#High-Performance Scanning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strawberrymochin · 8 months ago

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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ☀︎

Rockstar!gojo x art student!femreader

synopsis- satoru gojo fell in love with you when he was 17. He tried everything to gain your attention—joining the student council, participating in every extracurriculars, performing well in academics yet nothing worked. That was until high school. In college, having been forced into a band, he needed to find a new artist for their posters which he requested shoko to take care of. What he didn't expect was shoko to bring you as a volunteer—

warnings- college!au, satoru being heads over heels for you, he’s so damn in LOVE save my boy, friends to lovers, misunderstanding, SEMI PUBLIC SMUT, fingering, oral fem receiving, PUSSY DRUNK GOJO, dirty talk, creampie, BALL OF FLUFF, ANGST, mentions of smoking and alcoholism, super cute ending

w.c- 8.2k (have faith)

a/n's note- i'd poured out my heart in this (especially the smut). i hope you all do like this. your comments and reblogs are highly appreciated as it helps motivating me for writing long ass fics. taglist is open you can ask me to join. love ya' all!!

When satoru met you for the first time, he was 11 years old.

You were the daughter of his mother’s friend whom he heard of so many times. Though the accidental reunion in the mall while grocery shopping was the first time satoru ever had the opportunity to meet you face to face.

It was a totally random encounter, coincidental even, you can say when your mother recognised satoru’s mom and both squealed like teenagers. They'd a lot to catch up with, thus having their kids entertain each other in the play section was convincing enough for them to chit chat in a cafe.

And this is how satoru ended up being stuffed, hand in hand with you, to go enjoy in the play section as his mother patted his back, asking him to be good to you.

“Don't leave her hand, okay toru?! Make sure you both stay together.” His mom said before scooting herself with your mom.

Satoru looked at you, his hand locked in yours as you made eye contact with him before shying away, looking in the other direction. He stood confused before pulling you to the gaming section, without any word.

He scanned amongst the box of video games, before pulling out one which caught his eyes with his unoccupied hand. He gave a side look to you, reluctantly asking “you want to play this?”

You gaze down at the video game he held in his hands, eyes sparkling a bit, if satoru wasn't seeing things, then raise your head to look at him again. “It has vibrant colours.”

Satoru nodded, feeling a little giddy that you liked his preference. “It's called mario kart.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened as he revealed the name.

“Do you know how to play it?” You shake your head at his question. “Then I can teach you!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, let's go and install it on the playstation.”

By the time satoru’s mother returns with your mum, they find satoru giggling along with you, hands still locked with each other, as he points to various stacked video games.

That day slowly came to an end and satoru didn't get to see you for the next two years till your giggles became a distant echo and your face a blur.

By the time he was 14, he almost forgot you.

Until that one day when he noticed you, sitting alone with your lunch staring at the sky at the campus of his high school.

You were biting on your chopsticks with dreamy eyes as recognition drew in satoru's mind.

Y/n— he thought. His brows frowned, thoughts slowly going in a muddle. How are you here? eating lunch in his high school campus unless— you're a student over here too! Satoru felt foolish, his lips slowly curving in a smile lifting one hand, abandoning the basketball in the other to greet you.

However, before he can get his words voiced out to you, gaining your attention, a brown haired girl comes up to you dragging you along with her in a hurry.

Satoru's hand froze in mid air, awkwardly stretching it above his head before bringing it down and turning towards his friends. He sprinted back to his group resuming the game, yet his mind stayed with you and your dreamy eyes.

He wanted to say ‘hi’ and watch your eyes grow wide before nodding your head just like you did back then. He wanted to show you the basketball he was holding and maybe teach you how to play ball just like he did back then.

“Oi satoru! Why are you missing the catch?!” one of his friends shouted, breaking him free of his daze. “sorry…taking a break!” He said, excusing himself, before going and plopping himself down on a nearby bench.

He recognised the brown haired girl—Yura. She often came to him asking for little favours. Did she know you? A friend? You studied in the same school and yet he only saw you today. Where were you all this time? Satoru was the same age as you. So you were bound to be in the same class, maybe different sections but he knew students from the other sections too. How come he didn't notice you yet?

The recess was over soon and he ran back to his class. Before entering the class, he noticed you again, hurrying to the class next to him.

Class 1-2.

Satoru felt silly as he read the classroom name in his mind.

As the final semester rolled on and a new semester started, satoru found out class 1-2 changed to class 2-2 and this year he was in the same section as yours.

He was excited to finally be able to talk to you without any awkwardness. After all, you were in the same classroom now— which means you will know him when he introduces himself on the first day of class. You will see him, introducing himself aloud and clear and recognition will draw on your face as you remember him.

That's what he initially thought the night before the first class. Until satoru felt the urge to perfect his speech and kept on practicing it, holding the crumpled sheet in his clammy hands, past midnight.

As a result he woke up late and by the time he hurried himself to school, the self introduction was half-over. He mumbled his apologies to his homeroom teacher, before hastily introducing himself and going to his assigned seat.

With that his perfect speech plan of gaining your attention bombed miserably. He raised his head in the direction of your seat—first row second desk, way far than his— fourth row last desk.

That's when he decided with the determination inclining in his heart to get your attention and make you remember that it's him.

The plan was simple. He just have to wait till recess and watch his chances closely. Once you're free and alone he will go make a move saying ‘hello��! Maybe even ask for your number.

Recess hour came by and his plan chose to bite the dust with girls and boys swarming around him to get his number and be friends with him. The group kept him occupied for the entirety of the recess and by the time he was done you were no where to be found in class.

Similar things happened the next day and the next day and the next day, never ceasing to leave him alone.

Satoru eventually came up with another plan— excelling in academics. The more he's good in academics, the more are the chances for you to come up to him wanting his help to understand a problem. And the plan worked exceptionally well with girls frequenting him with a doubt in their lesson— except for you.

This time satoru came up with his active participation in extracurriculars and sports. The more he active he is the more is the chance of you joining the same activity or maybe seek his assistance for the upcoming sports day.

This plan too, was indeed prodigious and did attracted a lot of attention except yours.

His last option was of joining the student council. As the spirited member of the top student council, you might come up to him with a problem you're facing or anything you want to change.

So, without thinking much he did joined the student council, hoping to finally gain your attention. However the following week, concerns and requests for changes decreased promptly. The other council members sighed, few scrutinizing satoru. After all no one in the entire school would want their so very handsome, energetic and popular Satoru Gojo to have a heavy work load after school.

“Since we don't have any work to do now, thanks to gojo-kun, I'd gladly like you all to only maintain the regular class desk arrangement.” the student council president announced before leaving the council room.

Satoru sighed, this isn't what he thought. He just wanted your attention not the entire school’s. Everyone looked at him, when he walked, when he sat, when he ate, people always turned around to take a second look. Yet you never laid your eyes on him. Even being in the same class you never came up to him to chat.

Back slouched, with his tie undone, he slammed the door open of his classroom to pick up his bag.

You flinched.

Hand covering your mouth, a dust wiper on the other, you looked at him as he froze.

One entire year, was how satoru spent to gain your attention, to get you look at him, and when it finally happened the time seemed to halt. The sun rays pooled into the room with slow breezes messing up your bangs and satoru couldn't mutter a word but stare.

Conscious about him gaping, he tore his gaze away from you before shutting the door, this time gently.

The council president asked them to take care of class desk arrangements. However, the desks in his classroom have always been arranged, even before he joined the student council.

“you…um arrange the desks everyday?” He said fixing his tie, slowly walking up to his desk, wiped clean by you. “Yes.”

Satoru accompanies you cleaning and arranging for the rest of the time in complete silence. Soon you take your leave, and so does satoru but this was the time he was happy like really really happy.

He didn't exchange any words of recognition with you, from the day at the mall. He didn't talk. Yet he was beaming radiant, for just being with you, momentarily alone, in peace.

That day soon came to an end and another year passed by. Satoru did nothing but admire you from afar. This was the only way he felt the closest to you. He saw how you wiped and arranged the desks everyday; help people without even letting them notice; lend the only pencil you have without a word; and care for the garden whose garish flowers were disregarded by others.

The more he saw, the more he knew you. And the more he felt his heart slipping away.

You were kind, gentle and soft. You noticed people behind their masks. You regarded the smallest of the things with such care. And your delicate hands, often smeared with paint, held the responsibility of others without complaining.

He often saw yura asking favours from you, shoving her cleaning duties to you, sending you to get her lunch from the 7-eleven nearby and never once you said 'no'. You were so so precious.

He knew he’d to stop; the way you engrossed him, linger on his mind all day to the point that he was unable to think of anything but you was straight up creepy but his eyes never stopped searching for you.

Even in the midst of the crowds on a random road his eyes would unconsciously seek for you.

And by the time he was 17, satoru was hopelessly, absurdly and miserably in love with you.

Another year passed by and he could do nothing but stare. And the fact that you often looked at him too made things even worse.

He was so down bad for you that he couldn't keep on going like this anymore. He was so sure he'd confess to you on the day of graduating the high school, not caring about rejection.

Satoru stayed up an entire night, perfecting his confession. But by the time the graduation ceremony ended and he went to look out for you, you were nowhere to be found.

He asked yura about you, to which she replied that you went back home early and satoru had his heart broken at 18.

He couldn't move on easily but giving you up was the only option left. Unwillingly, satoru made his devastating decision of giving you up. He never thought he would see you again until a few years later in college, shoko brought you right in front of him.

“We need a new artist to cover up for this concert.” said geto suguru, stuffing his phone back in his pockets. “Why? What happened to ren?”

“Got himself into an accident and fractured his right arm.” Geto plops himself back down on the couch beside satoru, before pulling on the fretboard of his bass.

“Should visit him then.”

“Forget it.”

“Why?” frowned satoru, geto suguru—his best friend, the one he went to middle and high school with, was not the type to feign indifference. His behavior indeed had satoru confused.

“Nanami informed he got drunk at the last concert before getting himself into the accident. Drunk driving it is.”

“Did yaga find out about this?”

“Fortunately, he didn't. Nanami covered the case before him finding out,” geto brought his hand, swiping back his string of bangs, “if it reaches yaga, he will ban us from using the campus stadium.”

“lucky I'd say…so what now?” The next concert is in 3 days and the band poster is still incomplete.

Shortly after satoru joined his college, suguru started a band along with two other guys. The band was doing well but due to a disagreement they decided to split up. Suguru then suggested satoru join the band and the following year they gained another member named nanami kento.

They used to hold performances at random pubs but as its popularity increased, the college decided to give them the campus stadium to hold their concerts. Something they did extra was hiring an artist to do their band poster— hand-drawn. It'd become a little tradition— a lucky charm says suguru, and now that their artist had broken his hand right at the eleventh hour before the concert they will have to—

“Find a new one.”

“nana—” geto shuts him before he could finish his sentence. “Nanami is trying his best, so am I. So, you try finding one too.”

“How am I supposed to?”

“Well I'm sure if you go with a face like this to the art department, people would volunteer in a line.”

“Same goes with you, why don't you go and ask. I'm sure if you could wear your shirt a little loose you can surely get your clingy ex find a good one." Gojo says in a mocking tone, grabbing his guitar and looping it around his back before leaving the club.

He was sure annoyed, but he will have to find one, geto wasn't in a mood to joke earlier either. Rather than going by himself, he decided to ask shoko get it done for him; he was sure she'd agree for a few packs of cigarettes.

Walking on his way to the parking lot he texted shoko to meet at their regular cafe.

“Sup!”

Satoru smiled knowing shoko could never fail him, even if she didn't agree right away a little guilt trip will do.

“All good?”

“Yeah, what do you need?”

“Just a little favour.”

“And what that might be?”

“Get an appropriate artist from the art department. Ren broke his arm and suguru's so down about going himself, ya’ know about his ex,” shoko started grabbing her cup of iced coffee to retreat when gojo slammed two packets of cigarettes on the table. “I've two more packs to offer.”

Shoko returns to her seat, a big smile on her face. “Okay! Since I'm your empathetic, gracious and compassionate friend, I will try and see what I can get done.”

“Yes please…”

“I'm not doing it for cigarettes ya’ know.”

“Mhmmm” satoru nods his face dramatically.

“Get the other two packets out.”

“Sure.”

Satoru knew four packets would get the job done as he parted away from shoko, driving his way back home.

And the next day when shoko texted him that she got a volunteer and is bringing her to the club, he didn't expected it to be you.

Shoko looped a hand around your shoulders “so this is the club,” chewing a gum, “and this is satoru gojo.”

“Hi…” you said looking at him, before taking a look at those instruments laying behind.

It’s you. It's really you. He couldn't believe his eyes yet stood unblinking as if you were some mirage and will fade away once he closes his eyelids.

“Gojo?” Shoko waved a hand infront of his face and realizing he didn't respond to you, he bent his torso bowing to you.

“Woah,” shoko’s face scrunched up, cringing at his behavior, “when did you start being all formal?”

You giggled at her comment while satoru hushed her with a series of ‘shut ups’.

“I'm—”

“Y/n.” satoru whispered almost as if reminding himself the way your name sounded in his lips. “Y/n, i know.”

You chuckle at his words, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You know her?” shoko tilted her head at him, not expecting you to be acquainted with him.

“We went to the same high school.” You say when satoru does nothing but gape at you with dreamy eyes.

His heart did a whole somersault at your sentence. You remembered him; you remembered his name; you remembered he was in the same high school as you. The fact that you regarded him made him so giddy that he was practically ready to throw his hands up in the air or kiss the floor on which you walk.

“Kay’ I'll leave you guys to talk then.” She smirked before raising a cocky eyebrow at satoru, excusing herself from the club.

“So…you're the only one?”

“Huh?”

“In the band— i mean…”

“Oh no” he dragged, “there are two more members along with the back musicians…”

You humm, taking a proper look at the club.

“You like it?”

“It has vibrant colours.”

Your words echoed in his ears, the same which you said to him at the mall. Oh how bad had he wanted to hear those.

“The jazzies,” you read the name of their band aloud, “why jazzies? You only play jazz?”

“No…we play all sorts of music…it's just a name suguru chose for the band.”

“you do originals?”

“Both originals and covers. Anything suguru comes up with.”

Your mouth forms a little ‘o’ as satoru explains to you.

“geto seems to be doing all the stuff, what do you do?”

“You know him?” satoru’s brows furrowed. “Whom?” you ask.

“geto…geto suguru.”

“Ofc, he was in the same class as us.”

“Oh.”

Ofcourse. Both he and geto were in the same class as you. It was no big deal for you to remember both of them. However, accepting that he wasn't any special was bitter.

Satoru’s eyes followed your figure as you went out to reach for his guitar, mindlessly drawing your finger on its printed patterns.

“You didn't answer my question…”

“I guess I found you for our band.”

When none of you says anything, satoru breaks the ice, clearing his throat.

“You know how to play?”

“Err…no.”

“I can teach you.”

He slided his index among the few string instruments before pulling out an acoustic one, bringing it to you.

“Hold the fretboard with your left hand,” satoru pulled the strap over your shoulders, “and bring your right hand over the body, fingers near the sound hole— yep that's right,” he turned your back to him, gently holding the back of your palms.

“Now, pluck the chords for me,” his chest was against your back as he guided you through the strings.

“Like this?” you ask him.

“Yes, you're doing very well.”

The guitar in your hands, played smoothly as satoru guided you through it.

Just like when he taught you how to play mario kart.

Satoru looks down at you smiling in excitement. Oh how cute you looked like that. He could admire you twenty-four seven, never wanting to tear his gaze away, for you're that ineffably eesome in his eyes.

Time almost ceased when you looked up at him, eyes crinkling with a smile that soon died as red creeps up your cheeks.

Satoru’s face was mere inches away from you, his eyes wavering down to your lips.

“SATO—RU— oh,” geto bursted in along with nanami causing you both to flinch.

He quickly leaves your hand.

“Y/n??” Geto dragged out your name, looking at you with his eyebrows knitting and lips forming a silly smile.

“Hi,” you pull the strap over your shoulders abandoning the instrument on the nearby couch. “I'm here to volunteer.”

“You do?”

“Yeah…”

“That's great! I can't believe satoru even managed to talk—” satoru smacked him mid sentence.

Nanami, for some reason, found the ceilings very interesting today, totally ignoring his two seniors.

Geto explained to you about their little tradition of hand drawn posters and showed you the posters they used for the last concerts. You, then, asked them to send them a group picture of the three and their preferences for colours and themes.

“For that I might need your number—”

“I- i can send it to her…” Geto passed a suggestive smile at satoru, which he ignored and awkwardly forwarded his phone to you.

“Yeah that sounds fine. Here's my number, save it and text me later.”

“Kky!”

You pull the sling of your tote bag up to your arm, giving them a little nod, before turning your back to leave.

“Wait!—” satoru held your arms frantically pulling you back. He hurried to the back near the couch you plopped the guitar and shoved it to you. “T-take it.”

“Ah— no I can't do that.”

“Take it. You can learn how to play and I- I can teach you.” he tried not to stutter yet failed miserably.

“No i rea—”

“consider it as a gift— from me.”

You frowned a bit but agreed anyway.

“That's really sweet of you satoru! I will wait for your text! Bye!!”

He waved back to you.

“What was that?” Geto implies in the direction of the exit door through which you just left.

“nothing.”

Later, You sent the photo of the finished banner to satoru. It took you 42 hours to finish it.

Satoru on the other hand was practicing really hard, totally different from his half hearted performances from the previous ones which wasn't unnoticed by the other members.

He has to be the best. After all, this concert will be different from the previous ones. This time you will be there to see him, cheer for him, and notice him.

You soon bring the banner rolled up to the club. “Woah! You really did a great job.”

“This is much better than ren’s.” says nanami before going back to his drum set, giving you a thumbs up.

“Satoru?”

“Y-yes.”

“You liked it?”

“I loved it. It has vibrant colours.” You giggled at his answer, shifting your direction to his gaze. His fingers seemed to flake off any dust on the surface of your work, handling it so gently.

It wasn't his fault he felt so overwhelmed. All these years he'd yearned for one kind word from your lips yet he was left starving.

And now you'd drawn him with such precision, that it was as if you were accustomed to drawing him for the hundredth time.

His heart fluttered at the thought.

“I will be there at your concert,” you say, turning your back to him. “All the best!”

The campus stadium was full with a bunch of students and hippies, it was really hard for satoru to try locating you amongst the sea of crowds.

The music rang loud, brisking fiery cheers from the crowd, full of vim and vigor. The spotlight shone on the three— geto with his vocals and string of bass; satoru with his acoustic guitar; and nanami with his drum set.

The crowd roared in excitement as music coursed through their veins.

Will you be cheering too?

Satoru raised his head from the guitar, plucking chords effortlessly, to his audience.

And as if it was fate that drew both of you together, his eyes found yours. You were there in the vip section, along with shoko and another girl. You were moving with beats, swaying your arms in rhythm to their music.

His eyes locked in yours as you waved a hand at him. Oh how, how pretty you looked. Everything except you was a blur to him.

The crowd goes even more wild, seeing satoru blush, not sensing it was you who caused it.

The concert continued till past midnight as the vibrations thrumming around the air slowed and wrapped up with their ending song: “Where Our Blue Is.”

As the applause slowly start to dissipate, satoru pulled off his instrument, running to the edge of the stage, and hopped down the raised platform.

The college girls shrieked baffled, some even reached out, grabbing on his wrists and clothes. He politely got out of their grip making his way to the vip section, geto and nanami following him.

The still air felt electric as he approached you.

“you liked the show?”

“Ofc it was amazing!!” The girl beside you answers in your stead, whom he now recognised as yura.

“It was really good.” you say swallowing a laugh bubbling up your throat at his huffed out appearance.

“Thanks to your banner, it even attracted more audience.” geto remarked, placing his arm around satoru’s shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“You should thank me for bringing her in.” Shoko reclaims, looping her hand around your arm, “let's go steal some shots.”

“Oh no i can't— i don't drink. And I need to hurry back home it's late.”

“Kyaahh— you've let me down y/nniee. Only two packets of cigarettes can get my mood uplifte—”

“I will bring it tomorrow.” You say shutting up her whines.

“kk bye and text me when you get home the rest are joining me right ?”

“Count me out. I'll be driving her home tonight.” Satoru says sheepishly, ignoring the smirks and exchanged looks of his bandmates, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

“No but I was about to go home with her —” yura interrupts.

“Satoru’s fine. You're coming with us.” Shoko dragged her along with geto and nanami, which satoru was glad of.

Finally he'd be alone with you.

He guided you to the parking lot from the back of the stage, before getting his car keys out.

It's metallic jingle echoing softly as he presses the button on his key fob. The car responds with a soft beep unlocking as satoru opens the passenger door, holding it open for you.

“Here,” he gestures with his other hand, “get in.”

“Sure.” You say gulping thickly.

The thick smell of your cologne mingling with the leather scent of the car.

He closes the door before sprinting to the other side, getting himself in. “Don't— ” he stops you when you reach out for your seat belt. “Allow me the honor” his finger brushes against your skin as he reaches out for the seat belt.

Your heart practically jolts at his action.

The click of the seat belt buckle echoes softly in the quiet car, as he straightens back to his former position.

“Where do you live?” He clears his throat, starting the car engine and flicking on the headlights before pulling out the car into the driveway.

“In the downtown.”

“That's quite far from the campus, how bout I drive you everyday back home?” His eyes suggestive, making you chuckle.

“I can't let you do that.”

“Why?”

“Since it's far from the campus and you won't be visiting often.”

“Who knows, I might be visiting your place often.”

You turn your face from the window to look at him.

“What?”

“I will have to— to teach you guitar.”

You crack up at his silliness, finding yourself melting again.

“Okay fine. But that still doesn't counts.”

“Why not!”

Since that day, satoru did visited you often, sometimes barging in with shoko and sometimes alone teaching you how to play guitar, plucking on chords and notes.

And you attended all of his concerts. Their previous artist has recovered now and has resumed his work, so you no longer work with them. However they insist you tag along each time and it's not like you complain.

You liked satoru’s company. He was handsome, charismatic and popular. You'd watched him your entire high school. He was the one of most popular students, good in a millions of things, starting from academics to being athletic. He'd win every sports competition and even participate in all the extracurriculars. You'd admired him for he could do the things which you didn't had the courage for.

You liked how he didn't judge people, helped them in their need, and even took care of those garish flowers nobody seemed to double take.

You'd previously met him before high school, though he never brought that up. You wondered if he even remembers the day at the mall. You wanted to ask him so bad, however—

Your world was only limited to papers and paints.

So you painted.

You painted him so many times that you'd have more than five sketchbooks with paintings full of him.

You wanted to be friends, maybe even more than friends.

But that didn't matter now. He was near you and you would do anything to keep your thumping heart in control and not have satoru cut you out of his life.

But how can you?

How can you control it when satoru so gently, so lovingly, takes your hand in his. When he smiles so sweetly at you. When he teaches you how to pull chords and other instruments. When he drops you home from college almost everyday. When he hugs you and tells you to take care.

How are you supposed to be just friends when he's so overly affectionate to you?

Or maybe it's just your overthinking.

Satoru was always polite and sweet, he'd always been sweet to others and you were no special.

“What are you thinking baby?”

You come out of your daze, rolling your eyes at the nickname.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that…”

“Not my fault you aren't paying attention to me…” he pulls you closer to him, resting his face on your shoulder.

“Have you always been this hungry for attention?” you ask, getting yourself comfortable abandoning the guitar beside you on the couch— of the club.

“I've been starving.”

You cringe at his words. Satoru has another concert today and they just finished practicing an hour ago and now they are taking a break.

Geto and nanami and other back artists wanted to get some fresh air so they left you and satoru alone to entertain each other.

“Are you really skipping on me?” He looked at you with puppy eyes.

“I've a gallery exhibition tomorrow.” You need to scoot back home to get ready for it. It's a big event for you to showcase your arts.

Satoru hummed, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck, “I'll be there. You're going to do great.”

An uncertain lump forms in your throat, hard to swallow, you say nothing. Your heart was in a conflict again, no matter what you can absolutely not—

“I will be going then. All the best for your concert.”

You push satoru away, reaching for your tote bag from the side of a random arm chair. “Wait I will drop—”

“Who's leaving?” shoko barges in with yura and others.

Satoru points at you.

“I just got here. You can't leave already.”

“Yup! Yup! Please stay a little longer, baby. I'll drop you back home, no worries.”

Shoko exchanges suggestive glances with geto and they somehow persuade you to stay a little longer.

