#conversion tracking code

[yakool-foolio]

thoughts on kurumi x yuma?

While I don't personally ship them (and I can hardly ever find it in myself to care much about Kurumi, I'm sorry), I can certainly see the appeal! Since this pairing is the one that's most 'pushed' by canon, there's a good bit of ground for the pairing to stand on. I do like how Kurumi looks up to Yuma as a Master Detective, but he's quite the opposite of what she'd expect as an amnesiac trainee who, as far as he knows, doesn't even have a Forte. It's more like Yuma could even look up to her as an informant working against the oppressive force of Amaterasu. They both admire each other for their work at first, but as they continue to team up together, they find a lot more to enjoy about one another.

[stellarstarryyy]

People got so off topic in the en abime discord that the GMs had to come in (in character) and scold us 😭

[banannabethchase]

Okay so here's the problem.

When you have pretty severe OCD mixed with autism and PTSD and anxiety, you can misinterpret instinct and gut feeling for anxiety and vice versa.

And another problem is that, due to that unfortunate cocktail, it is very easy to gaslight that person and tell them something happened if someone says it in a mean enough, authoritative enough, and urgent enough way.

Anyway, fuck men who take advantage of people.

[mustmed00]

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[clockwayswrites]

Birds and Mice and Tea Parties 20

Masterpost

AN: B really was trying his best to protect Danny last time, he just was missing too much information. Poor Danny...

No reading over. We suffer and post at 2am.

-

It had been two weeks since the last rogue Wayne visit.

Danny hadn’t intended to keep track. There was no reason to. One visit from Cass and one from Tim did not a pattern make.

He tried to dismiss the observation. He had plenty to do; it wasn’t like he didn’t have friends. The bi-weekly trivia group would start meeting again soon. He also had a TTRGP session that did its best to meet around all that life threw at them. Tucker and him played online games when they could make schedules match and he and Sam talked when she was stateside. He even had regular lunches with coworkers!

Still, there had been something different about spending time with the family.

So no, Danny hadn’t meant to keep track, but he still knew it had been two weeks and a day. But of course he wouldn’t see the Waynes that often. Bruce was a very busy man and most of the children would have no reason to come to W.E. They had their own lives with work and school and being kids or young adults. The other visits had simply been flukes, as nice as the visits had been.

The subtle feeling of melancholy that had settled over him was ridiculous and he wasn’t having it. His mood was simply off because of the whole Ancient thing. The way it was affecting his health didn’t make feeling better any easier either.

Danny leaned against the wall of the elevator as he tried to catch his breath. He really shouldn’t be walking right then to get lunch, not with the way that he felt, but he hadn’t had anything at his place to make lunch with. He hadn’t had the energy to go shopping. He’d just go somewhere close instead of walking to anything on the other side of the park.

The natural reverb of the lobby assaulted Danny as he stepped out of the elevator.

He just had to get through the lobby, the street, the restaurant, back through the street, and through the lobby again. Then he could hide in his office and eat. Or he could hide in there and eat as long as Lucius didn’t find him. Maybe even Lucius would give him a break today though.

“Dr. Fenton…?”

Danny looked up from rubbing his neck.

It was Tim. Damian was at Tim’s side, flanking him like a little guard dog and scowling. Tim was frowning too. Danny immediately wanted to fix whatever was wrong.

“Look at that, a pair of Waynes. How are you two?”

“That is unimportant,” Damian said with a little sniff. “You are clearly unwell. I assume you are returning to your apartment to rest?”

“Oh, no, I’m just going to go grab lunch. I’m alright, really,” Danny said and put on the best smile he could muster.

Tim and Damian looked at each other in some sort of silence conversation. Danny started to edge away from them, thinking he could escape before they came to some sort of end. He really needed out of the lobby and its echoing sounds.

A startled shriek from the entry way cut off that plan.

Danny twisted to face the sound as he stepped in front of the kids.

Of course it was a rogue, what else would it be in Gotham? It was a rogue, but at least it was the Mad Hatter and his squad of likely mind controlled goons. He usually wasn’t prone to death and destruction like some of the others were. But still, Danny felt his metaphorical hackles rising. The kids were here.

The kids were here and sure to draw the Mad Hatter’s attention if he saw them. Danny stepped slowly backwards, herding the kids away from the scene. At least they weren’t far into the lobby.

“Back up to the stairwell,” Danny said lowly, trying to cast his voice behind him.

“Tch. We can—”

“The elevator, the back left one,” Tim said quietly but firmly over his brother’s protest. “I have a code to take it to a safe room in the basement.”

“If he kills the power,” Danny started.

“The elevators have emergency back up.”

“That’s not very good behavior for a tea party, is it?” the Matter Hatter shouted at someone.

Danny bit back a rising noise of anger in his throat. His fingers twitched to act. But he couldn’t. The best plan was to get the kids out of there away from any action.

“Yes I see, Damian,” Tim hissed. “We’re almost to the elevator.”

“Call it as soon as you can,” Danny said. Was there a reverb to his voice? It felt like there was a reverb to his voice. No, no, he couldn’t, he had to…

“That’s better! See? This is how you behave when someone invites you to a tea party! Now where is that little dormouse?” the Mad Hatter called. “I know I saw him come in here! With an even littler one too.”

He wanted Tim.

“Calling the elevator.”

“Another mouse? A rat? A cat?"

The Mad Hatter wanted Tim and Damian.

“Here mousy mouse mice… where are you?"

Danny would not let that happen.

“Oh there you are! Hiding back by the doors, of course he is!” The Mad Hatter said. The crowed parted in fear. His wide, manic eyes looked right past Danny and he grinned. “Get them. We have a tea party we’re late for.”

“Over my dead body,” Danny growled.

The Mad Hatter blinked at Danny like he just noticed him for the first time. His goons rushed past him and through the crowd. “Oh, who are you? Never mind, if death is what you want, we can make that happen.”

Danny couldn’t hold back the chortling laughter. “See, that’s where you have a problem you don’t even know you could have.”

“And what is that?”

“You couldn’t handle my dead body,” Danny said just as the first goon reached them.

Danny stepped forward. He ducked under the swing of the punch and used the momentum to spin the goon around. With a push of his ghostly power, he sent the attacking goon careening into the next one and they both went tumbling.

“Danny, it’s here!” Tim shouted.

Not turning his back to the attackers, Danny stepped backwards into the elevator. Tim slammed a button and the doors basically snapped closed, much faster than they should. Danny was left staring at the polished metal surface of the elevator. Luminous green stared back at him. Soft black feathers dotted his temples. His fingers ended in talons. And he could feel it.

He could feel the skin on his back started to split.

Wings.

[lvmimis]

“I just think you’d be happy with us,” Luffy insists for the fifth time that week, and exhausted, you reach over your shoulder, where he’s leaned over, practically resting his chin on your shoulder, and you grip his face, squishing his cheeks. 

He pouts, but doesn’t break free, and you turn to look at him, giving him a frown. Your eyes lock for a few moments as you challenge him to keep speaking, and he, never intimidated by you even for a moment, even when you are trying, continues talking.

“Just think about it more?”

You’ve thought about it, many times in fact, and every time he returns to this neck of the woods since you met just several months ago, a similar conversation arises. The naivete in the idea of you leaving behind everything you’ve built for this pirate you knew nothing about a year ago amazes you, but Luffy has always had such a confidence and almost innocent directness to the way he communicates his desires that you find it harder and harder to not question your own resistance each time. 

This time he’s particularly persistent, possibly to the point of being annoying. You apply a little bit more pressure to the grip you have on his face until his lips jut out and he whines.

“Hey, that hurts you know!” 

You let go, even if you know you could never truly hurt him, and sigh. 

“You know, asking more times won’t change my answer,” you remind him as he makes a show of stretching his face back to normal, then watches you stack a pile of books together and store them away into a cabinet. He’s keeping you company in your workroom as you finish up the last of your notes before leaving the clinic for the day. These days he no longer uses your friendship with Nami as a pretense to come and see you, and no one is sick - instead he strides in like he’s important to you in his own right, and you hate that he’s right about that. 

You wonder who even lets him in these days.

“What would it take aside from asking?”

You look at him again, tilting your head slightly. 

“To change my mind?” you clarify. 

Luffy nods. You’ve started walking, and he follows closely behind, your sweet shadow as you lock up the room and place the key in your pocket, hands behind his head as he accompanies you down the street to your favorite restaurant. 

Since the last time Luffy came to your city, a month has passed, and for the first time, you have admitted to yourself that you genuinely missed him - seeing his smile in an almost empty cup of coffee, or hearing his hearty laugh in a group of friends huddled at a bar, thoughts drifting to what it must be like for him on the sea whenever you have an idle moment.

Always joyous and free, sea salt and sunshine sinking deep into his skin.

Being by his side sounds more enticing every time he brings it up, but he doesn’t need to know that. In fact, perhaps he should think the opposite, you decide.

You stop suddenly in your tracks, and he stops too, watching you carefully as you make your first demand of him. 

“Bring me a pearl and I’ll think about it,” you start. Luffy looks confused for a second, eyebrows furrowed, and crosses one arm over his chest, his other hand tapping his chin. 

“I mean we could go to a jewelry shop right now but I don’t see why-”

Your look into his own eyes is fiery, interrupting him firmly. “As big as my head. The kind you’d only find hundreds of kilometers deep in the Calm Belt.”

The words are meant to be delivered neutrally, but their content is laden with irrationality.

You pause, waiting for his protest, but Luffy doesn’t complain. Instead he’s listening intently, dark eyes just as focused on yours, on the drivel coming from your lips and perhaps on deciphering the unspoken code beneath it.

Code that isn’t I don’t want to go with you, but Why would you go through the trouble for someone as bothersome like me?

Perhaps he picks up on the subtext a bit, too smoothly. “Is that all you want?” he asks, finally.

You inhale sharply, and resume your walk.

“Yes. Unless you bring me one of those, I don’t want to talk about ever leaving with you again, Luffy. Don’t even come back to see me.”

Unfazed, Luffy smiles even though you’ve given him a nigh impossible task - in fact, you’re not sure these giant clams exist at all, and it would be a fool’s errand to search for one, but he laughs. 

“Deal.”

Leaving the matter as it is, you resume your walk, and at some point Luffy must have taken your hand, because by the time you’ve made it to where you’ll have dinner together (and invariably he’ll clean out your wages for the entire week just in meat), your fingers are interlocked as though they’ve belonged linked the entire time. 

—

Luffy leaves the next day, leaving a note that is short and sweet on your kitchen table.

Be back soon.

You figure you’ve possibly seen the last of him in a while and your stomach turns gently at the thought.

—

Three days pass and because your friend Nami hasn’t yelled your ear off by transponder snail, you figure Luffy has dropped the entire ordeal and not wasted his crew’s time by going off track to do something absolutely stupid at your request. 

Another three pass and you worry he is stupid enough to try to do it despite being hated by the sea, and you resist the urge to call it off yourself. 

But you have to trust that he could understand how you felt. 

As impossible as it is for him to do this for you, it’s impossible for you to leave your earthbound life.

—

But ‘impossible’ sits on your nightstand that night.

A perfectly round pearl, as big as your head (bigger even if you were to hold it up and compare the object in a mirror)and polished to an impeccable shine, waits for you, with another note.

You ran out of food. Be back in a moment.

When Luffy comes back, large bags of groceries in hand to restock your empty fridge (even though he’d end up cleaning it out himself that night), he finds you in quiet tears.

Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground, allowing his arms to wrap carefully and gently around your body until you’ve leaned into him fully, your sniffles muffled as you let your face hide pressed against his forearms.

You don’t ask how he did it because the act itself is enough, and he doesn’t speak until you open your mouth first -

- to say “Hi, I missed you,” even if you’re overwhelmed. 

Luffy hums in assent, and lets his face nuzzle into your hair further, the simple act asking you again, please come with me without him needing to say it out loud, even if the pearl he’s moved heaven and earth to bring to your doorstep allows him to.

To which your heart, as though you were being proposed to with this very act, finally says yes.

[moonlightcycle571]

Captain Marvel not understanding anything about technology yet somehow being a technopath

I think it should be established that Billy Batson knows nothing about technology. He was stuck in the time bubble for over 50 years, and even then (before during and after), he’s a street kid. Man’s still on radio and old vehicles.

Every time she leaned something slightly techie, he gets flabbergasted. Mispronounces the name of so many machines and has no idea what’s the differences between an IPod and an IPhone. He understands even less why Sam’s song is beefing with an apple???

Having said that, Captain Marvel can be terrifyingly proficient in tech at random times, and the reasoning behind it is so dumb that any tech-savie person in the vicinity are either banging their heads or foaming in jealousy.

Electrics use electricity. Cap is technically Living Lightning. And magical. All Cap needs to do is think about something for it to appear in the nearest screens.

Batman: the access to the security are heavily locked and would take to much time to enter from the outside

Marvel: I got it! *camera footage appear on the screen*

Batman: hn?

*or*

Oracle: I need to bypass multiple firewalls. The coding is so complex, but if you give me ten minutes-

Marvel: oh it’s cool *waves his hand*

Oracle: …

Oracle: did you crack the code by waving your hand…

Marvel: yeah I just swishes off the weird blocks

Oracle, inwardly: THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE

Oracle, outwardly: *noticeably restrained* cool 🙂

*Or*

Marvel: Hey Vic, do you want to get milkshakes?

Cyborg: I can’t, the father box is acting up. I’ve been glitching all day.

Marvel: oh let me help

Cyborg: you can’t just-

Marvel: *slaps Victors shoulder* there!

Cyborg: … how???

Marvel: I asked nicely! 😁

Cyborg: I’m going to die now

Bonus:

Somewhere in a dark unused part of the watchtower, many capes gathered.

Barbara Gordon: Today we will welcome a new member to our support group. Introduce yourself, tell us why you’re here and will can start the meeting.

Roy Harper: Hi, I’m Arsenal, and today Captain Marvel broke my grenade launcher. He then felt bad and made me a pocket rocket launcher. Meaning it’s a rocket launcher but when I press a button, it turns into a small box for me to carry around. I asked him why make a rocket launcher and not a grenade launcher, and he asked me what’s the difference.

*echoes of ‘oooh’ and ‘welcome to the club’*

Tim Drake: I taught him on how to set a Facebook account and helped him set his profile. I go out to get an energy drink. I come back and he’s hacking conversations of the mafia, giving me info on the trafficking ring I’ve been tracking for a month.

*sympathising nods from everyone*

Jaime Reyes: Last Thursday, my scarab got scratched and was having trouble repairing itself. Marvel came in and put a bandaid on it. The worse part is… it actually worked.

*cue groans through out the room*

[rhiannonsknife]

im ovulating and i want baby fever with jackie sooo bad

now hear me out…this, but with housewife!jackie…hear me out!! (some nsfw content. mdni.)

housewife!jackie is absolutely getting baby fever out of nowhere at, like, brunch with some old highschool friends. someone props their newborn in one of those little bouncy seats at the table and jackie gets visibly distracted, stirring her coffee absently while just…staring. it’s not like she’s never seen a baby before, it’s just the fact that some of her friends are starting to have them and that you are at a point in your relationship where you could start talking about having children. and even though technically haven’t had that conversation yet, it’s then that she knows she wants it with you.

after that, you catch her curled up on the couch with her phone’s brightness turned down low, obsessively reading articles: “how to know you’re ready for a baby” and “things i wish i’d known before having kids”.

catching housewife!jackie making plans <33

you also find her standing in the doorway of what used to be the guest room, arms crossed over her chest, staring at the walls.

“jax?”

jackie turns slowly, surprised that you caught her here, leaning against the doorframe. “i was just…thinking,” she says. “about…you know. maybe painting it? pink or sage green or something.”

“for the guest room?”

housewife!jackie who absolutely insists on tracking your cycle: she pretends it’s casual and insists that it’s “just so we’re prepared!” but secretly has a full, color-coded app on her phone, and a backup chart handwritten in a planner she keeps tucked inside her nightstand.

also, she will remind you whenever you’re fertile: leaving ovulation tests on the bathroom counter with a cute note like “just in case! :)”, scheduling spontaneous date nights when the timing’s perfect, greeting you at the door in lingerie you haven’t seen before…

housewife!jackie volunteering to wrangle every child at your next family gathering. she sweeps your little cousins into games of tag, sits cross legged on the floor doing arts and crafts, even holds the tiniest child in her arms. nervously at first, then effortlessly bouncing them on her hip and making them giggle once she’s warmed up.

