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alxtiny · 1 month

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can you do which ateez habit you would have picked up from being around them for too long?

I struggled with this more than I should have I’m sorry 😭😭😭😭 Happy reading!!!

Habits you pickup from Ateez

Synopsis: little habits you pick up from ateez

Pairing: ateez members x gn!reader, idol au

Genre: fluff

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: none:)

masterlist

• Hongjoong

Falling asleep in random places

You never thought you'd pick up such a peculiar habit from Hongjoong but here you were, dozing off on the couch in his studio. It had become somewhat of a routine lately. Hongjoong often found himself working late into the night, composing music and writing lyrics, and you couldn't bear to leave him alone. So, you stayed up with him, keeping him company and offering moral support.

Tonight was no different. The studio was dimly lit, save for the soft glow of the computer screen where Hongjoong was tirelessly tinkering away. You sat beside him, occasionally offering words of encouragement or fetching him a snack to keep his energy up. But as the hours passed, fatigue started to weigh heavily on your eyelids.

"You okay Y/n?" a familiar voice chimed in, bringing you back from the brink of slumber.

You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the drowsiness. "Huh? Who? What?" you mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

Seonghwa chuckled softly and gestured towards you. "You fell asleep in a chair, I think you’re spending too much time with Hongjoong. You should get some real rest before you start falling asleep in random places, like him, too."

Glancing over at Hongjoong, you realized he was completely absorbed in his work, oblivious to the conversation happening around him. You laughed sheepishly, realizing Seonghwa was right. Lately, you had indeed found yourself dozing off in various places – the couch, the kitchen table, even leaning against the wall.

"It's just... I can't leave him alone when he's working so hard," you explained softly, a small smile playing on your lips.

Seonghwa's expression softened as he understood. "I know, and I'm sure Hongjoong appreciates it too. But you need to take care of yourself as well, okay? "

You nodded, grateful for Seonghwa's concern. As you settled back into the couch, you made a mental note to try and get more sleep, even if it meant leaving Hongjoong to his work occasionally. But for now, you allowed yourself to succumb to the comforting embrace of sleep, knowing that Hongjoong was just a few feet away.

• Seonghwa

Acting motherly towards the members

Seonghwa watched with a bemused smile as you flitted around the dorm, straightening pillows, picking up stray socks, and tidying up the kitchen. It was a sight he'd grown accustomed to – you, inadvertently taking on the role of the dorm mom, just like he did. It wasn't something you consciously did, but rather a habit you'd picked up from spending so much time around him and the other guys.

You had a thing for neatness and sometimes acted much like a mom in your friend group, but lately, you found yourself slipping into Seonghwa's shoes more often than not. It was something he found endearing and amusing, seeing you scold the other members for leaving their belongings strewn about or for forgetting to do their chores.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Seonghwa asked, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

You turned to him, a blushi tinting your cheeks, wondering just how long he had been watching you. "Oh, just tidying up a bit. It was a mess in here."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, crossing his arms over his chest. "You don’t need to do all that, you know"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I can't help it. You guys are like family to me, and I just want to take care of you."

The other members wandered into the kitchen, groaning as they saw you fussing over the cleanliness of the space.

"Come on, Y/N, we already have one Seonghwa," Yunho teased, flashing you a playful grin. "We don't need you turning into another one."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide the smile tugging at your lips. "I'm just trying to help keep things organized around here. Someone has to do it."

Seonghwa wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "We appreciate it, really. Just don't forget to take care of yourself too, okay?"

You nodded, leaning into his side. "Of course. But someone has to keep you guys in line."

The others laughed, knowing deep down that they were lucky to have both you and Seonghwa looking out for them – even if it meant enduring occasional scoldings for their messy habits.

• Yunho

Picking at or biting your lips

Yunho had always been the type to immerse himself completely in whatever task he was working on, often biting or touching his lips in concentration. You, on the other hand, had never noticed this about yourself until Yunho pointed it out one day.

You were sitting together at the studio, both lost in your respective work. You were so engrossed in what you were doing that you didn't even realize your hand had wandered up to your lips, fingers lightly touching and occasionally biting at them in a habit you had unknowingly picked up from Yunho.

"Y/N," Yunho's voice broke through your concentration, causing you to look up, startled. "Don’t do that," he said, nodding towards your lips.