They start practicing for another round when shoko pulls your head closer, “what do you think about gojo?”

“Huh?!” You shout over the music, unable to hear her.

She grabbed your hand and pulled you outside, with Yura following closely behind you both.

“What— “

“What do you think of gojo?”

A burning sensation hits you slowly as shoko’s question registers in your mind.

You ears turn red.

“Eh…um h-he’s a nice guy. A nice musician…and—”

“And?” Shoko wiggled her brows at you, a sly smile on her face.

“A-a nice friend.”

“Just a friend?” You nod at her, seemingly more embarrassed at her implications.

Shoko's face literally radiated disappointment. It was as if someone told her that cigarettes are now banned in the country. “I think he's interested in you,” you choked on air at her remark. “No?”

Yura shrugged.

The music slowed down and then paused, bringing your conversation to a momentary halt.

Satoru rushed outside, complaining about why you left in the middle of his practice.

“Bruh, chill, I'm not trying to steal her away from you. We're just talking!” Shoko jokes as you laugh all flustered.

Just when you were about to leave one of his fangirls suddenly appeared from nowhere and threw herself into his arms, wrapping hers tightly around his neck. He stumbled back a step, surprised, before regaining his balance but he didn't put her down rather he spinned her around before setting her back down, with a polite smile on his face.

The other members just saw the scene unfold with amusement. Nanami was surprised at the fan’s boldness and geto simply observed the scene as shoko rolled her eyes, finding it hysterical.

“What do you think of shoko’s remark?” said yura, looping her hand around your arm.

“What?” You say suppressing the slow tinge of jealousy.

“About gojo being interested in you…”

“I-i don't think so.”

You try to laugh it off.

“Yeah, he's just polite. To pretty much everyone.”

Her words felt like a splinter to your heart. You shouldn't feel like this. It'd happened before— not now again.

Yura’s right, satoru is just polite and will do the same for everyone what he does for you— because he's kind. And you're no special.

The entire ride was silent. Satoru kept asking you if anything was wrong but you just guised a smile at him, insisting it was nothing.

The next day at the gallery event, you behaved oddly. You smiled at him but didn't reach your eyes, your answers to his question were of one word, even avoiding his touch.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked warily.

“No.”

Days passed by and you distanced yourself more from him.

Satoru, on the other hand, was almost losing his mind. His world turned upside down. You stopped coming to his concerts, ignored his texts and even refused to let him drop you back home.

It was yesterday you’d allowed him to teach you the guitar yet today you behaved as if you'd long forgotten him. You were cold and distant, leaving him puzzled by his own thoughts upon your sudden change in demeanor.

He couldn't help but wonder whether he'd done something that made you this upset?

You'd said it was nothing.

Then why?

What the fuck did he messed up?

Satoru missed you terribly and violently.

He eyed you from the inside of his car parked a bit far from your department. Today was another day you refused his offer to drive you to class. ‘I'm kinda sick so I won't be going.’ This was what you'd texted him the morning and yet there you were getting off your uber.

You lied to him.

“Come with me to their concert today.” Shoko urged you, her lips pursed in a thin line.

“I'm sorry—”

“No you're not so sorry. Tomorrow’s Saturday, come with me, gojo’s getting mad without you.”

You suck in a breath at the mention of his name.

“What's wrong?” shoko says sipping the last of her drink before plopping it on your tea table.

“Nothing.”

“Then come.”

You agreed eventually. Attending the concert won't be a big deal.

And it wasn't, except for satoru’s piercing gaze burning holes in your back. You accompanied Shoko backstage and casually greeted everyone— including him.

“God, haven't seen you in so long.” geto side hugged you as nanami gave you a nod of acknowledgement before running off to the stage for some last minute preparations. “Satoru missed you like crazy.”

You attempt a weak smile in satoru's direction, darting a hesitant glance his way. His gaze was fixed on you, but his expression was unreadable, almost giving shivers down your spine.

One of the other members suddenly hurried over to Geto, urgently speaking about some issue, he politely excused himself and exited the room, closely followed by Shoko. Now, you were left alone with Satoru, the only two remaining in the room.

“I should go and check what's the proble—” you try sprinting your way out the door, “wait—” when satoru stops you.

His hand on your arm, preventing you to go any further and when you struggle to get out of his grip, he tightens his grip even more slamming you to the wall, pinning you caging your body.

“What's wrong with you?”

“Gojo you're hurting m—”

“Gojo?” His voice cracked, grip losing before letting your arms go, “why? Why must you do this to me?”

“Do what?” You drift your gaze away unable to look at satoru, who's this close tearing up.

“This— why must you do this? Why must you ignore me? Why must you be distant from me? Why must you lie to me so that I won't bother picking you up or dropping you home? Why must you reject my affection?” He sucks in a breath “You know I can't live like that—”

“why?”

“Don't pretend like you don't know…”

“no no don't say it,” you throw your hands up in the air frantically, “don't— I can’t fall again…no— I know you're just being polite and you will do this for anyone, but I can’t help it if I don't—”

“I love you—” he whispers, bringing your hand up, placing the palm flat to his chest.

“No you don't.”

“Yes I do— what do you mean you can't fall again,” he suppresses your struggles of wrenching free your hand from his grip. “You have no idea how crazy I'm for you. I love you and I've loved you since I was 17. I was about to confess to you on our graduation day but you just disappeared leaving me alone. And now that I have you I'm not letting you go— make no mistake baby, if there's anyone I’d ever kneel for— it'd be you.”

Thick silence covered the entire room, except your heavy exhales. Satoru gojo was inches close to you, your hand still laid flat against his heaving chest.

“B-but I wrote you a note confes—”

“What note? I never….” confusion twisted on his face bitterly.

“You threw it in the dustbin— the one I wrote to you the day before graduation.”

His face told the truth, as he shook his head denying it. He never received any note from you— nevertheless having the audacity to throw it in the trash when he'd been hopelessly in love with you all these years.

“Yura told me—” you shut your mouth as the realization hits you. The person whom you considered as a friend backstabbed you long ago.

She lied about him discarding it while it was actually her who had stolen it off his desk before satoru even noticed.

Your head raised in embarrassment, ready to apologize for the misunderstanding when suddenly, Satoru's lips met yours in a tender kiss. The kiss was filled with such affection and tenderness that you felt as if you might melt in his embrace. His arms held you close, firmly yet gently, as he deepened the kiss. Your heart pounded in your chest as you responded to his kiss. All thoughts of the misunderstanding were forgotten in that moment of pure intimacy before satoru pulled away with frowned brows and a dazed smile.

“Tell me, would I kiss anyone the same way I kiss you?” he pulled you again, smacking his lips on yours as he snaked a hand around your waist, the other, still firm, holding your palm.

You could feel his heartbeat going rapid the more he deepens the kiss, sucking on your upper lip.

He pulls away again.

“Tell me, would my heart beat the same way as it beats around yours?” He smacks his lips again, this time pinching your waist making you gasp as he slips his tongue in.

His hand fumbles with the hem of your dress, pulling away again, a string of drool connecting both of your lips. “Would I be breathless the same way as I'm now?”

His hand travels up your inner thigh, till it reaches the wet blotch of drenched silk. You grasp his shoulders, when he starts drawing circles over the fabric, smirking before nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck.

“Satoru, what if someone walks in—” your body jolts, nails digging into his back as he pulls the fabric to the side, plunging a digit in without any warning. “Let them…” he goes back to sucking your skin while rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit.

Your teeth sank on your bottom lips, his finger slowly plunging in and out of you. “Nngh ‘toru, you’re—” small trembles quivered through your body as he plunged with a faster rhythm.

“Shh baby! Let me take you” he inserts another digit as your teeth dug even deeper into your lip, stretching you and filling you so well.

He was stroking you, curling his fingers inside until hitting your most sensitive spot. Sweat beaded your forehead as your trembles gave way to full body shudders, shutting your mouth with your hand not wanting to be loud.

Satoru drew himself back from your neck, satisfied marking and suckling, withdrawing his digits, slick from you as you wince at the loss of his fullness.

He brings them up and sucks your essence off his fingers with a pop. “I want to eat you out.”

Before even you can make out his words he kneels down bunching up the fabric to your hips pulling your panty down properly and latching onto your swollen clit.

“Fuck ‘toru.” he lapped his tongue on your clit, drawing circles, tasting your sweet before drawing himself back, “I am fucking you baby.” He says, licking a fat stripe on your vulva, his rigid tongue swiping back and forth over your clit sending sensations that make your body jolt. “Here and raw” he hummed against your pussy, his breath warm and hot sending vibrations to your core, before vacuuming on your clit.

Your hand grasping his hair, as he worked on your orgasm.

He plunged his digits again, rhythmatic with the little pants escaping your mouth, along with the slick sounds of your hips buckling down his fingers.

He smirked internally at your enthusiasm.

“So fucking nasty for me huh?” He said against your pussy, licking and sucking till you were nothing but withering in mindless pleasure. You were taking it well, suppressing your moans into breathless pants until he sucked, fingers pressing the most sensitive spot inside you.

A shriek fell past your lips, knees buckling, followed by a string of moans and whimpers. “Oh— fuck..” you try closing your thighs which he prevents with his iron grip of one hand, forcing it open till he has better access. “Don't even dare closing on me…”

The wet sounds of his fingers, plunging in and out of your gummy walls, echoed throughout the empty room.

Something coiled hot and fuzzy in the lower pit of your stomach. You clenched hard around his finger, when the bass-heavy beats of the band's concert began, causing you to involuntarily shove satoru’s face deeper into your cunt as you heard voices from the stage outside.

Geto's unmistakable voice rang out, accompanied by the heavy drumming of nanami. They had started performing without satoru.

“Nn’toru they start—” your voice died down into a breathless gasp as you felt your pelvic muscles clench, tension looping around your entire body as fiery sensations erupted. You arch your back against the wall, unable to stop your toes curling at the intensity of his tongue lapping, finger fuckin' you, as your vision gets blurry.

“Yeah…cum for me baby” his velvety murmurs were all it took for you to turn into a mess of sensations, your body erupting as your high came down bursting, dripping and spilling down your thighs, his chin and his neck.

Satoru lapped up the drops carelessly strewn about your skin, his tongue tracing a path along the droplets splattered on your inner thighs as he savored everything with anticipation.

“Tell me, would I kneel infront of anyone and let them cum this hard on my fingers?” He straightened himself up, “and then drink it up like a pussy drunk male whore?” his gaze never left yours, wiping the leftover slick from his chin with the back of his hand before licking it clean.

The music from outside has now gained its intensity, thrumming even louder.

No— you mouthed.

Satoru’s gaze was still fixed at you, when he unzipped his pants, his aching cock sprang out red, already leaking precum.

You gape at his girth.

It was big.

And fucking thick.

Leaning in, Satoru brings his lips close to your ear, his voice clear over the blaring music from outside, “Like what you see—”

You didn't get to answer him before he slammed right in.

A cry of pleasure tore from your throat, as you loop your hands around his neck, nails digging on his back.

He hissed out a breath, restraining himself from moving till you adjusted to his size.

Only then did he slowly pull it out leaving only the tip inside. You grimace at the loss of fullness until he slams back in causing you to clench around him.

He let out a low guttural moan which was almost inaudible to you over the roar of music if you weren't so close to each other, feeling the raw desire of his voice vibrating on your skin.

“Tell me— hahh- would I let anyone clench this hard on me if this weren't you?”

You were at a loss for words.

The kind, polite, sweet satoru you knew was gone. In his place was someone who fucked hard.

When you don't answer he pulls out and slams right back in harsh, eyes gleaming with wicked intent.

Satisfied, satoru guides his one hand to tapping on your thigh suggesting you wrap your legs up around him.

He repositions his dick on your entrance, before supporting your weight with one hand, pinning your body completely to the wall, while the other hand grabs your neck, choking you before giving you a sloppy breathless kiss.

“You like it don't ya’ hmm fuck— so tight—”

Your cries came out choked as he pounded into you, in an insane manner, desperate and primal.

“Tell me—”

Thrust

“do you—”

Thrust

“still think I'm just being polite?”

Thrust.

The roar of geto's voice singing out aloud different notes masked out the filth of your moans.

The sensation was in again, hot and uproar, coiling beneath the core of your consciousness. Satoru sensed you being close to your climax, continued to plow into your pussy, now supporting your weight with both hands against the wall.

Your toes curled again, nails digging down his back almost scratching the fabric, “yes that's it love,” your eyes rolled back as you arch your neck unable to handle the pleasure, “cum for me…”

Your mouth forming a little ‘o’, mind blank as your eyes saw stars. The only consciousness left in your body directed you to the burning of your heat, till it came crashing down.

You came hard letting your head fall on his shoulders too spent for anything.

Satoru too chased his high, thrusting into your swollen pussy, his cock twitching inside you, till you felt him getting sloppy and tense before cumming into you.

The music was still very loud, beats thrumming your flushed veins.

None of you said anything, remaining in the same position. Satoru pulled himself out, his cum dripping out your vagina, before walking over and placing you on a nearby chair.

He cleaned you up gently tugging your clothes back and fixes himself before cleaning the mess near the wall.

“They— they started performing without you…” you huff out, drained still in the very euphoria of your pleasure satoru showed you.

“I told them to do so…” he shouted over the noise.

You remain stunned for a while, letting out a breath. “I'm sorry…I avoided you.”

“Here I thought you were giving me a thousand kisses as an apology.”

You chuckle at him, back to his normal self— your sweet, kind and maybe not so polite satoru…

He came over to you, lifting you effortlessly before plopping himself down on the chair with you on his lap.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“No but I missed you like crazy…” he pouted. “y/n be my girlfriend…please.”

Tears start forming in your eyes, overwhelmed, you never thought the satoru gojo you met at the mall, the satoru gojo you loved your entire high school would someday ask you to be his girlfriend.

To paint his heart with your love.

“I will.”

“no wait— marry me instead!”

You dug your face deeper into his chest, laughing at his playfulness. And satoru just smiled.

Finally he would be yours.

you and Satoru started dating since then and things couldn't have been any better for him. He practically announced to the world that you were his girlfriend, always picking you up and dropping you off from campus, and claiming a kiss as his reward. You’d also cut Yura off, not wanting any more negativity in your life. Satoru was yours, and you were his. And He couldn't be any happier.

Tags: @cccandynecklaces @secretfankoala

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dakusan · 1 month ago

Text

S U R P R I S I N G S K Z O N T O U R — B A C K S T A G E

stray kids ot8 x reader | post-show sweat. backstage chaos. and the person they missed more than sleep.

🌙 synopsis: they’ve been gone for weeks—sweating under stadium lights, screaming into mic stands, hearts beating to the rhythm of a thousand voices. they’ve given everything. every night. to everyone. and then—it’s you. standing in the hallway. soft smile. no warning. no cameras. just you. and suddenly, the lights aren’t the brightest thing in the room anymore. this isn’t just a surprise. it’s home. it’s you.

💌 a/n: welcome to Tender Tuesday™. yes i made sure it's tuesday this time not like last time!!! this was written under the influence of 1 delusional daydream in a dressing room mirror and the mental image of Han Jisung tripping over his own mic pack trying to hug you. p.s. reblog this like you’re the one showing up in their hoodie p.p.s. drink water or bang chan will fly home and force-feed you oranges p.p.p.s. do yourselves a favour and go listen to the song. it’s disgustingly cute. if you somehow haven’t heard it yet—first of all, how dare you. second of all, fix that. also. watch skz react to their own mv for it. it’s unhinged. they are unwell. you will be too. you're welcome ♡

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎧 » Your Eyes — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:16 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Bang Chan // 방찬

The show ends in a blur of lights, sweat, and deafening screams. Chan’s still catching his breath, chest rising and falling beneath the drenched tank top clinging to his body, mic still clipped to his jaw. The rest of the boys are collapsing into couches or toweling off, high on adrenaline and crowd energy.

Chan’s scanning the staff in the hallway with that ever-present leader instinct—checking on everyone, nodding at sound techs, offering quick praise to dancers. He turns the corner near the dressing rooms.

And stops. Like, full stop.

Because you’re standing there.

In his hoodie. Holding a bottle of water. Smiling like you belong here. Which you do. But he wasn’t expecting you for another week.

“…No way.”

He blinks twice. Looks behind him, like maybe you’re a mirage conjured by exhaustion. Then his whole face shatters into the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Wait—no, wait—no way.”

You laugh, arms opening before he even moves.

And then he runs.

No hesitation. No chill. Just full-speed Chan, sweaty, glowing, chest heaving, launching himself into your arms like gravity gave up on him the second you appeared. His arms lock around your waist instantly, head tucked into your neck, and he just holds you.

Tight. So tight it’s like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“You—” his voice cracks, and he laughs into your shoulder, breathless and slightly delirious. “You’re really here.”

You nod, arms around him. “Surprise.”

“Are you kidding?” he whispers, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes wide, glassy. “That was the best surprise of my entire life.”

You brush his hair off his sweaty forehead. “You killed it out there.”

“I missed you out there,” he says, no filter, no hesitation.

And then he kisses you. Hard. Fast. Desperate. Like he doesn’t have time to say everything he feels and this is the only language he has left. When he pulls back, he presses your foreheads together and murmurs, “Don’t leave. Not yet. I need you right here.”

So you stay. In the hallway. Wrapped in each other. As the rest of the world continues spinning—but he’s only looking at you.

Lee Know // 리노

He’s calm. Collected. Leaning against a wall backstage post-show, sipping from a water bottle and nodding along as someone from staff debriefs him on the schedule. Typical Minho—quiet confidence, unreadable eyes, dancer precision. He just performed for 30,000 people and still looks mildly bored.

Until his gaze shifts. And lands on you.

For a second, he doesn’t react at all. Just stares. Like you short-circuited his brain. Eyes flicking from your shoes, to your hoodie (his), to your soft little smile like:

No. No no no. That’s not real. She’s not supposed to be here—

Then—

“…You’re kidding.” His voice is flat, but his ears are bright red.

You open your arms casually, like this isn’t the most romantic ambush of his life. He blinks. Slowly. Then glances at the staff member, mutters a distracted, “Sorry, I gotta go fall apart real quick,” and walks straight into you.

No running. No drama. Just quiet urgency. Hands on your waist. Forehead against your shoulder. Breathing you in like you’re oxygen and he’s been holding his breath the entire tour.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

You smile into his hair. “No you don’t.”

He squeezes you tighter. “I really do.”

You laugh. “Why?”

“Because you showed up looking like that and now I have to pretend I’m fine when I’m actually thinking about skipping every stop on this tour just to drag you home.”

Your heart stutters. And then, softer—

“…I missed you.”

He doesn’t say it loud. Doesn’t need to. It’s in the way he won’t let go. The way his jaw’s clenched and his fingers are shaking slightly. The way he presses a kiss to your neck like it’s instinct. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and for the first time in a while—he actually smiles. That rare, real one. The one he only gives you.

“You could’ve warned me,” he says.

You shrug. “Wouldn’t have been as fun.”

He rolls his eyes. Then leans in, whispers in your ear, voice low and warm: “…You’re not sleeping alone tonight. Not after this.”

And you know. Under all the chill, the deadpan sarcasm, the perfect stage face—he’s shaken. And he’s so happy you’re here.

Changbin // 창빈

He’s pacing.

Shirt stuck to his back. Sweat dripping from his neck. Still riding the post-show high—wired, panting, glowing. He’s halfway through retelling a moment from the encore to a staff member, hands flailing, voice slightly hoarse—

Then he sees you.

And it’s over.

The world tilts. The noise dies. And his eyes go wide—like someone hit the brakes on his heart.

“…No way. NO WAY—”

He stumbles forward like his feet can’t decide whether to walk or run. His arms are already out. You barely get a breath in before he scoops you up into the most chaotic, all-consuming bear hug of your life. Your feet leave the floor. Your lungs get crushed. He spins you in a full circle before collapsing against a wall with you still in his arms.

“You—” he breathes, “I’m gonna cry. I swear. I’m not joking.”

You laugh into his neck. “Cry, then.”

“I might! I literally—what the hell. You were supposed to be in another country! You lied to me!”

You look up at him, grinning. “Yeah. And I’d do it again.”

He stares at you, eyes shining with disbelief and affection and something deeper that lives in his chest just for you. And then, he kisses your forehead. Slow. Grateful.

“I missed you so much it physically hurt,” he mumbles, voice cracking.

Then, a beat later: “You’re not leaving. You hear me? You’re staying with me ‘til tour’s over. I don’t care what we have to cancel.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and for a second, he’s not Changbin from Stray Kids. He’s just Binnie. Yours. Sweaty, shaky, and so, so in love.

Hyunjin // 현진

He’s sitting in front of the dressing room mirror. Still in his stage outfit. Still glowing. Still breathing fast. His head is bowed, fingers twitching over his knees, lost in the afterglow of a stage that nearly tore his heart out.

And then—

He looks up. Sees the door open. And sees you. Standing there. Wearing his hoodie. Eyes glassy with emotion, like you’ve been watching him the whole time.

At first, he doesn’t move. Just stares. And then—his whole body shatters. He’s up. Fast. But not loud. Not running. More like a storm gathering itself—slow, trembling, dangerous in how much it feels.

You whisper, “Hi, baby.”

And he’s in front of you before you can finish the breath. Hands cradling your face. Eyes searching yours like you’re not real.

“You—” he whispers, voice hoarse, “—you came?”

You nod. “I couldn’t stay away.”

And his lips part like he wants to say something profound, poetic, worthy of the art you are to him—but instead, all that comes out is:

“…I missed you.”

Then he pulls you in and hugs you like a drowning man grabbing the surface. One hand fisting your shirt. The other buried in your hair. His body shakes.

You feel his breath hitch once. Then again.

“Jinnie,” you whisper, “are you crying?”

He laughs through it, wet and shaky. “Shut up.”

You hold him tighter.

“You always do this to me,” he murmurs against your ear. “You always show up and make me feel like I’m seventeen again. Like love isn’t terrifying. Like I deserve it.”

You cup his cheeks, wipe the tears from under his eyes with your thumbs.

“Because you do.”

And he kisses you. So softly. Like a secret he wants to keep safe. Like he’s terrified this is a dream he’ll wake up from.

Han // 한

He’s still bouncing. Literally. Post-show adrenaline, sweat-drenched tank top, mic still clipped, rambling to whoever will listen about the crowd’s energy like—

“Bro, when the beat dropped in ‘Topline’? I almost exploded. Did you hear them? They were SCREAMING—”

Then he sees you.

You’re standing near the monitors. Hidden behind a stack of towels and staff gear. You’re just smiling, waiting. No cameras. No dramatic intro. Just you, soft-eyed and glowing in his hoodie.

He stares. And then? Absolutely. Freaking. Explodes.

“NO. WAIT—WHAT. WHAT—?!”

He screams. Actually screams. Everyone turns. Staff flinches. Someone drops a water bottle.

“YOU’RE HERE?!!” His voice cracks mid-yell. “YOU LIED TO ME!! YOU ABSOLUTE—ANGELIC—GENIUS—LIAR!!”

He’s running toward you now, full anime-level sprint, and crashes into you like a human wrecking ball. Arms tight, body buzzing, face buried in your neck like he needs to smell you just to prove this is real.

You’re laughing. “Hi, Ji—”

“Don’t talk to me,” he sobs. “You’re not real. I’m dreaming. I died on stage. This is heaven.”

“You’re sweaty.”

“I’m in love.”

You giggle and hug him tighter. He pulls back just enough to cup your face, eyes wide, pupils dilated, voice very serious: “Do you realize what you’ve done? You just caused an actual chemical reaction in my body. Like—my heart rate? THROUGH THE ROOF.”

“You okay?”

“No. Absolutely not. This is the most romantic moment of my entire life. I’m gonna need to sit down or I’ll propose by accident.”

You lean in and kiss the tip of his nose. He melts. Literally folds in half. “I’m keeping you,” he mumbles. “Like. Forever. Tour wife. This is happening. Don’t fight me.”

Felix // 필릭스

He’s glowing.

Skin glistening, hair damp, cheeks flushed from the encore. There’s glitter on his shoulders and stars in his eyes. He’s still catching his breath, thanking staff one by one with the kind of gentle sincerity only Felix knows how to give.

And then he turns the corner and stops breathing entirely.

Because you’re there. Backstage. In his hoodie. Hands behind your back. Smile blooming like spring.

He freezes. No words. No movement. Just a single, whispered—

“Angel…?”

You nod, eyes already brimming with tears. “Hi, sunshine.”

