And always the same. Same guest list. Same photographers. Same sense of standing in a house that wasn’t yours, surrounded by people who knew your face and none of your history.

“You still like the blue Valentino?” your mother asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“The dress I brought you last spring. You looked stunning in it. I thought you might wear it again.”

You paused. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“You can bring Bohyung and Se-hoo, of course. I mean they’re always there for the champagne but they’re always very fun to be around.”

You smiled, despite yourself. “You mean they know how to talk to people without sounding like hypocrites?”

“Exactly.” Another silence, not awkward — just empty. Your mom cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your day. I know how busy you are. I just wanted to hear your voice. You’ve always had the most beautiful voice.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, darling.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended. The car kept moving.

You stared out the window, lips pressed together, hands resting on your lap. You knew your mother meant well. Always had. She was gentle, thoughtful, generous in her own manicured way. But there had always been a kind of space between you two. Like the difference between a hug and a photograph of a hug. Familiar, but never quite lived in. It wasn’t that they didn’t love you. They just… loved the version of you that they had imagined. The girl who never threw tantrums. The girl who skipped stages. The girl who grew up well, with straight teeth and good posture and business acumen.

A perfect product of two people who missed everything in the middle.

Fifteen years ago.

You had made it your personal mission to destroy every nanny who stepped foot into the house. It wasn’t that you liked being difficult — not exactly. But at twelve years old, you’d already learned that the quickest way to get your parents’ attention was through disaster. Broken windows. Expelled tutors. Hysterical voicemails. You didn’t cry anymore when they left for Tokyo or Berlin or Buenos Aires. You just got mean and loud.

It worked... Sometimes.

Today, you stood barefoot in the front hall, arms crossed, watching the newest casualty storm out of the house muttering something about demon children and emotional abuse. Your mother hadn’t even been there. Your father had sent a driver to escort the woman out, followed by a politely distant phone call:

“We’ll find someone new, honey. Don’t worry. We’ll be home next month.”

Next month. Always next month.

You kicked the wall and left a black scuff mark just because you could.

Two days later, the door dinged and out stepped a small, sharp woman in orthopedic shoes and a beige wool coat. She didn’t smile when she saw you. She didn’t compliment the apartment or coo over your name or ask if you liked ice cream or what hobbies were you into. She just looked you over, slowly, as if examining a stray cat on the edge of a good shoe.

“So,” the woman said, thick Italian accent curling the word. “You are the bambina selvaggia.”

You blinked. “What?”

The woman dropped her bag on the floor with a grunt. “Wild girl. The one who chases the nannies. You look smaller than I thought.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Who are you?”

“Mi chiamo Rosa,” the woman said. “But you can call me Nonna Rosa. Because I am too old for this shit, and la signora told me I could do whatever I want if you don’t end up in juvenile prison.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “You won’t last a week.”

Rosa shrugged off her coat and hung it— not on the rack, but on the bannister.

“You think I want to last?” she said, already walking toward the kitchen. “I came here to eat well and keep my bones warm. Your mother pays like a royal and doesn’t ask me to clean the floors. Perfetto. If you run me off, I’ll go back to Sicilia and you’ll still be crying in your golden room.”

“I’m not crying!,” you snapped.

“Not yet,” Rosa called from the other room.

It went downhill fast.

You refused to follow her schedule. You stomped around the apartment slamming doors. You threw a tantrum when Rosa moved your tablet charger without asking. At dinner, you dumped the minestrone Rosa made straight into the trash. Rosa said nothing. She just poured herself a glass of red wine, sat across the table, and ate the rest of the soup in silence.

On the second week, you locked yourself in the guest bathroom and refused to come out for hours. Rosa didn’t knock. Didn’t coax. Didn’t bribe. She just stood outside the door and said:

“Va bene. Then you stay in there. You don’t come out until you want to act like a person and not a porcupine with lip gloss.” Silence. “You’re not the first lonely girl I’ve met, bella,” Rosa added. “But even the loneliest wolf learns not to bite the hand that feeds it.”

You kicked the door. “I’m not a wolf!”

“No?” Rosa said, voice amused now. “Then come out and prove it.”

It wasn’t immediate.

But over the weeks, things shifted.

Rosa never coddled you. She corrected your Italian, rolled her eyes when you whined, and once smacked a Vogue magazine out of your hand and told you to read something with a brain. She throw you an Italian old book about the cold war— you didn’t understand anything at that time but for the first time you wanted to try. She made dinner every night. She remembered that you hated the smell of coconut lotion, that you didn’t like too much parmesan in your pasta. She asked about your day without making it sound like a checklist.

And one evening, when your mother called to cancel another return flight, you didn’t scream or cry. You just handed the phone to Rosa, sat down at the table, and ate your ravioli without speaking.

After the call, Rosa sat next to you, poured you both a tiny glass of wine. Your first one, even if you were twelve, and said, “You don’t need them to grow up strong.”

You looked at her. “Then why do I still want them to be here?”

Rosa sighed. “Because you are not a rock. You are a little girl. And little girls deserve to be held.”

Then she placed a hand on your head, softly, like she was checking your for fever and left it there a long time. And it made you a feel little more light to know someone was there, home with you. Hearing your nonsense and your feelings. And giving you your first taste of a good wine.

Present.

You blinked.

The memory lingered in your chest like a breath you forgot to exhale. You were still in the car, the city moving past the tinted windows, the sky turning the color of pewter. You didn’t know why you’d remembered Rosa just then. Maybe it was your mother’s voice still echoing in your head. Maybe it was the look on that little girl’s face you’d seen crossing the street, the one gripping her father’s hand like she didn’t want to let go… Or maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t called Rosa in over a week.

You pulled out your phone. Scrolled to ‘Nonna’ in your contacts. Paused. Then typed:

“Ti penso sempre. Sto venendo a trovarti questa settimana.” I’m always thinking of you. I’m coming to visit this week.

You hit send. And for the first time all day, you felt something close to peace.

———

Jungkook slammed his hips against yours hard. Your head fell back over his shoulder as you tried not to make louder sounds. He was fucking you good. Like he had learned how to better than before now that he knew your body better. There were little things you love lately about putting yourself out there in your single life, the first one being getting— very well—fucked.

Jungkook had you pressed against him, with your back against his torso. Fucking you against his mattress. His right hand was pressed against your neck so that you wouldn’t get far away from him every time he slapped his hips hard against yours. His right hand was pressed in your lower abdomen to hold you in place. He kissed and bit your neck delicately— delicately that was at odds with the way he slammed his hips against you. Your right hand was gripping his hair and the other was held tightly against the bed so you could have some control not to fall passed out in bed.

He was fucking you so good it almost made you cry.

“You feel so good, pretty.” he groaned against your ear. “Are you close?.”

You were only able to nod. Jungkook was becoming greater at making you feel good. Every damn time. And he knew it.

He slipped out of you. Man-handling you around to turn around. Your back hit the bed and he was quickly to grabbed your right thigh and put it around his hip before slipping inside you again. This time faster.

“Fuck me— faster.”

“Fuck, fuck. You’re so hot, baby.”

It didn’t take you too long to finish. And neither it did for him.

You leaned against the bed trying to come back to your senses, same as Jungkook who stayed on top you for a couple more seconds to come down from his high. It was good being like this. Quiet and close. It was after some minutes more that he kissed your naked shoulder softly before pushing himself to his drawer to take some tissues and start cleaning you both. It had become kind of a routine for him to be the first one to come to his senses and start the aftercare.

Your were both still catching your breath when you flung one leg off the bed like you were dramatically escaping a scene of seduction. Jungkook laughed quietly from where he lay, one arm behind his head, entirely too satisfied with himself.

“You always leave like you just robbed me,” he murmured.

You didn’t even look back as your reached for his shirt.

“That’s because I did,” you said, moving your hair outside the fabric. “You had something I wanted. I took it. I’m leaving victorious.”

“Criminal mastermind,” he said, smiling.

“Don’t compliment me,” you called over your shoulder. “It’ll go to my head.”

You padded barefoot out of the bedroom and down the hall, headed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen—or the bathroom—or anywhere that would lead to caffeine and/or soap. But then it happened. A crack, a pop, and a sound so visceral it could only come from one thing. A LEGO. Right beneath the arch of your left foot.

You let out a shriek that could’ve shattered glass. “FUCKING FUCK, FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

A worried voice came from the bedroom “Whoa—what?! What happened?!”

You limped forward like you’d been shot, one foot dangling mid-air like it had touched lava. “I stepped on a fucking landmine is what happened!”

Jungkook appeared around the corner in nothing but boxers, already looking half-concerned and half-amused. “Wait—did you just step on…?”

You held up the offending piece of plastic with the drama of a courtroom prosecutor. “This. This is what your spawn has left to assassinate me.”

Jungkook burst out laughing. “A Lego? You screamed like someone got murdered.”

“Because I was,” you snapped. “By a three-centimeter block of doom.”

He stepped closer, still laughing, and grabbed your waist before you could hobble any further. “Let me see.”

“I don’t need medical attention—”

“I’m not medically trained, I’m just trying not to let you die in my hallway.” You glared at him as he crouched slightly, inspecting your foot with exaggerated seriousness. “Okay,” he said gravely. “I think the Lego punctured your dignity.”

“Ha-ha,” you muttered, balancing dramatically against his shoulder. “Remind me again why people choose to breed.”

Jungkook looked up at you, biting back another smile. “We’re really doing this?”

“I’m just saying,” you continued, still wounded. “I never understood the appeal of tiny humans whose hobbies include screaming, spilling, and laying traps like this.”

“She probably dropped it by accident.”

“Oh, yeah?” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think it was a coincidence that the one Lego left in this fortress of neat-freak masculinity just happened to be where my foot landed?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think my seven-year-old daughter set a booby trap to take you out?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded. “She can sense I’m not one of them.”

“One of what?”

You gestured vaguely, still balancing. “The… happy kid people. You know. The ones who like park picnics and Baby Shark and post photos like ‘My whole life’ with a sticky toddler eating sand.”

Jungkook full-on laughed then, and it vibrated through his chest as he pulled you in slightly. “You’re insane,” he said, grinning.

“I’m in pain,” you corrected. “Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.”

Still smiling, he gently set you foot down and looked up at you. “Come on. You survived it. You can have coffee. On me.”

“I want coffee and an apology from your child.”

“She’s at school,” he said, already turning toward the kitchen. “But I’ll write one on her behalf and draw a sad dinosaur. Will that help?”

“It might,” you muttered, limping dramatically after him. “But only if it cries.”

You were, once again, reminded why you didn’t like kids.

———

Jeon Jungkook’s mornings didn’t start with silence or introspective stillness. They started with cereal. More specifically, the sound of cereal being aggressively poured into a ceramic bowl by a seven-year-old who hadn’t quite figured out ratios.

From the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth, he called out, “Sunni, are you using the entire box again?”

“No!” came her innocent voice.

He stepped into the kitchen. The entire box was in the bowl. He just grinned, grabbed a second bowl, and redistributed the mountain of chocolatey puffed sugar without a word. It was a routine. Mess, correction, minimal drama. He liked those kind days, the ones where everything was the same and at the same time it wasn’t— you never knew what you could get from a seven-year-old child.

Sunni sat on the barstool with her hair half-combed and her socks mismatched. “Is it library day or music day?” she asked mid-bite.

“Music,” Jungkook said, sliding a thermos of coffee into his bag. “And don’t forget your recorder this time or Ms. Jennings is going to give me that look again.”

“She always looks at you like that.”

“Because she’s terrified I’ll volunteer to perform with you.”

The little girl snorted, and he ruffled her hair.

After school drop-off and a quick drive through traffic with his windows cracked and Springsteen on low, Jungkook walked into his tattoo shop just as the first artist of the day was setting up her station. The shop — “My Time” — sat on the corner of a leafy street just far enough outside the city’s most tourist-clogged parts to feel like a hidden gem. The windows were full of plants. The walls were covered in framed art, flash designs, vintage photographs. It was clean, calm, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus and ink.

It had taken him seven years to build it. Five artists, one piercer, and a rotating assistant manager who kept the books and occasionally brought him pastries he didn’t ask for but always ate.

“Morning, boss,” called Mia from her chair. Her hair was pink today.

“Morning,” he said, setting down his sketchbook and rolling up his sleeves. “Client at ten?”

“She’s early. Wants a floral rib piece. Showed me a Pinterest board the length of the Constitution.”

Jungkook groaned. “God bless Pinterest.”

He headed to his station, thumbed through his design folder, and sipped the coffee he didn’t really need.

The day passed in a quiet, rhythmic loop. Appointments, sketches, cleaning, music in the background, and the satisfying silence of people letting you create something permanent on their skin. He liked it. The small talk. The intimacy. The trust. Between clients, he leaned over the front counter where his best friend and shop partner, Park Jimin, was sketching in a notebook, AirPods in. Jungkook tapped his pen on the paper. The older looked up.

“You done ruining another collarbone or did your floral girl flinch again?” He pulled one earbud out.

Jungkook leaned on the counter. “No flinching. She was great. Talked about her dead grandmother for two hours and then tipped like a saint.”

“Damn. And here I thought tattooing grieving millennials would be the death of you.”

“Nah,” he said, stretching his shoulder. “They cry, I hand them a juice box, and we both survive.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “So… speaking of surviving. How’s your hot younger non-girlfriend?”

Jungkook snorted. “You mean Y/n?”

“Oh, we’re on a first-name basis now? Cute.”

The younger rolled his eyes. “It’s not a thing. We’re just— hooking up. Casually. Like grown-ups.”

“Right,” his friend said, leaning back in his chair. “Totally casual. No emotional involvement. Just penis diplomacy and the occasional Lego-related injury.”

Jungkook shook his head, laughing. “She stepped on one fucking Lego and acted like she got sniped by a Navy SEAL.”

“That’s because she’s a childless woman, man,” Jimin said, mock-serious. “They don’t understand the sacrifices we make daily. We’re warriors. Foot soldiers in the plastic toy trenches.”

He smirked. “You don’t even have kids.”

“I babysit my niece every two weeks. I’ve stepped on a Polly Pocket heel. I know pain. I actually empathize with that poor girl. You should clean your place better.”

Jungkook chuckled, flipping to a fresh page in his sketchbook. “Well, she’s hilarious. Kind of ridiculous. But smart as hell.”

“Yeah? She got a job or is she just hot and angry?”

“I think she manage some Italian restaurant. She’s very vague but brags a lot about it.”

The older blinked. “Damn. You’re dating a pasta tycoon?”

“I’m sleeping with a pasta tycoon. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is,” Jimin said, nodding sagely. “Until she meets Sunni and runs for the hills.” Jungkook didn’t say anything for a moment. Jimin looked up. “She hasn’t met the little one yet, right?”

Jungkook shook his head. “Not even close.”

“Smart. Don’t introduce your kid to a woman who’s allergic to Play-Doh and feelings.”

Jungkook let out a breath, one of those little huffs that was half amusement, half… something else. “I like how easy it is,” he admitted. “I don’t have to explain anything. She doesn’t ask about the future. We text, we hook up, we joke around, and she leaves with her earrings in her purse like a criminal.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “But?”

Jungkook shrugged. “No ‘but.’ Just— haven’t had something uncomplicated in a while. And that’s good.”

“Unless you start liking it too much.”

The younger made a face. “Christ. Spare me the Dr. Phil speech.”

“I’m just saying,” his friend said, putting his sketchpad down. “Don’t let the hot sex and sarcastic banter distract you from the fact that dating with a kid is like driving with a trunk full of explosives. You crash, the whole car goes.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “Noted.”

But he wasn’t worried. He liked where things were. He liked that you made him laugh. That you never tried to impress him or prove too deep. That you didn’t flinch at his age or his kid or his life or his life before you. He liked that you weren’t also one of those who were crazy to just be in a family or try to get him because he was divorced with a daughter. And yeah, you definitely weren’t in it for Sunni. Or family vibes. Or cozy domestic bullshit. But it worked. It worked better than anything had in a long time for him. And he liked it enough to keep it that way for the moment.

That evening, He picked up Sunni from her after-school theater club. She ran to him with her backpack bouncing and her ponytail crooked, and he crouched down just in time to catch her mid-jump.

“Dad! I was the narrator! And no one forgot their lines except Thomas but we pretended he was a ghost so it still made sense!”

“Genius,” Jungkook said. “Absolute star behavior.”

She wiggled out of his arms and reached into her backpack. “Also I drew a tiger wearing a leather jacket. But I ran out of orange so it’s actually a bear.”

“Perfect. We’ll hang it on the fridge next to disco dinosaur.”

“Disco dino is sacred,” she said seriously.

They walked to the car, Sunni chatting nonstop about her music teacher, the cafeteria cookies, and whether or not dogs dream in color. Jungkook listened. Nodded. Threw in a “hmm” and a “tell me more” at the right beats. He’d gotten good at that, letting her talk and giving her space to be. He had learned how to be present and how to be patient. He knew how to move around any part of life without being scared or playing. He was mature enough to know how to do things right.