Confused, you furrowed your brows. "Hmm? What do you mean?"

Yunho sighed, his expression turning slightly serious. "You keep biting your lips. You might hurt them if you're not careful."

You blinked, suddenly becoming aware of what you were doing. "Oh," you muttered, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck. "I didn't even realize I was doing that."

Yunho's lips twitched with amusement, but he quickly composed himself. "It's a bad habit. You should try to stop."

You couldn't help but feel a bit defensive. "Well, you do it too," you scoffed and pointed out.

Yunho's cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away. "I... I do?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah. Maybe we've just been spending too much time together," you teased.

Yunho's embarrassment was palpable now, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Maybe," he muttered, unable to meet your gaze.

But despite the awkwardness, there was a warmth in your chest knowing that even your unconscious habits were intertwined with his. It was just another reminder of how close the two of you had become, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for it.

• Yeosang

Clapping while laughing

You and Yeosang had spent such a long time together and over the course of it, you became attuned to each other's habits, quirks, and gestures without even realising it. One particular habit of Yeosang's that seemed to have rubbed off on you was the way he would clap his hands when he found something particularly amusing.

The way your hands would subconsciously come together and follow the rhythm of your laughter felt natural and neither of you actually noticed how a habit, once Yeosang’s, was now shared by you.

However, that was until one lazy afternoon when Yeosang excitedly showed you his phone, "Hey, check this out," he said with a grin, pushing it towards your face.

Curious, you glanced at the screen, finding yourself staring at a Twitter thread created by an ATINY. The thread was a compilation of gifs and videos, side by side, showing you and Yeosang laughing together. What caught your attention, however, was the caption accompanying the thread: "Am I the only one who noticed that Y/N and Yeosang have the same adorable habit of clapping while laughing? #YeoY/N."

"Oh my god they’re adorable."

"They look like cute little seals when they're laughing together, it's like they're synchronised."

You couldn't help but smile and giggle as you scrolled through the thread, amused by how certain things never went unnoticed by their fans, even if you yourselves were oblivious.

Yeosang glanced over at you, his expression softening. "I guess we really do spend too much time together, huh?"

You chuckled, leaning closer to him. "Maybe. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

• San

Covering your mouth while laughing

It was just one of those habits you picked up without even realising it – covering your face while laughing. It was something you'd seen San do countless times, his hand rising instinctively to his mouth as his laughter bubbled up. Maybe it was the contagiousness of his joy, or perhaps it was the familiarity that made you do it, but whatever the reason, you found yourself unconsciously mimicking his actions more and more as time went on.

You didn't think much of it, not until one fateful day when you and San were doing a live stream together. The comments were flooding in, a flurry of emojis and supportive messages from fans all over the world. Amidst the sea of text, one comment stood out:

"OMG, look how they laugh the same! 😍 SanYn are the cutest! 💕"

Curious, you glanced at the screen, only to see San's eyes widen in realisation. He turned to you, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we've been caught," he teased, nudging you lightly.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but there was also a warmth spreading through you, a sense of fondness at the thought of sharing such a small, intimate detail with San. "Guess we spend too much time together," you joked back, unable to suppress a smile.

But as the live stream continued, you couldn't help but notice how often you and San found yourselves laughing, your hands rising simultaneously to cover your mouths. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about the bond you shared, the way you seemed to sync up without even trying.

After the stream ended, you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to San’s cheek, you couldn't help but giggle at how much these little quirks affected you, maybe making life more comfortable along the way.

• Mingi

Making the 🥺 face

To the people outside, Mingi seemed to be very intimidating, with his deep voice and built 6ft stature but inside the comfort of his he couldn't be more different. He knew he was cute and he knew how to use it against people. One quick look sent your way with his puppy eyes and pouty lips and you would melt, at some point this habit of his rubbed off on you.

The members weren’t safe from it either, like when Seonghwa had just finished making a delicious batch of ramen for himself. The aroma wafted through the room, teasing your senses and making your stomach growl loudly. You and Mingi couldn't help but stare at the steaming bowl with longing eyes.

"Seonghwa hyung, that smells amazing," Mingi exclaimed, his eyes widening with hunger.