— nsfw content below. mdni.

some nights, jackie gets so lost in it: the thought of your hands on her stomach, your mouth tracing the curve of a swelling belly. the idea of you holding her afterwards, sweaty and crying and still trembling because she made life with you.

she can’t make herself say it yet, so she pleads for it physically, without words. she drags you closer, clings to you harder, burying her face in your neck. ‘make me yours,’ she’ll plead instead, because it’s easier than asking for what she really wants. ‘make me yours forever’

housewife!jackie who accidentally lets her fantasy slide because she wants it so bad :(

you have her sprawled out beneath you, hair fanned messily across the pillows, her nails dragging red lines down your back as you grind against her, strap gliding inside her deep. jackie is already close. her thighs tremble where you’re pressing them apart with your palms and she keeps losing her rhythm, hips stuttering up against yours.

right before she comes, jackie’s mouth falls open and without even seeming to realize it, she gasps:“please give me a baby, please, want you to-” she doesn't even notice she said it, just keeps clinging to you, rolling her hips and chasing it until her body goes rigid on the sheets and her cunt clenches around the toy.

later, when you're lying there catching your breath, sweaty and sticky and wrecked, you don't bring it up immediately. your fingers trace along her stomach while jackie stares at the ceiling and you try to find the right words.

“did you mean it?” you murmur eventually. there's a long, suffocating silence. just when you think she’ll pretend it never happened, jackie whispers: “yeah.”

housewife!jackie who can’t stop after that. every time you’re fucking, no matter how slow, how sweet, how rough, she starts mumbling it against your skin.

you’re barely moving inside her, your mouth pressed to the soft spot behind her ear. jackie’s legs are locked tight around you, her nails digging into your shoulder blades. she’s the one doing all the work, rocking her hips against yours in circles.

“feel so full-” she whimpers, rubbing her clit with two fingers. “bet you could, like this, bet you could really do it-”

housewife!jackie who wants to get you pregnant…?

you’re laid out on your stomach, hips tilted up for her as jackie grinds against you. her mouth finds the shell of your ear from behind, soft breath first, then desperate words pouring out:

“gonna put a baby in you, sweetheart,” her hips stutter forward as she says it, and she moans against your neck. “there you go- that’s it, take it!”

housewife!jackie who takes her time to worship you <3

she kisses down your body, sucks soft hickeys all over your chest, fingertips tracing your stomach in awe. she’ll kneel between your legs and look up at you with those big, greedy eyes and whisper, “gonna make you so pretty for me, baby”, between broad licks up your cunt, dwelling in your gasps and shivers.

[rumplereids]

wonderstruck.

part one. tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. tech analyst!reader. early-s1!spencer. a/n: tech analyst!reader won’t leave my little brain. i hope u like this :) masterlist. requests are open !

You were 21 when you got recruited into the bureau. Barely a graduate, and already on a FBI watchlist. Honestly, the only reason you’re under their watchful eyes is because of a lapse in judgment.

To celebrate the semester ending, your roommate decided that you both needed to get drunk. Being a psychology major with a pre-med roommate leads to tequila shots in your own dorm room. It’s the convenience and comfort of your own space that got you so drunk. This situation led to this: you admitting to your roommate, with heavy eyes, that you can “hack, you know. I learned when I was 15.”

She sat up from her place on the floor.

“Really? I don’t believe you!” she giggles, and then hiccups.

“I so can!” there’s indignation and a want to prove yourself in the tone of your voice.

“Okay, show me!”

Shuffling on heavy feet, you plop down in front of your laptop. A few clicks and the comforting clacks of your keyboard, and then a window pops open. You look at the wide-gaped mouth of your roommate. “What are you hacking?”

You hum, “I don’t know.”

And then you remember the talk from a few days ago. Two agents from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit came over to your college to talk about criminal profiling to psychology majors and anyone else interested.

Completely inebriated, you manage to hack into their database. Your hazy mind doesn’t forget to compliment the beauty and intricacy of the codes and firewalls you broke down.

At Quantico, Virginia, Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia rushes into her unit chief’s office.

“Sir, somebody is attempting to get into my system. I think they’re trying to communicate?”

Hotch follows Garcia into her office, the quickness of their steps catching the attention of Dr. Spencer Reid who was seated at his desk, skimming over a case report.

When Hotch gets into Penelope’s ‘lair’, his eyes squint, adjusting to the dimmed lights and bright screens. On the main monitor, a window displaying the barebones of a text chat is open.

<ATHEN411> ????

<ATHEN411> hiiiiidfgsd

<YOU> Who is this?

<ATHEN411> ohymgofd i didnt think anyonewould alsnwer

<ATHEN411> wh o it sthis?

<YOU> BAU Section Chief Aaron Hotchner.

<ATHEN411> omfdg i know uuu !! jason mentoined u

<YOU> Jason?

<ATHEN411> yhuhh jason digeon or sumn omg i cant tpoye

<ATHEN411> sorry

<YOU> Jason Gideon? How do you know him?

<ATHEN411 disconnected.>

You’ve completely forgotten about the conversation. Until, a few days later. You’re turning the corner of the hallway to get into your dorm. Backpack slung on a shoulder, arms full of your laptop, binders and a soft-bound copy of your final paper. You stop in your tracks when you see two men stationed outside your room’s door.

One man was in a shirt, jeans, and combat boots. He also had sunglasses on. The other had a permanent furrow to his brows, dressed formally in a suit and tie.

“Hi, can I help you?” you ask, hand reaching into your hoodie pocket for your keys and pepper spray.

The one in sunglasses holds up a badge and ID.

“FBI. I’m Agent Morgan, this is Agent Hotchner. Are you Y/N L/N?”

You gulp, wondering why they knew your name.

“Um, yeah. Why?”

“Can we talk somewhere private?”

Your bring out your keys, and you notice how Agent Hotchner eyes the pepper spray keychained to it.

“Um, yeah. We can talk inside? My roommate’s still out.”

You unlock your door and walk in, the agents following in after you. Dropping your bag on your desk chair, you turn to ask the agents, “How can I help you?”

Agent Hotchner asks, “Are you familiar with the name athen-four-one-one?”

You look up at them guilty.

“It’s athena-eleven.”

“So, it’s you?” Agent Morgan clarifies.

“Yes. How did you find me?”

The two men share a glance. A silent conversation passing with you unknowing.

“Two nights ago, you hacked into the BAU’s database.”

You look at them in suprise, “I did?”

“Yes,” Agent Hotchner says, passing a folder to you. Inside are images and a transcript of messages shared between a ‘P.GARCIA’ and ‘ATHEN411’.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, realizing what’s happening.

“I was drunk off my ass two nights ago! I’m so sorry,” that catches Agent Morgan’s attention.

“You were drunk?”

“Yeah, my roommate and I were celebrating our exams. I didn’t… Am I in trouble?”

Agent Hotchner raises a hand in a placating gesture, “You were drunk when you hacked into the bureau’s database?” Confusion and slight amusement evident in the tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” you confess, “It was just a dare! I don’t even remember much of it.”

Agent Morgan looks as if he doesn’t know what to think about the situation. You feel the same. Agent Hotchner extends a hand to get the file back from you, and you give it to him easily.

“Would you go with us back to the station?”

“What? For what? Am I being sued?”

“The opposite. I would like to conduct a proper interview.” Agent Hotchner explains.

“An interview? For what?”

“A job as a technical analyst at Quantico.”

You look at them, eyes furrowing in confusion and disbelief, “What? I can’t!”

“Why not?”

You gesture toward your desk, “I still have a paper to pass!”

Meeting Penelope Garcia was like a dream come true.

“I should have realized! The triple-stacked firewall should’ve been so obvious! The Black Queen signature!”

The blonde’s eyes sparkle, happy to meet a match.

“Athena-Eleven! I didn’t even notice you were in my systems until you sent your first message.”

You feel your chest puff up at the indirect praise.

“You were one of my idols,” you admit, “Your exposé on Griffith Industries was just… stunning! Absolutely flawless. You had a section in your code that I used to build my private server—” Agent Hotchner interrupts your spiel.

He gestures to the rest of the room, where agents were seated at a round table.

“This is Y/N L/N, the unit’s newest technical analyst. ” he says, and you give a shy wave. You get a wave back from the agent wearing glasses. He’s cute. Have you seen him before?

“This is Jennifer Jareau, our communications liaison,” you shake her outstretched hand. She’s so pretty, you start to think, gorgeous blue eyes too.

“You’ve met Derek Morgan,” Agent Hotchner says, and Agent Morgan gives a two finger salute, his hands wrapped around a coffee cup.

“Agent Jason Gideon,” you return his handshake, mumbling a shy; “Hello, sir. Nice to see you again.”

And then, “This is Dr. Spencer Reid—”

“Oh! You were with Agent Gideon at the seminar! You talked a bit about geoprofiling, and how an unsub’s subconscious can’t help but stick close to home, which helps you triangulate the—” Agent Hotchner lets out another soft cough.

“Um, yeah. I did. Nice to meet you,” he gives another small wave, smile close-lipped and awkward. Endearing. He’s really cute. “I don’t really shake hands.”

You nod, “I get that, germs and stuff. It’s actually, weirdly, safer to kiss.”

You don’t see the way JJ and Derek look at each other, nor do you notice when Penelope whispered, “Oh my God, there’s two of them.”

“Your code name, it’s for the Athena, right? The Greek goddess of wisdom, warfare, and handicraft?” Dr. Reid asks you, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Yeah. I love greek mythology.”

He gives you a smile, “I do, as well. I’m wondering about the eleven though. Does it mean anything?”

You tsk’d through your teeth, “The angel number 1111’s often seen as a spiritual wake-up call and awakening. I thought it was fitting, and I was 15 when I chose the name, okay? Excuse little old me.”

“That’s cool,” Dr. Reid admits. If he remembers your file right, you were barely 17 when you became a trademark and known name in underground hacking circles. He can’t properly meet your eyes, struck in awe. Athena. It’s perfect for you.

“Y/N formally starts her job with us in three days,” Hotch informs the team, “Be kind.”

With a final word, Gideon and Hotch start to return to their offices.

Derek straightens from his position on the office chair. “I am very kind!”

“He didn’t say anything about you,” Penelope teases.

“Ooh, that says a lot, Morgan. It says so much,” JJ teases back.

You smile at them, your new co-workers, taking the seat JJ was gesturing at for you. The three continue bickering, you start to tune them out as you make eye contact with Dr. Reid. The apple of his cheeks blush red, and you can’t stop the grin on your lips from getting wider. He’s downright enchanting.

[womanofwords]

Everybody's Favourite (Part 1)

Everything turned upside-down when the principal pulled you out of class when you were seven years old. You'd been colouring nicely when she came in.

"Y/N, I'd like to talk to you," she said. "Could you come with me?"

"Have I done something wrong?" you asked.

"No, dear. Just get your stuff."

You collected your things and went with her, where a police officer was waiting. "Here's Y/N, officer," she said to him. That was when you learned, in a haze of horror, that your dear mother had died while you were colouring in class without a care in the world. Car accident.

"Not to worry, she made arrangements as to who would look after you in the event of this happening," the police officer said. "Your biological father . . . Bruce Wayne."

So off you went to your new home, away from your friends and old neighbourhood and everything you'd ever known, and towards the figure known as Bruce Wayne.

The first thing you noticed about your father was that he was, obviously, very rich. All his cars were the fancy ones you used to stare at with your mom when you would walk together.

When you arrived, you had all sorts of questions for your father. "How did you meet my mother? Why didn't you talk to me before this? Did you like spending time with her?"

"I'm rather busy, Y/N. I'll show you to your room," Bruce said, escorting you to a guest bedroom. "We can decorate it later."

Later never came.

After a few weeks, you met his other kids, Dick, Jason, Tim, Barbara, Cass, and Stephanie. They all looked so cool, like teenagers from a movie. But they always had to 'do stuff'.

"What kind of stuff?" you asked.

"They're a part of scholarships for gifted students," Bruce said, before any of them could say anything. "I happen to be privately tutoring them."

"Oh. So you spend time with them because they're talented?"

"You could put it that way."

That revelation lit a fire underneath you. If your father wanted talented kids, then you would have to be a talented kid.

In everything you could get your hands on.

You became a polyglot, devouring different languages like nobody's business. You took part in gymnastics, just like Dick, and also track. You got straight As in everything, forcing yourself to study night after night. You read the same classic books Jason loved so you could (hopefully) have something to bond with him over. You took some coding classes so you had something to talk about with Tim.

Alfred became a consistent source of comfort, bringing you food and making sure that you didn't over work yourself. He came to every event you had, loyally videotaping it for future viewing.

Nobody cared to look at the tapes. Nobody watched you collect your awards for fastest times, or graduate early as valedictorian. Nobody listened to your headmaster sing your praises as he listed your various scholastic accomplishments.

Damian was the worst. The moment he met you, it was clear that he would hate you until he died. He looked at you with such disgust, such contempt for your existence. Once, he cornered you with a katana that he held so close to your neck that you were cut. Another time, he sicced Titus onto you, leading to a nasty bite mark on your arms when you put them up to defend yourself.

"Titus mauling you would have been an improvement to the Wayne bloodline," he sneered, as you bawled your eyes out. "When are you going to get it through your simple-minded skull that we don't care what happens to you? It's annoying to hear you chatter to us and make conversation about being head of your class and breaking sports records. We all scoff about it when we're on patrol."

Your throat went dry. "Patrol?"

"Of course. Father, Dick, Jason, Stephanie, and myself all have our own alter egos. I am by my father's side cleaning the streets of scumbags as Batman and Robin while you are trying to be top of your stupid little class." He punched you in the stomach, hard. "Honestly, it's a relief to get away from you and your nauseating neediness."

Alfred came to console you after the fact, but he wouldn't hear a word against Damian for hurting you, or Bruce for letting it happen. "Master Damian has had a . . . difficult life, Y/N," he said. "And Bruce's childhood was by no means easy."

You gave up on your family after that. Nobody really wanted you, and Damian actively hated you.

You were nobody's favourite.

Part 1 <- You are here

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

[blaqcats-fics]

unfortunately, i usually don't keep track of birthdays specifically in fandoms. so, imagine my shock when i found out that i share a birthday with bruce wayne (feb 19) — based on silverage and modern-age Batman. it is also a shock that i also just found out this man is a pisces. so in honor of both of our birthdays, here’s just a fun little skit!!

It starts with a podcast.

Tim’s the one who’s listening to it, earbuds in, looking for background noise while he codes. He barely registers the conversation until he hears the words:

“You know who gives me serious Pisces energy? Batman.”

Tim blinks. Rewinds. Listens again.

“I mean, think about it. Secretive? Brooding? Carries the weight of the world on his shoulders but refuses to talk about his feelings? Classic water sign behavior. Probably cries in the Batmobile.”

Tim immediately forwards the clip to the family group chat.

Steph is the first to react.

Steph: HOLY SHIT WAIT IS BRUCE A PISCES??

Damian: Don’t be ridiculous.

Steph: NO. THIS MAKES SENSE.

Steph: Moody. Overdramatic. Keeps adopting kids for no reason other than his feelings?? Classic Pisces.

Dick: If Bruce is a Pisces, that would explain SO MUCH.

Damian: This is stupid. He doesn’t even believe in astrology.

Steph: Because he’s a Pisces and doesn’t want to be perceived.

Dick: Wait when is his birthday again??

Tim double-checks. Then he stares at the date.

Tim: …Feburary 19th.

Silence.

Then:

Steph: OH MY GOD.

Dick: OH MY GOD.

Damian: This means nothing.

Jason: No. No. It means EVERYTHING.

—

When Jason jumps on board, things escalate.

Because Jason starts compiling evidence.

“Think about it,” he tells Dick later that night. “He’s moody as hell. He broods. He internalizes everything. He loves tragedy. I bet you anything he listens to sad music while doing patrol.”

Dick, who has personally witnessed Bruce listen to Chopin while looking out over Gotham like he’s in a Victorian novel, has no counterargument.

—

Alfred’s reaction is the worst.

“Master Bruce is, indeed, a Pisces,” he says when asked. “It explains quite a bit, I’ve always thought.”

Bruce is right there.

He looks up from his paperwork, eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t explain anything.”

“Of course, sir.” Alfred’s voice is as dry as the Batcave itself. “It is mere coincidence that you have the emotional repression of a particularly stubborn fish.”

—

Now that they know, they start noticing everything.

“He’s so sentimental,” Steph says, watching Bruce silently look at the Bat-Signal with his arms crossed. “Like. Deeply sentimental. I bet he has an old love letter tucked away somewhere that he rereads when he’s feeling tragic.”

Jason hums. “He does keep Selina’s notes.”

Tim gasps.

“Oh my god,” Dick whispers. “He’s the most Pisces to ever Pisces.”

—

The final straw is when Cass catches Bruce watching a French noir film in the dark with a glass of scotch.

She takes a picture.

It’s sent to the group chat immediately.

Cass: Look at this. Look at him.

Tim: That is the most Pisces shit I’ve ever seen.

Jason: He’s mourning a past life rn.

Steph: He’s thinking about his tragic love affairs. Probably wishing he could save them.

Dick: He’s gonna write poetry about it later.

Damian: All of you need to be stopped.

—

Eventually, Bruce notices.

Because of course he does.

“What,” he says, standing in the middle of the Batcave, staring at them like they’ve personally betrayed him, “is happening?”