Back home, she ate spaghetti with too much cheese while he cleaned up the kitchen and checked a few shop messages. After she’d fallen asleep in her bed, diagonally, surrounded by stuffed animals it was almost dramatic, he showered and finally collapsed onto the couch with his phone. One new message.

Y/n: You alive or did your daughter finally kill you with Legos?

He smirked. Typed back:

Jungkook: She spared me today. You free tomorrow night?

Three dots appeared. Then:

Y/n: Sure. Your place. But hide the toys this time. Or I’m charging you for physical third-party abuse

Jungkook leaned back, smiling at the ceiling. No strings. No pressure. Just good sex, good banter, and the occasional Lego-related injury.

Perfect. For now.

so first chapter here!! i was supposed to put it out tmrw but i got excited hehehehe

WHY AM I SO NERVOUS ABOUT POSTING THIS??? guys i wrote this long ago and i edit it this week so if you see any mistake,NO you didn’t. Also:; you guys put me in so much pressure cuz why the fuck so many people wanted to read this??? anyway tell me how it was and if you guys are liking it so far pls >_<

anddd don’t quote me with my italian cuz it’s gonna be a lot more in the future hohohoh i cooka da pizza

taglist:

@sanguchitodeternera @yneisstuff @smoljimjim @almatiarau @annpeachy @mar-lo-pap @taetaecatboy @rrosiitas @httpsmei @jeonnabi11 @gigi4evr @sabrinahiddig @tatzzz-25 @slythermania @yuyu0y11 @ultracnt @baekpop05 @tinyxrose @satisfied18 @kissyfacekoo @synamon @smut02 @alextgef @lindsayjoy444 @ottergirl @imagine-this-motherfucker @dream-lover200 @astralovesu @dragons-flare @jungkookswifeeeeeee @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @yuniesluv @kookooquette @lanyia @dearkayzel-blog @katie-tibo @strawberryacethingz @jalexad @llallaaa @eyesforjungkook @wandabillywrites @flowinj @strawberrysweetness @osakis-gf @bambijuicee @dollyunjinz

#bangtan x reader #bts x reader #bts one shot #bts fanfic #masterlist bts #reader x jeon jungkook #jk x reader #bts army #jeon jungkook fanfic #reader x jk #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #reader x jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot #jk one shot #golden jungkook #jungkook

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glow-in-the-dark-death · 1 year ago

Text

A Week (He Will Take You)

Danny moved to Gotham for school, while there he noticed that Gotham's ambient ecto was really murky for lack of a better word.

This didn't really affect him too much besides a mild headache every once in a while but that also just might be stress from all his school work so maybe not.

Anyway

This murky ecto seemed to effect the people who lived there or more importantly the ghosts,

They were visible to the human eye like most ghosts back in Amity but instead of looking very much like a ghost they still looked like humans if a bit off putting.

They all seemed to be continuing their normal lives as if still fully alive, with the people around them none the wiser.

Danny noticed this and began approaching them to figure out what was going on.

Apparently the murky ecto in the city had made it so that they were strong enough to still continue a somewhat normal life but not be able to cross over to the GZ.

In other words they were stuck in Gotham

Danny was the Ghost King so he could easily fix this problem, all he needed to do was give them a bit of pure ecto for around a week to fully stabilize them them then he would just open a portal into the GZ and they could cross over with all their things also transferring into the GZ for their new haunt.

Unfortunately this looked rather worrying to an outsider,

Imagine you're used to your neighbor being very outgoing so you and others see them a lot suddenly this man seems to appear in their life out of nowhere an at exactly one week, your neighbor and all their belongings in their home disappear no trace to be found.

You tell people and they begin saying the same story they knew someone and them a man with black hair and blue eyes appeared in their life, then they and all their things disappear in exactly one week.

Of course the police in Gotham do the bare minimum so they're no help.

But it starts to begin a trend, especially online.

"Oh careful or the blue eyed man will make you disappear in a week"

This of course after time catches the bats attention, Gordon had already given them all the information he had.

"Young adult early twenties, dark hair, blue eyes"

That was it.

The bats look into it and from their point of view Danny is a serial killer.

But they can't find the connection between all of his victims, they range from young children and the elderly from different backgrounds absolutely no connection,

Worrying enough he doesn't just make one person disappear he has taken entire families up to over a dozen, without anyone figuring out how he's doing it or why at all.

The disturbing thing also being that he seems to take everything in their home, leaving it like it has always been empty

Like no one had been living in it.

People have tried to take photos of Danny get some kind of evidence of his existence, but when they try to do it, it either comes out completely corrupted or their devise simply shuts down fully.

Danny of course has no clue what is happening he's just happy that he's able to help so many ghosts, and is trying not to fail his exams.

Danny leaving the house he just helped: "That went easier than I expected!"

Neighbor peeking from the window: "Shit it's that guy! "

Red Hood marching down into the cave: " The fucker took many from my territory without me even realizing it!"

Tim: "I'm pretty sure his kill count is nearing the hundreds and he just started like maybe 4 months ago, this is bad."

Barbara: " I think I got a theory, this matches up with the new school year beginning so maybe their not a Gotham native which narrows down my suspect list."

Bruce: "Hn."

Tim: "Yes thank you B for the insightful commentary"

Danny trying not to fall asleep while on his way to class: "Strange I keep seeing shadows following me, oh well must be the stress!"

Bats who are pretty sure Danny is the killer: "Has he done anything suspicious yet?"

Just an Idea

#glowy-death-ideas #danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #batman #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #prompt fill #story prompt #prompts #writing prompt #dp #ghost #ghosts #dp x dc

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reneesghostinthelivingroom · 9 months ago

Note

Please could you write more Caitlyn (arcane) x Reader?!? Omg I loved that fic, but Idk if you still wrote for arcane

Social Events

|| Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!reader

|| Warnings; smut, swearing, drunk sex, top Caitlyn & bottom reader, reader receiving, breast play, fingering, praise kink, orgasm, finger sucking, good girl use

|| Summary; when reader and Caitlyn meet at a social event, things get heated pretty quickly. With the help of a few drinks.

Requests closed!