You nodded enthusiastically, finding yourself unintentionally mirroring Mingi's expression, your lips slightly pouting like the 🥺 emoji.

Seonghwa chuckled at your antics, shaking his head. "Sorry guys, this is just for me. I only made enough for one."

"But hyung, we're starving!" Mingi whined, his voice tinged with desperation.

You glanced at Seonghwa, your eyes pleading as you continued to unknowingly imitate Mingi's puppy-dog expression.

Seonghwa sighed, feeling the pressure of your combined adorable stares. "Oh no, I have to deal with two Mingis now, don't I?"

You and Mingi exchanged a glance before bursting into giggles, realising your unintentional synchronisation. Seonghwa couldn't help but laugh along with you.

"Fine, fine," Seonghwa relented, dividing the ramen between the three of you. "But next time, make your own!"

• Wooyoung

Smacking people while laughing

You couldn't help but laugh at the way Wooyoung told a recount of the recent Wanteez episode the boys shot, adding his own commentary in between. He always had a way of making you laugh wholeheartedly, even when you fought he would be the one to apologise first and crack a joke to make you smile. However, what you didn't realise was that you had picked up one of his habits along the way.

In the midst of your laughter, your hand instinctively swung out and smacked San's thigh, eliciting a surprised yelp from him. It wasn't until he looked at you with a mix of amusement and slight irritation that you realised what you had done.

"Oops, sorry, San!" you apologised, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you tried to suppress your laughter.

San rubbed his thigh, shooting you a mock glare. "I already have to take abuse from Wooyoung, and now you're doing it too?"

You couldn't help but giggle at his playful complaint, but Wooyoung nudged you with a grin. "Looks like my habits are rubbing off on you, huh?"

You chuckled, realising how similar you two acted these days. "I guess so. Sorry, San, I’ll try not to do that but I can’t make any promises." You winked at him.

San shook his head and scoffed at your mocking, a smile breaking through his faux irritation. "Ahh so much I have to go through,"

You and Wooyoung giggled at his words, knowing how much he loved you both the same, with the occasional physical abuse of course.

• Jongho

Scrunching your nose while smiling/laughing

As you sat on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you stumbled upon a video compilation titled "JongYn Couple Moments" ,obviously your curiosity got the better of you and you clicked on it, not fully knowing what to expect. What unfolded on the screen was definitely not what you were expecting, it sent a sudden blush creeping up your cheeks.

The video was a compilation of moments featuring you and Jongho, through the fans’ eyes, complete with dramatic commentary about how cute you two were together. Especially about the way your noses scrunched and crinkles formed around your eyes as you both laughed, with your faces making the same endearing expression.

You couldn't help but be amused as you watched, realising that you had subconsciously copied Jongho's habit of scrunching his nose when he smiled.

Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you. Glancing over, you found Jongho peering over your shoulder, his eyes fixated on the screen. As he watched the video, a wide grin spread across his face, small giggles leaving his lips.

"Wow, we really do look alike sometimes," Jongho remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You nodded, still giggling at the sight. "I never realized I picked up on your habit."

"It's adorable," Jongho said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. "I guess I've rubbed off on you, huh?"

You chuckled, leaning into his touch. "Looks like it. But hey, I don't mind sharing a few habits with you."

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DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

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luxaofhesperides · 3 months

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“You know, I never realized how true the ‘eyes are the windows to your soul’ thing was until I saw yours.” + fluff + cafe AU ; requested by @kiv1!

He’s sure Danny didn’t expect to see him every other day after he casually mentioned that he had gotten a part time job at a local cafe. However, as his friend, it is Duke’s moral duty to only get coffee from that shop while Danny is on shift, specifically to annoy him.

Also, so he can support his friend, but being annoying takes priority.

It’s a routine now, for both of them. Danny clocks in for his shift and an hour later Duke is strolling into the cafe with his eyes locked on Danny’s. The rest of the baristas always shove Danny up to the register when they see Duke, taking over whatever order he was making. Even some of the other regulars turn their attention up to the counter, hoping for another few minutes of entertainment.

Danny sighs as he gets ready to input Duke’s order. It’s never the same one, because Duke would hate to be predictable and make things easier for Danny, but it has the side effect of making him realize that some of the expensive, seasonal drinks are really good.