Nobody speaks.

Then Damian, who has had enough, scowls and says, “They have been discussing your astrological sign.”

Bruce blinks.

“They are also keeping a list of your most Pisces-like behaviors.”

Jason immediately hurls a smoke bomb to escape.

It doesn’t end there.

—

A week later, Clark drops by.

“I heard you were a Pisces,” he says, grinning.

Bruce throws a batarang at him.

[magic-shop-stories]

hello! i just found your blog, i loooooove the way u write yoongi! could i request yoongi x f!reader boyfriend headcanons? just this, ty in advance!

💌 Reply:

Thank you SO MUCH for this request! 💜 Writing Yoongi is always a joy. Hope this hit all the right notes for you! Let me know which part made you giggle, scream, or melt. And as always, thanks for trusting me with your delulu dreams. I think Yoongi would 100% judge us, but he’d secretly love it.

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

↳YOONGI (SUGA) × FEM!READER

~ CONTENT WARNING FOR SECOND PART OF THE POST ~ MATURE THEMES | (extra warning in the post)

Possessive behavior

Suggestive themes

Mild NSFW references (kissing, intimacy)

Jealousy Proceed mindfully!

DAILY RHYTHM

Mornings

Night Owl Realness

he’s never awake before 10 AM unless forced by schedules

you’ll find him passed out face-down in bed

one arm slung over your waist (possessive octopus)

his alarm?

a grumbled “Five more minutes…” muffled into the pillow

followed by hissed “새끼…” (“Damn it…”) when reality hits

Quiet Rising

if he wakes first (rare), he’ll slip out of bed like a ghost

careful not to jostle his bad shoulder

returns 20 minutes later with (decaf) iced americano 

your favorite placed silently on your nightstand

Breakfast (Sort Of)

he doesn’t "cook"

he assembles

haphazard charcuterie board of convenience store finds

triangle kimbap, yogurt...

sliced apples arranged in a half-hearted star

leaves a note: “Eat. Don’t die.”

Post-Wakeup Rituals

Lap Cat Energy

you find him in his studio

hoodie hood up (glasses askew)

he’ll grunt “Come here” without looking up

patting his thigh

you sit sideways on his lap

legs draped over the chair arm

his right hand stays on his mouse

his left absently plays with your hair

fingertips brushing your scalp in a rhythm matching his beat

Tugging

if you try to leave too soon, he hooks a finger in your waistband or sleeve

“Where you going? I didn’t say you could move.” 

voice rough but eyes soft

Shoulder Check

notice him rolling his left shoulder? = a wince he’d deny

“Yoongi, your...”  “I’m fine...” 

slip a heating pad onto his chair

he doesn’t thank you

his next track samples the crinkle of the pad and your sigh

Coffee & Conversations

Decaf Devotee

sips his americano with a grimace

“Caffeine’s for rookies.”

call him out: 

“You’re just paranoid about shaking during recording.”  he side-eyes you: “…Maybe.”

when you rant about work, he listens while staring at his screen

you think he’s ignoring you?

he mutters:  “Tell your boss to eat shit. Nicely. Or don’t. I’ll write a diss track.” 

his advice is always a threat wrapped in a shrug

Midday Moments

Nap Trap

doze off on the couch?

he drapes his favourite blanket over you

wakes you by poking your cheek

“Hey. You’re drooling on my merch.”

just wants attention

Catlike Coexistence

he works; you read

no talking for hours

just the hum of his work and your pages turning

occasionally, he’ll toss a grape at your head

“You alive over there?”

Nighttime

Pre-Bed Grump

2 AM, he’s still coding beats

drag him to bed!!!

“Yoongi. Now.” 

grumbles but follows

leaning his forehead against your back in the dark

“…Could’ve finished that bridge.”

Sleeping Style

curled on his right side (bad shoulder elevated)

arm slung over your waist

if you shift, he pulls you closer

sleepy “쳇…” (“Tsk…”)

breath warm on your neck

KEY DIALOGUE

when you nag him to hydrate:

“You’re worse than my manager.” 

catch him nodding off mid-edit, glasses crooked

“I’m not cute. Shut up.”

his version of “I miss you.” :

“Come here. Now.” (not a request)

COMMUNICATION

TEXTING STYLE

7 AM: “ㅋ” 

translation: “I’m awake. Suffering. Think of me.”

3 PM: Spotify link to “First Love” by Utada Hikaru

no context

midnight: “Come home.” 

you’ve been in the next room for hours

Notes

scribbles lyrics on receipts

leaves them in your coat pockets

“Your laugh, B-flat minor. Unreleased.”

PET NAMES

calls you “aggressively average” in public

“야” (Ya) / “너” (Neo) = simple, blunt (default)

translates to: “Hey, you.” 

bonus points if he tacks on “-아” 

when annoyed: “야-아!”

“멍청이” (Mongcheongi) = “Dummy.”

delivered with a smirk

when you trip over something: “Classic 멍청이 move.”

privately, it’s “my little disaster"

always in Korean

always when you’re half-asleep

“꼬마” (Kkoma) = “Little one.” 

used when you’re sick or crying

grumbles into your hair

hands awkwardly patting your back

“고양이” (Goyangi) = “Kitten”

reserved for sleepy mornings when you nuzzle into his chest

“고양이… 너무 떨어져.” (Kitten… quit clinging) 

he does not let go

CURSING (HIS LOVE LANGUAGE)

Worried Curses

come home late

he’s pacing

hoodie zipped to his chin

“씨발… 12 missed calls. You trying to kill me?” 

pulls you into a crushing hug

sees you struggling with a suitcase?

"Damn it, just give it" 

carries it up five flights

collapses on the couch

“…Never moving again.”

Flustered Curses

wear that dress

he stares too long

spills his americano

“…씨발.” 

avoiding eye contact (not for long tho)

you know his gaze? like in the weverse live? THAT!

“Change. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

MUTTERINGS (UNFILTERED & UNBOTTLED)

Annoyed Affection

“Why are you so bothersome…" 

when he fixes your phone charger (again)

“Ha… wanna die?"

when you steal his fries

pushes the plate closer to you

Sleep-Soft Confessions

half-asleep, face buried in your neck: 

“…넌 내 거야.” (You’re mine) 

followed by a huff

if you acknowledge it: “I was dreaming. Shut up.”

after nightmares (his or yours), voice gravelly: 

“It’s okay. Let’s lie down."

HIDDEN POETRY (FOR YOUR EARS ONLY)

Lyric Leaks

overhear him mumbling into his voice memos

“Her laughter... G major, sustain pedal down.” 

when confronted, he snaps: “It’s not about you.” (it is)

find a crumpled note in his jacket: 

“Her anger: A minor 7th. Still prettier than my best chords.”

Satoori Slips

stress unlocks his Daegu dialect

he’ll sigh:

"I’m dead tired"

leans his head on your shoulder

"Your hair smells good."

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

Overprotective Tendencies

mention a creepy DM? next day, your Instagram is mysteriously set to private.

“Don’t look at me. Blame Joon’s ‘internet safety’ phase.” (lying)

Passive-Aggressive Love

complain about your slow Wi-Fi?

come home to a $2,000 router installed

“It was on sale.” (It wasn’t)

Services

you’re sick?

he’ll DoorDash three kinds of soup

pretends he “accidentally” ordered too much

“Just pick one. The rest can rot.”

reheats the leftovers for you later

VULNERABLE MOMENTS (CUTS DEEP, HEALS DEEPER)

When You’re Hurt

sees you crying?

says nothing, just pulls you into his lap

chin resting on your head

hours later, he’ll rasp: “Who did it?" 

translation: “Give me a name. I’ll end them.”

after a fight?

he’ll slam a peppero box on the table

“Here. Sugar helps… or whatever.” 

your favorite flavor

drove to three stores

Drunk Truths

tipsy on soju

he’ll trace your jawline

“넌… 내 비트 같아.” (You’re… like my beat.) 

ask what that means?

“Without you, the song’s empty. Happy? Now drink.”

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Shoulder Secrets

his bad shoulder acts up?

he still carries your groceries

“I’m fine. Drop it.” 

later, you find him icing it

muttering “Fuckin’ hero complex…”

Period Protocol

preemptive strike

tracks your cycle like a NASA mission

stocks the fridge with chocolate

heat pads

your weird cravings

“Don’t ask. Just… take what you need.”

Foot Massages

curled in bed, cramping?

he wordlessly pulls your feet into his lap

thumbs digging into your arches

“You’re tense as fuck.” 

you moan?

he smirks “Not the time”

Bad Day Rituals

comes home to find you crying?

silently orders fried chicken

sits on the floor with yo

feeding you bites

lets you wear his favourite hoodie for weeks

“Return it when you’re done being a gremlin.”

buys a duplicate so you never have to

FIERCE LOVE

Defending Your Honor

Karen insults you at the grocery store?

he “accidentally” rams her cart with his

“Oops. Should’ve seen you there… ma’am.”

practiced that line in the mirror

Sacrifices

gives you his expensive headphones during a flight

“Take them. I don’t care.” 

spends the trip white-knuckling the armrest

tortured by a crying baby

COLD FRONT

Silent Treatment Master

when hurt, he retreats into a glacial calm

answers in monosyllables

eyes fixed on his screen

“Fine.” “Whatever.” “Do what you want.” 

you’d prefer yelling?

this icy detachment is worse

Playful Insults Gone Wrong

joked about his “grandpa music taste” during dinner?

he stiffens, chopsticks clattering

“…At least I don’t listen to nursery rhymes.” 

later, you find him scrubbing dishes aggressively

muttering about “disrespect” 

his playlist? Full of your Disney favorites

NEGLECTED NIGHTS

Overwork Blinders

he’s been in the studio for 72 hours?

show up with dinner = he doesn’t look up

“Not hungry.” snap: “You’ll die before you finish that track!” he smirks. “Already dead. Ghosts work faster.” 

Breaking Point

turn off his monitor mid-session?

he slams his fist, voice shaking

“You think this is a game? I’m building a future.”  fire back: “Future’s empty without us!” 

he storms out

returns at 3 AM with tangerines (both your comfort fruit) and a USB drive labeled “Track 13: Sorry.”

GIFTS

(NOT YOUR GRANDMA’S ROMANCE)

Practical Pampering

forget roses.

gifts you custom ergonomic keyboard after noticing wrist pain

“Don’t thank me. Just stop typing like a grandma.” 

keys are programmed to flash “DUMBASS” if you type past midnight

Sentimental Sleuth

finds your childhood Tamagotchi in a thrift store

resurrects it, feeds it for weeks, then hands it over

“It’s on life support. Your problem now.”

Lingerie? Please... (mostly tho)

buys you noise-canceling headphones

“So you’ll shut up about the neighbors.” 

you’ve never mentioned the neighbors aloud (he just knows)

PRETENDS TO HATE SHOPPING

Reluctant Mule

drag him to a flea market

he complains about “dust mites” and “overpriced garbage"

carries your bags without a word

“Hurry up. I’m not your butler.” (he is)

Secret Splurges

catches you eyeing a vintage leather jacket

“Too expensive. Let’s go.” 

returns the next day to buy it

leaves it on your bed with a note: “Don’t ruin it.”

Fashion Critic (Liar)

try on a frilly dress

“You look like a cupcake.” 

later, texts Jin: “Hyung, where do you get those stupid ... she likes?”

HATES WHEN YOU GET DRUNK

(BUT LOVES YOU MORE)

Gruesome Guardian

catches you tipsy at a party (clinging to a giggling band member)

his jaw clenches

" Let’s go.” (“We’re fucked…”)

throws you over his good shoulder like a sack of rice

ignoring your slurred protests

deposits you on the couch

forces water and aspirin into your hands

“Drink. Or I’ll IV it into you.”

Morning-After Mercies:

wakes you with haejangguk (hangover soup), extra kimchi

“Eat. You look like death.” 

when you groan, he smirks

“Next time, stick to soju. At least I can carry that.”

Secret Worry

texts your friends preemptively: 

“Keep her at 2 drinks. Or I’ll end you.”  Jungkook replies: “Hyung, she’s a grown...”  “Try me.”

FAMILY GHOSTS

Dad’s Shadow

mention wanting kids?

he freezes

“I won’t be like him. Ever.” 

later, he researches parenting books

leaves one on your nightstand:

“Raising Kids Without Being a Dick.”

Mom’s Voice

calls her weekly

Satoori thickening

hear him whisper, “Mom, she… eats well."

MARRIAGE

(UNLIKELY PROPOSAL)

Fight

jokingly call him a “commitment-phobe” after he dodges yet another wedding invite

he snaps

“Marriage is a corporate merger. Why the fuck would I want that?”  retaliate: “Then stop acting like my CEO!”

Ring

he buys it six months prior

a minimalist platinum band etched with “Agust D” lyrics in Morse code

hides it in his guitar case, where you “accidentally” find it

“It’s not... ugh. Just take it.”

Proposal

after a brutal argument about his workaholism

he slams a USB drive on the table

a track titled “Forever (feat. You)” with a voice memo: 

“Marry me. Or don’t. I’ll still be here.”

FATHERHOOD = THE GREAT TERROR

Panic

mention wanting kids?

he freezes mid-bite

“…We can’t even keep plants alive.” 

buys a cactus, names it “Baby Jungkook” (it dies)

Test Run

fosters a three-legged cat

calls her “Practice" 

lets her sleep on his studio chair

“If she survives me… maybe.” 

she thrives

he cries when she’s adopted

Revelation

catches you watching a toddler giggle at his concert VLive

mutes the video

“…They’d have your laugh. Maybe that’s… okay.”

ARGUMENTS & FEARS

Fight

you suggest baby names

h scoffs

“We’re not naming a kid ...” snap: “It’s tradition in my family!” 

he storms out

returns with a list of “acceptable” names (all Korean, all unisex)

Fear

find him researching “How Not to Screw Up Your Kid” at 3 AM. 

“You’re not your dad,” you whisper he slams the laptop “…I know. Doesn’t make it easier.”

THE ARRIVAL

Pregnancy

pretends indifference but learns prenatal massage techniques

“I’m just relieving tension. For me.” 

secretly records your belly to sample kicks into a lullaby

Birth Day

stoic until the first cry

then collapses in the hallway

sobbing into Jin’s shoulder

“Hyung, what if I...”  “You’ll be great. Now go hold your kid.”

First Night Home

stays awake

baby on his chest

humming “Sweet Night” off-key

texts the group chat: 

“She has your nose. And my rage. Send help.”

~ CONTENT WARNING ~

MINORS DNI | NSFW | SPICY INTIMACY/PHYSICALITY AHEAD

doesn’t include explicit descriptions of sexual acts

contains: possessive themes, sensual language, suggestive scenarios, jealousy, explicit intimacy/kissing,suggestive content, kink mentions (marking, power dynamics), body worship, (feral Yoongi™)

PHYSICALITY/INTIMACY

Possessive Holding

his hands are always on you in public

thumb hooked in your back pocket

palm splayed possessively over your thigh at dinner

at home, it’s worse:

pins you against counters

forehead resting on your shoulder like a feral cat marking territory

mutters “Mine” into your skin

breath hot

Jealousy

silent but deadly

catches a coworker flirting with you?

says nothing

later, he’s suddenly shirtless in the kitchen

flexing while making ramen

“What? It’s hot in here.” (AC is blasting)

Staring

watches you while you read

eyes tracking the way you bite your lip

“What?” you ask “Nothing,” he lies

clicking his pen like a metronome

SECRETLY LOVES YOUR SEXY OUTFITS (BUT WILL NEVER ADMIT IT)

Possessive Glances

wear a backless dress

he hovers all night

hand resting on the exposed skin like a human shawl

growls at anyone who looks too long

“Eyes up, fucker.”

Backhanded Praise

“That skirt’s impractical.” 

later, finds him staring at your Instagram post in his studio

saves it to a hidden folder labeled “Inspo.”

Late-Night Honesty

after sex, he’ll trace the strap of your lingerie

voice rough

“…Keep this. But don’t wear it outside. Or do. I’ll just kill someone.”

TOUCH

Electric Prelude

his hands speak first

calloused fingertips skimming your jawline

thumb brushing your bottom lip

maps your skin like a composer tracing sheet music

lingering on pulse points (wrist, throat, inner thigh) to memorize your rhythm

Possessive Anchors

palm splayed against your lower back pressing you closer

fingers tangled in your hai tugging just enough to tilt your head

Aftercare Rituals

post-passion, he traces idle patterns on your hip

his touch lingers on scars, birthmarks, stretch marks

“Proof you’re real,” he mutters, as if convincing himself

KISSES

Slow Ignition

starts with closed-mouth presses to your temple, knuckles, the corner of your lips

testing, teasing

when you gasp, he smirks

“Impatient.”