Started; November 11th

Finished; November 11th

~~~

Social events. They were never really your favourite, but you had to represent your family. Being the eldest daughter and all. For the wealthy, it was pretty common for them to have gatherings and socials. Just keeping up to date in each other's business. Because the upper classes of Piltover didn't know how to stay out of each other's shit. You tried your best to keep to yourself, occasionally engaging in conversation when someone would approach you. Or the rare time you found someone interesting enough to talk to.

There was one girl whose eyes you kept meeting. Every time you did, she would send you a smile. God, she was stunning. You couldn't keep your eyes away from her. It wasn't often you found someone interesting enough to just stare at them. Like some weirdo. But you couldn't help it with this girl. You thought you recognized her, Cassandra Kiramman's daughter maybe? That was your guess. Though you weren't 100% sure.

Well, no time like the present. You decided to walk over and try and start conversation. Maybe flirt a bit if you were lucky. "Hey, Cassandra's daughter, right?" You asked, silently praying you weren't wrong in your assumption. Otherwise that would make this incredibly awkward.

The girl nodded," It's Caitlyn. But, yes." Caitlyn held her hand out to you and you gave it a gentle shake. The smile never leaving your lips when you heard her talk. Damn, that accent was going to be the absolute death of you.

"Y/N L/N." You introduced yourself go her and Caitlyn raised a curious eyebrow. You were part of the L/N Household? She's heard many things about your family. Your family was more wealthy than her own, it would've been nearly impossible to have not heard your name before.

"Is that so?" Caitlyn looks at you with new found interest. Before, when your eyes kept meeting hers she thought she'd recognized you. Somewhere, somehow but she couldn't put her finger on it. Now Caitlyn knew why. She's always been rather found of you from a distance, your morals were something she could agree with. That was getting rare in Piltover. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." You replied. After that, conversation between you and her flowed easily. As did the drinks. And before you knew it, Caitlyn was pulling you away from the social event. Not that you had any complaints, of course.

Caitlyn got you to her room, where she then closed the door before pushing you up against it. You grunted as you felt the wood suddenly behind you. Smirking as you met her eyes once more. Caitlyn looked into your own for a brief moment, before her lips were on yours. Hand cupping your cheek and bringing you impossibly closer. You kissed back with ease, as though you'd kissed her a million times before.

When her lips left yours, she bit your bottom lip. Getting a small sound of you. Your hand then intertwined with hers and Caitlyn pulled you over to her bed. Pushing you into the sheets as she got on top of you. Your hands went to her hips, pulling her down until she straddled you. Caitlyn laid herself across your body. Kissing at your neck as she worked to get your top off. You tilted your head to the side, giving her more access to your neck. She placed one hickie, then another before pulling your top over your head.

Caitlyn took a moment to just admire your breasts. Then her lips latched the nipple, sucking and rolling it between her teeth. With every suck, a moan left your lips. Your back arched into her touch as her hand slid down your stomach slowly. Brushing against your abdomen with her thumb while her hand moved aside the rim of your pants. Slipping through and past your underwear. Your breath hitched as you felt her graze your clit, smirking against your skin. Caitlyn let go of your breast with a pop, a small gasp leaving your lips.

"F-fuck-" You muttered when her fingers applied gentle pressure to your clit. Rubbing and rolling it between her fingers in a soft massage. Your head fell back against her pillows and all you could do was moan when she pushed a finger in you.

She certainly didn't go easy on you. The moment Caitlyn knew you'd adjusted, she added in a couple more fingers. Pumping relentlessly until your stomach twisted in knots. Your moans got louder, back arching further into her touch. Trying to get more. Fuck, more.

"You're doing so good," Caitlyn whispered, but loud enough for you to hear her over your moans. Your leg twitched and flicked, nearly kicking her. Your grip on the sheets tightened. She just laughed at that and held your leg down. "Shh, just relax your body."

That was it. The extra touch on you. You were already sensitive as it was with how hard she was fingering you. You cummed on her fingers, practically screaming out.

"Ah- Caitlyn- fuck!" You screamed her name as she helped you through your high. When you finished, she slowly pulled her fingers out and into your mouth. You happily sucked them, looking into her eyes as she gave you an encouraging nod.

"Good girl." She murmured. Fuck, you hoped that wasn't the end of it.

Thankfully, it seemed to only be the beginning.

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wosospacegirl · 4 months ago

Text

Top of the League, Bottom of the Class

Summary: Y/n’s got energy for days, jokes for every occasion, and zero patience for schoolwork. Too bad Alexia and Leah are determined to make her study, even during international break.

Warnings: Alexia is a bit...stern at the beginning, but I swear she softens up to our girl y/n!!

Word count: 7.4k

Notes: This was based on a request

Masterlist

The sun was setting over Barcelona's training ground, it was late already–too late for a certain player to be on the pitch. But Y/n was there, happier than ever, with her headphones on while she trained some dribbling skills with one of the dummies.

The training had ended one hour ago, but some players were still at Barcelona’s training ground, although most of them were having physiotherapy sessions or late gym hours–meaning they were far away from the pitch, so there weren’t any chances Y/n would be caught.

Y/n had a whole thing planned out. After training, she took a shower in the changing room, talked a bit with Jana and Vicky before taking her gym bag and saying goodbye, walking through the door as she rambled about how much homework she had to do when she got home.

But when Jana and Vicky took a left in the corridors, Y/n told them she had forgotten her water bottle–again, so she had to go back and get it. Jana and Vicky watched as Y/n walked. The two girls had no idea that their friend was actually planning yet another training session on the pitch.

Although no one could know about Y/n’s late-night rendezvous, because she actually wasn’t allowed to stay in the training center past 6 pm, Barcelona’s team had created this rule because Y/n got so caught up training after-hours that she didn’t do her homework.

Y/n had to balance school, in between being professional players for Barcelona and England, but the girl couldn't care less about school.

Football was her life. It wasn’t just her passion; it was the one thing that made her feel truly alive.

She was a star on the pitch, but when it came to school, she was a different story. Books? Boring. Homework? A waste of time. For her, the only subject that mattered was football.

Her grades were slipping…badly. The headmistress at her school had to call Barcelona’s office to talk about it because Y/n’s parents weren’t in the country, and she had no one to take care of

Of course, Barcelona thought it would be a good idea to assign someone to assist and look over Y/n. A normal club would have hired a teacher, or even a babysitter, but since Barcelona had this weird "Som una família" [we’re family] vibes, they assigned no one less than La Reina, Alexia Putellas herself, to be the one to help her with geometry homework.

At first, Y/n thought Alexia wouldn't take it seriously, maybe just to go to some parent-teacher meetings when necessary. But no, Alexia had made it one of her life responsibilities to get Y/n through math classes.

And that’s why she was hiding from Alexia now. She had told the captain that she was going home just before she met with Vicky and Jana. Alexia just nodded and kissed her on the cheeks as she–very weirdly–was the first to go home.

Y/n could easily fit in another hour or two of training before the center actually closed. What if she had history homework? Barcelona had a big game coming up, plus, international dates were just a few weeks away, and she had been called up to the senior squad again–she had to be in top shape.

So Y/n stayed on the pitch. Her headphones on.

She flicked the ball between her feet to the rhythm of Young Hearts Run Free, lost in the music and movement. She didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching. She only noticed when…

Yank.

A sharp pain ran through her ear as her headphone was pulled out of her head.

"Ouch"! Y/n turned around, rubbing the sore spot. "What the fuck?! That’s child abuse–"

Her eyes found a very, very angry Alexia. Her throat felt dry, as if she couldn't speak.

She was in so much trouble.

Alexia was right in front of her, arms crossed, looking very unhappy. Her hair was down, her make-up was done, and…wait. Was she wearing…a dress? Huh?

"Ale? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, nena," Alexia said sternly. "How many times have I told you to go straight home after training?"

Y/n looked down, playing with the ball on her feet, feeling her cheeks blushing for getting caught.

"I asked you a question," Alexia said– before kicking the ball from y/n’s feet, sending it rolling into the net.

Goal..yay?

"I just need to train more, Ale!" Y/n said exasperatedly, pointing towards the goal as if to prove her point. “International break is c–”

"International breaks do not matter if you fail school!" Alexia said. "You know you need to present a clean school report to play for the senior squad, right?"

"Yes, I know that," Y/n muttered.

"It doesn't seem like you do," Alexia said, casually pulling her phone from her purse and holding it up to Y/n’s face.

Oh no, Y/n knew what that meant.

"You got a 2/10 on your biology test, and then a 3/10 on your math test," Alexia said. "First of all, why am I finding out about it through an email? Why didn't you tell me?

"Because you’d get mad at me just like you’re now!" Y/n shot back

"I'm not mad!" Alexia said, voice tight. "I'm disappointed."

Y/n froze and stared at Alexia.

Y/n felt a cold rush go through her body, setting a weight on her chest.

Disappointed? She could handle being yelled at. She could deal with Alexia being frustrated or angry. But disappointment? Y/n didn’t know what to do with this. It felt wrong.

"I make time on my schedule to help you study," Alexia said, her finger counting off each point. "I buy things you need for school projects, I read the same books you need to read for Spanish class to try and motivate you, and this is what I get in return? Slack?’

Y/n felt her eyes fill with tears. She tried to find something to say, but her usual funny and witty comments that would normally get her out of any serious situation were nowhere to be found.

Alexia was looking at her, her eyes and lips tight, her foot tapping on the grass restlessly. She missed the usual gentle and patient Alexia right now more than anything.

"I know you love football, Y/n, but this," Alexia pointed towards the pitch. "Is only a small part of what your life will look like in the future; you need to be ready for more."

Y/n swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, trying not to let Alexia see her tears, but she failed. She quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of her barça hoodie while looking away.

“You need school to move forward, you can be the very best players on the pitch, but if you don’t give the same effort off of it, you’re not going to make it very far,” Alexia’s voice softened just slightly.

Alexia’s words hung in the air as she watched the girl standing in front of her.

“Sorry,” Y/n said quietly, “I shouldn't have hid it from you.”

"Have I ever made you feel like you needed to hide things from me?" Alexia said, taking a step closer and placing her hand on Y/n’s shoulder as she leaned just slightly to be the same height as her eyes.

Y/n shook her head.

“Exactly," Alexia said, putting a hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “This is the first time I’ve been stern with you, isn’t it?”

Y/n nodded, looking away.

“Will it be the last?” Alexia asked.

Y/n wished she could easily nod along without a second thought, but she also knew how much of a hard time she had with school. But still, she couldn't let it happen again, and couldn't let Alexia get this upset with her.

So she forced the word out. “Yes.”

“Okay, good,” Alexia said. “Let's go. It's late.”

Without another word, Alexia turned toward the exit, and Y/n followed her.

They didn’t talk on the way out, but the silence wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

The steady weight of Alexia’s hand on her shoulder, and the way she effortlessly picked up Y/n’s training bag and slung it over her own–it was enough.

Y/n didn’t need to hear the words to know that she was forgiven.

They walked through the car park, the night cold and the postlight brightening the way they made Alexia's black car.

Y/n was already thinking of what to expect from the car drive as she rubbed the sting on her ear from where Alexia had oh-so-graciously removed her headphones and tugged at her ear.

They would probably be in a quiet, awkward ride–just her and Alexia’s disappointing sight and, very occasionally, passive-aggressive grips on the steering wheel as Alexia made sure to put on the worst songs ever known to humankind.

Alexia had given Y/n a bunch of rides, so Y/n followed the usual routine of going to the passenger seat, but to her surprise, there was a woman sitting there,

One Y/n had never met.

Y/n tilted her head, trying to think of every single player of every single women's team in La Liga. No, she wasn’t in any team. Then she thought of the staff of Barcelona… also no.

Yep, Y/n had no clue who this person was.

Y/n slowed her steps, eyebrows furrowing as she took in the unfamiliar woman sitting there.

She was pretty. Dark hair, and soft features, a warm smile was on her lips as she watched Y/n and Alexia approaching.

Y/n stopped right outside the car, looking between her and Alexia with suspicion. "Uh, Ale? Who is this?"

Alexia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if already exhausted by the interrogation she knew was coming.

"Y/n, this is Olga. Olga, this is Y/n." Alexia said simply. "You go there," Alexia pointed at the back seat.

Olga turned fully in her seat, extending a hand out the window.

"So you’re the famous nena, huh?" Olga said, smiling genuinely. "Alexia talked a lot about you."

"Oh yeah? She did?" Y/n shook her head before immediately nodding. "I like you already… Olga."

She pulled open the back door and climbed in as Alexia slid into the driver’s seat.

Silence settled over the car as Alexia started driving. Y/n had expected her to be better at small talk, but apparently, she wasn’t.

"So…" Y/n leaned forward, poking her head between the front seats. "Who even are you, Olga?"

"Get back to your seat and put on your seat belt," Alexia said sharply. "And…we were having dinner."

"Having dinner?" Y/n asked.

"Sí"

"Where?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"It’s that Italian place near Carrer de Pàdua," Olga finally explained, noticing how Alexia seemed to only give the young girl vague answers. "It’s great!"

"Wait–did you guys go to L'Italiano Perso?" Y/n asked

"Sí," Alexia said again. "We were on a date–"

Y/n’s eyes widened. "Wait. What?" She stopped buckling herself up, being too shocked by Alexia’s revelation.

"A date, Y/n," Alexia said in exasperation, a heavy voice. "You know, when two people who like each other go out…u might not know much about it, but–"

"Since when do you date?!" Y/n interrupted. "And excuse me? I go on plenty of dates! Thank you!"

"Drop it." Alexia sought, tying her hands around the wheel, Y/n could even see the blush of her cheeks

"Oh bloody hell!" Y/n exposed, putting her hand on her own cheeks. "Does your mom know about it? Your sister?"

"If you don’t shut up, I’m stopping at the England embassy to have you deported," Alexia said, deadpanned.

"Ok, that was rude," Y/n said, finishing buckling her seatbelt and leaning her back into her seat. "I can think of a few English people who would love to have me back."

"Let’s get you back to then, maybe this way I can have a proper date once"

The drive was mostly silent after that, Y/n noticed that Alexia's awful music taste was replaced by cool, modern songs. After a few minutes thinking why Y/n saw that it was Olga’s Spotify that was connected to Alexia's car.

Hm. Good piece of information.

That meant that it wasn’t their first date…

Wait. Fuck

Y/n’s stomach sank. Alexia was on a date.

A date that she had to interrupt because of Y/n's stupid irresponsibility

“Oh no!” Y/n said.

“Oh no?” Olga turned to look at her, and then at Alexia, as if the blonde could decipher everything that came out of Y/n’s mouth. “What happened?”

“I ruined your date.” Y/n’s eyes widened. “I'm so sorry, Ale!”

“Nena," she sighed as she held the wheel with one hand and rubbed her temples with the other. “You didn’t ruin anything, don’t worry.”

“No, seriously, I totally ruined your date." Y/n looked between them, horrified. “That’s why you look… so put together all of a sudden! That’s why you were in a dress! I thought that was weird! I’m so–”

“Y/n." Alexia’s voice was sharp, a blush growing into her neck as she avoided making eye contact with Olga, who was biting down a laugh. “Shut. Up.”

Y/n pouted. “But did I really ruin it?”

Alexia sighed. “We were having dinner, and then I got that email about your grades, and I got mad. So I drove to your house, and when you weren’t there, I knew exactly where you’d be.”

"Uh…oops?." Y/n cringed.

Y/n realised she could never be captain. Imagine being on a date and receiving an email from a kid–that wasn’t even your kid– saying they went bad on a test about cell division and having to drop everything to go look for them? Nope.

Olga turned in her seat again, resting her chin on her palm as she looked at Y/n. “You know, if you wanted to sabotage Alexia’s love life, there are easier ways.”

Y/n quickly caught Olga’s teasing tone and smiled at her.

"I wasn’t trying to sabotage, I was just training, I swear!" Y/n laughed, loving watching how Alexia’s eyes rolled.

"Instead of doing your homework," Alexia added, making a U-turn.

Y/n groaned, dramatically. "I get it, I get it, I’m a disappointment, bla bla bla"

"You’re not a disappointment," Alexia rolled her eyes. "Stop being dramatic, you’re just–"

“An academic disaster?” Y/n offered an awkward smile on her face.

“A headache.” Alexia finished.

“You two are fun," Olga said, placing a hand on Alexis's thigh. "It makes me laugh.”

Y/n grinned. "Does that mean I can be the third wheel all the time?"

"No," Alexia said

"We’ll see," Olga said at the same time, winking at Y/n.

Y/n sat up quickly, having a bright idea. "Well, if that’s how it’s gonna be, I might as well ask… Olga, do you know anything about mitosis and meiosis? I’ve got a test coming up..."

Alexia immediately shot a glare at her. "Y/n, no. Stop bothering Olga."

Y/n put her hands up defensively. "Hey, I’m just trying to help my education!"

"Maybe you should help yourself first," Alexia mumbled.

"You know, you should listen to your captain before she strangles you," Olga said, laughing.

Y/n watched as Alexia smirked at Olga…Smirked!

"Okay, ew!" Y/n said, "Was that…flirting? Please stop the car so I can throw up."

"Oh Déu meu, nena, calla!" Alexia snapped.

Y/n squinted her eyes. "I have no idea what you just said, Alexia, but I bet it was rude!".

But then, Y/n noticed something strange.

Y/n leaned forward, confusion in her eyes. "Wait a minute...why aren’t you driving me home?"

"I’m going to school with you tomorrow," Alexia said casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal at all. "It’s easier if you sleep at mine, I’ll drop by your house in the morning so you can get your school bag and then we can head out from the..."

Y/n raised her eyebrows. "What? Why are you going to school with me?"

“They want to talk about your grades and about the next international break –you’ll be three weeks out of school, they want to see how we can organize your school work.”

"Okay, but they can talk to me about it," Y/n said. "Why do they want you there

"Why do they want me there? Nena, did I give you an earful for nothing?" Alexia glanced at her, impatience in her voice. "I’m responsible for you! They want to make sure you’ll have an actual adult looking out for your education."

"So you’re coming with me—" Y/n said carefully. "Like, as a parent?"

"Sí," Alexia replied, completely unfazed.

"Oh, come on, Ale! This is so embarrassing!"Y/n threw herself back into her seat, groaning. "Don’t you have training or something better to do?"

"Sí, I do actually," Alexia simply said. “And I’ll be very happy at training tomorrow if I didn’t have to go talk to the headmistress, but since someone needs to keep an eye on you, I’ll be the one to do it."

Alexia paused for a second, then added, "Also, you’re benched for the next two games."

"What? No!" Y/n yelled.

"Sí."

"You can’t do that!"

Alexia turned to her with a calm expression. "I just did, nena.”

Y/n ran her hands through her face dramatically. “You’re ruining my career, forever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alexia waved off with one hand. “You’ll survive.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“We’ll see that.”

Y/n groaned again and rolled her eyes.

"You beware, Olga," Y/n mumbled, crossing her arms and looking out of the window. "She’s always this pain in the a–"

"You just won yourself another game on the bench," Alexia said. “Wow, that’s got to be a new personal record, huh?”

Looked at Alexia through the rearview mirror, indignation on her face.

Olga raised her eyebrows, biting back a grin as she watched Y/n’s reaction. She gave her leg a light pat, offering no real support.

"Oh, rough amiga, but maybe you can study a bit while you’re on the sideline."

"You know what, Olga," Y/n said with a betrayed look in her eyes. "I don’t like you anymore."

When they finally reached Alexia’s house, Y/n was determined to get back at Alexia for being so… she wasn't actually sure. A responsible adult?A good guardian? It didn’t matter the reasoning, she just wanted to annoy Alexia.