It’s a bit hard on his wallet, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay for teasing Danny.

“Hey,” he greets cheerfully as he leans against the counter, grinning at Danny.

Danny sighs again. “What can I get you today, random customer that keeps bothering me.”

“A latte, but make it sweet somehow. And iced.”

“What size would you like?”

“Let’s go with medium today.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Duke leans closer to Danny, watching as he fights down a smile. “I just gotta say that you got gorgeous eyes. You know, I never realized how true the ‘eyes are the window to your soul thing’ was until I saw yours.”

Danny considers this for a moment, then shakes his head. “It kind of sounds like your trying to steal my soul through my eyes.”

“Why is that what your mind goes to?”

“Well. I watched Coraline last night.”

Duke stares at Danny, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. “...Didn’t you say that movie gave you nightmares as a kid?”

“Yeah! And it turns out, it gives me nightmares even now!”

“And ruined my pick up line,” Duke complains playfully.

“It was too cheesy anyways,” Danny replies, putting Duke’s order into the screen. It prints a moment later, no doubt with some bizarre name since Danny refuses to actually name Duke on his orders, and then recites the price.

He pays and watches as Danny slaps the order onto a medium sized up, then tosses it over to the barista making the drinks. He’s not actually sure what her name is since she refuses to wear a name tag, but she always gives him a wave and also a rating of how good his pick up lines are.

“Seven out of ten!” she calls out to him today, then gets started on making his drink.

“I don’t see why you don’t flirt with anyone else,” Danny says, “I’m pretty sure my coworkers like your pick up lines even more than they like me.”

“Why would I want to flirt with them? Danny, I’m literally only here to bother you.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Yeah, trust me, I know. My good looks just keep pulling in business.”

He says it like a joke, but it’s true. Duke has noticed it. Danny’s coworkers have noticed it. His manager noticed it and now has him out on the floor every shift. If they can get him to work on the chalkboard sign outside, or wipe down the two tables out front, then they do it, because Danny is Midwestern to his core and it’s very charming in a place like Gotham. He smiles at people as they walk by, happily answers their questions when they ask him what the cafe serves, recommends food and drinks for them, is generally a bright and nice person to everyone who comes near the cafe.

His cute looks draw people in, then his personality makes them stay.

It’s all customer service, of course, because Duke never gets the cute, sunny Danny. He’s left with the sarcastic, rude, and funny Danny that’s been his friend since they met in junior year of high school.

“Your eyes are really pretty, though,” Duke says, “Very blue. Sometimes green. It’s no wonder people keep falling for you!”

Danny reaches across the counter to shove Duke away, but he’s blushing, so Duke is counting it as a win. “Shut up. Now you’re just lying. My eyes are never green.”

“Yes, they are. Danny, I’ve seen them multiple times. They’re green sometimes.”

“No? My eyes have literally only ever been blue. They’re the bluest blue to ever blue. They don’t just turn green.”

They squint at each other for a long moment, trying to figure out who’s wrong and in what way. Duke’s pretty sure Danny’s wrong, since he can’t exactly see his own eyes, and Duke has spent an embarrassing amount of time just admiring how nice they are in different kinds of light. But also, they are Danny’s eyes, so he should know what color they are.

Then Danny’s coworker is setting down Duke’s drink on the pick up counter, giving Danny an excuse to get back to work.

“One medium oatmeal cookie iced latte for Cornelius Aggravating Douglas.” He holds up the drink and makes very direct eye contact with Duke, holding out the drink towards him.

“Did you really have to make the initials ‘Cad’?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough,” Duke says, making Danny crack a smile.

“Are you heading out after this?”

Duke grabs a straw and sticks it into his latte, swirling it around some. “That was the plan, yeah. Got a few library books to pick up. Why?”

“I got approval for a half shift today, so I’m off in like ten minutes, if you wanna wait for me.”

“Hell yeah, dude! I’ll wait outside so I don’t distract you with my flirtatious winks again.”

“Get out of here,” Danny laughs. Duke lifts his drink in a quick toast, then gets out of there. He takes a seat at one of the tables out front, content to just people watch as he slowly sips his latte.