Tongue Technology

deep but controlled,

push-and-pull of heat and restraint

his tongue flicks the roof of your mouth

steals your breath

leaves you dizzy

“Breathe,” he growls, not letting you

Hidden Softness

after fights, his kisses are apologetic

chaste pecks to your eyelids, nose, scars 

“Sorry… sorry…” breathed like a prayer

PACE

Deliberate

prefers slow

almost maddening build-up

takes hours to undress you

mouth exploring every inch before letting you fall apart

“You’ll take what I give you,” he warns

eyes dark

Feral Surges

when jealousy or adrenaline strikes, he’s relentless

pinning you against walls

biting your shoulder

“Mine. Say it.”

POSITIONS

Missionary, Modified

your legs hooked over his bad shoulder

his left hand gripping the headboard for leverage

“Don’t hide,” he orders

watching your face unravel

Cowgirl Command

lets you take control

hands squeezing your hips

“Show me what you need.”

the moment you falter, he flips you

“My turn.”

PREFERENCES

Lighting

pitch dark or candlelit

claims he “hates distractions,” 

catch him staring at your silhouette in the shadows

Soundtrack

your whimpers

his name gasped like a curse

demands “Louder,”, then covers your mouth

“Too loud.”

Kinks

Marking

leaves bruises where only he can see

inner thighs, under collarbones

“So you remember who you belong to.”

Power Play

lets you bind his wrists with his own belt

then breaks free

“Cute. But I’m still in charge.”

ROUNDS

Quality > Quantity

one meticulous, earth-shattering

wear his hoodie the next morning

he’ll corner you in the kitchen

“You’re asking for it.”

Dawn Encores

wakes you with his mouth between your thighs

voice sleep-rough

“Don’t act surprised. You knew I wasn’t done.”

FAVORITE SPOTS

Neck-to-Shoulder Junction

bites here to hear you yelp

soothes it with his tongue

Behind Your Ear

whispers filth in Korean

grinning when you shiver

“You understood that, didn’t you?”

Inner Wrists

kisses your veins like they’re holy

“Every heartbeat’s because of me.”

TRIGGERS

Begging

“Please, Yoongi..." 

cuts you off with a snarl

“Not yet.”

Competence

take charge, riding him ruthlessly

he lets you

until he doesn’t

“Fuck… okay, okay...” 

flips you mid-stride

Vulnerability

tears during aftercare

crushes you to his chest

voice breaking

“I’ve got you. Always.”

BONUS

“I Don’t Do PDA”

except when he does

drags you into empty alleyways to kiss you senseless

“Someone could see...”  “Let them.”

“I’m Not Cute”

posts a selca of you both

your face visible

his obscured by a heart emoji

caption: “#NoFilter" 

ARMY notices his left pinky curled around yours

trends for days

[pathologicalreid]

an ode to a conversation stuck in your throat | s.r.

in which Spencer tries to talk you out of taking a job across the country

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: miscommunication (sigh), very cheesy, brief mention of wine, defining the relationship, insecure spencer, easily confused reader, chemist!reader word count: 1.04k a/n: if i could go a week without writing a dwg song fic that would be crazy. also surprise it's chemist!reader again.

"Thanks for stopping so I could change,” you say to Spencer, leading the way into your apartment and locking the door behind you. “I’m sure lab dress code and David Rossi dress code are miles apart,” you continue, hanging your backpack on the wall.

Spencer hums in response, “You’d look great in anything you wear.”

Your face warms at the compliment, “You’re sweet. You can just wait out here, I shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes,” you gesture to the living room, smiling at him before heading off to your room.

Nervously, you pull off your lab-safe attire and discard all of it into the laundry hamper before putting on the dress you’d chosen for dinner tonight. It’s not overly fancy, but you hope his team will like it. You hope his team will like you.

Looking at yourself in your dresser mirror, you reconsider your choice of shoes, switching from a pair of kitten heels to flats before walking out the door, “Hey, Spence, is Rossi’s patio heated, or should I bring a sweater for when the sun goes down?” You stop in your tracks when you find Spencer, still in the entryway, looking at the color-coded whiteboard calendar you keep by your front door, “What’s up?”

His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his slacks, and he looks upset. What’s worse is you think he might be upset with you. “What’s this dinner you have planned next Friday?”

You feel like a child who’s been caught doing something they shouldn’t be, draping the proposed sweater over the back of a kitchen stool and crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “It’s a work dinner,” you answer nervously.

“With?” Spencer asks, but he’s not pushy about it, there’s something desperate in his tone.

Pursing your lips, you look at the purple writing on the calendar, “The chair of Biochemistry and Molecular Genetics at Northwestern, and a representative from the college's dean. They’re offering me a job with a private lab and my own team of researchers… so they’re taking me out to dinner.”

Spencer’s face fell, “They’re offering you a job in Chicago?”

“Well, that’s where Northwestern is. Evanston, if you want to get technical about it,” you respond, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He looks at you dumbfoundedly, “I don’t want to get technical about it. When were you going to tell me that you’re taking a job in Chicago?” It almost seems like he’s afraid.

You raise your eyebrows in curiosity, you’ve been seeing each other for a month, and you’ve never known Spencer to jump to conclusions. “I’m not,” you tell him, keeping your tone void of any accusation, “They’re just taking me to dinner.”

Spencer sighs, “But they’re offering you a job. In a different state. In a different timezone.”

Admittedly, he was beginning to sound a bit ridiculous to you, “Don’t you field offers from colleges all the time? They want you to teach or tell you to become Spencer Reid, PhD, PhD, PhD, PhD, or whatever?” 

His eyes follow you as you move to sit down at the kitchen counter, “It never gets as far as dinner.”

“I’m not taking the job,” you tell him simply, shrugging your shoulders demurely.

Spencer falters at that, knitting his brows together as he tries to piece together the answers you’re willingly giving him, “If you’re not taking the job then why are you going to dinner with them?”

Hiding a small smile, you give him the truth, “They pick up the tab. I go to a lot of these and I get good food out of the deal. These people love to schmooze but I’ve never been offered anything that I would be inclined to accept.” This specific job seemed perfect on the surface, but they weren’t willing to let you choose what to research. That was non-negotiable for you.

“I could schmooze you,” he insists, “You don’t need other people to schmooze you.”

You giggle at him, waving him over to you so you can look him in the eyes when you tell him, “I go for free food and good wine. No other reason.” Your smile was gentle, but inside your heart was pounding. He was scared I was going to leave, you think to yourself.

He sighs, “Will you… will you tell me in the future when you get these dinner offers?” His voice is tentative, almost as if he’s afraid you’ll think he’s asking too much of you.

Nodding, you reach out and take one of his hands in yours, “I can, but I didn’t think were at the ‘I’m being courted by another workplace, and I wanted to let you know’ stage yet. That’s kind of a girlfriend thing,” you explain.  

Spencer frowns, “Aren’t you?”

Tilting your head to the side, you look at him curiously, “Aren’t I what?”

“My girlfriend,” he clarifies.

Your eyes go wide, “Oh! I didn’t think so, I thought you had to ask yet.” Although you’re far from a relationship expert, you’d had to ask your PhD advisee what to wear before your first date with Spencer.

The panicked look on his face returns, “I’ve been telling people you’re my girlfriend. Should I not have been doing that?”

Shaking your head, you beam up at him, “I don’t mind. I just thought you had to ask about that kind of thing.”

“I don’t know,” he admits, “I’ve never really done this before.”

The two of you sit in an awkward silence for a moment before you decide to speak up again, “So, just so we’re on the same page. I’m not moving to Chicago.”

Spencer frowns again, and you have to hold yourself back from using your thumb to smooth out the crease on his forehead, “Will you?”

Confused, you lean your head back, “Move to Chicago?”

“Be my girlfriend,” he amends quickly.

You nod, “I would love to.”  

“And just so we’re on the same page,” he ducks his head down, so close to a kiss that it makes you feel dizzy, “I like to think I’m the only one who can really court you.”

Laughing, you lean forward and peck his lips, “I would be insulted if you didn’t think that.”

[01zfan]

in chair

anton x reader | 8.5k words

rewatched juno recently (the best movie of all time by the way) and i thought of anton. he is so paulie bleaker coded. this is mainlyyyy inspired by the beginning scene of the movie but the dynamic i tried to write here is supposed to be like them heh

also in my head the album pinkerton by weezer plays in the background during all of this. 

contains: loss of virginity, sneaking around

There was some sort of binding vow that kept the recliner safe.

Even if it made no sense, to Anton and to you it felt like doing it on the recliner was better than doing it anywhere else. As though Anton’s dad was all the way in South Korea unknowingly keeping his irresponsible son honest. The terrible conversation they had about safe sex in his home studio lingered in the air and seeped into the recliner through the cracks in the vinyl covering.

Neither of you had a condom but that was okay because the recliner itself was one big condom, keeping you both safe from whatever absolutely couldn’t happen.

No matter how Anton felt about you, he was convinced that nothing would ever come of it. Not only was he a responsible and dutiful son, he promised his dad he wouldn’t do reckless things to save his mom the trouble. He would also never do anything because the mere thought of holding hands made his palms sweaty. He didn’t even really know how to have sex, much less with someone he’s friends with and has been dating-but-not-really-dating for the last year. You once described the relationship as something that had to do with close proximity and your shared taste in nerd-rock bands everyone else thought were shitty. Even if he did share that kiss with you in Park Wonbin's sweaty basement for no reason and you two did hold hands, you weren't together. You two were open and honest but you got defensive once when Anton brought up anything regarding your relationship. So because of that, the thought of having to speak or touch you even if he wanted to, and you never had any complaints when he did, made Anton’s mind overflow with all that could go wrong.

But he was in the chair. This was better than laying missionary on the bed, or being on the floor. This was different than whatever you were going to do when you finally got the courage to take off your underwear and close the difference between you and him. 

You stood in front of Anton, watching him in just his boxers and a white shirt. His hoodie was taken off and thrown onto his small bed, his sweats were bunched at his feet. This scene had to be degrading, him with his pants down and staring at you waiting for what you were going to do next. You were wearing more clothes than him. You told yourself you couldn’t take off your layered shirts for his sake, not because the thought of being completely naked felt embarrassing. Anton was with you through your terrible nu-metal phase and even humored you and listened to the mixtape you burned for him. There was nothing worse than that but still, you stayed in your bra with your undershirt, the long sleeve, and the short sleeve band tee on top. Anton was still your bestfriend, and he could take back that he wanted to do this at any moment. 

There was also the fear that his mother and brother could come back. You two had lost track of time because you started awkwardly kissing immediately once you heard the front door close. Anton eventually found the strength to pull you onto his lap after sitting criss cross to accommodate you. Once you were there and your hands were on his shoulders bringing him closer, the seconds started turning into minutes, minutes turned into hours, so forth. You forgot when you even started and looking at the time was useless. 

All of this was ironic, because Anton’s mom had recently become wary of leaving you two alone. She had developed the habit of trying to snoop on your conversations while talking to his dad over the phone. She would stand in the kitchen, holding the phone close to her face while standing on her tiptoes to see over the upstairs banister into Anton’s room.

“Is he taking a liking to it?” Anton’s dad asked it over the phone when she described the scene to him. He was elated with the idea of the recliner going in his sons room. He saw it as some sort of compensation for missing more formative years in his life. He was happy imagining his son sitting in his old recliner, rocking back and forth on the creaky springs maybe even thinking about him. “He always favored that chair.” 

“It’s hideous,” Anton’s mom whispered it into the receiver, recalling the sight of it in Anton’s room. “Even in Anton’s mess of a room.”

The brown fraying recliner did not match Anton’s shining gold trophies and medals that hung on his wall. It didn’t match his old race car bed frame he couldn’t bring himself to replace. The way the recliner sat made Anton’s cluttered room an even tighter fit, and the growth spurt he had last summer made it so he had to bend his legs if he wanted to sit on the floor.

The reclining chair from his father’s studio was replaced with leather imported from overseas. The shipment came from Italy and stood on sturdy wooden rings with a detached ottoman. The new recliner was minimalist and smelled like a new car. The old one was clunky, the lever was sentient, and the vinyl started peeling off years ago. Anton’s brother said it was disgusting and his father said himself that he was due for an upgrade. 

Anton tried to remain indifferent to the old chair but when his mother asked for help to put it on the curb he found himself suddenly advocating for it to stay in the house. There was no reason for it to be downstairs in the studio where the new sofa was, and his mother would be damned putting it in the living room where anyone could see it. By the end of the day Anton was clearing out a place for the recliner in his room. Junyoung made that face of disgust and their mother tilted her head to the side. 

He already had a beanbag he rarely used and a million other things that cluttered his room. Anton’s mother told her son this gently, but he had already set his mind to it. He “cleared” a space—pushed a pile of unfolded laundry and stuffed animals from one side of his room to the other—just to make a brand new home for the disgusting sofa. Junyoung and him carried the heavy recliner up the stairs, bumping into the banister as his mom watched and told them to be careful. 

“He has a better use for it than I do.” Anton’s father said over the phone. Anton’s mom shook her head remembering her son’s promise of cleaning up his room. She also remembers that it felt like the entire family was in the room if she counted the chair. “Does he like it?”

“He likes sitting in it to do homework.” Anton’s mom from the kitchen peered up the stairs. From where she was she should be able to see directly into Anton’s room. She readjusted herself on her tiptoes, becoming more and more distracted as she tried to see what was going on. “But the one who’s really taken a liking to it is his friend.” 

Before her husband could say your name back to her in a titled voice Anton’s mom put her hand over the receiver of the phone and projected her voice.

“Kids.” She spoke sweetly, including an endearing term for everyone to seem inconspicuous. She pretended like she was talking to Junyoung through his closed door. She waited for a moment, until she could hear the sound of Anton calling back to her. “Are you guys hungry?” She asked.

“No. You just made us lunch.” Anton spoke barely above a normal talking volume back. 

Sound unfortunately carried easily even through half-shut doors. Anton’s mom had no reason to tell him to open the door all the way so she could snoop to her hearts content. Still though, she tried standing on her tiptoes again, desperately trying to see what was going on upstairs in her son’s room without prying.

“Lunch was really good by the way.” You said, even gentler than Anton’s.

“I can bring you guys up some snacks if you’d like?” She said back.

“Mom, we’re okay, really.” Anton’s voice told her that he knew what she was trying to do. She went back to the balls of her feet, trying to remember who was on the other side of the line. 

“You don’t have to bring us anything, you already made us lunch.” Your sweet voice followed afterwards, a cute pitch that neither of her sons had.

“Okay.” She let go of the receiver, trying to get one last look into Anton’s room. When she only saw the tip of his head she finally gave up, letting go of the receiver and bringing the phone back to her face. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you Mom.” 

“You bother them too much.” Her husband was amused on the other end of the line, even if his voice came out tired through the speaker. About seven thousand miles and fourteen hours separated them. “But do you think he’ll finally get furniture that matches?” He added.

His mother wasn’t completely against the idea of the recliner in Anton’s room. When her son looked back and for approval she nodded, and her approval made Junyoung follow suit. She liked the recliner because she hoped it would make Anton realize how juvenile the rest of his room was. The ill-fitted race car bed was from when he was a preteen and he’s amassed a collection of stuffed animals since he was a baby. The accolades from swimming was the most mature thing in her son’s room, even if there was a trophy from his little league days. Maybe the aged recliner would make Anton get things that accommodated his age. He could keep the gundam figurines because robots and guns are normal for kids his age, but not the colorful squishmallows. 

When his mother followed up the steps she had to breathe in before telling Anton that he needed to declutter his space. She said it to the stuffed animals spilling out from the hammock fastened to the wall and the barely closed doors of his closet she didn’t dare to open. She looked at the gundam figurines lining what was supposed to be his school desk and unfolded laundry resting at the foot of his bed.

The recliner could also be a stand-in for his father. She figured that in some weird way the recliner filled the void while he made music overseas. Next time she’d reprimand her son she already envisioned casting a glance towards the chair, like her husband was there backing her up. 

“Your mom definitely thinks we’re doing something we’re not supposed to.” You spoke while looking at your homework, settling deeper into the bean bag. Anton looked up from his notebook settled in between his bent legs. “She wants to come up here so bad.”

“What do you think she thinks we’re doing?” 

Anton asked the question just to pull you from your assignment. He knew the answer already, he picked up the desperation in his mother’s voice and the way she gently reminded Anton to keep the door open before you came over. He liked acting clueless because you always shot him the look that asked if he was stupid and deadpanned the answer. 

“She thinks we’re like,” Before the words could roll off your tongue you pause. It’s covered by the quiet mix coming through Anton’s CD player, but the way you avert your eyes and start picking at the corner of your paper makes it obvious. Anton looks back to his assignment too, trying to help you cover up the pause in your words. “kissing or something.” You finish.

Truthfully, what his parents think you two do when you’re left unsupervised is much worse than kissing. So much worse that Anton was sat down by his parents to have a terribly awkward safe sex talk. He didn’t know what he was doing in his dad’s home office or why they started the conversation with how you two met. 

