#Thread ;; Alarm Clock

[pearlywritings]

New day - same you

synopsis: morning routine with them and other sweet moments

pairing and characters: Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dan Heng, Gallagher, Gepard Landau, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sunday, Veritas Ratio (separately) x reader

tw: established relationship (marriage/dating), fluff, halovian!reader in Sunday's, halovians have back wings here, foxian!reader in Jiaoqiu's (and his part is written before 2.5)

word count: ~4k words

Argenti

With Argenti it almost feels like competition - who's going to be the first to awake and marvel in the morning beauty of their sleeping lover. He, with his flashy but sincere words and loving kisses all over your wrists, and you, with your soft touches and quiet murmurs of the declarations of love.

The fog of the dream is hard to fight through this particular morning - Argenti stayed up way past midnight to fix the “One and Only’s” engine and practically fell into your embrace after the shower, worming his way under your lax arms. His body clock, however, is sending alarms to his brain, pushing him to wake up, stimulating the thought of opening his eyes and having a blessing of witnessing your angelic face.

Which is gone as soon as it appears. You, awake, and still holding your lover in your arms, tug him a bit closer and let his face nestle into the crook of your neck. As a fellow Knight of Beauty there is no hate in your heart for the broken engine that kept Argenti busy tonight, but it doesn't mean you can't dislike it and let him sleep a bit more. It's not like you two are rushing anywhere.

When your tender hand is laid upon his head, lovingly patting and threading fingers through the heavy locks of crimson hair, the knight feels bliss. His mind is sedated and willingly enters the gates of another dream, just as sweet as your presence.

This morning you may not have your share of compliments, breaking the little ritual, but it's more than alright. After all, the beauty of the proper rest is a nice alternative.

Aventurine

No matter what day it is - Aventurine is always the first one to wake up. An occupational hazard, if you could name working for the IPC this way. However, the one of the Stonehearts despises leaving the bed without you, and even more despises waking you up before your alarm clock goes off.

Aventurine is a busy man, who is used to starting his days with calls and messages, managing to have at least three little ‘meetings’ throughout his morning routine. And he can’t have you waking up from his voice taking a sharper edge in the conversation with one of the partners. So you reached a compromise - you sleep with earplugs and he gets to hold you in the morning while on the phone, waking you up with some nudges and kisses once the time comes.

He loves to see your sleepy but absolutely lovesick eyes after he pulls you out of the dream and lets you rest onto his chest with his arm around your body a bit longer, until this exact call is over.

Then you’d take your sweet time in the bathroom and then, as you are cooking breakfast and he is on the phone again, the man would cling to your back with his chin on your shoulder and one arm wrapped around your waist. Then he’d keep talking with you on his lap, keep talking with his hands busy with the dishes, keep talking as you pack his and your lunches. He’d be having the fourth or the fifth call by the time you are all dressed up and smoothing some invisible creases on his clothes, but he’ll always put the caller on hold to get his ‘good morning’ with a kiss and ‘have a wonderful day’ with another kiss.

But don’t be fooled - he does all that only because you explicitly expressed that you don’t mind. Just one word of yours - and he’ll swiftly finish the call, turning off his phone and giving you so much attention that by the time you both leave for work, you're gonna be affectionately sick of him.

Blade

It’s ten more minutes, the swordsman reminds himself after a quick glance at the wall clock and back to your sleeping figure. Nowadays, the Stellaron Hunter doesn’t deny you the request of staying in bed with you even if he can’t sleep normally and stays awake many hours through the night. After some nagging from you he even stopped getting in bed with his clothes on, opting for the sleeping pants and shirts you’ve bought for him to match most of yours.

Blade is leaning back on the headboard with a pillow squeezed in between as one hand, wrapped in bandages, resting on his thigh, while the other is carefully caressing the side of your head. It’s hard to believe that someone is able to snooze so peacefully next to a man like him, let alone, pressing their face into his thigh with arms wrapped around his leg.

And ‘peace’ is what Blade cherishes the most during the mornings spent with you. He makes you feel safe. You make him feel relaxed. His body next to yours is the fruit of your successful worming into his heart, your body next to his is his sanctuary. The man’s mind is at ease and he more often than not falls into the light slumber, dreamless, yet lacking nightmares too.

You crinkle your nose under the more prominent touch of his fingers across your face, and Blade stiffens. It’s still three minutes more, he doesn’t want to wake you up earlier than that. Yet at the same time, something inside him is burning with the strongest yearning of seeing your eyelids sliding up and the prettiest drowsy eyes looking up at him with so much adoration, that his heart starts bleeding like pierced.

The Stellaron Hunter looks at the clock again. One more minute. Maybe tomorrow morning he’ll let you both sleep in. Maybe it’s because you are not in any of the upcoming scripts. Or maybe it’s because he’d like to try cuddling once more.

Boothill

When in his travels, the cyborg doesn't sleep in the usual sense of this word. The correct way to describe it would be ‘recharge’, hiding somewhere in the secure corner, not even lying down, just sitting comfortably enough and letting his systems cool off and eyes plus brain rest.

When he is back home to you however… He literally starts whining and complaining if you take too long to join him in your shared bed.

Boothill always asks you to sleep in panties/shorts only. Not because he is a pervert (though he indeed can touch or lick or suck a time or two), but because in his absence he missed the heat and softness of your skin so much, that he immediately takes the little spoon position, burying his face into your chest and keening on the feeling of your fingers scratching his scalp and playing with his hair.

He loves falling asleep to the tender thumping in your chest, and even more so he loves waking up to the very same sound. It reminds him that he isn't alone in this world, that even with all the losses he experienced he still has someone to adore and treasure. He always hugs your waist a little tighter upon awakening and presses a long kiss to the valley in the middle of your chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the deep breaths you release. It feels like heaven. It is home.

Plus, he loves your confident morning behavior, when you don't bother putting on a shirt after getting out of the bed and walking around the house still mostly bare, playfully swatting his hands away when he reaches to you with grabby motions. Well, given he sometimes walks around completely naked, he has nothing to accuse you of.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng isn’t particularly fond of you sleeping in his room. Not because he guards its contents akin to a dragon that fusses over its treasures or because he doesn’t want your body pressed close to his, no. Simply because his ‘bed’ is hard. And, admittedly, the mattress is not big enough to fit two people comfortably.

But you, oh you, are always so sweet about it and reassure him that you love the close proximity it brings, and that you are ready to deal with the slight body ache in the morning, understanding that Dan Heng himself is more at ease while staying in his own ‘den’ (he is working on it).

Mornings usually start with you on top of him - even in his unconscious state the man still worries about you, so he’d rather have you use him as a pillow (and, as you once teased him, he’d use you as a weighted blanket). Next, you’ll be swift to leave his side, throwing his coat on and quietly tiptoeing to the kitchen.

Usually, by the time you return, your boyfriend is already awake, but still staying under the blanket, waiting for you. He gratefully accepts a steaming mug with a calming herbal tea and you peck his cheek, flopping next to him with your own mug in a hand. You are sitting quietly, shoulders touching and knees bumping, while you are sipping on your drinks and chasing away the remnants of sleep.

Dan Heng smiles when you wiggle your feet under the blanket and put your head onto his shoulder, and as he turns his head to kiss the top of yours, securing a tender end to your special morning ritual, the man thinks he is indeed healing. And that’s what he cherishes about mornings with you most.

Gallagher

Gallagher takes extra long showers in the evenings after his shifts, because he doesn’t want to bring the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and anything else of the bar’s patrons to your bed. He doesn’t want you to grimace first thing in the morning and push him away, complaining about the stink. He’d much rather have your body tightly pressed against his, maybe face squished into his chest, arm thrown over his waist and legs stuck between his.

Gallagher loves just lazing in bed with you, as you are both awake. Loves rubbing his cheek against yours and hearing you reprimand him lightheartedly for the stubble. And yet, you never move away, welcoming his big palm resting on your hip, fingers lightly digging into fat and dragging you even closer to him.

Today you, however, throw a leg over his body and swiftly climb on top, immediately settling onto his chest like many times before. It’s because you know he has a night shift and you don’t plan to let him go until at least lunch. And your lover is strong, he can throw you off using just one arm or by simply turning his body under yours, but he does none of this, all because he absolutely adores your little sparks of possessiveness.

His heavy hand lowers onto your head, gently ruffling your hair, to which you grumble, poking his side with a single finger, only to scratch him lightly with all five a second later. Oh how deliciously he shivers and even a following pinch to your ass is unable to wipe a pleased smile off your face.

He’ll tell you stupid stories from the night before at the bar, share the worst jokes his patrons slurred and admit the teasing Sioban put him through once again, because ‘the old dog was glancing at the clock, counting the minutes till running home to you’. And you’ll be laughing. And he’ll be laughing too.

Gepard Landau

The Captain of the Silverman Guards is obviously the man of schedule. He wakes up at the same time, he wraps up his morning routine in the same period of time, and he leaves the house at the same time.

Every morning the man is trying his hardest to get out of the bed as sneakily as he can, because otherwise there are chances of waking you up and his heart cries when you follow him around wrapped in the blanket while whining that it’s so cold to be out of the bed and his warmest embrace (yes, you’re sometimes faking it, but come on, your golden retriever of a boyfriend is warm and comfy to cuddle with).

Can never deny you, when you squeeze yourself past him in the hot shower, explaining that yes, you are cold, and yes, it’s saving water (obviously not to admire your handsome lover and steal a couple of morning kisses from him).

You are still sleepy as the water is gushing on your body, which is held in place by two strong hands on your hips. Gepard can’t take his eyes from your cute droopy expression and smiles softly when you lift your head to let the water splash against your face. He doesn’t like it when you sacrifice your sleep in the mornings, but he can’t lie to himself that he loves spending these moments with you either. He gently brushes your wet locks away from your cheeks and forehead, leaning down to plant a small peck on your chin.

A cheerful ‘hooray’ is coming out in bubbles due to the water getting into your mouth, but you don’t care, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his chest instead. Oh Qlipoth, let this poor man be not that obvious with the raging blush from the new mark blooming under his uniform while leaving the house

Jiaoqiu

Waking up with the rays of rising sun to throw on an embroidered robe and get to the kitchen to cook another delicious breakfast for you and him is indeed a pleasurable and relaxing part of the healer’s morning. However, much more than that he enjoys wondering in his head who’s going to wake up hugging whose tail the evening before, just to arise the next morning and see if his guess is right.

Opening his fanged mouth in a big yawn and squeezing still shut honey golden eyes even more, Jiaoqiu starts his day with a nice full body stretch. Something soft gets into his mouth and immediately jerks, provoking an abrupt puff of air released from the male’s lungs. There is a dissatisfied mumble somewhere close to his collarbones, and when heavy eyelids slide open, the foxian catches just the swift motion of your ears pressing back against your head.

He can't help but smile softly, leaning down and kissing the top of it (his own pink ear slightly twitching as you quietly murmur in delight), then moving back and looking down to assess your sleeping positions.

Face to face and legs tangled together, your bodies lay closely to each other. With your nose buried into his neck and arms wrapped around his frame, Jiaoqiu, to his greatest disappointment, notices both your tails peacefully resting on the mattress behind your backs.

What a pity… Now it means you won't be helping him comb through his fur to make it look presentable and he won't be doing the same to you… Unless…

As the clawed hand carefully reaches behind you with a clear intention to mess up your tail and sly eyes crinkle in mischief, Jiaoqiu is truly ready to start his morning routine even to the extent of your complaints.

Jing Yuan 

Jing Yuan is a true connoisseur of soft things. He has the fluffiest carpets back at home, silkiest fabrics for clothes, his bed is like one big white cloud, and his pet is a lion with a huge mane. Not to mention his beloved, who has the softest thighs to nap onto in the whole universe (he has never compared to others, but he is a firm believer).

The General has been having trouble waking up in the morning for a while now. Alarm clock? Ignored. Mimi’s nudges and complaining groans? Ignored too. Your loving voice and tender kisses all over his face? Careful, he is the Dozing General, not the Weak one - you are very much at risk every time to be dragged back in bed in your husband's embrace.

And that little fight you put up every morning to get him from under the blanket and send him off to the bathroom is his favorite part. Just like today.

If anyone was to walk into your bedroom, they'd see a strange image of your strained form being hunched and jerking backwards, trying to rip your arm from an iron grasp, and just a single hand visible in the mess of pillows and blankets, holding onto your wrist and trying to pull you back onto the bed.

You swear, the man hasn't even opened his eyes, relying solely on his other sharp senses to effortlessly catch you when you tried to flee after kissing him good morning.

It's pointless to remind him of the meeting today - he'll get there in time either way, but you still try to hold your ground and win this fight of stubbornness.

Jing Yuan laughs, when with a loud gasp you fall onto his swiftly sitting up figure and are immediately thrown back onto the bed with his sturdy body pinning yours underneath. He loves the heat of your face he feels when his cheek is pressed to yours. He adores when you wiggle under him, refusing to admit that this display of his strength didn't leave you hot and bothered. And he is absolutely smitten when eventually you let out a long exasperated sigh and wrap your arms around his shoulders, admitting your defeat, agreeing to sleep for a little bit more.

Loucha

The merchant is too used to the feeling of loneliness in his travels. Getting out of a hardly couple-of-days-familiar bed, grabbing a pin from a nightstand table to fix a quick messy bun and, swiftly stopping by the bathroom to freshen up his sleepy face, the man drags his feet to the kitchen.

Oil is sizzling in a pan, as the man throws the cut vegetables in it, grabbing a spatula. He is barefoot, still in his sleep wear and long locks of golden hair hanging in messy waves to his shoulder length. It’s the sight that is hard to resist, and as much as you’d love to keep watching your lover, so uncharacteristically unkept and cozy, the need to get closer to him gets too strong. As your arms encircle his waist and lips press to wherever you can reach, Loucha doesn’t fight a soft smile. Yes, on some of his trades he’s on his own, but your presence is such a sedative to his soul and mind.

You ask him what he is cooking and he answers, letting you duck your head under his arm, so you could see for yourself, and then offers you to choose something extra if you so desire. Giving him your response, you immediately suggest helping, but he declines, carefully prying one of your hands from his stomach and lifting it to his lips, murmuring how he doesn’t want your pretty fingers to get all tired and dirty in the very morning.

But you are a little stubborn, so when he lets you go, you stay behind his back and reach for a simple jade pin, heroically holding the whole mass of his hair, and take it out, letting the heavy waves cascade down his back. The fingers he’s just been so worried about, bury into the locks, brushing out the knots, dividing in parts and then twisting them one around another, collecting his hair into a nice, but simple braid.

The merchant is used to spending his mornings alone. But admittedly he loves you being by his side and your adorable little gestures much more.

Sunday

It is a well-known fact that the halovian has OCD and his prior commitment to the Order only proves it more strongly. Admittedly, ever since he’s been released from Gopher Wood’s clutches and left Penacony, he’s been getting better: less paranoid, less twitchy, more forgiving to not only ones around him, but himself. He’s been working on abandoning some of his habits, going as far as styling his clothes in a kind of mismatched yet still smart manner. And still he’s having a hard time not to fuss over his appearance.

While sleeping, Sunday is restless. Having been sharing a bed with him for a long time, you’ve been a witness to all - thrashing from side to side, kicking off and then dragging back the blanket, both head and back wings flapping in sleep, messing equally his feathers and hair (sometimes yours too).

But you are understanding. You are gentle, when you offer the miserably looking man your hands and tug him out of the bed, walking him to the huge mirror and asking him to sit down in front of it. Your hands are soft and careful, as they are grooming his wings, rearranging the feathers correctly, removing broken ones, fluffing up the beautiful plumage that reminds of the night sky.

And sometimes, Sunday wants to cry. It’s so intimate, it’s so sweet, it’s something he was used to doing on his own, but here you are - doing it for him, cooing lovingly and pressing tender kisses to the smaller wings protruding from the back of his head, making them tremble slightly and the milky skin of his cheeks - flash with crimson.

And you trust him to do the same for you! His hands are shaking, his breath is hitching while you keep encouraging him to clean up your wings after sleep, being nothing but patient as the morning sun arises.

The ex-head of the Oak Family used to say that patience is a virtue, but in the dawn glow of your bedroom it turns into his paradise.

Veritas Ratio

No matter what your sleep schedule is, Veritas is always the first one to wake up. Sitting up he reaches for his nightstand drawer, tapping the phone’s screen to stop the alarm clock’s ringing. His other hand automatically reaches for the black-furred critter, nestled onto his lap, to gently pat its soft ‘shell’, receiving a quiet content chirp. Once done with the phone, the man turns to the other side of the bed, reddish-pink eyes lowering to your still sleeping form, with another critter snoozing under your arm. One more is spotted at the end of the bed.

Every single morning Veritas witnesses the same view - well, maybe your sleeping pose is different, or the placement of your ‘cats’ on the bed, or how much of the blanket you've either stolen from him or on the contrary thrown at him… still it's always you, him and your recently adopted pets.

And every single morning your lover can't help but take some minutes from his work out session and dedicate them to simply sitting in bed next to you, observing, doing his own little research. Today he notes how you've moved slightly onto his part of the bed, head occupying both yours and a small part of his pillow. Then his gaze moves downwards, noticing the covers being pulled down your waist and feet peeking from under the blanket. That's so you - feeling stuffy and hot yet still moving closer to his body.

Carefully, not to disturb you and give a couple of more minutes to rest, Veritas bends down and kisses your cheek, testing another hypothesis of his - would you smile in your sleep, upon feeling the touch of his lips on your skin?

He is surprised, when you open your eyes, staring back at him in a haze. Sensing your awakening, the orange critter practically zooms from under your arm, then onto the man’s pillow and off the bed, disappearing somewhere in the hallway. But he hardly pays attention to it. No, his eyes are glued to yours and that sweet smile that tugs on the corners of your mouth as you reach forward to circle his neck with your arms.

Yes, his thinks contented, closing his eyes, another hypothesis of his has been proven right.

[mattsweethrt]

pleaseeee do a fic with slow morning sex with chris

「 morning sex ᵎᵎ 」

smut, p in v, unprotected sex, cursing, pet names

you softly stirred awake at the soft sounds of birds chirping outside, early morning sunshine dancing across you and your boyfriends shared bed. you glanced to your nightstand, your alarm clock reading a little after seven am. sighing heavily, you nuzzled into chris’ embrace, trying to let sleep overtake you once more.

at your movements, chris hummed softly, his arms wrapping around you while he buried his face into your hair. “morning sweetheart,” he whispered softly, planting kisses on your scalp, “you sleep okay?”

you nodded, your face in his chest as you inhaled his scent. “i missed you,” you mumbled quietly.

he laughed, his voice still laced with sleep. he continued to press feather light kisses to your head, trailing down across your forehead and to your cheek. “y’missed me? i was with you all night.”

you giggled as his lips and messy hair tickled your skin. “doesn’t matter, still missed you.”

he pulled away for a moment, admiring your sleepy state. he leaned in, placing a soft kiss to your mouth, his lips slotting between yours. he hummed lowly before pulling back. “i missed you too.”

a grin spread across your lips, leaning back in to press your lips to his again. chris let out a low groan, arms snaking down around your waist as he pulled you closer, repositioning himself to be on top of you.

the kisses began to grow more heated and sloppy, chris’ tongue slipping into your mouth as you let out a sigh.

“i know, baby, i know,” chris murmured, his lips puffy and red. his hands slipped down between your bodies, pulling your panties down, his fingers dipping into your wetness. “i got you, just relax, okay?”

you nodded, chris freeing himself from his plaid pj pants. his cock sprung up, already oozing with precum.

“someone’s excited,” you joked quietly as chris began to stroke himself, lining up with your entrance.

“jus’ missed my girl is all,” he replied with a lopsided grin as he slowly pushed himself in. your walls squeezed around his length, the both of you moaning lowly at the feeling.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing sloppy kisses to your exposed collarbone while he bottomed out. “fuckk baby, you’re so tight f’me.”

your arms were around his neck in an instant, holding him close to you as your fingers threaded through his brown curls.

chris slowly began to move in and out, his hips moving against yours in a rhythmic pattern. with every thrust, your pussy clenched around him as it dripped with your arousal. the feeling was euphoric, chris’ dick deep inside you as his mouth moved against your skin, whispering soft praises into it.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured as his lips found yours, “could spend all day in bed with you.”

he continued his motions and praises, talking you through your orgasm at it crashed down over you. he wasn’t too far behind, giving a few more thrusts before coming deep inside of you, collapsing onto your chest.

he whined softly as he pulled out, a mix of both of your cum dripping out onto the sheets beneath you.

“i’ll make you a deal,” he said softly, “you clean the sheets and i’ll cook breakfast?”

“you’re gonna burn whatever you make,” you giggled, playfully pushing his arm as he hovered above you.

he leaned down, grinning while pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “that’s a yes then?”

bree’s corner ⸝⸝⸝ sorry if the ending was rushed i forgot to finish this when i started it yesterday and wanted to post tonight ! i need lazy sex with him so bad it’s not even funny

[gloomwitchwrites]

Oml 😭 you’re stories continue to make my day, thank you so much! I was wondering if I can just get some domestic fluff with the task force 141

You're so sweet! Thank you!! I can absolutely write some domestic fluff. I've been working on Dog with No Teeth and some more suggestive prompts, and this is such a great break from it. Expect softness and gentle!141.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: domestic fluff, married life, softness, kissing

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

John wakes before you. He always does. It’s engrained in him—like clockwork.

In the soft rays of the early morning sun, John drinks his tea while reading over the weekend chore list you’ve made. It hangs on the fridge, clipped to the metal by a homemade magnet your youngest made in primary school. You have it in your head that you’re going to get up at a decent time and knock it all out.

It’s cute that you think so.

Especially since you’ve run yourself ragged all week, falling into bed completely knackered that you’re snoring in your sleep.

What you need is some rest, not an early morning full of activity. It’s the weekend. You belong on the porch with a blanket and book. With you in his lap, using him as a bed.

John finishes his tea and rinses out the mug, placing it in the dishwasher. He’ll make himself another once he wakes the children. Slipping into the bedroom, John goes for your alarm clock, turning it off. You deserve to sleep in. John can handle the work while you have some peace.

The littles won’t bother you. He’ll make sure you get some needed rest.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Can you try this?”

Johnny comes around the kitchen island, leaning against the countertop as you scoop up some of the fluffy whipped cream. You present the spoon, an eager excitement glittering in your gaze.

Johnny opens his mouth, allowing you to guide the spoon inside. The tips of your fingers gently brush the underside of his chin. Closing his lips around it, you drag the spoon out slowly. The whipped cream melts on his tongue. It’s perfectly sweet.

“How is it?” you ask. “I’m a little worried it’s too sweet. Might overpower the lemon curd.”

“It’s perfect,” he purrs.

“Really?”

Johnny scrapes a bit of whipped cream off the top of the mixing bowl. Popping his finger into his mouth, Johnny sighs with contentment. Your smile grows, and Johnny can’t help but adore just how beautiful you are like this. It’s his favorite version of you.

As you reach for the lemon curd, Johnny grabs your hips, pulling you against him. A small giggle escapes you and Johnny loves the sound. Lowering his head, he teases the tip of your nose with his own until you’re flustered and wiggling. Only then does he close the distance for a kiss.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

It’s a Sunday afternoon. You and Simon have nothing to do. Nowhere to go. Peace and rest and simple pleasures only.

You’re snuggled up on the sofa, sinking against the cushions with a book in your hand. On the television, a trashy reality show plays at low volume. You’re not watching it, but it’s not for you.

Simon is curled up next to you, sprawled out and using your thigh as a pillow. A blanket is draped over him and covering your legs. He has one arm tucked behind your back and the other is resting across you, his large hand gently massaging the thigh he’s not resting his head on.

He’s watching the television, but his eyelids are heavy, chest moving in slow, shallow breaths. Sleep is creeping up on him.

Reaching out with one hand, you thread your fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp. Simon sighs, snuggling a bit closer. Switching from his scalp, you move to his neck, and then his upper back, using your nails to tease his skin. You keep a languid place, moving back and forth across his skin.

There’s nothing better than this quiet moment with your husband. Shared. Simple. Perfect.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Do you want some music?”

“I’d love that.”

Kyle walks over to the record player, fingers skimming over the collection of vinyl records. He reaches out to select one, and pauses.

“Just pick something,” you laugh, grabbing the dish soap.

“I will,” he chuckles softly, drumming his fingers against his bottom lip as he decides on which.

You roll your eyes, putting the stopper in the skin.

“Here we are,” says Kyle. As you start filling the sink with hot water, a jazzy number fills the room. Kyle grooves over to the vacuum, and you realize you’re grinning. Bopping his head and shaking his shoulders, Kyle switches on the hoover.

It’s routine then, the two of you moving around each other as you do your weekly cleaning. When you start dusting the ceiling fan, Kyle creeps up on you, hands falling on your waist.

“What?” you laugh, turning toward him, only to laugh harder as Kyle starts dancing up on you. “Stop,” you snort, playfully smacking at him.

“Dance with me,” he smiles, wiggling his eyebrows. Kyle offers you his hand, and you take it, the two of you coming together into a slow sway that makes you tingle everywhere.

[snoopyracing]

somebody else — ln4

pairing: lando norris x reader word count: 12k warnings: swearing, smut (18+) (p in v, no protection, oral, multiple orgasms, and a little praise kink if you squint) includes: toxic!lando, prior relationship issues, cheating, angst, drama, and an arthurtv cameo summary: when you finally decide to stop waiting around for lando and find someone new he doesn't take it very well. relationships are tested, hearts are broken, tears are shed, and it seems like things will never work out like you want. a/n: this is messy af and lando is such an asshole in this. anyways this is loosely based off of 'somebody else' by the 1975. enjoy!!

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Canadian Grand Prix 2025

Only Lando Norris could be miserable in a five star hotel. The Egyptian cotton four hundred count thread sheets were too scratchy. The air vents were too noisy. The bed was too hard. He could hear every noise from outside. If there was something to complain about or be dissatisfied with– Lando could name it.

The alarm clock on the nightstand kept taunting him– the minutes constantly passing while he tossed and turned. Which– who even really uses a physical alarm clock anymore? He blamed the ‘shitty’ hotel and nerves for the race tomorrow on his restlessness, but the real culprit was a combination of his undiagnosed insomnia and the electronic device that laid on the bed beside him.

The TV, which had horrible channels, played quietly in the background. The screen illuminated the room, yet he couldn’t even tell you what was playing. There’s the option of watching Netflix on his phone, but he was avoiding that thing like the plague. His eyes flickered over to it every minute, or at least that’s what it seemed. Every time the screen lit up or he felt a vibration his heart skipped a beat. Hell, he’d even considered locking it up in the hotel room safe for the night just to be able to try and get some shut eye, but the slight possibility of your name popping back up on his screen again deterred him.

In all honesty Lando knew he was being dramatic, but god the power you held over him just by sending him a single text had him sick to his stomach. 

The text in question had been sent right before qualifying earlier today. Lando was getting ready to leave his driver’s room when a ding echoing through the tiny room stopped him in his tracks. A smile stretched across his face when he saw your name pop up on the screen. He figured it was your usual good luck text so he quickly tapped the notification, but when the message opened his smile faltered and the feeling of giddiness was immediately replaced with dread. 

y/n: hey lan. i know silverstone is coming up and i was wondering if there was any way you could get two extra passes for arthur and me? he’s a big fan and i’d love to give him the full experience!! 

Lando locked his phone and tossed it on the little sofa against the wall, not even caring if it bounced off and shattered. A little part of him hopes it does so then maybe he wouldn’t have to see that guy's name in his phone and in a conversation with you again. His stomach hurts and his mind is in every mode but qualifying mode. God did you just send that to him to fuck with him? To rub your happy and loving relationship in his face? 

He’s not sure why you’re making it seem like you don’t already have a pass for Silverstone. You were in the garage every year and if there was one thing Lando knew was certain it was that there would always be a pass with your name on it and he thought he’d made that clear to you years ago. Not even just for Silverstone though, any race you wanted to go to all you had to do was tell him and there’d be a shiny pass with your name on it.

For your boyfriend though, now that would be a different story. Lando could say the garage would be too full, which in all honesty it will be pretty full. But then he knows if he says that then you’ll just sit in the grandstands with Arthur and not in the garage where you belong. His family will ask where you’re at and then he’ll get that look from his Mother that makes him want to crawl inside his own body. If Lando had it his way your boyfriend wouldn’t even be allowed at the race, let alone in his side of the garage.

Lando truthfully had no reason to hate your boyfriend and Lando wouldn’t say he actually hates him. It’s just that he can’t stand him. Arthur has never been anything but friendly the couple of times Lando has been around him, but Lando can’t stomach thinking of the two of you together, let alone see you with his own two eyes.

It didn’t help that Lando had technically been the one to introduce you guys and if he could do it all over again he would have never invited you to that Quadrant shoot last year. At that point in time it was nothing out of the ordinary for you to tag along with Lando to things and that even included the occasional Quadrant shoot. When you guys pulled up to Buckmore Park that day Lando had no idea he’d at least from his perspective, be losing you. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

August 2024

It was a karting race video with a handful of some popular UK Youtubers, some of whom had already worked with Quadrant in the past. It seemed like it would be a fun filled day and you were excited to ultimately see the chaos that was about to ensue on the track shortly. While everything was being set up you chatted with some of the guys you already knew from previous shoots or events. Invites were thrown around for you to do some videos with them, claiming that you’d fit in well with their group of friends. You replied with a i’ll think about it, fully knowing how rowdy they get in their videos.

As the guys got suited up you made your way outside to find Lando– who wasn’t hard to find at all, with his fluro helmet sticking out like a sore thumb near the pits. “Do you need a good luck before this race?” You teased him as you approached. 

His race suit, which had been swapped out from papaya orange to LN blue and fluro, hung loosely around his hips, the arms flapping in the wind as he turned around at the sound of your voice. “God I hope not. If I don’t win this think I might retire from racing.” He jokes as he does up his race suit. 

“A couple of these guys have their own racing suits. You might have some competition here Lan.” He playfully rolls his eyes at you and you try to keep up the act by simply shrugging your shoulders at him, but the smile on your face cancels out any possibility of you being serious. 

You notice him fidgeting with the collar of his race suit, constantly doing an undoing the velcro. He’d never ask you, but it was an unspoken thing between you two for you to do it for him. He claims he can never get it situated like you do, you beg to differ. Either way you do it when you’re able to and it’s also in your own weird way a comfort thing for you, for you to be able to do one of the last things he does before getting into his car. It’s almost like a little send off and when you smooth your hand over that collar every time, you put every ounce of hope prayers and love– anything you can think of to get him safe and sound back to you. 

Though this time when you go to fix his collar you notice it’s quite tight. “Jeez Lan, been training your neck a little hard recently?” You had perhaps maybe noticed that he had beefed up over the course of the season.

“What can I say, I'm a beast.” He states with a big ole grin on his face. 

Your hands movement halts and you internally cringe over hearing him call himself that. Grabbing one side of the collar you forcefully pull it over and slap it down on the velcro, earning an exaggerated choking sound from Lando. 

“Alrighty then you beast. Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

As the qualifying laps start you watch from the viewing deck with the other guys who are waiting their turn. Cameras seem to be everywhere you turn, the crew not wanting to miss any possible content, some of the guys have go pros and you’re thankful someone hasn’t handed you one yet.

Lando had decided to do his qualifying laps first, to quote on quote show everyone how it’s done. You leaned against the wooden railing, watching intently as he flies by on each lap. The sound of kart engines and the smell of the exhaust bringing you back to simpler times, back to when things weren’t so complicated. 

Before your mind dives any deeper into the topic you’d rather keep locked away, a guy with fluffy brown hair and big brown eyes settles in next to you. Your brain rattles off a list of names, but none of them ring a bell. You’d met a handful of new people today and you’re not afraid to admit your memory can be dodgy at times, but you know you’d remember him. 

“I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Y/N.” You turn your body towards him, and when he turns to look at you the sun hits his eyes just right and their like pools of honey staring back at you. 

“I’m Arthur. It’s nice to meet you.” He extends his hand like a gentleman and you gladly take it in yours. “I do have to admit I knew who you were before you introduced yourself. I hope that doesn’t sound stalkerish.” 

Your head tilts in question. “Not stalkerish, but I am curious how you know me.” 

He kind of laughs like he thinks you’re joking, but when you stare blankly at him he clears his throat and straightens his posture. “Oh well, you know because Lando and you are together.” 

Now it’s your turn to laugh– an awkward forced laugh that you pray Arthur doesn’t catch on to. Many moons ago there was such a thing as Lando and you, but there wasn’t time to dwell on that at the moment. “Oh– we aren’t together.” 

“I’m sorry I assumed since you guys are always seen together.” 

You wave him off, simply wanting to put this part of the conversation in the past as quickly as possible. “It’s fine. It happens all the time. We’ve just been friends for a really long time.” Friends to very brief lovers then back to friends, but Arthur didn’t need to know that. “Anyways, have you ever karted before?” 

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that talking to Arthur is easy and that he actually can hold a conversation, unlike the various guys you’ve talked to before. He’s easy going and smart and you two get so lost in the conversation that you forget that you’re on a video shoot. It’s not until someone forcibly tears Arthur away do you realize just how long you two have been talking. 

The rest of the shoot seems to go by in a whirlwind, yet you made sure to find Arthur before everyone packed up and left. “Hey, I was hoping to see you again before I left.” Arthur states as he sees you approaching him. 

Even though you wanted to see him again, it makes you somewhat giddy to know he felt the same. “Oh is that so?” 

A shy smile stretches across Arthur’s face as he nods at you. “It is and I was hoping to get your number or at least your Instagram?” 

That simple question is what changes your life and inherently changes your relationship with Lando over the course of the year. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The hour or so drive back to your apartment in London is quiet. You’re too absorbed in your phone to notice how tightly Lando’s gripping the steering wheel or how the only sound that does fill the car is that of the radio. You get annoyed by the constant commercials and it’s an unspoken rule that you play the music in the car, yet the UK’s Top 100 plays softly through the speakers. 

Lando acts like you smiling at your phone and hearing you giggle ever so often at it doesn’t bother him, but it totally does. It bothers him to no end and he’s not stupid, he knows exactly what or he guesses he should say who has you acting like this, yet he still does the one thing that he knows will make how he’s feeling worse. 

“Who’s got you so hypnotized by your phone?” 

You barely pay Lando any mind, not even bothering to look up from your phone as you mumble out a huh. You being so nonchalant only makes Lando’s jealousy (he won’t admit that he’s jealous or even internally admit that he is) that much worse. He grips the leather steering wheel of his Lamborghini Urus till his knuckles turn white and ponders if he should even try to continue the conversation, you clearly weren’t in this car with him at the moment.

“You’ve not said a word since we left Buckmore, you’ve been too engrossed in your phone.” He knows he’s probably coming across as a dick right now, but it must have worked because for the first time the whole car ride your eyes leave your phone and now gaze upon him. 

“Sorry, I was texting Arthur. What’s up?” You lock your phone and focus on the Brit next to you, who seemed to be bothered by something, probably the fact that Fewtrell beat him in the race. 

“You guys just met today didn’t you?” Lando pries for information, fully knowing the answers are going to hurt him. 

You feel your phone vibrate in your lap and it takes every ounce of willpower you have to ignore it and keep your attention on Lando. “Yeah, he’s super nice and funny. We’re gonna go out for drinks tomorrow night.” 

Lando feels like his stomach is about ready to fall out of his ass and all he can seem to do is force a smile towards you. “That’s nice.” Is all he can choke out before you’re picking up that damn phone again. He knows he has no right to be like this, to be so bent out of shape over you texting some guy. You’ve dated other guys in the past and technically he was the one to break things off before, but something was different now and god was this driving him insane. 

It’s no use in trying to continue the conversation and so Lando tries to distract himself with other things, but he’s heard the same ad for some injury lawyer five times during this car ride and when it comes up the sixth time he angrily swipes the volume dial to zero.