But now, after meeting Olga, Y/n realized there were even better and more efficient ways to annoy Alexia.

As they stepped inside, Y/n noticed how familiar Olga seemed with the place, so she couldn’t help but smirk, and she formulated a plan.

"It’s your first time here?" Y/n asked, casually tossing her gym bag by the door.

"Nena," Alexia warned, making sure Y/n knew Alexia was very aware of what she was doing.

"Oh, no," Olga said, flashing Y/n a smile. "I’ve been here before… You know, movie nights and stuff like that."

"Oh yeah," Y/n said, dragging out the words with insinuation. "Movie night, I get it," she winked at Olga.

"So where am I sleeping?" Y/n asked, changing her attention from Olga to Alexia.

"Guest room."

"But you only have one guest room!" Y/n protested, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah? And?" Alexia shrugged, her tone casual. "You’re only one person."

"But where’s Olga sleeping?" Y/n pressed, leaning in with a teasing grin.

"In my room," Alexia replied nonchalantly, trying not to make a big deal about it so Y/n wouldn’t make a big deal about it.

But of course, Alexia was wrong.

Y/n shot a playful glance at Olga, eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, okay," she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone then…don’t wanna get in the way of more than just the date, you know."

Olga bit back a laugh, but Alexia turned to Y/n with a look that could kill.

"Go. Now." Alexia pointed toward the stairs. "And do all your homework for tomorrow. I’ll check in during breakfast."

All the playfulness drained from Y/n’s face.

"All my homework?” Y/n whined, “It’s a lot of stuff and it’s late already!”

"Should’ve thought of that before sneaking out to the pitch," Alexia said, her voice emotionless.

Y/n groaned dramatically. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. It’s part of the job," Alexia said, waving her off like it was nothing. "Now go."

Y/n did what Alexia asked of her, or at least…she tried.

She had to do homework for basically every subject because she didn’t get any work done during the week, so it was all piling up. She grabbed Alexia’s notebook from her room before accessing her school website and logging in to see every assignment and reading she had to do, and it was a lot.

She began her while lying on the bed, reading slide presentations and watching some YouTube videos about the subjects. It helped a little, but everything was still so blurry in her head.

Why did she have to learn geometry? Or learn about the deep history of every country in Europe?

The girl groaned and closed the notebook, putting it aside.

She was dumb. That's what it was.

Y/n was always the slowest in class, the last kid to learn how to read or to spell, the one you absolutely didn't go to if you had questions about school work. Y/ns teachers also made sure she knew how bad she was compared to other students.

She felt inferior and worthless whenever she was in school. But when she was on the pitch? She was good–one of the best, even!

That’s why she didn't like to do homework, it reminded her how much harder she had to work compared to others just to get a 6/10.

Y/n rolled her eyes and turned around, she turned around a lot before she was actually able to fall asleep.

Y/n woke up to the sound of her phone ringing and vibrating aggressively under her pillow. She barely had time to process what was happening, and she looked at the screen on the phone, confused, reading the name Leah Williamson.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes, knowing exactly why Leah was calling. She had barely survived Alexia’s lecture, and now she is going to have to hear through another one.

With a deep breath, Y/n clicked the green button on the screen. "If this is about the email, I–"

"What email?" Leah's voice came on, slightly confused.

"Hmm… this isn’t about the email?"

"No, this is about you not doing your homework–according to Alexia" There was a pause. "Should I be checking my email too?"

Y/n cursed under her breath before replying. "No! No email. Forget I said that…I just woke up, so I must have, hm, dreamed about…emails"

"Uhum,” Leah said sarcastically. "I’ll be asking Alexia about that later…Now tell me what the hell is going on with you? Sneaking to the pitch? Really?"

Y/n winced. "Leah, I’ve already talked to Alexia about it, I don’t need you too–"

"Yes, you do need me to talk to you because it seems like you think you’re your own person, but you are only sixteen.”

“Leah!” Y/n groaned.

"No, Y/n. You don’t get to complain. You promised you’d take school seriously." Leah said, and Y/n quickly remembered the numerous times Leah had also lectured her about it during camp. "And don’t try the ‘football is all I need’ argument, because you and I both know that’s not true."

Y/n pressed her lips together, knowing full well she wouldn’t win this one. She kept quiet, scared to say the wrong thing and make Leah even more mad.

"I’m serious, Y/n. You need to get your act together. Alexia’s worried!" Leah said. "She told me it wasn't the first time that you played football instead of studying! You need to learn your responsibilities."

Y/n muttered something that Leah couldn't understand..

"What was that?" Leah asked

"I said that Alexia is a snitch."

"She’s a snitch because you didn't tell me first," Leah said. "But since I need to have the Alexia Putellas on my phone giving me updates about your school life, we both decided to do things in our own way."

Y/n gulped, scared of whatever Alexia and Leah had planned together

"You can expect a lot, and I mean a lot of textbooks in your room when you get to camp," Leah said. "I’ll keep a close eye on you here in England, and Alexia will do the same when you’re in Barcelona; we won’t let you keep this on."

"Serious kid," Leah continued. "You moved to Spain on your own at sixteen, you have your own house, you’re talented, but you refuse to do a few math exercises? Come on, mate"

"I’m sorry," Y/n muttered. "I’ll be better, I’m just…"

"What?" Leah asked, her voice softer now.

"I'm dumb, okay!" Y/n blurted out before she could stop herself. "I don’t get things quickly, and it just—it doesn’t stick like it does with other people."

"Hey, don’t say that," Leah cut in, her voice sharp with concern. "Struggling with school doesn’t make you dumb, you’re smart, kid. You wouldn’t be where you are if you weren't."

"It doesn't seem like that most of the time," y/n said in a low voice.

"You might not see it," Leah said. "But the people around you certainly do, that’s why we keep pushing you, we know you can do much better."

"Look, I have to go," Y/n sighed. "Alexia apparently has to go to school with me today."

"Okay, kid, we’ll talk later, then," Leah said. "Good luck with that! Love you, bye!"

"Love you too," y/n said before she hung up the phone and put it aside.

Y/n rubbed the sleep off of her eyes, and that’s when she heard the door crack open.

"You’re not dumb, nena," Alexia said, firm but gentle.

Y/n’s head snapped up. "Ale! Were you…eavesdropping on my conversation?"

"Sí," Alexia replied without hesitation, crossing her arms. "You’re loud, and I was coming to tell you breakfast is ready."

Y/n groaned, sinking further into her seat. "Unbelievable."

Alexia didn’t waver. She leaned forward slightly, her expression serious. "Cariño, listen to me. You are not dumb. Don’t ever say that again, do you understand?"

Y/n hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. "I just have a really hard time with…school.”

“Then we’ll get you help,” Alexia sighed, stepping closer to Y/n and sitting on the bed by her side. “But first you need to try, you can’t give up like that.”

“We’ll figure it out, sí?” Alexia continued. “I’ll talk to your teachers today, and we’ll think of something.

Y/n nodded, a little more reassured. "Okay."

“Girls!” y/n heard Olga calling from downstairs. “Your breakfast is getting cold!”

“Breakfast, huh?” Y/n nudged Alexia with her shoulder. “Should I get used to seeing Olga around?”

Alexia rolled her eyes, ignoring Y/n and extending her hand, palm open.

“Let me see your homework.”

“Oh come on, mate!”

When Alexia said she'd find Y/n some help, she really wasn’t joking.

She had created a whole schedule that balanced football, school, and dedicated study time. She even printed it out and made Y/n hang it in her room, so she’d always know what her day looked like.

Since she was a student-athlete, she only attended school for half the day, doing the rest online. Her schedule was packed—morning classes, lunch, training, online lessons, more training, and homework. That last part? She used to skip it. But now, with Alexia’s plan written out for her, she actually stuck to it.

At first, Y/n thought she’d hate it. That she'd never get used to it. But having a routine was so much easier than doing whatever came to her mind. Plus, her schedule included team study nights, and those turned out to be some of the most fun days of the week.

“I don’t get it,” Aitana said, holding her biology book close to her face, eyes squinted. “It looks so weird.”

Pina turned the book, which was upside down– for her. “Maybe this way is better.”

“No,” Aitana shook her head. “Still weird.”

Y/n was in the middle of writing an essay when their conversation caught her attention. She looked up and scooted close to Aitana and Pina.

“What are you guys looking at?” Y/n asked.

“This,” Aitana said, pointing at the page.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows “Oh, that’s how the replication of DNA goes.” Y/n said casually, coming back to her work. “You know, double string, DNA polymerase, nucleic acids.”

There was silence.

“And since when did you know that?” Pina finally asked.

Y/n shrugged, getting back at her assay. “Just do.”

“Oh,” Aitana muttered, back to the books. “Alexia is for sure going to love that.”

“Please make sure to tell her,” Y/n sighed dramatically. “So she can take me off the bench already,”

Y/n had just finished a painfully online lesson when her phone rang. She barely glanced at the screen before answering.

“What?”

“Hello to you too, sunshine,” Leah's dry voice came through.

“I’m busy,” Y/m said, taking the pencil she was holding off of her mouth before taking a new textbook and putting it on her study table.

“Too busy for your favorite captain?” Leah teased.

“Oh, I didn’t know this was Alexia,” Y/n said, teasing Leah back;

“You’re awful.”

“Not as awful as school,” Y/n groaned, letting her head fall on the open textbook.

“That bad?” Leah hummed.

“I had to write a whole page about the First Carlist War, it took like an hour!”

“Wow, a whole page,” Leah snorted. “I’m impressed you survived that.”

“You said that because you aren’t the one having to write about dead people after an excruciating training session.”

“Yeah, if you actually did your work, maybe Alexia wouldn’t have to babysit you and make that schedule.”

“She doesn’t babysit me!” Y/n scowled. Offended. “I still live alone and-”

“Oh really?” Leah interrupted. “Then what’s that piece of paper in your room that tells you exactly when to eat, sleep, study… breathe.”

“It’s a routine, Leah.”

“Yeah, routines are like fancy for babysitting teens,” Leah said. “But seriously, though, I'm happy you're actually following it, keep it up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/n huffed, but her lips twitched in a small smile “Don't worry.”

“Okay, kid, gotta go now,” Leah said. “I’m looking forward to your thrilling Carlist War facts when you get to camp next week.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you listen to them,” Y/n shot back, but it sounded more like a dare.

“Are you really sure this is a healthy way of studying?” Salma asked, eying the situation with doubt.

When Y/n had called her, Vick and Jana to her flat for a ‘Girl’s Night’, a Don Quixote quiz wasn’t something she was expecting.

“It seems like fun to me,” Vick said with a grin. “Go on, Salma, ask her already.”

Salma sighed but turned to Y/n, while Jana stood next to her, holding a pillow threateningly close to Y/n’s face. “Alright—why is the narrator of Don Quixote so different when compared to other books?”

Y/n groaned, “Ugh– okay! The narrator is different because the author itself is the one telling the story. But he, uh, kind of switches styles to first person sometimes to give some insight about the story, so it’s like he’s the narrator and a character,” she said quickly, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the impact,

Silence.

“Oh, come on,” Vick said, disappointed, glancing down at the little card in Salma‘s hand .“She’s right.”

Jana lowered the pillow dramatically. “Salma! Ask harder questions!”

“You guys are supposed to be helping me study for my literature test, not trying to beat me up with a pillow!” Y/n complained. “Give me some credit here!”

Salma flipped through the flashcards. “Okay, fine…Um, what does the character Dulcinea mean to the story?”

Y/n widened her eyes and opened her mouth. “Oh, hm, it’s like–”

Whack.

Jana didn't even wait for Y/n to say anything before hitting her on the face–hard.

“Jana!” Y/n complained, shoving the pillow away from her face and rubbing at the sore spot on her nose. “I knew that one! She exemplifies the emptiness behind Don quixote's quest for valor and virtue or some shit like that!.”

Salma hesitantly checked on her notes. “–Hm, yeah, she’s right.”

“See!” y/n said, pointing accusingly at Jana. “I was right, you shouldn't have hit me.”

“Oh, she should have hit you harder for being such a nerd,” Vicky mumbled

“Ok, that’s bullying,” Y/n said. “I'll report you to Aitana.”

...

A week later, Alexia stood with Y/n at the airport, arms crossed as she eyed her sternly. “Do your homework, Y/n. I’m serious. And if you have trouble, FaceTime me and we’ll do it together.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. "Last time you tried to help me, you didn’t understand it either.”

Alexia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Olga helped you, though, so FaceTime her if you need to."

"You’re just trying to find reasons for me to interact with Olga because we’re like.. your favourite people in the world," Y/n smirked.

Alexia ignored the comment and continued, “And I’ll call Leah to make sure you’re keeping up with everything we agreed on.”

"Great. Two captains breathing down my neck. Love that for me." Y/n groaned, throwing her head back dramatically.

"You’ll survive, cariño,” Alexia smirked. “Now go before you miss your flight.

Y/n was a smart girl, so she made sure to finish most of her homework on the flight to England. That way, when she got to camp, she wouldn’t have to stress over schoolwork too much.

“Hey,” Aggie and Grace greeted as they walked into the room.

The three of them were sharing a room at camp, though Aggie had seriously considered complaining about it.

Every night, Y/n sprawled herself and a ridiculous number of books and notebooks across the floor, creeping very closely to Aggie’s side of the room.

“Wanna go out with us?” Aggie asked, leaning in the doorway. “We’re all heading to that restaurant we talked about.”

Y/n immediately looked up from her book, grinning as she pushed herself up, kicking her books aside. “Yes! You know I’ll never turn down a night out–”

“Have you done your math homework?”

The voice came from behind Aggie and Grace. Both girls instinctively stepped aside.

Leah.

Y/n’s excitement disappeared in seconds. Her shoulders dropped, and her grin turned into a frown. “Le, come on! It’s halfway done. I’ll finish it when I get back.”

“No,” Leah said simply. “You finish it first, then you go out.”

There was no room for argument. Leah was already disappearing down the hallway before Y/n could even think of an excuse.

“I hate this.” Y/n groaned dramatically as she flopped onto Aggie’s bed, ignoring the judgment of the girl's eyes. “I hate school. I hate math. I hate Leah.”

“I think she’s still in the hallway,” Grace whispered.

“It’s alright,” Y/n groaned, “she knows how I feel.”

Y/n mourned her lost night out for a short thirty seconds before she had a brilliant idea. She turned around on the bed, facing the girls, her best puppy dog eyes on her face as she silently pleaded for help.

Grace and Aggie exchanged a look. They both sighted, already regretting it.

“Okay, fine,” Grace said. “We’ll help you finish it faster.”

Y/n happily got off the bed and picked up the math book she had so dramatically kicked under the bed earlier. She flipped to the exercises page and showed it to them.

Both Grace and Aggie squinted their eyes.

“Wait,” Aggia frowned, looking at it closer. “What is this? Where are the–numbers?”

“It’s algebra,” Y/n muttered. “It only has letters.”

“How are we supposed to calculate anything if it doesn't have any number?” Grace asked, despair on her face.

“I'm so not going out tonight,” Y/n said hopelessly.

“I mean..” Aggie began hesitantly. “What’s the worst that could happen if you just…didn’t do it?”

“Yeah,” Grace nodded. “It’s not like Leah would, I don’t know…punch you or anything.”

Y/n went still, but then, with a slow and heavy sigh, she closed the textbook, looking at the wall, as if she was staring into the void. “She’d do something much worse than punching me.”

Aggie and Grace shared another nervous glance. “Like–?” Aggie asked.

“She’d tell Alexia,” Y/n said, eyes full of dread.

“Oh,” Grace paled.

“Yep,” Y/n nodded. “And Alexia would definitely make me do some boxing classes with her just so she could punch me in a non-illegal way.”

Aggie swallowed. “Alright,” she said, trying to shake her fear. “Let’s, hm, do some…math.”

Y/n smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

Algebra wasn't easy. At all.

Aggie, Grace and Y/n tried very hard, but they took 30 minutes to do one exercise–and they weren’t even sure if it was right.

“This isn’t working,” Y/n groaned, staring down at the ruined page in front of her. The paper was ripped in half from how many times she had erased her answer. “We need another plan.”

“I know what we could do, actually,” Aggie announced.

Y/n and Grace perked up. “What?” Y/n asked hopefully.

“Lucy,” Aggie said in a lower voice, leaning in. “She could do that in like… 20 minutes”.

Y/n blinked. “Lucy?”

“And since when does Lucy know anything about algebra?” Grace frowned.

“She doesn’t,” Aggie admitted. “But we don’t need her knowledge. We need her personality.”

“You better not make me regret it,” Y/n said, “If Leah knows about it I'm gonna be screwed.”

“Relax, leave it out to me.” Aggia waved a hand dismissively.

With that, Aggie confidently grabbed the textbook and walked out of the room, leaving Y/n and Grace apprehensive.

Half an hour had passed before Aggie finally walked back in, holding the textbook as if she had just stolen it somewhere.

“I did it,” Aggie announced happily.

Grace and Y/n got out of the bed they were sitting on. “No way,” Grace murmured.

“How the fuck did she do that?” Y/n asked, snatching the book from Aggie’s hand, flipping the pages in disbelief.

“She did them all?” Grace asked, peeking behind Y/n’s shoulder.

All forty exercises. All done.

In Y/n’s defense, she had made twenty-five of them before Aggie and Grace had come to the room, so technically Lucy didn’t do all the homework for her– Lucy just… helped.

“What did you do, Aggie?” Y/n asked, mouth slightly open from the surprise.

“I dared her,” Aggie said, shrugging casually.

“You…dared her?” Grace asked.

“Yep! Knocked into her room and said I dared she could do those,” Aggie pointed at the book with her chin. “Lucy’s very competitive, so of course she said yes without asking any questions–she just snatched the book out of my hand and went to work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/n Grace.

“You’re like an evil genius,” Y/n said, shaking her head in amazement.

Y/n sat back, flipping through the pages in awe. “Lucy actually did it. Oh. My. God.”

“Oh, yeah,” Aggie said casually. “And then she asked if there were more.”

Y/n and Grace exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“We have got to use this against her more often,” Y/n muttered. “I feel like we just discovered a gold mine.”

“Exactly,” Aggie smirked. “Now let’s get ready, we have a night out waiting for us.”

The rest of the camp was unfazed. Y/n actually did all of her homework–by herself–and she didn’t even have to ask Lucy to do it. A true miracle.

It was safe to say Y/n was learning something.

Leah and Alexia were proud of her–even though, technically, she hadn’t mentioned the whole algebra episode to either of them.

But it only happened once…It wasn’t like they were going to find out.

She just needed to make sure Lucy would stay away from Leah, or else she would be dead.

Literally dead. Gone.

Football would lose one of ot’s brightest stars.

The flight back home was good.

Y/n actually enjoyed her flight this time because she had no school work to do, a feeling she hadn’t felt in weeks. And the best part? Coming back to Barcelona after winning four games during the international break.

That feeling was great. But not having to take a cab home because Alexia was waiting at the airport for her was even better.

When Y/n spotted the blonde before waving and grinning. She ran to her and practically crashed into Alexia’s arm, her suitcase rolled somewhere behind her.

“I see you missed me,” Alexia teased, wrapping the girl in a hug.

“No, I didn’t,” Y/n mumbled, her face buried in Alexia’s hoodie.

Y/n loved England. It was her home–the place where she grew up, where her real family lived. It reminded her of her childhood, of play dates with her cousin and road trips with her parents.

But Spain was hers. The place she chose, surrounded by people she picked. It was different

“Leah told me you were actually good,” Alexia murmured. “Did everything, didn’t skip any online school.”

Alexia and Y/n walked through the airport.

“Yeah! What can I do? I’m actually smart when I want to be,” Y/n smiled..

Alexia hummed, but this time with a hint of amusement.

“So you imagine my surprise,” Alexia continued casually. “When Lucy texted me–something she hadn't done since she left Barcelona–saying she wanted to do more of your ‘exercises’, that they were cool.”

Y/n froze.

She felt her blood run cold, and she suddenly stopped. Alesia took two steps before realizing Y/n wasn’t by her side.

Alexia turned to look at her, eyebrow raised.

Fuck you Lucy, Texting Alexia? About algebra exercises?

“I, hm– well” Y/n’s brain short-circuited. “I can explain it?”

Alexia just stared.

Y/n’s mouth opened and closed. “So, technically, I did do my algebra homework.”