Anton already knew that you became friends when you were freshmen, pushed to the outskirts of your grade’s caste. Your shared niche taste in media brought you two close together at the cost of any chance at being popular. He already knew that his only other opportunity to make friends was through forced proximity of his teammates on the swim team, and you still had your friend from childhood. She was the complete opposite of you—and she made fun of Anton any chance she got—but she was nice. She was the only popular kid that actually seemed to engage with people from other cliques.

But Anton already knew that it was you and him against the world. He didn’t know why his mother implemented a rule that the door had to be open when you two are in his room. Anton was confused by all this because one day his parents viewed you as his one and only friend and the next day you were viewed as a girl that he could possibly be romantically involved with. 

The way his parents acted around you made Anton look at you differently. He came to the conclusion that you were still the same, you still wore your baggy clothes and cursed almost every sentence and listened to the same music you always have. Anton had to tell his parents that you were still the same girl—and you were still only friends—even if you were seemingly getting prettier by the day. He had the moment of clarity when you two were in this exact position, where you were looking up at him asking what the answer was to a question on science homework. He came to the conclusion that him seeing you in a different light was based on technicality. Even if there was that girl on his swim team that asked him to the formal it made sense that you would be the subject of Anton’s dreams because you were always together. 

But maybe it was the chair. Both of you assumed that Anton’s mom realized how ridiculous she was being, and that there was nothing her responsible son and his unassuming friend would do. She was also trying really hard to get you both to come with her to the store, but once you both lamented how responsible you were trying to be studying for an exam she left you be. She wrangled Junyoung instead to be her companion on the trip grocery store run, said a prayer, and then left. 

With just you, Anton, and the CD playing in his room it was quiet. You mentioned the kissing or something to hide the fact it was all you ever thought about. Being left alone with him was harder these days. After your garage band was dissolved because Eunseok was visiting his grandparents for the rest of the month there was an extremely different air surrounding you two. Being partners for class projects was one thing, being alone in his room in an empty house was another.

There was no segue into you two kissing. One moment you were asking about that girl on Anton’s swim team and he was asking you about the boy from your English class. You told him that he was just a boy and Anton said she was just a girl. There was a stare that lasted too long and you holding your pencil so hard in your hand you thought it would break. When the silence became too much you reached forward, planting a kiss on the corner of Anton’s mouth. He hesitated, then he reciprocated, trig homework still bunched in his lap. 

The kisses started off slow and awkward, neither of you knowing exactly what to do with all of eachother.  The very act of crawling into Anton’s lap was humiliating for some reason, the sound of the notebooks and assignments being pushed to the side was embarrassing. Anton’s perpetually dry lips pressing to yours was slow, the overwhelming anticipation made first contact just feel like a regular touch. Anton was too nervous to ask you if you wanted to stop, and that was good because you were too embarrassed to tell him to do it again. Anton just silently stretched his legs fully until they pressed into the beanbag and he pulled you fully onto him, basically cradling you. 

Lack of communication made you two just slip through the motions. You both just continued pressing your lips against eachothers while your faces heated up from embarrassment until contact started feeling like something more. You think it changed when Anton tilted his head slightly to one side and wet his lips. When he went back in after that it made you tilt your head to the other side, and then it felt like something was actually happening. Anton’s hand that kept you still on his lap went to your head when it was obvious you weren’t going anywhere. You felt his hands grip the back of your neck. 

The hesitation from Anton to go into your hair made you gain your bearings long enough to finally create some distance. Anton’s hands left your body completely the second you moved, and you stood up immediately. You were dizzy from moving too quick and the view of Anton from above. His lips already looked different, plump from constant contact and wet from your shared spit. His tongue was peaking out before he let it go back into his mouth. His hands were pressed into the ground on either side of his body, and he looked so cramped in the small space between his bed and the wall. You looked from him to the recliner, trying to calm your racing heart. Each time you looked back to Anton he was already looking up at you, eyes wide and not moving an inch.  

You two should’ve definitely talk about whatever was happening. Silence has served the both of you well up to this point. Anton started moving slowly backwards until he could sit in the recliner. It rocked back from his weight when he reached for his sweater, and Anton kept his fingers there. He didn’t move fully until he saw you kick off your slippers and reach for the button on your cargo pants.

Anton’s mom was currently shopping, Junyoung went with her because you and Anton needed to focus on studying for the Trigonometry exam in two days. Instead you two were engaged in a silent standoff, one staring at the other while you tried to figure out what to do next.

Anton moved first. When his room got too dark from the evening he reached to his bedside table quickly, pulling the string on his Yoshitomo Nara table lamp to light the area. Your bare thighs were suddenly illuminated, your body casting a shadow on the wall behind you. Your cargo pants were bunched behind you, leaving you in your stripped crew socks and your baggy shirts that left too much to the imagination. When Anton turned on the light he realized he could be seen clearly too. He hoped he looked good sitting on the recliner in front of you. Like a boyish Adam Yauch or another rockstar you were always talking to him about.

You moved second. You don’t count the tremor that wracked through your body but you counted your hands finally leaving your sides to reach for your waist instead. You looked from Anton’s face to his hands, you watched them clench as you tried willing yourself to loosen up. You were supposed to be calmer than Anton was. You were supposed to be breaking through the tension with a joke at Anton’s expense and he was supposed to laugh to lighten the mood. But both of you were silent, trying to suppress the clues that you simultaneously panicking. 

You let out a deep breath, and another shake that was hidden underneath your layers of shirts. Your hands went to the waistband of your underwear, fingers going underneath the wrap around the elastic waistband. You’ve done this a million times, the setting and the audience were different but the motions were the same. You repeated that to herself over and over as you pulled your panties down, until you had to bend over to get them the rest of the way. 

When you came back up Anton’s hands were no longer balled up on top of his thighs. They were gripping the armrest now, and he was getting that leg bounce you always teased him for. You didn’t say anything this time because you watched him try to stop it. He wiped his hands on his legs until he reached his knee. He grasped around the joint and held tight until his knuckles became white. 

You had a handful of your underwear with cherries on it, still not taking a step towards him. That table lamp was expensive but it was never very bright. You thought about what Anton could see, if his eyes kept on darting down to her your because he didn’t like what he was seeing or because he couldn’t see it at all. 

You stepped forward and Anton leaned back into his seat. You took another step and he leaned forward. The third step left him awkwardly between the two positions, and his leg started bouncing again. You did feel bad, like you were playing with him without meaning to. You and Anton had built up a rapport centered around you lightly bullying him and him taking it. You couldn’t remember the last time you two were in complete silence like this, or when you two were so sincere and so lost. But this was cruel for you too, because up until twenty minutes ago you thought that Anton wasn’t interested in you at all. Now you’re walking towards him thinking about how this could ruin your friendship forever, or if he became your friend solely at the prospect of getting in your pants. You knew the situation was unlikely because Anton was your friend when you didn’t want to be kind to yourself, but the more you think about it the more it makes sense why there’s so much hesitation.

You’re in front of the recliner now. Anton pulled his legs together until his knees touched, making his large body small so you could have the most space possible. It was a kind gesture, but you were too busy being completely silent to acknowledge it. Anton looked between your legs up to your face, leaning back so much the chair tilted back with him. You casted a shadow on his face, but you could still make up the way he was looking at you through it. He offered his hands on the armrest of the recliner, giving you a place of stability if you wanted to take it further. Anton only looked at your chest in passing, not pressing further even if all you focused on was the center of his white shirt. He leaned forward to take the shirt off too, tossing it in the same place his sweatshirt was. 

Anton let out the smallest tremor. You looked at his silver necklace first, too afraid to look at his toned stomach. You could only get the courage to look at his broad chest, the way he looked against the back of the recliner. You had your hands on his shoulders when he pulled you onto his lap but looking at them now doesn’t make sense. You had seen the pictures of him with his shirt off, you’ve been to his swim meets before. Seeing him like this with no one else there was different. You couldn’t believe that this was the same guy who was lanky and bumping into everything the first time you met. This was a social outcast like you, someone who stayed in swim and orchestra because he wouldn’t have friends any other way. The same one who burned CD’s of nerd rock bands and idolized his father too much. 

When Anton’s hand that was on the armrest went palms up you quickly put your underwear there. He was surprised, taking his attention away from your face to his hand. His hand went rigid underneath the fabric and Anton was still staring at it, he didn’t move until your hands went to his shoulders for leverage. Like he couldn’t touch you with the hand holding your panties his other went to you, stabilizing you as you straddled his lap on the creaky recliner. 

For a moment it’s just you and Anton like that. Chest to chest, you hovering above his lap. Your eye level with him for what feels like the first time in your life, and the least amount of clothes separates the two of you. Even if you have on an undershirt, a long sleeve, and a band tee on it feels like your bare against Anton’s chest. Your hands stay on his shoulder and his arm stays on the lowest part of your waist that’s covered by clothes. His other hand closes around your underwear.

“I like that band.” 

Anton said it still looking into your eyes. You looked down like you didn’t know what shirt you were wearing. You and Anton actually went to the show together, you both forgot earplugs so you spent a portion of the opening act stuffing toilet paper into eachothers ears. 

You should've reminded him of that moment like he would've forgotten what you looked like looking up at him with worrying vocalizing concerns about toilet paper becoming permanently stuck in your ear. But instead you played with the chipping leather on the seat and nodded your head.

“I like them too.” You respond.

Another chance to talk about what’s happening dissolves in the air as you two settle into another bout of silence. Anton brings your underwear into your line of sight, a silent offering that for a split second you think is rejection. When you take it back you try to get off of him, but instantly both of his hands are on your waist keeping you in place. 

He experiments, letting his hands slide further and further down until his hands are on your bare skin underneath all your shirts. Your skin is flaming and his hands feel like ice, you stiffen and Anton gets a better grip on you. You’re in the palm of his hands and your underwear is wedged between his shoulder blade and your hand. He keeps eye contact with you and applies the lightest force downwards. You give in immediately, and you feel the area you couldn’t bring yourself to look at before. Anton’s bulge is hard against your bare cunt, your combined heat overwhelms you. Already you can feel sweat lining your body underneath your shirts, and you can feel embarrassing wetness seep from you onto his boxers. 

There’s barely anything separating the two of you. All Anton would have to do is pull down his waistband or reach into the fly of his boxers and pull himself out. Maybe he shouldn’t. You always imagined you’d lose your virginity in college when you'd miraculously become hot enough to bang, or when you got married and someone was contractually obligated to find you sexy. Everyone else in your grade seemed to be doing this but you and Anton prided yourselves on being different. You didn’t not imagine losing it to him, he was the first real boy that you ever thought about kissing when he got really handsome over the summer two years ago. But this seemed wrong, like you were doing this wrong. Even if it felt so good that your combined slick and his precum made the thin layer of his boxers wet, this felt wrong. Feeling the ridge of Anton’s dick shouldn’t feel so nice, and you shouldn’t want more. The anticipation shouldn’t feel so nice that nothing feels like it will be enough.

Even if you’ve convinced yourself that this is all wrong, you still drag your hips forward in the smallest motion. Suddenly the creaking from the recliner while you two were trying to find a comfortable position stops. The silence is so loud, it somehow overpowers the music playing in Anton’s room. His hands freeze on your waist, your blunt nails dig into his shoulder. You look down at where you two almost are so close to meeting. You can see the discoloration on his boxers, and if you really focus you can see yourself glistening. When you glance up quickly Anton is looking down too, even if his hands on your hip are still unmoving. He doesn’t look up from your hips, and then you grind against him again.

The third time you drag your hips on his is when the first sound leaves his lips. A quiet moan, a quick sound that’s almost muffled by his closed lips. You focus on Anton’s neck, watching his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. His hands dig a little more into your waist, and you drag your hips again. Without looking at Anton you move forward slowly, until your chin is resting in the crook of his neck. You have enough leverage now to apply more pressure, dragging your bare cunt on his clothed dick.

His hand left your hip when you let your first sound slip out. He went to pressing his hand to your lower back, then as though he was waiting for you first more sounds of his own started slipping out. You stayed focused on his Adam’s apple, the way it moves in his throat with each sound. You’re driven by watching it move, you purposefully drag your hips rougher against his, just to see the movement.

“Oh my God.” Anton’s hand creeps up under your shirt until you can feel his large hand pressed between your shoulder. “That feels so good.” 

Anton’s voice is barely above a whisper. He does better than you, because you’re still completely silent, only nodding as you drag your hips on his again. 

Beyond Anton’s comment that floated around in his cluttered room, you two went back to being silent. Just pitiful noises swapped between the two of you, trying to be silent while also seeing what the other liked. Anton gripped you a little tighter when you whimpered and your lips would press against his neck, and you liked feeling his moans ring through his chest. 

“Should I—“ Anton moved, trying to offer something that got stuck in his throat “Do you want me to—”

The gesture towards your exposed bottom half made you shake your head on instinct. When you tried to pause his hand over your shirt kept you moving, tiny swivels against him. You were making a mess on his boxers, grinding on him like a dog in heat. You never heard about this being so embarrassing. You know it’s painfully obvious you’ve never been touched this way before. 

“I hear it helps.” Anton’s fingers dig into your shirt when you pause again. “And I’ll try to make it feel good for you.”

Anton’s hand is already drifting down when you nod your head. He leaves your waist and settles between your legs, cramming his long fingers through the space where your hips meet. Both of you let out a sigh at the same time, even when it’s just his inexperienced hand bumping into your clit. You still coat his fingers and he repeats the same awkward motion.

“You’re so wet.” Anton whispers. 

You say sorry even though you've never apologized for anything in your life. You sound so sincere it makes Anton shake his head.

"Don't apologize." He says quickly, repeating the motion.

He lifts his head from the recliner to look down, watching his fingers disappear as you continue your tiny grinds. He experiments with you. He scissors his fingers against your folds, he pushes a finger between them and glides down. He is operating off terrible guesswork and the sounds you make, when you try to stifle something by biting your lip or shaking your head slightly. 

You know Anton wants you to tell him what to do. At some point his gaze moved to the side of your face, intense and burning while he continued doing something with his fingers. You were figuring it out too, what you liked. Bossing Anton around was easier in different circumstances, but now he was beginning to pout when nothing he was doing was working. When you hear a whimper bubbling in his throat you take a chance, leaving your crumpled panties draped over his shoulder to drop your hand down.

You press two fingers to your clit and look at Anton’s chest, trying to find that place in your room on top of your bed where you did this the most. 

“Like this.” 

You say it quietly, soft motions that make you bump and grind on his hand. He keeps his hand still for you, and you continue grinding on the side of his hand. The slick sound replaces the silence in the room, only interrupted by the sound of your bodies moving on top of the fraying cushion.

Anton watches you for a moment, nodding like he’s the one touching your clit. You have to give him some credit, because he’s takes the leap to reach his hand from your waist to replace your fingers with his. 

You don’t know how to deal with the fact that Anton is bringing you pleasure like this. There’s something that creeps on you, burning on your cheeks as you start huffing into Anton’s neck. He tries his best to make it feel good for you, and he does it well. He’s attentive, learns too fast and continues to go when your hands would’ve started cramping. 

“Ton.” You whimper.

“Am I doing it right?” He asks. 

You grind on Anton’s hand and the other works your clit. You’ve never felt the extent of stimulation like this, grinding on something desperately while having another thing on your clit. There’s also never been someone but yourself doing this for you. 

The more you pathetically grind on Anton’s hand the hotter your cheeks feel, and then you feel sweat lining your body underneath your shirts.

You know something else is going to happen when Anton gets quiet again. He’s too nervous to ask what to do next and you’re too busy chasing after something to tell him. But you feel his hand go to your ass to lift you, and his hand that was on your clit goes further and further down until he presses into your entrance. 

Your fingers take him in too fast. You sigh into his neck, and your hands move to press into Anton’s chest. Your underwear is caught between your hand and his body, the wrinkled fabric against him.

You start grinding against his fingers inside of you. With your chest heaving you pull away from Anton’s neck, trying your best to hide how scared you are to look up at him. You find comfort in the fact that his cheeks are flushed and tinted red too, and that sweat is making hair stick to his forehead. You find enough courage to look at Anton directly, and you chase after that feeling you were trying to suppress. 

Anton is pressed into the recliner watching you bounce on his fingers. He keeps his fingers the same for you, not daring to move an inch while he watches you. His chest is heaving watching you. How far gone Anton is could be bizarre, but you’ve been in similarly gone thinking about him in this situation. His fingers feel just as good as you thought they would, and he’s so insistent on getting you somewhere he’s silent, not saying a word so he can focus completely on you.

“I can handle it.” You say it quickly. The first time you feel Anton’s fingers move inside of you is when your words register. Now it’s you reaching for Anton’s dick, an unsteady hand sticking right through the fly in his boxers. When you feel him heavy and sticky in your hands you pulse around his fingers “Let’s do it.” 

“Are you sure?” Anton asks the question purely on technicality. Both of you have already made it this far, not thinking about the consequences. You don’t even know what you’re sure of, besides the fact that Anton is twitching in your hand and a sigh racks through his entire body when you pull him out through his boxers.