So now all that he’s left with is his thoughts and you, which just so happen to coincide. The constant buzzing of your phone will surely haunt his dreams tonight and when he drops you off at your apartment and you don’t ask him to hang out he knows things are going to change, if they haven’t already. 

It doesn’t take long for Lando to realize that he’s quickly being replaced in your life. Perhaps it was always destined to happen, it was rare for two young people to remain so close after a breakup, so maybe this was the universe restoring its natural order? But Lando always claimed that you two were different, you had a special bond that not many understood.

Childhood best friends, karting kids, two teenagers who had feelings bigger than themselves that eventually made things messy. Self preservation and self doubt ultimately made those feelings be pushed aside and the love you had for one another was put on the back burner. You both had relationships after whatever you two wanted to call what you had, none of them lasting long enough to actually be considered anything, but hell you weren’t even official with Arthur yet and he felt like he was on the edge of spiraling every time you mentioned him or were seen with him. 

It also didn’t take long for you to be integrated into Arthur’s friend group and for you to start appearing in videos. There were many nights, especially when he was thousands of miles away from home in some foreign country that he would go on a hate watch spree. It would be late at night, his insomnia kicking in, tucked away in his luxurious hotel room with his phone being the only source of light as the Youtube videos play.

He remembers the first time he saw you in a video (thanks to Twitter) and it was like a sucker punch to the gut. He hadn’t seen you in weeks or even really talked to you and when he saw you practically glued to Arthur’s side and with all these random people it was like he didn’t even know you. It hurt because Lando could tell you fit into their world– like you belonged. You always claimed to not like the theatrics and somewhat fakeness or materialistic sides of his life– the things that came with his job. You loved racing and it was the thing that brought Lando and you together, but you hated just about every other aspect of it. 

Lando couldn’t help but feel jealous as he watched more videos. He was living his dream, traveling the globe, living a lavish lifestyle, being known as one of the best racers in the world, and he was jealous of you. Jealous over you going out for drinks and having fun. For being in your twenties and finding a new group of friends to go out with freely. To be able to post some dumb video of you having a good time or being drunk, not caring about the public fallout or what people on the internet had to say about you. There was no public image for you to uphold or a clause in a contract that you had to abide by. 

As time passed Lando tried to focus all his time and energy into racing, trying to ignore the fact that he hadn’t seen you in months or that hadn’t had a proper conversation with you in weeks. It’s pitiful to him that the only way he can seem to get an update from you is through Youtube videos or your social media, which you seem to be using way more frequently now. Guess you can freely post about what you’re up to or where you’re at now since you’re not with Lando all the time. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

February 2025 

When Arthur and you finally decided to make it official to the world, Lando just so happened to be back in London. He was at dinner with Max and his girlfriend and to no one’s surprise the topic quickly gravitated towards you. 

“Have you talked to Y/N lately?” Lando asks as nonchalantly as he can while skimming over the menu. 

Max eyes him from across the table, trying to gauge just how much his answer would affect his best friend. He could lie and say he hasn’t talked to you and that you guys didn’t go out on a double date last week or he could tell the truth. If he knows his best friend, which he thinks he does pretty well– he knows what decision to make.

So he decides to lie. 

“Uh I think she texted me a couple weeks ago, but it was just her asking if I had any extra hoodies from the latest Quadrant drop. I haven’t really spoken to her in some time.” Max hopes Lando doesn’t realize he just pulled that straight out of his ass and the topic of conversation can move to something else. 

Thankfully the waiter comes over to take their orders before Lando can respond, but as soon as they leave Lando’s sitting there with the most pathetic look on his face– just waiting for someone to ask him if he’s talked to you. 

“Have you talked to her?” Max finally asks after having enough of Lando’s melancholy state. 

Lando sighs a big long sigh and Max can’t help but give a little side eye over to his girlfriend. “Actually no I haven’t. I’ve barely talked to her or seen her since she became friends with Arthur.” 

Max internally cringes hearing him refer to Arthur and you as friends. The poor guy didn’t even know you two were together, but he wasn’t going to be the one to drop that bomb. In fact he was instructed to not tell Lando that you were in a relationship– it was a secret he’d been harboring for a couple months now.

Unfortunately for Max he had found himself in the middle of whatever the hell was going on with Lando and you. You claimed he never reached out anymore and Lando claimed that you never did. It didn’t help matters that he was the only one who knew about what happened with you guys years ago. 

“You do know the phone works both ways right? You could reach out to her.” Max loves Lando like a brother and so it didn’t bother him any to give him a little tough love. 

Lando just kind of stares at Max, not having expected him to take your side. “Well, I’ve been busy. The season is getting ready to start up.” 

“You didn’t think to try and make plans with her over winter break?” 

No. Lando didn’t think to make plans over winter break because it meant he’d have to undoubtedly hear you talk about Arthur and the thought of it already put him into a bad mood. “She’s got a new group of friends and seems to be doing well. It’s whatever.” Lando says with a shrug. 

Max wanted to reach across the table and strangle Lando. Yes you had made new friends, but you still hung out with Max and your other old friends. He knew your past with Lando always made things complicated and that you never let on just how much the breakup affected you, but he also knew how Lando could be.

“You’re really gonna let your oldest friendship fizzle out because she’s got some new friends? Because she’s entered a new chapter in her life? She’s known you longer than me and I know there’s other things going on in that big head of yours that I surely could guess, but if you continue on with this petty nonsense you’ll lose her entirely.” 

When Lando accepted Max’s invitation for dinner tonight he didn’t think he’d be getting a talking to, yet here he was, and he couldn’t even deny that what Max was saying wasn’t true. Technically you weren’t with Arthur, so perhaps Lando could get some time to talk to you before the season started.

Lando doesn’t bother to respond to Max’s rant, his silence is a sufficient enough answer for everyone at the moment. 

The food had just arrived at the table and Lando had barely gotten two bites in before his whole night came crashing down. His phone that was face down on the table vibrated, but he chose to ignore it, trying to practice better table manners.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Max’s girlfriend pick up her phone around the same time his went off and he wasn’t trying to be nosy, but he couldn’t help but notice how big her eyes got at whatever she was looking at and how she quickly elbowed Max to get his attention. His attention was really piqued when Max mumbled oh fuck under his breath with a distressed look on his face. 

“What? Is Verstappen going to Mercedes or something?” Lando jokes. Max and Pietra’s eyes snap towards their friend, but before they can try and stop him he’s already picking up his phone. 

y/ninstagram just made a post 

Is the only notification on his lock screen when Lando looks at his phone and of course he’s going to click on it, but as soon as it loads he wishes he hadn’t. It’s the one thing he didn’t want to be true staring back at him. A whole photo dump of pictures of Arthur and you publicly announcing your relationship. 

Lando feels like he’s going to be sick, the couple bites of food he took moments ago already trying to come back up. An incessant ringing starts in his ears and his peripheral vision blurs as he seems to laser focus on the photos. You look happy and in love and it makes him fucking sick. It should be him that you’re posting, yet he’s sat here in some Italian restaurant with his best mate and his girlfriend looking at him like he’s some injured puppy.

Deep down Lando knows this is all his own fault, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He knows you two would probably be engaged by now if he hadn’t been the worlds biggest fuck up and dumbass years ago. Instead you’re with some other guy who shows you off like you should be and unapologetically loves you. Who doesn’t put his career before the woman he loves. 

“Mate.” Max finally snaps Lando out of his trance and when he locks eyes with him he can’t help but feel sorry for him. Sure he was tough on him earlier and yes he was keeping your relationship a secret from him, but the look of absolute heartbreak on his friends face was horrible.

Max had been there through every fling or other relationship the both of you had after your breakup and Lando didn’t seem to be that bothered back then, but if Max had any inkling as to why Arthur bothered him so much it was because he realized just how happy he makes you and how much Lando himself actually needs you. “Lando mate, I still think you should talk to her.” 

This stuffy restaurant was the last place Lando wanted to be right now, he felt like every pair of eyes were on him and he didn’t need another Max lecture at the moment. He grabs his wallet from his back pocket and throws a couple hundred on the table. “Yeah I don’t think so anymore. I’ll see you guys later.” 

He rushes out of the restaurant and the cool air hits him like a ton of bricks, the bustling sounds of London overstimulating his senses and all he wants at the moment is you, but he can’t have you and it’s driving him crazy. London reminds him too much of you and instead of spending the rest of the week here like he planned he books a red eye back to Monaco that night. 

When he’s finally back in his apartment that overlooks the sea he realizes that it’s not just London that reminds him of you, it’s Monaco too. Pictures of you guys in his apartment, your hoodie you left from the last time you visited, the wine you like a little too much in his cabinets. There’s pieces of you in his life everywhere he seems to go. He doesn’t think there’s a part of him that you haven’t infiltrated and it makes him want to scream. He’d never been more ready for the season to start, praying that he could distract himself with racing, yet racing was the reason he was in the mental state he was in now.

 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

That was four months ago and now Lando sat in his hotel room in Montreal, stomach in knots over a simple text message from you. 

You two hadn’t physically seen each other in a long time, but you had started texting more and to Lando that was fine because through text he could pretend that Arthur didn’t exist. You had stupidly sent him a congratulations text after he won the first race of the season and when he drunkenly texted you that he missed you so much that it hurt that night you knew you’d made the wrong decision.

Yet, Lando had his ways of sucking you back in so you began texting regularly again. You guys began to reconnect, good luck texts became a regular thing and you’d fill each other in on your days. It somewhat felt like things were back to normal or how things were pre-Arthur. Lando couldn’t actually remember the last time he actually saw you, ever since you came into Arthur’s life your roots had seemed to be firmly planted in London. Your trips to see Lando in Monaco no longer happened, he didn’t come and see you in London either, and you coming to random races when you had a free weekend had come to a halt. He missed you more than imaginable, your laugh and the way you sang way too loudly in the car.

This time apart had been rough and he knows it’s majorly his fault, but god his heart feels like it’s being ripped right out of his chest every time he sees Arthur and you together and he hates to think what he’d feel like if he actually saw you two in person. Yet, against his better judgement he grabs his phone from the the fluffy white bedding, your text message still pulled up when he unlocks his phone. He needed to see you, needed to talk to you, and if that meant he had to see Arthur, then he guess that’s how it had to be. 

With shaky hands and a heart rate of 130– he sends a reply. 

lando: they’ll be mailed out first thing tomorrow. 

He immediately turns off his phone, messes with the old alarm clock on the nightstand to hopefully be waking him up in four short hours, and then quickly climbs under the covers. He prays sleep comes quickly and that maybe when he wakes up these past six months will have been a nightmare.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

British Grand Prix 2025 

The sun seemed to beat down on Lando as he briskly walked through the paddock towards McLaren’s hospitality. The slight sweat on his brow was a rare occurrence, considering he always ran cold, often seen sporting a hoodie and jeans at even the hottest races on the calendar.

It wasn’t even that warm out, yet Lando felt like it was sweltering, his stomach starting to hurt from how overheated he was getting. His heart was racing faster than he would be on Sunday and he started to wonder if something was actually wrong with him. Heart attack? Food poisoning? None of the above. The real culprit was anxiety. It seemed to be getting worse the closer he got to hospitality, and he knew the reason why, but he’d just use the excuse of being nervous about this weekend. 

As soon as he passed through the doors of the hospitality unit his anxiety heightened. The place was bustling, as per usual during Silverstone, people everywhere and anywhere. His eyes scan the room, the excessive amount of papaya makes the people blend into one big orange blob, but then he hears the one thing that he swears he could hear in a crowd full of a million people. 

Your laugh. 

He feels his heart tighten and a small smile start to spread across his face as his eyes lock onto you. Tucked away into a corner you’re sat there with his family, laughing about something with his sisters and for the first time in almost a year it feels like how things were before. This is how it always should be, you here with him– with his family.

Then suddenly his daydream is immediately ruined when his eyes glance slightly to the right and he sees the one person he wasn’t looking forward to seeing. Lando had secretly hoped that Arthur would get sick or something would come up and he wouldn’t be able to make it, but of course Lando’s luck has never been that great. 

His anxiety was still there, afraid that when he eventually makes his way over to you that things are going to be awkward, that Arthur and you are engaged, or that you’re pregnant. Worst case scenario was overtaking his brain and the longer he stood there the worse it got. He didn’t want to see you two together and he’s regretting sending that text message weeks ago. He’s snapped out his anxiety induced pity party by his Mother spotting him and hollering for him to come join them. 

He pretends to not notice how your eyes seem to practically burn holes through him as you watch him walk over and when the only seat open is one directly across from you and Arthur, Lando knows the universe is out to get him. 

“We were just catching up with Y/N. It’s been ages since we’ve seen her!” Cisca says to her son, with an emphasis on the fact that they haven’t seen you in over a year. You were like a bonus daughter to her, an unofficial member of the family. She’d always thought Lando and you would end up together, hell his whole family thought it, yet here you were with a new guy on your arm and a very obvious tension between her son and you. Arthur was a darling and you were clearly happy with him, but she couldn’t help but silently root for Lando and you. 

“Yeah we were telling Arthur about when we were kids and you cried when Y/N beat you for the first time in karting.” Lando’s sister laughs again as she retells the story, like it hadn’t been told a hundred times before. 

“You always were a sore loser.” The first words out of your mouth towards Lando and it’s a dig towards him? Sad part was that it was kind of the truth, he never seemed to take it well when you did better than him when you guys raced together and even now he struggles with being a poor loser, especially after getting a real taste of what winning is like. 

Lando doesn’t bother responding, just a simple nod as the conversation quickly moves on to something else. It’s all background noise now to him anyways, he’s too focused on watching how Arthur and you interact. It’s probably obvious that he’s staring down Arthur or that he looked away as soon as Arthur reached for your hand and you intertwined your fingers like a natural reflex. Or that as soon as you lean into Arthur’s side Lando’s immediately standing up, loudly announcing that practice starts soon and that he better get going. 

“Isn’t practice in like another two hours?” Flo asks as she watches her brother make a mad dash out of hospitality. You glance down at your phone to check the time, confirming what Flo said was true. “He’s been acting so weird for a while now. Did you know in February he was supposed to come visit everyone before the season started. Was in London for like two days and then calls us and says he got sick and that he was back in Monaco. He’s just been acting so strange.” 

You get one last quick look at Lando before he’s through the doors and back out into the paddock. A deep sigh escapes past your lips as the realization of what you’d been avoiding finally washes over you. You grip Arthur’s hand tighter as you face Lando’s family, a tight lipped smile adorning your face. “Probably just stressed about the season, championship fight and all that stuff.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that night your hotel room is eerily quiet. No TV, no music, just the sound of the AC and the hustle and bustle still going on outside. You’re in the bathroom doing your night-time routine when Arthur waltzes in, grabbing his toothbrush from his side of the double vanity. He’s been quiet for a big part of the day and you’re not sure if it’s because today’s been busy and overwhelming at times, causing his social battery to be dead or if something else is going on. 

You watch him as he brushes his teeth and consider asking him if everything’s alright, but he beats you to it before you can open your mouth. “I don’t think Lando likes me.” He states as he puts his toothbrush back in its spot. 

Your actions halt for a moment, your face half moisturized. You’d had your inklings that Lando didn’t care for Arthur, it was actually a big reason that you figured Lando stopped reaching out for some time. His behavior today somewhat confirmed what you had been thinking, but you weren’t going to tell Arthur that. You guys were here for a good weekend and you weren’t going to let Lando ruin that. 

“What makes you say that?” You ask as you continue to rub in your moisturizer. 

Arthur sighs as he leans against the vanity, his back to the mirror. “You didn’t notice the glares he was sending my way the whole time he was sitting there in hospitality? It was ridiculous. I’ve only been around him like three times and each time he’s not been very welcoming.” 

“He’s just stressed about the season and sometimes he can just be a little off putting with new people. He just needs to be around you more.” 

Arthur scoffs, not believing a word you’ve said. “I know when I’m not liked or wanted around Y/N.” 

You’re trying your best to reassure him, but you’ve never been a great liar. “Baby I promise he doesn’t hate you.” You make your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you stare into his big brown eyes. “I like you– like a lot. So I think that matters more than someone who doesn't even know you.” 

Arthur messes with the strings on your hoodie as he contemplates his next words. “But– he’s one of your closest friends and a huge part of your life. I mean hell meeting Lando’s family today was more like meeting your biological family. I just want to be accepted by your people. You fit in so well with my friends and family so I only feel like I should with yours.” 

“Lando’s family loved you, so did my family and my other friends. Hell, even Fewtrell likes you and really that says a lot.” Arthur’s face is still showing no signs of being convinced. “Listen, Lando can be moody and difficult sometimes. It really has nothing to do with you and really even if he doesn’t like you I don’t care. Who he likes and doesn’t like doesn’t dictate my life any. I like you and that’s all that matters to me.” 

Your hands move up to cup the face of the man in front of you and when he leans into your touch and pulls you closer into him you know you’ve at least reassured him a little. “You’re my person you know that?” His voice is low and he’s looking at you like you’re the love of his life and it’s all consuming yet terrifying at the same time, mainly because of the other brown haired Brit in your life.

So you distract yourself by pressing your lips against his, they’re soft and plump and you find yourself easily getting lost in him. The both of you are quickly tangled up in the white hotel sheets and when you wake up the next morning, bare limbs twisted together, you know you have to actually talk to Lando today. 

y/n: can we talk today? like actually have a conversation? 

Is the text you quickly send while getting ready and in what seems like record time Lando replies. 

lando: yeah, but it will have to be after qualifying. i’ll text you when i’m back at my room its number 251 

You just send a thumbs up and prepare yourself for what you know is going to be the world’s longest day ever. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The sun is just starting to set when your phone dings, the text notification from Lando lighting up your screen. Arthur had gone off to hang out with some of his friends who were here courtesy of big brands or companies, so you didn’t have to worry about what to tell him. As you walk down the long hallway you realize Lando’s room is on the same floor as you, because why wouldn’t it be? The big 251 on the door stares back at you, taunting you almost, and it takes every ounce of courage in you to knock on that door. 

The door swings open and there stands a freshly showered Lando, hair still dripping wet as he motions for you to come in. “Sorry, didn’t think you’d be here so fast.” 

At least he’s dressed you think as you awkwardly stand in the middle of his hotel room. It’s weird that nothing had even really happened between you two, there was no fight or anything like that, yet going almost half a year without seeing each other is a big adjustment. Add in past feelings and codependency and that’s what you’ve got going on in this hotel room right now. “Congrats on pole.” You’re hoping maybe starting off with something good won’t make this conversation turn south, but it’s highly unlikely. 

“Thanks.” He says as he stands there with his hands in his pockets, teetering back and forth on his feet. There’s a long stretch of silence of you two just standing there staring at each other before Lando breaks the ice once again. “I’ve missed you. I know I haven’t been the best friend when it comes to communication, but I have missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too.” You weren’t lying, but you weren’t necessarily telling the truth either. 

Then again there’s a long stretch of awkward silence and it’s like you two aren’t yourselves, like two people who look like you guys have just been placed in this room, like you’re strangers that know everything about one another. 

Finally you decide to address the elephant in the room. “Alright, I’m just gonna ask it. What’s up with you? Do you not like Arthur or something? Because you’ve made this weekend so awkward and I’m tired of having to lie to my boyfriend.” 

Lando thinks about lying, but what’s the point? You’ll just leave here and go back to your own little bubble again so he might as well tell the truth. “Actually I can’t stand him.” His answer doesn’t surprise you and you don’t even want to ask why because deep down you know the reason why. But Lando doesn’t even give you the chance to, something’s ignited in him and he’s ready to lay everything out there on the table. “I can’t stand him because he took you from me. Do you know how lonely I was? It was like you just fucked off and made a new life for yourself and it killed me. It killed me to see you with him and see this version of you that I didn’t even know existed.” 

And there it was. Lando was never the sharing type, especially when it came to you, yet when it came to actually laying claim to you, he could barely do it for three months. 

“I’m not your property Lando. Arthur didn’t take anything from you. You made it clear six years ago that we weren’t together anymore. Also the phone goes both ways, you could have reached out if you were that lonely.” 

Lando sat down on the bed, his hands gripping the white duvet in frustration. “I didn’t want to hear you talk about Arthur, see him, or see you two together. It drove me absolutely crazy and still does. So no, I didn't reach out. What’s your excuse?” 

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth at his counter. Your excuse was a little less forward than his. See, the thing about Lando Norris was that the more you were around him the deeper your connection. 

You two were twin flames. 

Childhood friends who raced together, inseparable on and off the track. Then still conjoined at the hip as you grew up and eventually you both realized you had feelings for one another, so you decided to test the waters and get into a relationship. It was going great and then he got a seat in Formula 1– his dream since a young boy and you were ecstatic for him.

You were ready to support him through this new chapter in his life as his girlfriend, but a week before he was due to fly out for the first race of the season he decided to break up with you. Lando claimed that he really needed to focus on his career and that it wouldn’t be fair to you that he was gone all the time. That he couldn’t be a good boyfriend and racer at the same time. So you broke up, but he was adamant that you two would still be friends. That nothing would change other than the fact that you aren’t together.

Looking back now, that somehow made things worse. You two became so codependent on each other that it was a little concerning. You both were still clearly in love and you were going to races and still spending an excessive amount of time with him, yet there was no label. He never showed any interest in getting back together, but you stayed around just in case. There would be periods where you’d be separated for a while and your heart would ache, but then after some time you’d feel free. Like your soul and heart wasn’t so intertwined with Lando’s, but the second you two would reunite it was like you were back under his spell. 

Then when you met Arthur, it felt different than the other little flings you’d had. He was everything you wanted in a guy and you knew if you wanted to actually try and make this work with him, then you’d have to separate yourself from Lando. And at first it hurt and you missed him, but then the ache surpassed and you felt free and this new life you’d made was one you could see yourself living. But then your dumbass goes and texts Lando and when the texting started to become more frequent you started to feel that twinge in your heart again. And as you stand here in front of that man your stomach is in knots because you don’t think you’ll ever be able to escape this toxic cycle. 

“I didn’t reach out to you because I knew if I did then you’d suck me right back in. I’m happy with Arthur and it’s not fair what you do to me.” 

Lando pushes himself up off the bed and moves to stand directly in front of you. “What I do to you? More like what you do to me? God, you’ve ruined every other girl for me Y/N.” 

Your anger starts to bubble over, he always wants to play the victim. “I’ve done nothing but stand by your side and be still so utterly in love with you for the past six years even after you chose your career over me. But I guess it was worth it in the end wasn’t it? Winning all these races now. I just hope this argument doesn’t do your head in and your teammate takes the championship lead back from you again tomorrow.” 

Lando grabs your arm, his grip tight and his jaw clenched. “Don’t play these fucking games with me right now.” 

“I’m not playing any games. I’m telling you the truth. You can’t handle both me and racing, remember?” His eyes are dark as they bore into yours, he’s intimidating, but you’re not backing down. “You’re just jealous that a different man was finally able to make me happy and treat me right. He’s not afraid of what the media might say or afraid to show me off.” 

He can feel himself getting ready to snap, his self control thinning by the second. “Stop being such a brat.” 

“I’m not-” You don’t even get to finish your sentence before Lando’s pushing you up against the wall, your faces inches apart. Your stomach flips and you feel one of his hands on your waist, the other coming up to cup your face.

“Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don’t want this as much as I do and I’ll leave you alone.” His voice is barely above a whisper, yet it feels like he’s yelling. Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest, yet the feeling of him is so exhilarating that you can’t stop him.

When you don’t answer Lando wastes no time in crashing his lips against yours and it’s intoxicating. The way you two move so perfectly in sync, you know every part of one another and he still knows how to kiss you in the way that makes you weak in the knees. He starts to get handsy and part of you wants to continue, but then the small part of you that isn’t infected by Lando flashes an image of Arthur in your mind and guilt immediately washes over you. 

“No no no. Lando, I can't do this.” You push him away, tears already starting to form in your eyes. “Fuck you always do this to me. Why can’t I quit you? It’s not fair. It’s not fair to Arthur, it’s not fair to me. All I wanted was to be loved and Arthur gave that to me and what am I doing right now? Betraying that because you’ve made yourself a permanent part of me.” You snatch your phone off Lando’s bed and head towards the door. “Don’t text me, don’t call me, this is it Lando. I love you, but we can’t do this.” 

The door slams shut behind you and Lando’s left standing there wondering what the hell just happened. 

The next morning both Lando and you clearly aren’t at your peak performance as humans. You’re riddled with guilt for kissing Lando and cheating on Arthur. While Lando’s trying to figure out what the hell he actually feels and if this is really the end of you and him. 

Lando knows you won’t want to talk to him today, but that doesn’t stop him from looking for you in the garage. He keeps checking the viewing area every little bit, but you’re not there, and he wonders if you’ll even show up today.

Just when he’d lost all hope he spots you sneaking in with Arthur right before he’s set to get into the car. You two make eye contact briefly and he may be a little delusional, but he can still feel that connection between you two. Especially when he sees that you’ve got on his merch, the number four big and bold on your shirt. A smug smirk can’t help but stretch across his face as he shoves his helmet over his head. You clearly didn’t feel that guilty about last night, who else would be standing there with their current boyfriend on their arm, and the guy you kissed last night racing numbers on them? 

Lando does end up fucking up his race and it does make you feel a little better about last night, but you know you’ll carry this guilt with you forever. It’s just how you’ll continue on with things is what you’re uncertain about. The opposite side of the McLaren garage is roaring with cheers while Lando’s side claps for a modest P5. When he returns to the garage and sees the majority of the team out there celebrating Oscar’s win he knows that maybe it is karma for what happened last night. He can’t even confide in you right now about the shit race, he’d kill to feel your arms wrap around him and hear your sweet voice in his ear, but instead you’re staring at him like you hate him, which you probably do. But he knows deep down you’ll never actually get rid of him– your souls are intertwined. 

There’s no getting rid of that. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The week after Silverstone Lando decides to stay in London for a multitude of reasons. He’d carved out some time to make the trek back to his childhood home to visit with his family for a couple days and he also had duties to fulfill over in Woking at headquarters. But the main reason he was staying instead of flying back to Monaco was because he’d hoped to get to talk to you again, try and smooth things over.

It’s a rainy summer night in London when things escalate even further between Lando and you. He’s in his old apartment that he’s not even sure why he still pays for when it sits empty for the majority of the year. Rain drops slide down the floor to ceiling windows and thunder rumbles in the far distance as he sits on the couch, phone in hand. He’d been in the same spot for a good hour now contemplating if he should try and reach out so soon, but he was leaving for Monaco in a couple days and he felt like it was now or never. 

He’s just about ready to hit send on the text to you that he’d been retyping for what seems like forever when a very loud knock at his door makes him jump. He wasn’t expecting any company and not to mention the rain that seemed to be coming down in buckets at the moment, so he wasn’t sure who was on the other side of that door. The one knock quickly turns into pounding when he doesn’t immediately answer the door and then he hears your voice from the hallway. 

“Lando open the door! I know you’re in there!” 

His eyes widen and he swiftly unlocks the door only to find you standing there sopping wet, eyes bloodshot, and a look of hatred plastered on your face. He can already tell it's going to be a long night. 

“I fucking hate you Lando Norris.” You state as you push your way past him and into the apartment you used to call home for a while. 

“Well hello to you too.” He sasses back as he shuts the door. 

You turn on your heel to face him and when he actually gets a good look at you he realizes it’s not raindrops on your face– instead it’s teardrops. Yes you’re still sopping wet from the rain, but your quivering bottom lip and bloodshot eyes tell him those are tears. “What’s wrong love?” His voice is soft as he shuffles over towards you. 

You immediately put your hands up to stop him from coming any closer, the way he was acting was making you sick, like he didn’t just ruin the best thing that had ever happened to you last week. “I hope you’re happy with yourself. I really do because after tonight I’m never talking to you again.” 

Lando’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, he’s not sure what’s really going on at the moment. “What are you even talking about?” 

You give a look that surely makes you look insane, but that’s how you were feeling at the moment. “The guilt was eating me alive, consuming me. I couldn’t even sleep in the same bed as Arthur that night, I slept on the couch. I felt so guilty after kissing you and this whole week I’d been trying to figure out how to live with it, but I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t. Arthur deserves someone much better than me, someone who isn’t in some fucked up thing with their best friend. So tonight I made the decision to break up with him and it killed me to see the look of hurt and betrayal on his face. God he was everything I ever wanted and I ruined it– you ruined it.”

You take a deep breath, the tears streaming down your face like the rain on the windows.

“And the worst part of all of this is that I can’t get the stupid kiss out of my head. Ever since it happened I’ve been craving the feeling of your lips and it makes me hate you even more.” 

Lando stands there, not even sure of what he should say. When you showed up he wasn’t expecting to be hearing that you and Arthur broke up, let alone that you'd been thinking about the kiss you two shared. Because honestly it had been consuming Lando’s brain too. 

“Y/N I nev–” 

You quickly shake your head at the curly haired Brit. “No, I’m not done yet. You know I shouldn’t even be here right now. I really thought I had finally gotten rid of that part of you in me that never seemed to go away over the course of this past year, but god Lando you just dig your claws in don’t you? I made a good life with Arthur and I really liked him. I think if we stayed together long enough I might have found room in my heart to love him. But the way I felt about Arthur doesn’t compare to what I feel for you and it drives me nuts. When I come back around you it’s like you make it impossible to ignore the way you’re just ingrained in me. You’ve planted yourself in my heart and taken root and they’ve intertwined through every part of me. I think the only way I could get rid of you is if I ripped my own heart out. It’s not fair Lando– how am I supposed to go on with my life when you just keep pulling me back in?” 

“I don’t want you to go on with your life.” It’s selfish and Lando knows it, but he can’t help but be selfish when it comes to you. 

A bitter laugh emits from you as you shake your head in annoyance, of course he would say that. “Yeah you don’t want me to go on, but you don’t want to actually be with me. I know how this works Lando. I’m not a toy that you only want to play with when someone else has me.”

Lando just stares at you and the fact that he isn’t trying to butt in allows you to just open the floodgates, a chance to get everything off your chest.

“I should have never agreed to stay friends with you after we broke up. I should have moved on and made a name for myself. Found out who I was outside of you, outside of this fucked up world of Formula 1. Instead I latched on to anything I could get from you, hoping and praying that once you found your footing that we’d get back together, but I was dumb and naive, and god it's been six years Lando and nothing has changed. I guess even now at twenty-five you’re still that same nineteen year old boy.”

Lando doesn’t know what to say, his heart wants to say one thing while his brain is telling him to say another. The wind howls outside and the rain beats against the windows while another storm is brewing inside his barren apartment. 

“You don’t think I didn’t want us to get back together these past six years? When I broke up with you I immediately regretted it, but then you stuck around I thought ok this could work. I still had you and my doubts about being able to be a good boyfriend and a good driver at the same time suddenly didn’t matter. But then after a while when you started to explore the idea of seeing other guys I hated it every time I saw you with them or you brought them around. Yet somehow I always knew you’d come back to me, so I was able to conceal how I felt better back then. When Arthur came into your life I knew something was different with him and it scared me to death that he was going to be the reason I lost you forever.” 

Lando was so fucking oblivious it made your head spin. “The only reason I came back to you was because you weren’t as great at hiding how you felt back then as you thought. You’d show me a little interest in maybe getting back together and I’d drop those guys in a heartbeat. Arthur was different because I was able to isolate myself from you, but I guess maybe it wasn’t because look where I’m at right now. It always ends the same doesn’t it?” 

There’s a beat of silence for the first time tonight and you can feel the adrenaline wearing off and exhaustion starting to settle in as you lean against the back of the leather couch. “Do you really love me Lando? Do you really want me or do you just hate to think about me with somebody else? If I asked you to be my boyfriend– to get back together right now. What would you say?” 

Lando’s heart wants to say yes so badly, it’s screaming out for him to allow him to love with his whole being, but his brain can’t seem to allow it. “I–um-I’m not sure.”

An almost sinister smile stretches across your face as you stare back at him, so fucking predictable.

“It’s just that it’s always been you and me. We know each other inside and out and there’s never been another person who I could imagine myself with. I do love you Y/N. I’ve loved you since we were kids, and there’s been countless times where I’d thought about giving us another try and then my self doubt creeps in and I’m still so afraid that I can’t be the man you need me to be–” 

“I don’t need for you to be some picture perfect unbelievable fairy tale boyfriend or something. I just need you to be you Lando. I felt that way six years ago and you didn’t get it back then. I would have hoped that you would have gotten it by now, but you clearly don’t.” 

The tears continue to stream down your face in frustration more than sadness.

Lando starts to talk with his hands, his voice raising slightly. “Everyone expects more of me now. My racing career is going so well at the moment and I don’t want you to be an afterthought in my life.” 

“I understand your job Lando. I get the demands and the stress and you being away sometimes. I’ve still been a part of your world for these past six years in case you forgot.” 

“I’m scared that if we give it a try again and I fuck things up then I’ll loose you forever.” He wishes he wasn’t like this, yet he can’t seem to get his brain and heart to work together.

“Am I meant to just stick around until you retire or something?” 

Lando shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “No, that’s not what I meant.” 

“There’s drivers out there with wives and families, clearly they learned how to manage their job and personal life. Why can’t you?” You’re pleading with him at this point and he still continues to give you the same bullshit answers.

“I don’t know. I know I love you though.” 

The ache in your chest only seems to worsen, his words seem to mean nothing to you anymore. “Well, I hate that I love you.” 

“You don’t mean that.” His eyes soften as he stands directly in front of you and you think that maybe you’ve hurt him a little, but that doesn’t stop you from unloading the assault you throw at him next.

“Yes I do. I hate it. You’ve made me look like a fool all these years. A girl desperate enough to wait on you until you’re ready and just when I thought I’d actually made it out of your chains you pull me right back in. I wasted six years of my life waiting for you and I’m not gonna waste another six.”

His arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest and you want to resist him, push him away, but you can’t and you hate yourself that much more. You hate that after saying everything you did, your actions make those words useless. You hate that it feels nice to be in his arms and that his soft kisses to your head feel even nicer.

“I think it would be wise if we continued this conversation in the morning. You’re exhausted and I think we can really discuss this better when you have a clearer head.”

He pulls back, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears as his blue eyes stare back at you. How they have that sparkle in them even in this dimly lit apartment you’ll never know, but that sparkle is what inevitably gets you in even more trouble. His eyes were always one of your biggest weaknesses, he knew that and you knew he was using them to his advantage. 

“I do love you, and maybe I’m not the best with words or explaining how I feel, but let me show you how I feel.” You see him leaning in and you know you shouldn’t, you know how this is going to end, yet you meet him in the middle anyways.

Kissing Lando is an intoxicating experience, one you’ll never get used to or get enough of and then when his hands start to roam you just let it happen and you know in this moment that you’ve fully surrendered yourself to him, like always. 

The old bed creaks as your back falls flat against it, the sheets are cold against your back, your shirt and pants discarded somewhere along the journey from the living room to his bedroom. His kisses are sloppy as they travel down your body and when they get to your thighs you’re embarrassingly already bucking your hips up towards him, yet he doesn’t say anything, just flashes you a smirk and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. 

His hands are planted firmly on your knees as he spreads you open, the cool air directly hitting your core, yet your whole body already felt like it was on fire. You were desperate for him, so sensitive to his touch, and when he swipes a single digit through your folds to find you absolutely drenched he feels his cock twitch in his sweatpants.

He feels conflicted because he really wants to take his time with you, but on the other hand he wants to make you come so many times that you’re seeing stars. From the little whines emitting from you he knows him trying to tease you will only make you more mad at him and he was only about pleasing you tonight. The decision no longer a hard one.

“What do you want, baby? My fingers or my mouth.” He asks, his voice low, heart pounding. 

You’re so unbelievably desperate and you waste no time in telling him what you want. “Both.” 

The grin on his face makes you roll your eyes at him and that somehow makes his cock even harder. You always were a greedy girl. 