And that’s it. His body moves before his brain catches up. He walks toward you slow, almost reverently—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks. Then suddenly you’re in his arms. Pressed flush to his chest, arms wrapped tight, face buried in your shoulder as he sighs. Not out of relief—out of pure emotional collapse.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers. “Like—so much. Like every night I looked for you and had to pretend I was fine.”

Your hand runs through his hair. “I know, baby. I know.”

He pulls back just enough to see your face, cupping your cheeks with both hands like you’re made of porcelain and sunlight.

“You’re real. You’re here. You’re mine.”

And then—he kisses you. Soft. Long. Like he has nothing to rush. Like he’s home. When he pulls back, he giggles through a sniffle.

“Okay. No one tell the others but… this is the best part of tour.”

Seungmin // 승민

He’s standing by the water cooler, towel around his neck, completely sweat-soaked and still glowing with that quiet Seungmin-brand confidence. He’s mid-sip when he spots you—half-hidden behind some gear cases, just… watching him.

For a full three seconds, he doesn’t react. Just blinks. Tilts his head. Tries to process. Then you wave. And he chokes on his water. He coughs. Clears his throat. Wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Then squints like you have some explaining to do.

You walk toward him slowly, smiling like you didn’t just shatter his entire emotional equilibrium.

“You—what? You were—” He frowns. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

“That’s the point,” you say softly.

He goes quiet. Eyes flicking over your face, your outfit (one of his shirts, because of course), the little hopeful twitch of your mouth. And something in him just… cracks. “...That’s really mean,” he mutters, eyes glassy. “I could’ve emotionally prepared. Now I look stupid.”

You smile, stepping into his space, hands finding his waist. “You look perfect.”

He scoffs. “Sweaty. Smells like a wet dog.”

“Still perfect.”

And that’s when he lets out the tiniest, tiniest sigh. Like all the fight went out of him. He tugs you into a hug, arms wrapping around your back, his chin resting lightly on your head. “Don’t let go,” he mumbles. “I’m not doing the rest of tour without this. Just so you know.”

You smile into his chest. “Noted.”

Then, softer, a whisper you almost miss:

“...Thanks for coming back to me.”

I.n // 아이엔

He’s doing his post-show ritual—sitting on the dressing room floor with his legs stretched out, sipping his drink, cheeks flushed from dancing and screaming, trying to act cool even though his adrenaline is still going crazy.

He’s giggling at something a member says when the door creaks.

He looks up. And freezes. Because it’s you. Peeking in, eyes soft, fingers curled around the doorframe like you were nervous to interrupt.

“...Hi, baby,” you whisper.

His jaw actually drops. He blinks once, twice, like his brain needs buffering time.

“…You’re joking,” he finally says.

You step inside slowly. “Not a joke.”

You expect him to run. Cry. Scream. But instead—

He just sits there, completely still. Like his soul left his body for a minute. “…You really came?” he asks, voice small.

You kneel in front of him, taking his face in your hands. “Of course I did.”

And that’s when it happens.

His whole body slumps forward and he buries his face in your neck—arms wrapping around your waist in this desperate, trembling hold like he’s afraid to break you. “I missed you,” he says, so quietly it makes your chest ache. “So much. It’s been so hard.”

You stroke his hair. “You’re doing amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

And then? He starts sniffling. “Noooo don’t say that, I’m gonna cry,” he mumbles, voice cracking. “I was literally fine five seconds ago. This is so unfair.”

You laugh gently. “Cry, Jeonginnie. It’s okay.”

He pulls back, eyes watery, lips trembling into a smile. “I love you,” he blurts out. “A lot. Just—so much.”

And then he hugs you again. Tighter. Softer. Like now that you’re here, nothing else matters. Like home isn’t a place—it’s you.

#skz #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #sundaysoftdrops

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comatosebunny09 · 2 months ago

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Now that his birthday’s passed, I can be angsty on main.

cw: non-mc reader, angst, rejection, heartbreak, self-loathing, alcohol mention, unrequited feelings (kind of), stream of consciousness, not proofread, bittersweet (?) ending

After Sy returns to the base following a day spent with Emcee, you quietly slip him your gift—a small, matte black box with a curled, scarlet ribbon encircling it. You don’t give him time to thank you before you’re out of sight. He doesn’t miss the forlorn undertone of your “Happy Belated, boss-man,” before you leave.

He opens it up to see a QR code at the base of the box. He scans it on his phone. Two tickets to a candlelit orchestral performance. He smiles quietly, an affectionate chuckle in his throat. Something tame yet different to get him out of the base. Something so inherently Sylus. But why are there two tickets?

He stares after your afterimage. Ah. Was one of them for—not you? Well, that won’t do. You went through all this trouble to get him something thoughtful. Of course you’re coming with him. Maybe it’ll help break up the tension that’s been brewing between you since he made his choice.

—

It’s nice. Pleasant. You rented out the concert hall just for him. Didn’t expect him to bring you, but you won’t deny that you were thrilled about the invitation. Surprised—it was meant for him to enjoy it with…someone else.

He looks great beneath the candlelight. Then again, so do you. Dressed in sophisticated crimson, a dress to highlight the devastation of your body, courtesy of him. It’s still alright for him to buy you things, right? Friends buy each other gifts all the time.

It’s a little awkward, sitting there beside him. Thighs just barely brushing, fingers itching to reach for each other’s hands. But you’re friends—this is what you agreed to. You convinced yourself you were content with remaining by his side, paying off your unspoken debt to him, even if it pained you to look at him. Smell him. Feel him, barely ghosting, but always a commanding presence.

The music is a lovely distraction. It’s soft, invoking emotions you tucked away. Your eyes water as the strings kick in. It’s like he senses the minute shift in your expression, the change to your posture, the clench of your teeth, and he places his hand over yours to offer you a semblance of comfort. It feels wrong how his fingers burn, how they curl towards your palm on the armrest. How they make you feel safe, validated, wanted.

That soft smile he offers when you glance at him doesn’t help. And how he strokes over the clutch of your hand with his thumb, agitating the emotions welling in your chest. Your returned smile is watery, guarded as you glance at your lap.

Should friends even be holding hands like this?

—

A little bubbly to chase the burn away.

He took you to a lovely restaurant afterwards. You joked it was his birthday gift, so you should be treating him. It’s fine—friends take care of each other, right? When the ache is too much. When your tongue’s too heavy in your mouth, and your heart pulls in your chest.

You end up going for a walk downtown after dinner. Enjoy the historic sights, the fairy lights, the nightlife bustling on the cobblestoned walkways.

You’re laughing. Crowding together. Conversing like two idiots who just fell out of love, itching to sink back into it. He has gentle yet firm fingers around the crook of your elbow to steady you. Maybe you drank more champagne than you thought.

Your feet hurt. He shepherds you to a bus stand to take a load off. Pulls your feet up onto his lap, peeling off your high-heeled sandals, and working through the pain with his knuckles. Just like old times. Is this alright? Should he really be…this nice when he’s…not yours, and—

Thoughts you tried to keep at bay come spilling in. That night replays like torn film reels.

“Maybe in another lifetime,” he whispered, as if admitting it so low would ease the devastation of it. The sting. “Maybe in another lifetime, it could’ve been you. I could’ve held your hand while you laughed so sweetly under the sun. I could’ve stroked your cheek while you pouted in that adorable way, pretending to be upset with me. I could’ve held you so close while you dreamed, while you gave yourself to me. Just…not now. The timing. It’s just—”

You laughed despite the pang in your chest. Despite the tears clumping in your lashes, distorting your vision of him. Pathetic little streaks of red, white, black. You remember rubbing your arms to self-soothe. Being hysterical. Curling into yourself as bile singed the back of your throat. You wanted to vomit. Wanted the world to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to be erased from his memory—him forgetting you would’ve hurt less.

“Please don’t cry,” he placated, voice all croaky. Strained. Broken, almost like how you felt. Like it pained him more to let you down. He reached out for you, fingers shaky in the air near your cheek. You stepped away. You didn’t deserve his affection. Didn’t think you could handle it.

You laughed again, forcing a bitter smile onto your lips. “I’m okay,” you lied through a constricted throat.

It burned. Felt visceral. His pity was the worst torture you’d ever been subjected to. Honestly, you could’ve lived with him being mean. Crushing you. Telling you that you were delusional, a mistake, pathetic. His tenderness hurt more, like a knife thrust into your gut and twisted. It was like he was teasing you with a glimpse of what could have been. False hope. That doting voice speaking to you every day like that.

“Don’t worry about me,” you choked around the threat of a sob, a laugh, “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

He hated it, how you always had to put up a front. Always so brave, guarding your emotions like forbidden treasure. He wanted to hold you. Stroke over your hair. Murmur, ‘I’m sorrys’ against the outskirts of your ear. He’d never seen you like this, falling apart at the seams, and yet still fighting to shield yourself. As though showing a bit of weakness would cause him to dispose of you.

He hated himself, watching you wear that prideful smile despite the tears streaming down your cheeks. Letting you slip out of his office without a fight. His nails bit unforgivingly into his palm. Split the skin. Anguish possessed his features in the quiet. He always swiftly dealt with anyone who hurt you. A hair out of place, a scar on your cheek, blood seeping through your clothes.

So what was he supposed to do when he was the source of your pain?

You don’t say anything as his driver pulls his car up to the bus stop. Stone-faced as Sylus drops his jacket onto your shoulders, ushering you into the backseat. You feel empty—a husk. You thought you’d be over it by now, his soft rejection. But he’s gone and picked the scab, reopening festering wounds beneath with his sentimentality.

Why couldn’t it be you? Why was it always—

Someone else?

You lean away from him the entire ride back to base, watching the streetlights blur past the tinted window with your forehead against the crisp glass. It’s all you can do to keep your tears at bay. To keep yourself from falling apart all over again.

And you don’t miss his reflection—those anguished, scarlet-spun eyes watching you. His mouth opening and closing, grappling with the right words to say, yet failing to get them out.

What could he say that wouldn’t wound you more?

—

You leave without warning the following morning while everyone’s asleep. Pack up your essentials, a duffle slung over your shoulder, a motorcycle purring between your legs.

You ride towards the horizon, no destination in sight, a sinking feeling in your throat. You thought you could do this. Thought you could brave the storm, the torrents of pain, the letdowns. Thought you could handle seeing him smile like that, hearing him laugh like that, knowing you weren’t the cause of it.

You deserve better, don’t you? A change of scenery. A chance to start over. To figure out who you are again, without the crushing weight of a quiet, consuming, one-sided love tearing you asunder.

#sylus x non mc reader #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus angst #love and deepspace sylus #sylus qin #lnds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #l&ds sylus #ex-assassin reader series

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rafesteddy · 6 months ago

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𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕖𝕟: 𝔸 ℕ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖 ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

𝙱𝚘𝚍𝚢𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙿𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: pet names, swearing, reader gets cornered on an elevator by a random man, rafe flashes his gun, threats, physical violence against the guy, mirror sex, wall sex, dirty talk, kissing, unprotected p in v, angst, fingering, spanking, praise, finger sucking, cum tasting, rough sex, cream pie, older!rafe

📖 I got the idea for this story after watching Sabrina Carpenter’s Christmas Special! ♥️ The premise is a popstar!reader who wants the attention of her handsome bodyguard, who seemingly has one interest: keeping her safe.

Reader’s POV:

The stage is shining, the crowd alive with holiday cheer as you belt out the final notes of A Nonsense Christmas. The applause roars around you, their energy washing over you like a wave.

You smile, waving to the audience, but your gaze quickly floats over to the stage's edge as it has been all night… as it had been for weeks when you closed out the final song.

There he is. Rafe Cameron.

He stands tall, commanding, calm, and professional in a suit. His piercing gaze sweeps the room, assessing every face and every movement for threats, but never to you.

You poured every ounce of charm into that performance, thinking it might be enough to catch his eye. A wink here, a playful smile there, all subtle gestures to draw his attention—yet, nothing. His stoic expression doesn’t budge. His demeanor’s like trying to melt a glacier with a single match.

By the time the show’s over, the emptiness gnaws at you. The Netflix special had been perfect, yet you could only focus on how Rafe never even cracked a smile. None of the jokes landed… Not a single song was heard, it seemed. It was like he was listening to white noise.

The wrap party’s filled with people from the industry and familiar celebrity guests from the special. Your manager taps you on the shoulder throughout the night, making it impossible to get away: candid interviews, photos for the press, people vying for a moment of your time.

You float through the crowd in a Bob Mackie dress, dodging your manager as you see her walking toward you again. You smooth out the satin and fluff your hair nervously, searching for him. There he is. Your heart flutters as your eyes match his; your red dress shifts with each step, hugging every curve just right. Compliments come in every direction, yet your focus is drawn to the beautiful man at the bar…

He’s the definition of composure, sipping his water and scanning the room. Since the show, he’s popped a single button at the top of his white button-down shirt. Even that subtlety, just a taste of his tanned skin, sends butterflies swirling in your stomach. He glances away, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

Your heart beats faster, knees wobbling in your sky-high heels—a wavering you didn't even have during your performance. Your feet click along the marble floor, each step fueled by courage and desperation. The sound draws his eye to you.

"Hi," you say gently, feeling the heat of embarrassment pool in your cheeks as his jaw flexes. His nostrils flare as he draws a deep breath, looking almost annoyed.

Rafe looks down, his blue eyes locking on yours briefly, making your stomach fall. Your eyes widen, realizing that you don’t even think he’s ever truly done that before—constantly looking through you, around you, at your person, but never into your eyes.

“Ms. l/n,” he greets you, his tone polite but detached. The moment of attention you had has faded and gone.

"Call me y/n," I say, trying to bridge the chasm between you, craving that brief moment you had when his eyes were on you again.

He gives you a slight nod as he glances into the crowd. “What can I do for you?"

"Have a drink with me?" You ask fast, surprised that he even wanted to know, given his body language.

His lips press into two thin lines. “I’m working,” he replies, firm but not unkind. "It was a great show, y/n. You should enjoy the party. I'll be close by if you need me."

You bite your lips, eyes fluttering as he dismisses you before your gaze falls to the floor. The reaction was a cold slap to the face.

“Have a good night,” you whisper fast, giving him a small smile as your pride tatters. You turn around on your heels, your embarrassment weighing heavily on your chest as you push through the crowd, knowing you’re never quite out of his sight, needing to be far enough away that he doesn’t realize how deeply that cut.

By the party's end, you’re exhausted and mentally drained. Reaching for your coat, you head out into the night with your team and Rafe.

It’s a short walk, only a block from the venue to the hotel. Snow falls from the dim, sparkling in the streetlights as it dances to the ground below. You wrap your arms around your waist, holding yourself tight, trying to keep warm, feeling the heat of Rafe’s gaze on you still, just a few feet behind you.

You look over your shoulder, matching his eyes. He doesn’t flinch; his smile doesn’t brighten like yours when you see him. He looks away, turning his attention toward the busy street, surveying the scene as always. You scrunch your nose as heat burns behind your eyes, mortified that you’re letting yourself get so hurt by someone who couldn’t care less about you.

The hotel lobby is still except for the soft hum of Christmas music pouring from the piano. You walk quickly, your head down, desperate to be unaided; the sting of Rafe’s rejection, still piercing.

If he doesn’t want anything to do with me… I want to be alone. It’s clearly what you want. Isn’t it? You seethe as you walk a little faster, wanting to put space between you and everyone else.

“Miss. l/n,” you hear Rafe’s voice echo through the lobby as he moves a little quicker. You step inside the elevator, pressing the close button as your team closes in; Rafe shoves past the lot of them with a horrified look as the elevator door glides shut, closing you off from the rest.

You were so focused on getting yourself alone that you barely noticed the man who followed you in. It wasn't until the doors shut that you heard him shift next to you, looking down at you with a smile.

"Oh, shit… You're y/n, right?" The man asks, his voice far too casual.

"Mhmm," you hum, giving him a small, cautious smile as your hands start to sweat, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight.

"You're even prettier in person," he croons as he steps closer.

“Thanks-”

"How about a drink? Just you and me?"

You cross one leg over the other, stepping to the side as your eyes stay locked on the metal door in front of you. "No, thank you,” you respond as confidently as possible.

He smirks and chuckles darkly, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he turns toward you. "Oh, don't be shy, honey. I saw your concert at Madison Square Garden. I know what kind of woman you are," he mumbles—his breath, warm on your neck. The creep’s thick cologne radiates off his designer suit. He rests his hand on your lower back, drawing you in as the elevator dings.

The door glides open, but Rafe’s already pushing through, his broad chest heaving from sprinting up the stairs.

He looks at you, catching the worry in your eyes, nodding, letting you know you’ll be okay. His eyes lock onto the man, his stare dark and dangerous. “She’s not interested,” Rafe says, his presence lethal as he steps inside, placing himself between you and the stranger as he quickly ushers you out.

Rafe hangs back, stepping toe to toe with the businessman, whose eyes widen. The man chuckles nervously as he raises his trembling hands in mock surrender. “Just making conversation-”

“Don’t,” Rafe growls, his tone cutting with no room for argument as he slams his fist against the “hold” button, locking the door open.

“Hey, man. I don't want any trouble,” the guy croaks.

“This your floor?” Rafe asks. The man shakes his head ‘no’ fast. A smirk tugs on Rafe’s lips as he steps even closer, sweeping his black suit jacket to the side, showing off the handle of his gun, making the blood drain from your face and the man’s. The guy’s eyes lock on Rafe’s weapon, and he stumbles back, grabbing onto the handrail to keep from falling, looking up at your bodyguard in horror. “I asked you a fuckin’ question, bitch,” Rafe voice bellows, making the man cower in fear.

“No… Jesus. Calm the fuck down. I told you I’m not. Alright?” He rambles as he reaches around Rafe, going for the hold button. Rafe grabs the man’s suit jacket, slamming him back, his head ricocheting off the wall.

“Nah, you didn’t say shit. If I catch you on this floor. I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Understand?” The guy nods, but Rafe bangs him against the wall again. “Use your fuckin’ words, man. I’m sure you had plenty to say to her. Ain’t that right?” He asks as he steps even closer, getting in his face. The guy shuts his eyes, turning his cheek in fear.

“I understand,” he mumbles weakly.

Rafe shoves him into the elevator, smacking the hold button before grabbing your hand.

You look over your shoulder, watching the man scramble to the front of the elevator, pushing his finger repeatedly against the buttons.

Rafe’s hand tightens in yours, pulling you past your room and moving deeper into the hall. “You’re coming with me.”

Rafe reaches into his back pocket as his eyes dart around, pulling out his key card. His face, a storm of emotions.

He leads you inside, shutting the door quick before twisting and latching multiple locks. Rafe turns around, his fingers gliding through his hair nervously, pushing it back while his eyes flicker around the room.

“Why am I here?” You ask feebly.

"Because it's safer," he says shortly. “You’re safer with me. You know that!” Rafe raises his voice, quickly pushing out a deep, slow breath as he sees you flinch. “You’re—fuck. I’m sorry. You’re safer with me. Alright?” He walks past you, pulling a bottle of scotch from the wet bar.

Rafe pops off the top, mumbling in annoyance as he pours a drink. His hand trembles, making the glass click against each other. “Drink?” He asks, his voice dry and hoarse, tossing back one before you can respond, draining another in the tumbler as you give him a soft ‘yes.’ He mutters something again in frustration as he pours yours.

“What?” You ask curiously as you step closer.

”I said, ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’” He asks annoyedly as his eyes shift to yours, keeping your focus longer than two seconds.

"Why do you care, Rafe?” You counter before you can even think it through.

His jaw clenches, and he clutches the glasses in his big hands. His grip is so hard you’re waiting for it to pop.

“What do you mean, ‘why do I care?’” He asks, his eyes tightening in disbelief. “It’s my goddamn job to care. Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“It’s your job to keep me safe. It’s not your job to care about me ‘cause if it was, you’d be fuckin’ awful at in.”

"You don’t think I care?” He asks as he steps face to face with you, making your heart race.

“No. I don’t,” you stand firm.

“Do you think I don’t notice you, princess? ‘Cause I fuckin’ do,” he snaps. “Y/n, you’re all I see—every damn second of the day. But I can’t let myself think about you that way. Not when it’s my job to protect you. Not when it’s my job to keep you safe!”

"Why not?" You challenge, your voice shattering with emotion as you look up at him.

“Because if I let myself feel… if I let myself want you the way I do, I'll lose focus. And if I lose focus, you get hurt. And that's somethin’ I can't live with."

"Rafe…” You whisper, seeing the emotion all over his face.

"I see you, sweetheart," he says, his voice cracking. "Every time you smile, sing, and look at me with those eyes like I'm the only one in the room. Do you know how hard it is to pretend I don't feel it? To pretend I don't—"

You close the space between the two of you, stealing the words off his tongue, your lips pressing against his in a passionate kiss. He stands there for a moment, completely frozen, as your hands wrap around the back of his neck. You gasp against his lips as his arms comes around you, yanking your body into his, returning your kiss with a fire that takes the air out of your lungs.

Before you can get your feet underneath you, your back hits the wall—Rafe’s wet kisses stippling over your collarbone, trailing up your neck as his big hands squeeze and caress your curves.

“Rafe,” you moan as you pull him closer, his rich cologne mixing with his crisp drink on his breath, numbing your tongue and making your head spin. “I need you,” you whimper.

“You need me?” He groans hungrily like it’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.

”Please…” You whisper needily. “Do you need me-”

“Yes. Fuck… Of course, I need you,” he rasps as your hand presses against his stiff cock; his bulge is throbbing in his dress pants. He paws for the bottom of your dress, lifting it hastily to get at you.

You moan for him, melting into his touches as his fingers press against your soaked panties. He smiles against your lips between panting breaths, pushing your thong to the side. Your head falls against the wall as his fingers trace your slick folds, drenching his digits—your tongue swirling with his.

“I need you so fuckin’ bad,” he sighs as his fingers draw away; the man quickly fights himself out of his suit jacket as you pinch the zipper of your dress—the two of you stealing kisses as you strip bare.

Rafe dives for your lips again, his rough, ringed hands finding your cheeks, pulling your face to his as he walks you back to his bed.

Before you can reach it, he spins you around, pulling your back to his chest as you reach for a breath. His face nuzzles into your neck, his five-o’clock shadow scratching roughly against your soft skin as he peers out, admiring you in the floor-length mirror.

Your body heats up under his gaze as you watch his hands trace your figure through the glass. His gold watch catches the light as he twists his hand, his fingers disappearing between your thighs, making your head fall back on his broad chest.

Rafe’s rough fingers brush through your soaked pussy as he kisses along your neck, teeth scraping over the shell of your ear. “You don’t think I see you?” He asks, his voice husky and low, sending chills down your spine. “You don’t think I see how fuckin’ perfect you are, princess?” He groans as his other hand cups your tit, kneading your skin as you moan for him.

Rafe licks a line up the column of your neck, biting your skin, marking you with his teeth, making you whimper—your cunt throbbing with need.

He swirls his fingers over your puffy clit, pulling out moan after moan from your pillowy lips, your legs shaky and weak from his touch. “You don’t think I look at you and imagine what you look like when you cum?” He asks, the corners of his lips curling upwards at his words. “You don’t think I don’t think about how beautiful you’d look taking my dick, baby?” Rafe lifts his hand, turning your face so your lips find him again. “Never thought you’d be this wet, y/n. All for me…”

“All for you,” you echo through a breathy sigh as your lips brush over the top of his.

“I’m going to keep you safe. I’m going to take care of you,” he mumbles as he pushes two thick fingers in your soaked cunt, pumping them a few times as you grab his forearm for support, nails clawing into his skin. “Bend over for me, pretty.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper.

Rafe sucks off your bottom lip before pulling back, guiding you to bend over in front of the mirror. You rest your hand on the edge, watching as he takes his fingers between his lips, sucking your taste off, letting his eyes roll back as his other hand squeezes your hip.

His hand falls lower, his lip bitten as he grabs his cock in his fist, gliding through your drenched slit before sinking in with a rough thrust. Your wide eyes match his before they roll back—Rafe’s fat cock stretching you wide.

He takes his time, letting you adjust to his size. His biceps flex as he pulls you as close as he can get, making you shudder and whine; your manicured fingers wrap around the mirror’s frame so hard your knuckles ghost white.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes.

Rafe’s toned hips pull back before he shoves them forward, eyes locked on your body, watching the way your breasts bounce with each thrust.