There’s only hesitation when you felt Antons’ tip prod your entrance. You held onto his shoulders tight, keeping yourself suspended above him. The music stopped at some point, leaving you two with the creaky wood and springs in the recliner and your tense breathing.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” Anton says it like you haven’t spent almost everyday after school at his house for the past three years. His hand is still holding the base of his dick, his bicep flexing with each moment. You sink just a little deeper. His fingers couldn’t compare to this, because you’ve already felt yourself seize up again and Anton is letting out a tense breath at how tight you already feel. “But if you want me to stop, just say so.” 

“I want to keep going.” You say it, but you still are in the same place above his dick. Feeling his tip makes you lightheaded, and having him wait for you to move makes you want to crumble into him again. You can feel Anton let out a choked gasp when you sink a little further. You’ve made it past his tip, swollen and twitching inside of you when you retreat back to his neck. “Help me the rest of the way.”

You feel his head nod against yours, and then you feel his hand leave between your two bodies to wrap around your waist instead. He readjusts his grip on you, and you can feel your soft skin peaking through the space in his fingers. Anton has felt your frame underneath your layers of clothes, you feel tiny compared to him. You feel weak too, because Anton starts pulling you down slowly on top of him.

“Try to relax.” Anton croaks into your ear when you seize around him. “You’re too tight.”

Selfishly, you start making loud noises in Anton’s ear to try and relieve some of the pressure. He lets out a strained sound back to you, slowly working you down the rest of the way. He’s too big, the stretching from his large fingers did nothing to stretch you out. He’s a tight fit, and you’re getting tighter the more you think about how there’s somehow more of him to go.

Just before you curse into his ear, you feel yourself sitting on his lap. Anton is fully inside of you. Your hands are pressed to his chest and you feel like your body is melding into the recliner. Anton’s hands on your waist twitch and grasp at you. When you seize around him Anton pitches forward head hung low. You can see him scrunch his face, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration. You get used to him fast. From the very beginning you wanted more, and when your nails dig into his shoulder you finally get enough leverage to lift yourself on his lap.

Anton pulls in a deep breath fast and holds it. You do all the work, going up as high and you can before you can drop again. You repeat the motion, waiting for Anton to bring up his hanging head or to make a sound. He seems so helpless, almost shaking his head as his hands on your hips gets more desperate. You want to pull his head up manually so he has to look at you, but you can’t bring yourself to say a word. You grind on him when you sink fully down, feeling him writhe in your gut. You start hanging your head too, unable to find the strength to lift yourself up again.

Despite begging inwardly for Anton to lift your head, when he finally finds the strength to do it, you press your cheek to his. Physically touching is the contact you need, and not being able to see his face keeps you from burning up. The contact was what Anton needed to, because when your flushed cheeks smushed together he let moans slip from his parted lips louder. You were whimpering against his cheek, looking out the window behind the recliner to his yard. 

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Anton whispered it directly in your ear, fanning the side of your face with his quick breath. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling your clothed body against his bare chest. Your hands move to the back to the recliner and it tips backwards from the added weight. “I’ve—I’ve thought about this for so long.” He adds.

Over the top of the recliner you could see the backyard. During that summer before Anton’s dad cleared out the garage your band used to play there. You never would’ve thought that being in the backyard would lead you hear. The recliner creaks when Anton’s hand move underneath your ass, lifting you up slightly to bring you down. 

“I’ve thought about this too.” You say it even quieter than Anton did, nodding your head against his. His skin is so soft against yours, you keep moving your head just to feel his skin catch on yours. You start working with his strength to lift yourself on your knees.

The rhythm you and Anton build up is messy. The inclination of knowing music is out the window, the two of you lack pattern chasing after something. Anton can’t figure out if he wants to hold you tight by your waist or keep a tight grip on your ass. You can’t will away the burn working in your thighs, and you can’t work with the small space you have on the recliner. The chair tilts back and forth, screaming from the extra weight. 

The louder you and Anton get the louder the recliner gets too. When you curse and say tell Anton that you’re close the chair is almost louder than you.

“I think I’m close too.” Anton’s hand works up your back, ending with his large hand over the back of your neck. He squeezes and your body reacts by squeezing him tight. You make Anton’s next moan come out strained, his sentence is cut off when he experimentally squeezes the back of your neck again. “Does that feel good?”

You know his question comes from a genuine place of worry. He’s had a reputation of being so gentle with you it was unbearable at times. You wore baggy clothes and hung out with the boys in an effort of becoming one of them. Everyone seemed to know that except for Anton, always treating you like you were liable to break. Even when you know he wants to continue chasing after that feeling and bring you down on his dick faster he’s gentle, letting you set the pace and just helping you when your legs fail. He clenches the back of your neck a third time, and it feels like his concerns become dirty talk. You want him to ask you if he’s too big for you in that same worried tone, or too ask you if you’re sure you’re close. 

“Feels good Anton.” The chair continues to creak underneath you too. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on one thing. He’s unknowingly overstimulating, despite the fact that he’s quiet and gentle with you. You’re filling in the gaps, letting your imagination run beyond you two and this recliner. You think about your shared time together as friends, like the moment at the rock show when Anton’s hand gripped you the same way they do now. Like he doesn’t want to let go of you, like you’re his and he’s yours. “I’m really close.”

“Can I look at you?” 

Anton asks the question in between the recliner creaking and him bringing you back down on his twitching dick. He offers you the chance to ignore him, but you’re slowly nodding your head against his again.

With the gentle grip on the back of your neck Anton brings your face away from his. The split second you summon your remaining courage, following his gentle pull. You’re face to face with Anton. The recliner seems to get a little quieter, both of your hips falter when you make eye contact. Anton’s pupils are blown wide, his lips are parted and swollen. You see his tongue peak out, running over that place he always touches with his fingers. His hair falls in front of his face, bangs almost covering his eyes completely. You push his bangs out of the way quickly, both of your hands still cradling his face. You run your thumb over his cheek for a moment and Anton’s hand kneads your skin.

The second time you go in to kiss Anton is different from the first. Instead of closing your eyes and lurching forward it’s deliberate. You keep your eyes open until Anton closes his, squeezing his cheeks a little harder when you finally feel his lips press to yours.

Anton’s hand on the back of your neck moves to your face. You’re tilting your head and then he’s tilting it for you. You can hear your lips moving against eachother, then the feeling of his tongue poking your bottom lip. You open your mouth slow, and then it’s Anton’s tongue pressing flat against yours. You curve your tongue and mix spit, overextending the gap in your mouth to get a better taste. 

The action is messy, Your spit is smeared along the perimeter of Anton’s mouth when you start riding him again. It’s a simple motion, that’s closer to grinding than actually fucking yourself. But it’s enough to get Anton to hold your face still and separate your lips from his. Anton brings your head together until your foreheads touch. He’s breathing heavily as you continue grinding against his lap, just repeating the small motion. You can feel Anton’s body bumping into your clit, and you hear his breathing turn into his chest heaving. 

You don’t stop grinding, you open your eyes and see Anton looking through half-lidded eyes right back at you. You whimper and continue grinding, and one of his hand’s leaves your face to hold your ass. He speeds up your hips, and you hear the terrible creak in the recliner. You’re sure something will give out any minute, and right before the chair can rock all the way back Anton freezes underneath you. His words are caught in his throat, you think you hear him curse for the first time in your life before he leans his entire body against the back of the recliner. You continue riding him, and both of you become louder than the recliner. You’re cursing back at Anton, digging your nails into his skin and balling up your underwear in the palm of your hand. 

“Baby.” Anton moans, pathetic and loud. He projects towards the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut. His grip on your waist is bruising, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Your moans turn into loud grunts, and your grinds turn into flicks against his skin. “Too much. Too much.” He whines.

You nod your head quickly, flicking your hips three times before you finally feel relief. You let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding, and your whole body starts to collapse. You heave out each breath, your chest shaking. You have to breathe in deep to center yourself, and you seize around him each time you try to ground yourself. Anton is shaking his head against the back of the recliner. With each breath you get closer and closer to Anton, until your chest is pressing against his and his arms wrap around you to pull you in for a hug. 

When you move again Anton hisses right in your ear. You playfully grind against him again, and Anton weakly lifts you up until his dick slides out of you. He’s still half hard, landing against his stomach with a wet slap. He lets you lay back down on him, and you shiver when your bare cunt rests on his dick.

You’re laying against Anton’s chest for awhile. You can hear his heart rate finally start to slow down. His hand creeps underneath your layer of shirts, rubbing his hand on your bare back. Like it’s the most intimate thing you’ve done in the past hour he’s awkward, only continuing the massaging motion when you sigh contently against him.

Your shared sweat starts mixing with Anton’s welding you both to the peeling vinyl. You already feel disgusting against underneath your shirts, and the cold sweat from Anton that seeps through to you.

“Your mom will be back soon.” You murmur. 

You feel warmth seep out of you and you shiver again. You hum against his chest, feeling your eyelids get heavy.

Anton’s mom came through the door with Junyoung behind her. He had a handful of grocery bags, walking past her to go to the kitchen. She was busy standing on her tiptoes, and the moment she saw the closed door to Anton’s room her heart dropped. Junyoung was already going back outside to get the groceries when she said out loud she was going to get Anton.

Up the stairs she was contemplating on what to do Should she stomp up the stairs a little louder to give you two fair warning? Should she sneak up and try to catch you two in the act? Junyoung came back inside with more bags in his hands. He complained about wanting help before going back out, whispering under his breath that he was leaving the heavy stuff for Anton. 

His mom cleared the stairs and walked across the landing to her sons door. She held her head to the door first, trying to pick up on anything. At the sound of the recliner creaking loudly she knocked and opened the door in one go, preparing for the worst.

When she opened the door she found Anton in the recliner, in his white shirt and sweatpants. He was alone in the room, looking up from his assignment to his mother standing in the doorframe. Anton stopped rocking in the chair, the loud creaking coming to an end. She scanned the room quickly, trying to remember the reason why she came up here.

“She had to go home before it got to dark.” Anton said, answering her question.

“I’m making dinner, I would’ve given her a ride home.” 

Anton shrugs, clutching something in his hand. She sees that his pencil is on his bedside table. She really shouldn’t press the issue any further. She already stormed into her son’s room expecting to catch him in the act. She’s guilty, she lets go of the doorknob and almost turns around without saying another word. She sees Junyoung come inside again, more bags of food clutched in his hand. 

“Can you help your brother with the groceries?” She trades the order for a suggestion, trying to compensate for the intrusion in her room. Anton nods and shifts in the recliner, causing it to creak. He looks back down to his paper. “Whenever you finish what you’re working on.” She adds quickly.

“No it’s okay, I was done anyways. I’ll be down in a little bit.” Anton says and gets up from his chair. She leaves the room completely, her husband saying she needs to leave her son alone playing in her mind again and again. 

When his mom leaves the room he turns around to face towards the chair. He looks out the chair behind the window, looking at his backyard to where you climbed your bike to pedal back home. He insisted that you stay, but you seemed really adamant on leaving saying you had to be home at a certain time. When Anton hears his mom make her way down the stairs he looks down to his clenched fist. He really wanted you to stay, and the only thing that convinced him he didn’t do something wrong was your parting gif. Anton opens up his hand to see your crumpled pair of underwear expand in his palm. He sighs and clutches it again before opening the top drawer of his bedside table and putting it inside. He closes the drawer and sighs again, turning off his lamp to help with the groceries. 

[nayaesworld]

Mafioso

Mafia!Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Marina Evans)

Warnings: SMUT, fluff, 18+ CONTENT

Part Three

Summary: An apologetic Terry has grown tired of he and Marina’s time apart. He does what he can to win back her affections, but he’s only a true winner if she accepts.

__

TERRY

That burn. That burn that Terry had welcomed for a week straight now. The buildup of lactic acid in his bulky biceps propelled him forward into his workout as he lifted the weights up and down, Kendrick rapping lyrics of black empowerment into his ear. The gold beats thumped with bass against the sides of his head locking him in further. But Kendrick’s lyrics and the loud drum of his heart couldn’t beat out the irritation of his actions last week.

He didn’t regret beating the man, only how he’d spoken to Marina afterwards. She didn’t deserve the bite in his voice, that was reserved for the ones that had wronged and slandered him and she had done no such thing. Terry was embarrassed and apologetic, overcome with a need to be at her feet begging. He missed their time together, their conversations, her touch. He had thought over a million ways to approach her and apologize and had pissed himself off with the ideas. Marina was different from any woman he had ever courted, she deserved a well put together and thoughtful apology.

Workout concluded and his mind on a hot shower, he headed out of his home gym and headed to his bedroom. A loud thump in his kitchen stopped him in his tracks. He was home alone and he didn’t have any TVs on in that area of his house.Something wasn’t right.He quietly pulled open the reeded glass door to the left of him and entered the code to his gun safe before carefully picking up the tan Glock 19. He crept slowly to the front of his house, breathing even and smooth as he checked every corner in his passing.

“Boy put that gun down and come help your mother, why are you all wet and filthy?’He sighed heavily to himself before placing the gun down gently on the mantle of his fireplace.

He kissed her cheek and helped her carry in the groceries and cases of water. “ I thought you were mad at me?”

” I was scared and disappointed. I just want what’s best for you..but you’re a grown man and you have been for quite some time.” He pulled out a seat at his kitchen island for her, and sat next to her.

”I understand that mama but I want what’s best for her, and regardless of anything your approval does matter to me.” Terry popped the cap from a cold bottle of water and leaned into his mother‘s touch.

”And how are you so sure you can offer that?”

”Carmen liked that savagery.” She continued. “That means streak in you..she often pulled it out of you, that’s how much she enjoyed it.”

” She’s not Carmen mama, I said that already. She doesn’t enjoy savagery and violence..I know that now because I made the mistake of showing that side of me and now she won’t speak to me. I owe her an apology”

” You’re so sure this girl is right for you and yet these things displease her. I haven’t heard from you in days, how am I to be sure that this isn’t just another bad emotional attachment to another woman that’s controlling your emotions?”

Terry exhaled deeply and took his mothers hand into his. She was cautious, he understood that but she needed to put his relationship with Carmen out of her mind just as he did.

” You can trust that because I’m your son, and I learn from all my mistakes. I would never repeat them, you can trust that I would never bring another mindless and disrespectful woman around you again. And when I make things official between me and her I want you to enjoy and care for her just as much as I do.”

She nodded her head and pulled him into a hug. “ I always trust you to make the right decision. Now go shower so you can help with dinner.”

—

Marina

Marina’s Saturday was already proving to be relaxing and she had plans of self care and binge watching the first season of The Last of Us while filling her belly with a savory ten piece from Wingstop. First on her To-Do list was a hot oil treatment. She had enjoyed the quick ease of her silk press and loved the length even more, but her scalp cried for moisture and she missed her curls. She placed her hair into a claw clip and tied the strings to her robe tightly, face freshly washed she applied her Dead Sea mud mask evenly around her face.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror and giggled to herself. Terry would’ve wanted to do the mask with her if he was there, he always loved to stand by and watch her beauty routine whenever they were with each other. Marina missed Terry, for all the days she ignored his texts and calls, she had wanted to pick up the phone and tell him that she missed him but she was stubborn. She was pissed with him, and had gone over countless mini arguments with herself on what she'd tell him. How she wanted to grip his goatee tightly in her hand and make him swear off ever acting like that in front of her again. How she would let his intense puppy dog eyes suck her right back into his clutches, where she was fighting so hard to be freed from.

The ringing of her doorbell snapped her from her stupor. This was the quickest DoorDash had ever delivered to her and she was eager to get a break and eat. She swung open her front door and was greeted with the man that had troubled her thoughts for the last week, the man she had growing affections for. The dark denim jeans hugged his muscled thighs and the black sweater loose and slightly cropped as his stomach peeked through slightly. Her bag of food hung in his manicured hands and a black envelope was nestled under his arm.

“You look beautiful Mari.” She sighed and rolled her eyes before reaching for her food.

“I look a mess..but your car looks fine. No dents or scratches.” He handed her her food before stepping closer to her.

“Marina, trust me I get it..if I’d seen something like that I wouldn’t be able to let it go either.”

“So why should I? Terry, you don’t understand how I felt in that moment, how afraid I was.”

“Marina, I owe you an apology and so much more. I can’t erase what I did from your mind, I can only spend time making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

She sighed heavily before she widened her door and let him in. She placed her food on her dining table and sat down, eyes watching as he took a seat next to her. He slid the sleek black envelope her way, hazel eyes burning into her heated cheeks. This is how she got pulled into his trap,his hypnotic eyes and lush pink lips softened the hard exterior she wanted to keep up.

“What’s this an NDA?” He remained unmoved by her snarky remark, a thick arched brow lifting and resting before he motioned for her to open the envelope.