He uses his mouth first, his tongue making work to have you breathless. His nose brushes against your clit as his tongue fucks your hole, your hands finding their way into his curls and tugging as the pleasure begins to build. He moves his mouth to focus solely on your clit while he slides two of his thick fingers into your soaking cunt. Your moans are like music to his ears as he brings you close and closer to the edge. 

Curse words echo through the room when he curls his fingers just right to hit that spot that has your toes curling in pleasure. He knows you’re close, he can feel it, the way your walls clench down around his fingers and how your chest heaves. He detaches his mouth from you long enough to give you some encouragement, his face glistening in your wetness. “Come on baby, let go, be a good girl for me.” 

His mouth is barely back to work before that tight coil in you snaps and your hips are rising up off the bed, pleasure surging through every nerve in your body. Lando’s free hand comes up to force your hips back down, pinning you onto the bed as his mouth continues it’s assault on your cunt, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm. 

He doesn’t seem to let up, a man deranged it seems. You’re trying to catch your breath as you come down from your first mind blowing orgasm, but the pleasure is already starting to build for a second one. “Fucking hell Lan.” You manage to choke out as he continues to give you everything he can. He’s determined to make you feel good. 

Your second orgasm sneaks up on you fast and hard. The pleasure is overwhelming and you think you start speaking in tongues as it hits its peak. Lando’s name is said like a prayer, echoing through the room, bouncing off the walls, and it goes straight to his head. 

He’s pussy drunk, face glistening, and eyes wide as he finally comes up for air. The sight of you below him has his dick twitching and his mind clouded. You have an ethereal glow to you even after he’s just absolutely exhausted you with back to back orgasms. “Can my girl take another one?” 

For the first time since his lips touched yours tonight does your mind finally uncloud for a brief second, the use of my girl making your heart ache, because you know this won’t change anything. You two sharing a bed, sharing this intimate moment won’t change how he feels about actually committing to you. You’ll never actually be his girl. 

You’d been too in your head, still trying to come down from your orgasms and then facing the reality of the situation Lando and you find yourselves in to notice that he’d stripped himself of his sweatpants. His dick was painfully hard– the tip bright red and throbbing. It’s embarrassing how your body instantly reacts to him, your pussy clenching around nothing at the sight of his cock. 

He grabs it at the base slowly dragging it through your folds a few times before slowly pushing the tip in. Gasps come from both of you at the sensation of his thick cock stretching you out, the feeling of your velvety walls around him makes him shudder.

Once he’d completely bottomed out he stills for a moment, one hand coming up to caress your face, his eyes piercing into yours as you lay beneath him. “Let me show you how much you mean to me, yeah?” His voice is soft and meaningful and once you gently nod at him he slowly starts to move.

He wanted to be slow and passionate this round, but the sight of your pussy engulfing his dick each time makes his head spin and he starts to pick up the pace. He wastes no time in grabbing your legs and hiking them up over his shoulders, the new position allowing him to be even deeper, hitting the spot that makes you see stars. 

His thrusts were relentless and the sound of him fucking you was downright sinful. You close your eyes feeling the pleasure build for the third time tonight, but a gentle tap to your cheek has you opening them. “Eyes open pretty girl, I want you looking at me when you fall apart.” His free hand that isn’t holding himself up travels down and his thumb starts to rub tight little circles on your clit.

The feeling of Lando staring at you makes this whole experience even more intense, it’s like you’re in a pleasure induced trance. You can feel your orgasm building and with one last thrust from Lando you’re toppling over the edge. Your whole body feels like it’s vibrating and for a second you feel like you’re out of your own body, the pleasure so intense.

Lando nearly comes at the sight of you coming undone beneath him, the way your eyes pierced into his, your jaw slack, tits bouncing in his face as he still pounds into you. Then he does something unexpected– his hand comes back up and intertwines with one of yours and it makes your heart flutter, an act so simple, yet so meaningful in the moment. 

You feel him squeeze your hand tighter and his thrusts start to get a little sloppy. “You gonna come for me? Come on baby let go.” 

Your words are the only thing he needs to hear before profanities are slipping past his lips, your name being chanted like you’re his savior. His hips stutter as ropes of his hot sticky cum paint your velvet walls, his chest heaves as he milks every last ounce of his orgasm. “Fuck I love you so much.” He doesn’t think he’s ever came this hard in his life, his hand still gripping yours like his life depended on it. 

You’re still blissed out from getting properly fucked and the words tumble right out of your mouth back at him. “I love you too.” 

He leans down and kisses you like he never has before, it’s deep and passionate and you think he’s trying to convey his feelings through that kiss, but this isn’t the action you really needed from him right now. Once he catches his breath he slowly pulls out of you, a groan emitting from him at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and a whimper from you at the feeling of emptiness that washes over you. 

He gets you cleaned up and climbs back into bed with you, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he presses chaste kisses to your bare shoulder. And as you watch the lightning flash across the night sky through the rain streaked windows you pray that maybe this time would be different. 

As morning arrives the sun shines in the sky, a bright new day compared to the stormy night, yet there’s nothing bright and sunny about how you feel. You knew when you showed up at Lando’s door last night that this is how it would end, it’s how it always ends. You love him with every fiber of your being and deep down you think he feels as deeply about you as you do him, but only time will tell.

There’s still a storm between Lando and you and for the moment it’s calmed, but it’s still unstable. You know you two won’t talk about last night, you'll act like it didn’t happen and you’ll be back in the endless toxic cycle that is Lando and you. 

[reit0o]

soft, slow mornings with caleb... ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

—slight nsfw, fluff drabble

based on these CalebWeek prompts 🍎

You blink slowly at the red digits on the alarm clock: 5:47 am. A little too early for his alarm to have gone off. A little too early to be awake. And yet, his arm is heavy over your waist, holding you close.

It’s rare being up before Caleb, rarer even that you get to see him like this, so unguarded. You shift slightly, stretching your arms above your head in a lazy arch before rolling over, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt as you go, until you're tucked against his bare chest, limbs tangled under the blanket, face to face with the man beside you.

“Mmh, warm.” You nuzzle into his chest like he’s your personal radiator, staying there until his alarm finally goes off.

He didn’t make a move for the clock—just held you close, like he wasn’t ready to let go. In his half-asleep voice, he murmured, “As much as I’d love to keep you like this, I’ve got a meeting with the fleet first thing this morning.”

You just tightened your arms around his chest.

“Five more minutes,” you mumbled.

He let out a soft breath as his head sank back into the pillow. He was too tired to push back. He just dropped his hand to the back of your head, stroking slowly under his shirt.

“Alright, five more minutes.”

That was enough. You nestled your face into the warm curve of his neck, breathing him in. He smelled like comfort, like the smell of freshly washed laundry.

His hand slid down the length of your back, resting securely at your hip. His skin was soft and warm. You let your hands wander, knowing exactly where to touch, where he tensed when you dragged your fingers over his pressure points. He twitched slightly, betraying just how well you knew him.

“You enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

“Mhm,” you hummed, smiling.

Your fingers moved slowly over the ridges of his chest, then your lips followed. You kissed the same path, planting feather-light kisses along his skin. His breath hitched just enough for you to hear. That soft reaction made your stomach flutter. It made you want more. Made you want to see what else you could get out of him.

You kept going, brushing your mouth along his skin, slipping under the neckline of his shirt. Kisses pressed against the base of his neck, creeping up under his jaw. His eyes were still shut, soaking in every second, either unaware of what you were doing—or pretending to be.

Your hips shifted under his, slow and deliberate. So slow it could’ve passed as innocent. But the way his breath caught again said otherwise. The quiet grind of your body against his was doing exactly what you hoped it would.

He groaned, low in your ear.

“Is this your plan for keeping me in bed?” One eye cracked open, watching you now.

“Maybe,” you teased, mouth tracing along his jaw until you hovered just above his ear. Your hands trail down his chest, palming the growing bulge pressing up against your hips.

“It’s not like they can’t start without you,” you whispered, nipping at his earlobe. You rub him slowly through his pants, savouring the way he writhes under your touch, hips bucking ever so slightly toward you. It was almost too agonising for him to bear.

“I wish I could just stay here with you.”

“So stay,” you murmured, pressing your hips down harder. “Or do I need to convince you a little more?”

His hands gripped your hips tight, stopping your movement. That alone told you how close he was to caving in. His voice came out strained, hanging by a thread, “Not right now.”

It almost hurt him to say it.

If he let you keep going, he’d have flipped you onto your back already and let everyone in that meeting wonder his whereabouts.

“If you keep doing that,” he muttered, “I don’t think I’ll ever leave.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

“It’s your day off, isn’t it?” he said. “How about I make you breakfast in bed. You rest. And when I get back…” He tugs you out from under his shirt, then shifts you beneath him, pinning you down with a hungry look.“Maybe I’ll let you finish what you started.”

“I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“Trust me,” he said. He slides his knee between your thighs, slowly easing them apart until he’s pressed against your warmth. A low groan slips from him the moment he feels the damp spot waiting for him.“I’ll make it—even if I have to break every traffic law out there. It’ll be worth it if it means I get to come home to you.”

He finally pulls away, but not before capturing your moan in a slow, lingering kiss—like he needed to take a piece of you with him. Then he groans, dragging himself out of bed for a cold shower, the only thing that might help ease the massive hard-on you left behind.

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

what it is and what should never be // bob reynolds

Summary: A mission goes sideways, and you end up in a coma. The team works against the clock to save you, but… do you really want to be saved?

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: reader is an ex-widow, mentions of abandonment, mentions of past trauma and bob's past addictions, mentions of death, slight violence (bob lost his temper and attacks walker), angst, friends to lovers, few fluff moments, thunderbolts* are family, happy ending!!

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @ladybirdbeewrites for proofreading this!

Although I got the djinn lore from Supernatural, I bent it a bit so it would fit better with the story.

I used google translate for the Russian parts, so I'm sorry if it's not perfect.

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

“The east wing is clear.” John Walker’s voice rang through the earpiece as you walked along the concrete hallways.

“North wing is clear, too. I’ll check the west side.”

You had carefully examined the floor plan; in theory, the warehouse should be deserted. However, experience taught you that anything could happen. Every corner may hide something or someone, so you always had to be on alert.

The flashlight in your hand dimly illuminated the path as you cautiously made your way through the corridor until you reached a sturdy metal door. The first thing you noticed was that the lock had been forced, which was a terrible indicator.

Your pulse increased, but you did not hesitate. Carefully, you pushed open the door, which creaked slightly as it opened, and stepped into the darkness. The air was dense and smelt like dampness and old wood. You used the beam of your flashlight to look for any movement or suspicious presence.

In the silence, you heard a faint noise and then noticed a moving shadow in the far corner. You paused, keeping your gun poised and your finger on the trigger.

“I think someone's here.” You spoke as quietly as you possibly could through the comms, in case whoever was here couldn't hear you, but loud enough for John to hear.

A violent crash broke the silence again, followed by a resounding crash of crates falling, echoing off the walls and sending shivers down your spine. The jolt caused you to instinctively take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. The flashlight flickered for a moment, emitting intermittent flashes of light.

When the light stabilized again, your gaze was drawn to a little figure running rapidly amid the crates… a small, scared rat.

You let out a laugh as the tension dissipated and an exhale of relief escaped your lips. With one hand on your chest, still feeling your pounding heart, you brought the other to your earpiece. “False alarm, it was just a—”

Before you could finish your sentence, something violently shoved you against the wall, causing the gun and flashlight to fall to the floor, out of your reach. Your eyes widened when you felt something pressing against your chest. You fought to free yourself, but your attempts were futile.

Amidst the darkness, hypnotic blue-glowing eyes seemed to pierce your psyche. Your legs began to quiver, as if they were made of jelly, unable to support themselves. Then a hand as cold as ice was placed against your forehead, and you felt the air collapsing in your lungs, making breathing difficult.

Your ear picked up John's voice through the earpiece, clear yet frantic. “What's happening?! Are you okay? Y/N! Answer me!”

And then your body collapsed to the floor, and everything went black.

Sunlight peeked through the windows, and the golden threads of the early morning hit your face. You grumbled and attempted to roll over to continue sleeping, avoiding the light of day.

But something was stopping you.

With resignation, you slowly opened your eyes and, still drowsy, realized the reason you couldn't move— a warm, muscular arm wrapped around your waist with a firm yet gentle grip. You shifted your gaze slightly and saw a head of brown hair, strands over the pillow, partially covering his face. 

Did you go out last night and end up in some stranger’s bed?

That wasn't like you.

You gripped the stranger's arm and carefully pulled him away from your body. The man let out a muffled grunt and shifted in the bed, trying to find a new position that felt comfortable. After a few seconds, he stopped moving and his body relaxed again. You let out a deep sigh and slowly sat up in bed, but then a wave of dizziness hit, making your head spin.

Despite the persistent headache, you became more aware of the details surrounding the room.

And that's when panic began to invade you.

This wasn’t your bedroom.

You weren’t at the Watchtower. Or any of its rooms.

Where were you?

The more you tried to remember how you got there, the worse the pain in your brain got.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, searching for a path to the bathroom. Each movement was slow, trying not to make a sound that would wake up the man still lying in the bed. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror and everything seemed in order; your reflection showed a familiar image, albeit with your eyes a little hazy due to the headache. You opened the medication cabinet, desperate for some Tylenol to relieve this persistent and unexpected migraine.

“Babe?”

Babe?

That voice… What did it sound so familiar?

You closed the medication cabinet door, and in the mirror's reflection, you saw him.

“Bob?” you asked, your voice filled with bewilderment.

He was standing there in a basic white t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants that hung loosely over his hips, highlighting his V-line. 

But something was off. 

He didn’t resemble the Bob you knew. His hair was a little longer, and a faint stubble shaded his jaw. His shoulders weren’t hunched, and there was an air about him – and an undeniable confidence, that you had only seen on rare occasions, mostly when Sentry took control.

“Do you feel alright?” he asked as he approached you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m slightly confused right now.”

‘Slight confused’ was an understatement. You had no fucking clue what was happening.

He chuckled softly. “Told you you were drinking too much last night.”

What?

“Here.” He handed you a glass of water and a pill of Tylenol from the bottle you had been holding just a few seconds before. “It will help make you feel better.”

Confusion overtook you, and for a moment, you wondered if it was all part of some kind of dream or if you were losing your mind.

“You said that I drank too much last night?”

He tilted his head as he gazed at you. “You really don’t remember?”

He reached for his toothbrush and squeezed a generous line of toothpaste on it, and began brushing his teeth.

“This must be your worst hangover. Topping that time when you ended up singing loudly at the top of your lungs in the middle of the street.”

You pursed your lips. “I don’t sing.”

He rinsed the toothpaste from his mouth. “Oh, but you did. Yelena had you recorded on video.”

That sounded like something she would do.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me and take it a bit easier, but for now, what about some banana pancakes?”

You huffed. “I don’t want banana pancakes, Bob.”

“Okay, now you’ve got me worried. Are you feeling nauseous?” His hands cupped your jaw gently while he examined your features.

“What? No, I–”

You paused, motionless for a moment. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze fell on Bob’s hand, where a gold wedding band sat snugly on his finger. Then your eyes turned to your left hand, where the sparkling diamond on your left finger shone softly in the bathroom light.

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Oh my god,” you blurted out, your voice more frenzied than you’d intended. “Are we married?”

Did you get so drunk last night that you ended up marrying Bob, like in those cliché movies?

He didn’t appear concerned about the whole ordeal; on the contrary, your words made him burst laughing.

You didn’t understand why he was so chill about everything. 

“Why aren’t you panicking?” 

“Trust me. I already did,” he remarked with a chuckle as he exited the bathroom. You followed him, your mind racing. “On our wedding day, three years ago.” 

You blinked, trying to process what he just said.

Three years ago?

He walked into the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living room. It was a large space, with modern yet modest furnishings. It felt cozy, like a home.

“Those cocktails struck you hard, huh? You really forget we’re married?” he asked as he beat some eggs, and you could sense his tone was playful. He must have assumed you were messing with him. “So much for ‘I could never forget you, babe.’”

“I don’t sound like that,” you said, mildly annoyed at his attempt at mimicking your voice.

Your gaze scanned the living room more intently, as if you were about to find an answer to what was going on. It was then that you noticed one of the framed pictures on the shelf. You approached and cautiously held the frame in your hands.

You nearly stopped breathing, your chest hitching.

Two people smiling at the camera. Their happiness was palpable, and it was not simply because they were smiling or because it was their wedding day. It was something deeper. 

You couldn't recall a time in your life when you'd felt this happy. And you knew Bob well enough to know that he had probably not felt it either. You felt a twinge in your heart again, but this time for a completely different reason. 

You placed the photo back on the shelf, and your eyes fell on the framed photo right next to it.

You, Bob, Yelena, and Kate.

From the background, it looked like a restaurant, and from the partially visible slice of cake with candles, you assumed you were celebrating a birthday.

Another thing that was off.

Kate Bishop wasn't even that present in your lives. If you remembered correctly, you had only met her once or twice since moving to New York.

And then there was a third framed picture. 

The camera had captured a woman, surrounded by children, about five or six years old, give or take. The bottom part of the frame had a gold plaque engraved with the words: ‘The best teacher in the world.’

What was going on here?

The aroma of freshly prepared pancakes drew your attention from the photos to Bob at the kitchen island. He had two plates ready, each topped with maple syrup and blueberries.

Your stomach grumbled.

“Oh, I thought you said you didn't want my banana pancakes?” he said, moving the plate out of your grasp with a sly smile on his face.

You rolled your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“You wounded me, baby… But a kiss might heal me, and I’ll let you enjoy this delicious breakfast,” he said, while taking a bite from his plate.

Although you had never voiced it aloud or confessed it to anyone in particular, you found Bob really cute. He was sweet, caring, considerate, and kinda awkward, which only made him even more attractive in your eyes.

He was very different from other men you had met before – in a good way. Maybe that was the reason you were so drawn to him.

You usually would pull yourself out from missions to stay back at the Watchtower with him. At the beginning he would apologize for you having to babysit him, and you would tell him that he didn’t need a babysitter and that you enjoyed his company.

You weren’t sure if he truly believed you, but you liked being around him. It would probably be an odd thing to say, considering everything he had been through and what he was dealing with, but he brought calmness to you.

Then you started to spend more time together – going out around the city, reading, training… And at some point your feelings for him gradually evolved from friendship to something deeper.

“Well, I’m waiting.” He was leaning on the counter, studying you with a smile.

You stood on your tiptoes, one hand around the back of his neck and the other placed against his chest, before pulling him down toward you and meeting his lips.

Bob instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, while the other hand cupped your jaw. Your hand on the back of his neck moved higher, and you let your fingers get lost in his brunette curls. His lips were soft and warm, and everything you’d always imagined.

You dived in with the intention of it being a small, chaste kiss. But the instant your mouth collided with his, it felt like you could never get enough of him.

When you felt like your lungs were giving out, you pulled back, foreheads pressed together while trying to regain your breath. Your gaze met his blue-eyed one, and you bit your bottom lip when you noticed his flushed cheeks. 

“Sorry,” you muttered a bit sheepishly. You certainly gave him more than he anticipated.

“Oh, no, no… That was–” He took a long breath. “Wow.”

You smiled at his reaction. “So, did I earn those pancakes?”

“What the hell happened?” Bucky was fuming, running his fingers through his hair while he went in circles around the room. “You go on a recon mission and come back with Y/N in a coma?”

“I told you what happened,” John said, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, yeah. A tall man with tattooed skin that emitted blue light. That explains everything.”

“It’s not like we haven’t seen worse,” Ava commented.

“We definitely haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“Did you at least kill that motherfucker?”

John remained silent for a second while the others watched him expectantly. “No.”

“Why the hell not? Did you let him escape?”

“I did shoot him, like twenty times… everywhere. And that thing did not even flinch.”

“Great,” Bucky sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. “So what, another O.X.E subject?”

You were lying in one of the beds in the medical wing, connected to a monitor that measured the frequency of your heartbeat.

Yelena sat at your bedside, holding your hand in hers while looking at you. She hadn’t moved or said anything since John Walker stepped out of the elevator with your unconscious body in his arms, after the recon mission you were assigned to went sideways.

“What happened to Y/N?” 

Bob was in his room, reading the new book you had bought him at the bookstore you two went to every Thursday, without fail. It had become a weekly routine that Bob looked forward to.

You had assured him the mission was simple and wouldn't take long, so you could go when you got back. You had promised him, and he had taken you at your word.

Although he wouldn't admit it if asked, he had been constantly staring at the clock, as if staring at the hands would make time pass faster. The Watchtower was still under construction, and its walls were not entirely strengthened, so it was easy to hear the others' voices. He could tell from their frantic tones that the mission had not gone as planned.

They all looked at him, like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“Uh, she… she got hurt in the mission, but she’ll be alright.” Ava tried to dismiss it, but the unsureness and dread in her voice gave her away.

Bob knew they were lying to him, but decided not to comment on it. Instead, his glance darted toward your unconscious form on the bed, a flicker of something crossing his face before shifting back to Walker. “Where were you?” 

John tilted his head, watching him with narrowed eyes. “What?”

Bob took a few deliberate steps forward, his motions were measured. “You went together to that mission. Why weren’t you with her?”

“We split up to cover more ground. The warehouse was supposed to be empty!” John exclaimed angrily, tired of everyone blaming him for what had happened.

“You should’ve known better.” Something was starting to shift in Bob’s demeanor. The first indicator was the tone of his voice. The second, the faint flickers of gold in his eyes. “And you were supposed to protect her… I would have protected her.”

John huffed, and without realizing the emotions that were building up inside Bob, he lit the fuse. “Respectfully Bob, fuck off.”

And that was it.

He launched at him, slamming him against the wall so hard that a small crack appeared. His hands were around his neck, squeezing it tightly, cutting off his breath. John's eyes widened in panic as he struggled against the grip, his fingers clawing at Bob's wrists.

Bucky, Ava, and Alexei reacted almost immediately, attempting to push him back, even though they knew it would be in vain.

“Bob, hey, let him go. It wasn’t his fault,” Ava shouted, her voice shaking with panic.

“It was his fault. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt.” 

“We know you care about her, we do too… We’re going to help her, but this isn’t the solution.” 

Ava’s words didn’t cause him to quiver; it was when Yelena placed a hand on his bicep that something slightly shifted. 

“She wouldn’t want this.” Her voice came out quietly. “Remember what she taught you during training.”

Something clicked inside him.

You had spent hours with Bob in the training room, helping him control his powers, guiding him through every step.

You were always patient, never pressuring or rushing him.

There had been times when he almost lost control – like right now. And you were always there to ground him.

You believed in him.

You believed he could do better.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Inhale and exhale. He repeated the sequence several times until the tension in his muscles slowly dissipated.

Finally, he unwrapped his hand from John's neck, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. Ava and Bucky quickly rushed over, helping him to his feet and guiding him to one of the nearby beds in the medical wing.

Alexei placed a hand on Bob’s shoulder, and he turned to the Soviet super soldier, who looked at him sympathetically. “It’s alright, kid. No one is at fault here.”

Four days.

That’s how long it had been since you returned from the mission unconscious and the incident in the medical wing.

Things had only worsened.

Bob hadn't left the room since then; the emotions of what had happened to you, along with his attack on Walker, had overwhelmed him.

However, when sleeplessness seized him at night, he would leave the room, making sure not to be seen, and go check on you. He would sit in the chair Yelena occupied in the mornings, hold your hand, and beg you not to leave him.

Someone had once told him that people in a coma could hear and feel what was going on around them, and he hoped it was true.

John had not left his room either. Partially to avoid running into Bob, and partially because he was tired of the accusatory looks the rest of the team was giving him, blaming him for what had happened.

And you.

It appeared that the coma you were in was more complex than the team and Dr. Ashford had initially anticipated.  Because yesterday, she had to deliver the most unpleasant news in the medical field: you were dying.

She was unable to explain the cause. But the evidence was there, in the samples she took every day, in how your skin grew paler and paler, and how your heartbeat grew slower and slower.

Something was destroying you from within.

And they didn't know how to stop it.

“A genie?”

“A djinn,” Bucky corrected, emphasizing the term.

Bucky had told Sam about your situation, hoping that his friend would have some insight, after all, he had dealt with his fair share of strange things before. Unfortunately, Sam didn’t have an answer either. But he promised he and Joaquín would dig into it.

What they found, however, was not what Bucky would have expected at all.

“According to the lore Joaquín found, they are rare cave-dwelling hermits that have the power to produce powerful hallucinations inside the minds of humans,” Bucky explained. “Most people don’t believe they actually exist, but according to Walker’s description of the thing that attacked Y/N, it’s our best guess.”

“That doesn’t explain why she’s in a coma, or why she’s dying.”

“Here comes the tricky part. When it touched her, it poisoned her. The lore also states that djinns usually feed from their victims.” He halted as he noticed the horrified expression on Ava’s face. “Which is probably what would happen if Walker weren’t there to bring Y/N home.”

“Wait. Did Wilson and Torres explain why Walker couldn’t kill it? Is it immortal or something?”

“Apparently, it can only be killed in a very specific way. There were so many debacles that they couldn’t confirm which was the real one.”

“What are the hallucinations about?” 

Everyone turned their attention toward Yelena. She had barely said anything these past few days, and she had barely left your side either. The dark circles under her eyes were a clear indicator of exhaustion from a lack of sleep. They knew how bad it was affecting her – the probability of losing you. 

You and Yelena go way back.

Back when you were just two scared children in the Red Room.

Back when Yelena got back from the blip, only to learn that Natasha was gone, and Alexei was MIA.

You were there for her through everything. Not because you had to. Not because you felt obligated to, just because she gave you your life back. 

You were there because you wanted to. Because you chose to.

You were her safe place — where she could be real and vulnerable, without being judged or pitied. 

You were her sister.

“Oh, yeah, that. Contemporary lore depicts them as genies —”

“AHA! Genies! What have I said? I love those blue-skinned floating wish-maker tricksters.”

“Alexei, shut up, please!” Yelena said exasperatedly, her voice sounding tired.

“As I was saying, they’re depicted as genies able to read a person’s mind to learn what their heart desires the most,” he explained, repeating the information he had been taught. “But they don’t truly grant wishes. It’s just a ruse to inflict their poison. You believe you’ve gotten what you wanted, then your physical body dies in the real world.”

“But she must know she’s trapped in a… I don’t know, a fantasy reality?”

“Difficult to know for sure. Djinns are powerful enough to convince their victims that they are actually living in the reality they implanted.”

“So that’s it? She stays in that made up world while that fucker’s poison kills her here?”

Bucky paused. Doubting if he should say it or not. Not wanting to give her false hope. But Yelena caught on his hesitation, her eyes narrowing slightly as she questioned what he was holding back.

“Barnes, spit it out.”

Bucky sighed. “There may be a thing, but I cannot assure it would work,” he said, “Joaquín found this thing called African dream roots. Apparently, if you take them and go to sleep, you can enter people's dreams and interact with them.”

“Not the craziest thing we’ve heard so far,” Ava commented.

“I’ll do it,” Yelena said, without hesitation.

“Yelena –” 

“I’m not giving up on her, Dad… I’ve  already lost one sister; I am not losing her too.”

She could not bear it. 

Not again.

Yelena opened her eyes, slightly dizzy. She was struggling to adapt to her environment. Her gaze scoured the cozy living room; there was no trace of you anywhere, and for a brief moment, she thought those herbs Bucky had given her had been ineffective.

But there was something off about the atmosphere, which Yelena could sense in her bones.

Unlike the rooms of shame where The Void had trapped them, this felt more manufactured, yet safe at the same time, as if these four walls painted in earth tones protected you from the outside world.

“Yelena?”

She turned when she heard your voice.

You stood in the doorway, your head tilted slightly, a puzzled expression on your face.

Yelena regarded you for a few seconds without saying anything. You didn't seem scared or in danger. You were... normal.

That was what struck her the hardest.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you realized that she had no intention of saying anything.

“What am I doing here?” She repeated your question in amazement after a few seconds, when she appeared to have sprung out of her trance. “I came to rescue you.”

“Rescue me? From what?”

“The genie!” she exclaimed.

“The what?” you asked, perplexed. 

“You were attacked during a mission. You’re dreaming, this isn’t real.” She got straight to the point, explaining the situation as simply as possible.

“It’s real enough to me.”

Your words jolted Yelena back. She blinked a few times. “Y-you… You know?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Of course, I know. Look around, Lena.”

“Then why haven’t you freed yourself? Bucky said —”

You interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. “Because I don’t want to.”

Yelena looked at you, not expecting that response.

“All the pain, the suffering, all that we have lost…” You walked toward the kitchen island and took a seat on one of the stools. “I’m tired of carrying that weight on my shoulders every day.”

“What your heart desires the most,” she mumbled under her breath, quiet and barely audible yet clear enough for you to hear.

“What?”

“What’s so special about this place, Y/N? What do you have here that you cannot have in the real world?” 

“My parents are alive, they actually love me, and never abandoned me.” Your voice cracked a bit, and Yelena could notice the unshed tears building in your eyes.

“Oh, pchelka.” 

She knew that was a difficult subject for you. When you told her that you wanted to dig into your past and find out how you were taken, she knew deep in her gut that whatever you found wouldn’t be good. Nevertheless, she still supported you in your decision.

She helped you gather all the information you needed, and then she held you in her arms when you discovered that you had not been kidnapped — your parents abandoned you, they actually sold you to those Sovietic scumbags. 

“There’s no pain in here, Lena,” you said. “No pressure to save the world, or for the world to like us. No Valentina. No Avengers. Just living a normal life.”

“The picket white fence, is it what you wished for?” she asked. Curiously, you’ve never talked about this before – how you imagined your lives if your circumstances were different. 

Her eyes caught a glimpse of your hand, more specifically, of the shiny stone. “You’re married?” she exclaimed, a bit too loudly, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You didn’t answer her. You just looked at the shelf where the photos were, and she followed your gaze. 

“Bob?” There was surprise in her tone. “You like Bob?” She directed her glance back toward you.

“What’s wrong with liking Bob?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly assured, “It’s just that… I don’t know, you never said anything.”

You shrugged, a slight smile on your lips. “It's not like we’re very good at communicating how we feel.” Your gaze returned to her, and a hint of vulnerability crept into your words. "But, yeah, I like Bob. More than just a friend, I guess.”

“Well, you’re going to be thrilled then, ‘cause he likes you too. The real one,” she stated, emphasizing the word ‘real’.

Maybe it was wrong. Yelena knew this wasn’t her confession to make. But desperate times needed desperate measures.  Besides, if Bob was one of the reasons you wanted to stay here, he could also be the reason for you to leave, since you could have him anyway.

You rose swiftly from the stool. "You don't need to lie to trick me. I told you that I'm not leaving."

“I’m not lying,” she said, offended that you expected her to lie to you about something like that. “He attacked Walker ‘cause he blames him for what happened to you. He hasn’t left his room for days… Except at night, when he sneaks out to see you in the medical wing. The thing is, he cares profoundly about you, and we are really concerned about him and what’s going on in his mind.”

Yelena paused for a moment, considering whether to voice her next words. She knew she might regret them later, but she couldn’t ignore the ache she was feeling in her chest. “Yesli ty ostanesh'sya zdes', ty egoistichnaya suka.”

Her words struck you hard. She’d never been so crass with you before, and part of you couldn’t believe she’d aimed those words at you. “Excuse me?”

“You’re dying out there, dammit! Dr. Ashford doesn’t think you’ll make it to the weekend. The team is in disarray—Walker is feeling guilty, and Bob is doing even worse than when we met him. Bucky, Ava, and Alexei are on autopilot, not stopping searching for a way to help you… And me? Do you even care about me? You think your choices don’t have an impact on the lives of others?” she outburst, tears overflowing in her eyes due to the intensity of her emotions. “I know our lives aren’t perfect, and we haven’t always had it easy, but we have each other. And that is real… Is that not enough for you?”

“I get it, trust me, I do. All this —” She waved her hands, signaling your surroundings “— Having what you wish for the most, it’s enticing, and it’s unfair that it isn’t real, but you’re not alone, and you still can be happy. You want Bob? He is waiting for you. You want a family? You’ve got us. You got me… Family doesn't end in blood, but it doesn't start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad, all of it. They got your back even when it hurts. That’s family.” 

She approached you, her hands cradling your face as she brushed away the tears that had silently fallen from your eyes. “I love you. Pozhaluysta, sestrichka, vernis' domoy.”

You let out a sob, followed by another, and so on. You wrapped your arms around Yelena, clutching her tightly as if she would vanish at any minute. Your face pressed into her shoulder, tears streaming down your cheeks. With a broken voice, you kept whispering your apologies, while she held your shivering body.

Waking up from a coma is a strange sensation, something you've never experienced before. The closest thing you could equate it to is the Red Dust breaking the mental grasp on your brain, and yet, they are two completely different things.

You rubbed your eyes with the side of your hand, your vision slowly adjusting to the light and your surroundings.

The first thing you heard were sighs of relief, followed by Alexei's strong arms wrapping around you in a hug, squeezing you against his chest. “My pchelka! You are back. Oh, we were so worried.”

Bucky and Ava stood at the foot of your bed, watching the scene, their expression showing relief but unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, guys,” you murmured, your voice a little hoarse. “I got a little caught up in all that… fantasy reality.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Bucky said, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but you knew it was. How worried they had been these days, thinking they wouldn’t be able to save you. “Could have happened to any of us.”

“Important thing is, you’re back,” Ava added, offering you a reassuring smile.

You rolled onto your side, your gaze settling on Yelena, who was already awake, her eyes fluttering open from whatever she drank to enter your dream. As your eyes wandered around the room, you realized that Bob and John were nowhere to be seen. 

As if she could read your mind, Ava chimed in, “They’re in their rooms.”

You started getting out of bed, detaching yourself from the heart monitor and removing the IV from your arm, but Yelena swiftly stopped you. “Woah, where do you think you’re going, miss?”

“I have to—”

“What you have to do is wait for Dr. Ashford to examine you.”

“I’m fine, I feel fine.” You looked at her, pleading, “There’s something I need to do first.”

Yelena glanced at you, and you could see the internal conflict in her eyes. For a second, you thought she was going to fight you on this one, but she merely sighed and let go of her grip on your shoulders, giving you the go-ahead.

You walked down the halls with a specific direction in mind, and when you arrived, you paused in the middle of the hall to stare at the door.You had a fleeting moment of hesitation, but you shrugged it aside and knocked softly on the door.

Not a sound could be heard behind the door. Perhaps he wasn’t there. Perhaps he was refusing to recognize the knocking. Then you heard feet shuffling on the floor, and the creak of the door hinges as they opened.

“And now what?” His voice was rough and tired at the same time. The frown he was sporting on his face completely vanished when he saw you, replaced with a startled expression. “Y/N?”

You observed the red markings on his neck, and your gut twisted as you remembered the talk with Yelena.

“I woke up,” you said meekly, awkwardly moving your hands. “They figured it out… Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you.” 

John furrowed his eyebrows, looking at you confusedly. 

“Yelena told me what could have happened if you didn’t get me away from that thing, so thank you for not abandoning me there… Also, don’t crucify yourself, alright? What happened, it wasn’t your fault,” you reassured him. “There was no way we could have known.”

An awkward silence fell over both of you. John continued to stare at you without saying anything, and you stood on the threshold of his door, fumbling with your hands, unsure what else to do.

You knew John Walker wasn't good with words, but this wasn't exactly the reaction you were expecting.

After a few more seconds, and unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, you turned on your heels to leave.

As you were about to turn the corner, he called out your name. You stopped and turned around, and he said, “I’m glad you’re back.”

You offered him a smile in response, and you made your way to the other side of the tower.

Again, you found yourself in front of a closed door.

But this one was different.

You could feel your palms sweating and your heart thumping against your ribs.

You'd been in Bob's room numerous times before, so why did it feel different now?