Your messy pussy wets his balls, dripping ever so slightly onto the hardwood floor. “Goddamn, baby,” Rafe hums, seeing it too, the two of you listening to the sounds of your slick cunt squelch as his thrusts crescendo.

“Feels so good,” you whine, arching your back, body clenching as his throbbing tip hits your g-spot again and again.

”Feels good? Fuck, princess. You like that?” He asks as his arm snakes around your hip, fingers finding your clit, swirling fast. Rafe shifts a little nearer, pushing you closer to the glass, your warm breath fogging up the mirror with each panting breath.

”I’m close…” You whine, making him groan. He pistons his hips into you, fingers dancing on your clit as your body comes undone, pussy pulsing around his thick length as he pounds you through your orgasm.

Rafe doesn’t stop fucking you through it, grabbing your shoulders, pulling you back, coaching you to bounce your ass back on his cock; your warm wet pussy meeting him thrust for thrust.

Rafe tugs you back to his heaving chest, pounding into you from behind as his strong arm wraps around your throat, the other dressing around your waist, holding you tight.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers against your neck with his eyes locked on you. “Wanna watch my pretty girl get off on my cock again.”

Your eyes roll back at his filthy words, teeth driving into his bicep, dampening your cries of pleasure; heavy eyes locked on his as you cum again. Rafe’s climax claims him as well, squeezing you tight as you ride out your pleasure together.

You gasp as he pulls out far too fast, the two of you looking in the mirror as his throbbing cock pulses between your thighs. You whimper as Rafe’s thick load drips out of your fluttering hole, landing his dick. “Look at that, huh?” He rasps before shoving himself in again, making your eyes pinch shut. “You’re even prettier when I drippin’ out of you, princess.”

He kisses your forehead, lingering for a moment as you giggle dizzily. “Fuck, Rafe,” you sigh in bliss, letting your body relax in his.

“Yeah? Felt good, baby?” He mumbles before kissing you tenderly.

“So fucking good,” you whisper.

The two of you walk to the shower—Rafe’s hand never leaving yours. He lifts you onto the counter as the water warms, slotting himself between your thighs, tilting into the counter as he smiles sweetly at you.

Your eyes rest on his… The most beautiful blue, and unlike before, his attention never leaves. You cup his cheeks in your hands, brushing his stubble gently before you move in for a kiss.

Rafe pulls away from your lips, resting his forehead against yours, breathing softly with you. “Princess…” He hums, his voice soft and serious.

“Yes, baby…”

Rafe smiles as that name leaves your lips, taking a laborious breath before continuing. “I’ll keep you safe in public, no matter what… That’s my job.”

”I know,” you whisper.

“I’ll do everything I’ve gotta do... But in private, we can take care of each other. That’s what I can offer you. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. And I’m hoping you’ll say ‘yes’.”

A slow smile spreads on your lips, the pressure lifting off your chest. “I guess I can live with that,” you whisper as your heart races with excitement. “But I’m warnin’ you, I’m needy. You might have to deal with me demanding your attention all the time,” you tease. Rafe chuckles warmly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you to the counter's edge.

“Sweetheart, you have my attention. Every second. Of every day. Whether you think I’m watchin’ or not…” You lift your chin up, meeting his lips, feeling him smile against yours. “But, I’m lookin’ forward to moments like this the most.”

#⋆.°🧸๋ྀི࣭⭑ the bodyguard #rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#bodyguard!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #kinkmas event .𖥔 ݁ ˖❄️˚. ᵎᵎ #older!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #rafe cameron x reader #rafe #rafe smut #my library ᝰ.ᐟ

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itscalledastrategyfred · 1 month ago

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Curtain Falls, So Do We

Request: -🏀

Pairing: Brother!Charles Leclerc x Sister!Reader

Warnings: missed performances :)

Summary: Charles missed your dance and he'll do everything to make it up to you.

A/N: tysm, 🏀 anon!

The curtain had just fallen.

The lights dimmed, the applause still echoing like a heartbeat in your ears, but you stood frozen behind the wings, trembling in your pointe shoes, your tutu barely rustling as you breathed in shaky, silent gasps.

You’d done it.

The first solo performance of your life.

Except—he wasn’t there.

You turned toward the doors, your eyes scanning the silhouettes beyond the velvet curtains.

Nothing.

No sign of the signature Leclerc curls. No smile that could melt your nerves. No warm arms ready to say “You were incredible, mon étoile.”

Just darkness. And noise. And stagehands calling cues for the next group.

You blinked.

Swallowed.

And walked off with your chin high.

Back in the dressing room, everyone buzzed. Makeup being wiped off, pointe shoes unfastened, glitter dusting the carpeted floor. Girls hugged. Instructors smiled. Parents waited outside, holding presents and bouquets.

You sat at your mirror, slowly unlacing your shoes. The satin ribbons trembled in your fingers.

Your heart felt too big and too empty at the same time.

Your phone buzzed.

You swiped it open without much hope.

Charli 8:42pm — “Je suis désolé, chérie. We got held up at the paddock. I'm coming now. Please wait for me.”

You stared at the text for a long moment.

Then a tear fell. And another. They kept coming.

Not loud. Not messy. Just quiet tears sliding down your cheeks like kisses from a rose petal.

You’d told him about this performance months ago. He’d promised. Pinky promised. Charles never broke those. It was the childish nature in him.

Except now, with the season full swing, the Monaco GP madness around him, and press demands on every corner…

You’d been pushed down the list.

Again.

It was twenty-five minutes later when he finally arrived.

He burst through the backstage hallway in his Ferrari polo and jeans, hair slightly mussed, eyes frantic.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t look up right away. Just sat in the corridor still half-dressed, your bag open beside you.

His voice softened when he saw you.

“Oh, ma petite…”

“I’m not that little anymore,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on your bag zipper.

“No, you’re not,” he agreed, crouching in front of you. “But you’ll always be my little étoile.”

You sniffed.

“I danced without you.”

“I know. And I’m so proud of you.”

“You weren’t there to see it.”

Charles looked like he’d been hit straight in the chest.

He reached forward slowly, like you were made of glass, and gently tucked a loose curl behind your ear.

“I’m so sorry. The race weekend—it ran long, the media was insane—I didn’t want to miss it, I swear on everything.”

You nodded, barely. Only just.

He dropped to sit beside you now, shoulder to shoulder on the cold floor.

There was a pause.

Then: “You know what I used to do before every kart race?”

You shook your head.

“I would listen to that one Chopin piece. The one you used to practice with. The one with the soft piano and the sad ending. It made me think of you.”

Your throat tightened.

“You did not. Liar.”

“I did. Even in Formula 2. Even now sometimes. It reminded me of how hard you worked. How graceful you were. How pretty and neat. How I never wanted to let you down.”

You bit your lip, a tear escaping. A gentle hiccup escaped.

Charles turned to face you.

“You didn’t let me down,” you whispered. “I just… really, really wanted you to be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” he said, voice cracking a little.

You looked up, and there it was—his face, open and full of love and guilt and admiration all in one.

“I’m your big brother. But tonight, I was also the guy running through the parking lot like a maniac to catch his sister’s final bow.”

You laughed, watery.

“That sounds stupid.”

“It was stupid. And I still missed it. But I swear, next time—I will be there an hour early, in the front row, wearing a glitter tutu if I have to.”

You burst out laughing.

The ache didn’t vanish, but it softened.

He pulled you into a hug.

“You looked beautiful,” he murmured into your hair. “Even now, all tired and glittery and grumpy. You’re everything I’m proud of, (Y/N). Always.”

You buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself breathe again.

Back at home, he insisted on cooking pasta.

“You danced, I make dinner. That’s the rule.”

You sat at the kitchen island in your hoodie, finally warm and makeup-free, watching your Formula One driver of a brother burn garlic in a pan like an amateur.

“You’re not doing it right,” you teased.

“You sound like Enzo.”

“You cook like Enzo.”

“Watch it.”

“Maman cooks better than you and she makes toast with tomato sauce.”

He gave you a deadpan look.

“Rude.”

You smiled, slowly, for real this time.

Later, you lay on the couch, legs stretched over Charles’s lap as he scrolled through pictures from your performance that your ballet teacher had sent him.

“She sent me like fifty,” he muttered, zooming in. “Look at your arm here! That’s crazy! You looked like you were floating!”

You blushed.

“Stop hyping me up.”

“Never.”

You peeked at his phone screen. One photo caught your eye — you, mid-pirouette, lit from above like a painting.

You inhaled. “I… I really did that, huh?”

“You owned it, ma belle. No wonder people cried in the audience.”

Your eyes widened. “Someone cried?”

“Yeah. Maggie’s mom told Arthur.”

You covered your face, groaning.

“Oh noooo.”

He laughed and poked your ribs. “Famous already.”

You peeked at him. “Did you mean it? About wearing a tutu to the next show?”

“Do you want me to?”

You grinned.

“Only if you bedazzle it.”

“Done. Ferrari red.”

You laughed so hard your stomach ached and tears fell.

As the night wore down and the apartment dimmed to its sleepy hush, you curled into the corner of the couch, head on Charles’s shoulder.

He wasn’t talking now. Just scrolling through photos again, eyes fond.

“I was scared today,” you murmured suddenly. “Before going on stage.”

He looked down. “Really?”

You nodded. “I thought I’d fall. Or forget the choreo. Or freeze.”

He wrapped an arm around you. Strong and protective. “But you didn’t.”

“Because I pretended you were out there watching.”

Charles didn’t speak for a moment.

Then he kissed the top of your head.

“I’m always watching, even when I’m late,” he said quietly.

You smiled.

That was enough.

That was more than enough.

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glamorizethechaos · 13 days ago

Text

All That is Lost

Warning: suicide, thoughts of suicidal thoughts, death, angst, pining

Word Count: 1.5k

Dana picked up the phone and her face dropped, eyes darting around The Pitt. Robby noticed her demeanor shift and immediately booked it to the nurses station.

“What is it?” Robby asked, motioning Abbot to come over. Dana was still on the phone when Jack arrived, hands in his pockets and brow furrowed.

“We need trauma 1 immediately, there’s been a jumper… woman jumped off the hospital roof.” She immediately went into high gear grabbing nurses and med students to assist.

“What?” Jack and Robby utter in unison.

“Where’s y/n?” Jack panicked, eyes scanning the ER. “Where the fuck is y/n?” But before Robby could answer, he was making his way to the ambulance bay.

When Robby turned around he expected to find Jack Abbot following suit, but instead was met with a panic stricken man, ripping open curtains, searching high and low for you. There was a pit in his stomach, thinking of all the times you two met on the roof after shift. All the times the two of you talked each other down from the unthinkable. The long nights of holding others lives in your hands, only to feel it slip away.

“Jack!” Robby screamed across the ER as the woman was brought in on the stretcher, Santos’s straddling her and performing chest compressions. “We need you brother!”

The chaos of the ER suddenly went quiet. He had tunnel vision as Jack barreled towards Trauma 1, struggling to put gloves on his sweaty hands. The ringing in his ears got louder with each step. When he pushed the door open his heart was in his throat. His eyes were open but he couldn’t see, Robby barking orders snapped Jack back to reality.

“Jack!” Robby barked

“Pupils unequal and non reactive.” Jivadi started performing a neuro exam. “Flaccid paralysis of all four extremities. Negative Babinski."

“What the fuck happened? I was in a meeting with Gloria and she got a call someone jumped?" You walked in putting your gloves on with a snap. Jacks head lifted with a jolt at the sound of your voice. Despite standing there in front of him, Jacks throat was still tight, and his eyes still glazed over. When your eyes met, your face fell slightly.

"You see a ghost, Abbot?" you joked as you pushed another amp of epi before taking over compressions for Santos. When he didnt answer, just continued to stand there frozen with a bewildered look on his face, you glanced at Robby.

"Get some air brother." Robby ordered him, walking over and started to walk him towards the door. He grabbed his shoulder firmly with a slap. "Jack, you cant be here, man. If you arent gonna help, you're just in the way. Go take a walk." With one final shove Jack stumbled into the hallway.

When Robby turned back around the room was tense, you felt all eyes on you.

"Stop compressions."

Asystole.

"Injuries incompatible with life. Time of death, 13:07." After a moment of silence, Robby called you out into the hallway.

"Whats going on with Jack?" he asked, burying his hands into his pockets.

"What? Why are you asking me? I was hoping you'd know?" you answered with a shrug.

"I mean with the way he was looking at you I figured..."

"Figured what?"

"That there was something going on between you both, I dont know. He was frantic looking for you, and then he froze. Jack doesn't freeze."

"There is nothing going on between Dr. Abbot and I." Which wasn't a lie. Unless you missed the memo, you two were nothing but close colleagues. Right? Sure you spent the end of your shifts together on the roof, sipping coffee and venting about the night. But it never went beyond that.

Dana waltzed over her eyes furrowed with concern, she turned to you.

"Whats wrong with Abbot?""

"Why is everyone asking me this!? I dont know!"

Dana took a step back at your outburst, holding her arms up as if to say "I surrender."

"Ok ok I'm sorry- I just figured there was something going on between you."

"That’s what I said!" Robby blurted with a goofy smile on his face. You pushed past the both of them, rollings your eyes and making your way towards the nurses station. You glanced up at the admission board before scanning the ER, Jack still no where to be found. You turned with a sigh, heading straight for the elevator, pressing the button with a ding.

You saw Robby running towards the elevator, but you promptly hit the close button.

"Catch the next one." you yelled, as he stared at you with a stupid smirk on his face, mouth agape. When you reached the top floor and walked out onto the roof you found Jack exactly where you expected. Leaning over the railing, head hanging below his shoulders. You cocked your head to the side when you saw the cigarette in his hands.

"You smoke?" you called out to him.

"Only when I'm nervous." he deadpanned.

"All the times we've spent talking on this roof, I cant believe I never knew you smoked. Just when I start to know you, Dr. Abbot." you took a few steps closer until you met him at the railing, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"I"m not normally nervous."

"What's wrong?"

He didnt answer, just shook his head and offered you a puff of his cigarette, which you obliged.

"I havent had one of these since high school." you smiled, bringing it to your mouth for a drag, only to start coughing ferociously. "You smoke menthols? Jesus Christ Jack, you could have warned a woman." you handed it back to him still coughing. He chuckled at you as you shook you head, throat burning.

"What's going on, Jack." you nudged again him when you finally caught your breath. "Listen, I know we joke aro-“

“I thought it was you.”

“W-what?”

He was quiet for a moment, letting the tension hang in the air as he snuffed out the last of his cigarette. You turned, leaning your back against the railing and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Thought back to all the times we spent talking up here. About work, our families… how horrible the Steelers are…” he tried lightening the mood.

“They aren’t that b-“

“They’re bad.”

You chuckled with a nod. “Fair enough.”

“I think you know where this is going.” You didn’t answer. Just held space for him as he continued to speak. The man who was known for eye contact was avoiding your gaze like the plague.

“There was that one time in particular. I told you about my nightmares. I hadn’t been able to sleep and was doing so poorly.” Jack had lost his foot in August of 07’ when his caravan was attacked by an IED. He still vividly remembers trying to help his dying soldiers before realizing his foot had been eviscerated and he too was dying. He left Iraq with a physical reminder of what he endured, of the men he lost. But when he closed his eyes, he was forced to relive the nightmare over and over again. He could smell the billowing smoke from the IED, he could see the faces of his fellow soldiers painted with blood, he could feel the pain in his leg that was no longer there, and he could hear the screams of the dying. Every August this became a nightly occurrence. Every year he braced himself for the torment.

“I remember.” You whispered.

“I told you I didn’t know how much longer I could deal with it all before I snapped. That it would be easier to just…” he looked over the railing at the ground below, letting his actions finish his sentence. “You told me that if I killed myself you’d bring me back to life and kill me again.”

“And I meant every word… the threat still stands Jack Abbot.” You chuckled, waving your finger at him.

“But you told me about…” he paused, shoving his hands deep into his scrub pockets with a huff. “About your suicide attempt in college, and while you were doing better, the thoughts still crept in from time to time.”

“They do, Jack.”

“So when Dana said someone jumped off the roof…”

“You thought it was me.” You said matter of factly.

“Y-yeah.” His sniffled, turning away from you quickly. He ran his fingers through his curly hair, and you wanted to reach out and do the same. His breath was shaky as he began to sob. Your stone cold attending was actually crying.

“Jack…” you whispered taking ahold of his hand. “I’m right here. Touch me. I’m here.”

He turned to face you, a single tear running down his cheek. He hesitated before running his fingers through your hair gently, his other hand cupping the back of your neck. You shut your eyes as his callused, overworked fingers brushed against your soft skin.

“I’ve lost so much… my wife, my men, he’ll even my fucking foot. I can’t lose you too.” He buried his face into the crook of your neck, raking his hands up your body, making sure you were real. Your breath hitched at his touch, hands traveling to his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Maybe there was something between you two.

#the pitt #shawn hatosy #noah wyle #michael robinavitch #dr abbott #dr abbot #fanfic #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbott x reader #dr abbot x reader #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbott #dr robinavitch #dr robby #dr michael robinavitch #dr. robby #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction

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lazysoulwriter · 27 days ago

Text

right where he belongs. - Pedro Pascal.

requested! thank you. ♡ content: Pedro Pascal x reader (established relationship), Pedro bonding with reader’s two kids (a boy and a toddler girl), found family feels, proud stepdad energy, wholesome moments, emotional softness, bio dad is absent but not villainized

---

Pedro had never set out to become a father figure. But life didn’t care about his plans. It gave him you — and by extension, it gave him them.

Your son was seven, sharp and sweet with the kind of brain that never stopped moving. Your daughter had just turned three — all curls, dimples, and chaotic opinions. And somehow, in the beautiful mess of your life, Pedro had found a home.

He didn’t try to replace their dad.

That man was still around — technically. The occasional birthday call, the missed soccer games, the promises that always fell flat. Your son had learned not to ask. Your daughter was too little to understand yet.

But Pedro was there.

He showed up. Every single time.

He was there in the bleachers at every Saturday game, clapping way too loud and yelling “THAT’S MY GUY!” anytime your son so much as kicked the ball in the right direction. He wore the team T-shirt, brought snacks, and took a hundred blurry action shots on his phone.

Your son beamed every time.

He was there during school drop-offs and pickups, holding your daughter’s tiny hand and crouching to let her show him which sticker she got from her teacher. He always asked her what she learned. He always kissed her forehead before buckling her into the car.

And he was proud.

God, he was so proud.

At the parent showcase for your daughter’s daycare, he stood in the back of the room, arms crossed, phone out, absolutely beaming while she clapped off-beat and danced like a jellybean. He didn’t care that other parents were confused — whispering, wondering.

“That’s her dad?” one woman had asked you, a little too nosy.

You smiled without hesitation. “He’s her everything.”

That night, after the kids were in bed, you found Pedro in the living room — holding one of her drawings, a mess of pink scribbles with “PEPO” scrawled in toddler handwriting at the bottom.

He looked up at you with tears in his eyes.

“She wrote my name,” he whispered.

“She knows exactly who you are.”

He swallowed, brushing his thumb over the crayon lines. “I just want them to feel safe. Like they matter. Like someone is always in their corner.”

You crossed the room and curled into his lap, arms around his neck. “They do. Because of you.”

Weeks later, at your son’s school event — a science fair — Pedro was the one helping him carry in the project board, adjusting his little collared shirt, high-fiving him before he stepped up to explain the volcano model.

He watched like it was an Oscar-winning performance.

When your son looked out into the crowd mid-presentation, scanning the faces for someone, his eyes locked on Pedro.

And he smiled.

Not because his dad showed up — he didn’t.

But because Pedro did. Just like always.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @kellyxo1 @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure @barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512

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rynwrites4fun · 2 months ago

Text

Eyes On Me | Jack Abbot x Popstar ! Reader

Jack Abbot x f!Popstar ! Reader

Summary: You’re a breakout popstar on your first headlining tour. Fame hit fast—sold-out shows, screaming fans, and nonstop momentum. But behind the scenes, it’s overwhelming. You’re struggling to keep up with the pressure and pace. After collapsing backstage after a show in Pittsburg, you’re rushed to the ER—where you meet Dr. Jack Abbott.

Word Count: 6491

Warning: Age Gap (mid 20’s/late 40’s or early 50’s,) Mentions of mental health struggles discussions of suicidal thoughts/behavior

Author's Notes: Hi I’m ryn. Honestly this fanfic was is for myself LOL. Jack Abbot x Popstar ! Reader has been circling in my brain for the last 3 days and I just had to brain dump a story. Sorry for any grammatical errors and/or inaccuracies and unrealistic aspects. Like I said brain dump I just needed to get this out of my head before I went crazy. This is just for fun. Okay, enjoy.

Pittsburgh—night 22 of 36 shows on your tour across North America, all crammed into two relentless months.

Your career had skyrocketed overnight. One day, you dropped your first single, Hands and the next, your song was all over the radio. Suddenly, you were doing live performances on late-night shows, Hollywood events, and festivals, posing for magazine covers, releasing your debut album Sultry, and now headlining your first tour.

Performing and creating music was everything you ever wanted, but it came at a cost. You’ve been silently struggling for a while now. The pace, the preassure, expectations, the sheer magnitude of it all were starting to wear down—physically, mentally, and emotionally. You just wished you could hit pause. Slow it all down. Everything was happening so fast. You were trying to figure out how to process it all. And beneath all that, you felt incredibly lonely.

You were exhausted, but you kept going anyway. You had to. People depended on you, your fans, your team, the crew, your label. You didn’t want to let anyone down, so you pushed through, running on fumes, but after tonight's show, it finally caught up to you. Once the curtains closed and your adrenaline wore off, you collapsed.

—-

11:25 pm Dr. Jack Abbot reads on the computer at the ER’s Central station. His shift had started three hours ago, and so far, it had been uneventful. A few drunkards in a bar fight, some run-of-the-mill illnesses, the occasional kitchen mishap—nothing out of the ordinary. The night was still young.

“We got the bus coming from PGG Paints Arena. ETA 5 minutes” a nurse calls out.

“Heard!” Jack shouts as he types.

“Oh skin to skin, your touch feels like a sin- I want you can’t you see, I need your hands all over me…” Doctor John Shen sang under his breath a high pitch voice as he picked up a clipboard off the central counter and scans through it.

John continued to mumble words. Jack raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the report he was typing up to look at his fellow attending.

John could feel Jack's eyes and looked up at him. John shrugs “Hey, Hands is a catchy song…gulity pleasure” he said, unbothered by being caught singing something vaguely suggestive. Jack didn’t ask—he just assumed it was some pop song.

“Never heard of it…”

John was shocked. “You’re kidding! You never heard of Hands?” It’s all over the radio- pretty sure it's ranked at number 3 on Billboard Hot 100.”

Jack sighs, “I don’t listen to the radio, or pop music for that matter, Shen”

“Right, you listen to a police scanner in your free time like you’re-” John drops his voice into a gravelly imitation and makes a grump face “Batman”

Jack rolls his eyes, continuing to type.

“Honestly, if nightshift were a superheros you’d definitely be Batman- you know, you finding comfort in the dark and all-” John was a talker, already veering into one of his usual tangents.

“Anyway, the singer of Hands, biggest Popstar in the world right now- she had a concert tonight at the area- she’s sold out 36 shows across North America– impressive honestly–”

Jack was only half-listening—actually, not even that. He hummed and nodded anyway, pretending he was following along. Jack usually zoned out when John was on his tangents when it was something not related to work.

“You should listen to her stuff, it’s actually really good! Her album Sultry—I’ve been playing it on my way to work some nights. For a debut album, it’s pretty solid. Bop after bop, banger after banger—”

“Don’t you have patients to attend to, Shen?” Jack cut in, needing him to stop yapping.

Jack looks over his shoulder, his attention drawn to sudden commotion in the ambulance bay behind him. Muffled noise, shouting, screaming, and strobe of camera flashes lit up the glass of the automatic doors. The chaos was visible—but just barely contained.

“What the hell is going on?” He furrowed his eyebrows as he fully turned around, and straightened himself from hunching over one of the computer monitors.

“The bus just pulled up,” John says

“Yeah, but-”

Before Jack could take a step or say anything more, the automatic bay doors slid open. The muffled noise from outside crashed into the ER like a wave.

The paramedics burst through, wheeling in the gurney. The head of the gurney was propped at an angle.

“Well I be damned, it's her” John said casually, like Jack was supposed to know exactly who she was.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows as he looked over John “Who?”

John shot Jack an annoyed You weren’t listening look and said your name. “Only the biggest popstars in the world right now—ring any bells? The whole conversation we just had- came on, old man, weren’t you listening?”