It’s cloudy out, but not raining, which is always a plus. As much as he’d like to see the sun, these kinds of days aren’t so bad, either. The wind still carries a bit of a chill, but the spring is steadily warming things up. There are tons of people out, a constant rush of movement, but a few do catch sight of him, then look towards the cafe, their steps slowing down as they think. Most keep walking, but Duke does manage to get a few to go in just by taking a long sip of his latte to really enjoy it.

Really, he should be getting compensated for the work he’s doing to draw people in. Danny’s not the only one who can do it.

Bruce keeps offering him money, so he doesn’t need to get paid, but maybe he can convince the other employees to talk Danny into accepting one of his pick up lines so they can go on a date one of these days.

It’s become a bit of a joke, but the first time Duke used a cheesy pick up line on Danny, he was being absolutely serious about it. He definitely shouldn’t have used a pick up line he found from a website centered on relationship advice, but he panicked and needed some extra help.

Instead of smoothly asking Danny out on a date, Duke froze up, blurted out the pick up line, then had to laugh it off with Danny and pretend it was a joke.

He still wishes he was able to ask Danny out properly before, but he’s also glad that they got to spend more time as friends, getting to know each other. It’s easier to be with him now, no longer so tongue tied and flustered.

Duke gets to fluster Danny now, which is much better.

And maybe one day his pick up lines will work! Sooner or later Danny’s going to question why he keeps doing this, and then he’ll connect the dots and understand what Duke feels for him.

As it is, he has yet to connect shit.

“My eyes are definitely blue,” Danny says as he walks out of the cafe, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “I checked while I was putting my apron away.”

“You’re still on that?”

“They’re blue.”

Duke gestures for Danny to come closer. He complies and leans down, letting Duke cup his face in his hands. He checks, considers, then checks again, and says, “They are indeed blue.”

“Told you they weren’t green,” Danny says smugly, pulling back.

“And I said they were green sometimes. Now clearly isn’t one of those times, but they do turn green!”

“I don’t think you should be allowed to say any eye-related pick up lines until you admit that you were wrong and didn’t know my eye color.”

Shaking his head, Duke stands up and pushes in his chair. “Just wait, I’ll catch it sometime and prove it to you.”

“Sure, whatever. Don’t you have library books to get?”

“Yeah, you coming with?”

“Obviously. Why else would I leave my wonderful job where I am left alone to make drinks in peace?” Danny knocks his shoulder against Duke playfully, then reaches over and steals his drink right out of his hand. He takes a sip, makes a pleased hum, and drains half of what was left in the cup.

“Hey!” Duke moves to take it back, which is naturally the exact moment Danny takes off running, effortlessly dodging everyone else on the sidewalk. He takes off after Danny, using his powers to make sure he can move out of the way of anything or anyone who gets in his path.

They’re past the block when Danny starts to slow down, taking another sip of Duke’s latte.

He puts on a final burst of speed and all but tackles Danny into the mouth of an alley, reaching for his cup. “Gotcha!”

“No!” Danny wails dramatically. He takes a step back and Duke watches as his power kicks up again, showing him a vision of Danny stepping on an empty can and falling back. Except he doesn’t really fall back? His foot rolls back on the can for a second, then goes through the can and settles back onto the ground where he catches his balance. Through the entire three second fall, Danny’s eyes are a bright green, brighter than Duke’s ever seen them.

His vision fades away and he moves to catch Danny, taking the chance to watch carefully as Danny’s foot does indeed go through the can. He quickly brings his gaze up to Danny’s eyes, which are green, but not inhumanly bright like they were in his vision.

Is the green not perceptible to normal humans?

He can probably only see it due to his powers. Which means he somewhat inadvertently outed himself as a meta.

Whoops!

Might as well just bite the bullet.

“Hey, do you have powers?”

Danny chokes, shoving Duke away as he coughs and tries to clear his throat. He looks panicked, wild-eyed, searching for an escape route. “What? No. Why would I have powers? Maybe you have powers, have you ever considered that?”

“I mean. I do have powers. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Hold up. Stop talking. You have powers?”

“And your eyes are green sometimes.”

“That’s. No, they’re not,” Danny lies. It’s a very bad lie, seeing how on edge he is, and as much as Duke hates making Danny feel like that, he did get some bad habits while training with Bruce and this is one of them: the need to keep pushing, chasing after clear answers regardless of what the cost is.