The truth was, you were scared. Scared of being face to face with him—with the real Bob—after the short experience you'd had in the Fantasy Universe.

You knew things were different here. Bob wasn’t yours, and you didn’t even know for sure if he harbored any feelings for you. You just had Yelena’s word for it, and while you knew your sister would never lie to you, how could she even know how Bob felt in the first place?

When he opened the door, his reaction was nearly identical to Walker’s – stunned, eyes wide open in surprise. The sight of you standing on the threshold of his bedroom door caught him completely off guard; he plainly did not expect to see you there. 

He probably didn’t even know the team had a plan to reach out to you. Yelena mentioned he wasn’t coping well with the circumstances, so it made sense if they hadn’t told him, in case things didn’t go well.

Your heart plummeted when you looked at him. Tiredness was etched onto his features, his eyes were heavy and swollen due to exhaustion. He was more hunched than usual, shoulders slumped by the weight of the past four days.

“This is your fault,” you thought, “He thought you were dying, you idiot. How do you expect him to look?”

“Hey,” you said weakly.

“You– You’re here,” he murmured, puzzled. He rubbed his hands over his face repeatedly to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him and that his lack of sleep wasn’t causing him to become delirious.

“I am.”

Without a warning or a second thought, he threw his arms around you, engulfing you in his embrace, drawing you close to his chest, allowing his emotions to sweep him away.

You were here.

You were fine.

You were alive.

He tightened his grip on you, relishing in the comfort you always provided to him.

“I thought I had lost you.” His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, muffled against your head, but enough for you to hear. 

“You’re never going to lose me.”

He drew back slightly, his eyes studying you carefully to ensure you were in perfect condition. “How do you feel? Has Dr. Ashford checked on you? How did you wake up?” 

“Bob, I’m fine,” you said calmly, lifting your hands from his side to rest on his shoulders, bringing an end to his rambling. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Bob shook his head. “No, no, that – that it wasn’t your fault. Walker shouldn’t have —”

“It wasn’t Walker's fault, either.”

Something more serious took over Bob’s gaze. “Yes, it was. We’re a team, and he was your partner in that mission —”

“We were covering more ground separately, and I got ambushed, and I couldn’t react in time. Shit happens all the time during missions; it’s part of the job.”

He still looked unsure. He knew you could defend yourself, of course. You were a very skilled fighter, he had seen it firsthand. Still, the fact that you got hurt and that you had been on the verge of death until just a few hours ago, was something he couldn’t shake off his mind… and his heart.

He grabbed your hand and drew you to his bed, where you both sat on the edge. 

“What happened?” he asked, “You didn’t wake up, and Bucky, he… uh, he said you got —” he stumbled over his words, trying to find the right way to say it. “That it was a genie that attacked you?”

You explained what happened in the warehouse the best way you could, based on what you recalled, which wasn't much. You were still confused about it, and you didn’t know all the details regarding this genie situation. 

You could wrap your mind around the Red Room, HYDRA, OXE, and even Thanos. But the concept of a tattoo-covered humanoid entity with the ability to read minds and apparently grant wishes while putting you in a coma-state… that was a lot to take in.

“What did you dream about?” Bob asked curiously, “I mean… What was your dream life?”

You swallowed. Although you had a close friendship with Bob, and you had told him things about your past, the same way that he had told you things about his,this particular topic had only been discussed with Yelena.

“You know I grew up in the Red Room, right?” you asked, and he nodded. He remembered the first time you made skin contact while in the vault, and he unintentionally sent you to one of your shame rooms. “Well, there were girls from all parts of the world; some of them were orphans, some of them were kidnapped and taken away from their families… A few years back, I was going through a hard time and I was feeling this –” You paused, unsure whether to voice the word on the tip of your tongue.

Bob noticed your hesitation, and he surmised what you meant to say. “Void?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah, I wanted to know more about my past. I thought I needed to… to move forward, I guess. Yelena advised me it was a terrible idea and that certain things are better left unknown, but I didn’t listen. So, I started digging and I found my biological mother. I was ecstatic, a bit nervous, but for a moment something inside me felt complete, y’know?”

Bob's gaze met yours, and while what you were saying to him sounded nice, your expression and tone of voice spoke a very different message. “It didn’t go well, didn’t it?”

You averted your eyes and shook your head. “She was surprised to see me, that much obvious. But the first thing that came out her mouth was, ‘Oh, you’re still alive.’” Your voice cracked a bit, and you took a long breath, attempting to maintain your composure. “It didn’t take a genius to figure out that I was not kidnapped.”

Bob took in your words and what they meant, “She – Did she… She handed you over to those people?”

“Yeah.” It was quiet and barely audible, but enough for Bob, who immediately wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward his chest, in an attempt to offer you comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his face pressed against your head. “She didn’t deserve you.”

“I didn’t think that her loving me was something I craved so much. Not until I woke up in that place and I found that we were actually a happy family – me, her, and my dad. I didn’t know you could miss something you never had.”

Bob paused for a second, taking in your words, then tentatively said, “Maybe that thing… What did you say its name was? Maybe it was all a ruse, to mess with you.”

“I don’t know. Apparently it can read your mind, to see what someone wishes for the most, so they gave it to them,” you said. “Besides, there were other things… Other things that I also want.”

“What were they?”

“A normal life. No Avengers, not fighting for my life every day… Nothing of this.”

“You mean the team?” he asked, swallowing the lump in his throat before proceeding with his next question. “I wasn’t – The team wasn’t part of your life?” He corrected himself quickly, but you picked up on it.

“Well, Yelena was part of it,” you admitted. You didn’t get the chance to meet that version of her, but you remembered the picture in your living room. “And… you were there too.”

You could feel his body going stiff.

“I was?” He sought for confirmation, almost unable to believe it. In Bob’s mind, the idea that he was part of your dream life seemed too good to be true.

You hummed in response.

Then you decided to be brave and dropped the ball, bracing yourself for the worst. “We were married.”

Bob's arms that had been wrapped around you fell limp at his side, and you immediately missed the warmth and comfort. Something ached in your chest, and you could feel his piercing gaze on you, but you didn’t dare to look at him, so you kept your eyes on your hands.

“We – we were… married?” he stuttered, the ‘married’ part getting slightly stuck in his throat.

You just nodded, and hummed again. 

“Is that… That’s what you want?” The incredulity in his voice was obvious. “That’s your dream life?”

When you ask someone about how they imagine their dream life –  a life they will most likely never have – they would mention amazing things, good things; most of the time unrealistic things. You told him that you dreamt about your parents being part of your life, loving you; and he could relate to that part. Living a life where he wasn’t a burden and wasn’t constantly reminded of how he always made things worse sounded nice. 

But him being part of your dream life? 

He didn’t understand it. 

Out of all the things you can wish and dream for, you wanted him?

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“You could have had anything,” he said, stating the obvious.

“I know.”

“And you… You wished for me?”

“Maybe I just want you.”

You finally lifted your gaze to meet his. You could feel the war going on behind his dark blue eyes.

“Was he any different from me?” he asked.

“The ‘you’ from my dream?”

He nodded. 

You tilted your head, as if you were deep in thought. Then a small smile spread across your face. “Nah, you were still yourself. Same Bob who stole my heart.”

A flush crept up his neck; he couldn't recall the last time his heart pounded so fiercely against his ribcage. 

You reached out your hand, softly grazing his cheek. His eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation, and a low gasp escaped his lips. For a moment, the warmth of your palm appeared to soothe the turmoil in his head.

“You’re already everything I ever dreamt of, why would I change anything?”

Bob opened his eyes, his gaze piercing into yours, looking for any sign that this was all just a joke or that you were just playing with him. But he knew you better than that, and your eyes reflected genuine care and affection.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, and he started to lean in, slowly. He could feel your breath hitting him in the face. His lips finally brushed against yours in a timid, delicate kiss, still feeling a bit unsure. Then you scooted your body closer to his, your thighs bumping, and one of your hands slipping into the back of his neck and his brunette curls. His hair was shorter here, but still silky. 

His mouth was still addictive, his taste leaving you craving more of him.

This kiss was so much better than the ones you’d shared in the dream world, because this one was real.

“Wait, now that I think about it…”

He pulled back slightly, a slightly worried expression etched on his face. 

“Have you thought about letting your stubble grow a bit?”

He blinked, surprise clouding his features. “Stubble?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile on your face. “Just a thought,” you said as your fingertips traced his jaw. “Would make you look extra hot.”

His cheeks heated, turning red as your compliment washed over him.

“I can do that.”

.

…

…

Hours later, you were lying in bed. The sky had turned black, and the city lights cast shadows across the walls of the dimly lit room.

Your head was resting on Bob's chest, and the steady rise and fall of his chest brought you a sense of calm. His body emanated a welcoming warmth, and you relished in it. One of his hands was entangled in your hair, fingers playing with the strands, while one of your hands was intertwined with his free hand, fingers laced together.

“Can you tell me more about the dream?” he asked a bit hesitantly. 

“There isn’t much to tell,” you said, sincerely. “I was a teacher. There was this picture of me and my students in our living room.”

“Is that the path you would have taken?” he asked softly, “If you had had a choice.”

“I don’t know. I never really thought about it. I think –” you paused for a second, trying to find the right words for what you want to express. “I think my subconscious chose that because I didn’t have the easiest childhood…  No one protected me, so a part of me felt the need to protect other kids from going through what I did,” you explained. “I’m not sure if that makes sense.”

“It does,” he said sincerely, dropping his hand from your hair to squeeze your shoulder in reassurance.

“Oh, and we lived in Florida,” you added.

“Out of all the places you could have chosen for us to live, you chose Florida?”

“Stop belittling my dream life,” you said, clutching his side in mock offense. Then, your eyes shifted, playfulness aside, your gaze rose to meet his. “Would you like to go back someday?”

“To Sarasota Springs?” he asked, and you nodded. “Not really. There’s nothing left for me there anymore… Everything I want is here.”

Your heart did somersaults, his eyes shone, and a blissful smile spread across your face. You adjusted your body slightly so you could reach his mouth to press a quick kiss on his lips, but Bob had other intentions, and he grasped your jaw, keeping you in place and deepening the kiss, not wanting to let you go just yet.

You could get used to this.

“I'm glad you dug yourself out. Most people wouldn't have had the strength, they would've just stayed,” he said when you parted lips. 

If he had been in your situation, he knows he would have stayed; he would not have had the strength to let you go. A dream world in which you were his wife, and lived a normal life, free of the burden of his past addictions or his childhood trauma was indeed a dream life.

“I would have… I mean, I wanted to…” you admitted, knowing how easily you fell for everything. “But Yelena helped me realize something. Maybe this life isn’t perfect, and it might be difficult at times, but we’re not alone, and there are still things worth living for.”

[notbecauseofvictories]

here’s my question: how do you have so many hobbies? i just started a regular office job and it’s fine and lovely but i get home and i want to turn into mush—no thoughts. i was super creative and thoughtful in undergrad bc it was my job to write for class and i miss it but it’s not like that anymore

I have two answers to this---one practical, and the other existential.

The practical answer is that, as with many things in life, cultivating a life outside of work requires practice. Three years ago, I talked about this with regard to reading for pleasure; it applies to other hobbies as well. So be patient with yourself! Get used to the job; get used to the grind of commuting and computers and meetings and emails. The more comfortable and used to it you get, the more energy and attention you'll have for other things. I know I bring up exercise with alarming regularity for someone shaped like a moldy potato, but it really is like exercise. I've been working on cultivating hobbies and things other than work since 2020. If you want to try…start small. 5lb weights. Don't worry so much about the powerlifters. (They started with 5lbs too.)

The existential answer is that one day, you will wake up on a Saturday---or maybe a Sunday, that works too---or maybe it will be late at night, as the clock flips over to 2am---you know what, the timing isn't important. The point is that you will be lying in bed, warm and snug and theoretically content with the world. Thinking of the day ahead or behind you, dwelling on nothing in particular.

Then, very suddenly a quiet, cold-blooded thought will swim to the surface of your mind. In that moment, you will think with a mounting dread:

Wait, is this...is this it?

It probably won't happen tomorrow, or next year, or even five years from now. If you have a spouse to espouse or children to parent, family members to care for, a highly-intensive job, etc. it might not happen for decades. The thought might rouse briefly, then sink back to the depths of your subconscious to sleep on. But at some point, you will look around at your life and you will wonder if this is all. If this is it. If life is just animal needs, paying bills, sometimes seeing your friends on a Saturday, and watching whatever is on netflix. And if that's all life is, just a finite count of days to be used and used up without any greater purpose or plan....where does that leave you? What are you, just some half-sunk and shattered visage? Will anything you love, you built, survive you? If not, what are all those days for?

....there are many, many ways to deal with this. You can go on a screaming bender, buy a shiny red corvette, travel the world, find religion. You can read deeply on any topic of your choosing, join activist groups or yoga studios, or give a TED talk; change your job, change your spouse, change your gender. I don't know if anyone has solved an existential crisis, but human history is littered with attempts.

Or you can swear at your fucking sewing machine because it keeps breaking the goddamn thread and you're just trying to sew straight lines what the fuck is with this motherfucking thing oh my fucking jesus

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1260 words

series masterlist ; main masterlist this is part one of this blurb! the next part will be smut! this was supposed to one whole blurb, but unfortunately, i can't stop adding details

A week had passed since that toe-curling, heart stopping kiss with James, yet the memory clung to you, refusing to loosen its grip. Every moment replayed in your mind—the way his breath had mingled with yours, the warmth of his lips, the intoxicating mix of hesitation and desire that had crackled between you. It was impossible to shake, no matter how hard you tried to push it to the back of your mind.

But life, as it often does, had intervened. Work had been intense for both of you. His late nights at the office, followed by early morning school drop-offs, and your endless deadlines and marathon meetings had drained you both, leaving little room for anything else—especially the conversation you so desperately needed.

But you were hoping tonight would be different. He’d asked if you could watch Henry, and you’d never refused him before. And you weren’t about to start now.

“Darling?” Henry mumbled, his voice carrying that endearing tone that always made you smile. As he grew older, the nickname was losing its childish lisp, becoming clearer and more deliberate with each passing day. You couldn’t let yourself dwell on it, knowing it would bring you to tears. And as much as it weighed on you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how James was feeling.

“Yeah, my love?” You hummed, your eyes still fixed on The Rescuers playing on the TV. Henry had insisted on watching it in James’s room because he wanted to “see the mice all big.” At first, you hesitated, unsure if being surrounded by James’s scent was a good idea. But Henry’s excitement was impossible to resist, and you found yourself giving in, despite your nerves.

“When is daddy back?”

“Um,” You glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand. “Soon I would think.”

“Oh.” Henry murmurs, shifting closer to cuddle into your side, his tiny hand reaching out to grasp yours. The two of you are nestled under the dark duvet, surrounded by the seven stuffed animals he insisted on bringing along. “I miss him,” he whispers, his voice tinged with quiet sadness.

“I’m sure he misses you too.” You say, offering him a gentle smile. He looks up at you with those unmistakable eyes—his father’s eyes—brown and sweet, carrying the same warmth that James’ have. His dark curls fall messily across his forehead, a mirror of James’s unruly hair. Even the curve of his smile, so innocent yet so familiar, pulls at your heart. It’s impossible not to see James in every feature, every expression, and every little gesture Henry makes. 

All you can think about is James.

“Do you miss daddy?” Your lips part, flustered and caught off guard by the question. For a second you debate lying, but you realize there’s no point. 

“Yes, I miss him too.” You finally murmur, and Henry’s face lights up with a grin, as if he’s just heard the most wonderful thing. He turns his gaze back to the TV, his attention returning to the movie, while he snuggles his stuffed dinosaur tightly in the hand that isn’t holding yours. The sight of him, so content and secure, tugs at your heart.

The movie has long finished and another has begun, but you’re oblivious to it all. Henry is fast asleep, nestled into your side, and you’re not far behind. Your focus is solely on threading your fingers gently through Henry’s dark curls. The rhythmic motion that had soothed him to sleep now lulls you as well, your eyes growing heavy with each tender stroke.

“Hey.” James murmurs with a warm, inviting smile, immediately drawing your gaze to the doorway where he stands. His white button-up shirt is casually open at the collar, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and as he crosses his arms, the fabric tightens over his biceps, accentuating their firm definition. Your eyes slowly trace down to his forearms, where the veins are subtly prominent. The combination of his relaxed stance and the his snug shirt makes your pulse quicken.

You resist the urge to fan yourself.

You swallow hard, struggling to pull your gaze back up. “Hi,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grins, and you know instantly he’s caught you. “What are you two doing in here?” He asks, walking further into his room, glancing down at the stuffies with a soft chuckle

“Henry missed you,” You say softly. “That and he wanted to watch a movie on the big TV.”

“Of course he did.” James says with a soft, knowing tone. He rounds the bed and settles next the side closest to Henry. With a gentle touch, he brushes a few stray curls from his son’s forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment. Then, leaning down, he places a tender kiss on Henry’s forehead.

“I’m going to put him to bed.” James says softly, his voice soft as he looks up at you from his kneeling position by the bed. You nod quickly, your words caught in your throat.

You watch as James moves with practiced ease, sliding one hand tenderly behind Henry’s back and slipping the other under his knees. He lifts him carefully, his movements gentle yet confident, raising Henry up and off your chest. As hedoes, Henry lets out a soft whine, his small face scrunching up in a mix of sleepiness and longing. With a tiny, outstretched arm, he reaches toward you, his fingers stretching as far as they can go, desperate to grab you.

“No.” He huffs, his eyes opening the tiniest bit to glance up at his dad.

“It’s bedtime.” James says softly, drawing Henry close to his chest and gently reaching down to grab the stuffed dinosaur Henry clings to. 

“No! But I—” Henry protests, wriggling in James’s arms. He twists around, casting a desperate look over his shoulder at you. “I want mummy.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes dart to James, wide with shock. He mirrors your surprise. With one arm securely wrapped around Henry’s squirming body, he struggles to keep his son from wriggling free. Henry’s little face is flushed with frustration, his eyes locked onto yours as he reaches out with tiny, pleading hands, desperate for your comfort.

“Do you want to say goodnight to mum before bed?” James asks quietly, leaning down to speak into Henry’s ear. Henry stops squirming instantly and nods. Gently, James places his son back onto the bed, and Henry immediately flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck. He collides with you with a soft thud, and you hear James mutter about being gentle with you.

“Goodnight,” You say whisper, one arm holding him to you and the other holding the back of his head. “I love you bunches. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Your eyes flicker up to meet James’ who is watching you with an indescribable look.

“Love you.” Henry mumbles, the sleepiness in his voice affecting his pronunciation. Then he leans back and plants a big kiss on your forehead, mimicking the affectionate gesture he’s seen his father make so many times. You laugh quietly and press a kiss on his nose in return. Satisfied, Henry crawls back to his father and lifts his arms. James picks him up, his gaze lingering on you.

“I’ll be right back.” James says softly before heading to Henry’s room. As he walks away, Henry peeks over his shoulder and waves a tiny hand at you.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

part two here!

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

He comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. You're different, more than all of them expected. It's saddening for some, boner inducing for others. [Invincible Variants x reader]

 Tw: Suicide, drug use

[Part one] [3] [Ao3] [View Full Piece Here - It's mine!]

2 * RX Only [6.7k]

"While my queendom crumbles around me,

I'm fucking stuck here sucking this cock,

I'll kill myself right here on stage,

And it's gonna fucking rock!"

I Win - Go Hang Music

      Blood, guts, and sulfur, but no demons rising from the ground. Just a man in the night, backlit by the burning Sydney Opera House. Watching the blinking dot on his wrist cuff disappear. He holds his breath. Horrified. She was an illusion. A trick of a grief addled brain.

        The screen automatically zooms out, showing a pixelated view of the northern hemisphere of the planet. The dot reappears in North America. Numbers flash in the left corner of his blue tinted vision. When he first saw his alternates, he thought they'd have the same upgrades. Super computers laced into the fabric of their suits. Considering how stupid they were acting and how one of them asked where Mount Rushmore was- they likely didn't.

        He rises, scanning the numbers one last time, burning them to memory before minimizing them. Your coordinates and vitals, both monitored by the cuff. Perfectly healthy, alarmed, scared shitless probably, but healthy. Alive. 

        The breath he held lets go.

        Eyes scan over Sydney one last time. Before he left, he had to ensure his end of the deal was complete. Be absolutely sure Angstrom wouldn't be displeased and send him back to where he'd came from. Sure, he hadn't expected to see (Y/n) here, so soon, he wasn't really done with Sydney. He could level the place if he wanted. Angstrom would approve, but Angstrom's approval didn't matter. All that mattered was bringing you home.          Still, he searches for loose threads. Just in case.         The machinery in his suit quietly whirs. He sees no survivors. Not with the rubble and fire. But his goggles lock onto the outline of forms in neon green, hiding behind a slab of rubble where he couldn't see.          He's there in a blink. Stood at the one and only entrance of the little hovel the family had decided to hide in. Only one of them lives long enough to scream.          There, done. Now he could-         His lenses lock onto another hidden form. Then another and another. He sighs. Head turning to the floating ball beside him. Angstrom's drone making sure he was doing what he was supposed to. Five minutes, he told himself, five minutes to kill all these fucking people and be done with this place. It wasn't like he was going to lose track of (Y/n).         He rose, up, up, up. More and more forms catching in the lens. He pushed a hidden button on the side of his lenses. A tiny segmented timer started in the left corner of his view. Five minutes, on the clock.         ***         "You're fucking kidding me." First the apartment, now CVS Pharmacy.          You stood in the parking lot, breathing in acrid smoke. Looking at the building that was your personal emergency room for the last five years. That mohawked shapeshifting asshole must have rammed right through the place at some point. Bringing the red roof down on most of the building. 

        Physically, you were fine but there was something you desperately needed from under that crumbled roof. Especially since you were now suddenly living through the end of the world.         The automatic glass doors were crushed under concrete but a massive hole, probably where he flew through, was a perfectly fine entrance into the rubble. You stepped carefully over rebar and the body of a cashier. There was no more inside, just parts where the roof didn't cave in all the way, and you were standing in the biggest one. Shelves tipped, chip bags popped open on the carpet floor.          You find yourself meandering into the two upright fractions of aisles in front of you, the store so unrecognizable you felt lost. Caligula laid across your shoulders, over the crook of your neck like a scarf. Gray nose gently twitching at the smell of corpses. There were more in the aisle that was for foot cream. One man bisected by a chunk of roof. One lady who lay stiff, hands still clutching her chest where she'd likely had a heart attack.         You exit the remains of the aisle. Not sure why you’d gone down them in the first place, pharmacy wasn't down there. You were still reeling from the last half hour. Was that all it had been- had everything fallen apart in thirty minutes?           A clatter breaks your reverie, your head shooting towards it.          Crawling out from under a piece of roof was a white coated pharmacy tech. The old-timer full-timer, Wes, you used your powers on almost every time you came in. You didn’t wait for him to stand to use your powers on him.         “I need my usual.”         When he stands, he leans dramatically to one side. The muscles in his side are split, piggy pink insides poking out of his coat. He turns for the wreck that used to be behind the counter, where he’d pass hours by counting pills. Gait short, steps dragging and too slow.         “Ignore the pain.”         With that, he goes upright. Walking confidently over to a fallen shelf, bending, ignoring the slippage of his guts. He goes from paper bag to paper bag, prescription to prescription. None of them have your name on it. Going official would’ve meant asking Machine Head to pull strings and you weren’t in a hurry for more debt. Controlling the pharmacy techs was the only way.         Wes straightens. Walking on uneven ground. Stopping two feet away and holding out a paper bag to you. Prescription for Sandra O'Connell. Probably dead now.

        You frown at the bag. Contents soaked into the brown bottom. Dripping out in clear, thick rivulets. You hadn’t been specific enough. Again with semantics, the pain in your ass. “Find me some that’s intact. As many bottles as you can.”         ***        "No." He's going to vomit. "No." He's going to cry. "No!" He's going to split this planet down the fucking middle, again.         His grip on Isotope's throat tightened. "You're lying." Spit flies off his teeth, onto Isotope's cheeks.          Together, him, Isotope, and Machine Head, hover over the rubble of what was supposed to be your apartment. A dead woman lying on its very top, head like a maraschino cherry.          Machine Head kicked at the air, gargling, "Get us the fuck out of here Isotope!"         One look from Dregs pissed off ex-boyfriend and Isotope knew. If he so much as tried to leave, they'd both be dead. "I'm not." Isotope can barely speak, throat the only thing keeping him upright. Hovering twenty feet above the busted building. "She should be on the third floor."        "What third floor!?"         "The one you fucking knocked down!" Machine Head grappled his arm. Twisting his sleeve, trying to hurt him- him with his weak human hands.         His hand tightened on Machine Head’s neck. Something inside his fleshy human body cracked. The man groaned and shuddered but still fought. “That bitch is dead!”          His head pounded, like a hammer slamming behind his eyes. His fingers are a flex away from breaking both their necks when Isotope says, “I know where else she could be.” He involuntarily shuddered when his assailant's eyes fell on him. Wild as his wind whipped mohawk.         “Spill.” The freak’s grip lightened. Isotope slipped down an inch, latching to the man’s wrist for support like he wanted to be choked.          “She’s some sorta dope fiend. Boys see ‘er at the CVS all the time, picking up the same shit.” Isotope’s words came out in heaves as he caught as much breath as he could. “If she’s alive.” At that word, if, his grip tightens, “Hurk— she’s probably at the pharmacy.” His arm came up, red suit creasing at the shoulder, “Right down the corner. Can’t miss it.”         His grip clenches tight, shutting Isotope up. “If she’s not there, I’m gonna see how high your body bounces when I drop you  ten-thousand feet.” He flew, slower than he’d like, searching for the right building. He knew what a pharmacy was, of course, but this wasn’t his New York. His New York was worse off than this one. Last time he saw it plants were taking over the concrete remains of the city. So he’s slow, only speeding when Isotope coughs and points out another chunk of destruction that looked like everything else in a thirty-mile radius. 

        ***

        T-minus eleven minutes until he arrived. He only had to hold onto Mach twelve for that much longer. Think of (Y/n). Think of holding you. Bringing you home.          The sound barrier cracked, then there was someone beside him. “What the fuck are you doing in my sky?”         Ah. That one. The one that called dibs on the king’s land because at home he was more than a king, better. Clad in his— their— old super suit. Viltrum’s sigil on his shoulders. Shoulder pads thick.         "Answer me.”         How the hell were they the same person? This version of him was so whiny. More insolent than a child. Apparently, his style was gaudy too. Minutes after they first met he went on and on about his outfit. How he was only wearing ‘this old piece of shit’ because he didn’t want to get his emperors clothes filthy. And still— he’d come wearing shoulder pads and metals of valor that were jittering in the wind, just barely holding on. He’d scoffed at the idea of human blood on his fuzzy emperor's cape.          Much as he wanted to, taking on the other version of himself was ill-advised. Sure, they were different but also the same in many ways. He’d know something was up.          His lips peeled apart. Glued by stagnant spit and silence. It felt like reopening a wound. “I’m done. Returning to the rendezvous.” His voice came out robotic. A modulator attached on the inside of his suit's throat.          The people of his world knew of Invincible but it was better no one saw any part of his face, recognized any inflection of his voice. Whatever was left of it anyways.          The other him, Shoulder Pads (there was no way he was calling him Mark), rolled his eyes. “That place better be dirt cuz if I gotta go to that shithole and finish what you couldn’t I’ll—“         “I assure you, the job is done.” Just leave. Go back to torturing people and making weird comments about slaves. Leave me be.         Shoulder Pad’s eyes narrowed to slits behind his goggles. “Don’t lie to me.”         “I don’t lie.” And that was the truth. Partially.         Shoulder Pad’s lips twisted. “Then you won’t mind if I come with you? Be nice to get to know my next commander better.”         Under his mask, his eye twitches. He'd heard this before, one too many times. Shoulder Pads saw him and the others as lesser. Good assets for his empire, sure, but lesser. He didn't plan on joining anyone's empire anytime soon.

        Putting up a fight would be suspicious. Though his throat was already raw with how much he’d spoke, more than he had in months, he said, “You’re finished?”         Shoulder Pads scoffed. “Hours ago. Whole country's ash.” He laughed, though he wasn’t lying. Looking down didn’t provide much of a view. Too much smoke in the way, billowing up from the entire United Kingdom like the thousands of acres were nothing but an overused ashtray. “I’ve been getting bored destroying those things they call islands.”         He nodded. A ‘so be it’ kind of gesture. They flew on. Shoulder Pads filling the not-quite silence— ripping through the air at mock twelve was awfully loud— while he thought over ways to get rid of his companion. Too many what-ifs. 

        What if Shoulder Pads saw you as some human to be killed on the spot, squashed like some kind of bug? What if Shoulder Pads toyed with you, if he tore you limb from limb? Made him relive the same memory in a different universe. Shoulder Pads taking the role of daddy-not-so-dearest.          Worse— what if Shoulder Pads was here for the same thing? A second chance.         ***     One bottle, two bottle, three bottle, four— there was a cute rhyme to tack to the end of that but you didn’t have the energy. Neither did the pharmacy tech, falling stone cold dead soon as he passed you the last bag.      You tear open the first bag, medicine for a Nancy Giovanni. You pull out the dark bottle, rolling it in your hand, making absolute sure the dying tech didn’t fuck up.              Prescription for: PROMETHAZINE VC/CODEINE [SYRUP] - 4 fl oz.              EACH 5ml (TEASPOON) CONTAINS:             CODEINE PHOSHPASE USP ... 10 mg             PROMETHAZINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 6.25 mg             PHENYLEPHRINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 5 mg             ALCOHOL … 7%             [RX ONLY]         Oh yeah baby, that’s the ticket. Cough syrup. The actually medicated stuff. Totally illegal to buy over the counter. You didn’t know what in it did the trick. The pain killer, the throat soother, cough suppressant, or the drinking so much you got a buzz part— either way, Codeine and Promethazine were a match made in heaven specifically to fix your powers right the fuck up. 

       You twist the cap and end up dropping the rest of the bags. Sighing, you settle to sit, organize before getting down the business. Though the only place was wasn’t covered in debris was…         “Sorry Wes.” You say as you sit on the dead man's back. Something hard pushes into your ass. Shit, right, gun safety. You pull the six-shooter from the back of your sweats and set it by your feet. Not the top of the market stuff Machine Head's guards get, but a solid piece. Got enough of the latest tech to pop a supe's brains out their ass. Small but mighty. ID numbers sanded off, bought off the black market, given to you by your shithead boss. Sometimes things went south. Your mouth covered or earplugs put in. So you took the gun everywhere, just in case.

        You finish popping off the cap, take a breath of the rank air, and throw your head back, brown rim to your lips. There's a joke to be had there, but again, too tired for that shit.

        Caligula hops off your shoulders, annoyed. Tail twitching as he pads away to explore under rubble. Looking for mice like he always had in your apartment. You let him go. The cat was loyal as a dog, he'd be back.

        The syrup comes rolling down your tongue. Bitter, mucus-thick, gag worthy. Nothing you weren't used to. There've been too many times you were run dry and had to chug the slop mid-shootout to keep your head on your shoulders. So you don't breathe and drink, drink, drink until the bottle is a quarter empty.

        You lean forward, elbows on knees. Holding your head as things right themselves. Your throat numbed, blood drying in your nose, head not throbbing, only a light pulse. 

        It was a funny thing really, finding your personal anti-kryptonite. Three years back you were sick as a dog. Of course, you were on duty. When weren't you? You talked a backstabbing rat up to the roof of his apartment building, holding onto him up all the stairs, weak in your sickness. Right before you told him to jump, a coughing fit cut you short. He escaped your hold, pulled a gun on you, almost blasted your brains on the door to the stairwell. Lucky thing Isotope was there, zapping you out of the way. Pushing the dick off himself, and zapping you to this very building. Suggested you fix the problem, whatever it took, because he wouldn't bail you out again.

        He sucked balls but at least wasn't a whole dick. 

        You got a prescription. Drank the allotted amount. The cold cleared. Powers coming back like a tsunami. So strong they demanded to be used. So you drank more than the prescribed amount. Killed the rest of the rats nest of police informants on your own. Almost got killed again. Machine Head was angry you'd gone alone, when not assigned. But you didn't care. You'd found a power-up. Except, because there's always an exception- the boost only lasted as long as you could stay conscious. You’d overdosed more than a few times. 

       You recap the bottle. Consolidating the bottles in the front pocket of your hoodie. Tempted to down the whole thing, scared shitless from earlier, but it was a stupid idea while not being in immediate danger. Unless Wes decided to get up and chew you out for sitting on his dead body- you were safe.

        But not stupid. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts, trying to call contingency one through twenty-seven. Most didn't answer. Dead or unable to come to phone right now, so please leave a message! Some did, orders were given. Help, in case it was needed, was coming. Things like this had a strange way of being nowhere near over once things get quiet.

        Boots come down. Your head lolls over your shoulder. Danger is standing twenty feet back. Holding Machine Head and Isotope by the throats. Isotope pale and passed out. Machine Head weakly clawing at the ground, held down, forced to stay on his knees.

        He stares at you, the not-Mark with the dark, deep-set eyes, sat on your human throne. "That's... hm. Did you do that?"

        There goes saving the syrup. Out comes the partly drunk bottle, off goes the cap, to your lips the bottle goes.

        ***

        What the hell are they doing?

        Two dots on his wrist cuff, side by side. Darting through the projected 3D model of Earth. Heading west fast, over the Northern Atlantic. Making a b-line for another dot. The only one of the three who is where he's supposed to be. 

        "Got'chu now!" A shadow overcasts behind him.

        He presses a button, zooming into the map, not bothering to turn. Had he missed a message from Angstrom? No, not possible. He was the most reliable of all of them, no way Angstrom would cut him out. Certainly, he wasn't stupid enough to think he could.

        A mace whistled through the air, coming to split his skull. His arm slices out in an arc behind him. Barley trying. The sound of his would-be assailant so keening and pathetic he couldn't even take satisfaction in the kill. He pulls his arm free, the body falls. 

        He watches the remains splat onto the last intact chunk of sidewalk left in Seattle. The city was destroyed. The last of the gnats swatted down. He might as well investigate. Double check that he wasn't being double crossed.

        ***

        "Wow, oh wow, you like that." He laughed as the last of the syrup disappeared behind your lips. The bottle is thrown to the debris, to be forgotten. His voice is cloying and saccharine, and way too familiar, "Was that good?"

        Bitterness coats your tongue. Chemical smell stinging in your nose. Head swimming but feather light. "No." You say. The syrup leaden in your stomach. Throat numb but soon to burn with vomit. You didn't have much time to dispose of this freak. "But-"

        "Dregs! Jesus Christ, Dregs get him the fuck off me!" Machine Head kicked at the ground. Mohawk, you'd dubbed him, because no fucking way were you calling a shapeshifter the name it wanted you to call it. Name aside, he wasn’t about to let Machine Head go, or even let him touch the ground. His dignity just a few short inches away as he gagged and kicked. 

        "You seriously work for this guy?" Mohawk says. "So weak." His thumb barely flexes and all the air is cut from your boss's throat, the kicks becoming frantic. 

        You know the shapeshifter is trying to get to you but it gets deep, deep under your skin. You're on your feet, swaying. "Tell me who you really are."

        He laughs but the words are pulled out of him anyway. "Mark Grayson."

        Your teeth grind. He's not lying. Maybe not a shapeshifter. Maybe a hidden supe. Someone projecting hallucinations onto you, to make you go batshit and somehow kill yourself.

        "Tell me if you're real."

        "As you are, baby."

        "Dregs!" Machine Head screeches the second his thumb relaxes. "Dregs, if you don't get him off me, I'm docking your pay!"

        Mohawk's lip twitches, hand flexing. Shit. "Don't kill him." His hand relaxes. Though his eyes aren't as glazed as you'd like. He's still resistant but you've got the upper hand as long as your stomach holds. 