From where Jack stood, he could see a young woman—you—trembling, your breaths shallow and rapid.

Your hair was disheveled, makeup smudged and streaked. A bomber jacket draped loosely over your shoulders. But beneath it, he caught a flash of purple sparkles—stagewear, most likely.

Beside the two paramedics wheeling you in, three people buzzed around you like bees, talking over one another, yet you looked numb. Not registering or taking anything they were saying.

The paramedic shouted over all the noise and commotion "Twenty-five-year-old female, syncopal episode post-performance. Now conscious and alert—”

Somehow, through the rush and chaos, your eyes managed to find Jack’s. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul—and in that moment, yours didn’t lie.

Jack didn’t see a popstar. He saw a human. A woman who looked disassociated, exhausted. Sad. Worn thin.

He’d seen that same look before—in the military, and even here, on the job. That quiet, aching kind of broken. The kind that creeps in when you’ve been running on empty for too long.

Time seemed to slow as you were wheeled past him. He was an older man, a doctor you assumed. You couldn’t look away from his dark eyes. The look in his eyes. No one had ever looked at you like that—not the way he was in that moment. Different from every glance, every stare you’d ever known. And for a moment, you thought he could see you. Really see you. The weight of it made you sit up slightly, still staring back at him.

“I got this one- South Wing, Exam Room 4 —move her!” John barked, falling in step beside the gurney as it sped past, your eye contact with Jack breaking.

Snapping out what felt like a trance, Jack gets back to work.

“Call for more security-” Jack snaps one of the nurses as he bolts from central, heading to the ambulance bay. The two security guards on duty were overwhelmed, struggling to control the crowd.

“Hey! HEY! you can’t be here unless you are sick, injured, dying or are here for someone that is!” He shouts over the chaos “If not get the hell out of my ER and ambulance bay!!!”

The commotion only grows—cameras flashing, people yelling, shoving for a better view, the frenzy thick with screams and blinding light.

More security comes to help push everyone back out, managing the crowd. Jack exhales, knowing they’ve got it under control. Without another word, he turns on his heel and makes his way back inside, the chaos fading behind him like background noise.

He was going to head to your exam room—something about you lingered. That look in your eyes. He’d seen people in pain before, but this was something different. Quieter. Deeper. And he couldn’t shake it.

He was gonna head over to your exam room, but he was cut off by another nurse.

“Doctor Abbot! Trauma Room 1—stabbing victim”

Jack glanced down the South Wing, hesitating for half a second.

“Copy that,” he said, before turning and rushing toward Trauma Room 1.

___

The exam room was loud and overcrowded. Your manager, publicist, and assistant hovered around you as a nurse tried to take your vitals and ask you basic intake questions. Doctor Shen was trying–unsuccessfully– to get your team to leave so their staff could do their job, but my manager refused.

“It’s best if you wait outside-” The doctor states.

Your manager protested “No!”

“Look, we can’t do our job effectively and efficiently if-” the doctor is cut off by your manager.

“Well your medical professionals! I’m pretty sure you can handle extra people in a room! Hello, you do surgeries and what not with more than five people in a room!”

Your chest heaved as you sat there, still listening, your breathing shallow and uneven.

“For the sake of the patient—”

“Well, the sake of my client—”

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop!” You said sharply. “Mac, give them space-”

“What?” Your manager blinked, stunned.

“Let them do their job. I—I feel fine, like I told the paramedics,” You said quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “They just need to check me out. Once they see everything’s okay, I’ll be out of here in no time. And we’ll hit the road”

That was a lie. You didn’t feel fine.

All these eyes on you—the world—and yet none of them truly saw you.

They couldn’t tell you were faking it. Couldn’t see how much you were silently struggling. How you really felt. Not even the people you saw every day. Part of you felt guilty for even being here—for slowing everything down, for putting yourself and your team behind schedule. Everyone was counting on you. And you were falling apart.

Your manager sighed “Alright.” nodded in agreement, and the rest of your team quietly made their way out of your exam room and directed to the family room.

You let out a sigh.

“Sorry about them, I didn't mean to cause any trouble.” You apologized to Doctor Shen and the Nurse as they began to check my vitals.

“Don’t sweat it. It’s fine—comes with the territory in the ER. Your team’s not the first to argue with us, and they’re definitely not the worst.”

You let out a breath, nodding faintly.

“Still… I hate that it got like that.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. What we should be focusing on is you. Is it okay if we go over a few questions?”

Doctor Shen and the nurse continued their routine—asking questions, checking my vitals. I answered them all, but inside, I felt numb. Like I was moving through it on autopilot.

When they finally left, the silence swallowed everything.

You later there for god knows how long. Curled up on your side, motionless.

Your boots were scattered nearby, forgotten. The tights clung to me like a second skin, and the purple sparkle bodysuit caught the fluorescent lights—still shimmering like it belonged on a stage, not under a hospital ceiling.

But you kept it all in. You didn't let yourself break. Even though you wanted to. Desperately. Ypu wanted to scream. To beg someone to just see me. To understand. To notice what youwere holding together by threads.

You needed somewhere to go. Anywhere but these walls.

You slid off the exam bed, my boots still on the floor, untouched. You didn’t bother putting them back on. You didn’t need to. Out in the ER, the chaos buzzed around me—everyone seemed preoccupied, moving in their own world. But none of that mattered. You didn’t stop.

As you quickly searched for an escape, anything to get away, I finally found the stairs. Floor after floor, my body moved on autopilot, pulled by some quiet instinct—a need for silence. For up.

The rooftop door wasn’t even locked.

And suddenly, there you were —standing beneath the open night sky, the wind pulling at my hair, the city lights stretching out below me like a pulse, faint but steady.

___

Jack peeled off his gloves and paper gown, tossing them into the overstuffed disposal bin without a second glance. His safety glasses came off next, dropped into a tray with a soft clatter.

The stabbing victim had finally been stabilized—barely. They’d coded multiple times on the table, the blood loss severe, the damage extensive. It had been a fight, but for now, they had a pulse.

Jack made his way to the center of the ER, eyes lifting to the patient triage board glowing on the monitors above the central station. He stood there for a moment, just staring—taking it all in, processing the chaos the way only someone used to it could.

John approached quietly, coming to stand beside him. For a moment, neither of them spoke—just two physicians staring up at the ever-shifting list of names, numbers, and needs blinking across the screen.

“Rough night,” John finally said, his voice low, more of a statement than a question.

Jack didn’t look away. “When isn’t it?”

Jack’s eyes stayed on the board, but his mind drifted.

The popstar.

He didn’t even need to say her name—she was already burned into the back of his mind. The look in her eyes when they brought her in.

“How’s she doing?” he asked finally, still staring ahead.

John followed his gaze for a beat, then glanced at the chart in her hand.

“Vitals stabilized. Labs were all over the place when she came in—dehydration, low electrolytes, stress markers through the roof. But mostly?” She paused. “She’s just exhausted. Like, bone-deep. Extreme fatigue. Burnout, plain and simple.”

Jack finally turned to face him.

“Does she say anything?”

John shook her head. “Not much. I didn't need to. You could see it all over her.”

Jack nodded slowly, jaw tightening just slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You could see it the second she walked in… or was wheeled in.”

He leaned on the edge of the counter, eyes distant now, somewhere far above the triage board. “It wasn’t just physical. It was in her eyes. Like she’d been running on fumes for a long time, and this was the moment her body finally said ‘no more.’”

John studied him for a moment. “You connected with her.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. He just let out a quiet breath through his nose, staring at the board, but not really seeing it anymore.

“Maybe it’s because I’ve seen it before,” he said quietly. “That look. The kind of exhaustion that doesn’t show up in lab results. The kind that runs deeper than what anyone can measure. You can tell when someone’s been running on empty for too long... and their body just finally gives out.”

John says “She still has 14 more shows left. With the pace she’s been going, I honestly don’t know how she’s made it this far.”

A flash of purple caught their attention.

Jack’s eyes snapped to the hallway just in time to see you slip from your room—glittering tights and a purple sparkle jumpsuit, unmistakable even in the dim hospital light. You moved quickly, your bare feet barely making a sound against the cold tile, as though you were trying to be unnoticed, trying to outrun something—or maybe trying to find something.

John caught the movement too, his gaze following you down the hall. “I bet she’s headed to the roof,” he muttered, voice low, tinged with understanding.

Jack’s eyes stayed fixed on you, his jaw tightening.

Jack didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened as he watched you slip through the door at the end of the hall, already heading for the stairs.

John frowned, glancing at Jack. “You think she’s gonna be alright up there?”

Jack didn’t answer immediately. He just stared after you, his mind racing. There was something about the way you moved—like you were running, but didn’t know where you were running to. It made something shift in him.

“People like her… people like us, sometimes,” Jack began, his voice quieter, “they forget they don’t always have to do it alone. That there are moments where it’s okay to stop pretending.”

John didn’t push, but there was a silent understanding between them.

Jack was already moving toward the stairwell, his steps purposeful now. "I’ll check on her."

Jack follows your path, climbing up several flights of stairs to get to the roof

When he finally reached the rooftop, the door creaked open softly, the cool night air greeting him as he stepped out onto the open space. His eyes immediately found you on the other side of the railing, standing still, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you were trying to hold together everything that felt like it might break.

You were staring out into the distance, as if the city lights could somehow offer you the answers you were looking for.

___

“Hey,” he says, his voice low but steady.

You let out yelp, startled by the sudden voice. You hadn’t expected anyone else up here. Your hands instinctively grab the railing behind you, gripping it tightly for support. There was still a sliver of space between you and the edge, but your heart was already racing.

“Whoa, whoa—careful now,” says quickly, a hoodie draped over his arm. His hands rise in a calming gesture, fanning out as if to steady you.

You glance over your shoulder, blinking in disbelief. It’s him—the man you locked eyes with earlier across the chaos. Tall, calm, dressed in black scrubs that cling to his frame like a shadow. His salt-and-pepper curls are tousled just enough to soften the sharpness of the stubble along his jaw.

“I’m Doctor Abbot,” he continues, stepping closer but keeping his distance.

“I didn’t come up here to jump—” you say defensively.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

“No, really—I’m serious. I just—” You hesitated, your eyes drifting away.

It wasn’t a total lie. The thought had crossed your mind once or twice before—on different nights, in different places—This wasn’t that.

You just needed space. A moment to think, to breathe.

“Hey…” he says softly. “I get it. I head up here to get away from everything down there.”

He nods toward where you’re standing. “That spot? It’s usually mine.”

You glance at him, surprised.

“I’ve seen enough chaos for ten lifetimes,” he adds with a faint smile. “Up here’s the only place where no one’s life is on the line or yelling at me.” His voice carries a dry edge—half joke, half truth.

He steps closer to the railing.

“Do you mind?” he asks, gesturing to the space beside you, silently asking for permission.

You give him a quick glance, and he understands—it’s okay. He ducks under the railing and steps up beside you, settling in quietly.

He lowers himself to the ground, knees drawn to his chest, arms resting loosely on top. His back leans against the railing with a quiet familiarity. After a moment, you follow suit, settling beside him, sitting cross-legged in the hush of the night.

A silence falls between us as we look at the city skyline.

“I come up here when I need to feel like a person again. Not a doctor. Not the guy who’s supposed to keep it all together. Just… me.”

He lets out a slow breath. “There are nights—some harder than others—where the thought crosses my mind. Of just… stepping off. Letting go.”

He pauses “But something always stops me. Reminds me why I stay.”

He glances at you, voice quieter now.

“It’s the need to help people. To connect. Even when it’s messy… even when it hurts. It’s what keeps me tethered. It’s what drives me. It’s in my DNA”

Jack hadn’t shared that part of himself because he was looking for comfort. He shared it because he saw something in you—something he couldn’t ignore.

He couldn’t shake the look in your eyes from earlier, when they wheeled you in. That numb, exhausted sadness. The silent plea buried deep in your gaze. A quiet scream for someone—anyone—to really see you.

You were young—early twenties, maybe. A pop star. To the world, you probably seemed untouchable. Perfect. Living the kind of life most people only dream of.

But up close, all Jack saw was someone unraveling. Someone barely holding on. And he’d seen enough to know that pain doesn’t care who you are, how famous you are, or how bright the spotlight is.

And he couldn’t imagine what it must be like.

To be seen by the eyes of everyone… but never really seen.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… this is where I come to stop pretending. So… no pretending. You don’t need to be anything up here, okay? I see you.”

My head snaps up at his words. “W-what?” your eyes widened, caught off guard.

“I said… I see you,” he repeats, voice steady, eyes locked on mine with quiet intensity.

Something in you breaks. Your lips start to tremble, and then the tears come—uncontrollable, unstoppable. You start to sob, the weight of everything finally cracking open.

This man—this stranger—was the first person to really look past the surface. To notice the pain you’d been drowning in. To see you, not the version of you the world demands.

And in that moment, you realize how long you’ve been waiting for someone to do exactly that.

Without a word, he takes the hoodie he’s been holding and gently drapes it over your bare shoulders, shielding you from the cool night air. The fabric is warm, worn, and smells faintly of him—clean soap and something grounding.

You lean into his side, drawn by a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure, then instinct takes over. His arm wraps around you, slow and careful, like he doesn’t want to startle you. His hand begins to rub your arm—slow, steady circles. Not to fix anything. Just to let me know you're not alone.

The sobs come in waves—raw, jagged, leaving your chest aching and my throat tight. I try to stifle them, to keep it quiet, but he doesn’t flinch. He just stays beside me, steady and still, his hand never leaving my arm.

Eventually, it passes. Not completely, but enough for you to breathe again. Your chest still hiccups with the occasional shuttered breath,

“I—I don’t even know where to start,” You whisper, voice hoarse from crying. “I just… I’m so exhausted.”

He says nothing, but his presence says I’m here. Take your time.

“Everything happened so fast—my career, all of it. It’s like I’m on this train, expecting stops along the way… but it just keeps speeding past every one of them. No breaks. No time to breathe.”

You pause, trying to find the right words through the tightness in my chest.

“And then there’s the pressure. The expectations. People depend on me—my fans, my team, the crew, the label... all of them. I’m supposed to be the one who holds it all together.”

Your voice wavers. “But inside, I’ve been unraveling. It’s like I’m screaming, and no one hears it. Or worse—they hear it and just… don’t care.”

You glance up at him, tears clinging to my lashes, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I have everything I thought I wanted. Everything I dreamed of since I was a little girl. And I still feel empty. So lonely. Like I’m surrounded by people… but completely alone in all of it. My voice cracks on the last words. I look away, ashamed.

Jack doesn’t speak right away.

He just watches you, eyes full of something that feels a lot like understanding. His arm is still around you, steady and warm. And when he finally speaks, his voice is low. Gentle.

“I know that feeling,” he says. “Being surrounded… and still feeling like you’re the only one in the room who’s not okay.”

He exhales slowly, like the weight of my words hit something deep in him too.

“You’re not broken. You’re human. And humans aren’t built to carry everything alone—no matter how strong the world expects us to be.”

He shifts slightly so he can face me more fully, his hand still resting on my arm, grounding me.

“You’re allowed to feel lost. You’re allowed to not have it all together. And just because people look up to you doesn’t mean you owe them everything. You still deserve to be a person. To rest. To be seen.”

He pauses, taking a breath, then adds softly, “Your job is demanding, I get that. But sometimes, you have to do what’s best for you. Put yourself first, even if it means letting others down in the process. You have to take care of yourself. You have to. Don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it, either. Because if you don’t, you’ll find yourself on a path that’s hard to get off of.”

Thank you, Doctor Abbot.”

“Jack,” he corrects gently. “My name’s Jack.”

“Jack,” you repeat with a small smile, then introduce yourself.

He chuckles. “You know… I’m really aging myself here, but I only found out who you were a couple hours ago.” Trying to lighten the mood.

You laugh. “Honestly? That’s kind of refreshing.”

“I don’t really keep up with pop culture,” he admits. “Dr. Shen was the one singing your earlier in our shift—what was it? Hands?”

“Oh god…” you groan, burying your face in your hands. That song was definitely suggestive. Of all the songs…

Jack grins. “What was it—‘Oh skin to skin, your touch feels like a sin… I want you, can’t you see, I need your hands all over me’?” He stumbles through the lyrics, trying to recall them.

“No, no, please don’t sing it!” you laugh, half mortified, half amused.

Jack arches a brow, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? It’s catchy?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Don’t encourage it.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “It’s stuck in my head now.”

“Why don’t you sing it?”

You lift your head, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Jack leans back against the railing, feigning innocence. “What? Fair’s fair. I butchered it—might as well hear it from the professional.”

You stare at him, mouth open. “You want me to sing that song? Right now?”

He shrugs with a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re the one who wrote it. Own it.”

You groan again, dramatically flopping your head back. “Absolutely not.”

He arches a brow, clearly amused. “Why because it’s…?”

You shoot him a glare, cheeks burning. “You know why.”

Jack smirks. “Nope. Enlighten me.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands for a second before peeking at him through your fingers. “Because that song is suggestive, okay? And I’m not gonna put on a whole performance for the guy I just met while sitting on the edge of a hospital rooftop.”

He grins, utterly unbothered by your embarrassment. “I mean, you might as well—you’ve got the outfit, so you’re halfway there.”

Jack shrugs, his expression playful. “It’s not every day I get to share a rooftop with a pop star. Kind of a once-in-a-lifetime moment, don’t you think?”

You come back quickly. You cross your arms, giving him a teasing look. “But hey, if you’re lucky, I might just give you a private concert… somewhere a little less public.”

You freeze for a heartbeat, flustered, but the moment passes just as quickly as it came. Jack looks out over the city again, that easy smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His brows rise, amused, but he doesn’t say anything right away—just lets the silence stretch for a beat too long before offering a slow, teasing smile.

“Oh really?” he says lightly, head tilting. “Didn’t realize I’d stumbled into the VIP experience.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—I didn’t mean it like that, I—” You groan, running a hand through your hair. “That came out so wrong. I swear I’m not flirting.”

Oh, but you were.

And so was he.

Somehow, without meaning to, the two of you had tangled yourselves into this strange, electric mess. One minute you were unpacking the weight of everything you’d buried inside, the next, you were tossing playful banter back and forth like it was the most natural thing in the world. Somewhere between the quiet confessions and the shared silence, something shifted. Neither of you planned for it, neither of you were sure what to call it—but whatever this was, it felt real. Unexpected, but real.

Jack knew this was unprofessional—wildly unprofessional. He knew better. He should have known better. She was a patient—vulnerable, barely holding herself together just hours ago and years younger. The kind of line he’d never imagined crossing. Every rule in the book told him to step back, to keep the boundary clear and intact.

He told himself it was harmless. Just words, just a moment. He told himself it was just a moment. Just a conversation. But even he knew that was a lie. Jack knew it was more. This wasn’t about flirting. It was about connection—messy, imperfect, unexpected connection—and despite everything telling him to walk away, he couldn’t bring himself to.

Not yet.

Jack chuckles, clearly enjoying every second of your flustered state.

“Oh great—now you’ve seen me at my absolute worst and my most embarrassing.”

You groan, pressing your palms to your face. “I swear, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, I know what you meant,” he says with mock seriousness, nodding slowly. “A pop star tries to seduce a jaded ER doctor with a rooftop concert. Very scandalous. Very tabloid-friendly.”

You peek at him through your fingers, trying not to laugh. “Stop.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “This is humiliating.”

“Come on,” he says, nudging your arm with a lopsided grin. “If anything, I should be flattered. First time I’ve ever flirted with a pop star on a rooftop.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” you insist, a little defensive.

“Keep telling yourself that,”

Silence falls between you two again.

Jack looks at his watch. 1:13 am

“We should probably head back down,” Jack says, standing up and using the railing to steady himself.

“Right…”He ducks under the bars, making his way back to the safe side.

You follow suit, and he extends his hand toward you, offering support as you step back over to the safer side. You take his hand, steadying yourself as you make the move.

___

None of you speak as you head back down to the main floor of the ER. The silence hangs between you as Jack walks you back to your exam room, his footsteps steady and measured.

Once inside, Jack’s gaze softens, his expression shifting to something more serious. “The tests came back, and it’s clear you’re dealing with extreme fatigue and exhaustion,” he says, his voice calm but insistent. “Your body’s been running on empty for too long, and it’s starting to take its toll.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his words settle before continuing. “I’m recommending that you take some time off, but I also think it’s crucial that you talk to someone—a therapist. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s important to get the support you need to process everything properly.”

Jack looks at you with genuine concern. “We’ll discharge you soon, but I want to make sure your team knows what’s going on. I’ll have a word with them so they understand the need for you to take a step back for a while. You need the time to focus on yourself and heal.”

He pauses again, reaching into his pocket. “I’m also going to write down some resources for you—therapists and support groups, people who can help you through this. I want you to have everything you need to get better, okay?”

“Thank you,” you say quietly, feeling the weight of everything finally starting to settle.

Jack gives you a small nod, his expression softening. “The nurse will come back soon to hook you up to an IV to rehydrate. Rest as much as you can.” He pauses for a moment before adding,

“I’ll come in a check up you soon”

With a final glance, he turns and leaves, the door clicking softly behind him. The room feels quieter now, but in a way, the silence feels less heavy—like a small sense of relief has finally started to creep in.

___

6:30am Day shift would be coming soon to relieve the night shift.

You’d stayed in the ER throughout the night. Your team stayed with you too—quiet, worried, but present. When you woke up, you finally opened up to your manager. You told him everything—how you’d been feeling, how long it had been building, how it all finally broke.

He listened. Really listened.

And when you were done, he looked at you—genuinely shaken. “I had no idea you were carrying all that,” he said, his voice low with guilt. “I’m so sorry. You should’ve never felt like you had to keep this to yourself.”

He reassured you that things would change. That they’d meet with the label, reevaluate everything. “If we have to cancel the rest of the tour, so be it,” he said firmly. “You—your well-being—that’s what matters now. Nothing else is more important.”

___

“Alright you’re all set” Doctor Shen says, officially releasing you from the hospital.

I was still in my stage outfit, my boots in hand, and wearing Jack’s hoodie.

“Thanks, Doctor Shen,” you say, grateful as you start to turn.

“Wait!” he calls after you, stopping you in your tracks. “Before you go, do you think I could get your autograph?”

You pause, surprised, then smile. “Yeah, of course,” you say, walking back over with a light laugh. It’s a small, sweet moment, something you didn’t expect, but somehow felt right—maybe even grounding in its own way. You take a moment to sign, your pen moving across the paper as you look up at him with a warm smile.

“Thanks for everything,” you add, handing it back to him.

You see Jack, approaching.

“Would you like an autograph too?” I joke

“Wow I really downgraded there. What happened to my VIP Experience? My private show?”

“You’re still on about that?”

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, I had big expectations for this VIP experience. Autographs? Really?” He sighs dramatically, pretending to be disappointed.

“Raincheck on the VIP experience?”

He nods, chuckling softly. “Alright, I’ll hold you to it”

“So…what are your plans now?” He asks.

You glance behind your shoulder, catching sight of Mac pacing on the phone, waiting for you by the automatic doors of the ambulance bay. “Uh, headed back home actually. Mac, my manager, is talking to the rest of the team and my label about me canceling the rest of the tour, taking care of my wellbeing,” you explain.

“That’s great to hear,” Jack says, his tone soft, genuine.

Silence falls between you two, an awkward pause that neither of you knows how to fill. You both understand, without saying it, that this is probably the first and last time you’d be seeing each other.

You shift your weight, unsure of what to say next, and Jack clears his throat, glancing down at the ground for a moment before meeting your eyes one last time. “Take care of yourself, alright?” he says, his voice sincere.

You give a small nod, managing a quiet, “You too.”

Jack steps back, his hands in his pockets, his expression still thoughtful. “I meant what I said earlier… about getting the help you need. It’s important.” His words hang in the air between you, as if he’s trying to convey something deeper, something he might not have the chance to say again.

You nod, the weight of the moment settling in. “I will,” you reply softly, feeling the weight of everything you’ve been through start to press against you again.

You start to walk towards the automatic doors, the hallway stretching ahead, but you stop. You can still feel Jack’s eyes on me, pulling me back. You turn around, your feet moving almost without thinking, and walk back to him.

He looks up at you, confused by your sudden change, but before he can say anything, you drop your boots on the floor and fling your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. You hold him for a moment, feeling the warmth of his embrace, his hands finding your waist and wrapping his arms under his hoodie that you’re wearing.