Duke shrugs, taking a sip of his latte, down to its last few mouthfuls, acting casual. “If you say so. But my powers don’t lie, man. As much as I wish they would, sometimes.”

“...Can we not do this out here?” The defeated tone Danny speaks with makes Duke hate himself. But he needs answers now. He needs to know if Danny is like him, if he’s safe, if he needs help. He needs it more than he needs Danny to like him at all.

“Sure. I know a few quiet places we can talk.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Danny mutters. “Did my eyes really give it away?”

“Yeah. I mean, to be fair, I also didn’t realize until literally right now, so I don’t think anyone else will figure it out just from staring into your eyes.”

“See, this is what happens when you keep flirting when you don’t mean it. Secrets get pulled out into the open and it’s bad for everyone!”

Duke lightly punches Danny’s arm, trying to lift the mood. “Hey, who said I didn’t mean it?”

“What?”

“Who said I didn’t mean it when I flirt with you?”

Danny blinks at him, confused, then says, “I mean, no one I guess. But it’s pretty obvious?”

“I only flirt with you, you know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Duke says, trying to ignore how his voice shakes slightly. “There’s another one of my secrets. Can we call it even now?”

“Oh!” The shock of the revelation distracts Danny from his earlier nerves. Which is great, because now Duke is the one who’s nervous. It’s worth it, though, seeing the pretty blush come to bloom on Danny’s cheeks. “So all those pick up lines—”

“Yeah.”

“And the pick up line made you realize my powers!”

“These pick up lines are doing the most,” Duke agrees. And then he realizes, “Hey, you what this means? I was right! Your eyes are windows to your soul!”

“I’m going to hit you,” Danny says, already winding back for a solid punch. He lets Danny hit him since it’s only fair for the stress he caused; as a meta, Duke knows how important secrecy is, how the difference between life and death can be just how well his powers are hidden.

“Are we even now?”

Danny considers him for a moment, then sighs. “Yeah, I guess. Let’s be done with this for now, okay? Let’s go to the library.”

He refuses to entertain any conversation about powers or Duke’s feelings for him. It’s nice to spend time with Danny, but by the end, Duke is sure he can feel his heart start to crack in half. A sleepless night awaits him when he gets home, moving past his cousin’s attempts to talk to him in favor of flopping face down onto his bed.

But the next day, Danny grins at him when he walks into the cafe. He doesn’t have a new pick up line, choosing instead to act as calm and casual as possible to give Danny some space.

Also breaking routine, Danny insists on personally making Duke’s drink, writing something onto the cup before he fills it up with a floral tea.

You’re so fine, you made me forget my pick up line, is scrawled on the side of his cup when he gets it.

“Enjoy your drink, Cutiepie the Third,” Danny says with a shy smile.

“The Third?” Duke repeats, relief making him feel lighter than air, “Who are the first two?”

“Don’t worry about it, cutie. Get to class!”

Duke lets Danny chase him out, and holds in his laugh when he hears Danny’s coworker screech, “What was that?!”

Yeah, they’ll be fine. In the meantime, Duke needs to see if apology pick up lines are thing. Danny definitely deserves one.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #duke went from flirting to accidentally outing both himself AND danny as people w powers. and then lowkey confessing. disaster <3 #meanwhile danny has been slowly falling for duke bc of his cute and cheesy pick up lines that he always turned into a joke bc he didnt #believe that it was real. and also his coworkers would embarrass him if he got too flustered #they all ship him and duke btw. so do some of the regulars #coffe with a two minute show lol #thank you for the prompt!!

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captainfern · 5 months

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141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part Four - Greedy •

Captain John Price x fem!reader

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - the captain confronts you about your relationships with his teammates. his reaction isn't what you expected lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 7.8k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], body worship (price is literally obsessed with you fr), fingering, handjob, mentions of foursome/sharing, unprotected piv, sex in a car wooo, praise, multiple orgasms, tummy bulge?, price has a sir kink, strong language

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

Price is a flanker – provides support play, maintains possession of the ball, and is both fast and strong defensively. price is also the captain of the team, of course.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

<- part three | part five ->

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

After your little... encounter with Simon, he helped clean you up. He gave you a pair of his joggers– which were baggy, but you tied them tightly using the drawstring, and they worked just fine. He then helped (watched) you clean the cum and saliva off your face with a cocky smile resting on his lips. When you finally did shoo him out of your office, he snuck one more quick kiss to your lips, before disappearing out of the door.