        "Yes! Yes, now get him to let go!"

        The command makes your stomach roil. Probably just the excessive drugs but still, you don't like the motherfucker. He can wait. "Why are you doing this?"

        "Made a deal. Break enough shit and I get a prize." Under control, people are emotionless, no use of unnecessary words or turn of phrase. But there he was, talking like a seventh grader.

        "Which is?"

        "You," you roll out of the way before they touch down. Feet first and much harder than necessary, sending dangerous bullets of rock spraying every which way. You're fine. Clothes dusty whereas Wes's corpse is more cut up than before. Sorry, guy.

        If one had been too much, enough to think he was a hallucination, then three was enough to make you consider committing yourself to a ward.         

        You'd seen one of the newcomers back in Sydney. The other beside him, eyeing you up and down like an antique at auction, was new. You'd forgotten about the cuff on your ankle. You were no techie, but logic and superheroes meant it was a tracker, hell, maybe hand (ankle?) cuffs if activated by something.

        "Oh what the fuck!" The mohawked one spoke for you, "I called New York. Find somewhere else to flatten."

        "Is this what you were in a such a hurry to finish for?" The newcomer with his stupid shoulder pads kicked a wall to pieces, looking to his companion. 

        The full-masked one stood still as a statue, quiet as a phantom. 

        "Course not," Shoulder Pads answered himself, "You came for that," his finger pointed accusingly toward the mohawked one, "isn't that right? He bruised your ego when you first met pretty bad, huh?"

        An insult from a version of himself who thought mohawks were peak fashion meant nothing. Sure, he'd called his mask creepy, but he didn't hold enough of a grudge to want to kill the guy over it. He did, however, not like how close he was to (Y/n). Twenty feet was nothing when one moved as fast as they did.

        "Who are you?"

        "Mark Grayson." The two newcomers answered together. One similar to the voice you knew, if a little nasaler. The other like that Guardian's dickhead, Robot.

       You dip down, swiping your gun off the ground. Careful not to move too quickly and let the bottles fall out of your pocket. "Why are there three of you?"

        "There's actually eighteen," Mohawk answers. "Dickheads all of 'em."

        "To expand my empire." Shoulder Pads says, more responsive to your control.

        "To destroy so much, it ruins the life of this dimension's Mark Grayson." The Phantom answers, voice and actually helpful honesty, sending a shiver down your back. 

        "Dregs-!"

        "Shut the fuck up." Your attention on Machine Head is nothing but murderous. As the situation unfolds, you find yourself realizing, for one, Machine Head is most definitely going to die. Villains of the week are stupid, sure, but they also take no prisoners. You’d say Machine Head had less than five minutes' life left on him. 

        For two, the world was pretty much fucked. Which means- weakness, instability and power up for grabs for Mister Liu to reclaim as his. You could be by his side, his left hand as he already had a right. No more debt, no more humiliation at Machine Head's hands. Because there was no way you were going straight, not after everything. But, you could climb the ladder in the dust of the world and climb it high- as you were right now.

        High enough to push Mister Liu off the ledge. High enough to never have to take orders from anyone ever again. Be your own boss. Maybe Machine Head had less than five minutes. 

        Even better, you could relocate out of the city (which you'd have to do anyway, I mean, look at this place). Somewhere you'd see Mark so little the lingering pain in your heart would maybe start to heal. The thought of killing him had crossed your mind. You placed heavy piles of blame on him for how your life turned out. Still, you ached and yearned for a teenage romance that'd never rekindle. You couldn't kill him, yet, not without crawling into Mister Liu's skin and wearing his shoes awhile. Surely you'd grow into them, give the order for someone to kill your ex without batting an eye- one day. 

        Your Mark wasn't on the official kill list yet, but these cheap imitations? These dimensional clones or whatever the fuck? Oh yeah baby, they've gotta die.

        ***

      He didn't bother telling his tails to leave. They were all lesser, but still, him. They were good at what they did, destroying things. 

        "Can you believe that guy tried to trap me in the- what was it- the shadow realm?" The blue and yellow clad gnat yammered beside him. The variant, slightly different from the others without his lenses, blasted up from the Guardian's HQ when he'd flown by. Asking all sorts of questions that were left unanswered and more importantly, unacknowledged. Maybe if he was ignored long enough, he'd go away. "Do'ya wanna know how I got out after I killed 'im?"

        No response.

        He went on anyway. "So like, after I ripped his heart out his chest the whole shadow realm started falling apart. I was like 'oh shit, I'm gonna die' so I gabbed the guys body and was like 'lemme out'. Shakin' him n' stuff. I dunno what happened, if there was a lil life left in him or what but I think I kickstarted something in him, cuz after eight or nine shakes I was back! Man, I almost forgot how crazy I killed those Guardian guys!"

        The other gnat, blue and black and imperceptibly different from this dimension's Mark Grayson, flew up to his other side. "You gonna show me that map or what?"

        He did not answer, for they had arrived. Three dots now five, six counting himself. All around the unimportant gray mass of some Earth dwellers' hovel. He stayed above because he was literally above touching down on Earth’s soil. His mother had been from this mud ball but she'd been elevated above the rest of this dirt-loving species by his father when he brought her back to Viltrum, swollen with pregnancy. 

        The others truly were lesser than he, for they shot down. Too impatient, too stupid to know what it is to observe from afar. They did all have enhanced hearing, did they not?

        ***

        Shoulder Pads shook his head, throwing the control off his brain like a wet dog. "The hell was that?" His head stopped, hair swept across his masked forehead. "How dare you- you-" His head kicked back a degree like he'd been sucker punched. It took him a minute, with the dirt and the outfit and the daring to wave around a gun. He recognised you now. Felt the pain searing hot in his chest. "Leave," he commanded, "All of you but," he turned back to, "you, stay."

        Nobody moved to obey. 

        "I said-"

        They came down from the sky like falling angels. 

         "The hell's this?" You watched him land. Watched him roll his shoulders. Mark, your Mark. Exactly the same. But what the fuck was he doing with this lot? "Where's Angstrom?" 

        "Not here, duh." The other newcomer says, bouncing on his heels. "Are we gonna turn on each other and fight to the death now? I really hope we turn on each other and fight to the death now." His eyes, lighter brown than you remember, slide from Mark to Mark to Wes to you. "A prize fight! Even better."

        You didn't like that word- prize. How he looked at you. Not as a person but as a street dog to collar. 

        Machine Head's toes displaced rubble. His captor's mohawk stood on end, as if electrified, "Get the fuck out of here." He says, "New York's mine. 'S not the meeting place for when we're done anyway."

        The stuck-up one, Shoulder Pads, moved toward you. Ankles breaking rubble as he went, too graceful to do something awkward like stepping over an obstacle. Why do that when you could just break it? 

        "Leave us now." He doesn't seem bothered by the fact that you raised the six-shooter, aimed straight for his throat. "And I'll consider letting the rest of you serve under me."

        He was there in a flash. Arm outstretched in front of his boy king other self, stopping him in his tracks- the phantom. Shoulder Pads stopped, ten feet shy from your person. You don't know what to say because as soon as you really get going, a fight is going to break. You won't survive. You've seen what Mark can do on the news. You don't doubt they can punch holes in you before you say stop. They're not far away like Mohawk had been. They're instant murder close. You have to be careful.

        "Don't get in my way." Shoulder Pads sneered to no reply.

        The lensless newbie jutted his thumb toward you, "Gonna go out on a limb 'n guess she's also your guy's dead girlfriend?"

        The word girlfriend hits you like a sack of rocks. When hit, hit back. You breathe in.

        "Dregs!" His voice is nails on a chalkboard, screeching, loud, and desperate. "God damn it! Help me!" Your hold on Machine Head had waned. He was back to whining. 

        Your hold on his captor had waned as well, telling by his eyes. But he didn't break Machine Head's neck. Instead, he watched, curious, a smile tugged the edge of his lip. 

        Tension rolled off Phantom and Emperor Shoulder Pads in waves. Lenseless’s knuckles popped, expecting violence with glee. The white clad warrior watched on from above. And your stupid ex-boyfriend just watched you, sneer on his lip like you were the problem. Like he wasn't covered in blood the fucking hypocrite. "I don't kill," my ass. He acted like he was better than you. 

        "I'll promote you! Right above Isotope." Who was passed out and couldn't be bothered by the betrayal. "We can run this city together. I can get you as much lean as you want! Fuck- I'll put you through rehab if you want!" 

        A bubble rolled up your throat. Not much longer now before you puke out power. You swallow down the burp. Anger a beat in your throat. "I'm not an addict."

        "Sure!" Machine Head laughed, "Sure! Whatever you say, just help me!" Isotope's eyes peeled open. He groaned, barely there.  Machine Head noticed, reaching out to shake the man's knee. "Get me out of here!"

        Your Mark clicked his tongue. "I can't say I'm surprised you haven't changed."

        "Isotope! Hey! Wake up!"

        "I used to think you'd be better than," Mark gestures to your boss, to your clothes, to the dilation of your eyes, embarrassingly aware of your high, "this." He sighed, "But I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same or however that shitty song goes. So much potential wasted. (Y/n), Seriously, this is pathetic."

        "Dregs, get Isotope up! Get us all out of here!"

        Mark smirked, "Name suits you."

        Your earlier machinations crumbled. Fuck waiting, maturing. People were going to die here, in this destroyed pharmacy, so why not start with him? 

        "Hey Mark?" 

        "Yeah?" It's a shame the others don't reply to the name. Too smart, too aware that if they were locked in conversation and attention, they'd be dead. 

        "Kill yourself."

        One hand to the chin, the other to the shoulder for support, like the first time you tried this trick on his doppelganger. The snap is quick. So powerful it twists his whole body backward, spine ripping out his back. He drops, blood dribbling out his mouth. 

        A weight lifts off your shoulders. You thought this would be harder. It's sad, sure, first love dead, very Romeo and Juliet, but you're still alive. You wish you could've made him see more, get a more torturous revenge. Or in a perfect world, one you didn't admit but dreamed of anyway, got him to see your side of things. 

        But you're so happy to see nothing behind his eyes. Dead while you're alive. The laugh forces out of you in a bark. It brings tears to your eyes, doubles you over. 

        The mood shifts. Tension sizzles away between the Marks. There were expectations, different for each, but this? Certainly was not one. 

        "Did you just-?" Lensless was at the corpse's side in a blink, poking at his twisted neck. "Oh, he's super mega dead." 

        "If he was weak willed enough to listen to the whims of a human he should've already been." Emperor Shoulder Pads says. "Better we weed out the weak before going back to my empire."

        "Shit, I was gonna kill Seventeen," Mohawk said. "Beat me to it, babe."

      "Seventeen?" You question between laughs.

        "Uh, yeah? Mark Seventeen. Demsion three-four-five, like neighbors with this one."

        "So he's not mine?"        

        "Yours? Baby, I'm yours- but that guy? Not from here."

        Oh? OH! He wasn't yours. Another variant, just awfully close in appearance. Something like relief pools in your stomach, or it's just the promethazine-codeine solution getting ready to come spewing out. 

        The Phantom keeps his hands at his sides, though they want to go to his head, press into his temples until the pain stopped. You weren’t like this. You weren’t supposed to be like this. Nothing like him. Maybe Shoulder Pads was right. Maybe Seventeen was weak willed, loved you so much he'd do anything you said. You couldn't be a killer. It just wasn't possible- wasn't right.

        "Isotope," he was starting to really regain consciousness, head lolling in Mohawk's hand, "Isotope, let's go!"

        He was going to leave you. Words of promise meant nothing obviously, you weren't born yesterday but the insult of it was the last fucking straw. 

        Right as power started to glow weakly from his palms, you say, "Look at me, Isotope."

        He does, slackjawed, droll rolling down his lip. Hands still glowing.

        Here's the thing about word and meaning induced mind control. Sometimes actions, gestures, are good as words, and as long as you've got your claws in their brain, as long as they're looking at you and understand- a gesture is enough to control.

        You lower the gun. As if it'd do anything against Shoulder Pads. One hand slipping off its metal grip, coming to the side of your head right above your ear. Rule number one of gun safety: Never put a gun to your head. So your bare hand comes up to do the job. Pinky and ring curling into your palm. Pointer and middle pressed to your scalp, thumb hanging down like the trigger. 

        Isotope's hand goes to the holster on his belt. Freeing the pistol, pressing it to the green side of his head, clicking off the safety. Waiting for the last order.

        "Dregs! Don't you fucking dare!" Machine Head trashes but his kicks do nothing to Mohawk's balance.

        The Mark’s watch, hypnotized like snakes to a charmer. 

        Your thumb twitches, miming the pull of a trigger.

        The bullet goes from one side of Isotope's skull to the other. Stopped by the side of Mohawk's knee, who doesn't even flinch at the lead cracking uselessly against his suit. Pale pink brains splatter his boots and shin guards. Chunks stick to Machine Head's dented metal face. Gravity slowly rolled them down, leaving trails of blood and cerebral spinal fluid in their wake.

        The dead weight is so unexpected in his hand, Mohawk is slow to drop the body. Killing another version of him was fair game. They were threatening your planet after all. But an ally? Very un-hero like.

        "You murderous yuppie cunt!" Machine Head's hand flies to his own holster. 

        "Don't talk to me like that, boss." He goes still, gun in hand. Your hand goes to the center of your forehead and so does his. Another twitch of the thumb sends a bullet and shrapnel backward. 

        Machine Head slumps, gun dropping, body twitching. Not dead yet.

        "Access the control panel." You say.

        His hand shakes violently as it comes to the side of his head. Pressing a button that makes the front half of his busted forehead come forward. Revealing the computer gore inside his head. 

        "Remove the leftmost microchip." You'd seen him getting maintenance too many times not to know that the chip contained his very consciousness. He'd yelled at so many paid-off Best Buy employees not to touch it. Threatened their families over it, but here he was, pressing its back so it'd come popping out. Soon as it does, his whole body goes slack.

        Killing what you thought was Mark yielded mixed feelings. But Machine Head and his lackey? That was pure cocaine right there baby. You felt like you could climb Everest. Like you really could overtake Mister Liu. 

        "Holy shit." Lensless let his jaw hang. "Powers, babe!? 'S awesome! Do it again!" His fingerless glove pointed to Shoulder Pads, "That guy! That guy next! Oh, wait, try it on me!" He doubted it'd work. He was way stronger than that pussy bitch Seventeen.

        Mohawk pulled Machine Head's slack body high above his head, inspecting. He was dead alright. So dead his bladder released and stained his gray slacks dark. He let the body drop. "You're pret-tee different here, huh babe?"

        Another bubble rises up your throat. 

        "What-" Shoulder Pads started, "What the fuck is wrong with this one?" He was expecting something else. Docile. Sitting at his feet like a good pup. At his beck and call. Especially not powered or alien or experimented or whatever the fuck you were. Clearly, you weren't normal.

        Phantom had nothing to say, as usual. Too busy fighting back the tears burning the back of his eyes. What has this world done to you? What had made you so callous? What had made you a killer? Whatever it was needed to burn. This monster in you, it could be culled; he could have the you he knew back. He could have it later, but for now, he fought grief.

        In the sky, the white clad warrior lets contentment simmer in his chest. Different, sure, but good different. Nothing like that human he brought to Viltrum to breed. A kicking, screaming crybaby who had no idea how lucky she was. Part of the shreds of resistance left, left alive by him of all people. Nothing like the doting creature his mother was to his father. Relationships like the ones on Earth weren't a thing on Viltrum. His parents were considered strange, but a strange he liked- though he wouldn’t admit it to a living soul.  

        So disappointing and ungrateful, a waste of time, of resources, he was sour about when he had to kill you. But not here, not this you.       

        Shadows whipped through the sky hundreds of feet below him. Some came hopping and bounding through the broken street. The few defenders left, not dead due to their own cowardice. 

        Contingency Six, Twelve, Nineteen, Twenty-two, and Twenty-eight surrounded you in a defensive circle, showing up at just the right time. Machine Head promised security but he wasn't omnipotent, despite his upgrades. You didn't trust him far as you could throw him either. So you had heroes, fellow crooks, and dregs of society on speed dail. Hypnotized at some point in the past with the same little speech.

        "See this number right here? Remember it. When you see me calling, you answer, no matter what. I don't care if you're mid-fuck, you'll do as I say. After I snap my fingers, you'll forget we ever had this conversation but a part of you will. And you will never have your phone on silent."

        You'd have to reset them anytime you called them in to save your ass from one thing or another. It was always worth the time if it meant you got to live and the other guy died.

        Thank God for hindsight. Wait, no, not hindsight, was it foresight? Ah, whatever, you'll remember the right word later when you're not high on power and codeine. 

        Flesh drones wait for orders. The Mark's wait for someone to make a move. You don't speak, not yet, letting your eyes scan over them all. Thinking of killing them too, how good it'd feel to kill your (kind of) ex-boyfriend over and over. Thinking of the ones not here, the ones you'd seen, the ones you hadn't. You could find them, kill them after. Maybe then you'd be ready for the real thing. No more mixed feelings. 

        Blood slowly rolls down your nostril. Darkly covering the dried streak from minutes ago. Your stomach rages. Throat constricting as it readies to puke. It hurts so bad, but you can't help but grin. Thinking aloud, "This is going to be the best day of my fucking life."

        Orders shoot out your lip. He should prepare for battle, but he couldn't help but be still, staring at you and the malice radiating off you. Lensless tugs on the hem of his mask, swallowing thickly, "Can you hold up a sec with the battle plans? I've got a crazy boner."

[comatosebunny09]

— cw: kidnapping, torture, sedatives, abuse, mentions of r*pists, p*dos, & murder, angst, helplessness, heavy subject matter all around, language, mdni

— notes: a continuation of this blurb. something a little darker than what i usually write. please be mindful that there's some heavy stuff ahead. if i forgot to tag anything, please let me know in the comments. thank you for reading!

— now playing: dusty room - evgeny grinko

An insistent dripping draws you from the inky embrace of unconsciousness. 

It always does. It’s been your alarm clock for the past…three days? Four? Week? You’re not sure anymore. Time moves differently when you’re in captivity, and your mind is constantly invaded and warped.

At first, you could glean the passage of time by the moon or sunlight seeping through the small window in the corner—your captors had shoved you into a spacious room of rotting metal walls and only one entry point. It reeked of mildew and sweat, and you’d nothing but the creak of metal and that ceaseless dripping sound to keep you company.

But your senses are no longer reliable. They’ve poked around your mind so much that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to gauge the difference between reality and fiction. 

Only a few things remain constant during your stay here: the henchman of the day comes in to administer you a dose of something potent with a syringe. Something to ease the ache of your limbs, to curb the hunger gnarling in your gut. But it’s also to keep your Evol tucked in the furthest reaches of your mind. To keep you at their mercy. 

Next, two more men trickle in, sinisterly laughing as they deprive you of food and warmth and keep you lucid. And one of them constantly probes your mind, manipulating it to see and experience things that aren’t always real. Dredging up memories you had compartmentalized after taking up this new life, furthering your torment. 

You would be impressed—their ability is almost on par with yours and would certainly make a man clad in red and black whistle with appreciation—if you weren’t already clinging to your sanity by a thread. 

Your captors have been surprisingly generous, only hitting you a few times when you get mouthy. You’d once heard them say to each other they had to keep you alive long enough to lure your boss from the shadows. Still, you’re sometimes their human punching bag, suspended from the ceiling by chains rubbing your wrists and ankles raw.

They learned their lesson when they first brought you to this prison. When you’d called them pussies and, with what little strength you could muster, took three of them down before they subdued you with stun batons and a heavier dosage of whatever cocktail they’d been pumping you with.

Each time they enter, they ask you more questions. Interrogate you about Sylus and the inner workings of Onychinus. Splash you with frigid water to wake you, inject more serum, and sink their claws into your psyche when you display an inkling of resistance. All in an attempt to bring you to the brink of insanity. To break you. 

You’re a little worse for wear. Bruised and battered. It hurts to breathe when the medicine wears off. You’re constantly shivering, constantly blacking out. You’re sure they’ve shattered a rib or two. And you haven’t much strength left, stripped of nourishment and proper blood circulation for God knows how long. 

You have one good eye, the other swollen shut from their previous assault. Your lips keep splitting, so goddamn dry. They could’ve done much worse. Could’ve violated you in unspeakable ways. So you’re grateful the illusions are seemingly their most potent form of torture. 

No matter how many levels of hell your captors subject you to, you don’t cave. You’re still as haughty as ever. Piss them off whenever you can, fighting back with your tongue in a way that your body can’t. Anything to distract you from the unyielding torment and pain. From your thoughts creeping in, from your mortality looming over your shoulders. 

“He won’t come for me,” you bitterly laugh each time your captors taunt you. “He doesn’t care about me. You’ve got the wrong person.” To which they heckle like hyenas, looking at you as if you’ve said the most absurd thing. 

They tell you you are the right person. That it’s only a matter of time before your ‘boyfriend’ comes sniffing you out. You’re more valuable than any treasure, any amount of money. But you always push those words to the back burner. Those empty attempts to give you a flicker of hope.  

He’s subjected you to danger numerous times before. Thrown you to the wolves on several occasions. What makes this time any different?

One thought reigns supreme in your mind each time they torture you. Each time they fill your head with trickery, visions of him, and memories of past misdeeds. 

If he wanted to save you, he would’ve already come. 

The truth hurts, but it’s somehow comforting. Sylus will never find you like this. Never see how far you’ve fallen from grace, breaking apart at the seams, slowly succumbing to the cold and delirium. He’s got more important things to worry about—more important people to occupy his mind. 

You’re disposable. You’ve known this from the start. 

The notion only rooted itself deeper the moment a certain Hunter disturbed the monotony of your lives.

It was merely a matter of time before one of Onychinus’ most revered assassins was wiped out. 

In a way, your captors are doing Sylus a favor, ridding him of your presence so he doesn’t have to lift a finger to do it himself. You’ve always worried he would no longer find a use for you. Knew you couldn’t always be at his side. And now that he has someone else to play his bait, to bat their lashes at him and tug at those little heartstrings, you know you don’t stand a chance. 

Savagely, you laugh, your face turned up at the silvery moonbeams sinking in through the window. And it hurts, your throat dry like it’s been rubbed with sandpaper. Unbidden tears scorch down the sides of your face. Whether they’re heralded in from agony or hysteria, you don’t know. 

Your solitude in this room is as much of a reprieve as it is a cage. Sure, you’re free to collect what little coherent thoughts you have left before your captors are back at it, shocking you to hell and tearing your mind at the seams. But you’re also left with nothing to do but stew in thoughts of your inevitable demise. 

Maybe this is your punishment. All the lives you’ve taken. All the innocents you displaced when you were a fiery-eyed killer fueled by rage and fear. Murdering coldly, killing because you were told—forced—to. 

No matter how far you ran, the past always snuck up on you. But shielded beneath Sylus’ wings, you were able to delay its descent onto your shoulders.  

Sylus had taken you away from it all. Redirected your ire, your revenge, onto the scourge of humanity. No longer were you a gun for hire, taking out high-profile figures because your very life depended on it. No. Instead, you wiped the most vile men from the face of the planet. Pedophiles, rapists, murderers. And you supposed that served as enough repentance for your life before.

Still, no amount of justification will support what you’ve done. What you continue to do. And all for the love of a man who will never see you as more than a rook. A chess piece, lazily dragging across the board for use at his disposal.

The single door to your prison groans open, dispelling the nebula of your thoughts as a blinding stream of light pours in. You wince against its brilliance, your bruised lips canting up in a sardonic smile. 

Once the new presence clears the entryway, a shock of white greets you. And it’s followed by a wash of scarlet, moving through the bleariness. You huff a painful laugh as the figure nears you, agony swelling in your chest. This trick again. Weren’t they getting bored of using it?

Finding your voice, you grit out, “You’ve tried this one already. It’s getting old. Gonna have to do better than that.”

But your tormenter doesn’t err in their steps. Instead, they hasten their approach until the warmth they carry wades over your skin. And through the dank scent of your entrapment, you make out familiar notes of amber and sandalwood. As convincing as the illusions have been lately, they’ve never smelled this vivid before.

Searing hands curve around your cheeks. Angle your head back until your vision fills with red. Red eyes nestled beneath brows knotted with anguish. Pink lips parted with the effort of breathing. As you fully take in your tormenter’s harrowed features, you slowly realize that maybe you’re not hallucinating this time. And a thick film of tears washes over your good eye, the world blurring and bending.

“You’re getting better at this,” you sob-slash-laugh, still disbelieving. There’s no way he could be the real thing. There’s just—

—no way. Could he? Could it…

Suddenly, the metal chains of your shackles rattle and loosen. And you’re freefalling, loose-limbed and weightless, heading for the ground along with your restraints. But a pair of virile arms spread like wings beneath you, cradling you against a rigid chest, and a ferocious heart beats a war cadence beneath your cheek as you press further into it. 

Weakened by your time in captivity, you feel something prodding around inside your head. Something warm and feather-light creeps through the folds of your mind, chasing away the darkness. It’s a voice—an inherently masculine voice reverberating in your head, working like a soothing balm over your psyche.

I’ve got you, it soothes, dulling the ache in your bones, the maelstrom in your head. And its familiarity is enough to bring a smile to your lips. More tears pour in rivulets down your cheeks, and you cling to the silk of his shirt, unconsciousness pulling you under. He came for you. He really—he actually—

—came.

And as you succumb to fatigue, hypothermia, and hunger, two sentences pierce through the darkness like a lighthouse beaconing through the storm.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”

[zkg2318]

Corporate Life pt 3

genre/tags ✶ MDNI office!au, sunghoon x afab!reader x heeseung, smut, cursing, not proofread, polyamory (surprise)

synopsis ✶ working in corporate was supposed to be boring, not a guessing game of whether your two coworkers were eye fucking you or not.

smut warnings ✶ unprotected penetrative sex (no!), spitting, thigh riding, oral male!receiving, msm (frottage, oral, kissing), double penetration, overstimulation, use of pet names, squirting, ass slapping, threesome

corporate life taglist/ppl that wanted pt3: @17ericas, @hyuukas, @jakeslvt, @heesimp, @hooniedips, @yuniesluv, @yvnempire, @anoranorastar

permanent taglist: @kittys00, @ikaw-at-ikaw

read part 1 here | read part 2 here

A/N sorry for reposting, i think tumblr may have messed up the tags

Waking up was always a challenge for Heeseung, preferring to sleep in rather than wake up at 5:45 a.m. for work. He was, inherently, not a morning person based on the way he fought with Sunghoon every morning before going to work, begging for just five more minutes. Luckily, it was the start of a long weekend, which meant Heeseung could sleep in till nine if he wanted, ten if he was feeling lucky. But Sunghoon was an early riser and often dragged him out of bed by 8:30 a.m., something about enjoying the morning rays together. On a rare occasion like today though, the two men were together in bed with their limbs entangled beneath the comforter. “Heeseung,” Sunghoon mutters, pressing his face into Heeseung’s naked chest.

“What is it, baby?” he hums, threading his long fingers through his boyfriend’s black hair.

“We have to clock in some overtime this weekend.”

Upon hearing the words ‘overtime,’ Heeseung pops upright immediately, a sour expression appearing on his face at the mere mention of work slipping from Sunghoon’s mouth. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, we’ve been a bit distracted at work. You know, with a certain someone.” He mutters, nuzzling into Heeseung’s lap now.

That much was true- they were distracted. Heeseung and Sunghoon weren’t exactly non-monogamous; but the idea of adding another person into their relationship never really crossed their minds, until you showed up. The second you joined their team at work a few months ago, there was a mutual attraction between the boys that neither of them could ignore.

At first, it was casual. They agreed to approach you with the sole intention of having a no-strings attached sexual relationship with you. It wasn’t supposed to go beyond that- just fuck and work. After the second hookup, Sunghoon and Heeseung revealed to you that they were dating and let you know that they wanted to keep things with you purely physical- even if they secretly wanted something more, but neither of them would admit it in fear of ruining things. That was fine with you- the stress of your job was already building up and you needed a quick fix.

But as the months went by, the lines between casual and something more began to blur. Your impulsive, adrenaline induced hookups were beginning to feel more than that. You found yourselves sharing inside jokes and personal secrets over post-sex meals- conversations you wouldn’t be sharing with fuck buddies. But despite that growing connection, none of you pushed for anything more. Whether it was in fear of complicating things or just wanting to keep emotions out of it, the status quo remained.

Your friendship between Sunghoon and Heeseung remained completely separate from your sexual relationship while your budding romance stayed buried under six feet of dirt.

“I didn’t think we were that behind, what’s a little fucking got to do with our work?” Heeseung jokes, stroking Sunghoon’s cheek while ignoring the aching alarm bells ringing in his head.

“We’re behind on our financial report, Namjoon sent an email saying we have to get it in to him on Monday evening.” Heeseung groans at the idea of working over the long weekend, but Sunghoon continues, “And Y/n was cc’d on the email.”

A mix of amusement and stress stirs onto Heeseung’s face, and he tugs on the back of Sunghoon’s shirt, signalling for him to sit up. “I guess we’ll have to invite her over, work on that report all together.” Sunghoon’s lips curl into a smirk as he places a lazy kiss on Heeseung’s mouth.

Letting out a soft chuckle, Heeseung roughly pulls Sunghoon onto him, falling back into bed. With a tug, Sunghoon’s briefs are pulled down and he’s settled onto Heeseung’s lap. “Use me, I’m all yours.” He mutters, peppering kisses across Sunghoon’s neck.

Grinding down into Heeseung’s lap, Sunghoon lowers his head to attach his lips to Heeseung’s neck, sucking around his pulse point. When his tongue flicks over the sensitive skin just below his ear, Heeseung lets out a loud groan and bucks up into Sunghoon, his growing erection rubbing into his boyfriend. “Fuck, you know I’m sensitive there,” he purrs into his ear, licking against the lobe.

“Hyung, I need you,” Sunghoon whispers, swiveling his hips in Heeseung’s lap.

With his hands gripping Sunghoon’s thighs, Heeseung draws a steady breath in through his teeth, “Tell me how you want me,”

“In my mouth.”

Without wasting any time, Heeseung flips them over and presses Sunghoon into the plushness of their mattress. With a few quick pecks to the lips, Heeseung strips out of his sweats, leaving him bare and half-hard in front of Sunghoon. “Bet you wish Y/n was here to keep your fucking mouth busy while I suck you off, hm?” he says, lowering himself to the bulge that was presenting itself so perfectly to Heeseung. His hand ghosts over the imprint of Sunghoon’s cock, the heat of his arousal radiating against his palm.

Sunghoon stifles a moan before squirming beneath Heeseung, “Don’t say stuff like that-”

“Not so confident now that Y/n isn’t here to play dumb under you, Hoonie?” Heeseung teases his boyfriend as he toys with his cock, but there’s no heat behind his words. Laughing quietly, he presses open mouthed kisses against his briefs, earning a breathy moan from Sunghoon.

“S-shut up,” he gasps, grinding up into his face.

Heeseung only smiles against Sunghoon’s cock which was straining beneath him, letting his tongue flick out against the fabric, “It was your idea to approach her in the first place, I’m just fulfilling your fantasies since she isn’t here right now.”

“Stop bringing her up,” he whines, pulling his briefs down himself until his cock springs free, “She’s not dating us, so just keep her out of his.” His words are desperate now as he pushes Heeseung’s face against his pelvis, keeping it to himself as he totally imagines you rubbing against him.

Heeseung knows Sunghoon better than he would ever admit, and he can tell from how he acts around you just how much his boyfriend likes you- far more than Sunghoon would ever let on. And it’d be a lie to say Heeseung didn’t feel the same, so he leans into the teasing knowing Sunghoon was secretly thriving on the idea of you being here with them again. “Cut the act, I know you want Y/n here sitting on your face so you can eat her out, maybe shut you up for a bit.”

Finally, he takes him into his mouth, first dragging his tongue up the shaft and feeling the length of Sunghoon’s vein reach the tip. While his mouth moves up and down Sunghoon’s cock in a rhythmic motion, Heeseung lets his hand travel underneath Sunghoon’s shirt, finding his nipples. A moan escapes from Sunghoon’s lips once Heeseung starts to rub his nipples with the back of his fingers, “Heeseung-” he whines, cock twitching upwards in his boyfriend's mouth.

While Heeseung plays with Sunghoon’s cock in his mouth, he rubs himself into the bed, slowly grinding into it as he imagines it’s your ass underneath him. He shamelessly pictures you moaning below him, begging him to just stick it in and stop teasing you. Memories of your slicked up folds flash across his mind and he groans around Sunghoon’s cock, a chain reaction that sends Sunghoon into a fit of moans himself. Heeseung goes ahead and starts to flick Sunghoon’s nipples, looking up at his boyfriend as he swirls his tongue around the shaft.

Under the control of Heeseung, Sunghoon fights the urge to fuck up into his throat, but heeseung the all-observing boyfriend seems to notice his turmoil, “Fuck my throat baby, give it to me.”

Sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice, bumping his hips into Heeseung’s face quickly and relishing in the way the tip of his cock rubs the back of Heeseung’s tight throat. The sudden change in pace has Heeseung gagging, forcing him to focus more on keeping his throat open and his breath steady than decorating his boyfriend’s cock with his tongue.

With Sunghoon’s cock filling his mouth, Heeseung’s mind wanders to the thought of you crying out while he thrusts into your quivering heat, clenching his dick like a vice while Sunghoon’s gaze fixed on every thrust. Heeseung had always known Sunghoon had a thing for watching; it was part of the reason why he had been given the green light to fuck you first. But you didn’t need to know that.

“Mmph, fuck-” Sunghoon cries, holding Heeseung’s wrists as they play at his nipples, the added stimulation bringing him closer and closer to the edge. “Relax your throat, Seungie- fuck, that’s it.”

When Sunghoon’s pace begins to fall off, Heeseung moves his hands back down to rest on his pelvis, pushing him down into the bed so he can control them now. He continues his assault on his boyfriend’s dick, going at it for a minute more before pulling off, moving to use his hands instead of his mouth now to finish him off. Sunghoon grips at the bedsheets like a vice, clutching them like his life depends on it as he thrusts into Heeseung’s hand, the saliva from his mouth acting as the perfect amount of lube.

Heeseung adjusts his position so that he can hold both his and Sunghoon’s cock together, spitting into his hand to share the lube-like saliva between the both of them. “Fuck, imagine Y/n was sitting here, bouncing up and down our cocks at the same time. Stretching her out so fucking good, hm?” Heeseung pants, finding himself close to the edge as he pumps their shafts quickly.

“I’m cumming, fuck!”

Heeseung tightens his grip slightly, right as the slit on Sunghoon’s dick opens to release streams of cum. The first few are strong, reaching as far as his blissed out face. The following spurts of arousal are less strong, some hitting his chest and the rest hitting his stomach, eventually slowing down to a slow dribble leaking out of his tip.

Heeseung follows just a second after, his own stream of cum leaking out at a less intense volume, shooting straight up. The two of them pant in tandem together, catching their breaths as their cum falls down the divots of their bodies and onto their sheets.

“Thank God it’s laundry day.” Sunghoon says finally, moving around Heeseung.

Heeseung gets off to help Sunghoon, throwing their pillows off and ripping the top corners of the bedsheet off while Sunghoon does the bottom. The two men work together in a comfortable silence, a rhythm they’ve fine tuned after years of being together. “When should we contact Y/n?” Heeseung asks, breaking the silence.

Sunghoon tenses, but it’s barely noticeable as Heeseung takes the hamper from his hands. “Maybe tomorrow?” he says, letting Heeseung take the laundry, “We can meet her at the cafe near our place.”

Heeseung shakes his head, hiking the hamper up on his hip, “I think it’s best we invite her here. The documents are kind of sensitive, best we don’t bring them to a place we could lose them.” Sunghoon doesn’t get the chance to offer a second opinion, watching his boyfriend's back disappear around the corner.