Alexia gave her an unimpressed, tired look.

“Like… twenty-five of them to be more exact.”

Silence.

“Which is most of them.” Y/n continued. “So you can’t be mad at me for that.”

“Does Leah know about it?” Alexia asked.

“Yes.”

Silence again

Alexia hummed and picked up her phone from her pocket. “So if I just called her right now and asked–”

“No!” Y/n blurted out, taking the phone from Alexia’s hand, “I mean–why bother her? She’s a busy woman! Euro winner and all, let’s not waste her time with…math.”

Alexia breathed through her nose, shaking her head as she calmed down. Then, the tiniest smirk appeared on her face.

Y/n was scared of what was coming.

“You’re helping clean the training center for a month.”

“No!” Y/n said dramatically.

“Sí

“Ale! Are you serious?”

“I am serious.”

“A whole month?!” Y/n rubbed her hands through her face.

“Sí.”

“Even the locker rooms?”

“Especially the locker rooms, nena”

Y/n groaned and dragged her feet after Alexia.

“Will you tell Leah?” Y/n asked, her voice small, hoping it would make Alexia go softer.

Alexia paused for half a second–just enough to give Y/n hope. But then Alexia turned around, an annoyingly fond look on her face.

“That depends,” Alexia said. “Will you start taking your academic responsibilities more seriously?”

Y/n placed a finger on her chin, looking up. “Hmm…define ‘seriously’ first.”

Alexia sighed, already regretting giving the girl any choice.

Please let me know what u guys think!! Hope you liked it!!!

Masterlist

#woso x reader #woso fanfic #leah williamson #alexia putellas #lioness teen reader #barcelona femeni x reader #woso appreciation #woso community

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fanfic-ya-know · 1 month ago

Text

Juno

Pairing: Bob Floyd x pilot!Reader

+platonic!Dagger Squad (mostly Phoenix)

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: not beta read, reader is afab, reader’s callsign is Hollywood, probably incorrect descriptions of the Navy, friends to lovers, smut under the cut (but the whole thing is pretty sexually charged, Minors DNI) - teasing, use of pet names (good girl, honey, sweetheart), slight praise kink, breast play, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (pls be safe irl), cockwarming, creampie, description of bodily fluids, multiple orgasms

AN: This was initially inspired by The Plan, which played a huge role in re-igniting my Bob Floyd obsession, and I took heavy inspiration from the lyrics of Sabrina Carpenter’s Juno, obviously. I fear I need Bob in a way that is concerning to feminism, and that is pretty well spelled out in this fic. Also, here’s the article I used to reference the Juno positions.

And I know everyone writes Bob as a munch (which, don’t get me wrong, I totally agree), but maybe I'll explore that more next time tho? IDK

ANYWAY this is pretty filthy, but I’m realizing idk how to wrap up the smut part… please let me know what you think of it!!!

You’d been on North Island just long enough to settle in. You and Natasha had decided to move in together off-base and found an apartment that suited you. The Dagger Squad continued to prove that you were the best of the best, getting deployed on more missions after the first that brought you all together. The team really started to feel like a family, scheduling beach days, movie nights, and outings to The Hard Deck regularly between missions. You started to love all of them - even Hangman, despite being a huge dick, had grown on you - but there was one person who spent more time on your mind than the rest. Bob.

It happened by accident. Sure, you always thought he was cute, but at first, it was in that ‘smartest guy in your physics class’ kind of way. Then, something shifted. After weeks of training together, going on missions, and spending almost all of your downtime with each other, you realized just how down bad you were. Nat knew it too, and at first, you were a little embarrassed when she teased you about it, but eventually, it was nice to have someone to talk to about your crush.

When Bob would come over to watch a movie at your apartment, just the three of you, Nat would make sure you sat between them. She would take up as much of the couch as possible without looking suspicious, forcing you to squeeze into the middle seat, slightly pressing into Bob’s side. About halfway through the film, he would settle further into the cushions and lazily drape his arm around the back of the couch. Of course, you perceived this as merely him getting comfortable, but later, Nat assured you it was his subtle way of making a move, testing the waters.

It went on like this for a while. Small brushes that could be read as completely platonic turned to lingering touches that you couldn’t help but lean into. Still, nothing came of it. Nat continuously reassured you that Bob felt the same way you did, but that he was just shy and respectful. That left you sitting in a booth at The Hard Deck, shamelessly ogling Bob as he played pool with Fanboy, Payback, and Rooster.

“Why don’t you make the first move?” Nat asked, breaking you out of your trance.

“I don’t know,” you groaned. “I guess I’m scared of rejection.” That earned you a stern look, given that she repeatedly told you there was no way he would reject you. “And what if I, like, damage his ego?”

“Oh sure,” she said, rolling her eyes, “because Bob is known for his fragile masculinity.”

You buried your face in your hands in frustration. You didn’t know why this was so hard for you. Before, you could easily flirt with guys, but something about Bob Floyd shut down that part of your brain.

You let out another frustrated groan. “I don’t want him to get the wrong impression,” you explained, head still in your hands. “This isn’t just some hookup to me, but what if he thinks I’m just trying to get in his pants?”

“Whose pants are you getting into, Hollywood?”

You knew that cocky tone without having to look up at him. Still, you lifted your head to see Jake’s smug expression. You’d earned your callsign for multiple reasons: you were a huge movie buff, but you also had a reputation for being overdramatic, a trait you were living up to in this moment. Your gaze shifted involuntarily, giving you away. Jake’s eyes followed your line of sight before he slid into the booth beside Nat, forcing her to scoot further in.

“Oh man,” he laughed incredulously, “not Baby On Board.” He leaned across the table toward you. “You know he’s probably a virgin, right? You’d have to teach him what to do.”

“I don’t know,” Nat cut in with a chuckle, leaning in too, “Have you seen the way he goes through a manual? He’s thorough.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Jake said, turning to look at her. “You women don’t come with manuals. Lord knows that’d make things a hell of a lot easier.”

Phoenix smacked his arm, and Hangman sat back into the cushion of the booth, clutching his arm where she had hit him. Before you could say anything to defend yourself or Bob, another voice interrupted.

“Well, I bet he’s secretly a freak.” Javy popped up behind you, causing you to jump. You swore under your breath as you clutched your chest from the near heart attack he gave you. Javy looked down at you with a smirk, then turned back to the rest of the table. “I don’t trust anyone who’s that put together.”

“Whatever,” you said finally with an exasperated sigh, “it doesn’t matter. Nothing’s gonna happen anyway.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Jake said with a mischievous grin. He had that look he got whenever he got an idea, and your stomach churned at the thought of him meddling in your love life. Before you could say anything in protest, Hangman and Coyote were gone.

That’s when everything went off the rails. It seemed like the whole team was in on it - constantly teasing you, making not-so-subtle innuendos, and getting you and Bob into compromising positions.

The next time you found yourself at The Hard Deck, you were shooting some pool, bent over the table to line up your shot. Rooster was shouting at Bob from the bar, forcing Bob to walk backwards to catch all of what he was saying. Bradley ended his sentence just in time so that when Bob turned around, he ran right into you. His hands caught on your hips as he accidentally pressed against you. You had just sunk the ball you had been aiming for, so you shot up in surprise. Bob’s grip tightened as you leaned into him involuntarily, trying to keep you steady.

“S-Sorry, Hollywood,” he mumbled into your ear, his breath tickling your neck.

“It’s okay, Bobby,” you said with a sweet smile, turning your head slightly to look at him. Your noses almost brushed from the movement. “You wanna let me go, so I can finish kicking Hangman’s ass?”

Bob’s eyes widened at the realization that he was still holding you flush against him, and he let go immediately. He walked away sheepishly and hid in the corner for the rest of the night.

Back on base, the guys were relentless. Sex jokes had never been out of the question before, but this seemed like a whole other level. And lunch conversations were only about sex these days.

Jake and Javy started talking about their favorite positions, even pulling Mickey and Reuben into the discussion. The group traded stories, and you could see Bob’s face getting redder without even really being involved. Jake must’ve noticed too, because he turned to the WSO, asking for his input.

“M-Me?” Bob asked shyly. None of the other guys spoke up, just waiting to see what Bob might say. He glanced at you to find your gaze already fixed on him, deeply invested. He looked back down at his food with that flustered smile he got sometimes. “I don’t know…”

“A nice guy like you?” Jake cut in, his tone mocking. “I’ll bet you're happy just to be in missionary.”

“So what if I am?” he snapped. Bob’s sudden intensity caught everyone off guard. His accent came out a little thicker, and his eyes flicked to yours again. It was so quick, you almost didn’t catch the heat behind them - almost. His jaw ticked nearly imperceptibly, and he looked back at Hangman. “What’s so wrong with that?” he asked a little softer, but his tone was still stern, defensive. No one said anything, just glancing around the table until Bradley eventually said something to lighten the mood.

For your next day off, you all had a trip to the beach planned. It was the same as always - you and Phoenix tanned while you waited for all of the guys to show up, everyone spent a little bit of time in the water, and then you ended up playing some football. To your surprise, when it came time to pick teams, Hangman called your name. Nevertheless, you were in it to win.

The game went on for a while, and you were having a good time. You’d completely let your guard down, just enjoying the company of your friends. But you were also fiercely competitive, and there was no way you were going to lose this game. Hangman had control of the ball, and you went long, fully unaware of Bob’s presence behind you. Hangman waited for just the right moment to throw you the ball, overshooting just slightly. You jumped to successfully catch it, but failed to consider how you would come back down to Earth.

Lucky for you, Bob was right there to brace your fall. His arms wrapped around your torso from behind, and the two of you came tumbling to the ground.

You sat up quickly, ball still in your grasp, as the rest of your team cheered in victory over your catch.

That’s when you noticed your position. Bob hadn’t moved beneath you, still laying flat on the wet sand. Your knees were planted on either side of his hips, leaving you sat perfectly against his crotch. You couldn’t see Bob’s face, but you knew it had to be very red - both from the sun and the predicament he was in. You shifted slightly against him, trying to figure out the best way to get up, and that proved to be a huge mistake.

“Stop moving,” Bob rasped, his voice cracking slightly as he sat up behind you. His hand held you still, but it was too late. You already felt him twitch against you, and god dammit he was big.

You glanced back at him, and his eyes were already set on yours. He gave you a pleading look, one that told you that he wanted nothing more than for you to keep going, but not right now. You were, after all, still on a very public beach with all of your friends. You nodded at him, signaling that you understood.

Bob lifted you off of his lap with ease, helping you stand. You quickly rushed back over to the group, jumping and cheering in celebration. The whole squad joined in, distracting them enough to allow Bob a little privacy to adjust himself in his shorts as he stood.

Just a few hours later, you stood in your bathroom, still wrapped in your towel from having showered. You were blow-drying your hair, so you didn’t hear Bob knock on the front door of your apartment. But Nat did.

She called out, telling him to come in. When he did, Bob found the common area of the apartment empty, so he made himself comfortable on your couch.

You finished drying your hair and reached for your water bottle, feeling lightheaded from the heat of the bathroom. Empty. You groaned and opened the door, immediately feeling better at the rush of cool air that hit you. It also made you wrap your towel tighter around your body.

You padded your way down the hallway towards the kitchen, seeking cold water. That’s when you saw Bob.

“Jesus Christ!” you shouted, clutching your chest. “Bob, what are you doing?”

He looked up at you from his place on the couch, eyes widening at the sight of you in nothing but a towel. You followed his eyes, realizing just how exposed you were, and you blushed under his gaze.

“I-I-“ his brain was shutting down. Sure, he had seen you in a bikini, which was technically less clothing, but this was different. This was more vulnerable. “Shit – I-I’m sorry – Phoenix said – so I – I didn’t mean-“

You couldn’t help but laugh. Bob’s face was so red, and his eyes were so wide, it was just too adorable. The giggle that escaped your lips stopped his babbling. He just looked at you for a second before releasing a small laugh of his own.

“I just gotta get some water, and then I’ll put some clothes on,” you told him. “And then we can watch a movie, kay?”

Bob nodded at you, and you saw the way his throat moved as he swallowed, still affected by your lack of coverage. Turning away from him, continuing your path to the kitchen, you didn’t see the way his eyes followed you, full of burning desire. After getting your water, you passed through the living room again, mumbling a quick “be right back” to Bob.

Back in your room, you tried not to panic. This was just Bob – here for another movie night. Completely normal. You threw on some pjs – a loose pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt that was worn at the edges and almost completely covered the shorts – and checked yourself in the mirror one last time. You were glad you opted to dry your hair, taming it rather than leaving it to air dry, there was nothing in your teeth, and your skin looked good from your shower. You looked clean and comfortable. You put on some lip balm from your bedside table and reemerged from your room.

Bob was exactly where you left him, lounging on your couch, now clicking through a streaming service idly, waiting for you to tell him what movie to put on. You were always in charge of that, mostly because Nat didn’t care, and Bob’s extent of film expertise was really just Star Wars – but Bob also liked watching the movies you picked. It made him feel like he was seeing another side of you, learning something new about who you were.

“No Phoenix yet?” you asked, pulling his attention away from the screen.

“Nah, she’s still in her room,” he replied.

“Weird,” you said as you plopped down next to him, your thigh brushing the soft material of his light grey sweatpants as you tucked your legs to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce on the couch. You tried not to think too much about the contact.

Moments later, Nat’s door swung open behind you. You turned to look at her as she crossed the room, typing on her phone. Unlike you and Bob, Nat wasn’t in her pajamas. Instead, she stood between the couch and the front door in a tight pair of jeans and a low-cut top.

She stopped typing and finally looked up at you. “Sorry guys, I’m gonna bail,” she said with a smirk on her face. She held up her phone as if that was supposed to fill in the blanks. “Booty call,” was all she said. You saw her talking to a few people at the bar last night, so it could’ve been any one of them, but before you could question her, she had already grabbed her keys and started out the door. “Have fun!” she called over her shoulder, and that was it.

The door closed with a small thud, and you sat with Bob in stunned silence. This wasn’t the first time Nat had gone out with some rando, but she never bailed on plans like this last minute. You realized that this was the first time you and Bob had been alone, really alone. There were moments, but never hours of guaranteed, uninterrupted time together. Your phone buzzed in your hand, interrupting your train of thought, making you realize neither of you had spoken yet.

You coughed, breaking the silence. “It’s uh… it’s Phoenix,” you practically whispered, scared to startle the man next to you. “Probably just sending me her location.” You opened the text.

I better not be the only one getting laid tonight.

Your breath hitched at the sight of the message. Then another one appeared just below it.

Please don’t have sex on the couch.

Now, it was Bob’s turn to cough awkwardly. You looked up at him, realizing he had been looking over at the texts innocently, not trying to snoop, just curious as to where Nat was headed. His cheeks were pink, blush creeping up to his ears.

“Do you want to-”

He didn’t give you the chance to finish the question, one hand coming to the back of your neck as he leaned forward to kiss you. It was urgent, but still tender – like he knew this was what you both wanted, but he was still giving you the option to back out. The kiss was short-lived as he detached from your mouth just enough to look in your eyes, both of you breathing heavily.

“You want this?” The words sounded like a statement, but you could tell he was asking, searching. You nodded shakily, but he wasn’t satisfied with that. “Words,” he demanded gently.

“Yes.” It came out raspy, barely there. But as soon as the word left your lips, his mouth was back on yours. The hand on the back of your neck tightened ever so slightly, not rough, just there, grounding you, pulling you into him.

You moved in tandem, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You shifted, moving to straddle him, all without removing your lips from his. Your nose bumped his glasses, and he pulled away just long enough to remove them, placing them on the side table next to the couch. The kiss grew heated, both of you desperate for the other. Your hands threaded into his hair, tugging softly. His ran down your sides, landing on your hips. He groaned into your mouth as you rocked into him, and you took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You got lost in it.

You could feel him hardening beneath you, his grip on your hips solid, and then you remembered Nat’s text. You moved your hands to his shoulders, reluctantly pushing away from him. Your breathing was shaky, and Bob didn’t look much better. He was wrecked.

“Phoenix said-”

“I know,” he said huskily. “No sex on the couch.”

With that, he stood, lifting you like you were nothing. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as he carried you, his hands on the backs of your thighs. You thought he would take you to your room, but you found your back pressed against the nearest wall.

Bob’s lips moved from yours to your jaw, your neck, and the spot just below your ear. You moaned, and you could feel him smirk against your skin. It was a side of Bob you rarely saw – so sure of himself, completely in control. He worked you over, mouth roaming your exposed skin.

His hips pressed into yours, and you realized that you were both wearing too many clothes. Bob must’ve had the same thought because he pulled away from you, raking his eyes over you. You knew how you must’ve looked, chest heaving, face flushed, hands clinging to the front of his shirt. He thumbed at the hem of your loose t-shirt, eyes flicking up to yours in question.

You nodded and gripped his tighter, pulling at the fabric. “Off,” you said breathlessly.

Bob smiled and followed your order, tugging his own shirt over his head. He reached for yours again, and you lifted your arms to help him. When the offending garment was finally gone, it felt as if time stood still. You ran your palms across the planes of his chest, the pale, freckled skin smooth under your hands. Bob was in the same sort of trance, seeing your bare chest for the first time. His warm, calloused hands cupped your breasts.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped before leaning back in to kiss you again. You moaned into the kiss as his right hand continued palming your breast, his left moving down to grip your hip, grounding you as he rolled against you.

His mouth left yours once more and worked its way down the column of your throat, finding your neglected breast. His lips wrapped around your nipple, and your hips jolted at the sensation. You inhaled sharply when Bob ran his teeth over the sensitive bud. His right hand tweaked your other nipple before he kissed his way across your chest to take it into his mouth, paying it the same attention that he did the first.

Both of his hands firmly planted on your hips, and he pushed away from you again, forcing you to unwrap your legs from his waist. You let out a whimper in confusion but followed his silent order, shakily standing on your own two feet.

Before you could ask what he was doing, Bob sank to his knees in front of you. “Good girl,” he praised, kissing your sternum as he lowered himself. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and looked up at you.

Your gaze hadn’t left his the whole time. “Please.” The word came out broken, higher pitched than your regular speaking voice. Bob smiled at just how wrecked you were above him and slowly peeled your shorts down, your underwear coming with them.

“Fuck,” Bob said under his breath, like it wasn’t even meant for you to hear. He ran a finger through your folds, and you let out another broken sound. “You’re so wet, honey. All this for me?” His voice was husky, and his accent was thicker than usual.

“Mhmm,” you whined. “All for you, Bobby.”