Back at your desk, you lit your favourite smelling candle to permeate the air and hopefully eliminate as much of the smell of you and Ghost as you could. But ultimately, this was a physio's office. It's bound to have a lingering smell of sweat and body-odour from the players anyway, so hopefully no suspicion would be aroused.

You also opened your window just a sliver to allow a steady stream of cool air to enter the space. Because, as you sat at your desk, you couldn't help but feel warm. Warm, because your body was still alight with the feeling of Simon– his hands on you, this thigh between your legs, his cock in your mouth...

A heartbeat appeared between your legs, and you tossed your head back with a groan. Not now, for crying out loud. You ran your hands down your face, before trying to settle yourself comfortably in your chair. But it was hard to do so when you could still smell Simon's cologne in the material when you angled your head a certain way. Even over the sweetness of the candle, and the light smell of rain in the cool breeze, you could still smell him. And that made your stomach flip, your cunt leaking into your already drenched underwear.

It was unpleasant, but you had just one more appointment before a break. Then you could go home and get changed and hopefully ignore the smug look Simon'll give you all day. Great.

A soft knocking on your door drew you away from your thoughts, and you looked up in time to see Price poke his head in. He smiled warmly, eyes squinting as he entered your office, and you returned the smile as best you could as you quelled the twisting in your lower stomach.

"Morning, captain," you greeted, gesturing to one of the chairs sitting opposite the desk. "Have a seat."

"Morning, doc," Price said as he sat down, his hips immediately shifting in the chair as his legs spread, hands clasped over his lower stomach. You forcibly ignored the movement to stare intently at your computer screen. Price looked around your office. "This might be my first visit, actually."

"It sure is," you said. "And how are you feeling?"

Price's eyes were on you the second you spoke. "I'm feeling fine, thanks, doc."

"That's good..." You uttered, before spinning around in your chair to fish his file from the paper copies in the back. Once you found it, you slapped it open on your desk, skimming your eyes over it. "Okay, so it's a shoulder injury, right? Talk me through what happened."

Price pulled up the short sleeve of his right arm, exposing the joint of his shoulder. He also exposed the strong, curved muscles of his upper arm and the way the tendons flexed when he held it towards you for a better look.

"S'just something sore in the top here–" Price tapped his fingers against the curve of his shoulder just beside the bone. "Not sure what it is. I hit a tackle a bit hard last game, and it hasn't come right."

You nodded along, listening attentively. "Does it usually get better on its own?"

Price nodded. "Yeah, I just have a bath and I'm good as new. But this one's causing me a bit of strife these past couple'a days."

You scribbled a few things down on his file before standing up with a clap of your hands, gesturing to the medical table. Price got the hint, making his way over and perching himself on the edge, his feet still on the ground. Meanwhile, you grabbed a few things from the cabinetry nearby, and approached one he had settled.

"D'you mind taking his off?" You asked him, tugging at the material of his training shirt.

He chuckled, using his good arm to pull it up and over his head. "If you wanted me to strip, doc, you could've asked me earlier." He joked, finally pulling the rest of his shirt off and letting it sit on his lap.

You rolled your eyes. "Very funny."

Fucking hell.

You physically had to turn your head towards his shoulder, rather than allowing your eyes to rake down the expanse of his torso. Price was made up of thick muscle, not necessarily defined in taut lines, but in curves along his body. His pectoral muscles, the bulges in his biceps and forearms, the slight pudge in his stomach as he sat. His chest and abdomen was brushed with short, dark hair– slightly lighter than his facial hair, though– and your body had a genuine reaction at the dark happy trail disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. Oh my god.

You shifted your body simply in the direction of his right arm and shoulder, using both of your hands to get a feel of the area. His skin was warm beneath your palms, and you couldn't help but feel slightly nervous at the way he watched you too. Gently, you squeezed and around the bone of his shoulder, then up along the ridge towards the junction of his neck. You pressed firmly to the muscles above the shoulder blade, and then trailed your fingers back down towards his collarbone.