Sunghoon stays rooted in his spot, standing in the middle of the bedroom of their shared apartment they moved into at the beginning of the year. A part of him was torn, wondering if they were taking things too far by bringing you into their sex life when you weren’t even there. It was one thing to keep this friends with benefits facade up at work, but to think about you outside of that relationship, outside of work without your knowledge- had they crossed an invisible line?

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For the rest of the day, Sunghoon mopes around the apartment, his usual warm self dulled by the weight of his guilty conscience. Heeseung had tried to pull him out of it, making silly animal origami out of the freshly laundered towels, or sneaking kisses in while they were cooking, but Sunghoon’s responses remained colorless. “Is everything alright?” Heeseung finally asks, settling onto the couch as they prepare to watch a movie, a night time ritual they have on the weekend.

Sunghoon hesitates, “Do you think we should call things off with Y/n?”

Heeseung sets aside the popcorn that was sitting in his lap, the large blue bowl clashing with the muted decor they had chosen together at Ikea. “What makes you think that?” His hand rises to cradle Sunghoon’s cheeks, his thumb gently rubbing at the soft plushness.

“We’re in love with her,” he says, like dropping a bomb, “Right?”

Heeseung’s thumb stops moving, and he thinks his heart skips a beat. Sunghoon wasn’t wrong, but he truly thought that they were just going to remain blissfully unaware of that fact, for the sake of their job- and their relationship. “I- Sunghoon, I don’t-”

“It’s ok, I think I’m in love with her too,” Sunghoon clarifies, capturing Heeseung’s hand with his, “I don’t think we respected our own boundaries with Y/n. We let ourselves get too close, and now we’re breaking the easiest rule of the game.” He sighs, running his free hand through his hair as he thinks, “I think it’s best we call this off. Y/n didn’t sign up for two men pining after her, and if we keep this going, we’ll just ruin what we have.”

Heeseung leans forward to press a kiss to Sunghoon’s cheek, “Ok,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’m fine with that. But I do want to ask- are you telling me you wanted to date her? Like, add her to this relationship?”

“I don’t know, and honestly we’ve never really discussed this. I trust you with my life, Heeseung. But it’s clear the both of us felt something for Y/n, which is why I felt comfortable enough to let my feelings for her grow. I think in an ideal world, where we got to know Y/n instead of hooking up with her through work, I would’ve liked to discuss polyamory with you.”

Heeseung’s lips crack into a smile, “God, I love you.” he says, pulling Sunghoon in for a hug, “You always know what to say, I just hope Y/n understands what we mean.”

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Like the boys had agreed, they invite you over to their apartment the following evening to work on the financial report. They insisted things would be casual- just some takeout and a table full of documents is what Heeseung had said to you over the phone. You were hesitant though, the idea of dinner at their place felt strangely intimate, sharing a meal with a couple in their own home felt like an intrusion you weren’t ready to risk.

You find yourself pacing in front of their building, clutching at the end of your jacket for a moment longer than necessary. You debate whether or not to text them, to tell them that something urgent had come up- but your body was moving faster than your mind, pressing the buzzer before you could follow through. It’s Heeseung that responds, his cheerful voice crackling through the speaker as he recites the code for the door.

32 floors is how long you have until you face them, and you spend the entire time fidgeting with the hem of your blouse, the tension mounting with each passing second. Elevators were such an awkward place for you now, considering your history with them; only amplifying your anxiety as memories of being pressed up against Sunghoon resurface. By the time you’re knocking on their door, you’re about to turn on your heel, second-guessing everything you’ve done until the door clicks open.

Sunghoon is the one that opens the door, an easy smile on his face that has you temporarily relaxing your shoulders, “Hey, glad you made it,” he says, stepping to the side to let you in.

You notice the way he’s dressed immediately- an oversized t-shirt displaying a band you don’t recognize and wide-legged sweats, a far cry from the usual sharp suits he sported at the office. You look down at your own outfit, a short fleece jacket zipped over your pink blouse and a pair of wide-legged slacks, nothing special but formal enough to pass in. Still, standing before Sunghoon while inside of his humble apartment, you suddenly felt overdressed.

Slipping in to enter, the first thing you notice is the scent- the faintest hint of lavender laundry detergent that discreetly smelt like Sunghoon whenever he pressed up against you too much in the office. Their apartment was also surprisingly neat; its muted tones accented by pops of their personality- colorful figurines on their shelves, a keyboard in the corner, some figure skates near the closet, etc…

Sunghoon points at a pair of house slippers for you to slip into, holding his arm out for you to hold onto as you kick your shoes off. “Thanks,” you say quietly, stepping into the slippers and following after him. He briefly gives you a tour of their place, showing you the dining room, then the kitchen, where the bathroom is, and then ultimately the living room.

The coffee table centered in front of their two couches was already set up, half of it full of takeout boxes and plastic bags and the other half neatly organized with folders and stacks of paper. Heeseung is already sitting, his legs tucked under the table while leaning against the base of the couch. When he sees you and Sunghoon enter, he brings a hand up to wave at you before patting the space beside him. “I hope Chinese is okay, Sunghoon forgot to hit the order earlier so this was the only place that would deliver in time before you got here.”

“Chinese is perfect, thanks,” you reply with a soft laugh, placing your bag down beside you as you sit next to him.

With Sunghoon sitting across from you, dinner passes quickly. Small talk is shared between the three of you over some noodles and several side dishes you can’t remember the names of. The conversation feels uncomfortably familiar- office gossip and discussion of your weekend plans being a routine banter you shared with them in the break room, and disconcertingly immediately after hooking up as well, like it was second nature.

It unsettles you how natural it feels, the camaraderie that forms so easily between you three. All the laughter and shared touches pulling you in deeper before you even realize. It almost felt wrong to feel this comfortable with them, sitting in their apartment and intruding on their personal lives all while knowing their bodies inside out. This intimacy you shared with them feels so wrong but so right, but it was an imposition on their personal relationship and was a clear violation of their friends with benefits boundaries.

This- this was why you didn’t want to come here, because you didn’t want to blur these lines any further.

“Did you want anymore?” Heeseung’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, his hand gesturing over your plate.

“No, I’m okay, thank you.” You push your plate away as a signal to show him you’re full. “What was the name of this place?”

“Bao’s Kitchen.” Heeseung says as Sunghoon begins to clear the table. “Did you like it?” You nod, piling the trash near you in one stack before handing it to Sunghoon.

“Alright,” he says, pulling out his laptop and placing it in front of him, “Namjoon said he wanted the financial report in by Monday. But I spoke to Jin on the phone earlier today and there are a few leftover tickets we need to finish for Monday’s meeting. Our annual conference is coming up soon, so we should get a head start on preparing our speaker notes for that, too.”

Nodding along with his words, you shove the unease down your throat and pull out your own laptop, mimicking Heeseung’s motions as you pull up your workspace. When Sunghoon returns, he distributes portions of the documents and the three of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, bouncing ideas off of each other and sharing progress reports every few minutes.

In the quietness of your work, you can’t help but notice the shuffling limbs under the table. With a slight glance downwards, you see Sunghoon and Heeseungs legs rubbing against one another, a motion of affection shared between just the two of them and you can’t help but feel a little empty on the inside. A hollow ache gnaws on the inside of your chest. Was it jealousy? Longing for someone else to have all to yourself? You couldn’t tell, but you knew that seeing them together made your heart flutter in a way you weren’t sure you wanted to define.

Shaking your head, you scold yourself internally for fantasizing about a dynamic that wasn’t yours to claim. There were rules- simple rules that were so simple a child could follow them: don’t get attached. And here you were, breaking every single one of them like they didn’t even matter.

By the time you’re about to finish the end of your report, you’re thinking of saying something, maybe telling them that it was time for you to go home. You were suffocating under the ruse of pretending everything was fine when everything was in fact, not fine. You couldn't keep pretending not to notice the subtle glances Sunghoon and Heeseung shot each other, or the gentle praises Heeseung gave his boyfriend when he completed parts of his work. Before you can even begin to pack your things though, Sunghoon breaks the silence.

“We need to talk,” he says, seriousness laced in his voice as he shuts his laptop.

A lump forms in your throat and you begin to hope they can’t hear your heart thump outside of your chest as you struggle to maintain your composure, “Ok, what’s up?”

Sunghoon and Heeseung exchange a glance before he speaks again, his gaze lingering over yours, “Heeseung and I have been talking… about the arrangement,” he gestures between you and the two of them, now avoiding your gaze before continuing. “We think it might be best if we stop seeing each other like this.”

The words are like a punch to the gut and you almost find yourself out of breath, instinctually bracing against the coffee table, “What?” is all you manage to say.

Heeseung leans forward, resting his arms on the table, “We just think it’s getting too complicated. We’re falling behind in work, and we don’t want you to get hurt- or us.

You let out a scoff before you realize it, “Complicated?” you argue, “It’s just sex, right? That’s what we agreed on.”

Sunghoon looks down, his expression pained with guilt, “It’s not just sex anymore, not for us.”

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Heeseung continues, which Sunghoon cannot.

Your mind reels with confusion as you listen to them, panic surging through you as you begin to pack your belongings. “You’re not, so let’s just keep things like it is,” you place your laptop into your bag, fumbling around with the zipper, “I don’t see any issues, I like things how they are.”

“Y/n,” Heeseung reaches out to you, brushing a hand against your shoulder. His touch stills you temporarily, but it only works for a second before it adds to your resolve to start ignoring everything that comes out of their mouths after that. “Y/n, we’re in love with you.”

You’re not listening, too busy still fumbling with the damn zipper on your bag to hear him clearly. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t in the fucking rule book of fucking with your coworkers. Finally, with enough force, the zipper on your bag closes and you stand up, “If we just follow the rules, our arrangement should be fine. I’ll finish the rest of my part tonight-”

Sunghoon and Heeseung stand up with you as well, the latter reaching for your shoulder to ground you, “You aren’t listening, Y/n. We broke the fucking rules, we fell.”

The finality of his words eventually crashes over you, clicking in your head what he means, “So what do we do, then?” you whisper, braving an inch and letting your gaze match his.

“W-what?” Sunghoon steps around the table to stand behind you.

“I- never mind.” you stammer, stepping back only to walk into Sunghoon when you do. He catches you by your arms, holding you in the middle of the living room now. “I’ll send you guys an email once I finish my report-”

“Y/n, you need to talk to us.” Sunghoon says sternly, turning you around to face him.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, the truth clawing its way out, “I broke the rules too, so now what?” your voice is hardly above a whisper, and if Sunghoon weren’t standing so close to you, he probably wouldn’t have even heard you.

Sunghoon’s grip on your arm goes firmer as he takes in your words, processing the weight of them while glancing over at Heeseung, “You- you broke the rules too?”

Avoiding his gaze, you nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to,” you start, your voice trembling with shame, “I couldn’t help it, being around the two of you. I didn’t want to hope for anything out of something that already has enough love, and that scared me.” Your throat runs dry at your confession, but you swallow anyways, an award attempt at distracting yourself from the tension ruminating around you.

Heeseung lets out a sharp breath and moves to step around you so that he stands beside Sunghoon, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because that’s the rules?” you say, blinking away your tears, “I’m just an extra, an afterthought to your guys’ relationship. Isn’t that why you approached me? For sex?”

Sunghoon bites his lip, your words crashing over him like a tsunami. It killed him because you were so right, but you were also terribly wrong, “We thought we were protecting our own dynamic by not talking about these feelings we had for you, but we were wrong. You’re not an afterthought, Y/n. We want you in our lives, but we approached the situation all wrong. We got greedy and told you it was all about sex when it was more than that, and for that we’re sorry.”

“I think that knowing you share the same feelings for us now changes things though,” Heeseung adds, reaching to hold your hand in his.

“What do you mean? Like, I’d date you guys? But- you’re already together? I don’t understand, it’s-”

Heeseung squeezes your shoulder with his freehand, pulling you out of your rambles, “It doesn’t have to make sense, Y/n. All that matters is that we’re all happy, and if that means including you in this relationship, then we’ll do that- if you’re open to that.”

“If you want this- us.” Sunghoon says, gesturing between him and Heeseung.

You let out a shaky sigh, a breath of tension you didn’t know you were holding, “I just want things to work out,” you say.

“So we’ll figure it out.” Sunghoon reaches for your face, a gesture so intimate you almost cry. “No rules or arrangements, just the three of us- together.” His dark eyes bore into your own for what feels like an eternity, and for the first time since you’ve started your job, you feel like you belong somewhere. His hands are warm against your cheek as he uses his thumb to rub against the skin softly.

“God, someone kiss me already,” Heeseung interrupts, rolling his eyes.

Sunghoon only laughs, moving his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck so he can guide you over to Heeseung. When you're close enough, Sunghoon gently pushes your face into his until you’re kissing, but this time it felt different. It was gentler, more intimate than all the other kisses you shared with Heeseung during work hours in the stairwell and conference rooms. For the first time since you started this sexual relationship, you take the time to feel him out, acknowledging the way his heart-shaped lips meld against yours perfectly.

Heeseung opens his mouth after a few seconds, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip to ask for permission to enter. You gladly accept, meeting his tongue with your own. As the kiss between you deepens through the connection of your tongues, Sunghoon begins to gently caress your hair while trailing warm kisses down your neck. The heat of his breath in your neck has you moaning into Heeseung’s mouth, resulting in a smile dancing on the latter’s face as he presses another kiss on you.

Overtaken with love and desire, you let one hand go to wrap around Heeseung’s neck as if he can’t get any closer to you while the other hand threads into Sunghoon’s hear, tugging at it when he nips at your neck. Sunghoon starts to unbutton your blouse, assisting you in shrugging it off completely, followed by your lacey black bra that they don’t even spare a second glance at. The younger boy is quick to attach his mouth to your tits, loudly sucking on them. “You like when Sunghoon sucks on your tits, baby?” Heeseung asks, breaking away from the kiss.

You nod desperately, moving your hand from his neck down to his sweats. He doesn’t break eye contact when you start to palm him through the thin fabric, feeling him grow under your touch. It’s not until your fingers wrap around his length completely that he closes his eyes and throws his head back, a guttural groan following right after.

When he’s decided he’s had enough of your teasing, Heeseung moves backwards until he’s sitting on the couch, reaching out to pull you right onto his lap. “Grind on me, let me see you use me,” he pants, replacing Sunghoon’s mouth with his hands, grabbing firmly at the mounds.

As you begin your ministrations against his erection, Sunghoon comes to stand behind you, rubbing his bare hard on against your back. He doesn’t say anything, just rubs against you as he watches you and Heeseung rut on each other. Eventually, he leans down to help guide your hips over Heeseung, establishing a rhythmic pattern which has Heeseung fighting back a moan with every forward stroke.

When his hands depart from your hips, you look up to see why but Sunghoon quickly captures your neck, tilting your chin back even further and motioning for you to open your mouth. Following his instructions to a tee, you not only open your mouth but stick out your tongue, watching as he pushes a wad of spit from his pink lips and let the string of saliva drip down onto your tongue, “Good girl, can you swallow?”

You swallow obediently, licking your lips for extra measure, “Fuck, more…”

While you’re distracted with Sunghoon, Heeseung takes his top off and throws it somewhere across the living room. Sunghoon notices, “Take his pants off,” Sunghoon whispers, leaning down to lick into your mouth before tearing away from you.

Nodding absentmindedly, you get off of Heeseung enough to pull his sweats down along with his underwear, revealing an angry red cock dripping with precum. “He needs someone to take care of him, jerk him off a little. Can you do that for us, baby?” Sunghoon asks, moving to flick his fingers against your nipples.

Before you can respond, Heeseung interrupts, “Strip first.”

A furious red flashes across your face and you quickly kick off your slacks along with your panties, leaving you just as bare as Heeseung is. When you go to sit back on top of him, Heeseung curses, “You’re getting me wet, slut.” He says, pointing at the glistening patch on this thigh, right where you sat on him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, looking down in embarrassment.

“Make it up to me by letting me fuck up into your fist.” He moves your hand for you, placing it around his member. After a quick adjustment, he starts to thrust upwards and you watch in awe as the top half of his dick goes in and out of your first, “I can feel you getting wetter. Are you getting off to this? Watching me fuck into your first, imagining it’s your pussy?” he gasps, losing his rhythm slightly, “So fucking tight, all for us, right?”

You nod just as Sunghoon moves to sit next to Heeseung, completely bare as well with his pretty pink cock resting against his abdomen. “You can touch yourself, baby.” Heeseung says to Sunghoon, sticking his tongue out for Sunghoon to suck on. His hand immediately flies down to his member, stroking it quickly as his lips wrap around Heeseung’s tongue, lewd noises emitting from their connected mouths.

Watching them share themselves with each other so willingly as you ride Heeseung’s thigh has you letting out a gush of arousal, drenching Heeseung’s thigh in even more slick, “Y/n likes that Hoonie. Likes watching us kiss, seeing you stroke yourself.”

With Heeseung talking like that and Sunghoon stroking himself in front of you, you lose yourself. Your hips stutter to a stop as you press down on his thigh, your orgasm ripping through you as you cum all over his leg, “Baby… couldn’t even wait till she was riding on of us before cumming,” Heeseung mocks, staring at your pussy. “Lay down for me, Sunghoon.”

Following his instructions, Sunghoon moves to lay down on the couch and Heeseung pulls you to sit on top of him, “Go ahead, put it in.” He gestures towards his dick, and you nervously obey him, blindly reaching behind you until you feel Sunghoon’s shaft. It takes a bit of time, but eventually, you feel Sunghoon’s shaft pressing against your entrance and the two of you moan at the same time when his tip penetrates you, “That’s it, pretty. Doing so well.”

You take your time sinking down, which is apparently too slow for Heeseung because he’s moving towards you, tapping your shoulders. “You’re taking your sweet time, aren’t you?”

“He’s big,” you whine, wincing as you go down another inch.

“I know, baby,” he laughs, smirking at Sunghoon who blushes a furious red, “What’re you gonna do when there’s two of us inside of you?”

Shock grapples you and you let yourself completely sink down on Sunghoon by accident, the burn from the stretch bringing tears to your eyes, “Fuck!” you cry out, slamming your hands down on his chest as an anchor right as Sunghoon brings his hands to your hips to keep you still.

Heeseung backs off when he sees the pain on your face, pity and arousal gracing his features while he watches you take Sunghoon’s cock. He moves to sit down on the couch, lifting Sunghoon’s head just enough so he can slip under it and lay him on his lap, “You look so good, Y/n. Taking Sunghoon’s cock like a good girl.” He looks down at Sunghoon, “You gonna fuck her yet?”

You roll your eyes once the stretching of his member finally becomes bearable, lifting off of him halfways before plopping back down. Eventually, you find yourself going faster and faster until your ass is slapping against his hips with every bounce. You move your hands from his chest, one going to your tit while the other going to your clit, “Fuck, you’re so damn tight.” Sunghoon curses, moving his hands to your ass as he takes over the pace. He fucks into you at a savage intensity, reeling when his balls slap against your cunt with each thrust.

You feel the drag of his cock so well in this position, rubbing against your walls as if they’re molding to the shape of him. As time drags on, you feel yourself getting closer and closer to a second orgasm, clenching sporadically around his length which earns a rough groan from Sunghoon, “I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that, baby.” He whines, speeding up his pace.

You don’t listen to him, instead letting yourself go completely when you see Heeseung lick his fingers and then stick them inside Sunghoon’s mouth. When Sunghoon starts to swirl his tongue around Heeseung’s digits and suck on them pathetically, a massive wave of pleasure washes over you and you swivel your hips around Sunghoon, riding out your high.

Sunghoon is quick to follow, your pussy squeezing him in a way that’s milking him of everything he’s got. “Good boy, fucking her full of your cum.” Heeseung says, stroking Sunghoon’s hair as his dick twitches inside of you, your walls painted with his cum.

When you finally let yourself relax around his softening member, Heeseung moves to stand beside you, gently pushing you forward until your chest is pressed against Sunghoon’s. With a few pumps of his cock, he lines himself up with your entrance, “Heeseung!” you gasp, feeling his tip push into your entrance while Sunghoon is still inside.

“It’ll be much easier for me to slip in now that your pussy is drenched in Sunghoon’s cum,” he says, finally breaching your entrance with one final push. The rest of him slides in easily, just like he said, and both you and Sunghoon let out a moan of overstimulation as he stretches you out in ways you’ve never been stretched.

It’s barely bearable, likely because Sunghoon is soft now, but that temporary feeling doesn’t last long. “Hyung-” Sunghoon gasps, hands running up and down your back frantically, “It’s too much!” Whether he intended to or not, he quickly hardens up again, stretching you out even more. The feeling of his boyfriend’s cock rubbing against his own was just too much for him to handle, quickly arousing him.

The burning sensation returns at ten fold and you cry out, feeling like you’re being ripped in half as Heeseung very slowly moves around, “Mmph, Sunghoon-” you cry, tucking your face into his neck as he begins to desperately hump upwards.

“I’m sorry-” he says, gripping your sides tightly, “Fuck, I can’t help it. It feels really good, baby.”

Whichever ‘baby’ he’s referring to, you don’t care because Heeseung doesn’t waste a second more before he starts moving. He has the decency to stay slow, patiently moving back and forth to let you adapt to the sheer size of two cocks stretching you out; but you don’t feel any pleasure at all, just the feeling of being ripped to pieces. “It-it hurts!” you whimper, but your body moves on its own, barely grinding against the two men as they move in tandem together.

A sharp slap to the ass has you reeling in both pleasure and pain, temporarily distracting you from the penetration, “If it hurts so much, you wouldn’t be rutting against Sunghoon and I like a dog in heat,” Heeseung hisses, picking up his pace as he starts slamming his hips into you.

Coincidentally, the burning starts to go away gradually once he starts moving into you faster, eventually becoming pleasurable all together. You can’t control the sheer volume of your moans as their cocks move against each other while inside of you rubbing your walls and coating them with precum. They’re hands squeeze at your body in desperation with every clench of your pussy, the fit already tight enough. Your lower abdomen boils with a pleasure you’ve never felt, blossoming with more and more arousal with every thrust.

You can’t feel your legs and sobs wrack your body in the best way possible as they continue to fuck into you like a toy, Sunghoon supporting your entire upper body weight while Heeseung holds onto your hips while drilling into you. Heeseung’s got more leverage from behind, snapping his hips in and out of you like a beast. You’ve lost how many times you’ve orgasmed at this point, your entire body shaking as the boys fight for their own highs while using your pussy as their vice.

“Touch yourself, baby,” Heeseung says suddenly, “I need to feel your pussy clenching around me when I cum,”

“I- I can’t, it’s too much. So…tired.”

“You can do it baby, you’ve got one more left in you,” Sunghoon coos into your ear, dragging his fingers up your back all while thrusting his hips into you from below.

With slow movements, you lift yourself off of Sunghoon just enough to reach your arm between the two of you, going for your clit. When your finger starts rubbing circles around the sensitive bud, you immediately begin to shake as the extra stimulation has you nearing the edge rather quickly, “Mmph, I think I’m gonna cum again!” you sob, the coil in your stomach having snapped completely as the boys continue to drill their cocks into you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Heeseung pants, “Gonna fill your pussy up with so much cum,” his hips stutter to a stop as he fills you up with his load, Sunghoon quickly following in suit. You’re too fucked out to notice the end of their chase towards arousal, continuing to rub at your clit absentmindedly as they work through their highs. With a slight of hand, you feel a rush of liquid spurt out of you as a tsunami of pleasure rips through you.

The velocity of your arousal forces both of their cocks out, liquid spraying everywhere as you continue to rub yourself through it, moaning and screaming through every after shock of pleasure. Sunghoon and Heeseung hold you up together as you go limp, weeping quietly and barely processing Heeseung’s soothing words, “So good, baby. You did so good for us, Y/n.”

“We’re so proud of you, we’ll take care of you now. Just rest, Y/n.”

You think it was Sunghoon’s voice you heard last before passing out, the smallest smile on your tear stricken face.

[prnstarmartini111]

No strings attached ♣

Summary: Friends with benefits with Rafe but he can't decide if he wants more or not

Rafe rolled over, breath still uneven, the sheets rustling beneath him. The air between them was thick and warm, heavy with the echo of what just happened.

The room was dim, lit only by the pale blue of a streetlight outside the window and the faint glow of his alarm clock. Y/N layed still for a minute, eyes tracing the pattern of the ceiling, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. Then, without a word, she reached over to the nightstand, groping around for her phone.

1:04 AM.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She sat up slowly, holding the sheet against her chest out of habit, even though modesty felt kind of pointless at this stage. She gathered her clothes quietly, trying not to disturb the silence.

Rafe was sitting up now, back against the headboard, sheets tangled around his waist. He watched her without saying anything, fingers lightly drumming on his knee.

She stood in front of the mirror, sliding on her shirt, then smoothing it over her torso, tugging at the hem like she could erase the wrinkles. Her hair was a mess. She ran her fingers through it, twisted it up, let it fall again.

“You sure you want to leave now?” Rafe said, voice low and rough.

Y/N glanced at him through the mirror. “It’s late,” he added, like that explained everything.

She shrugged, not looking at him directly. “I’ve walked home later than this.”

He was quiet for a second, like he was waiting for her to say something else. Then: “I was thinking… you could stay.”

She turned to him, arms paused mid-motion. Her eyes found his.

“Rafe…”

“I know,” he cut in quickly, voice sharp. “No strings attached. I remember.”

She didn’t say anything. Just turned back to the mirror and started pulling on her shoes. The silence stretched again.

“I just meant,” he added, softer now, “it’s very late.”

She didn’t respond to that, not directly. Instead, she straightened up, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve.

“You’re the one who said no strings” she reminded him, her tone even. Not angry. Just factual.

His jaw flexed. “Fine. Whatever.”

That part wasn’t soft. That part was clipped and sharp and tinged with something else—something that sounded like frustration.

Y/N blinked, once, slowly. Then gave a small nod, almost to herself.

“Okay,” she said, voice flat now. “Goodnight, then.”

She grabbed her phone and her bag. Slid on her coat. The doorknob was cold in her hand. She hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough to maybe say something, but she didn’t.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Y/N and Rafe had been friends for years. The kind of close where people used to assume they were already together, but it was never like that. At least not for him. She liked him, probably more than she should’ve, but he never seemed to feel the same.

Still, despite the one-sided attraction, they ended up in bed one night after a party. Drunk. Messy. Since then, they’d been doing… whatever this is-Friends with benefits.

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

They were both sitting in his bed, backs against the headboard, a half-finished movie playing on the TV across the room. The blankets were pulled up to their waists, still warm from everything that just happened.

Y/N kept fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, picking at a loose thread like it could give her something to focus on. Her mind was spinning.

She chewed the question for a while before finally saying it, her voice quiet.

“So… what are we now?”

Rafe didn’t look at her. Just reached toward the nightstand, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with the cheap blue lighter he always carried. The smoke curled up toward the ceiling as he leaned back again.

“I don’t know,” he said, tone flat. “Why”

He wasn’t really asking. It sounded more like he wanted the question to disappear.

Y/N’s fingers tightened on the blanket. She swallowed.

“I mean… we do have some… sexual tension,” she said, trying to sound casual.

He chuckled, barely glancing over at her. “Yeah. That’s why we fucked.”

She didn’t respond. Her confidence, the same boldness that had pushed her to kiss him hours ago, was slipping fast. Now it just felt stupid. Like she’d misread the whole night. The whole… everything.

Rafe took another drag of his cigarette, then finally turned to look at her.

“You okay?”

She nodded, quickly. “Yeah.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the low murmur of the movie still playing. She looked down at her hands, then back at him. Her voice was smaller this time.

“I like you.”

He didn’t react at first. Then he exhaled slowly, like he’d been expecting this and hoped she wouldn’t say it.

“We’re friends, Y/N.” He looked at her, voice steady. “I like you as a friend.”

A friend.

She blinked a few times, but it didn’t stop her chest from sinking. Her throat felt tight, but she just nodded like she understood.

“So this meant nothing?” she asked.

He shook his head, almost annoyed. “Of course it did. We’re friends.”

Then, more casually, like it didn’t really matter: “I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”

She stared at him, confused. “So what… friends with benefits?”

She didn’t really mean it. It was supposed to be a comment. A half-sarcastic jab. But he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said “If you want.”

She was quiet for a beat. Of course she minded. But she just smiled, faint and fake, and said, “Sure.”

He put the cigarette out in the tray by the lamp.

“No strings attached,” he added, turning back toward the screen. “Just friends helping each other out.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Just leaned back against the headboard again and pulled the blanket a little tighter around herself.

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

The late afternoon sun was starting to dip, casting golden shadows across the pool deck. Music played low from a speaker, and the air smelled like sunscreen and beer.

Y/N sat cross-legged on a lounger, nursing her drink, laughing when it was appropriate, but not really present.

Across from her, Rafe was stretched out on a pool chair, shirt off, hair damp, muscles tense in that effortless way that pissed her off more than it should.

He glanced over at her.

Their eyes met for half a second.

Kelce dove into the pool with a loud splash, then came up grinning, water dripping from his curls. He pushed his hair back and made his way out of the pool, barefoot and dripping. As he passed Y/N, he shook his head like a wet dog—on purpose—spraying water all over her legs and lap.

“Kelce!” she shrieked, jerking her drink out of the splash zone.

“What?” he said innocently. “You looked too dry.”

“You're dead,” she warned, swatting at him with a towel.

The others laughed. Y/N smirked as she dabbed her leg dry, tossing a glance at Rafe—just quick enough to catch the subtle clench of his jaw.

Later, when the sun had finally dipped below the trees and everyone was mellow from food and sun, Y/N slipped inside to the kitchen, barefoot and still a little damp from when she’d dipped her legs in the pool. She opened the fridge and grabbed a cold soda, cracking it open.

“You get home okay last night?” Rafe’s voice behind her was casual. Too casual.

Y/N didn’t turn around. “Yeah.”

“You left kind of fast.”

She finally looked over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “Wasn’t sure if I was supposed to stay or not.”

He frowned. “What?”

She turned to face him fully now, arms crossed. Her tone was clipped. “You told me to stay. Then today, you’re back to acting like nothing happened. Just wanted to make sure I didn’t get confused.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Jesus. Are we really doing this?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Are we?”

He took a step closer, brows drawn. “I was being nice, Y/N. That’s all. You looked tired. Don’t twist it into something else.”

She let out a cold laugh. “Right. Because God forbid I think for one second that it might’ve meant something.”

“You always do that,” he shot back, voice rising just a notch. “You read into shit and then get all quiet and bitter when it doesn’t go the way you wanted.”

She froze, hurt flickering in her eyes.

He noticed, but he was already too far in. “You keep getting your hopes up like this is more than what we said it was. That’s not on me.”

She blinked, slowly. “Fuck you.”

She brushed past him, shoulder grazing his as she stormed out of the kitchen.

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

The wine made a soft sound as Y/N filled her glass, her other hand braced on the edge of the counter. She was barefoot, hair still damp from a shower, wearing the tiniest pair of black shorts and an oversized tank top with one strap slipping down her shoulder. The house was quiet—her parents were away for the weekend—and she was halfway through a moody indie film upstairs, not really watching it, letting it play in the background of her thoughts.

The doorbell rang. She froze.

It was past eleven. She padded to the front door, peeking through the peephole.

Rafe.

She stared for a second, lips parting slightly.

What the hell?

She opened the door slowly, eyebrows raised. “Are you serious?”

He was leaning casually against the frame, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Hey.”

“That’s all you’ve got?” she said, not moving. “Hey?”

He gave a lazy shrug, eyes drifting over her briefly—just long enough to make her feel the weight of it. “What, I’m not allowed to visit my friend?”

“You mean the one you were a dick to a few hours ago?”

Rafe smirked, ignoring the jab. “What’re you up to?”

She rolled her eyes and stepped aside before her brain caught up. “Watching a movie. Drinking.”

He chuckled as he walked in. “Sounds like a solid Friday night.”

She handed him the glass she’d poured for herself. He took it without question, like this was all normal.

She poured herself another drink and started heading toward the stairs. Behind her, she heard the subtle clink of glass as he grabbed the wine bottle and followed.

In her room, the movie still played on low volume. She curled up on the bed, not saying anything, and Rafe sat beside her, legs stretched out, passing her the refilled glass. They sat like that—too close, too silent—sharing wine and pretending this was casual.

The silence was heavier than the room.

Y/N kept her eyes on the screen but she wasn’t watching. She was too aware of him. Of his warmth. Of his thigh brushing hers. Of the way he kept sneaking glances at her.

And she hated that this felt familiar. She knew why he was here.

She took another sip of wine, swallowing down the words in her throat.

He shifted beside her. His hand brushed her bare thigh. Not by accident.

She didn’t move away.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, voice low, testing.

She finally looked at him. “Do you care?”

He met her eyes, but didn’t answer.

The silence cracked.

His hand slid higher, slow and deliberate. She didn’t stop him.

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, lips ghosting over her shoulder where the strap had slipped. She closed her eyes for a second, hating how her body responded.

“I shouldn’t let you do this” she murmured, almost to herself.

Rafe’s voice was quiet, a breath against her skin. “Then stop me.”

She didn’t.

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - three (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. two (section 1); (section two) | three | four | series masterlist 🔗read on ao3 ✨across stardust pinterest board

note: thank you for all the warm notes on part two!! part three is fluffy, smutty, angsty, and full of plot so please enjoy. parts four and five are in the works, but tbd on post date.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, suggestive language, anxiety, nightmare, almost panic attack/talk of panic attack, frank conversations around sexual history / bad sexual relationships that could be triggering for some readers, oral m receiving, extremely descriptive blowjob / throat fucking, messy/desperate sex, emotional sex, creampie, rough sex, fights/arguments and heavy language

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 12.6k

It’s still dark when you wake up on the third day, the sky still inky black, but when you open your eyes you’re pushed right into consciousness like it’s time to get up and get your day started. When you shift your hand back to find him, the bed is cold. You take a breath and listen to your apartment, but everything is painfully silent.

A sharp spike of alarm courses through your chest at the thought that Yunho might not be here, but the panic only lasts for a moment. 

“I’m downstairs,” Yunho calls softly, “don’t worry,” 

You drop back in the bedding with a sigh of relief, but when you catch sight of the clock reading three in the morning you can’t help but worry about him. 

“Baby,” You say as you roll to the edge of the bed, “What are you doing up?” 

He sighs, “I can’t sleep,” 

“I got that,” You tie your robe around your body and head toward the stairs, “is something wrong? You’re just sitting down here in the dark,”

He doesn’t have his phone in hand and the lights are still low, and he scrubs a hand over his eyes before looking up at you as you descend the stairs, “Just thinking,” 

“About?” You step closer, trying to see his face in the dark, the room only partially illuminated by city lights.

He reaches for you and you take his hand, letting him pull you in close to stand between his open legs.  With another heavy sigh, Yunho wraps his arms around you and lets his forehead drop into your stomach. 

You squeak at the sudden way he gathers you up, but once you’re steady on your feet you soften, and let your hands drop, one on his shoulder and the other threading into his hair. You card your fingers through his locks slowly and search yourself for the thread of his feelings, but all you can pick up on is anxiety. “Hey,” You murmur, “what’s wrong?” 

His fingers tighten on the silk of your robe, “I don’t want to leave,” he confesses quietly. 

“Oh, Yunho,” 

He’s quiet, too quiet, and a second stretches into a minute while he holds you, but you feel the rising tension in him almost like it’s in the air around you. 

“How do we do this?” He finally says, his face still buried in your abdomen, “How do we have both? I feel like I’m abandoning you if I leave, I feel like, it feels like,” 

You feel the tide of panic and you hush him softly, “Baby, breathe,” 

He grips your hips, his forehead digging into your stomach, “I had a t-terrible dream,” 

“Shh,” You rub a hand up and down his back, holding him close to you, “it was just a dream,” 

“I don’t,” He swallows, shaking his head, “what if it wasn’t, what if,” 

“Breathe,” 

“They took you away,” He drags in a harsh breath, “they took you and I couldn’t find you, and everyone was watching but no one was fucking doing anything, and I couldn’t feel you anymore, and,” 

You catch the shadow of an image in his mind, a silent stadium full of onlookers while he ran row to row searching for you, his throat hoarse from screaming, every expression blank and disinterested around him. 