“Good,” he said and pressed a kiss to the place above where you needed him most. One of his fingers nudged at your opening. He was toying with you. “You gonna be good for me?” You wanted to answer, but before you could, his thumb swiped at your clit. It was quick, teasing, and gave you no relief. “Cause you’ve been teasing me for weeks. Did ya put the guys up to it?”

“N-No – I-” He chuckled against you, loving the panicked look on your face.

“It’s okay, honey,” he said sweetly. With that, he sank his middle finger into you. It felt like all the air left your lungs. “Just be a good girl and let me take care of you.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the wall as he worked a second finger into you, his thumb pressing into your already sensitive clit harder now. You could feel the pressure building, and you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Bob!” you cried out. His name and “please” seemed to be the only words you could remember.

“Let go,” he said against your hip as he sucked a purple bruise into the skin there. And you did. The pleasure washed over you in waves, his hand still working you through the orgasm. “There ya go. Good girl.”

You came down from your high, and Bob pulled his fingers from you. He dipped them into his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices as he stood before you again, smirking. Bob kissed you again, hungrily, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands found their way to the waistband of his sweats, tugging at them.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said with a light laugh at your neediness. “I don’t uh… have a condom on me.”

“Don’t need one.” You shook your head. “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill, and I – I wanna feel all of you, Bobby.” You paused for just a moment, then thought you might be pressuring him to do something he wasn’t comfortable with, so you continued. “Unless you want-”

“No!” The word left his mouth lightning fast. “I-I mean, I’m clean too, and I want this – want you.”

You smiled. The moment was raw, tender, a nice reprieve from the intensity surrounding. You both stood there, relishing each other’s closeness, breathing in and out in unison. Then, your fingers twitched, still hooked in the waistband of Bob’s sweatpants, your wanton need for him catching up with you again. Bob’s breath hitched at the movement, but he tucked his thumbs under the fabric, helping you push it off his hips. He leaned in to kiss you again, gentler this time, as his pants and boxers pooled around his ankles, and he kicked them to the side.

When he released you from the kiss, you looked down at him, now fully bare before you for the first time. He was beautiful. Long and thick with a blue vein that trailed the underside. His tip was swollen and a dark pink, almost red, and leaking a bead of pre-cum.

You instinctively reached for him, and he hissed at the contact. You wanted nothing more than to sink to your knees and take him into your mouth. Bob saw the hunger in your eyes and broke your train of thought by lifting your chin with a finger, forcing you to look in his eyes.

“Next time,” he promised, but it looked like it almost broke him to deny you. “Right now, I need to be inside you.”

You swallowed the saliva that pooled in your mouth at the sight of him and nodded. Bob moved closer, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist as his hips slotted into yours. The length of him slid through your folds, and you both groaned at the contact. His other hand reached down to align himself with your entrance. You were already clenching around nothing in anticipation.

He pushed the tip in, just barely entering you, waiting for further approval. Bob knew he was big, and he felt just how tight you were around his fingers, so he was giving you ample time to adjust. Every time your breathing settled, he would push in a couple more inches. Taking his time until he was fully sheathed inside of you.

You gripped his shoulders the whole time, anchoring yourself on him, and Bob talked you through it, praising you endlessly. You were used to Bob’s rambling, but this was entirely different. This was confident – he knew exactly what he was saying and the effect it had on you. Your wetness proving useful as he stretched you out on his cock.

He started with slow, shallow thrusts, testing the waters, and one of your hands moved from its place on his shoulder to tangle into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. You pulled him into a lazy kiss, his tongue immediately swiping into your mouth.

His hand stayed firm on your thigh, and you wouldn’t be surprised if there were bruises there in the morning. Light ones, not like the deep purple and red ones he had sucked into your hips earlier. Bob’s other hand was planted against the wall, holding both of you upright.

He was getting bolder with his thrusts, pulling further out of you and sliding back in with more force. The drag of his cock inside of you was intoxicating, and you were completely at his mercy.

“Fuck, honey,” he moaned, his head falling to rest on your shoulder. “You feel so good. You’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

You weren’t really processing anything – completely overwhelmed by pleasure, but you knew you needed more. “Bobby.” His name fell from your lips in a whine. There was a plea in your tone, but you weren’t really sure what you were asking for.

Bob lifted his head to look at you and then nodded, giving you a quick kiss. “I got you, honey.”

The next thing you knew, you were changing positions. Bob spun the two of you so that his back was pressed against the wall. Your leg was still wrapped around his waist, and he was still buried deep inside you. You braced your hands against his chest as his free hand came down to rub at your clit.

You gasped at the increased stimulation, the coil in your core winding tighter, and you could feel your orgasm building. Bob felt you clench around him, and he increased his speed, thrusting into you while one hand pulled you down to meet him and the other rubbed tight circles into your throbbing clit.

“Bob,” you whimpered, “I-I’m close – please – I need-”

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” He gave you another reassuring kiss. “Be such a good girl for me and cum all over my cock.”

That did it for you. You cried out in pleasure, shouting Bob’s name as you released. He came shortly after you, the feeling of you pulsing around him too good to resist. Bob let out a string a curses mixed with moans of your name as he slowed his hips, eventually stopping, still inside you.

You crumpled into him, and he quickly caught your other thigh in his large hand, lifting you completely off the ground. He still leaned against the wall for support as he held you, your legs hanging loosely at his sides now. You wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled your face into his warm chest. Once he felt he had regained his strength, he pushed off the wall and began walking to your room, still half-hard inside you.

Your door was ajar, so he pushed his way in and shut the door behind you with his foot. Bob had only been in your room a handful of times, but he entered like he knew it like the back of his hand, moving immediately to your bed. He sat on the edge, your legs coming to rest against the soft fabric of your comforter.

You started to come out of your daze, pressing soft kisses to Bob’s chest and making your way higher. You kissed your way higher, across his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, up his neck and his jaw, finally landing on his lips. Each kiss was tender and Bob’s chest rumbled with a content exhale at the feel of quite worship.

“Hi,” you said as you pulled away from his lips.

“Hi,” he replied, smiling at you warmly. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you said with a smile, shifting in his lap, trying to somehow be closer. You felt him twitch inside you, and his hands shot to your hips, stopping your movement. “Sorry,” you breathed, almost as a laugh, realizing that he was probably still sensitive inside of you.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, still smiling, but the words came out shaky. “Just need a minute before round two.” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Bob chuckled lightly. One of his hands came up to brush a piece of your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “I’ve been thinking about this since I met you,” his voice was thick and syrupy with desire. “Thought of all the ways I wanted to touch you, to make you feel good, to make you mine.”

The word hung in the air. You were his — you had been for a while now, even when you tried to deny it. But you were done with that. Bob looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. He looked at you like he loved you, and god, you hoped he did. Because you loved him. You couldn’t help it. You wanted to tell him, but you didn’t want it to seem insincere — a result of some sort of post-coital bliss. Instead, you just looked at him, mind racing, trying to figure out how to show him how much he meant to you.

“I-I-“ you were searching for the right words to say.

Bob could tell you were getting flustered, his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb swiped against the soft skin soothingly as he shushed you gently. He kissed you softly, slowing your racing thoughts.

“I wanna be yours, Bob,” you whispered against his lips. You rolled your hips into his, feeling him harden inside you with every passing moment. “I’m yours,” you panted into his mouth, and he let out a deep groan.

“Say it again.” The words were a broken plea on his lips, needing to hear you again, just to be sure.

You kept moving on top of him, practically riding him with slow rolls of your hips. His hand on your cheek moved to grip the nape of your neck, holding you as close as possible, and his other hand splayed against the small of your back. He was pulling you towards him as if trying to absorb you into his chest.

“I’m yours, Bob,” you repeated, “and you’re mine.”

Bob’s lips captured yours in another heated kiss that left you breathless. You were still wet and full of him from your orgasms in the hallway, and the sound of your combined juices spilling out of you as you thrust together was downright sinful.

Bob detached from your lips, his hands moving to your hips, helping you rock against him as he looked at you. His eyes trailed over your body before meeting your gaze as you watched him. “You’re so beautiful,” he said like he couldn’t believe you were real, that you were here in front of him. “I’ve been yours since the first day I met you. It’s only you, honey. You’re all that I want.”

“You have me, Bob,” you reassured, your palms pressed against the side of his face, cradling his head in your hands. “All of me — I’m yours.” The sound of you repeating those words set something off in him.

“Hold on to me,” he instructed.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and locked your legs into place on his waist, following the gentle order. Bob turned with you still attached to him and moved up the bed, stopping once your head reached the pillows. He laid you down against them and began thrusting into you again, regaining his momentum from before. His lips connected with the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Fuck, Bob!” Your head flopped down against the plush pillow beneath you, giving Bob better access to the column of your throat.

He hovered over you, bracing himself on one arm as the other trailed down your body, squeezing and teasing as it went. It finally came to a stop at your lower back.

He lifted from his place against your neck to praise you again. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” he said with a smirk. “Such a good girl for me.” Bob knew exactly what he was doing. He knew the effect his words had on you. “I’m gonna lift your hips for ya, okay? Can you plant your feet for me? Gonna make it feel even better, honey.”

You followed Bob’s instructions as his hand pressed harder against your lower back, lifting you off the bed slightly. And god was he right. The new angle allowed him to push into you deeper. You could feel him further inside you than you thought was possible.

“Good girl,” he said again, and your legs trembled. They probably would’ve given out from under you had Bob not been holding you up.

He kept praising you, telling you how good you felt, how pretty you looked underneath him, how you were all his. It was becoming too much, and you could feel that familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen. Your knees shook around his hips.

“Gonna cum for me, honey?” he asked, pressing kisses to your jaw and the place just below your ear.

“Mhmm,” you whined — it was all you could manage.

The feeling of him smirking against you, hips thrusting relentlessly, head of his cock bumping your g-spot repeatedly sent you tumbling over the edge with a broken sob. Bob eased you into the mattress, your legs failing to support you any longer. His hips slowed but didn’t fully stop rutting into you.

“You got one more for me, sweetheart?” he asked, but before you could answer, he was already lifting one of your legs to rest against his shoulder.

“Fuck yes,” you groaned at the the stretch. One of your hands reached up to claw at his back, the other fisting into the comforter below you.

Bob was pounding into you at a pace that felt inhuman, each thrust hitting that sweet spot inside of you. His free hand came down to rub tight circles into your clit, your climax rapidly approaching. He was coaxing it out of you, practically begging you for just one more orgasm before he would cum inside of you again.

“Gonna fill you up so good, honey,” he murmured against the inside of your leg that was perched on his shoulder before planting a quick kiss there. He leaned down towards your mouth again, stretching you even further, pulling a wanton moan from your throat. “Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart – so good.” You were practically panting into each other’s mouths. “Are ya close?”

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, “so close, Bobby. Feel so good inside of me.”

Bob shifted again, moving your leg off his shoulder and slotting his hips between your knees effortlessly. His hand moved from where it worked over your aching core, and he quickly sucked the digits clean before moving to cup your face.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he rasped. He was losing all control, hips stuttering against yours, pupils dilated. “I wanna see you fall apart for me.”

It wasn’t long before you did just that. You moaned loudly, throat tightening around the sound. His name fell from your lips over and over again as you struggled to keep your eyes open, holding Bob’s intense gaze. And he was right there with you — the two of you climaxing practically in unison, cries of ecstasy spilling from both of your mouths.

Bob collapsed into you. Your legs still hugging his hips and your arms around him, one hand stroking his back and the other tangled in his hair — it was like your body was made to hold him. The two of you fit together perfectly, lying there in silence, just breathing.

He pushed his face further into the crook of your neck like he was trying to memorize the feel of you against him. He was so docile in your arms, in complete contrast to the man you had seen just moments ago.

Finally, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your skin and lifted onto his elbows above you. He continued kissing you all over your face, causing you to giggle at the sudden burst of tender affection. He stopped his attack on your face to look at you, his eyes sparkling with adoration.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, chastely kissing your lips. You smiled up at him. “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”

You nodded, and Bob slowly started to ease out of you. Once he was fully out, he kissed you again quickly and mumbled a soft “be right back” against your lips.

You propped yourself up against the pillows behind you, trying not to think about the mess you were making on your comforter, both of your releases spilling out of you.

Bob returned with a warm washcloth to clean you with and your water bottle. He handed you the bottle, now full, and kissed your forehead when you winced in overstimulation from the swipe of the cloth against you. He worked quickly but gently, cleaning the place between your legs and the spot on the bed below you.

He stood again, holding a hand out for you to take. “Gotta go to the bathroom, honey.” You nodded, even though he wasn’t really asking. You let him lead you to the bathroom, lazily holding his hand, and he left you to take care of yourself.

When you emerged, Bob sat on the end of your bed in just his boxers. He had the rest of his clothes folded in a small pile next to him, and you smiled at the sight.

“I, uh… tossed your clothes in the hamper,” he said, looking up at you. “I hope that’s okay.”

“That’s great,” you smiled, stopping at your dresser to grab a fresh pair of underwear. With anyone else, this might’ve felt awkward, but your shared vulnerability was comfortable. You walked over to him and stood between his legs. You brushed your hand over his shirt laying on the bed next to him.

“Do you wanna wear it?” He asked gently, but he was smirking up at you.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, picking up the soft fabric in your hands. Bob took the shirt from you, prompting you to lift your arms so he could help you put it in. The hem reached just the tops of your legs, hanging loosely around you.

The rest flowed seamlessly. You moved back up the bed and tucked under the covers. Bob held you close, your limbs tangling together.

“So…” you broke the silence, drawing patterns against his skin. “That happened fast.” You glanced up at him, and he was already looking at you. The warmth of his gaze made you blush and look back down at your hand on his chest. “And in case it wasn’t abundantly clear… I really like you — like a lot. Like I might even love you, but — like I don’t want you to think I’m just saying that because we had sex. I’ve thought it for a while, you know? And I just thought you should know now, I guess, but also like no pressure or anything…”

You were rambling, and you might never have stopped if Bob’s hand hadn’t lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him again.

“You love me?” He asked, his eyes searching yours.

“Yeah,” you breathed. It was all you could muster, your chest tightening with every passing moment.

He kissed you deeply, not hungry like before, just full, passionate. “I love you too,” he said breathlessly, “always have.”

You woke up the next morning in Bob’s arms, the happiest you’d probably ever been. You spent some time talking things through over breakfast, deciding to just let the team find out whenever felt right. And then you went your separate ways for the afternoon, agreeing to meet up again at The Hard Deck that night.

It was nice to get your wits about you before facing the rest of the guys. Of course, you had to debrief Nat as soon as she got home. There were certain things she didn’t want to know, needing to maintain some level of a professional relationship with her backseater, but there was one part of your story she was hung up on.

“Wait, how many times?” she asked incredulously.

“Four,” you said with a laugh, almost in disbelief yourself.

“Jesus,” she huffed. “Good for you. Good for Bob.”

Later, at the bar, things felt normal. You watched Nat destroy Jake at a round of pool, and Bradley played the piano for a while, lighting up the room. But before you knew it, the teasing started again.

Javy snagged the last open seat other than the one right next to Bob, forcing you to take that one, not that you were complaining. Jake made a dirty joke that made Bob blush, and Mickey knocked into your chair as he passed, pushing you into Bob’s arms instead of the floor. Bob steadied you, and you let out a huff, looking at him apologetically.

“Would you guys cool it already? We already hooked up.”

That was one way to shut them up.

Bob’s eyes widened at your confession, looking around to see the rest of the team’s reactions. It was a mixture of shock and amusement.

“Well, I’ll be,” Jake laughed. “And how was it, Hollywood?”

You rolled your eyes at first, not wanting to entertain Jake’s rude remarks. But then you decided to give them a little something to talk about. Something to boost Bob’s image.

“Let’s just say,” you glanced at Bob with a smirk, “if we were taking bets the other night… Coyote would’ve won. Big time.” You shot Bob a wink, and then looked at Jake’s face of pure shock. Javy whooped, knowingly, and the others murmured, wondering just what that meant.

Then, Natasha leaned over to you and whispered, just loud enough so that Bob could overhear. “Just wait until he finds out about your fuzzy pink handcuffs.”

#bob floyd #bob x reader smut #bob x reader #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick #bob floyd smut #lewis pullman #smut #Spotify

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babyarmywrites · 6 days ago

Text

homecoming - bang chan

Synopsys: Chan comes home to you from tour.

Takes part of this universe, but I guess you can read this separately as well.

Word count: 1,5k

Genre: fluff

Enjoy!

He didn’t tell you what time his flight was landing.

Not intentionally, of course. Well—maybe a little. He knew you’d drag yourself out of bed at some ungodly hour just to meet him at the airport with sleep still clinging to your lashes and your favorite cardigan thrown over your pajamas.

(And honestly, he missed that cardigan more than he missed his own bed.)

By the time the door clicked open, the sun was just starting to rise, painting the walls in soft streaks of gold. His suitcase bumped softly over the hardwood as he stepped inside, and the familiar hush of your shared space wrapped around him like a blanket.

Home.

He didn’t bother unpacking. Didn’t look twice at the pile of paperwork on the coffee table or the half-eaten takeout on the counter. His body was heavy with jet lag, but his heart beat a little faster as he spotted you—

Curled up on the couch.

Wrapped in that cardigan, of course. Legs tangled under a blanket. Laptop open in front of you, concept board edits splayed across the cushions. You’d clearly fallen asleep mid-work, a red pen still tucked behind your ear, lips parted just slightly.

He stood there for a second. Just… looked at you.

God, he missed you.

Not just your voice or your smile or the way you’d send him reminders to eat in the middle of chaos. But you. The you that never treated him like a leader or a producer or anything more than just Chris. Just your Chris.