She rolled her eyes before peeling the envelope open. A check for ten thousand dollars stared back at her. Her fingers gripped the paper waiting for the numbers to disappear and scurry away from her. Her face frowned slightly before she spoke.

“I don’t want to be bought Terry.”

“I’m not trying to buy you, I’m just trying to cherish you. Let me invest in you, and take care of you.” Take care of her..that’s what he wanted? Marina had only ever been taken care of by herself and her mother, she didn’t know what it would be like to let a man do it.

“Terry, this is a lot of money to give to someone randomly.”

“It’s not random and neither are you.”

“Take care of me..what would that be like? What would it feel like?” She felt him moving closer and his hand on her shoulder snapped her from her mini daydreaming session.

“Let me show you, lead the way.”

__

Terry

The sleeves of his thick cashmere sweater were rolled up to his elbows as he took his time spreading the aloe water detangler through Marina’s coarse strands. He took his time saturating her hair before taking the brush from ends to root in her inky dark hair. She sat quietly in front of him in her vanity chair as he twisted the last section of hair up. She placed a clear shower cap over the detangled sections before turning on her steamer to increase the moisture.

The mud mask had hardened and faded in color on her face and enhanced the shine of her eyes. That striking brown shade that twisted and bent him to her will without her even knowing it. She met his eyes in the mirror once more before she spun around to face him.

“I forgive you Terry. And I’ll keep the money, it seems I do have a use for it..but I want you to promise me that you won’t ever put me in a situation like that again, I won’t forgive you again.”

Terry pulled her to him and circled his arms around her waist, and pulled her flush against his chest. The soft velvety fabric of her robe soft under his rough palm. His mind drifted to what might lie beneath it, how her soft bronze skin would be in his grasp. How touching her would elicit a heat similar to flames beneath his skin, he wanted to touch her—ached to, but he was on her time. What she wanted he would give her.

“I promise..no more of me showing my ass like that around you. You’re a lady, I shouldn’t have been quick to do what I did. Can I kiss you?”

The quick subject change confuses her before she nods her head and allows his lips to capture hers. Terry never believed in butterflies or fireworks behind a kiss, the shit had always sounded fairytale like for him to ever get behind—but he felt something when he kissed Marina. Felt how warm her breath was against his face. How the hand he had pressed against her chest vibrated with the quickened thud of her heart. His free palm cupped the bag of her head forcing her face closer to his. His own heart hammered against his chest and his mind raced a mile a minute. Marina was his. Nobody could come between and nobody could deny him, because if they did he’d simply kill them. Dead people couldn’t give opinions.

“Marina…be mine. Let’s not let any more time pass, I want you…and I want you to want me too. I’m so so sorry for what I did..I’ll spend however long I have to apologizing to you, I don't care.”

“I’m yours Terry. I know you’re a good man..I know you’re sorry. But I’m scared-“

“Scared of what? What people will say? They’re opinions don’t matter to me Marina..only yours. Is it the age gap that you’re afraid of..I never want you to feel like I’m in a position to control you or stake a claim over you.”

They’re age gap would be a big factor of course he couldn’t deny that, but she was grown and he wasn’t some slimy old guy looking to prey on young women. He was enamored with Marina and respected her above all else, doing something to tarnish her reputation and identity as a woman wasn’t what this was.

“It is..I’ve never dated anyone this much older than me. I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about me..thinking that I’m just some young girl that’s hanging around for money. Not that I’m judging those who do..but that’s not what we are, right?”

“I believe the word for that would be sugar baby..and last I checked we didn’t come to any agreement about that sweetheart. As long as I know why you’re with me, I could care less about the ‘they’ of this world. Only you. And me.”

She stood there face covered in a mud mask and her hair slowly reverting under her shower cap and she agreed with him. Beautiful and at peace is how he wanted her…always. He could take a chance on her and try to carve out a slice of heaven in the hell he called his life. But this was scary, he couldn’t control the fate of whatever relationship they would have. And she wasn’t the men he ordered around..this was different and it required a softness from him that he wasn’t familiar with, but he was selfish in that regard.

“Just let me take care of you. The rest I promise we’ll get through together.”

Shortly after their talk Marina disappeared into her bathroom to wash her hair and shower and Terry sat down on the plush chair in the corner of her room. Face scrunched in irritation at the countless messages and phone calls left on his phone. He hated when they did this shit, they had the tools to move and operate without him being present and they insisted on running every little thing through him.

“-Speak and make it quick. I’m busy.” He listened to his cousin Semaj prattle on about shit he already knew. He knew had to go to New York for business, he knew who he was going to meet, and he knew how long he had to be there.

-“You just sat on my phone for two minutes and told me shit I already knew..what part of emergencies only didn’t you get Semaj?”

-“Man T you know you getting up there in age. We gotta refresh your memory every now and then..we ain’t exactly spring chickens, well I am..can’t say the same about you.” He hated the smirk that landed on his face, his stupid ass cousin always found a way to play on his phone.

“-Bye Semaj. Do your part, I know my role.” He hung up the phone and let the scent of Marina's body wash fill his nose.

It smelled like a cafe full of sweet treats. He imagined sniffing her skin and letting the sweet scent infiltrate his thoughts..just like it was now. He didn’t know why he got up and started towards her bathroom door, the steam rolling through the crack of the door like clouds in the wind. She was nothing but a blurry silhouette behind the glass door of her shower, hands scrubbing against her body at a pace that hypnotized him. He didn’t feel bad about watching her..didn’t feel bad about the way his hand nudged the door open further. He walked closer letting the steam surround him, his eyes still trying to peer into the glass for just a moment..just to be consumed by what was behind it.

“Terry? Is everything okay?” Caught. But it was too late to turn back. And he had no plans to.

“I-I just want to watch you..if you want me to leave I’ll go, but I’m not denying my attraction to you.”

The water switched off and the glass door opened revealing her wet nude body. God was a woman; he was sure of that. How could he ever deny her anything when she looked like this..looked at him like this. The heft of her breast and the swell of her belly..it all called to him. The way the water ran down her body and pooled in between her thighs, getting caught on the short hairs of her vulva. His tongue tingled in his mouth and spit began to collect, he had plans to eat tonight.

“I don’t want you to leave..what if I want you to watch me..stay the night please. For me?” She didn’t have to ask him because he had no plans of leaving her home tonight.

A plush towel wrapped around her naked body shielded her perfect body from him. Her wet hand reaching towards him to cup his wrist, the water slowly trickling down the length of his arm as a chill ran up his back. She pulled him towards her room and threw the towel in a nearby hamper, busying herself with selecting a lotion. She bent at the waist slightly heavy ass cheeks jiggling with each step, and he felt his jeans tighten around his crotch area, greed would be his downfall one day.. when it came to her he wanted it all.

The option of her choosing was thick and rich and had notes of toasted macadamia and tonka bean. As if he needed another reason to want to eat her alive. He slid off his sweater and his top half was left covered by a black beater, dark intricate tattoos peeking from beneath the thin fabric. He didn’t want anything in his way when his hands finally were able to massage her supple skin.

“I don’t know where tonight is headed for us..but I trust you. I trust that you’ll make me feel good.”

“I’ll give you that and then some. Marina there are things I want to do to you..things that can never leave this room, but tonight I just wanna taste you.”

—

Marina

Hazel eyes stared up at her from his place on his knees in front of her. Big warm hands gripped and groped her while simultaneously smoothing the lotion into her damp skin. The hot kisses he placed to her inner thighs made her stomach shift with anxious anticipation, he was close..so close to where she actually needed his lips. Waiting any longer for his mouth to touch her would result in her combusting, she was so wound up. Everything around her coaxes her further and further into euphoria. The way her hair fluttered against her skin like feathers, the hungry sucking motions from Terrys lips on her, the way her nipples hardened.. she wanted him until the sun came up the next morning.

“Terry..I need you now. If we wait any longer..I don’t wanna cum like this. I want your mouth on me when I do.”

“Marina, I’m moving slowly for you..but if you ask me to speed things up I won’t hold back. Not when you’ve been the object of my desire for this long, you feel that? That’s how I get when I’m around you.”

He gripped her wrist gently and she felt the heavy bulge under her palm, the sheer size of it soliciting a gasp from her. She went a step further and popped the button, sinking her hands into the boxer briefs. A soft thatch of hair running over her skin softly as she finally gripped his length fully. Too many words to explain what she was feeling right now, so she only thought of one; power. And she’d never felt like she had it quite like she did now.

Being lifted and tossed on her bed did little to pull her from her thoughts. Sex with Terry would be freeing, she had been abstaining from it since her twenty-fourth birthday, but she knew she wasn’t ready for penetrative sex tonight. Mentally she just wasn’t ready..but she wanted too so damn bad, but she knew better than to push herself so she’d take what Terry gave her tonight and let it drag her into an orgasmic stupor.

“When’s the last time you had your pussy ate Marina?” His fingertips softly touching the apex of her thighs, smoothing over her skin.

She couldn’t even answer his question because she didn’t remember. The last time it had been done to her she was left unfulfilled and overly annoyed, it was so bad that she had pushed it to the furthest parts of her mind and simply try to forget about it. She knew that there were men out there that could do it well and hoped that Terry was one of them.

“I-I can’t remember..but I remember not enjoying it. He was rushing and didn’t stay where I wanted him to long enough.”

He grunted to himself before moving to kick off his jeans. His bulky body moving back up the bed to capture her lips. “Do I look like the type of man to play with pussy and leave it wanting more? Or will I take this pussy in my mouth like this and make you cum?”

His tongue licked a strip from her weeping hole to her engorged lips. Fingers softly opening her up like a flower before pressing open mouth kisses to her, the sensation almost feeling like a suction when he’d withdraw his mouth. The continuous sensation forcing her shaking legs closed around his head.

“Keep them open or I'll do it for you..let me eat in peace.” His slimy tongue knocked against her pulsing opening a few times before meeting with her clit that began to peek from beneath its hood. She knew if he suckled it for too long she’d cum, she was sensitive to clitoral stimulation and it always gave her quick explosive orgasms.

But he did it anyway and her hands were on his head quickly, pushing softly at his forehead as her eyes itched to roll into her head. A stinging smack to her right thigh shocked her hands away and she hated that she looked down to catch his eyes.

“You wanna keep this pussy away from me..stop it. You don’t know how good this shit is, I’m never not gonna eat you..not when I can watch you fall apart like this.”

“It just- it feels so good.. I don’t think I can handle it anymore.”

Soft kisses to her inner thigh did a lot to soothe her racing mind. She didn’t want to deny herself this but what came next? What was next after that feeling in her stomach kept building, she was scared of how good he could make her feel.

“Then let’s find out. I’ll only go as far as you want me too Marina, but I’m only getting started..just trust me.”

His words brought her some peace and she smirked to herself before he resumed coaxing forward more of that sticky clear liquid from her. She’d glanced down and let his handsome face turn her on more, there couldn’t be anything better to her right now than his handsome chiseled face doused in her essence. The same essence that was pouring from her like a faucet, everything turned her on now. The wet sounds of his tongue swirling around, the grip on her thighs where she hoped he’d leave bruises, her own moans; it was all a recipe for the orgasm she felt approaching.

And when her toes began to curl and her breast bounced with her quickened breaths, she found herself pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He stayed on that spot, pressing that button over and over again until her hoarse screams filled her bedroom followed by the sweet aftermath. Her low dazed eyes watched him move up to hover over her, his mouth and goatee still dripping from her. Still drunk on lust she jerks him closet by his neck, tongue tasting herself before she slid her tongue into his mouth.

“What about you?” As satisfied and worn as she was, she still thought about him. His thickening bulge more apparent now than it was before.

“Don’t worry about me Mari, just rest now.”

The soft peck to her nose seals the deal as she drifts off into an almost too easy slumber.

—

Marina

She awakens the next morning to a full bladder and an empty house. It’s early noon now and she’s eager to shower and dig into a late hearty breakfast. Her loose limbs complete her hygiene routine with ease and she lotions her body before sliding into a brown lounge set.

Her phone dings from its place on her kitchen counter and she’s eager to read a message from Terry.

-Good morning Marina.I stepped out early to take care of some business.I have some things being sent to your house, please accept them. You’ll be accompanying me on a trip to New York. We spent enough time apart so I want you to enjoy this trip on my dime. I’ll call you later.

She hearted the message and replied before smiling to herself. There was no way in hell she was denying herself a vacation, no matter how long they’d be gone. She needed it, hell deserved it even and taking this trio with Terry only sweetened the deal. She wanted to be around him, spending time and learning his likes and dislikes. Her healthy curiosity for him bled into the obvious attraction she had for the man, a blind man could see how beautiful that man was and she was way past ignoring what she really wanted out of life.

Halfway through her late breakfast her doorbell went off. Her Ring app revealed a tall man dressed in a suit holding a few bags in his hands. She walked to the door and opened it, coming face to face with the man where she noticed a name tag; Stephano.

“Good afternoon noon Mam. Are you Ms.Marina Evans?” A slight Italian accent graces her ears before she nods her head.

“Ok great! I’ll just have you sign here..and here. Alrighty you have a good day mam!”

After signing the electronic pad she bids him farewell before taking in the five designer bags filled to the brim. Two of the bags are from Chanel and she gasped loudly at the purses before moving to pull the dresses from the bad next, the fabric feeling expensive and luxurious against her skin. The next two are shoe boxes that carry Christian Louboutin heels, her fingers tracing the red bottom of the Patent Leather Mules before the Sandale Du Desert 100MM Satin Heels caught her eyes and slowly became her favorite. How he had manned to shop for her and executed style so perfectly she did not know, maybe he took a peek into her closet or a look on her socials but he was spot on.

The mast bag smaller size grabbed her attention. A black square case with a small button on the front. Opening the case slowly, she let her hands come up to cover her mouth in surprise. The diamonds were staring back at her as she was almost scared to touch them. A 14K White Gold Chevron Eternity Necklace sparkled and shimmered against the natural light in her living room. She had never seen something so visibly expensive up close and personal before; and she owned it. She snatched her phone from its place on the floor to call Terry, but another ring to her doorbell cut her off.

This time she didn’t check her Ring app and instead opted for looking through her peephole. Her mother stood on the other side. And a slight feel of anxiety washed over her, her mother didn't know about Terry. It was still too soon to tell her now, but she knew any old answer would not suffice with her mother. She’d always expected the truth from Marina. And when she opened the door to greet her, she inwardly winced as her mothers eyes swept over the bags on the floor and landed on the diamonds on her couch.

“Marina..what is all this?” She wanted to lie, and wanted to so badly. But that’s not how she wanted to do this.

“They’re from a uh-a friend. A relatively new one, but a friend nonetheless.” She saw the look on her mothers face and knew what would be said next.

“What kind of friend is buying you designer clothes and bags—and are those diamonds?”

“Ma I’m grown, just trust me. This isn’t anything to worry about, you know me.”

That seemed to be enough for her for now and she moved on from it as Marina moved all the bags into her room. She talked with her mother and caught her up on recent work, her mother doing the same. They went out for lunch shortly after before they parted ways and Marina headed back home, but not before noticing her driveway being once again occupied by that X6

—

Terry

Terry left Marina’s house that morning satisfied in a way he hadn’t felt sexually in a while. He was no stranger to the act of pussy eating and had honed his skills years ago between the legs of another woman. But Marina… he spent the drive home sniffing his lip, her scent still trapped in his beard lightly wafting out as his ac pushed out cool air. It took everything in him to wash his beard in the shower as he scrubbed his body, his dick slowly rising amidst the steam of the shower. Just the thought of her, the smoothness of her inner lips..it was all embedded into his mind, scribbled on the front of his brain like a happy memory. Choking his dick to her was pleasure reincarnated, and he had to grip the shower wall a few times to save himself from almost slipping and busting his ass.

And when his nut swirled down the drain with the suds he stepped his spent body out of the shower to finish his hygiene routine. He spent the remainder of his morning shopping and picking out items to send to Marina’s home. A few luxury pieces that would tie together their time in New York. A mixer in Upper Manhattan was pulling him away for work, he hated these events most times. He had to socialize with a bunch of men he could care less about outside of making millions. But not showing wasn’t an option, it would look bad on his part and it would open doors for his position to be challenged. And that was never gonna happen. So he would go, show his face, and make possible new connections but anything beyond that they knew better to ask of him.

By eleven am he had cooked and prepared lunch for him and Marina and he was out the door heading back to her house. He wanted to talk more about New York in person. He sped safely throughout traffic and perked up when her neighborhood came into view. He grabbed the tupperware of warm food in his hand before stepping out and being greeted by Marina also pulling into her driveway. He was right on time.

Her black curls blew lightly in the wind and her eyes smiled behind her black frames, his arms opening as she came in for a hug. Her thick hair tickled his face as he kissed the top of her head rocking her lightly in his arms. Her arms stayed around his waist as they walked into her house.

“Missed me already Smiley?”

He sighed in content at the mention of his nickname, things felt back to normal between them and he would never let anything create a wedge between what they were building.