You shiver, tightening your hold on him as he sucks in another sharp breath. 

He’s one wrong thought away from a panic attack, and you tuck your fingers under his chin to drag his head up, “Yun, Yunho, look at me,” 

His breath is fast, dysregulated, his expression stressed in a way you’ve never seen, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” 

“Shh,” You cup his cheeks, soothing him as best you can, “I’m right here, no one did anything to me,” 

“It felt so real,” 

“It wasn’t,” 

“But it could be,” His chest aches, “I can’t lose you like that, they can’t take you away like that,” 

“Baby, who’s they?” You murmur, your thumb stroking a line over his jaw. 

“I don’t know,” He says in a rush, “but you were at the dorms with me and we were asleep and they pulled you out of bed, they took you, and you were gone before I… I couldn’t even see where they,” 

His panic tightens again and you shake your head, “No, no, no,” you murmur, “look at me, take a deep breath.” 

He drags in a ragged breath along with you and you pause before slowly letting the air out. 

“I am right here,” You run your hands down his arms to get him to hold you closer, “it was just a bad dream.” 

“But,” He manages, and then lets out another shaky breath, his eyes dropping away from your face.

”No,” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and card your fingers through his hair, “don’t let those thoughts in,” 

He holds steady, his chest tight but starting to loosen with every slow breath. You model it for him, bringing him along with you into the breathing exercise, and then finally he nods just a little, “I’ve never felt like this,” 

“Tell me,” You murmur, softly stroking his shaggy hair at the base of his neck. 

He swallows, his throat bobbing, and then a confession, “I’m terrified,” he says hoarsely, “I love you more than I ever,” 

His words die on his lips and you murmur your reply softly, “I love you too,” 

With a breath he continues, the words spilling out now, “And I’m just supposed to put it away?” His hands tighten on you, “I’m supposed to pretend you’re just someone? And not be with you when you need me, not be,” he shakes his head, “how is any of that fair to you, or what you deserve?” 

“Yunho,” You say softly. 

“I shouldn’t even,” He looks down, shaking his head in what you can only read as disappointment in himself, “I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep well, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.” 

You can feel him boxing it up, shoving his emotions and his panic down, putting on a brave face you never asked for.

“Hey,” You say, a little more sharply than you intended and his head snaps up, “don’t do that with me, don’t pretend.” 

He sighs, “it’s just,” he tries, and you can see the exhaustion in his face, “I told you I would figure it out, I promised you,” 

Whatever arcane concept of masculinity has him trying to shield his stress from you ends tonight, and you shake your head to get him to stop going down this path. 

“Alright,” You say when he falls silent, your hands on his cheeks to keep his eyes on you, “let’s play worst case scenario,” 

His brows draw together, “What?” 

“Hana and I played it all the time when things got bad,” You tell him, “you tell me the worst case scenario for the thing you’re anxious about,” 

“This is a game?”

”Just trust me,” 

He sighs and squeezes your hips before letting his hands fall slack to his own thighs, “Um,” he says, “okay, worst case scenario,” 

“Do your worst, really,” You nudge him. 

He shoots you a mildly amused expression and then rubs a hand over his face, reality sinking back into him, “Worst case?” He starts off, “We get found out, you get fired, I get fired, I owe thousands of dollars back to the company, the public hates us, and we’re both unemployable pariahs who’s friends don’t even speak to us anymore because they’re all in the industry.” 

“Jesus,” You laugh sharply at the intensity, the near absurdity of having this conversation with him at all, but then you recover.

 “Is that supposed to help?” 

“Shush,” You lay your fingers gently over his lips to keep him quiet, “now listen to me,” 

He nods and you let your hand fall away.

“If I get fired and you get fired and you owe all that money back,” You start with the first thing, “we will still have each other. Our families love us, I have this apartment and I have some money saved, and we won’t be unemployable because I have skills and so do you. I’ll do makeup for dramas or photoshoots or make YouTube videos for all I care, KQ is not the end of the line for me and my work. And you have your dancing, your vocals. If you weren’t an idol, what would you do?” 

“Teach, maybe,” He says quickly, “I’ve thought about that, if things don’t work after year seven,” 

“So not unemployable pariahs, just different jobs,” You point out. 

He stays quiet at that, mulling over your words.

”And our friends would not do that,” You add, “they love us. Do you think they’re that shallow?” 

He sighs, “No, but,” 

“No,” You shake your head, “your worst case scenario sucks, it would be really, really hard, but it wouldn't kill us. It wouldn’t break us up.” 

Yunho nods, “I know, but is it really so bad that I don’t want that for us? That I’m scared I’ll fail at this and you,” 

“Hey,” You draw his arms back up to touch you, wrapping yours around his shoulders, “baby, this is not on your shoulders alone, it is not your job to figure out our relationship.”

”If I wasn’t an idol,” He starts. 

“You are an idol,” You shake your head, “but if you weren’t an idol we might have never met. Don’t play what ifs like that,” 

“y/n,” Yunho sighs.

“Yunho,” You counter, emphasizing his name and trying to get him to snap out of this spiral, “when I said I knew what being with you meant, I meant all of it. I’m under no illusions that this will be normal or easy, and I’m ready to face that for a chance that we could be happy.” 

“Of course we’ll be happy,” He softens. 

“Hold onto that, then,” You stroke his cheek, “and when you forget it or when you have a bad dream, I’ll remind you of it.” 

“We’ll be okay,” He murmurs.

You nod, “We will,” 

He sighs, dropping his forehead against your stomach again and you feel the tension physically drop in his shoulders, “Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“I’m here,” You remind him again, gently running your fingers through his hair. For a moment you wonder if he ever lets anyone see this part of him, the anxiety and the worry and the strain. Yunho is always so calm, positive, and easy-going that you imagine it’s easy for people to gloss over what he must be feeling most of the time. 

He nods against you but stays quiet. 

“I don’t want you to go either,” You murmur, “but we are going to stick to the plan, and someday this will just be a thing that we had to do,” 

He nods, letting out a slow exhale. 

The plan was simple, and worked out between frantic moments of need in every corner of your apartment. For a little while, you’d both keep this to yourselves and play as coworkers, in the fall once contracts were closer to the final year, you’d tell the members together and Yunho would ask for an early renegotiation and for all of the members to stand beside him. After pulling the problem apart from every angle, it’s the only way that makes sense. 

“It does suck though,” You add, “we don’t have to pretend it doesn’t,” 

He laughs, a hot breath of air against you, before he looks up, “It sucks.” He says definitively. 

“How long do we have left?” You glance at the clock in your kitchen. 

He follows your eyes, looking around your hip, “A few more hours,” 

Your hands tense on his shoulders. 

Yunho nods, “I know,” 

You don’t want to make him feel worse so you bite your tongue from saying anything else.

Yunho sits up a little, his hands now sliding to anchor on your hips, and his eyes flick from your eyes down your body. Your robe has parted open a little, just revealing a deeper V of flesh in the valley between your breasts and you feel the first strings of arousal through the bond. 

He squeezes your hips, and then he leans forwards to connect his lips to your soulmark. 

You hum softly, holding him close, “I love you,” you murmur. 

You feel a tug on your robe, and suddenly he’s kissing you with more fervor, his lips traveling down to your belly as your robe parts open, his hands palming the bare flesh of your ass now that your body is exposed to him again. 

He needs you, and you need him, but you can still feel somewhere in his body that taut line of stress and you gently push him back, “Come here,” 

“Hmm?” He lets you push him away, but when you close your robe his brow furrows.

 “Take your sweats off,” You tug at the fabric, and he lifts his hips to push them off immediately, “now just relax,” 

He smiles, “What are you doing?” 

He’s reclined on your sofa in nothing but his boxer briefs, and your body thrums with want. 

“You’ve been taking care of me for days,” You drop down to your knees and settle yourself between his widely set thighs, “and you’re stressed, it’s my turn to return that favor,” 

You drag your hands up and down his thighs, fingertips ghosting along the seam of his boxers, and you watch his eyes go dark and hungry. 

Slowly, you tease him, gentle touches along every bit of his exposed skin until he’s sucking in little pleasured breaths and twitching under your hands, his cock rock hard and straining against his underwear. 

As you toy with the elastic waistband though, his large hand closes over yours, “W-wait, one second.” 

You know what you’ll see when you look up, concern, curiosity, maybe even pity over the thing you alluded to on your first night and never brought up again. 

When you finally do meet his eyes though, it’s different. 

He’s looking at you with tenderness, and he cups your cheek as you look up. 

”You want to know?” You ask softly, dropping back to your heels and letting your hands fall away from his thighs. 

“Only if you want me to know,” He offers, sweeping a thumb over your cheekbone before dropping his hands away, “but,”

The clear implication that could be read even without the bond is that he doesn’t feel like you can cross this line together without knowing. 

”I can tell you,” You say, “it’s not bad, I just didn’t want to bring up an ex on our first night together.” 

He nods, “Okay,” 

“I had a boyfriend in school,” You tell him, ignoring the tense little bubble in your gut at just the thought of him, “we dated for a while, he was fine, but we were both young and I didn’t have much experience with sex,” 

Yunho’s jaw tenses lightly, “Did he?” 

“A little,” You explain, “he had dated two girls before me, but we were both pretty young and stupid,” 

“Okay,” He manages, and you can tell that he’s bracing himself for whatever you have to tell him, but he reaches out a hand for you to take. 

You take it immediately, slotting your fingers together, and he gives you a small squeeze before you continue, “It was mostly fine, just kids having bad sex and pretending it was great,” you laugh, trying to lighten the tension but he doesn’t join you. 

“Baby,” He sits up a little, “what happened?” 

“Nothing,” You tell him, and that’s the truth. There’s no one moment, no axe of trauma to bring down and confess, it’s just a collection of things, disparate moments, and it’s almost always impossible to articulate why it’s affected you like this for all these years. 

His brows furrow lightly as he tries to make out your words and your feelings, and he opens his mouth to say more but you get there first.

”He was rough,” You finally sigh, “I think part of it was that’s what he thought sex was supposed to be like, and I didn’t know any better, so I just did my best to make him happy,” 

His free hand curls into a loose fist, but he nods for you to continue. 

“It was fine,” You assure him, try to explain, “he didn’t do anything wrong, I just didn’t know how to speak up for myself then, and just kind of went along,” 

“And oral?” He asks it plainly, almost medically. 

A flicker of your ex’s hand on the back of your neck flashes in your mind and you roll your shoulders, shifting your gaze, filing the thought back where it belongs in the deep recesses of your memory. 

Yunho waits for your answer, but watches every movement.

”That I think he actually liked rough,” You finally admit, your eyes studying the edge of your couch cushion, “and I didn’t like that. It, that was, it only happened a few times, but yeah,”

His thumb presses circles into your palm, and then he quietly speaks, “How old were you?” 

“Sixteen, seventeen,” 

“How old was he?” 

“The same age,” You look up to him, “it wasn’t like that.” 

He swallows tightly and nods, “Did you tell him to stop or that you didn’t want,” 

“No,” You take your hand out of his and rest your hands on his thighs, “Yunho, we were kids. We weren’t communicating at all, we were pretending we were adults and the only thing either one of us knew about sex was from porn. I thought I was supposed to like it, so I just let it happen. Was he kind of an asshole? Sure, but I’m fine, and it’s not like I said anything at the time,” 

His jaw ticks again, and then he slides his hands overtop of yours, “Maybe not,” he says softly, “but you shouldn't have had to. Guys aren’t idiots, we can tell when someone isn’t comfortable with something,” 

“I know,” 

“I can tell this is more than just something you don’t like,” His hands slide up your arms, “he really scared you,” 

You remember it all too well. The feeling of tears on your cheeks, the ache in your jaw, his hands in your hair, and the way you could only get tiny breaths in through your nose. Your throat had felt bruised for days after the last time you let him touch you. 

“Yeah,” Is all you can give him.

”Fuck,” He breathes, and you wonder if he felt any of that, if he can sense through the bond more than what you’ve said out loud, “I hate this guy,” 

“Yeah,” You smile, finally meeting his eyes, “I know, you and Hana can join forces and hate him together,” 

He smiles, but it’s close lipped and doesn’t reach his eyes, “Was he your first?” 

Your nose crinkles, “Unfortunately,” 

“I hate him,” His hands tense on your upper arms. 

“I know,” You sigh, “but yeah, it’s just one of those things.” 

He just looks at you, no answer for that.

”Everything has been perfect with us,” You continue, “and what I said the other night is true, I don’t do anything I don’t like anymore. I figured that out, but that’s the one thing, I just don’t like it and it does make me uncomfortable. If you don’t pull my hair during or get aggressive with it, I’m totally fine it’s just,” 

“Hold on,” He shifts on the couch, sliding forwards and letting his legs widen to make more space for you so he can pull you in, “now you take a breath.” 

Your mouth falls shut. 

“I wish you told me this before,” He says, cupping your cheek.

”Yunho,” You shake your head. 

“No, it’s okay,” He keeps going, “but I just want you to know that you and me, everything we do together, there is never, ever something I want you to just put up with because you think I need it or like it.” 

“I know that,” 

“Still,” He presses, “and I know you were both young, but baby, that's not a good enough excuse for me.” 

You take in a breath, ready to protest, but he’s not done. 

“We will never do something together without talking about it,” He continues, “especially something like that,” 

He’s so convicted, so serious, you can feel it through the bond and it makes your chest warm, even though he’s not letting you get a word in. 

“You should have had a way to say stop,” His eyes soften, “I hate that you had to feel that way, he should have,” 

“Yunho,” You reach up, taking his hands from your cheeks and holding them in yours, “I love you, and I love that you care for me like this, but I need you to hear something.” 

His brow furrows, but he waits. 

“It sucked,” You hold his gaze, “and it freaked me out, but it was not what you’re implying. I am not scared to give you a blowjob, and you do not need to treat me like glass because I had a shitty ex-boyfriend. I’ve already figured out my own limits, and you don’t need to protect me from something I’ve already handled,” 

His eyes drop and he swallows tightly. 

“I love you,” You remind him, “and I told you so that you’d hear my limits and understand them, but I already trust you to respect them.” 

He exhales, a slow breath between his teeth and he nods, “You’re right, I’m sorry,” 

“It’s okay,” You smile. 

He looks up and leans forward to press a kiss to your lips, and then another for good measure, “Alright,” he says, shaking off his protective instincts, “tell me your limits again, let me listen.” 

You kiss him back, giving his fingers a squeeze, “Okay,” you nod, “don’t pull my hair during, other times it’s fine,” 

“Outside of a blowjob?” He clarifies, his thumb passing over your lower lip once before he pulls his eyes up to yours and smiles softly. 

“Yeah,” You nod, “that’s fine, I just don’t like feeling stuck, like I can't take a breath if I want to,” 

“Hands off,” He says, “got it.”

“Well, I mean,” You start, but he interrupts.

 “Don’t worry about me,” He reminds you, “your mouth alone anywhere near my dick is going to kill me,” 

You huff a quick laugh and nod, “Then yeah, hands off,” 

“What else?” 

“We can work up to it, you actually fucking my mouth, but not yet,” You tell him, “I’m not ready to do that with you yet.” 

“Okay,” He smiles, “if that ever changes just tell me, but for now you’re in control.” 

“Also,” You blush a little, “I don’t think this will be a problem, but uh, no mean names or anything like that,” 

“Not my style,” He says, cupping your cheek and leaning forwards, “and I know you’re fine, and I know you don’t need me to, but I would seriously like to hit this asshole in the mouth,” 

You smile, leaning into his arms, “Fair enough,” 

“Come here,” He wraps his arms around you, kissing you softly, “thank you for telling me,” 

You nod into his kiss, your hands slipping back down to his thighs, “Now, let me take care of you,” 

He hesitates for just a second, but then he nods and pecks your lips. Leaning back, Yunho shows you his hands, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and then he tucks them both behind his lower back and settles into the couch, his thighs spreading wider as he settles into a comfortable position.

Your stomach flips pleasantly, heat pooling in your gut. 

Your fingers return to the elastic waistband of his underwear and you watch his abdominal muscles pulse as he tries to hold himself still. 

”You sure this is okay?” He checks one last time.

You smile up at him and nod, “It’s more than okay, I like it, so just relax.” 

He swallows, a nervous breath slipping out of him. 

Slowly, your hands return to his underwear. 

“God,” He sighs as you pull the front of his boxers down, letting his cock spring up between you, “you’re so pretty,” 

You smile a little, enjoying the relaxed neediness in his voice, and you rest back on your heels to look up at him, “Yeah?” 

His lips quirk, “Tease,”

”You like it,” You kiss his thigh, and then drag your nails along his stomach gently.

 Yunho groans, his cock stiffening even more.

”Should I stop?” You tease him again. 

“A-absolutely not,” He breathes. 

You smile against his skin, and hook your fingers in the elastic of his boxers to drag them down and off his legs entirely, shifting until they’re tossed to the side. You sidle up between his legs again, and take a second to admire the picture that is Jeong Yunho stripped bare on your couch. His skin is deliciously smooth, and all but glowing in the moonlight, muscles taut and his legs long, thighs thick, his cock solid and heavy, drawing you in like a magnet. 

“Cute,” He murmurs at your thirsty expression, but despite the hungry look in his own eyes, he keeps his hands tucked behind his back just like he showed you.

 You ignore his words, and drop your lips back down to his body. You pepper teasing kisses over his thighs, his hips, your hands exploring the plane of his abdomen, the very top of his pubic bone, exploratory touches, soft pleasure, but never landing on his cock. It twitches between you, but you ignore it, kissing the inner crease of his hip and the dusting of dark, coarse hair there, cropped short and tidy. You can just barely feel the start of a trail of hair from his pubic bone to his navel, likely waxed away before the tour but just starting to come in again like a five o’clock shadow. 

He twitches, tiny breaths, gasps, mumbled curses, and you hum pleasantly against his skin at every one. 

When you can feel his resolve starting to crumble, and see a thick pearl of precum starting to bead up on the tip of his cock, and you know he’s ready for more.

On one of your next kisses, you let your mouth linger a little longer, dragging your lips across his skin until you’re nestled at the base of his cock, your hand sliding up from his inner thigh to cup his tight balls. 

He shudders, a groan on his lips, “F-fuck, sweetheart,” 

“Mm,” You finally let your tongue peek out, dragging a wet line from base to tip, “feel good?” 

“So good,” He nods. 

When you look up to him and take in his expression your cunt pulses, his eyes are dark and starving, his plush lips parted in needy awe, and his chest is already flushed red, sweat snaking down the contours of his chest. 

You can’t make him wait a second more. 

You wet your lips, letting saliva pool on your tongue, and then you adjust your position on your knees and finally take him in your mouth properly.

 The sound he makes is one of pure pleasure, his body twitching beneath you, and you hear his hands tighten in the couch cushions behind him. 

He is big though, you weren’t lying when you told him he was the biggest cock you’d ever taken and that no doubt includes your mouth. Your lips are stretched wide, jaw open and nearly straining, clicking as you get it comfortably open for him enough to start to dip your head down. 

You focus first on the head, letting your hand wrap around the shaft that you haven’t figured out if you’ll be able to take, your tongue swirling over the velvety skin and lapping up the salty sweet taste of him.

 “y/n,” He moans properly, “oh my god,” 

You hum, a gentle laugh that leaves him jerking, and then you sink a little lower, your hand starting to pump slowly in time with the movements of your head.

”Oh, that’s it,” Yunho breathes, “oh fuck,” 

You shiver involuntarily at his praise. 

Yunho sucks in a breath, “C-can I talk to you? Is that okay?” 

Your chest warms and you pull off just long enough to give him a reply, “Yes, please, yes,” 

He groans as you return to his cock, lavishing as much attention on the parts you can fit in your mouth as you can. Yunho makes a pleasured noise as your tongue flicks over the seam where his shaft meets the rounded mushroom tip of his cockhead and he sighs, “Sweetheart, do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” 

You hum, a gentle reply as you work him over.

”There you go,” His voice is tight, like he’s talking through gritted teeth, “oh, fuck, that’s my perfect girl,” 

You hum again, the praise running right through your body. 

“Yeah,” He sighs, adjusting his thighs a little wider, “does my cock on your tongue make you wet, babygirl?” 

Your fingers tighten on his thigh. 

“Fuck, it does, doesn’t it?” He groans, “Insatiable,” 

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose, dripping your mouth a little lower this time. 

“Three times last night wasn’t enough?” He teases you, warmth dripping from his voice, “You need more?” 

You nod, but don’t lose attention on his cock gliding back and forth over your tongue.

“Good girl,” He shudders, “fuck,” 

You lift away to take a fast breath and dive back in, keeping your ministrations steady with your hand.

He jerks and makes a tight sound, but then he sighs, “Look at me, baby,” he manages, “let me see that pretty fucking face,” 

Your nipples tighten, belly stumbling in warm fits and starts, and you slide back on your heels and let his cock slip free of your mouth as you look up at him.

 You can feel the urge in him to touch you, smooth your hair, touch your cheeks, have his hands on you in any way, but he holds himself still and locks his eyes on yours. 

“Gorgeous,” He sighs, “fuck if you could see yourself,” 

Warmth pools in your cheeks and you smile, letting his cock rest against your lips. Gently you press a kiss there, catching your breath in the brief pause. 

“Fuck,” He grits out, “is it bad if I tell you I want to come all over that face? Those fucking lips,” 

You sigh against him, shaking your head, “I like it,” 

His eyes roll, hips twitching, “Of course you do,” 

The moment his eyes leave you, you slide yourself back up, hot tongue dragging up and over and down until you’re taking more of him in your mouth than before. 

A tiny thread of anxiety pulls in your chest, but it relaxes within seconds. His hands haven’t moved, he’s fought every impulse of his hips, and all you feel through the bond is overwhelming pleasure, need, and pride. You’ve never, never felt safer.

You sink down further now, letting him slide back deep down until you feel the head of his cock pressing into the spongy part of your throat, your lips nearly to the base of him and pressed to his pubic bone. 

“S-shit, fuck,” His thighs twitch, but still he holds himself in place. 

You bob your head back up, teasing his shaft with the hard press of your tongue before sinking down again. 

“Ah, ah, mm,” You’ve never heard him sound like that, almost a whine. His teasing dominance falling to the wayside the moment you let yourself go to fully worship his cock.

Your hands tighten on his thighs and you repeat the motion, faster this time and sinking down far enough to take him all the way down your throat to the hilt. 

He whines again, but your throat tickles and you choke a little before lifting higher up, adjusting your position and managing your gag reflex. 

“You okay?” He’s breathless, “Hey, hey,” 

You lift free and glance up at him, “I’m fine, relax,” 

“God,” He shivers, “this is so good, but you don’t have to take it all the way if,” 

“Baby, shut up,” You sink your mouth back down on his cock, sliding your lips and tongue down until he’s buried to the hilt again. 

“Jesus f-fuck,” He moans, and when you glance up you can see his head has fallen back to the couch cushions. 

The urge to cough is there again, your jaw aching, but you tuck your thumb into your palm and squeeze it tight on the off chance that the old wives tale has any merit, and you center yourself. 

“Ah, mm, mm,” He’s fully trembling, at your mercy in a way that you know is raw and different for him, “sweetheart, oh, oh god,” 

You can do this, you want to do this. Especially if it means he’ll make that sound again. 

With another steady breath through your nose, you draw up and down and find a rhythm, working him faster until you’re bobbing your head and fighting through the little chokes, not because you have to but because you want to. You draw measured breaths of air in and out of your nose so you don’t lift your mouth away, and you let yourself go. 

He’s tense beneath you, slick and shaking, the taste of him salty and sharp but not in a way you want to pull away from at all. It’s messy, noisy, and wet in all the right ways, and you feel his pleasure start to gather and build in his gut. Your hands slide over him, one to brace yourself on his tense stomach, and the other reaching under to cup his balls again, firm and hot in your palm. 

”Fuck, fuck,” Yunho’s hips pull back at that, arching away from your mouth, “jagi, stop,” 

You whine a little, you knew you had him close, but you pull your mouth away and take a sharp suck of air, “W-why’d you stop me?” You ask, breathless. 

“Need to be inside you,” He pants, freeing his hands from behind his back and reaching for you, “right now,” 

He hooks his hands under your arms and pulls you up off the floor, crashing his mouth onto yours. You slide up his body, hastily opening your legs to straddle him as his hands move again, one locking onto your hip to steady you and the other frantically pushing your robe back open. You moan as he slides two fingers through your slit to check your wetness, groaning pleasantly when he feels you slick and ready for him. 

“Fuck,” He tugs you closer and you shuffle up his thighs as he directs his wet cock to your aching entrance, “sweetheart,”

”Please,” You beg, head fuzzy already at the catch of his cockhead on your clit. 

He directs your hips, and then in one desperate motion he jerks his hips up and drags your body down to sink himself all the way, nestled deeply inside you. 

The sudden stretch and sensation is sharp and hot and you moan, gripping down on his shoulders and shuddering above him. 

“I-I’m sorry,” He babbles, kissing across your face, “need you,” 

Your mouths find each other again, heat pulsing between you in the dark of your apartment and slowly you start to rock together. Following sensation only, instinct, need, all the ways you want to comfort each other, pleasure each other. He’s fucked you countless times this weekend, but this is making love, heady and dizzy like the first time your bodies coupled close. 

You grind against him, Yunho’s kisses traveling down your neck, your collarbones, pleasure rolling through you in a foggy thrill. 

“Feel so good,” You breathe, holding him close, “need you inside me all the time, fuck,” 

He groans, his mouth peppering hot kisses over your breasts, tongue teasing one nipple while his fingers tease the other, “That’s my girl,” 

“Mm, yes,” You sigh, rocking in the perfect rhythm. 

“Beautiful,” He pushes your robe open more, hands caressing you, until the fabric droops off your shoulders and leaves you naked to his hungry eyes, “my beautiful girl,” 

“Yunho,” You gasp sharply at the tweak of your nipple, at the praise, at his cock filling your channel. 

“Ride me like that,” He nods, eyes blown wide, “don’t stop, want you to come,” 

“K-kiss me,” You beg him with a pant, sensation blooming through your body. 

He drags you closer, locking your lips together, and you moan into his mouth. He nods, humming his approval for your desperate sounds, and you roll your body against him harder, heat spreading through your chest as you get closer and closer to the edge. Tangled up like this, without all that much room to move, you both just jerk and roll your hips, spurned on by the desperate need to feel each other falling apart one more time.

”There,” Yunho groans when he feels you getting close through the bond, one hand locking onto your ass to help steady your rutting movements, “right there, sweetheart,” 

“O-oh,” Your eyes shut tightly as a wave flows through you, pleasure a tight bubbling sensation in your gut, “Yunho, baby, oh,” 

“Come for me, jagi,” His voice is low, husky, his fingers gripping you tightly, “feel me inside you, come around my cock,” 

A shudder lances through you, and you fall apart in his arms, a mess of words babbled through your lips you can’t even hear. The thought of him inside you a singular, starving thought. He’s leaving, in a few yours you’ll be on this couch alone, and in a choked breath you beg him for more. You want the ache in your hips, the wet feeling of his release, bloomed bruises and a mouth kissed raw, you want to know not a second of this was a dream. 

Yunho wraps you up, his kiss hotter, needier as he pulls you back from the spiral of your thoughts, “Tell me you love me,” 

“I l-love you,” You whine against his cheek, your orgasm flooding through you. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” 

“All yours,” 

His hips roll as he holds you steady above him, fucking you slow and deep, “I can feel you,” a wave of pleasure and emotion washes through you from his side of the bond, “like you’re buried in my chest,” 

You nod, holding onto him for dear life as he loses himself. 

“You’re part of me,” He says between kisses, his forehead pressed on yours, “for as long as I live, you’re right here,” 

Yunho tugs your hand to lay flat over his chest, over the knotted soulmark on his breastbone and you gasp sharply, nodding again, “I love you,” 

“You feel me too, don’t you?” He manages.

”Always,” Your hips roll, meeting his tempo better, an undulation of your bodies that kisses your hips together with every breath, “always,” 

“Here,” He lays his hand flat over your chest, holding your gaze, “I’m right here,”

 Hot tears flood your eyes, overwhelming emotion, pleasure, and all you can do is nod. 

“That’s it,” He shudders, taking a sharp inhale, dragging your body back and forth with his other hand, “just like that,”

You’re both close, your own orgasm stretched long and his rocketing back full force. 

You whine his name, grip down on his sweat-slick shoulders. 

“Always here,” He manages, still breathless, “I’m always inside you,” 

“B-baby,” You’re a split second away, “Yunho!” 

He groans, his pace stuttering as he feels you start to come around him again, and he pulls you down flush to his hips. You feel his release wash through you, and the warm sensation of his cum pumping deep into you, filling you. 

Yunho’s face is buried in your neck as he pants, feeling your fluttering pulses still rocking through you, “Always inside you,” he shivers, kissing your chest, “always you and me,” 

Tears spill over, your fingers knotting into his hair as your bodies slowly rock together through the final washes of pleasure. 

When the wave passes, cool air washes over your skin and you shiver in his arms.

”Don’t be scared,” Yunho murmurs against your throat, feeling the thread of your grief underneath it all, “I promise you, we can do this,” 

“I know,” You breathe into his shoulder. 

“It’ll be hard,” He murmurs, straightening up and finding your face with gentle hands, “but you were right, we’re going to be so happy,” 

You nod, breathing back another wave of emotion. 

“This part will pass,” He murmurs. 

“I know,” You whisper softly in the dark safety of your apartment, “but I’m really going to miss you,”

He kisses you gently, full of tenderness, “Not for long, I promise,” 

“We’ll make this work,” You nod, trying to search for your earlier strength.

”We will,” He says, “we have a plan, and we have each other.” 

“Yunho,” You hold him close, “I love you,” 

“I love you too,” He seals it with a kiss, “always.” 

You nod against him, soaking in his warmth and his presence for a little longer.

After a few minutes he sighs, “Let’s go back to bed for a little while longer,” 

You agree, you let him take you upstairs. Wrapped up in each other’s arms you rest, but neither one of you falls asleep. Quietly you watch the night sky break hazy blue with the dawn, and you hold onto each other until the day gets up and moving around you, until it pulls him through the motions and out the door. Last kisses, last promises, a heavy ache nestling deep in both of your chests. 

On the couch, alone again, you close your eyes and search yourself for the thread of him, clinging to the tender ache in your ache in your hips, and the heavy beat of his heart with yours. 

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

Plans are just plans after all. 

Yunho has almost told his best friend about you a thousand times over, but every time the words die on his tongue. Keeping you a closely guarded secret is both the scariest and the smartest thing he thinks he’s ever done though, because the more people know about you the more risks there are that he can’t control. And he’s never been willing to be risky with you, not even before he realized you were his. 

Three long months have passed since that weekend in your apartment, and he’s seen you alone a total of nine times. Ten if you count the time he cornered you in the KBS dressing room last comeback, but he doesn’t really count one rushed kiss between panicked glances at the door as seeing you alone. 

Nine times.

It’s not for lack of trying, but this is harder than he ever imagined it would be. 

Four of the nine were for under an hour, two were barely over that, two were proper dinner dates, and one was a full night where he nearly got caught in the morning coming home. 

Coming to your apartment is a bigger production than he imagined in every way. 

For starters, his members were observant, and while his manager was a heavy sleeper, he didn’t go to bed until late. He’s had to cancel more plans with you than he’s made just because there was no safe way to not be seen. Each and every time he makes it to you successfully, there’s a cost. He’s missed dinner plans, been late to practices, and made up lie after lie just so he could see you, touch you even just for an hour. 

It makes sense then why he makes up a weak lie to Yeosang on tonight of all nights, just so he can get out of the dorms and make it to you by an even semi reasonable hour.

It makes sense too the way he fucked you, hard and needy and full of desperation, barely making it into the entryway of your apartment before he pinned you up against the door, leaving dinner on the stove to burn. 

It makes sense in the way he lets the hours go by without checking his phone, without suggesting that he really should be getting back. He’s sick of this, he’s sick of hiding, of constantly missing you, of seeing you at work and looking past you just to protect you. When he finally leaves, on the night he’ll consider your real tenth time together, it’s with a pit in his stomach after making love to you for hours, after ignoring the niggling feeling at the base of his skull that told him this time was different. 

It’s late when he turns the key in his lock, too late, but as long as everyone’s asleep he thinks maybe he’ll sneak in without detection. That idea gets ruined the second he locks the door and kicks off his shoes and sees Mingi and Yeosang quietly sitting side by side on his sofa, serious expressions on their faces. 

“Hey,” Yunho tries to keep it relaxed, tries to think of a white lie, “what’s up?” 

Mingi’s jaw jumps with a pulse of tension, “How about you tell us?” 

His chest aches a little at Mingi’s pained expression. He really had wanted to avoid this.

”What do you mean?” Yunho tries.

Mingi huffs a sharp breath through his nose, an unfunny laugh, “You lied to Yeosang about going out with me tonight,” 

Yunho stays perfectly still. 

“I bumped into him at the studio,” Yeosang explains, “I left my airpods, I went back to pick them up.” 

“Oh,” Yunho says dumbly. 

“Something’s been going on with you,” Mingi gets to his feet, “for months. I thought you’d talk to me if you needed to, and I tried to let you know you can talk to me,” 

Internally, Yunho winces. Mingi had, on several occasions, not so subtly offered himself as a listening ear. 

“But lying like this,” He says, “and you haven’t been sleeping, we haven’t gone out for food in ages, you were late to practice and Yeosangie says he hears you leave after he goes to bed,” 

His stomach tightens. 

“If you need help,” Mingi’s angry, that much is clear, but worry is threaded in his voice, “you’ve got to talk to us.” 

“I know that,” Yunho finds himself saying. 

“I know shit is hard,” Mingi says, “and this year has been rough, I know,” 

Yunho wants to stop him, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. 

“If you’re drinking, or if it’s drugs,” Mingi says, painfully direct despite the uncertainty on his face, “you don’t have to go through that alone.” 

The silence in the room is drowning him, and all at once Yunho realizes how much of a mistake it was to keep you hidden away from his brothers. 

“It’s not that,” Yunho admits hoarsely. 

“Thank God,” Yeosang drops his head into his hands. 

“Then,” Mingi searches his best friend’s face. 

“There is something,” Yunho feels his heartbeat pick up in his chest, and distantly inside himself he searches for the feeling of you, “I should have told you,” 

Mingi crosses his arms, but keeps his voice calm, “Okay,” 

Yeosang stands too, giving Yunho an encouraging nod. 

“I met someone,” Yunho manages. 

“What?” Mingi's arms drop, and Yeosang’s eyes widen. 

In all the years they’ve been together, Yunho’s never discussed a girl like this. Outside of occasionally covering for one another when someone has a hookup, romance and the risk that comes with that to their joint careers is something all eight of them have been diligent about since the beginning. It’s something they promised each other would never interfere, not while their contracts were so strict and so tenuous. 

“It’s more than that,” Yunho confesses, dropping his eyes, “it’s y/n,” 

“What?” Mingi’s voice is sharp, “Our y/n?” 

“How long?” Yeosang blinks. 

“Since Berlin,” Yunho looks up and rushes to the full truth the second he sees Mingi’s expression, “she’s my soulmate, it’s not what you think,” 

Yeosang’s eyes widen, “Our makeup artist is your soulmate?” 

“We didn’t know,” Yunho clarifies, “we touched, not even on purpose, and it was just like… there, we both knew,” 

The truth sits between them, immovable and too real. 

“So,” Mingi says finally, “that’s where you’ve been?” 

Yunho nods, “We have a plan, we just needed some more time before we told anyone,”

”Fuck you,” Mingi shakes his head. 