He dropped his bag quietly and knelt beside the couch, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek.

You stirred.

“Chan…?”

“Hey.” His voice was soft and rough at the edges, the kind of voice people only get when they’re looking at the one thing they’ve missed more than sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open, slow and dazed—and then widened when you saw him.

“You’re home—!” you breathed, launching forward without hesitation.

He caught you easily, arms wrapping around your waist, nose burying into the spot between your neck and shoulder like he could inhale every second he’d missed. Contrary to the Asian/Australian/LATAM leg of the tour, you were not allowed to join them in the US and Europe. Their highly anticipated comeback has been approaching, and fans have started to become excited and slightly impatient, which led to management pulling everyone to stay back in Korea to finish the last touches, including you. Chan was devastated when he found out. Thankfully, he already made plans for his family to follow him across the two legs of the tour, which eased his mind slightly, but nonetheless, the last couple of months away from you have been hard on him. You still talked constantly, and you flew out to LA for a couple of days with some board members to have non-stop meetings about the last touches for the album. However, your trip wasn't about seeing your Channie, but about having meetings with Bang Chan, the leader, and management.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your skin.

“You didn’t call,” you grumbled, pulling back just enough to smack his chest lightly. “I was gonna meet you—”

“I know.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “But I didn’t want an airport meeting, with disguises and formal meetings. I wanted you. Like this. Just you.”

You blinked at him, a little disarmed, a little teary. “That’s dumb.”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “But I’m your dumb.”

You kissed him before he could say anything else, warm and slow, like time was finally giving you both a break. And when he pulled you down onto the couch with him, his arms wrapped tight around your waist, your fingers slipping through his hair, he breathed out for the first time in weeks.

Tour was amazing.

But this? This was the part he looked forward to the most.

It wasn’t long ago—only hours, really— since he got home and cuddled up to you on the couch, a blanket tucked around your legs, Chan halfway draped over you like a weighted heating pad. You could feel his body gradually giving out, his words slowing down between yawns, his fingers growing still on your arm.

He kept mumbling about sore legs and jet lag and “just five more minutes,” his breath warm against your collarbone.

“Channie,” you murmured, shifting underneath him, “you’re going to pass out right here and then complain for three days about your back.”

He groaned in protest. “But I'm so comfy…”

“You won’t say that tomorrow when you’re limping around like a grandpa.”

He nuzzled deeper into your neck. “I’m not moving. I live here now.”

You rolled your eyes, but softened at the sight of him—home again, safe, and finally at ease.

“Fine,” you teased. “I’ll leave you here and take the bed. And the blanket.”

At that, he shot up dramatically. “No!”

Before you could react, he scooped you up into his arms bridal-style and staggered to his feet with a determined grunt.

“Christopher—!”

“Must not lose sleep!” he declared, half-jogging toward the bedroom like a man on a mission. “Sleep is precious. I’ve trained too hard for this moment!”

You shrieked and clung to him as he carried you down the hallway, nearly tripping on his own sock along the way. You were both laughing by the time he threw you gently onto the bed, collapsing beside you with a loud sigh of triumph. It doesn't take long for both of you to drift off to dreamland. It's always easy when you're curled up into one another.

You wake up to lips pressed against your cheek and the weight of Chan’s arm slung over your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself to the mattress—and maybe, a little, to you too.

He’s already awake. Has been, you realize, judging by how his fingers are tracing invisible shapes along your hip.

You groan into the pillow. “You’re staring at me.”

“I missed staring at you,” he says, not even pretending to be sorry.

You roll over just enough to squint at him, and he looks so pleased with himself it’s offensive. Messy curls flopping into his eyes, that adorable crinkle at the corners, Fendi chain dangling over his toned chest, making him look effortlessly delicious. Sometimes, you thank all the gods above that he likes sleeping without a shirt on.

He’s glowing. In that annoying way people do when they’re happy and well-rested and too in love.

“Let me see it,” he whispers like he’s asking for state secrets.

You blink. “See what?”

“The final KARMA concept board,” he grins. “Come on—I know it got approved while I was away. I can feel it.”

“Chan.”

“I won’t say anything! Just a peek! A teeny tiny glimpse—like, just one slide.”

You sigh and roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “You’ve been home for eight hours.”

“Exactly! Eight whole hours without work. I’m practically a civilian now.”

You turn to face him again. “You have three days off. You begged your managers for them. You almost cried.”

“I did cry,” he mutters. “And it was totally worth it. But now I’m home and I’m full of ideas and I need to channel them, baby—this energy is rare. I’m inspired!”

You shove a finger into his chest, not unkindly. “Christopher Chahn Bahng. No work talk. That was the deal.”

“But you’re the Creative Director! We work together, we ought to touch on some work-related topics during pillow talk.” he whines, and you playfully smack him in the face with the giant Wolf Chan plushie that has been his stand-in cuddle bug while he was touring across the US and Europe.

“And right now, I’m your girlfriend,” you say, settling back into your pillow with a smug little smile. “So. Shut up, cuddle me, and watch some trash TV like a normal man in his pajamas.”

He groans dramatically and buries his face into your neck. “You’re evil. You’re literally withholding joy from me.”

You giggle, stroking his hair. “That’s part of my job too.”

He huffs. “This is emotional warfare.”

“This is boundaries.”

There’s a beat of silence before he mumbles, “...can I at least know if Soccer Star Hannie made the cut?”

You flick his forehead.

“OW—okay, okay! Cuddling! We’re cuddling!”

You pull the blanket higher over both of you as he sighs and melts against you, limbs tangled, hearts aligned. Eventually, he quiets down, hand slipping under the hem of your shirt in that comforting, lazy way he does when he’s about to fall asleep again.

And just when you think he’s finally drifted off—

“…I just know that token concept with the yin-yang poker chips hit. I feel it in my bones.”

“Channie.”

“Okay shutting up now I swear.”

(He does not, in fact, shut up.)

#stray kids #skz #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff

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bartxnhood · 3 months ago

Text

be my lover | kim hongjoong

mob!hongjoong x fem!reader

synopsis: in which hongjoong doesn’t like that fact you don’t care he’s cheating on you. arranged marriage or not.

warnings: arranged marriage, cheating, swearing, mentions of blood and killing people, hongjoong is kind of a dick but he’s in love, probably more.

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: oof okay i haven’t written for kpop in SOOOO long and this is officially my first ateez fic. i saw the ateez in cinema thing and wow. hongjoong wrecked me SO HARD HAHAHA OMG (jongho ily look away) anyways, i decided to finally write for my ult group!! enjoy!!

a/n: pt.2 ALSO readers personality is kinda based off of polly from peaky blinders iykyk. nonchalant badass!!!! happy reading!!

disclaimer: this is purely a work of fiction and does not represent ateez or kim hongjoong as a person.

not proofread

requests open

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧

growing up, every girl has their dream. maybe it’s becoming the first woman president, or to travel the world. but for most, it’s getting married.

the most romantic proposal. trying on the dress until you find the perfect one, wearing that ring your significant other picked out, the flowers, venue, and marrying your true love.

that was your dream, too.

but you didn’t get to live that dream. no, you were thrown in the deep end after your twenty-third birthday. no proposal, no wedding, no dress, no flowers, not even a beautiful ring. a simple gold band was all you were given by the man you married.

“it will benefit our family, don’t you want to make your family proud?” your father would say, after you had gone off on him. yelling in his face about your freedom, how you didn’t ask to be born into the life that your family had. of course, you did.

you left home for college, left the country to focus on schooling, unaware that your father was tracking you down and had his henchmen kidnap you and bring you home.

you were married two weeks later to kim hongjoong.

boss of sector one.

he was the most successful and notorious bosses of the current era, your father trailing somewhere behind him. hence, your involvement.

a contract written up years ago between your father and hongjoongs father. then, hongjoong inherited his father's gang, and the members who held his closest friends. all he needed was a wife.

you.

it was truly your worst nightmare, sharing a home with a violent and dangerous man, with equally dangerous henchmen.

but you managed. you had your routine and adapted to the way of your new life. you could adapt to anything, it was one of your many talents.

hongjoong wasn’t a man of many words. on the field, giving orders, he was straight to the point and commanding. no time for jokes or anything of the sort. when hongjoong had a mission, it was to be done and done quickly without getting caught.

in and out.

however, in his time being the leader, he found it to be incredibly lonely. he had no one by his side, he was often left alone with his thoughts and an unlimited amount of liquor.

hongjoong always knew about the marriage; his father would hold it over his head whenever he acted out of place. truthfully, he didn’t know what to expect when that day came. but it wasn’t you.

you were normal. you dressed normal when you two were married. hongjoong told himself that he could easily ignore you and continue with his job.

you acted like he didn’t exist, you’d barely look his way, you wouldn’t even speak to him unless you were working.

eventually, hongjoong made it his mission to break your walls. he was growing tired of the nonchalant facade you had. he couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t fathom how you just didn’t care.

because deep down, hongjoong cared immensely about you. more than he’d ever admit out loud.

the first time hongjoong ever actually treated you like his wife was during one of your first missions when both of you had to be present. something about a money laundering scandal on hongjoongs territory.

yeah, that didn’t last long.

the two of you walked in the gala, his hand around your waist. to your surprise, his touch was rather gentle and soft. hard to believe, coming from the man who could command a country with a wave of his finger.

he was accommodating your every need, making sure you were safe and secure by his side. though, you could easily fend for yourself.

“relax, sweetheart,” he’d whisper in your ear, out of earshot of everyone else. his breath was hot against your skin, pulling you back to reality. “i’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

after that mission, you found it hard to view hongjoong with the person’s you had made up for him in your mind.

it’s cliche. you live with someone for two years, and you start to learn things about them. even if you didn’t share a bedroom or bed together.

you knew his favorite food, the way he’d stay up all night working on files while you’d be picking away at books from his library. you knew he stocked the library for you, he’d always has yunho on side missions to find books you had on your list to be read.

you hated how much you cared for him after so long. all because of that damn mission.

the walls of the mansion were covered with miscellaneous paintings, the dark oak complimenting the colors on the paint on the canvases. each stroke holding a story that the artist was trying to convey.

you sat across the stretched dining table from your husband. a glass of chardonnay in front of you on the table, and a novel in her lap.

tensions in the mansion had been high for a while now. it was to be expected since you were married to one of the most feared men in the country, and you, nonchalant, quiet, and reserved.

you scared most of the men working for hongjoong. wooyoung, mingi, and san probably fearing you the most. more than their boss. one look from you could shut them up in a heartbeat.

you curated that facade to navigate life when hongjoong wasn’t around.

god you were frightening.

secondly, hongjoong had been cheating on you for some time now and you didn’t care. after all, you had no say in this marriage. you’ve navigated life after being married for two years and going on missions by his side.

you were living the life you sworn off years ago, you wanted to live a life of normalcy and peace. you deserved that.

and now it was second nature. the fighting, the threats, the killing, the violence, and the ruthlessness that came with being married to kim hongjoong.

the others, bewildered by the fact that you even let him get away with sleeping with other women. often coming to you asking why you didn’t care, how you just brushed it off. to which you’d reply with, “we sleep in different rooms across the house. i could care less who he brings home”

and it usually got them to shut up.

but, it bother you. somewhere deep down, you wished he wouldn’t do it. but you figured he did it because he doesn’t love you.

hongjoong blatantly cheats in your presence. you personality, the quietness, the way you wouldn’t bat an eye when the woman he had in bed the previous night would waltz through the kitchen fumbling for her belongings. all while you sat at the table, sipping your morning beverage of choice.

he wanted to break through your icy exterior. no, he needed to.

hongjoong fails, though, since you always choose to ignore him.

"why aren’t you mad?" he questions, frowning.

looking up from the printed words on the paper, you find him sat in the leather chair in front of you.

your face doesn’t falter, you keep a calm and composed expression. finally speaking, “why would i be mad?” your tone is flat, not giving any indication as to your mood.

hongjoong leaned back in his chair, studying you like he always does. his blond locks mussed, eyes half-lidded as he watched you flip through the pages of your novel.

the light coming through the window illuminated your side profile, his gaze darkened, his slender fingers tapping against his arm in irritation. your nonchalant attitude was beginning to make him agitated.

"because any self-respecting wife would be furious right now." he replied, eyes narrowing.

you say nothing at first, fixating your eyes back to the book nestled in your lap. your free hand reaches for the crystal glass to raise it to your lips.

you know hongjoong is fuming, absolutely raging but you don’t falter. “wife is a strong word considering we don’t even share a room” you begin, returning the glass to its original spot.

“let alone love each other.”

over the past year, you’ve learned how to get under his skin by being the way you were. you didn’t care much about how you affected him, you were simply just coexisting.

hongjoong didn’t know the nights that you’d cry yourself to sleep, mourning the life you used to have.

hongjoong's lip curled upward in a bitter smile, eyes flashing with annoyance. he pushed himself off the chair and walked over to where you were sitting, his footsteps heavy against the floorboards of the manor.

“a wife is a wife. regardless if we share a bed or not.”

he leaned against the polished oak table, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto you as he stared at you for a few moments.

"who says i don’t love you?" he asked, a hint of mockery in his tone.

you still refuse to meet his gaze. you could even list the times you actually looked him in the eyes on one hand.

you hear him let out a laugh, a scoff, whatever, and he shuffled a few steps away.

you look up, finally ripping your eyes away from the pages, you close the book and move it to the table.

you let out a breath of air, sounding more like a scoff. “are you serious right now?”

you lean back against the chair, watching him. how he stands there watching you, his hand crossed over his frame.

“i am.” he bites.

hongjoong was seething at the fact that you've gotten used to this, he had expected anger, jealousy, but he was met with.. nothing.

you begin to chew on the insides of your gums, trying to find the words. “i don’t care what sleaze you bring home, hongjoong. i really don’t” you finally spit.

hongjoongs expression hardened upon hearing your words. he didn't like that you didn't care, didn't like that you didn't react like every other woman would. it was infuriating, yet fascinating at the same time.

he slammed a hand flat against the table, causing the glassware on it to rattle. his jaw was set in a tight line, teeth clenched in irritation.

you flinch, clenching your jaw. you inhale sharply trying to ground yourself.

hongjoong continues, “you’re my goddamn wife. you’re supposed to care!” he snapped, his voice rising.

"you’re supposed to be jealous, angry, sad. not act like you don't give a damn."

you shake your head, looking away from him again. you purse your lips as his words ring in your head. “what do you want me to say?”

hongjoong leans in, his hands gripping the edge of the oak table with so much force that his buckles are turning white.

"why don't you care? don’t you have any self-respect? don’t you have any damn feelings for me? I'm your husband!"

his words spill out of him like an overflowing river all while he’s staring at you intently.

“hongjoong-“ you try to interject, closing your eyes and holding out your hand. but, hongjoong is quick to shut it down. “damnit, y/n, look at me!”

“i know you are!” you finally break, the palm of your hand slamming on the table. the nonchalant facade slowly slipping away.

“i’m reminded every fucking day!” you hold up hand, showing the gold band on your ring finger.

“of course i have feelings for you, hongjoong! i’ve been in love with you for damn near two years now!” she spits.

hongjoong's eyes widened in surprise as you yelled back at him. he was not expecting such a reaction, not from you, not ever. his grip on the table loosened as you continued to speak, your words sinking in.

“you... what?” he sputtered, his expression morphing from anger to shock.

his mind tried to process your words, struggling to wrap his head around the fact that you had been in love with him this entire time. be had cheated, he had disrespected you, and yet... you still felt something for him. it was mind-boggling and almost unreal.

you run you hands over your face taking in a deep breath to calm yourself but it doesn’t work. “i was robbed of everything. my life, my decisions, the way i live. all of it.” you can feel the burning sensation in your chest, crawling up to your throat and turning into a lump.

you had never cried in front him before, and you didn’t want to now.

“i don’t even have a wedding..” you sigh, feeling tears well in her eyes. “i don’t even have a proper ring.”

and then you mentioned not getting a ring. it was such a simple thing, but it felt like a knife stabbing through his heart. the realization that he had neglected you, that he had treated you as if you were nothing, hit him like a ton of bricks.

he had been so focused on himself, on his own needs, that he had completely disregarded your feelings. and now, he was faced with the consequences of his actions. “y/n” his voice is hoarse

you stop him, shaking your head. you can feel the embarrassment running you fingers through your hair and looks down at the table.

“i can’t do this..” you mutter under your breath, followed by a sniffle as tears fall from your eyes. “just forget i said anything.”

hongjoongs hand shoots out instinctively, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as you attempt to leave. he tugs you back, forcing you to stay where you are.

you try to push away, try ripping your wrist from his grasp but he’s much stronger than you.

his expression is a mix of shock and disbelief, his eyes glued to your tear-streaked face.

"how can i forget it? you’ve been in love with me this entire time?"

his grip on your wrist tightens, almost as if he's afraid you'll slip away if he lets go. his eyes dart across yous face, studying you like he always does.

"why didn't you say anything?“ he asks, his tone almost desperate. "you should have told me.”

you stifle a cry, looking up at him again. clutching to the book with one hand with every fiber in your being.

“stop.” you try to cut him off but it doesn’t work.

hongjoong continues, “you shouldn't have let me keep on with the cheating, on the treating you like crap... you should have said—"

he cuts himself off, his voice catching in his throat.

you chew on your bottom lip while he continues. shaking your head, you felt like she was at her breaking point.

when he finished speaking, you looked into his eyes for the first time. your bottom lip quivers but you quickly composed yourself.

“we didn’t even say vows, hongjoong.” you begin, balling your free hand into a fist.

as far as i was concerned, this marriage was written on a piece of paper by our fathers.” she frowned. “i don’t know what else you want me to say.”

hongjoongs heart clenches, the weight of your words hitting him like a ton of bricks. you were right. you didn't have a proper wedding, you didn't even get a ring. it was all a sham, a means to an end. a way to secure a partnership, nothing more.

“y/n..”

and yet, somehow, he had hoped that there was something there. he had longed for some semblance of a normal marriage, one where he could come home to you and hold you in his arms at night. “please..” he asks.

the mansion is quiet, you walk down the dimly lit halls to your bedroom. with a turn of the doorknob you’re met with the welcoming smell of your bedroom.