“I didn’t think anyone could see me,” you murmur, your voice soft and vulnerable. “But somehow, you did. All these eyes on me, yet you’re the one who truly sees.” You hold him tighter. “Thank you… for seeing me. For truly seeing me.”

Before you pull away, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, a gentle gesture that lingers for just a second longer than expected. You let go, picking up your boots, and walk toward the automatic doors.

You take one last glance back, giving him a small wave, and for a fleeting moment, you catch his gaze. But then, you turn away, making your way out, leaving the hospital and the weight of everything behind you. I won't look back again.

___

Doctor Michael Robinavitch, 30 minutes early for his day’s shift, strolled beside Jack with a coffee cup in hand. He noticed the young woman in a shiny outfit, wearing Jack's hoodie. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Jack's cheek before pulling away. Leaving the ER with her boots in hand. She shot Jack a final look, a wave and then disappeared out of the automatic doors.

Jack stood there, still in a bit of a daze. He hadn’t noticed Michael approaching. He could still feel the warmth of her kiss on his cheek, the feeling lingering far longer than it should have.

Michael finally broke the silence, glancing at Jack. “She took your hoodie.”

Jack blinked, coming back to himself, and then offered a small smile. “I know,” he said, his voice a little distant.

Michael raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, guess that’s one way to make a lasting impression.”

Jack chuckled, a soft, almost wistful sound. He rubbed his cheek absently, still feeling the imprint of her kiss. “Yeah… guess so.”

Michael leaned against the counter, watching his friend with a knowing look. “You’re still thinking about it, huh?”

Jack met his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Maybe.”

A quiet moment passed between them. Jack knew, deep down, he’d probably never see her again. She was a pop star, and he was just another ER doctor. Their worlds were too different. But still, there was something about that moment—that made him hope he’d be wrong.

“I hope I do,” Jack muttered, almost to himself.

Michael looked at him, the playful edge gone from his voice. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Jack didn’t say anything else, his mind still caught up in the strange, fleeting connection. He wasn’t sure if it would ever turn into anything more, but for now, the memory of her was enough.

(another part??? let me know)

#the pitt #the pitt max #the pitt x reader #jack abbot #jack abbott #dr abbot #dr abbott #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot fic #dr abbott x reader #dr abbott x you #the pitt fanfiction #shawn hatosy #jack abbott fanfic

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bytemee · 3 months ago

Text

7 RINGS — yu jimin.

"i see it, i like it, i want it, i got it."

synopsis. it starts with a glance—karina watching you a little too closely, your name slipping into places it shouldn’t. then it becomes a habit, an obsession—one you don’t notice until she’s already too close, too intoxicating, too impossible to resist.

pairing. idol!karina x idol!beefy!fem!reader

warning(s). 18+ (smut), power imbalance, alcohol consumption, reader was supposed to be gp but i got lazy and ended it early, facesitting, reader is a virgin & shy

words. 2.5k

authors note. zhank u for the request i hope u enjoy ok bye thx

navigation. main masterlist. request.

the first time you notice it, you're on stage, mid-performance, sweat slicking the back of your neck as you move through the choreography. it’s not unusual to have idols watching—everyone does it at these joint events—but when your eyes briefly scan the crowd, there she is.

karina.

seated with her members, half-focused on the camera trained on her, the other half on you. she’s watching, eyes sharp, lip caught between her teeth like she’s analyzing every move you make. the moment your gazes meet, her lips twitch up into a smirk, and then she looks away as if nothing had happened. as if she wasn't staring at you so intensely, it was like she could see under your skin.

you don’t know what to think. but the way your stomach swoops is telling.

fancams catch it, of course. the clips flood twitter within the hour:

"karina caught staring again. if y/n goes missing we know who did it..."

"she’s so real for this."

"girl is ovulating.”

you think it’s nothing at first. just coincidence. maybe she’s zoning out. but then it happens again. and again.

at a variety show, she picks your song for the random dance segment. in an interview, she calls your group "her favorite juniors" before the mc can even finish asking. at a fansign, she smiles at the sight of a fan showing her your photocard, almost taking it for herself before she realizes and hands it back.

the more times it happens, the more you start to wonder. why is karina so invested in your group? why does she always seem so attentive during your performances? you never ask her directly—it feels presumptuous somehow—but when your companies start bringing you closer together, you learn to read the signs.

she doesn’t treat you like her junior. not anymore. her gaze is appraising, evaluating—not unkindly, just…intense. and when you're called to the same event or magazine shoot, she speaks to you like an equal, as if you're one of her peers rather than a k-pop rookie. it's strange, but not unwelcome. in fact, you kind of enjoy it.

the night after the performance was a blur: the high from the stage, the adrenaline of the crowd, the dizzy excitement of drinking too much champagne. you were tipsy, giggling a little more than usual, the alcohol warming your blood as you and karina stepped into the same car, heading back to your dorms on different sides of korea.

the drive was quiet at first, but then the laughter started. a joke here, a teasing comment there. she had no qualms about putting you in your place, but she did so with a smile. as if she knew exactly how to make you laugh, even though you'd only interacted a handful of times. it didn't take long for that warmth to spread further, until you couldn't tell the difference between the champagne buzz and the feeling of being around her.

when you got out of the car, you were still smiling. still tipsy. and when she grabbed your hand to lead you inside your dorm, you let her. pulling her back when she tried to leave your room and return to the car outside.

"what?" she asked, voice soft, brows raised. "do you want me to stay?"

the question hung in the air for a moment. a loaded one.

you hesitated. then nodded.

"yeah, can't have you falling over and hitting your head," you said with a light laugh, playing it off as a joke.

but when you met her eyes, you could tell she saw right through you.

"okay," she murmured, lips curling up in amusement. "whatever you say." you could see she was tipsy as well, the pink on her cheeks mirroring yours.

when she closed the door behind her, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. your heart was racing, your skin prickling. you were aware of every inch of space between you, yet somehow hyperaware of how close she was.

then, she stepped forward. closing the gap.

you go still.

and she waits—watching, reading you like she always does, giving you the chance to pull away.

you do, dropping your gaze to the floor. "i uh, i never had my first kiss before."

a pause.

"can i be your first?"

your breath catches in your throat. this isn't what you expected, but you don't know why. because she's karina? because she's older than you? or is it because you've spent the last few months wondering whether this could happen?

you take a deep breath. nod once.

karina smiles. and leans in.

"close your eyes," she murmurs.

you do, and she presses a kiss to your cheek. soft, barely there. testing the waters. you swallow thickly, stomach swooping again, hands instinctively reaching out for her. she's warm under your fingertips, soft against your chest as you lean into her. her lips touch your jaw this time, moving closer to your mouth, teasing. teasing until you turn your head just enough, meeting her halfway.

the first brush of her lips against yours is gentle. so gentle you hardly feel it. but it's enough to send your heart racing faster, to make your head spin with a fresh wave of warmth. when you press closer, she hums softly against your mouth, one hand sliding down to grasp your waist.

the next kiss is harder, deeper, her tongue sliding between your lips. your grip tightens, pulling her flush against you, needing to feel the heat of her body through your clothes. she kisses like she performs: precise, focused, determined. like she knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. and you let her guide you, let her control the pace and the pressure, and the way she makes you melt with every stroke of her tongue.

eventually, she pulls back to catch her breath, smiling at the dazed look on your face. her fingers brush your cheek, eyes flickering across your face like she’s memorizing every expression you make. you’re still trying to catch up, still processing what just happened when she leans forward again, brushing a chaste kiss against your lips.

“have you really never had your first kiss before?”

you blink, still dazed. “i—yeah. never kissed anyone before tonight. why did i do something wrong?"

karina laughs softly. "no, of course not. it's cute, that's all."

you blush, feeling embarrassed at her response. being an idol means you don't date, which also means no kissing or anything beyond that. you know most idols have had their first kiss by now, but you've been too busy with music to even think about romance. now that you have experienced it, though, you wish you'd done so sooner. especially if it was going to be karina.

“you’re cute when you’re nervous,” she murmurs, voice just slightly hoarse, her thumb grazing over your bottom lip.

you let out a breathy laugh, trying to mask the way your pulse is hammering. “and you’re—” you stop yourself before you can say something stupid, something that’ll give you away.

karina tilts her head, amused. “i’m what?”

you swallow, shaking your head. “nothing.”

she hums, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn’t press. instead, she leans in again, her lips just barely grazing your jaw as she murmurs, "tell me when it's too much."

too much? it's already too much, just standing this close to her, feeling her breath on your neck and her hand on your hip. but you don't say that. because you don't want her to stop. so you nod, letting out a shaky breath, and karina smiles against your skin.

she kisses down your neck first, featherlight, teasing. then her teeth scrape along your pulse point, making you shiver as the sensation shoots straight between your legs. you inhale sharply, hands tightening on her hips, and she takes it as an invitation, sucking harder.

"is this okay?" she asks quietly.

you nod. "yeah—" your voice cracks. "yeah, keep going."

her lips twitch against your neck, almost like she's laughing, but then her fingers are curling under the hem of your shirt. slowly dragging up your sides, fingertips leaving sparks in their wake. your breath stutters in your throat, goosebumps breaking out across your skin, and she hums appreciatively at your reaction, nails scraping lightly along the curve of your waist.

karina would admit she's obsessed with you. she knows it's ridiculous, but she can't help herself. the moment she saw you, she was drawn to you. something about you captivated her from the very start, and it only grew stronger over time. when your managers started bringing you together, she found any excuse possible to be around you—to watch you dance, to sing with you, to just see you smile. and now here she is, in your room, with your body pressed flush against hers. it's surreal.

she wonders if you feel it too. the attraction. the pull. but then again, maybe she's reading into things. maybe this is nothing more than curiosity, an experiment to satisfy some teenage fantasy. if so, she'll take what she can get, as long as she gets to touch you.

"wait," you whisper suddenly. she stills, pulling back to look at you. "sorry, i'm just… i wanna make you feel good too."

it's her turn to blush this time, eyes widening in surprise before she regains control of herself. "you sure?"

you nod, biting your lower lip, and karina lets out a soft laugh.

"alright," she murmurs, leaning forward once more. her lips find your jaw again, trailing down to your neck as her hands slide under your shirt. fingers brushing over your stomach, tracing the lines of your ribs, teasing along the bottom edge of your bra. you gasp when her nails dig in, scratching lightly, and she takes the opportunity to bite down on the side of your neck.

"what did you have in mind?" she breathes, hot against your skin.

you hesitate, unsure how much you want to give away. she pulls back to meet your gaze, watching you intently, waiting. it takes a moment for you to gather yourself enough to answer, but then you finally manage to say, "i…uh…can you sit down?"

"sit?" she echoes, raising an eyebrow.

your face heats up instantly. "um…yeah. like, on my face."

her eyebrows shoot up even higher, mouth falling open slightly, like she wasn't expecting that. maybe she thought you were going to ask for something vanilla. or maybe she assumed you weren't ready. either way, she seems pleasantly surprised by your request, and you try not to squirm under her stare.

"okay," she says slowly, grinning. "if that's what you want."

"it is," you confirm. "i've never done anything like this before, but—"

she cuts you off with a kiss, one hand coming up to cradle your cheek. it's gentler than before, softer. as if she's savoring the taste of your lips, the feeling of you pressed against her, the sound of your breath hitching when her tongue brushes against yours. you whimper quietly, clinging to her tighter, and she smiles into the kiss.

"i'll be gentle," she promises, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "unless you ask me not to be."

you shiver at the thought, stomach twisting in anticipation, but instead of responding, you simply reach down and tug at the hem of her shirt.

she chuckles, amused. "eager?"

"a little," you admit.

"alright."

she moves back and starts removing her clothes. first her top, revealing smooth, toned skin underneath, followed by her jeans, until she's left in nothing but a pair of panties.

your mouth goes dry at the sight.

"like what you see?"

you swallow, nodding. "yes."

she pushes you backward gently, guiding you toward the bed. you lay down on the mattress, head resting on the pillow, and she crawls after you, straddling your lap. your eyes flicker across her body, drinking in every inch, until finally they settle on the dark stain between her legs.

your hands tug at the band of her panties, trying to pull them down, and she helps you, shifting forward so she can lift one knee up, giving you access. once her underwear is gone, you let your gaze wander again, staring at her center. she's slick and glistening, and the sight makes your head spin.

she shifts forward until her thighs bracket your face, hovering above you. you can feel the heat radiating off her body and smell the faint scent of arousal lingering beneath the perfume on her skin. you breathe in deep, reveling in the way your head spins from the mixture of sensation and scent, and then reach up, hands finding her hips and tugging her down onto your face.

the first touch of her bare skin against your lips is electric. hot and slick and wet, sending a shockwave through your body. you gasp softly, tongue instinctively darting out to taste her, and she shudders, her grip on the bedframe tightening.

"s-shit," she mutters. "that's so hot." you hum in agreement, the vibrations making her twitch above you.

your arms wrap around her legs, holding her steady against your mouth. she wishes she can see the way your biceps flex when you grip her hips, the way the veins in your hands stand out, the way the muscles in your forearms bunch as you keep her still. she can feel them, though, and it turns her on even more, knowing how strong you are. how easily you could hold her down if you wanted.

she can feel the pleasure building already, spreading through her body like wildfire. your tongue is eager, greedy, devouring her without hesitation, and it feels better than she expected.

"god, you're so good at this," she groans, rolling her hips slightly.

you moan again, the praise going straight to your core, and she can't help herself. she rocks down against you, grinding against your face. the sudden movement makes her gasp, pleasure shooting through her body, and you hold her tighter like you don't want her to move. which is true. you love the feeling of her weight on top of you, the taste of her on your tongue, and the scent of her filling your senses.

"oh god," she whimpers, thighs shaking slightly. "please."

your hands move to her ass, pulling her even closer. she cries out when your tongue slips inside her, hips bucking involuntarily. she tries not to grind down on your face too hard, but you seem to enjoy the way her muscles clench around your tongue, and she can't stop herself.

"please," she repeats, desperate.

you moan again, tongue working faster, harder, deeper, until she can't take anymore. her entire body trembles, the tension coiling tightly within her before snapping, sending her crashing over the edge. she moans loudly, riding your face, chasing her release as she shakes and twitches and gasps.

her orgasm lasts for several seconds, her legs quaking uncontrollably. finally, she collapses forward, leaning against the headboard.

"fuck," she breathes, panting. "holy shit."

you pull away, licking your lips clean, and grin. "yeah?"

she laughs weakly. "yeah." then, her eyes travel down your body, taking in the sight of you, and her expression shifts from blissful to predatory.

"take off your clothes."

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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 2 months ago

Text

A DC X DP IDEA #46

Monks?

Imagine dis…

I don’t know if im late to the trend or what, but recently a feed came and it featured Batman’s ridiculous set of skills and when asked he always answered the Tibetan monks.

Like come on, I would understand if the sorcerer supreme taught you how to astral projection and the mental barrier against I don’t know against a species that have evolved telepathy,

But this isn't Marvel.

…..

The Tibetan monks, an enigmatic, unknowable, and allegedly not real, were the whispered origin of some of Batman’s more peculiar skills. Astral projection. Mental shielding. The ability to remain entirely unreadable even to a Martian. When asked how he learned such things, Batman only offered a cryptic, “I trained with the Tibetan monks.” He never elaborated.

That was all it took to spark a minor obsession in his children and allies alike. If the monks could turn him into Batman, surely they were worth finding. And so they searched from combining every high-tech gadget, satellite scan, magical locator, and favor they could think of. Damian even tried to guilt-trip his father using a technique called “puppy dog eyes” courtesy from Dick. Nothing worked. Every lead crumbled like dust. The monks, if they ever existed, were impossible to trace.

The truth? The monks didn’t exist.

There had only ever been one monk.

And he was not a monk at all.

Years before the cowl, before Gotham knew the name Batman, Bruce had limped and escaped out of the League of Assassins with more bruises than bones and a fresh set of enemies. Refusing Ra’s al Ghul and his daughter had not gone over well. He’d wandered half-dead into the snowy wilds of the Himalayas, not sure where he was going, only that it needed to be far, far away.

Then darkness. Cold. Silence. A silhouette. And unconsciousness.

When Bruce woke, he was alive, bandaged, and lying on a bed of hay that smelled suspiciously like goat. A fire crackled nearby. His host was tall, silver-haired almost white, and moved like a shadow in silk robes. He claimed to be a monk. He never gave a name. He also radiated the kind of energy that made even Bruce’s paranoia sit up and go, “Hmm. That’s not normal.”

Bruce watched him from the sidelines. The man sparred with the air itself, performing forms Bruce had never seen before effortless, fluid, almost theatrical in how they ignored gravity. Despite claiming to seek peace, he kicked boulders in half during his morning stretches. Bruce knew what a formidable warrior looked like. This guy wasn’t just good. He was absurdly good.

Eventually, Bruce asked to be trained.

The monk agreed but with a devilish smirk that should have warned him.

It started with traditional exercises. Then came... less traditional ones. One day Bruce was balancing upside down on one finger. The next, he was chasing wild goats through the mountains with a blindfold on. There was a week he still refuses to talk about, involving fermented yak milk and interpretive dance. No explanation was ever given. Just a barked command, followed by a smirk, and Bruce reluctantly obeying because despite everything he was learning.

And the monk? He never moved when Bruce attacked. Not once. Bruce would lunge, strike, ambush, even beg the man to just flinch, and every time, the monk would remain motionless. The result was always the same with Bruce face-down in snow or mud, groaning, while the monk calmly re-wrapped his bandages and offered nothing but that smirk. That infuriating, soul-crushing smirk.

Name?

Bruce had asked and rasped, wheezing after yet another humiliating fall.

The monk merely chuckled and replied.

When you land a hit.

Bruce did not land a hit. Not that week. Not that month. Not ever.

And eventually, it was time to go. Bruce bowed, still never having won, still never knowing the monk’s name and returned to Gotham.

He never forgot the man.

….

What Bruce didn’t know was that his “monk” had a name, Dan.

Or, more accurately, Dan Fenton. Known in his own dimension for blowing up timelines, developing catastrophic anger issues, and eventually retiring from ghostly overlordship after a few centuries of introspection and really intense therapy. He took a page from Ellie and become a traveler, He’d been vacationing across dimensions, mostly avoiding interdimensional politics and his own mess of a reputation as well to avoid his younger self of a king when he stumbled on Bruce half-dead in the snow.

On a whim, maybe redemption, maybe boredom, maybe the sheer novelty of it, maybe his younger self and clone had finally rubbed of him, he saved him. And since he had time to kill, not that he would ever hurt Clockwork, he trained him.

Using ghost powers very subtle about it, just enough to freak Bruce out and maintain the illusion that he was a living, breathing über-warrior with mystical vibes and killer reflexes. The smirking was mostly for fun. The cryptic one-liners? Also fun. No wonder Clocky liked to say weird shit to his younger self.

What Dan didn’t expect was to actually like the guy. Sure, Bruce was intense, broody, and had the emotional range of a brick, but watching him faceplant into snow every morning had been surprisingly somewhat therapeutic. There was something calming about teaching someone who didn’t know who he was, who didn’t flinch at his name, or whisper “Phantom” like it was a curse. It helped Dan heal too, in his own weird way.

Years passed. Dimensions that he traveled and went. Dan forgot about it.

Then he remembered.

He missed his “student.”

He remembered Bruce mumbling something about Gotham in his sleep, something about a cave and a promise and since Dan had nothing better to do, well other than to laugh at his younger self for winning and taking the crown of the Infinite Realms, he decided to pay a visit.

On foot. Across dimensions. Because why not?

….

Meanwhile, in Gotham…

Bruce was panicking.

A letter had arrived. Just a simple, handwritten note. No return address. No explanation. But the handwriting sent a shiver down his spine.

I’ll be visiting soon. Hope you’ve gotten better.

Bruce dropped his coffee.

His children thought it was a threat. Jason offered to shoot whoever it was. Tim tried to trace the paper’s origin with four different forensic tools. Cass read the note and signed something to the others about posture and unresolved duty. Damian called it a threat that someone could rattle his father with one sentence.

But Bruce knew.

He was coming.

His old teacher.

The man who once made him wear a llama costume for a full week to “teach humility.”

He was coming to Gotham.

Bruce wasn’t sure whether to install extra security or book out every gym in the city to train. He hadn’t stopped pacing in two hours. Alfred found him shadowboxing in the Batcave while muttering things like, “I’ve got better reaction time now,” and “Surely… surely I can land one hit.”

Across the city, chaos was brewing, but not because of the letter.

Gotham’s entire vigilante network, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Spoiler, Orphan, Batgirl, even Signal were neck-deep in the investigation of the Joker’s sudden, mysterious death. Dead, now struggle no physical or chemical cause somehow. No evidence.

No struggle.

Just… gone. The only lead was a single blurry silhouette from a rooftop security cam. The figure was massive, hooded, and moved with a kind of fluid, terrifying grace none of them had ever seen before.

Nobody recognized him.

And Bruce hadn’t said a word, too busy to train or join Alfred in cleaning the manor.

While the rest of the Batfam poured over footage, mapped potential escape routes, and debated theories, Batman was notably absent, still in the Cave, still pacing, still trying to steady his breathing every time he glanced at the letter.

Because Bruce knew who it was. And for once in his life, Batman was torn between abject dread… and the tiniest, most humiliating spark of hope.

Maybe this time, I’ll land a hit.

Maybe I’ll finally learn his name.

Maybe I’ll even win.

…Or maybe he’d end up face-first in an alleyway again while his teacher laughed and handed him his own blend of yak milk smoothie.

Either way, Gotham was not ready.

And neither was Bruce.

…...

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this, you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me, though.

PPS: I felt like posting a bit early. How was it?

#dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #ghost king danny #dan

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tobiosbbyghorl · 2 months ago

Text

Rhythm of Us | psh 🔞

pairing: dance club president!sunghoon x plump!reader

wc: 8.8k

warning: smut!/unprotected sex/ body insecurity themes/public sex/light power imbalance/ sexual photography (consensual)/mild angst/ fluff ofcourse!

Orientation day wasn’t something Y/N had been looking forward to. New faces, crowded spaces, the weight of first impressions—it all felt overwhelming, especially when you didn’t quite feel like you fit in. Her clothes felt tight in all the wrong places, and even though she knew she looked okay, her mind kept whispering otherwise. Still, with Sunoo and Jungwon on either side of her, dragging her toward the campus auditorium, it was hard to say no.

The room was packed with freshmen, all buzzing with nervous energy. She tried to shrink into her seat, already exhausted from pretending to be unfazed. Then the lights dimmed.

Music started. The cheers around her rose.

And then he walked onto the stage.

Park Sunghoon. Second year. Dance club president. The name didn’t mean anything to her yet—but the moment he started to move, it was burned into her.

He was smooth. Fluid. Sharp. Controlled. The way his body followed every beat made it hard to look away. He danced like he knew what it did to people. His confidence wasn’t loud—it was in the way he took up space, the way his eyes scanned the crowd without needing to land on anyone to command attention.

Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t even sure if she was clapping when it ended—her heart was too loud in her ears.

She didn’t tell anyone. Not even Sunoo, who she told everything. She just held it quietly, tucked it somewhere between admiration and fascination. She watched from afar when they passed him in the quad. She caught glimpses during campus events, when he was leading workshops or walking with his club members, exuding that quiet charisma that made heads turn. Especially hers.

Weeks passed. Her crush didn’t fade, it deepened. But she never expected to actually cross paths with him.

Not until the school festival.

Their department was in chaos. The interdepartmental dance competition was coming up, and they were short on performers. Sunoo and Jungwon had already agreed to join, and the moment Y/N mentioned offhandedly that she used to dance in high school, they latched onto her like hawks.

“No way you’re keeping that from us!” Sunoo gasped dramatically.

“I’m not—seriously, I’m rusty. And—” she looked down at herself—“this isn’t exactly a dancer’s body anymore.”

Jungwon frowned. “Screw that. You know what looks good on stage? Confidence. Energy. Passion. Not pants size.”

She hesitated, but eventually gave in. It was just an audition. No one important would be watching anyway.

Or so she thought.

She stood at the edge of the practice room, shifting nervously as the music cued. For the first few beats, she was stiff. Conscious of the way her shirt rose every time her arms did. But then… she found the rhythm.

The switch flipped.

She moved. Boldly. Powerfully. Her body remembered what it felt like to lose herself in a song. Her insecurities melted with every step. Her hips swayed, her arms cut through the air, her footwork crisp and commanding.