A spark of defensive anger ignites in Yunho’s gut, “What?” 

Mingi takes a wide step towards him, “Fuck you, I said,” he repeats, “we’ve done everything together since we were fourteen and you didn’t think I’d want to know you found the love of your life?” 

Yunho winces, “It’s not like that,” 

“How is it?” 

“We have to be careful, you know that,” Yunho presses, “I know I fucked up, but people can’t find out,” 

“Am I people?” Mingi’s voice spikes.

”No, that’s,” 

“I wouldn’t tell someone that,” Mingi presses on his logic, “none of us would, what the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Hey,” Yeosang grabs Mingi’s arm, “our manager will hear,” 

“Maybe he should hear!” Mingi shrugs off his hand. 

Yunho snaps immediately, “Keep your mouth shut,” he hisses, “you can be pissed all you want, but don’t put us in that position because you’re angry with me.” 

“Us,” He repeats, and then internally does the math, “Berlin was four months ago,” 

“I know,” 

“Who the fuck are you?” Mingi shakes his head, “You’ve been lying to our faces for months,” 

“I know,” Yunho drops his shoulders.

”Team meeting,” Yeosang says calmly, “tonight.” 

“It’s late,” Yunho offers.

”The rules are that we deal with something in the moment,” Mingi sneers, “or did you forget that one too?” 

Yunho takes the stinging barb without comment and nods, “Alright,” 

“Thirty minutes, at the studio.” Mingi says.

”I’ll get the others up,” Yeosang offers. 

“I’ll call y/n,” Yunho murmurs.

”Why?” Mingi reels back.

”Because,” Yunho’s jaw flexes, “whatever you feel about this, I’m not talking about her or making decisions that affect her without her in the room.” 

Mingi is speechless, but Yeosang simply nods, “It’s a good idea,” 

Yunho finds his phone, buried in his coat pocket, and grimaces when he sees a string of texts from you. He doesn’t even read them before he presses the call button. 

“Hey,” You answer immediately and his stomach unclenches at the sound of your voice.

”Hey,” Yunho says, “everything’s okay,”

”What happened?” Your tone is sharp and he can feel your tension. 

“The members know,” He keeps it simple, “we’re going to the studio to discuss it. Can you come?” 

“Now?” 

“Yes,” Yunho’s voice softens, “I just, I want you to,” 

“Let me get dressed, I can be there in fifteen minutes,” 

“Don’t rush,” Yunho presses, “and don’t walk at this time of night, take a taxi, I’ll pay for it just don’t,” 

“I’ll be fine,” You remind him. 

“y/n,” 

“I’ll call a cab,” You promise him. 

Yunho nods, “Thank you,” 

“I’ll see you soon,” You promise him, “but are you okay?” 

“Mhm,” Yunho replies shortly, “I’ll see you soon.”

”Alright,” You murmur, “I love you,” 

He can’t not say it back, and softly he replies, “I love you too,” 

When he drops the phone and looks back up to his best friend, the expression on his face is nothing short of abject betrayal. The ride to the studio is the most painful fifteen minutes of his life, followed only by the next fifteen minutes waiting for you, all eyes on him except for his best friend who can’t stop staring at the linoleum.  

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

You take a cab to the studio, just like Yunho asked you to, but it’s almost worse than walking. At least walking you’d have the distraction of movement and your own momentum making you feel like you were going somewhere. Every stop of the taxi makes your stomach lurch and your anxiety double in your chest. Yunho has been silent via text, and the panic of not knowing what you’re walking into is starting to eat at you alive. 

By the time you swipe your keycard you feel dizzy, and when you finally make it up to the practice room you realize those nerves aren’t just yours, but his too. The tension in the room is unmatched, and all eyes zero in on you like a laser beam. 

Words don’t come, but the frozen moment is broken the moment you meet Yunho’s eyes and he stands from his place leaning on the corner desk, cutting through the room to get to you. 

“Hey,” Your eyes flick from him to the room.

”Thank you for coming,” He brushes a hand over your arm and leans in, kissing you warmly on the forehead. 

The room makes no sound to welcome you and you find Yunho’s hand, “Is everything alright?” 

He gives you a tight smile, “Everything’s going to be fine,” 

So no. 

Someone clears their throat and you both take a small step away from each other. For the first time you have a second to assess everyone and it’s possibly worse than you thought. 

Hongjoong looks furious, Mingi murderous, and with the exception of San and Seonghwa, everyone else looks exhausted and in disbelief. 

“Alright,” Yunho says, “let’s talk,” 

Everyone looks to Hongjoong. 

He glances between you both, and then he sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face, “How about we start with an explanation? Yunho?” 

You can feel he has his defenses up, something coiled inside him and ready to strike, but you lay your hand on his forearm and give him a small squeeze and you watch the way he deflates, nodding a little to you. 

“In Berlin,” Yunho starts, his voice much calmer than it would have been without your grounding touch, “when a bunch of staff got Covid, y/n did my makeup for the first time.” 

Hongjoong nods, and you do your best to keep your eyes on him over the rest of the boys. 

“We hadn’t ever touched skin to skin before,” Yunho continues, “but when we did it was like all the stuff you read about, I knew it immediately.” 

“Did you?” Wooyoung breaks in, his eyes locked on you. 

You nod, “Immediately,” 

“Then?” Hongjoong prompts. 

“We tried to keep our distance for the tour once we talked it through,” He says, “the idea was to stay focused on work while we were abroad and to discuss it once we were back home and had the space to do that.” 

Hongjoong only nods. 

“Once we were home though,” Yunho looks down to you, finding your hand and lacing your fingers together, “it’s been different, harder. We are very aware of what this would do if it leaked, we’re taking every precaution, we’re keeping our distance even now.” 

“Were you ever planning to tell us?” Hongjoong finally asks. 

“Of course,” Yunho bristles at that, “we had a plan for that too. Once our contracts were near the six year mark, we planned to come and talk to you like this together,” 

“That’s months from now.” Mingi says dryly. 

”And what was the plan if you were seen before that? Photographed? Caught sneaking out?” Hongjoong says pointedly, “I assume you have a plan for that, otherwise this is incredibly, incredibly foolish of you both.” 

Shameful blush heats your cheeks and you look down, away from their eyes. 

”So no plan,” Hongjoong shakes his head, his voice hardening, “I cannot believe this,” 

“Joong,” Yunho takes a step forwards, “all of you, I know I fucked up, but this is different,” 

Mingi makes a sound of derision. 

Yunho looks to Seonghwa, and everything spins off the rails, “Hyung, tell them,” 

“Yunho,” Seonghwa says softly, “I told you both not to lie,” 

“You knew?” Hongjoong’s voice is sharp. 

“We both did,” San jumps in, ready to make sure Seonghwa isn’t falling on the sword alone. 

“This is not how we do things, this is not okay!” Hongjoong all but yells and you take a sliding step backwards out of the loose circle. 

A hand connects with your arm and you look up to Yeosang, “Hang on,” he says softly, “it’s alright,” 

“What happened to casual hookups but no relationships, hmm?” Hongjoong says, exasperated, “And being honest with us, your team, your brothers,” 

Anger flares inside you, but it isn’t yours, it’s Yunho’s, “You’re not getting it, this isn’t a relationship, this is something bigger than that,” 

“A year and a half,” Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair, “you couldn’t have just waited for a fucking year and a half?” 

“You don’t understand,” Yunho manages.

”I understand you’re willing to lie to us all of a sudden,” He counters, “you’re willing to put your career at risk, and ours, because you’re thinking with your dick,” 

Yunho’s hands tighten into fists and your stomach rolls. This is so much worse than you ever thought possible. 

You shrug off Yeosang’s hand and move for the door, but he catches you again, “Don’t go,” he presses, “this really isn’t about you, it’s about him lying. No one’s upset with you, not really, and Yunho wants you here.” 

You’re frozen, weighing his words and then in your periphery Jongho nods and quietly says, “Just wait,” 

When you turn back to center though, the altercation in the middle of the dance floor has gotten even more heated. 

“Out of line, hyung,” San is squared up between Yunho and Hongjoong, Mingi to the leader’s side still looking ready for a fight. 

“I’m,” Yunho flounders, “I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I’m telling you, you don’t understand what you’re talking about.” 

“Then explain it,” Hongjoong sounds so dismissive. 

“Joong,” Seonghwa murmurs gently, trying to bring the peace, “I know you’re angry,” 

“You’re right I’m angry,” Hongjoong swivels to face his friend, “and I haven’t even touched how angry I am at you for keeping this from me too.” 

“Joong,” Yunho tries. 

“No, no,” Hongjoong spins on his heel, “I think we’re allowed to be a little angry. We have a nine AM schedule, and it’s three o’clock in the morning. You’ve dragged us here to talk about this, not some little interpersonal rift, no, we’re here to find out that one of our own has been putting us at risk for months,” 

“Jesus,” Yunho drags a hand through his hair, emotion rising in his chest, “I’m sorry, I am, but you don’t understand,” 

“I think we understand just fine,” Mingi says, his arms crossed tightly. 

Yunho scoffs, and you feel the reflection of his frustration in your own chest. 

“Oh,” Yunho throws his hands up, “you understand, you all understand.” 

“Yunho,” Wooyoung tries softly, reading his sudden intensity, but it’s no use now. 

“When we touched everything changed,” Yunho insists, “it’s not just knowing she’s my soulmate. I can feel her, all of that shit is true.” 

“But people,” Hongjoong starts, and it doesn’t really matter what his argument is because Yunho steamrolls that too. 

“I don’t care about people,” Yunho says firmly, “I care about her. It’s not a crush, it’s not a flirtation. She’s not a hookup or just any girl, she’s the one and the minute I knew it, it was like the entire universe pushed me towards her until we were together. We’ve been fighting how that feels for months to try and keep this quiet, because both of us would never risk this team, but don’t tell me you understand how it feels. You don’t.” 

The room has gone quiet, and raw emotion fills your chest. 

“I’m still sorry,” Yunho manages, “I shouldn’t have lied to any of you and I know that. I know that.” 

Your heartbeat quickens. 

“But, what would you have me do?” Yunho asks, his voice cracking, “My entire life I’ve worked for this, for us, and I’ve given everything I have to it for every second of the past six years,”

No one says anything to that, because of course he has. They all have. 

Yunho’s shoulders drop, “Am I supposed to give this too?” 

Tears flood your eyes but you hold yourself steady for him. 

His words hang in the silence, but it’s Mingi who finally breaks it, “You’re my brother,” he says, his voice considerably gentler, “I’d never hurt you like that.” 

“Then please,” Yunho implores, “please listen to me, to us, I know we made mistakes, but haven’t I earned that?” 

Hongjoong sinks back against the desk and runs a hand through his messy hair, and slowly he nods. 

“We’re listening,” Mingi relaxes his posture, his eyes softening, “we are,” 

Yunho swallows tightly and nods, taking a breath. 

Hongjoong’s eyes flick from Yunho to you, “y/n, come back, I’m sorry,” 

Yunho turns in a flash and catches where you are in the room, close to the door with Yeosang and Jongho blocking your exit, eyes full of tears and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Baby,” He breathes, crossing the room once again for you, “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” 

“It’s okay,” You breathe, pulling back the tears, “I’m fine,” 

“You’re crying,” He tugs you in, kissing your head. 

“I’m fine, let’s talk to them,” You brush off his attentions but you feel him through the bond, a comforting brush of his mind on yours, and you find his hand to lace your fingers together. 

He draws you into the circle, and you brush away any lingering tears with your free hand before taking a deep breath. 

“We,” Hongjoong looks around the circle and then back up to you both, echoing Mingi’s words, “we’re all listening.” 

Yunho’s nervous, you can feel it, but you give his hand a squeeze and look up as he starts to speak, “Someday,” he offers, “you’ll meet your person and it will make more sense why we both acted the way we did, I don’t mean to sound like that, but I really don’t know how to put it all in words,” 

Mingi’s jaw tightens, but he releases it immediately and you can see how he’s trying to keep himself relaxed and steady for his best friend now that the initial wave of anger is passed. 

“We should have told you all sooner, and I know it isn’t a matter of trust, but,” He rubs at the anxious knot in his chest and you feel the echo of it, “you know how our contracts are,” 

There’s soft murmurs of acknowledgement. 

“You know what could happen to her if anyone,” He looks down at you briefly before looking up to Mingi, holding his best friend’s gaze, “I just wanted to keep her safe from that, for as long as I could.” 

Mingi nods, his posture relaxing, “Alright,” 

“What we talk about here doesn’t leave this room,” Jongho offers, laying a hand on Yunho’s arm, “that has always been true, and that includes this.” 

Yunho swallows back a knot of emotion and nods, “Thank you,” 

“You’re bonded already,” Wooyoung notes, not a question but an observation as he watches the two of you together. 

Your hand falls away from your chest, where you were slowly massaging the same spot of anxiety, a mirror of Yunho. 

“Yes,” Yunho murmurs, “I love her, I,” 

“We love each other,” You finally find the strength to speak now that the tension has gone down a little, “and I’m sorry too, but it doesn’t change what we are to each other. He’s it for me,” 

Seonghwa smiles first, and then San follows, “It is pretty romantic,” he says. 

“Can you really feel each other through the bond?” Wooyoung asks, no longer upset but interested. 

“It’s insane,” Yunho nods, a grin breaking out on his face. 

“Even from far apart?” Mingi raises an eyebrow. 

You nod, “I knew something was wrong tonight before he called me,” you explain, “I could just feel it.” 

“Damn,” Wooyoung says, “that is insane,” 

“Yeah,” You manage. 

“Alright,” Hongjoong interrupts, bringing the group back to attention, “then the only thing to do is move forward. We’re a team, we’ve handled a lot of shit together. We can handle this too,” 

Yunho lets out a breath of relief and manages a thank you, but Hongjoong continues. 

“We need a plan, and we need one now.” 

You nod along with his words, “You’re right.” 

“Who knows about you two?” He asks. 

“Just Iseul from staff,” You see the stricken expression on Hongjoong’s face but you calm him immediately, “she’s known since Paris, and she’s my best friend. She hasn’t said a word to anyone and is already covering for us, we can trust her,” 

“Our families know,” Yunho says, “well, Gunho and her sister, anyway,” 

“Would they tell anyone?” Hongjoong asks delicately.

”No,” You’re firm, “Hana understands the risks for us, she and her wife both do.” 

There’s a flicker of understanding in his eyes when he hears the word wife, and he nods, “Good, that’s good,” 

“And you know Gunho,” Yunho says. 

“Tell me again, then,” Hongjoong sighs, “what was your plan?” 

“When contracts are at year six,” Yunho releases your hand so that he can wrap his arm around your shoulders instead, “we were going to come to you, and hope that you would all be willing to do an early renegotiation. We’d come clean as part of that process and find a way to loosen the contracts for dating. We have no plans of being publicly together for a long time, but at least then we wouldn’t have to sneak around and risk our contracts because of it,” 

“It’s not a bad plan,” Hongjoong says, “but by that time you’d have been together for months, it’s too risky to assume no manager will ever look into where you’ve been disappearing or notice something between you at the office,” 

You nod. 

“It makes the lying look worse,” Jongho adds, “if you were just dating anyone I’d say maybe don’t come clean, but you can’t help finding your soulmate.” 

“Only,” You jump in softly, “we’ve never heard of an idol with a soulmate,” 

Hongjoong chews the inside of his cheek, “True,” 

“Have you considered you might be the first?” Wooyoung offers.

 “That’s not possible,” Yunho shakes his head, “there has to be someone,” 

“I mean,” Wooyoung shrugs, “not that any of us have heard of, right?” 

He looks around the circle, but no one jumps in with an example, everyone stays painfully quiet. 

“It’s strange there’s no clause for it,” Mingi says, “an exception,” 

“It’s not,” You sigh, “could you imagine us feeling this way at twenty? Or when you were all trainees?” 

“Companies don’t want us to find soulmates,” Wooyoung nods, “I wonder if this has happened before but we just don’t know, maybe companies keep it covered up?” 

“Yeah, well,” Yunho’s hand tightens on you, “we’re bonded already. I’m sure some companies think they’re more powerful than a centuries old metaphysical connection, but they can go fuck themselves.”

You huff a small laugh and tuck your face into Yunho’s chest. 

“Maybe let’s not lead with that,” Hongjoong sighs, “we want them to agree.” 

“We’re skipping steps,” Jongho interrupts, “no matter what, if you stay together we need to renegotiate contracts.” 

Yunho stiffens, but you settle him with a hand over his chest. 

“A vote,” Hongjoong clears his throat, “and we need to be in agreement. Hands up for early renegotiation conversations with leadership, standing by Yunho and y/n for adjustments to the dating clauses. Remember this path is riskier, and will potentially result in months of negotiations.” 

Hands raise throughout the circle, and your chest grows tighter. 

Your eyes flick from member to member, each one with their hand raised regardless of how tired or angry they were moments ago. 

The only member without his hand raised is Mingi. 

Yunho’s arm falls away from you as he turns towards him, “Please,” 

But Mingi looks straight at you and it roots you to the spot, “Are you ready for this?” 

“Me?” Your eyebrows raise.

”Mingi, don’t,” Yunho warns.

 “It’s going to be public,” Mingi says plainly, “at some point at least. Can you handle that? Can you ignore all the bullshit and stay anyway? Because this job is our dream, his dream, and the fans and the visibility, all of that comes with it.” 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Yunho moves to step between you, as if there’s some kind of threat in the question, but you side step him. 

“Yunho,” You tell him, a soft rebuke in your tone. 

He stays silent. 

Turning your eyes to Mingi you nod, “I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, “I don’t do the job you do. I don’t know what that amount of attention or pressure feels like, honestly, I don’t really want to know.” 

He studies your expression. 

“I have no interest in hurting any of your dreams, your careers, and I’ll do everything I can to protect them. But like it or not, I’m not going anywhere,” Your hands clench into fists, “and it would be nice if whatever plan we come up with acknowledges the fact that I also work at this company, I also stand to lose everything, and if the public decides to shred someone, it won’t be any of you, it will be me. I love him, I know the risks, and I am not giving him up. Is that enough for you or not?” 

Mingi takes in your words for a beat and then he smiles widely and raises his hand, “Let’s do this,” 

“Just like that?” Your eyes widen.

You expected more of a fight from him, but at Yunho’s relieved exhale you know he’s on board. 

“Yep,” Mingi nods and then looks up to Yunho, “I always knew I like her,” 

“I’m standing right here,” You cross your arms. 

“Pick your battles, baby,” Yunho wraps his arms around you from behind and gives you a squeeze. Taking a deep breath, he looks up to his members, “I,” he clears his throat, “I’ll never be able to thank you all for this,” 

Hongjoong brushes that off, “We’re a team. It doesn’t work without all eight.”

“Still,” Yunho presses, “thank you.” 

Hongjoong nods once, “No  more lies now,” he adds, “if we’re in this together, we’re in it.” 

You nod and so does Yunho. 

“If you’re seeing each other, one of us needs to know and we need a better cover than ‘he’s out’,” He continues. 

“So contracts first?” San asks, “If we don’t know how they’ll take their bonding, it’s a wild card for negotiations.” 

Everyone considers that point and Yunho nods, “It’s not odd for us to want to renegotiate early, and removing dating bans is standard for moving off rookie contracts, if we’re all in that together it wouldn’t throw any flags.” 

Hongjoong considers it and then nods, “Friday after practice, we’ll meet at your apartment. We’ll put the plan together then in detail and decide what and how we want to negotiate. What we’re willing to give, what we’re not.” 

Everyone nods. “If we can make some decisions, we can consult outside counsel and we can start meetings with leadership in the next few weeks. There’s no telling how long that process will take, but until then,” He looks to you both, “be additionally cautious.” 

“Of course,” You nod. 

“We’ll tell them about us when it makes sense to do that with negotiations,” Yunho agrees, “we’ll take their temperature first, and then come clean. We need to see what we can do to insulate y/n’s position here, and I’d rather have that conversation with the CEO directly while we have a good relationship,” 

“Agreed,” Hongjoong says. 

There’s a collective feeling of relief in the room, the air slowly let out of the balloon of tension, and then Wooyoung cracks through the silence with a laugh, “Holy shit,” he smiles, “one of us is bonded.” 

Yunho smiles, his chest swelling with pride behind you, “I know,” 

“It would be you,” Seonghwa laughs. 

Yunho rolls his eyes and you look at Seonghwa with a little confusion. 

“We used to call him cathedral boy,” San says wryly. 

You laugh and Yunho wraps his arms around you more tightly. 

Hongjoong smiles, really smiles for the first time since you got here and nods, “Alright, alright,” he checks his phone, “we have a schedule in less than five hours, let’s get home.” 

Jongho nods, pulling on his beanie, “You know,” he says, “if we renegotiate now, maybe we’ll actually start getting paid,” 

“That’s the idea,” Mingi huffs a laugh and everyone follows behind.

Yunho’s shoulders drop, the final bit of anxiety leaving him.  

After that, the room starts to break up, everyone finding their jackets, but one by one, each of them gives you and Yunho a moment; a warm expression, a hand on the shoulder, a few words of congratulations. The anger you felt when you first walked in the room is gone entirely, and all that’s left is pure relief. 

Yunho drops his lips to your head and sighs heavily, warm air tickling your scalp, “Well,” he murmurs, “we did it,” 

You rest your hand over his and gently stroke his skin, “Are you okay?” 

He nods, “Yeah,” 

You feel the swirling emotions in him - relief, pride, hope, elation. For the first time since finding out you were fated for each other, the obstacles in front of you don’t seem so impossible to overcome. 

Mingi and Yeosang are the last in the room with you both, and quietly you untangle yourself from Yunho until the four of you are in a loose square in the middle of the practice room. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Mingi says, clearing his throat, “I was a dick.” 

Yunho shakes his head, “You’re good, I deserved it.” 

You glance between them, but Yeosang smiles a little and interjects, “You two look happy together, we can’t deny that,” 

You smile too, nodding and finding yourself once again caught by Yunho’s warm expression as he looks down at you. 

“Go on,” Mingi sighs, “take her home, we’ll cover for you tonight.” 

“But,” Yunho’s head snaps back up to his friends. 

“I’ll bring you a change of clothes to the office,” Yeosang says, “you couldn’t sleep and went for an early morning run, right?” 

Yunho nods, “Right,” 

“Don’t be late,” Mingi claps his best friend on the shoulder, “now go get some sleep, you look tired as hell.” 

Yunho snorts, “Thanks, man,” 

“Yep,” Mingi pulls a beanie over his hair and nods to you, “take care of him.” 

Warmth blossoms in your chest, “I will.” 

Mingi nods again, as if to say he knows you will, and then he and Yeosang are gone, leaving you both alone in the mirrored room. 

There’s nothing to say, not right now, but you fold into each other tenderly. After months of lies and panic and anxiety, you have your answers to so many questions. Yunho kisses you softly, wraps you up in his coat, and takes you home, right where you’re both supposed to be.

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Nighty-Night!

Ellie Williams x Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: What sleeping and waking up next to Ellie would look like. (Fluff)

Warning: Mentions of sex like one time?

A/N: Enjoy, I wrote this in class! It’s short and rushed 🙁

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Soft breaths played in the background as you and your girlfriend huddled together into the sheets. It was early winter and late at night, specifically midnight. The weather was perfect. Blue light beeming in from the open window of your girlfriend’s window, it shed light to the dimly lit room. Being the only thing that was on was her mini lamp. Which provided little.

Ellie laid beside you, one leg inbetween yours as she nuzzled into your arms. Facing each other, you wrapped your arms around her and pulled the blanket to her shoulder. She looked like a baby, sleeping like it was her first time.

Your girlfriend had joined you a few minutes ago, why? Because she needed to finish one last round of her game. She was never one for sleeping early, she had rounds to finish. After a stressful match, she quickly turned off her console and came to nestle up beside you— even though she was practically laid ontop of you.

With her body going completely still and relaxed in your arms, she laid happily. Content with having you with her, playing with her hair and occasionally pecking her freckled face. Ellie loved these moments, when you both knew you loved and cared for each other without needing to utter a word. It was sweet.

Your girlfriend was on the verge of sleep, holding onto a thread— more so you— to keep herself awake. She needed to feel you, to not miss another second without you. Her arms tightened around you, causing you to shift closer ‘til the two of you were fully flushed against each other. Ellie’s warm forehead rested on your shoulder as you brushed through her hair. The woody scent of her shampoo fluttered into your nose and you graciously took it all in.

Slowly but surely, Ellie had given up on staying awake. And you couldn’t keep yourself from spoiling her adorable little face with a few extra kisses here and there. On her nose, cheek, forehead, and lips. On the last one, she reciprocated, kissing you back with the little energy she had. A small smile then appeared on her lips before she gave you one last peck.

You’d always had a thing for the way she showed affection, showed that she cared. Even though most of the times she was a sassy little brat, Ellie had these moments where she’d completely melt into you. Showing you her vulnerable and loving side.

“Nighty-night, Babe..” Breaking the silence, she whispered into you with softness in her tone and raspiness in her voice. “Goodnight..” And there it was, that completely relaxed and peaceful look on her, usually tense, face. (Even tenser when she was playing on the console.)

The birds outside chirped with the rising sun. That was you and Ellie’s natural alarm clock. Groggily opening your heavy eyelids, you meet the sight of Ellie asleep and ontop of you. She looked adorable and you couldn’t help but squeeze her squishy cheeks. You could lay there and watch her sleep forever and ever, and ever.

“Morning, sleepyhead..” You whispered out, fingers tangled into your girlfriend’s hair as you tried your best to brush our her disheveled tangles. Knowing Ellie, even facing your back towards her could get you in trouble. Whining would fill the room and she’d complain your ears off. She was needy as a ‘fucker in the mornings, needing to be in your bubble, in your personal space— which she claimed shouldn’t exist in the relationship.

After a few minutes of contently watching your girlfriend, she began to stirr and grumbled to herself. Green eyes landed on your face, admiring you for a second too long before she shifted to nuzzle into your neck. “Hey..” The raspiness in her voice was endearingly attractive, but you kept your focus on her and watched as she pulled the blanket over her exposed shoulder.

“How’d ya’ sleep?” Was the first question you asked her, “Awsome sause, you?..” She shot back, mainly in affection and confirmation.

The only reason Ellie had been sleeping early was because of you. Having someone to depend on was a first for your girlfriend, so letting you wash the stress off her body was appreciated. So much. And ever since you’d moved in with her, she’d forgotten about her console. Rarely on it, she claimed she’d rather annoy you. “What’s that?” She’d ask, peaking from behind you to see what you were cooking up for her. Even reading had become difficult— “So, I’m guessing that book’s more important than your baby?” She’d frown, feigning loneliness so you’d baby her. Speaking of babying, her favourite nickname that you’d given her was that. Baby.

Ellie knew she could be the clingiest person on earth whenever she wanted to be, laying ontop of you and cutting off circulation from your arms. You found it painfully adorable. “Just as awesome as you, Babe..” That was ninety-nine point ninty-nine percent false.

“Mm-hm.. this bed isn’t the best for two people. Surprised you slept good..” She was right, the mattress was definitely loved. A little too much.— Having sex on it multiple times probably wasn’t the best go. “Maybe you need a new one.” You murmured, playing with Ellie’s auburn locks. She let out a soft chuckle and shifted closer. “I’ll look online, pretty..”

Oh, and she definitely would. When it came to you, she didn’t fuck around. As they say, “If she wanted to, she would” Damn right. Ellie gave you everything you could ever want, even though it wasn’t anything too much. Logically, both of you had no business buying expensive watches and purses, especially as young adults. That didn’t stop her from buying you flowers almost every week from her drive home from work. She’d buy you the world if she could.

With a soft huff she raised her head, exposing her groggy expression and messed-up hair. You didn’t tease her, just stared deeply into her eyes, just as she was you. No words were needed in the moment, just comforting silence and warmth. Ellie reached out to gently run her knuckles over your cheeks and stopped by your ear, then her thumb ran down the side of your neck and stopped by your collarbone. Leaving your skin to tingle and your eyes to flutter.

Being stubborn and needy, Ellie had her ways of being affectionate and gentle. Especially in the morning, it was like she had this switch. One moment she was whining and desperately trying to keep you in bed, then, the next moment, she was quietly admiring you. Maybe that was a less.. obnoxious way of her keeping you next to her. It worked everytime, so you really couldn’t complain.

I LITERALLY CANNOT STOP WRITING ANOUT ELLIE, LIKE ITS SO BAD ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS HER!!?!??!? AND NOW IM GOING ON PINTEREST TO FIND WAYS TO BETTER MY FANFICS!!!!! Anyways someone save me from this curse.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PAIRING: teen dad!scott barringer x teen mom!reader

Author's note: this a request but my internet was playing jokes on me and it got deleted :// also the baby girl is called ava, as you wanted but I just feel in my bones that scott would affectionately call her mitsy..

FLUFF ❦

SCOTT BARRINGER’s head was half cuddled in a pillow when he felt the first in this hour poke. It was a soft little jab against his exposed cheek, then another, before tiny fingers became more insistent to catch his attention..at 2am. His sleep was already threading through thin ice, causing Scott to easily wake up and let out an exhausted groan, barely managing to crack one eye open. After that, he was immediately met with a pair of wide, bright blue eyes and a messy mop of curls tousled from sleep (or rather lack of it).

“Dada!”

The enthusiasm was off the charts for such early hour

Scott blinked, trying to make sense of the chaos. His brain slow to catch up. “Missy?” he rasped, voice rough.

Beside him, you were half-sprawled over the blankets, one hand fisted in the sheets, still very much unconscious. Your cheek was smushed into the pillow, a tiny snore escaping every few breaths. You were out.

Meanwhile, the little gremlin you two had somehow created last year was squirming happily between you both, chubby hands patting Scott's everything.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Babe,” he mumbled, nudging you hopefully awake. “Your daughter’s insane.”

You just grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like your daughter, rolling over with a groan. Scott snorted.

“Dada!” the baby insisted again, more excited this time, little legs kicking wildly against the sheets. Tiny fist closed around the collar of his t-shirt, trying to tug at it to somehow pull him closer, if possible.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, sitting up. “I’m awake. Jeez.”

She beamed, gummy smile stretching wide and being all bright, eyes crinkling at the corners—just like Scott’s. His chest ached, although he won't admit it to anyone really.

Another glance at the alarm clock told him it was a quarter past two. Great. Perfect. Just perfect. But then his daughter squealed happily, smacking a tiny hand against his jaw, and Scott couldn’t even find it in himself to think of much bigger complains.

So he scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “What’s got you all excited, huh?” he whispered, voice soft and fond. “It’s way past your bedtime, missy.” she just giggled of course, grabbing at his face with both, greedy hands, babbling some kind of happy gibberish that Scott was pretty sure was a baby curse word. He grinned, shaking his head. “You are crazy..but that's okay, it's not your fault you got mommy's genes” he murmured, rubbing a thumb over the soft skin of her cheek.

You whined from your spot on the bed, burying your face deeper into the pillow. “You’re both banned from the bed,” you grumbled, words slurred and exhausted, though your voice was all fondness and sleep. "I love her, but—please. Please.”

Scott just rolled his eyes, scooping the baby higher on his hip. “C’mon, trouble,” he murmured to her, smiling. “Let’s give momma some peace.”

So that’s how he ended up on the living room floor at 2:30 a.m., surrounded by a tsunami of pastel toys and fluffy blankets, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips while the baby girl flailed around like a feral toddler. She had to make it a habit, and smacked a stuffed bunny into his face, squealing happily. Scott sighed, catching her tiny hands in his, watching how she drooled over her own smile. Thumbs run over the pudgy soft skin before he did something bold (for someone like him) and pressed kisses to her chubby fingers until she would dissolve into giggles, wiggling around in his lap. He was tired. So tired. A good amount of coffee won't fix that exhaustion. But damn, was it worth it..

And when she finally wore herself out, tiny fists rubbing rather clumsily at her eyes, head drooping against his arm, Scott melted a little. He scooped her up, tucking her beneath his chin, fingers carding through her messy, thin nest of hair. She let out a tiny sigh, cheek smushed against his skin.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Thought you were a big girl, huh?”

She just grumbled something that sounded suspiciously (for Scott who made it his job to analyze her baby language) like ‹dada› and nuzzled deeper into his chest, fingers burying in his shirt, making sure he still will be here when she'll wake up.

Scott smiled, eyes crinkling, thumb brushing over her back in gentle circles. “Love you, little missy,” he murmured, voice low and tender. “Love you so much..”

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[husbandhoshi]

[9:47 AM] *suggestive

the first thing you learn about seungcheol is that his towels are embroidered. csc, they read, in gold thread on absurdly plush bath towels.

(actually, the first thing you learned about him was that he's a good kisser. you learned this the hard way, outside the bar, after all your friends had gone home and it just was you, him, and his tongue in your mouth.)

as a rule, you try not to learn anything about your late night escapades, but, evidently, you have already failed.

it's easy to notice his bathroom looks much bigger than it did last night, now that all the lights are on. he has not one, but two, matching rugs, and the sconce lights make the marble countertop look like it's made of water. nestled in the corner is a little tray with all his cologne lined up end to end—armani, dior, chanel.

you pick up the silvery one on the end and smell the cap. (yes, this one. he was wearing this one last night, right in the space where his collarbone met the base of his neck. you had kissed him there, and he had asked you to go home with him. creed, aventus, it says.)

he even has the drunk elephant moisturizer, although it looks criminally underused. it sits among a small pile of skincare that looks like it costs twice your monthly paycheck, if you had worked overtime.

you have to remind yourself you're not here to snoop through rich people's bathrooms, as fun as that sounds.

seungcheol was a quick fuck (and a really good one at that), but you already feel like you've overstayed your welcome.

the plan—in and out. you hate the sticky, too-warm goodbyes, the small talk at the kitchen table, the unexpected rattle of a roommate coming home. worst of all, they never want you as badly in the morning as they did the night before.

but the plan has already gone to shit. you woke up practically spooning him and your little bathroom detour cost you ten minutes. and it's almost 10, which is what he has his two-hundred dollar alarm clock set to.

you shut the bathroom door as quietly as you can, hoping to make a quick getaway. but it's here, caught in the waxy overcast from the huge windows, where, for the first time in your life, you almost want to say fuck the plan.

"morning," seungcheol hums, propping himself up on the bed. you take one look at him, shirtless and sweats slung low, and you lose the plot entirely.

yesterday, when you had met, it looked like he was made in some kind of factory for hot men—starched white shirt rolled to the forearms, hair perfectly gelled, and a fat breitling watch hugging his wrist. and yet, as you watch him blow a cowlick out of his eyes, he seems even more attractive, which you would have never thought possible.

"someone's eager to get outta here," he says, enjoying the way you avoid his eyes. "don't tell me it was that bad for you."

you smile nervously. what you can remember about last night is that it was anything but bad. the whole thing makes your face feel hot—you are no prude, but he sure makes you feel like one.

"is that what it looks like?" you answer. you realize you can't find your shoes. you think he threw them somewhere last night, between the memory of his hand up your dress and yours in his hair. he kissed his way up your legs and you forgot you even had shoes to worry about.

"almost, if you weren't checking me out just now."

damn. guilty as charged. you can't help it. things feel too good to be true.

first, you learned you got fucked by a million dollar dick last night. now, instead of kicking you out like any other one night stand, he's acting decent, maybe even more than decent. and he has the tits of a god.

seungcheol sees your face wrench up in puritanical shame and he laughs.

"well, if you have time in your busy, busy schedule," he starts, with a grin that makes you dizzy. "i'm making breakfast. and i would love to eat it with you."

suddenly you don't know why you ever had a plan in the first place. you watch him attempt to wink at you from all the way across the room and you think getting to know him might not be such a bad thing after all. maybe things are too good to be true, but you're willing to find out.

needless to say, the second thing you learn about seungcheol is that he cannot cook.

the third? he's an even better kisser sober.