it was barely lit up, a few warm toned lamps by your bedside were the only thing on. you flipped the light switch and kick off your shoes.

you just returned from a two day mission with seonghwa, your feet ached, body bruised, your head was reeling with a leaving pain behind your temples.

trudging over to your bed you didn’t acknowledge the neatly wrapped box on your pillow at first. too preoccupied with cleaning up so you could get into bed.

you took off your earrings, tossing them into a jewelry plate before finally looking down at your gray bed sheets and that’s when you spotted it.

there’s a letter next to it, you unfold it to see just a few simple words.

“let’s start over”

then, you pick up the small box and open it to reveal and gold wedding ring. your breath got caught in your throat, staring at the piece of jewelry.

it was dainty, yet extravagant. obviously hongjoong must’ve spent a pretty penny on it. you carefully slip it out of its box and onto your finger, replacing the band you once had.

maybe hongjoong wasn’t so bad after all.

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bunny-jpeg · 6 months ago

Text

you really thought you were a saint huh? it wasn't your fault, you just happened to be with someone in the program who shouldn't have been in there. simon riley was a bad man, but he showed promise. the prison threw him a bone and allowed him to be part of the pen pal program.

poor guy had no real connections on the outside. so of course you were a welcomed addition to his life. and maybe it was because you were too naive or simon was too cunning but, you really believed you were making a difference in this man's life!

too bad every letter you wrote often got stained with simon's cum after he masturbated to your pretty handwriting, delicate words and the little bit of perfume that lingered on the paper.

he told you all the pretty things you wanted to hear, about how he'd change for you, be the man that you deserved. that you made him better, more eager to right his wrongs. pages upon pages upon pages of promises.

but simon had no interest in that. why would he? he was a career criminal and good what he did, if it wasn't for graves he'd still be out on the streets. he was a ghost after all. he remembered the first photo he coaxed you into sending, you were even sweet enough to put it in a ziploc bag to keep it from getting ruined on its travel to him.

kept that little picture on his wall. he was eyeing it every day when he was in his cell. when he did his work-outs, when he was alone in his cell, especially when he was masturbating. within a few weeks he was asking for another because, the first one got a big ruined. his excuse was water damage in the cell, but the white stain across the printed image told a different story.

you were loyal to him, hung onto every word. you were so compassionate, loving and kind. you were an angel to his devil, you fixed him. you made everything better with kind words. simon liked the kind words, he also liked imaging breaking apart that little gag reflex of yours. re-shaping the virgin cunt to his liking. simon learned from a very young age that in order to keep something, he'd have to sink his teeth into it.

and you were easily between his jaws when you wrote, "you can put me down as a permanent address when you get out!" lucky, lucky simon, found himself a wife.

now that he was home. well, things were going to be a little different. his hand idly touched your middle while he stood behind you, you showed him around, but simon could only think about the future swell in your middle.

proper little wife. he didn't realize how small you were. fragile like butterfly wings. he didn't want to hurt his missus! no, no, never. but there would be some aches and pains in the next nine months. he didn't realize how easy it was to breed you. you let him have sex with you raw. he promised to pull out, but just like every other promise he made, it never really panned out.

"don't worry, lovie." he said after he finished inside of you, "we'll be a right family." his large scarred hand across your naked middle. promises. promises.

it wasn't your fault, it really wasn't! you tried to make a difference. but when they locked simon riley back up again for armed burglary, you were going to have his son only a few weeks later. <3

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neteyawne · 1 year ago

Text

neteyam sully imagine

summary; neteyam didn’t know how head over heels he truly was for you - until he saw Ao’nung and his friends bullying you.

word count; 3.2k (really proud of this one! let me know what you think 🥹🩵💙)

THE BOND.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Neteyam knew he was going to have a difficult time adjusting to The Way Of Water. From the moment he landed his Ikran, the defensive stares he'd received from the clan had him bowing his head in shame.

He knew how bad his family looked - running away from a war and seeking uturu in a place with peace that wished to stay undisturbed.

He never talked badly about the treatment he and his family received, because he knew how big of a sacrifice they were making by letting them stay. And he was thankful.

But there was a certain part of him - a secretive, tucked away piece that desperately wished he could be treated the way he always wanted to be. Equally.

Not questioned in any way - or seen as something to avoid. That was how he wanted the clan to react. Not be put on a pedestal - like back at home, where the pressure to be perfect was crushing. And not stomped on - like some sort of a threat, something to be questioned and investigated when he had first arrived. A burden.

Oh how he hated the treatment. The glares he'd first received. The backhanded compliments from Ao'nung and his friends - boy's his own age. Even the Tsahik's comments had him up at night - tossing and turning as he wished - dreamt for things to go back the way they were. When it was just him and his family - peaceful and alone in their home.

He was walking on the sand when he first saw you. On a stroll during the night whilst his family slept - trying to clear his mind. A small movement in the water had caught his eye - and it was only natural for him to go and see what it was. He approached the water with careful steps, the bioluminescence of the underwater plants shining through as he peered down - looking for what had made movement underwater with furrowed brows. His eyes searched the water carefully - but he saw nothing.

Unbeknownst to him however, you had seen someone approach the water and swam behind one of the reefs easily. You gently lifted your head above the water, watching the boy search the sea with a curiosity you simply found adorable.

The way his brows were knitted together with confusion had you smiling - how his tail wagged expectedly behind him as your mind came up with the clever idea to play a harmless trick on your clan's guest.

Of course you had seen him around - but you had been watching from afar. Not letting him see you so you could take in the guests who'd come to your island without them noticing.

Your arms moved forward, pushing downward as you swam deep into the water - a simple maneuver to avoid any water at the surface moving and giving away your presence underneath.

He was leaning over the vines now, still positive he'd seen something as you finally made yourself visible - curls with the most colorful shells braided into them was one of the first things he saw as you met his eyes -

What an extraordinary shade they were.

You smirked, whispering a playful boo as those stunning eyes widened.

He was startled, stumbling backwards from pure surprise - you had caught him off guard, and the fact made you laugh.

He watched as you came out of the water - the act reminding him of a flower blooming with the way your beauty appeared when he'd least expected it.

The way you approached him was mesmerizing- your curls moving like waves when you walked. And the manner in which you moved your hands to do the gesture I see you had his clenched fists opening with a tender feeling too overwhelming.

He knew Eywa had heard him - knew she had given him something so special when he'd first seen your precious smile.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You were exceptionally good at making him nervous.

It was a feeling he'd been feeling a lot recently.

Like when the Tsahik would visit his family's Marui and ask how they were doing, her piercing eyes unwavering as Neteyam quieted instantly - his palms sweaty as he waited for the news. War had come. They had to leave - any of those seemed possible with the way her eyes seemed to ice over when she looked at them.

Mastering the Ilu was another thing he'd grown nervous of - watching even Lo'ak - his baby bro - whom he'd always needed to help, master it and already bond with the fellow clan members had him saddened. The disappointment was something suffocating as he struggled every single day.

But with you, his nervousness was something different

It was like a bird - fluttering and caged in his chest, wanting to break through and fly freely.

You became the one he would seek out every morning and night, his mind beginning to recognize the familiar path from his Marui to yours. He liked how your stare wasn't something accusing - but something curious. Your gentle questions soothed him - they were calm and kind and so sweet that his face would warm due to the thrilling sensation of your eyes staring into his.

There was something different about you from the rest of the clan - something he loved so much.

Your eyes were the darkest color he'd ever seen was what he'd quickly realized. They were not the same striking turquoise as the rest of the clan, but a deep hue of blue that reminded him of home. A shade so comforting to him, one that reminded him of the sky before eclipse. Of the plants back at home - of himself and everything he loved.

Maybe they should have been alarming - it would have been to anyone else who'd never seen such a color. But for him, it was different. He could never put it into words - but your eyes never made him uneasy.

Unexplainable, was what you'd told him when he'd asked you about them, it was a trait you were simply born with.

He wondered if you had yet realized that your eyes were the exact color of his skin.

You loved exploring the island too - you'd take him with you, showing Neteyam your favorite sights and your favorite treats to eat.

When you asked him about his life before - he didn't speak with the sadness he expected to come when talking about his home, but a feeling similar to bliss came as he imagined showing you the forest. Oh how you would adore the plants - the animals - and how well you would fit into his clan. Your heart would be something they would treasure. He imagined showing you everything he loved the same way you showed him the reef.

It did not take long for him to realize that you did not have friends.

He'd see you at dinner, sitting alone but seemingly pleased as you ate by yourself.

You were in your own little world was what he'd quickly realized - you'd watch the sky a lot and close your eyes, a content smile on your face was how he'd catch you many times. He wished to be with you - in whatever world you were in.

You were like his sister, Kiri - your connection to Eywa so deeply rooted, just like hers.

He worried he was interrupting your solitude at times- but he did not want to leave you alone.

When he asked if he was in fact distrusting your peace, you laughed - a sound that had him releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding in.

No - he was not, in any form, disturbing your peace. You told him he was someone you looked forward to - and the fondness in your voice had him moving closer to you - where the two of you sat on rocks nearby the ongoing clan having dinner

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

"You look forward to meeting me?"

The hesitation in his voice when he spoke was heartbreaking. He was looking at the water - avoiding your eyes. But they glistened in the moonlight, and you felt your heart break at the sight. You promised yourself to never see him so unsure of himself, to always show him how special he was. How special he was to you.

"Neteyam." You whispered

He turned, swallowing the lump in his throat as you smiled at him, unable to contain your affection for the Sully boy

"You are special. So special. I am beyond lucky Eywa has allowed our paths to cross. To me, you are my secret treasure." You teased as his familiar smile appeared - his sharp fangs peaking through as he looked at you.

"Funny. I thought the same way about you."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

He did not know when he had fallen for you, but he knew he was too caught up and entangled in your little word to even realize.

Maybe it was when he saw you interacting with Tuk the first time. He'd been looking for you all morning - worried and sad by the fact that he simply could not find you for the life of him, only to hear your bubbly laugh - followed by his little sister’s as he found both of you swimming together

"Neteyam! I made a new friend!" Was what Tuk squealed

"Neteyam, how could you hide this adorable little girl from me for this long?" Was what you'd asked teasingly, Tuk's eyes round with love as she looked up at you with nothing but pure adoration from your kindness

Or maybe he realized his love for you when you gifted him his favorite accessory - a simple bracelet with a beautiful blue shell intertwined expertly between the thin vines - your cheeks pink and your laughter nervous as you handed him the gift. His cheeks were just as red as he stumbled over his words - thanking you over and over again as you looked at him with the same eyes he loved so much

He never took it off - never would.

Sometimes he thought it was when you'd first met - but he knows that even if it was, he only grew to love you more as the months went by.

But when did he grow so protective?

He knows what day that was.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Ao'nung had been persistent, annoying you to the point where you had simply stopped replying

"I mean, I knew you were a freak from the start - but betraying your own clan, hanging out with that Sully boy? I mean - that is just low." He laughed, his goons right behind them as they only encouraged his insults with their own rising laughter

Your head was down as you continued weaving the basket in front of you, not even raising your head to look at the crowd of boys around you

"Yea, why do you even hang out with him? Found someone as out of place as you? Didn't know you'd be so friendly with those half bloods - "

The way he'd spit his words out was what angered you the most

"Do not call them that." You finally snapped, Ao'nung was unable to stop himself from taking a step back from the look in your eyes

"You are wrong - I hope you know that Ao'nung." You seethed, eyes alight as the boy bared his teeth

" I can't believe you. You should just leave with them - I doubt anyone would miss you." He spat, hands clenched by his sides as you heard a voice

"Hey!"

It was a distant sound, but your brows furrowed with alarm as you watched Lo'ak approach - immediately standing in front of you with crossed arms

"Don't talk to her like that." He said firmly as you tried blinking away your surprise - of course he'd seen you and Neteyam together at times, but you'd only spoken to him on a few occasions. Your interactions were short - but sweet. You knew he'd taken a liking to you, but you never believed he was willing to stand up for you like this. You smiled, standing up to match his height as you hissed at Ao'nung's little crowd - the boys immediately moving back and mumbling something as Lo'ak laughed - turning back to you with a proud gleam in his eyes as you merely smiled back

Of course they felt threatened by you - some thought your silence and solitude was something dangerous, but you never felt the need to explain that this was just how you were. Talkative - but not with everyone.

"Familiarizing yourself with the whole family I see." Ao'nung barked as you merely shook your head, a frown on your face as you gently grabbed hold of Lo'ak's shoulder

"Come on, it is ok. We'll leave." You insisted gently

Normally, Lo'ak would've ignored a command like that and barged head first into the argument - but Lo'ak knew his brother - he'd never spend so much of his time with someone who wasn't worth listening to. And he knew you - though very little, you were someone he trusted.

Slowly, he nodded his head, shielding your body from the group with his own as he led you away from the crowd. Unfortunately, Ao'nung's hand found your arm as he tugged you back the second Lo'ak turned his head.

You stumbled back as Ao'nung practically growled at Lo'ak

"Think you can just take every person from this clan to mix with your dirty family?" He snapped, eyes alight as he stared at Lo'ak with nothing but hate - you were trying desperately to pull your arm out of his grasp as he tightened his grip.

"Ao'nung - let go." You pleaded as Lo'ak clenched his jaw, looking towards you and where Ao'nung's hands forcefully held you before shaking his head.

"Sorry, Y/n." Was all Lo'ak said as he moved forward to attack Ao'nung with a fury she believed no one could waver - all until she heard him.

No - no she did not hear him, she simply felt his presence. And his rage was not something to be reckoned with as he split the group apart with a menacing shove - knocking some boys over as they tripped from the force of his push - their yells of surprise were silenced as Neteyam stood in front of Ao'nung.

His lips were pulled back - fangs bared threateningly as Ao'nung's face fell

"Back. Off. Now." Neteyam hissed, standing in front of Y/n and Lo'ak - the younger Sully boy almost cowering behind Neteyam - never had they seen him so... enraged.

Ao'nung scoffed - but remained silent. Looking back and forth between the three in front of him before scowling - turning away, and walking off. His little friends were following the boy's footsteps only moments later - their yells of outrage ignored as Ao'nung merely walked away.

Neteyam turned around, his eyes concerned as he immediately reached for Y/n - his hands holding her shoulders as he looked into her eyes - looking for any sign of hurt or pain -

"Are you ok? Are you hurt?" He questioned - and Lo'ak watched you nod your head, whispering I'm fine repeatedly as Neteyam wrapped his arms around you the momet you confirmed you were ok

"It is fine. We are all fine." She reassured as Neteyam finally looked towards Lo'ak - who only stared back with wide eyes

He'd never seen Neteyam so upset before. And he'd never seen Neteyam so... protective. He'd covered Lo'ak's ass multiple times - but the way he'd approached Ao'nung had Lo'ak's own teeth clattering, feared for Ao'nung's safety - but sickeningly pleased by his brother's reaction.

"Thanks bro." He managed, giving Lo'ak a gentle smack on the back of his neck as the boy merely swatted his hands away with a laugh

"Don't touch me bro!" He said, a grin on his face which faltered as he turned towards Y/n with a gentleness in his eyes that Neteyam had not seen before.

"You ok?" He asked as Y/n smiled - moving forward and enveloping Lo'ak in her and Neteyam's hug - the trio now standing with arms all around each other as she laughed

"Fine! More than fine. Thank you, Lo'ak." She cooed, gently pinching the boy's cheek. He looked away, his blush evident and bright as he shrugged his shoulders, suddenly shy as he mumbled a quick no worries that had Neteyam laughing - this time, Y/n being the one to gently swat the back of Neteyam's neck for teasing the younger Sully boy.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You were laying on the sand - the moonlight shining on you and outlining your figure.

He stood only a few meters away - his hands clutching the necklace in his hands as he watched you with the same nervousness fluttering in his chest.

Your head was tipped towards the sky - lips pulled into a content and peaceful smile - something he wished to never disturb.

And he wouldn't - but his favorite eyes peaked open, immediately catching him.

You never failed to feel his presence.

He laid down next to you, and you shifted your body to lay closer to him. His gift was tucked underneath the palm of his hand as the sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the quiet.

He rested his head against yours, and you leaned your body into his as he gently grabbed your hand, moving your fingers and pointing them towards the sky.

"You know, my dad came from a star."

You listened quietly, your hand squeezing his and giving him the reassurance he needed to continue.

"That one - right there." He whispered, pointing towards the gleaming light as you followed where he’d moved your hand - staring at the faraway star he pointed to with a faint smile

"I have a feeling you are about to tell me something important." You whispered, and he looked back at you - stared right into those beautiful eyes as he grinned

"You know everything about me - but this, this is something I have not told you yet." He whispered back, sitting up as you followed his movements

"My dad tells me all the time about his love for my mother - I was talking to him yesterday about how he knew he loved her." He started, eyes gentle as his hands held the necklace behind his back - fingers running over the engravings he'd spent hours carving as you looked at him with the same curious glint in your eyes that he loved to see

"He said he did not know - he was spending too much time with her to notice how badly he had fallen in love. But - when he did realize, he said it was like her filling a hole in his heart he didn't even know he had." He breathed out - and you could feel your own heartbeat quicken as he moved his hands from behind his back to reveal the most beautiful necklace you would ever see.

"Y/n - you and I, we are made for each other. I know this. I feel it everyday - " He spoke - his voice breaking as he looked at you, tears brimming as you tried to calm yourself by taking a few breaths

"Be my mate, yawne." He whispered, his smile so bright and beautiful as you finally sobbed

"Neteyam - yes. Yes yes yes!"

He put the necklace around your neck - a courting gift - his finger tracing over your stripes as he clasped it - securing it before moving his hands to cradle your face.

He kissed you - sweet lips meeting yours.

"My sweet girl."

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