She didn’t see the door crack open.

Didn’t see Sunghoon lean against the frame, arms crossed, brows slightly raised as he watched her dance like no one was watching.

His head tilted. A slow smile curled on his lips. Interesting.

When the music ended, she was breathless. Flushed. She grabbed her towel and bent over to catch her breath.

A voice came from behind her.

“I didn’t expect that from you.”

She froze. Slowly turned.

Sunghoon stood there, smirking. His black tee clung to his chest, and his hair was damp with

sweat like he’d just come from practice himself.

“You just made half the dance team look like backup dancers,” he said, stepping a little closer.

Y/N couldn’t form words. Her mouth opened slightly, but her brain refused to cooperate.

Sunoo grinned behind her. “Told you she’s a hidden weapon.”

Sunghoon’s gaze didn’t waver. “I like hidden weapons.”

She didn’t remember the rest of the conversation. All she remembered was his voice, the heat that climbed up her neck, and the way his eyes lingered just a bit too long.

After their department won the competition—largely thanks to her—Sunghoon approached her again. Alone this time.

“You’ve got something special,” he said, fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. “You should join the dance club.”

She blinked. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” he said, that damn smile back again. “I want to see more of you.”

The double meaning was not lost on her.

Practice after that became… something else.

He wasn’t subtle. Every time they were paired together, he pushed limits. His hand always rested a little too long on her waist. He stood close—too close—when they moved through routines, voice low as he murmured corrections in her ear, his breath grazing her neck.

“You’re stiff,” he said one evening, pressing a hand against the small of her back. “Relax. Trust your body. It knows what it’s doing.”

Her breath hitched. “Easy for you to say.”

He leaned closer. “You make it very hard to stay easy.”

She nearly choked.

After a while, she gave in to the flirtation. Gave into the way her body reacted when he touched her. The way he looked at her like she was the most interesting thing in the room.

Then came the post-performance party.

She’d worn a fitted dress that hugged her hips, lips tinted in a shade darker than usual. She’d danced. Laughed. Let go.

And someone noticed.

An upperclassman approached her, complimented her moves, told her her curves made her stand out on stage. He was charming. Harmless.

But someone else was watching.

Sunghoon stayed back, drink in hand, eyes locked on her. Jaw tight. When the guy’s hand touched her arm, Sunghoon moved.

He cornered her near the hallway minutes later, his voice quieter than usual, more serious.

“Didn’t know you liked guys like that.”

She raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Touchy. Forward.”

Her heart jumped. “What’s it to you?”

He stepped closer, enough that she had to tilt her head to look at him.

“It’s everything to me right now.”

The tension was thick. His eyes dropped to her lips. Her back hit the wall. She swore he was about to kiss her.

But Sunoo called her name from down the hall, and just like that, the moment passed.

It wasn’t until a week later—after another high-energy performance, where the two of them danced like their bodies were on fire—that it happened.

Backstage. Dim lighting. Music still thumping from the main floor.

Y/N laughed, flushed and panting, high off the adrenaline. She turned to face him, breathless.

He reached for her hand, spun her around.

“You keep dancing like that,” he murmured, pulling her close, “I might fall harder than I planned.”

And then he kissed her.

It was messy. Hungry. His hand on her cheek, thumb grazing her jaw, the other on her waist pulling her close, her hands gripping his shoulders like she’d fall without him. Their lips moved like they were still dancing, synced and seamless, stealing breath and giving it right back.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.

“Damn,” he whispered, grinning. “You’re full of surprises.”

She smiled, dizzy. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

And she meant it.

Because the dance had only just begun.

—

The studio had emptied out hours ago. The overhead lights were dimmed to a low golden hue, casting long shadows across the floor as the playlist played softly in the background on a loop. Y/N stood in front of the mirror, trying to stretch out her sore calves. Her body was damp with sweat, her tank clinging to her skin, and her chest rising with shallow breaths after their nonstop practice.

It was supposed to be just another after-hours session—polish the final duet choreography for the dance showcase. Sunghoon was always strict about lines and connection, always chasing perfection on stage. But tonight had been different.

Too many moments where his hand lingered just a second too long. Too many hushed praises said in a low, teasing voice right by her ear. Too many times her body responded before her brain could catch up.

“Still standing?” Sunghoon’s voice came from behind her, low and rich. His reflection joined hers in the mirror, and she immediately tensed.

“Barely,” she tried to joke, avoiding his gaze. “I think I pulled something.”

He stepped closer, towel slung around his neck, black shirt clinging to his torso. His chest rose and fell with a practiced ease, but his eyes were anything but calm as they scanned over her in the mirror.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Where it hurts.”

“I was joking,” she murmured, her voice suddenly small. His presence always did that—made her feel things she didn’t know how to name.

But he didn’t laugh. Instead, his hand reached out, gently grazing her lower back. She flinched, and he paused.

“Relax,” he said, even softer now. “Let me take care of you.”

Y/N stared at their reflection, unsure. Her instinct was to hide. To turn her body away from his eyes. Even after weeks of flirting, of tension, of touches that lingered, there was still that small voice in the back of her head that whispered he’s out of your league. That he looked the way he did—and she looked the way she did.

But then he stepped closer, chest against her back, and slipped his hand up her arm in a gentle, grounding motion. His other hand touched her waist, his fingers tracing slow, featherlight patterns over the soft curve there.

“You’re holding back again,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “Why do you keep doing that?”

She bit her lip. “Because I don’t… I don’t look like the girls you usually dance with.”

His head dropped to her shoulder, lips brushing her neck. “Don’t do that.”

Her breath hitched.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to anyone else. Not when I can’t stop thinking about the way you move.”

He turned her around gently, hands firm on her hips. She tried to step back, to hide, but he followed, eyes locked on hers.

“Y/N,” he said, like a vow. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She was quiet. Vulnerable. Her hands clenched at her sides.

Then he leaned in and kissed her—softly at first. Like he was asking. When she didn’t pull away, he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands sliding up her sides like he needed to touch every part of her. His tongue slid past her lips, coaxing hers into a slow rhythm that left her dizzy.

When they pulled apart, he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Let me see you,” he murmured.

“I don’t—” she started, already shaking her head.

“Shh.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Let me worship you.”

His fingers slipped under the hem of her tank top, and she stiffened again. But his eyes held no judgment. Only heat. Admiration. Hunger wrapped in reverence.

He peeled the fabric up, slow, giving her every chance to stop him. She didn’t.

When her top came off, he sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes drank her in—soft stomach, full chest, flushed cheeks.

“God,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You’re perfect.”

She laughed nervously. “You don’t have to say that—”

He kissed her neck. Her collarbone. Her shoulder. “I’m not saying it to be nice. I’m saying it because I’m obsessed.”

His hands traced the soft curve of her waist like it was his favorite line in a song. He dropped to his knees in front of her without a word, pressing kisses over the stretch of her belly, murmuring, “Beautiful… gorgeous… fuck, I love this.”

Her hands flew to cover herself, but he gently tugged them away.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispered. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you right now.”

She let her fingers tangle in his hair, breath catching as his lips explored her skin like it was something precious. He rose slowly, trailing kisses up her body, until he stood again, cupping her cheek.

“Look,” he said softly.

He turned her toward the mirror again, standing behind her. Her reflection trembled, but his hands anchored her—one on her stomach, the other caressing her arm.

“You see this?” he asked, his voice like gravel. “This body dances like fire. Drives me insane. The way your hips move, the way you own the stage… You don’t get to call that anything but sexy.”

His lips grazed her ear. “Let me show you how much I mean that.”

And when his hands slid lower, and his lips found hers again—deeper, hungrier—she let him. She let go of everything. Of fear. Of shame.

Because in his touch, in the way he moaned against her skin, in the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—

She finally believed it.

She was desired.

And when he laid her down on the studio mats, kissed every inch of her with aching reverence, whispered how much he wanted her between every breathless touch—

She finally felt worshiped.

Her back met the cool mats beneath them, the contrast to the heat building in her body making her shiver. Sunghoon hovered over her, his knees on either side of her hips, his hands braced beside her head. The look in his eyes wasn’t just lust—it was reverence. Like he couldn’t believe she was really there, beneath him, letting him see her like this. Letting him have her.

“You sure?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing her cheek, grounding her even as the fire between them burned hotter.

Y/N nodded, biting her lip, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

That was all he needed.

His lips were on her again, but this time they moved lower, worshipping every inch as they traveled down her body. He kissed over her collarbones, nipped at the swell of her chest, his hands sliding under to unclasp her bra slowly—so slowly that her hips lifted involuntarily beneath him.

The fabric slipped away, and Sunghoon pulled back just enough to take in the sight of her bare chest. His eyes darkened.

“Fuck…” he breathed, tracing the underside of one breast with the backs of his fingers. “You’re unreal.”

She turned her face to the side in embarrassment, but he didn’t let her hide. He dipped down, kissing the curve of one breast, then the other, then wrapping his lips around her nipple, sucking gently until she gasped.

Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging without meaning to, and he groaned against her.

“You like that?” he asked, tongue flicking playfully.

“Yes—God, yes,” she breathed, legs shifting restlessly beneath him.

He chuckled, cocky but adoring, clearly enjoying every second of her unraveling.

“Say it again,” he said, trailing kisses down her stomach. “Say you want me.”

“I—I want you, Sunghoon,” she whimpered. “Please…”

His hands slipped beneath the waistband of her leggings, slowly peeling them down, inch by inch, like she was something to be unwrapped—not just desired, but savored. And when he finally got her bare, fully bare, he sat back on his heels and stared at her like she was art.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he muttered, palming himself through his sweats, breath heavy. “You don’t even know how sexy you are like this. Spread out for me. Trusting me.”

Her body trembled, both from nerves and anticipation, but her eyes met his—and she saw it there. The worship. The hunger. The want. Not for a version of her, not in spite of anything, but because she was her.

“Touch me,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “Please…”

He obeyed instantly.

One hand slid between her thighs, parting them gently as his fingers dipped through her folds, testing how wet she was—and when he felt it, he swore low under his breath.

“Goddamn,” he groaned. “All this for me?”

She moaned in answer, arching into his touch. His mouth returned to her chest, his fingers finding a slow, delicious rhythm between her legs that had her panting, clinging to him, grinding up for more. He watched her fall apart, fascinated—her flushed face, parted lips, whimpers tumbling out with every brush of his fingers.

And when her thighs began to tremble, her walls fluttering around him, he leaned in close, lips against her ear.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispered, voice like silk. “I want to feel how pretty you fall apart.”

She cried out as it hit her—pleasure blooming white-hot in her gut, her body shuddering beneath him. Sunghoon didn’t stop, easing her through it, kissing every inch he could reach, whispering praises and filthy promises all at once.

As she came down, chest rising and falling rapidly, he kissed her again—slower now. Deeper. A kiss that promised more. A kiss that said this isn’t just about tonight.

“Can I…?” he murmured against her lips, hips grinding against her core.

She nodded, no hesitation this time. “Yes. I need you.”

Clothes were shed in record time, and when he finally pushed into her, both of them gasped like they’d been holding their breath since the moment they met. He filled her completely, their bodies molding together like two halves of the same song.

He held her close, one hand under her back, the other cradling her face as he began to move—slow and deep, deliberate.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned. “You feel so good, baby.”

Her nails scraped down his back, her legs wrapped around his waist, her moans rising with each thrust. The studio echoed with the sounds of skin on skin, breathless gasps, soft curses and moaned names. His name. Over and over.

“Sunghoon—please—don’t stop—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he panted, kissing her fiercely. “This is just the beginning.”

And when they both came undone again, tangled in each other under the soft glow of the mirrors, it didn’t feel like a mistake. It didn’t feel like a fling.

It felt like everything was finally in sync.

Just like their dance.

Her chest was still heaving, her skin flushed and slick with sweat as Sunghoon pressed her deeper into the mat, his body nestled perfectly against hers. One of his arms cradled beneath her neck, the other splayed across her stomach, anchoring her to him as if afraid she’d vanish the second he let go. Their legs tangled, her thighs still trembling from the aftershocks, his cock buried deep and still twitching inside her.

She felt dazed—ruined, really. Breathless and boneless, her cheek pressed to his chest, right above where his heart was still beating erratically.

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to the mirror in front of them. The way their bodies looked—her full curves beneath him, the way her chest rose with every shaky breath, how she was holding him like she never wanted him to move—he looked absolutely possessive. And proud.

“Fuck…” he murmured against her temple, lips ghosting her damp skin. “Look at us.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and when she caught sight of their reflection, she stiffened slightly, still not used to seeing herself like this. Bare. Exposed. Tangled up with someone as effortlessly gorgeous as him.

Sunghoon caught the shift immediately.

“Hey,” he murmured, tightening his arm around her waist, pulling her back into the warmth of his body. His voice was honey-sweet and cocky all at once. “Why do you look like you’re about to disappear on me, huh?”

“I’m just not used to… seeing myself like this,” she whispered.

He grinned, slow and sinful, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. “You better get used to it.”

Then he leaned to the side, reaching blindly for his phone resting on the edge of the mat. Y/N’s brows furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

His voice dropped, raspy and full of heat. “Can I snap a pic, baby?”

Her eyes widened. “What? Sunghoon—”

He held the phone up, smirking as he tilted it slightly to angle the lens. The camera showed them just like they were in the mirror: her plush, flushed body beneath him, legs still wrapped around his hips, his arms caging her close, sweat-slicked skin glowing under the studio’s warm lights.

“You look so fucking good right now,” he groaned, biting his lip as his fingers ghosted down her side again. “All wrecked. Mine.”

“Sunghoon—”

“I won’t show anyone. Not a soul,” he promised, and though his tone was cocky, his eyes flicked back to hers with a quiet softness underneath. “Just for me. Just to remember the first time I got to ruin you like this.”

She swallowed hard. The idea was bold. So unlike her.

But the way he looked at her—like she was art. A masterpiece he had the privilege of touching. Worshiping. Keeping.

Her lip caught between her teeth as she hesitated, then let out a shaky breath. “Just don’t get my face.”

His eyes lit up. “Fuck yes. Come here—arch your back for me, baby. Let me show you just how sexy you look from this angle.”

And before she could fully process how she’d gotten from silently admiring him across a crowded auditorium to letting him take a photo of her post-orgasm with his cock still inside her, he snapped the picture.

He grinned down at the image, then showed it to her, letting her see how soft and pretty her curves looked beneath him—how wild his own expression was, how possessive his grip on her waist was.

“Gonna be thinking about this all week,” he whispered, setting the phone aside. “No one’s ever made me feel like this before.”

He kissed her again, slower this time. Deeper. Then rolled his hips forward once more, just enough to make her moan and dig her nails into his shoulders.

“Round two?” he whispered against her lips, voice dripping with mischief. “Or do you wanna see what else we can get on camera, baby?”

—

Sunghoon didn’t wait for her to answer—because the way she clenched around him, the way her nails dug into his arms and her body arched up toward him? That was all the answer he needed.

“Yeah?” he breathed, already pulling back just enough to hear the wet drag of his cock sliding from her heat. “You want more, don’t you?”

Y/N swallowed, her cheeks flushed, lips parted in the prettiest daze. But this time… she didn’t shy away. Her eyes held his, heavy-lidded and bold, her fingers trailing down his chest to his abs, then back up to his shoulders.

“I can take it,” she whispered.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched.

Something primal flickered in his gaze—like the switch had flipped, and that teasing cocky energy turned darker, hungrier.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, voice rough as gravel. “You have no idea what you just unlocked.”

He sat back on his heels again, his hands sliding under her thighs and pulling her down the mat until her hips were perched right on his lap. Still inside her, still thick and hard and stretching her open. Her breath caught as he adjusted the angle—and then he grinned.

“You’re dripping,” he muttered, almost to himself, watching the mess between her thighs with open awe. “So fucking messy and so ready for more.”

He braced one hand under her knee, pushing her leg up to her chest, opening her wide. His other hand gripped her hip tightly.

“Hold on.”

The first thrust punched the air from her lungs.

Not slow. Not gentle. He slammed into her like he couldn’t get close enough, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the empty studio like a filthy metronome. Her moan came out choked, a raw sound that made his head fall back, jaw clenched.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunted. “Take it. Take all of it.”

She did. She took everything—every rough thrust, every breathless curse, every desperate kiss he dropped on her lips, her neck, her shoulder. Her body moved with him now, hips rising to meet his, moans rising uninhibited as he drove deeper, harder.

She wasn’t shy anymore. Not here. Not with him.

Her hand slipped up his back, fingers raking through his sweat-damp hair as she arched under him. “More,” she gasped. “Faster—Sunghoon, please—”

“Fuck—like that?” He growled the words, picking up his pace until it was nothing short of relentless, his abs tightening, veins in his forearms prominent as he gripped her harder.

Y/N’s back lifted off the mat as she cried out, thighs trembling again, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his body and the way he looked at her while fucking her like she was the only thing in the world that ever mattered.

“So goddamn perfect,” he groaned. “Taking my cock like you were made for it—fuck, baby, you were, weren’t you?”

She could barely speak, only moan, her brain foggy from the pleasure snapping through her with every thrust. But she managed a breathless, “Yes—yours—Sunghoon, I’m—!”

“Cum again,” he demanded, thumb flicking quick over her clit. “Let me feel it. I wanna feel you squeeze me like you did before—fuck, baby, do it. Come on.”

It only took seconds. Her body locked beneath him, her walls clamping down so hard he nearly lost it then and there. Her moans dissolved into sobbed whimpers, her hands scrambling to hold onto him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

And maybe he was.

Sunghoon let out a strangled curse, hips stuttering, and then he was right behind her—spilling inside with a low, guttural groan as he pressed as deep as he could go, grinding through every last pulse of her orgasm until he collapsed forward, chest to hers, both of them panting and shaking.

They lay like that for a while, tangled, sweaty, and so close it hurt. His cock still nestled inside her, his hand stroking lazy patterns up and down her thigh while her heartbeat gradually slowed.

When he finally lifted his head, hair messy and lips swollen from kissing her breathless, he gave her the filthiest grin.

“You,” he said, brushing a thumb across her cheek, “are going to kill me.”

She laughed softly, dazed and happy, still catching her breath.

He kissed her. Slow this time. Sweet.

Then, his voice dropped again, low and playful.

“Think the mirrors caught that round too?”

—

Sunghoon was still hovering above her, sweat-slick and flushed, his hands stroking lazy up and down her sides as her breathing began to even out beneath him. But Y/N’s heart was still racing—this time, not from his thrusts, but from something bolder building up in her chest.

That same boldness he’d coaxed out of her piece by piece tonight.

He watched her with those hooded, post-orgasm eyes, that smirk softening into something fond as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You okay?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Still with me?”

She nodded slowly, biting her lip. Then, after a pause… she spoke. Quietly, but clear enough.

“Can I ride you?”

His body tensed above her. A beat passed. Then his jaw slackened, and his eyes blew wide with surprise—and heat.

“What?” he breathed, like she’d just flipped his entire world upside down.

“I want to,” she whispered, braver now, her fingers curling against his chest. “I wanna try… like that. On top.”

Sunghoon let out a strangled groan, his head dropping against her shoulder for a second like he physically needed to collect himself.

“Fuck, baby… you’re gonna be the death of me.”

He leaned up, eyes burning into hers, cupping her face with both hands.

“You can do whatever you want to me. Anything,” he said with a low, reverent kind of intensity. “You wanna ride me? I’ll lay back and worship you while you take what’s yours.”

That sent a hot thrill through her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be wanted like this before—seen like this. Not just allowed to take control, but invited to. Encouraged to.

Sunghoon slid off her carefully, groaning as he slipped out of her, only to lay flat on his back on the mat, his arms stretched behind his head, completely unguarded.

He looked up at her with nothing but awe. “Climb on, gorgeous.”

Her cheeks burned as she rose to straddle him, thighs still shaky, but this time it wasn’t nerves—it was anticipation. She hovered above him, eyes flicking down to where he lay thick and hard again against his stomach.

“C’mere,” he coaxed, hands gripping her waist and guiding her forward. “Nice and slow.”

She reached between them and lined him up, exhaling shakily as she sank down.

Sunghoon groaned. One hand flew to her hip, the other pressing flat against his own chest like he needed to ground himself.

“Holy fuck, baby…” he hissed. “You feel so good like this—so fucking good riding me.”

She whimpered as she sank lower, the stretch deliciously slow and intense. Once he was fully inside her again, seated deep, she stilled for a moment, catching her breath.

He was right—she felt powerful.

Sunghoon looked up at her like she was a dream. “Look at you,” he whispered. “You’re fucking stunning like this.”

She began to move. Tentative at first—rolling her hips, adjusting to the angle. But the way he responded, the deep growls from his throat, the way his fingers dug into her plush thighs like he couldn’t get enough—it fueled her.

Confidence bloomed.

She leaned back slightly, grinding down on him as her hands braced on his abs, her movements smoother, more deliberate.

“Oh my god,” Sunghoon choked, his head falling back as he bit his lip. “You’re gonna make me cum just from watching you—fuck, ride me just like that, baby. Show me how bad you wanted this.”

Her moans picked up, riding the rhythm of his words. Every time she brought herself down on him, he met her halfway, matching her with a deep thrust that had them both unraveling.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Please, harder—”

He sat up in a flash, chest to hers, mouth crashing into hers as he took her hips in both hands and began guiding her even faster.

Her forehead dropped to his shoulder as she rode him harder, faster, her moans turning breathless and high-pitched.

“You’re so fucking sexy like this,” he groaned into her ear. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this from me.”

She was close—so close. He could feel it in the way she clenched, in the way her nails scraped down his back.

“Cum for me,” he growled. “Right here, on top of me, just like this. Want you to fall apart while you’re owning me.”

And she did—shaking and gasping his name, her body jerking as the orgasm crashed through her again, harder this time.

Sunghoon followed with a curse, holding her down as he spilled inside her, hips twitching helplessly beneath her as he rode it out.

When they finally slumped down onto each other again, breathless and ruined, his hand cradled the back of her head, his mouth brushing soft kisses over her temple.

“You,” he whispered, lips against her skin, “are never gonna walk into practice again without me thinking about this moment.”

—

They hadn’t moved much—just enough for their breathing to settle, his arms still wrapped around her waist while she stayed straddled over him, warm and messy, their bodies still joined. The low lighting in the studio gave everything a soft glow, casting reflections in the mirrored wall across from them.

Sunghoon leaned back against the wall now, legs stretched out, her body still in his lap. One hand rested lazily at her lower back, the other reached off to the side again—fingers brushing along the mat until they closed around his phone.

Y/N felt him shift slightly, lifting the phone with a telltale little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re not—” she began, a little breathless, cheeks still warm from everything that just happened.

He tilted the phone casually, angling it toward the mirror in front of them. The screen lit up.

There they were. Her on top of him, hair wild, neck marked from his kisses, her curves cradled perfectly against his body like she was made to be there. His head leaned back against the wall, sweat-slicked and flushed, that post-orgasm look on his face—utterly wrecked and proud of it.

“You like taking pics, huh~” she teased, narrowing her eyes at him with a coy smile as she traced a finger down his chest. Her voice was breathy but playful, the soft lilt of it stirring something in him all over again.

His grin widened, slow and wicked.

“Only when I look like this,” he murmured, thumbing the screen but not pressing the shutter yet. “And only when you look like this.”

Her hand rested over his on the phone. “And what do I look like?” she asked, though her tone was already smug, body still glistening from their high, her confidence just barely teasing through.

“Mine,” he said without missing a beat. “Fucking gorgeous. And fucked-out. And glowing. And riding me like you finally know you own me.”

The air between them thickened again.

She raised an eyebrow. “So that’s why you wanna save it? A little souvenir for your spank bank?”

He chuckled, deep and low, squeezing her hip possessively. “Please. Like I need a photo when I’m gonna be dreaming about this for the next ten years.”

Then, softer, his voice dropped.

“But if you’ll let me take one again…” He brushed his lips against her jaw. “Just for me. Just to remember how perfect you look like this. No one else’ll ever see it. Cross my fucking heart.”

She looked at the screen again—at their reflection. At how good they looked together, how raw and messy and real she looked with him. And she didn’t hate it. Not even a little.

“…Just one, last one,” she murmured.

Sunghoon’s eyes sparkled as he clicked the shutter.

“And maybe one more,” she added, biting her lip as she shifted in his lap teasingly, making him hiss. “This time with you moaning my name.”

He groaned. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

And maybe she would be.