“I did and I wanted to chat with you about New York. Did you like your gifts?” He moved to place the food on her kitchen island before walking back into the living room to sit next to her.

“Liked doesn’t really cover how I felt about them..I can’t wait to wear everything and enjoy this time away with you. Thank you.”

He wasted no time running down the who,what,when, and where of their trip. He had a full blown itinerary planned for them outside of the mixer. She locked onto every word eager for next Friday to arrive so that the two of them could depart. An impromptu game of dress up had Marina clad in the items that Terry purchased for her, her body even more dangerous when it was draped in the finest. One too many twirls in front of Terry had his face currently back in between her legs as she yelped and purred. Her thighs met her chest as his tongue dipped into the tight confines of her ass next, he accompanied one great feeling with another and his middle finger slowly slid into her soaked pussy.His phone vibrated next to his head made him growl into his meal. Disturbing him while he had a face full of Marina was a death wish.

Semaj: Caught up with Scotty and you won’t believe the shit this nigga is talking. He’ll be at the warehouse, I want him to tell you this shit to your face

Terry read the message twice before locking his phone and tossing it to the other side of the couch. Work found him at the oddest times and he would make his way to the warehouse to see what that shit was about. But something deep down inside him told him he wouldn’t like the answers he got. So he lowered his head back between her legs and continued feasting, pussy was more important at the moment.

__

Taglist: @theereinawrites @ch33z3grits @bimbosnbutterflies2026 @kirayuki22 @kenshisluvrgirl @rawflwrs @ranikyani @blyffe @23jammy @keehendrixx @ovohanna24 @venusincleo @writingsbytee @simplyzeeka @saraiscollection @blowmymbackout @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @megamindsecretlair @keyaho @brattyfics @henneseyhoe @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

[synity]

MOON-STRUCK

(Lee Jihoon x FemReader)

*Slow-burn Romantic Drama with Emotional Angst & Idol Slice of Life Tender Fluff Unspoken Longing*

Y/N had always been the type to pour her soul into her art. Three years into her solo career, she remained underrated by industry standards yet loved deeply by those who had discovered her. Her fans, mostly CARATs, admired her honesty, the way her lyrics cut straight into the heart, how her voice didn’t beg for attention but instead earned it.

Despite her quiet success, she never let the pressure mold her. She was vibrant behind the scenes teasing stylists, dancing with backup performers, laughing like she didn’t carry the weight of self-composed albums on her shoulders. SEVENTEEN knew her before she debuted. They had trained in the same building, shared ramen at 2 a.m., offered encouragement during late-night practice runs.

Over time, she became more than just an industry friend. She became one of them.

Among all the members, it was Woozi who surprised them the most.

Lee Jihoon, the man of quiet glances and endless hours behind the studio door, had taken a silent liking to her from the very beginning. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was in the way he always saved her a seat. How he offered her drinks without asking. How he remembered her favorite chord progressions. The way his laughter came easier around her, how his smiles lingered longer when she was in the room.

And yet, Y/N never noticed.

She was always kind to him like she was to everyone. She never saw how he’d look at her when she’d run choreography barefoot just for fun, or when she giggled at her own offbeat counts, or when she lent her voice to harmonize with a demo she thought no one would ever hear.

He wrote songs about her dozens of them. Some released, most not. They sat in his hard drive labeled under vague codes like “Project M” or “Midnight Ver.” Lyrics about her eyes, her chaos, her calm, the way her voice cracked when she got emotional during studio runs. He never told anyone. He didn’t need to.

One day, he asked her to collaborate.

“I’ve been working on something,” he mumbled, handing her a USB. “You don’t have to say yes, but I think… you’d suit it.”

Y/N smiled, cheerful as always. “Of course, Woozi! I’d love to.”

She didn’t see the way his ears turned pink when she said his name.

They began working together immediately. Hours passed in studios where she danced across the room, lyrics in one hand, iced tea in the other. She hummed random melodies mid-conversation, always sparking some new idea. Jihoon was quiet, watching, always calculating but never cold. If anything, she made his presence warmer.

She never realized how careful he was with her.

He tuned her vocals more delicately than anyone else’s.

He brought snacks he knew she liked.

He adjusted his schedule just to match hers.

And he never said a word.

Dance practice was a mess but in the best way. Y/N teased the dancers, mimicked moves badly just to make the room laugh, often collapsing on the floor out of breath. Jihoon barely danced, but he always came to watch. He sat in the corner with a water bottle, hiding a smile whenever she did something ridiculous.

“She’s got something,” he murmured to Hoshi once after a practice. “She’s lightning in a bottle.”

The final product was a song called Moonstruck a moody, sparkling track that told the story of falling for someone when it’s already too late to back out. The lyrics were poetic, haunting. A little too real.

Y/N didn’t question them.

She loved the song. Said it felt “like being drunk on starlight.”

It racked up 94 million views in twenty-four hours. Both fandoms exploded with praise.

From that point on, variety shows and interviews swept them into the public eye together. But to Jihoon’s quiet dismay, she was often paired with Dokyeom. They were chaos personified bickering like siblings, laughing until they cried, bantering in a way that had fans convinced they were a couple.

Y/N, of course, didn’t mind. It was just work. Just friendship.

Jihoon… minded.

He watched from behind the camera. A soft frown on his lips. Never interfering. Never mentioning it.

Instead, he wrote.

Another unreleased file. Titled: Moonstruck (Alt Ver). An echo of the original track but rawer. Sadder. Full of things he could never say.

Woozi’s POV

She didn’t even know what she was doing to him.

Maybe that was what made it harder.

Watching her laugh with Seokmin during their latest variety taping, Jihoon tried to focus on his water bottle, on the call sheet in his hand anything but the way her fingers reached for Seokmin’s arm when she doubled over with laughter.

It wasn’t like she was flirting.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

She was just… Y/N.

Loud, radiant, carefree.

Exactly the same way she’d been since the day they met when she barged into the vocal practice room without knocking, asking if anyone had a charger for her phone and whether or not they were good at harmonies because she needed someone to sing with her.

She didn’t change. He did.

The feelings crept in slowly, uninvited. The admiration was innocent at first he liked the way her music sounded like a heartbeat. Raw, imperfect, real. Then it became the way she scribbled in her notebooks with her tongue slightly out in concentration. The way she challenged choreography counts like she was solving a math equation. The way she wore her pain quietly in lyrics and healed in front of the mic.

He saw all of her.

And now, it was too late.

Their collab, Moonstruck, had broken every expectation. A haunting duet about two people orbiting each other, never confessing, never quite reaching. Fans called it their “emotional love story.”

Jihoon called it the truth.

Every line he wrote, every harmony they layered, every glance he risked while she wasn’t looking it was all him. Her, too. She just didn’t realize it.

She never noticed the way he tuned her voice like glass, afraid to crack the emotion. She never realized he skipped meals just to match her late-night schedules. That when she asked “Want anything from the vending machine?” and he said no, he actually wanted her to come back safely more than he wanted food.

And she sure as hell didn’t realize how much it hurt when other people got to see the side of her he cherished most.

“Hyung,” Seungkwan nudged him gently backstage. “You okay? You’ve been staring at them for five minutes.”

Jihoon blinked.

Y/N and Seokmin were still on stage, dancing like fools for some silly game. She looked happy. Light. Like she belonged anywhere but in his arms.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just tired.”

It was a lie, and everyone knew it.

Even Seungkwan gave him that look half sympathy, half “why don’t you just say something?��

But how could he?

Y/N didn’t see him that way. She smiled when he offered her a jacket. Said “thanks, Woozi, you’re the best” when he fixed her key without being asked. She trusted him like a friend. Admired him like a producer. Counted on him like family.

She never saw the way his hands trembled after she left the room. Or how he replayed her demo takes at night just to hear her voice in the quiet.

Later that evening, when the dorm lights were low and the others were asleep, he opened his laptop.

Moonstruck (Alt Ver) still sat in the folder. Unreleased. Unsent.

It had a different second verse. He’d written it after seeing her perform on stage with Seokmin when they both wore matching ear cuffs for the concept shoot, laughing like they shared a secret. It wasn’t their fault. Jihoon knew that.

Still, it bled out of him in lyrics:

saw your name on the screen, Paused for a sec, didn't know what it means. Ghost in the corner of my feed, Why does silence cut so deep?

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He could send it. Just a voice memo. Just say: “Thought of this for the deluxe version.”

But he didn’t.

Because if she knew… If she heard what he really felt—how deeply, how fully he might lose her altogether.

So instead, he saved it. Closed the lid.

Pretended it wasn’t real.

Pretended she wasn’t his moon, his muse, his reason for creating music that didn’t feel hollow anymore.

But fate, he was starting to realize, had a twisted sense of humor.

Because lately, every time he turned around, there she was.

Not just in the studio. Not just in dance practice.

But at the same café he stopped at for coffee. Two tables away, humming into her straw.

At the same bookstore he escaped to on Sundays. Laughing with her manager in the art aisle.

On his recommended feed, in his dreams, in the quiet moments where he thought he could finally breathe.

She was everywhere.

And Jihoon… he didn’t know how much longer he could stay silent.

Y/N’s POV

I wish I could lie and say it was just admiration.

I’ve told myself that lie a hundred times, repeated it in the mirror like a mantra. "You just look up to him. You respect him. That’s all."

But then I’d catch myself watching him when I shouldn’t. Not during recordings, but in between takes. When his brow furrows just before hitting playback. When he closes his eyes to feel the mix. When he laughs not the public kind, but the unguarded one, head tilted slightly back like he forgot the world existed.

That’s when I feel it most. Whatever this is.

It’s been three years. Three years since I entered SEVENTEEN’s circle, and it still feels like I’m tiptoeing across thin ice every time I stand too close to him. Woozi Jihoon is not like the others. He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t compliment casually. Doesn’t say things just to be kind.

So when he does say something, it stays. Like when he told me, “That bridge you wrote? It hurts in the best way.” Or when he stayed late in the studio with me just because I was having a rough day, quietly handing me a hot drink without asking why I’d cried earlier.

He always notices. He always cares.

And that’s what makes it so hard.

Because I don’t think he sees how I look at him.

He doesn't see how nervous I get when our hands brush. Or how I save the messages he sends about music like they’re love notes. I’ve written dozens of songs I’ll never release. Lyrics filled with him. Questions I’m too afraid to ask.

If I fell, would you catch me? Even if it hurts, I’d still run to you. You faded out so quietly, But your echo still lives in me.

But I don’t say anything. Because it’s better to have Jihoon in my life even as just a friend than risk losing him to truth.

Still, there are moments I can’t ignore. Like today.

He was quieter than usual. His smile a little more reserved. His eyes lingered longer when I joked with Dokyeom. I thought I imagined it. But Seungkwan gave me a look later, that knowing one.

“You’re brave, hanging around Woozi hyung like that when he’s clearly losing it,” he teased.

“What do you mean?” I played dumb.

Seungkwan only raised a brow. “Nothing. Just don’t be surprised if he writes an album out of jealousy.”

If only he knew I’d do the same.

Woozi’s POV

I’ve written over two hundred songs in the last few years. Some never made it past the demo stage. Some debuted on stages before tens of thousands. And then there are the quiet ones tucked away in folders no one has heard. The ones I label under “Private.”

Most of those are about her.

I never planned for it to be this way. Y/N was supposed to be a friend. Just one of us. A ridiculously talented soloist who somehow managed to fit into our chaos like she’d been there from the beginning.

But over time, something changed. Not in her but in me.

I started watching her more often. Noticing things. Like the way she stretches her arms above her head during breaks. How she taps her pen against her lips when she’s lost in thought. The small frown she makes when she’s unsatisfied with her work but no one else would ever notice because she hides it behind a bright smile.

That smile. It kills me every time.

And yet... I don’t think she sees me that way.

She treats me just like the rest of the guys. She teases me when I get too serious. I’ve grown used to hearing her laughter echo across the studio, but sometimes, when she laughs at something DK says, something uncomfortable twists in my chest.

I hate the feeling.

Jealousy. That’s what it is. Not of Dokyeom, specifically. But of the way she looks at him. The way her eyes soften, how she leans into his shoulder when she laughs too hard. It’s innocent, I know. But it still stings.

Today was worse.

She wore that oversized hoodie she always paints in splattered in color, loose around the sleeves, a brush tucked behind her ear. We were working on our second collaboration track. I suggested we co-produce this time. She agreed immediately, eyes lighting up like I’d given her the world.

I couldn’t stop watching her as she hovered near the soundboard, bobbing her head to the demo.

“You’re staring,” Hoshi whispered behind me.

I jumped slightly. “No, I wasn’t.”

Hoshi didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “You do this every time she walks into a room.”

I didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Later, when we were taking a break, I walked into the practice room and saw her choreographing with one of the dancers. The music was playing softly from her phone, and she was humming along, sweat dripping down her temple, eyes alight with passion. She didn’t see me.

But I saw her.

And then something happened.

She turned, suddenly, laughing at something the dancer said—and her eyes met mine. For a split second, her laughter faltered. Just slightly. Like she hadn’t expected me to be there.

Then, she smiled.

It wasn’t different. Not really. But something in my gut twisted.

She walked over casually, tossed me a water bottle, and leaned her head against my shoulder for a moment. “Don’t judge the chaos yet. It’s going to be good, I promise.”

“I never doubt you,” I said before I could stop myself.

Her head turned. Her eyes searched mine for a second longer than necessary.

And then she smiled again, this time quieter. Like she was hiding something.

I should’ve asked. But I didn’t.

I’m Woozi. I don’t chase what I don’t understand. But lately… I think I’m starting to understand too much.

Because the way she looked at me it felt familiar. Like the way I’ve always looked at her.

But that can’t be, right?

Right?

I had rehearsed the song a thousand times.

Every lyric. Every chord. Every pause where her name echoed in the silence between the lines unspoken, but present.

The studio felt different tonight. We’d finished the second collab. It was a hit already trending on every platform, with millions of views in hours. The staff had celebrated, champagne was popped, people laughed, but I couldn’t feel it.

Because she was there. Smiling. Looking at me with eyes that knew nothing of the storm inside me.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep writing songs she didn’t know were for her. I couldn’t keep smiling every time she laughed at someone else’s joke, or pretend it didn’t sting when she called me “just a friend.”

So I stayed behind in the studio that night. Asked her to meet me again after hours.

Just us.

When she walked in, hair tied up loosely, hoodie half-zipped, a sleepy smile on her face I almost lost my nerve.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“Sit,” I said gently, pointing to the couch. “I want to show you something.”

She blinked, confused, but obeyed. “Is this another demo?”

I shook my head. My fingers hovered above the keyboard, heart pounding like it never had before not even before a concert. “It’s… something I wrote. A while ago.”

I pressed play.

The piano poured through the speakers soft, hesitant, like footsteps into unknown territory. Then my voice followed.

Not producer Woozi. Not idol Lee Jihoon. Just me. Singing about her.

“You sit next to me like it’s nothin’, But my heart skips like it’s somethin’. You say “good morning” with sleepy eyes, And I’m already stuck in butterflies”

I heard her breath catch. But I kept going.

“You talk about dreams, about moving away, And I just hope I’m in them someday. Not asking for forever, just a chance To maybe hold your hand if we ever dance."

Silence.

When the last note faded, I finally turned.

She was sitting there, frozen. Eyes wide. Her hand was over her mouth, her chest rising and falling quickly.

“Y/N…” My voice was low. Raw. “That song every one of them… they were all about you. All this time.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She looked like she couldn’t breathe.

I walked closer, heart crashing in my chest. “I don’t know when it started. Maybe when you helped me rearrange that bridge at 2 a.m. Or when you laughed so hard at Seungkwan’s joke you snorted and didn’t even care. Maybe it was when you cried in the studio because your verse felt too vulnerable and you thought no one would understand but I did. I always do.”

She was crying now. Tears falling quietly, mouth trembling.

I knelt down in front of her, gently taking her hand. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. And I’m scared to say it. I’m scared it’ll ruin everything. But I can’t keep pretending you’re just another friend. You’re not. You never were.”

And then finally she spoke.

“You idiot,” she whispered, a laugh breaking through her tears. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve loved you too?”

I froze. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you didn’t feel the same. You were always so distant… so careful. But I saw it. The way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching. The way your songs sounded like home.”

My breath hitched. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I was scared too,” she said softly, pulling me closer. “But I’m not anymore.”

She cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheek as I leaned into her palm. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed. For the first time, it felt like the song I’d been writing all my life finally had its chorus.

And then our foreheads touched, and she whispered, “You were always the one, Jihoon.”

My arms wrapped around her waist as hers wound around my neck, and we both sank to the floor on our knees, holding each other like the truth might shatter if we let go.

I buried my face in her shoulder, her scent grounding me, her presence finally finally mine.

“I’m still writing a hundred songs about you,” I mumbled against her skin.

She laughed through a sob. “Then I’ll listen to every one of them.”