Their bodies had finally stilled, breaths returning to something human, even if Sunghoon still had his arms locked tight around her waist like he wasn’t ready to let her go. Y/N stayed curled into him, bare chest pressed to his, head tucked into the crook of his neck while the studio lights hummed softly overhead. Everything was warm. Sticky. Quiet in the most intimate way.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice low and stupidly fond.

“Mmhm,” she murmured, lips brushing against the sheen of sweat at his neck. “Better than okay.”

He smiled at that, smoothing a hand up and down her spine, fingers pausing at the curve of her lower back to trace light circles.

“You were incredible,” he said softly. “Like, actually insane. You know that, right?”

She scoffed into his neck. “You mean for someone who’s never done that on a studio floor before?”

He gave a breathy laugh. “No—I mean for anyone. You think I’m ever gonna be normal after this? I’ll be standing here leading choreo next week and all I’m gonna see is you bouncing on top of me like you own the place.”

She swatted his chest, giggling despite herself, her face heating all over again. He kissed her temple in return, lazy and warm, lingering there a second longer than necessary.

“Okay, okay,” he whispered. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He shifted underneath her, and though her body protested at first—sore in the very best way—he moved slowly, carefully, helping her up without ever letting go fully. Somewhere in the pile of their clothes and chaos, he found his oversized black hoodie and slipped it over her head before she could even reach for her own top.

She blinked up at him as it swallowed her completely, hanging down to her thighs, soft and warm and smelling like him.

“You always this possessive with your dance recruits?” she teased, voice still raspy.

He smirked, leaning down to peck her lips.

“Only the ones that fuck me dumb and then look this cute in my clothes.”

And when her knees gave a little wobble as she reached for her leggings, Sunghoon clicked his tongue and scooped her right up, bridal-style, without hesitation.

“Sunghoon—!”

“Uh-uh,” he said, arms secure under her legs and back as he walked toward the door. “Don’t even try to walk right now. You were a menace ten minutes ago, but now you’re all soft and wobbly and mine.”

She buried her face in his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. “People might still be around, you know.”

“And what? I’ll tell them you passed out from nailing the choreography too hard.” He winked. “Wouldn’t even be a lie.”

He carried her all the way to the parking lot, hoodie swallowing her frame as the night air hit, cool and crisp against their flushed skin. He set her down just long enough to open the passenger door, buckling her in like she might float away if he didn’t handle her with care.

Once in the car, she peeked over at him as he turned the keys in the ignition.

“…You hungry?” he asked, glancing at her with that post-sex softness still in his eyes.

“I mean… kinda starving.”

“Same,” he said, reaching over to squeeze her thigh, the touch grounding. “Let’s get you something good. My girl deserves a feast.”

She blinked, heart flipping. “Your girl?”

His lips curled. “Unless you’re planning to ride someone else next week?”

She rolled her eyes, but the grin was already tugging at her mouth. “Tteokbokki,” she said after a pause. “With cheese. And maybe ice cream after.”

Sunghoon grinned, shifting the car into gear. “You’ve got expensive taste. Guess I’m lucky you like me.”

And just like that, he drove off with her curled up in his hoodie, legs tucked under her, cheeks glowing from the night. Like she hadn’t just ruined him in the middle of a dance studio. Like they weren’t about to do it all over again the second she finished her last bite.

The city lights blurred past the windows, golden and slow, bathing the car in a calm kind of glow that matched the quiet between them. The kind of quiet that felt full rather than empty—like everything had already been said with mouths and hands back in that studio. Now all that was left was softness, the steady hum of the engine, and the warm scent of Sunghoon’s hoodie wrapped around her like a blanket.

He reached over occasionally just to hold her hand. Thumb brushing back and forth over her knuckles like he couldn’t help it. She didn’t say anything. Just squeezed back, leaning her head against the window as the car rumbled gently under them.

They ended up at a tiny tteokbokki place tucked into a sleepy street, still open past midnight. One of those little hidden spots that smelled like chili oil and home. Sunghoon ordered way too much—spicy rice cakes, mandu, fish cake soup, cheesy corn, and soda—and he carried the tray like it was sacred, guiding her to a small table by the window where the neon glowed pink across his jawline.

They ate slowly, laughter spilling between bites. Her hoodie sleeves kept falling over her hands every time she reached for something, and he kept tugging them back playfully, like he liked seeing her swallowed up in his clothes.

She fed him a rice cake with chopsticks, nearly dropped it in his lap, and nearly fell out of her chair laughing when he caught it with his mouth and smirked like a show-off.

“Such a menace,” she said, eyes warm.

“You like it,” he replied, mouth full.

“Unfortunately,” she muttered, cheeks tinting again as she sipped her soda.

He watched her for a second, then tilted his head.

“What’s that face?” he asked. “You’re thinking about something.”

She paused, noodle halfway to her mouth.

“Was not.”

“Liar.”

She glanced out the window, heart thudding. The neon made her reflection glow. She looked back at him.

“…I liked you since orientation,” she said suddenly, so quiet it barely made it past the bubble of the room.

He blinked.

She toyed with the straw between her fingers, not meeting his eyes. “You were performing at the welcome event. Dance team number. I was sitting way in the back, and you were just—so confident. All sharp moves and cocky smiles. And then when you bowed and laughed with your team, like you didn’t even know how magnetic you looked…”

She exhaled, still not looking at him. “I knew I was doomed.”

A long silence stretched between them.

And then she felt his hand gently reach across the table. His fingers brushed under her chin, lifting it just enough that her eyes met his.

Sunghoon’s gaze was soft but serious, like she’d said something sacred.

“You’ve been crushing on me since then?” he murmured.

She nodded once, suddenly shy again.

“Baby,” he breathed, thumb stroking her cheek. “If I’d known, I would’ve ruined you way sooner.”

She laughed, half-flustered, half-melting. “That’s not the point—”

“No, no, it is,” he said, standing and coming around to her side of the table. “Because now I get to do this properly.”

He leaned down, kissed her right in that little neon-lit diner, tasting sweet and spicy and warm. She tilted up to meet him, lips parting easily, soft and slow but filled with all the want they’d built from the moment she first watched him dance.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, breath warm.

“So… official first date?” he asked, voice husky and hopeful.

She nodded, grinning. “Only if you let me pick the music in your car.”

He groaned dramatically. “You’re going to torture me with ballads, aren’t you?”

“I already tortured you in the studio,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his again. “What’s a little IU on the drive home?”

He laughed against her mouth.

“Fine. But next time you’re riding me to my playlist.”

She flushed bright red.

And somehow, despite all the chaos, it already felt like the start of something perfect.

—

A few days passed, and with them, an electric kind of anticipation. The kind where you can’t stop thinking about someone, where every conversation feels charged with a promise of something more, where every glance exchanged holds the weight of unspoken confessions.

Y/N couldn’t help it. She replayed their night together over and over in her head—the way he’d kissed her softly, but with a hunger she hadn’t expected, the way his touch had been both gentle and possessive at the same time. The way he made her feel—seen, not just for her talent, but for who she was underneath all the layers.

And now, here she was, standing in front of her mirror, deciding what to wear for their first real date. It wasn’t just a late-night snack run anymore, no. Sunghoon had texted her earlier in the day, suggesting something a little more official. He’d promised her something nice—no rush, no hurry, just the two of them. And when she agreed, her heart had skipped a beat. She’d only been hoping for something simple, but he was going to make it memorable.

Y/N settled on a flowy white dress, soft and delicate, a perfect balance of sweet and a little bit daring. The dress was a subtle nod to the way she felt—open, vulnerable, but daring enough to finally take the leap. She paired it with simple sandals and curled her hair just a little, adding a light layer of makeup. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t just see her reflection. She saw someone who could hold her own. Someone worthy of the kind of love Sunghoon could give.

When she walked outside, he was already waiting by his car. The moonlight was high, and the soft hum of traffic in the distance didn’t seem to matter when he looked at her like that. The way his eyes lit up when they landed on her—there was nothing else in the world except that moment.

“You’re stunning,” Sunghoon said, voice low, soft with awe.

She blushed, trying to fight the smile creeping up her face, but she didn’t fight it for long. “Thanks,” she said, nervously adjusting her dress. “I was hoping this wasn’t too much?”

He stepped forward, hand brushing against her waist as he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek, just barely. “Trust me, nothing about you is ‘too much.’” His voice was playful, but it held something deeper now, something far more tender. “You’re perfect.”

Y/N let out a breath, trying to hide how flustered he made her, but it was hard when he was this close, and his smile made everything else feel so… right.

“Ready to go?” he asked, sliding open the passenger door for her.

She nodded, a little out of breath, and climbed into his car. He closed the door gently and slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a soft hum. The car pulled away from her apartment, and she couldn’t help but stare at the way the streetlights caught on the edge of his jaw, casting shadows that only made him look more impossibly handsome.

As they drove, the mood felt so natural, comfortable. They didn’t need to talk the entire time. The silence was warm, like a promise of something more to come. He’d told her he’d pick the place, and when they arrived, she understood why

They pulled up to a hidden rooftop bar with strings of fairy lights hanging low above their heads, and soft music playing in the background. There was a cozy outdoor seating area, with high tables and low couches around fire pits. The city’s skyline stretched out before them, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt still.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Y/N said, stepping out of the car, the cool breeze swirling around her as she took in the view.

Sunghoon followed her, walking close enough that their shoulders brushed, sending an electricity through her that she couldn’t ignore. “Only the best for you,” he said, his voice low again, full of meaning.

They settled into a small, private corner, nestled close to the fire pit. He’d ordered wine and appetizers already, and as she sipped her drink, she caught herself looking at him more than she probably should’ve. She could tell he was trying to be nonchalant about it, but his eyes didn’t miss a thing. He noticed her stealing glances, and the way his lips quirked up into a soft, knowing smile made her stomach flutter.

“Tell me something about you,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “Something I don’t know.”

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “You want me to spill all my secrets, huh?”

His smile turned teasing. “Not all. Just one.”

Y/N thought for a moment, leaning back in her chair. She picked up her glass and swirled it, watching the light catch on the edges. She didn’t want to keep playing the game of avoiding him. She’d been doing that for far too long. It was time to be honest.

“I guess…” she began, voice a little quieter now, “I used to think people like you wouldn’t notice people like me.”

His gaze softened, just slightly, before he leaned forward. “What do you mean by ‘people like you’?”

She swallowed, the truth tasting both terrifying and freeing. “You know… I’m not… perfect. I don’t have that ‘cool’ vibe, or the body type people expect to get attention. I used to think I was just invisible to guys like you.”

Sunghoon didn’t react the way she expected. He didn’t get defensive or brush her off. Instead, he just leaned in even closer, his gaze unwavering.

“I think you’re more than perfect. You don’t need to look like everyone else to be the center of attention. You’ve always been noticed by me.”

The words were simple, but they hit her in a way she didn’t expect. The sincerity in his voice made her heart beat just a little faster.

“You don’t need to hide anything,” he continued softly, brushing his thumb against the back of her hand. “Not from me.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her chest, and she found herself smiling, genuinely, for the first time in a while. “You’re impossible,” she said, teasing him just a little.

“No, I’m just someone who’s crazy about you.”

That was the moment. The one that made everything feel real. She leaned in, softly brushing her lips against his once more. It was sweet, slow, the promise of what was to come hanging between them. And when they pulled away, she couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Okay, I guess I’m crazy about you, too.”

Sunghoon grinned, leaning back in his seat and stretching out, looking pleased with himself.

“Good,” he said, before reaching across the table to take her hand. “Then let’s make this a night to remember.”

And with that, the night stretched out before them, full of stolen kisses, soft laughter, and the undeniable feeling that this was just the beginning.

taglist: @selenaxnguyen-blog @cowboylikemalika @limerenceisserenity @luvksnn @laurradoesloveu @enhalxvr @sseshiross @nithxhoon

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife

a/n: ovulating so hard thats why enjoy!

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alohajix · 2 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐡𝐡𝐡… 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐥𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐔𝐬

Description: I wasn’t supposed to be here again. He wasn’t supposed to notice. But when Harry pulls me onto his tour bus after the show, things get filthy fast—and staying quiet is the one thing he can’t do.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, semi-public sex, power imbalance, oral (f. & m. receiving), praise kink, spit kink, hair pulling, chocking, dirty talk, slight degradation & risk of being overheard. Readers +18.

Words count: 4.4K

author note: okay so… this wasn’t supposed to be posted until thursday, but i got an unexpected day off today and couldn’t resist finishing it early ♡ this one-shot is based on a request (which was such a fun idea to play with), but i’ll be honest—i definitely struggled trying to make it feel just right ✨ still, i’m really happy with how it turned out and i hope you love it as much as harry loves being loud on that tour bus…

also!! if you ever have a request, don’t be shy—my inbox is always open ♡ i love writing about everything and anything, so hit me up whenever your brain is full of chaos and ideas

enjoy the filth, angels ☆彡

*****

I told myself this was the last one. No more spontaneous flight bookings. No more overpriced tickets. No more chasing cities just to stand front row and pretend it was a coincidence that he always looked my way.

But here I was—again. Pressed against the barricade, surrounded by screaming fans, heart pounding hard enough to shake my ribs. I could already feel the bass thrumming through the floor, could smell the mix of fog and stadium air. And when the lights dropped, my entire body lit up like it knew he was near. The roar was deafening when he walked out. Curls wild. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease. Smile lazy, like he had all the time in the world. He waved to the crowd, took the mic, and scanned the sea of faces with practiced ease.

And then he saw me. I knew the exact second it happened. His eyes found mine and held. Not a quick pass. Not a maybe. A beat. Then two. Long enough to feel the air catch in my lungs. Long enough for my hands to tremble where they gripped the rail. He didn’t smile. Not right away. Just tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to figure me out. Like he remembered. Then, as the intro to Love Of My Life started, he looked away—just barely—and smirked. I felt it in my knees.

The rest of the show blurred, but not the way it usually did. My body moved on instinct—singing, swaying, screaming when everyone else did—but my head? It was back in that moment. That glance. That smirk. That impossible possibility that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t just looking through me like every other night. And by the time the last song faded, my throat was raw and my chest felt like it had been cracked open.

The lights came up. People started to file out. But I stood there, frozen, gripping the barricade like it might disappear. I didn’t even notice the staffer until he was standing beside me, subtle in black with a headset tucked behind his ear.

“You’re Y/N, right?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

My mouth barely moved. “Yeah.”

He glanced around, voice low. “Would you like to come backstage?”

My heart thudded. “Wait—seriously?”

“He asked for you.”

The walk backstage felt unreal. Like I wasn’t in my own body. The halls were dim, the walls pulsing faintly with the echo of music still vibrating through the venue. Other fans walked beside me—maybe ten of us in total—all chatting and laughing and smoothing their hair in their phone cameras. But I couldn’t join in. I couldn’t even think straight. Because if this was what I thought it was… If he really asked for me… Then none of this was just in my head.

He walked into the room like the encore never ended. Still glowing from the stage, hair messier now, shirt hanging open over his chest, towel slung across his shoulders. He looked wrecked in the most beautiful way—like he hadn’t had time to come down from the high of performing, like he’d stepped off stage and walked straight into this moment.

His gaze swept over the group, casual… until he saw me. And then it wasn’t casual at all. He stopped. His smile twitched into something warmer, softer. Something only for me.

“Hi, love,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “You made it.”

Every cell in my body flipped. He moved closer, hugging the fan beside me quickly, then stepped into my space like he belonged there. He didn’t even hesitate. His arms wrapped around my waist—firm, warm, way too sure. And when I hugged him back, my fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt without meaning to. His scent hit me hard: sweat, cologne, something faintly sweet. Familiar. Overwhelming.

He didn’t let go right away. I felt his breath against my ear when he leaned in for the photo. Felt the slight press of his chest against mine.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he murmured. “But I’m glad I did.” My heart stuttered.

He pulled back slowly, hand lingering against the small of my back. His eyes flicked down to my lips—so fast I almost missed it—and then met mine again, steady and full of things I couldn’t even begin to name.

“You look good tonight,” he said simply.

I didn’t even remember smiling for the photo. I don’t think I blinked the entire time he stood next to me. And when he moved away, I felt cold.

They ushered us out a few minutes later, gently guiding everyone toward the exit. The group chattered happily, already buzzing about social media captions and edits and which pose Harry used with who. But I wasn’t paying attention. Because just before I reached the hall, a hand caught my wrist.

“Wait.” I turned—and it was the same staffer from earlier. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Don’t leave with the rest.”

My pulse skipped. “What?”

“He said he wanted to see you. Properly.” I blinked. “Come with me.”

I followed him through the back halls like I wasn’t entirely sure I was awake. The venue had mostly emptied. The muffled chatter of crew echoed in the distance, paired with the dull thump of gear being loaded into trucks. But the further we walked, the quieter it got. The kind of quiet that made my pulse echo in my ears.

The staffer didn’t say much—just kept a steady pace and glanced over his shoulder once or twice, like he was making sure I hadn’t run. Believe me, I’d thought about it. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, it couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be him. But I didn’t stop walking. He led me through a gate, past a few trailers, and toward the tour buses parked side by side under flickering lot lights. The biggest one sat tucked behind a row of gear crates, its door slightly open. The inside glowed low and golden through the tinted window. He paused just before it, turned toward me, and gave me a look that made my stomach flip.

“Wait here. He’s just finishing up.” I nodded, unsure my voice would come out right.

He stepped onto the bus and shut the door behind him. The silence that followed was too much. I folded my arms to keep them from shaking, looked down at my shoes, tried to steady my breathing. Every second stretched. I could still feel the way Harry’s hand had pressed against my back. Still hear the rasp of his voice in my ear. Didn’t think I’d see you again. It was on a loop. Every word. Every glance. The way he looked at me like he knew what I’d been thinking from the very first night.

The bus door creaked open again. My head snapped up. He stood there, framed by warm light. Loose sweats low on his hips. White towel draped around his neck. Damp curls sticking to his forehead. His eyes found mine instantly. Something shifted in his expression. Like a string being pulled tight.

“Come in, sweetheart.” His voice was lower than before. Rougher. Not a question.

My legs moved before my brain caught up. I stepped onto the bus, my breath catching the second the door shut behind me. The inside was dim, cozy. Blankets tossed on couches. A few flickering lights running along the ceiling. It smelled like him—clean sweat, something warm and woodsy.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at me. I could feel the air buzz between us. He took one slow step forward.

“You’ve been following the tour,” he said, voice soft.

It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t teasing. Just… noticing.

I nodded. “Since Denver.”

He smiled, barely. “I know. I’ve seen you.”

My stomach flipped. “I thought maybe you had.”

He kept moving closer. “You wore that green thing in Nashville.”

My cheeks burned. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything.”

Now he was standing right in front of me. I had to tilt my head back just slightly to meet his eyes. They were darker now. Hungrier. And I swear—swear—he looked at my mouth like he’d already had it.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “Tried to. Told myself it was nothing.” His fingers brushed my wrist. Light. Barely there. “But then you showed up again tonight… and I knew I wasn’t gonna be able to wait.”

I let out the softest breath. He leaned in.

“You want this, don’t you?” he whispered.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

He didn’t hesitate. One hand slid to the back of my neck. The other gripped my waist. And then he kissed me. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was messy and hot and open-mouthed, like he’d been waiting for this since the moment our eyes first met. Like he didn’t have time to be careful. I kissed him back like I’d been aching to. His hands roamed—over my back, my hips, curling into my hair. I gasped when he tugged. He groaned when I bit his lip. It was clumsy in the best way. Urgent. Desperate.

When he pulled back, we were both breathless. He pressed his forehead to mine.

“We’ve got about ten minutes,” he said. “Maybe fifteen.” My heart slammed against my ribs. “That enough?” he asked.

I smiled, breathless. “More than.”

He grinned, wicked and boyish. “Knew I liked you.”

Then he took my hand, pulled me toward the back of the bus—and locked the door behind us. The second the door clicked shut behind us, something in him shifted. His grip tightened. His mouth crashed onto mine again, more urgent this time—less like a kiss and more like a collision. Tongue deep, teeth nipping, hands everywhere. He was all over me. Pushing me back until my knees hit the couch.

“Sit,” he rasped.

I dropped onto the cushions without thinking, my thighs pressed together in anticipation. He stood over me, chest rising and falling. His eyes dragged slowly down my body, so full of heat it made my skin burn.

“You’re real fuckin’ pretty, y’know that?”

I swallowed, nodding before I even realized I was doing it. He leaned down and tugged me forward by the hips until I was slotted between his legs. One of his hands slid into my hair—fingers twisting—and the other cupped my jaw.

“Open your mouth for me.” I obeyed instantly. He smirked, then let a string of spit drip from his mouth onto my tongue. “Swallow.” Fuck.

I did, and he groaned under his breath like I’d just touched him.

“Good girl.” I whimpered.

He knelt down, suddenly eye-level with me, and reached under my skirt without warning. His fingers pushed past the waistband of my panties, sliding through the slick mess already there.

“Fuck me,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

I could barely breathe. “Been like that since the meet and greet.”

He laughed—a soft, breathy sound full of disbelief. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Then his fingers dipped inside me, slow at first, curling just right. My head dropped back with a moan.

He leaned in, lips against my throat. “You gotta be quiet, angel.” I nodded quickly. “You gonna be good for me?”

I nodded again, harder. “Yes. I promise.”

But then he pushed a second finger in, twisting them just right, and my hips bucked.

He groaned into my neck. “You’re already losing it.”

I bit my lip to keep the sound in, whimpering as he fucked me with his fingers, faster now, his thumb circling my clit with practiced ease. My thighs started to shake.

He pulled back to watch me. “Want you to come just like this. Think you can do that for me?” I tried to answer but it came out as a whine. He smirked, breath hot. “C’mon, pretty girl. Don’t make me work for it.”

A few more strokes and I was gone—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry, nails digging into his shoulder. He kissed me through it, swallowing the broken sounds, letting me fall apart all over his hand. And then—without warning—he stood up, yanked his sweats down, and wrapped a fist around his cock. I gasped. It was thick. Heavy. Veiny. Red at the tip. And already leaking.

“You wanna be on your knees for this,” he muttered, voice gone rough. I dropped instantly. He let out the filthiest moan I’d ever heard when I wrapped my lips around him. “Fuck, that’s it… just like that.”

His hand tangled in my hair again, gently guiding the pace as I sucked him deep—tongue tracing every ridge, cheeks hollowing. He hissed every time I gagged a little, then praised me like I was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“Fuckin’ mouth on you… god, I’m not gonna last—” But he didn’t pull away.

He grabbed the back of my head and held me there, cock deep, hips jerking forward once—twice—and then he pulled out last second, stroking himself with fast, desperate movements right in front of my face. I looked up, eyes wide, panting, spit smeared across my chin.

He groaned. “Get on the couch. Now. On your back.” I scrambled up, heart racing. He climbed over me, lined himself up, and paused. “Still want this?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Please.”

And he slid in, slow and thick and deep. We both moaned—his low and drawn out, mine high and choked. He started to move, hips snapping hard and fast almost immediately.

I gasped. “Harry—fuck—too loud—”

“I know,” he panted. “I know, I’m sorry. Can’t help it.”

He bent down, buried his face in my neck, and kept fucking me like he didn’t care who heard. But then someone walked past the bus. Footsteps. Close. I tensed. Froze. Covered my mouth with both hands. Harry didn’t stop.

He looked me straight in the eye and whispered, “Stay with me. Ride it out.”

Then he grabbed both of my thighs, shoved them up, and drove into me deeper—hard enough to make the couch creak. I bit back a scream, head thrown back. He watched me come undone again, completely wrecked under him, my body trembling and breath hitched. He didn’t even try to be quiet now.

“Fucking—shit—this pussy’s perfect—fuck—” I reached up, hand over his mouth. He growled behind it. Licked it. Bit my palm.

When he finally came, it was with a broken moan into my neck and a final, hard thrust. His whole body shook. He muttered something I couldn’t understand—just breath and curse words and my name over and over. He collapsed on top of me, still inside, breathing hard. Neither of us spoke for a while. His hand found mine, fingers lacing. Then he laughed, barely.

“I was so loud.”

I nodded, dazed. “You were.”

“I’ll take the blame if anyone says anything.”

I smiled. “Worth it.”

He leaned up just enough to kiss me again—softer this time. Sweeter. Then he grinned.

“Let’s do that again tomorrow.”

*****

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk199o @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @mads3502

#harry styles #harry styles smut #masterlist #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry #harry styles request #x reader

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