"Any pain through here?" You asked as your hands moved, fingers pressing into the muscles just above the collarbone.

He shook his head. "Nothing too bad."

"Nothing too bad?" You echoed him through a question. "Price, you need to tell me if there's a bit of pain. I don't want you just ignoring it if it hurts."

Price spared a smile, and you found yourself liking the way his facial hair moved with his cheeks as his mouth curled upwards. Then you found yourself internally scolding yourself.

"S'just the space just below my shoulder, on my back–" Price tried to move to point with his sore arm, but he stopped with a subtle wince you picked up before the expression dropped.

"Okay, why don't you sit back down on this chair, captain?" You prompted, dragging the chair he was just on over to the medical table. You pointed to it again, and Price slipped off of the table and sat down in the chair.

At this angle, you could now easily access his back– the broad, rippled expanse of his back.

Get it together.

With gentle firmness, you pressed into the spot just below the shoulder joint, nearing the top of the armpit. You felt his muscles flex beneath the skin, and you immediately withdrew. When the pressure of your hands left, Price looked over his shoulder to see what you were doing.

"Do you have any muscle weakness at all asides from the obvious pain?" You asked, moving to Price's side and taking hold of his upper arm.

He watched you with calculating eyes as your fingers moved along the curves of his bicep muscles, up until just below his armpit, where you squeezed the muscles again, and he grit his teeth. You noted the reaction as he answered your question.

"No weakness, just pain," he told you. "And it get's a bit stiff too. When I, you know, keep it in a certain position for too long."

"Mhm, mhm..." You hummed in acknowledgement, moving behind him once more. You still had one hand on his bicep and with that hand, you carefully pushed his arm upwards. Your other hand lay flat against the back of his shoulder, feeling the movement of the tendons as you lifted his arm. "Does it hurt when you move it this way?"

You lifted his arm until it was parallel with his shoulder. He shook his head, but you could see the way his jaw clenched. You sighed to yourself, bringing his arm back down to his side and giving him a few supportive taps on the lower arm.

"You have to tell me when you're in pain, captain, or I can't help you." You told him.

Price sighed. "Fine, yeah, it's sore when you do that."

You smiled. "Thank you." Then, you pressed your hand flat to the shoulder again, and instructed him to hold his arm out forward. He did, and you felt the tendons pull and shift beneath your palm. You allowed him to settle while you rounded your desk and noted a few things down on your file.

Price cocked his head. "Is... are we done?"

"Almost," you said, looking up at him and smiling. "You can put your shirt back on."

"Oh, right..." Price grumbled, then slowly pulled his shirt back on. He did it with ease as you finished writing in your file, now sitting comfortably in your desk chair.

"So it seams you've just got some inflammation of your rotator cuff," you told him, looking up from your file and tapping the tip of your pen against it absentmindedly. "You don't have much muscle weakness, which is good, meaning it's probably not a tear in your tendons. I'd say the cuff's just a tad bruised, so it should heal up in no time."

"My rotator what?"

"Your rotator cuff. It's a bunch of tendons and ligaments that support your arm where it connects to your shoulder," you told him, pointing at your own arm for example. "It's a common injury to have the tendons get a bit bruised from a tackle, or from scrums and what not."

"Right, okay..." Price nodded at your words.

You smiled at him once more. "Do you have any questions?"

Price cleared his throat. "Uh, well, what's the healing time on this?"

"Oh, right. Well, because it's not a tear or anything major like that, it could just take a couple of weeks to get the pain sorted and for the tender ligaments to sort themselves out," you said. "All you need to do is rest it, apply ice every once in a while to reduce any swelling or pain, keep on top of anti-inflammatory and pain medication– oh that reminds me, I'll send an email to the doctor to prescribe you with the right stuff."

You moved to your computer now, beginning to curate your email. Across the desk, Price watched patiently, eyes on you the entire time. You couldn't help but feel self-conscious. Half way through writing the email, you looked over at him and met his gaze. Maybe you should just make conversation, since the weight of his stare was sending all sorts of nervousness into the pit of your stomach.

"How're the lads going, Price?" You asked with your eyes on him, before chickening out with the eye-contact and returning to the email you were supposed to me sending.

Price leaned back in the chair, hands clasped over his stomach once more. "Yeah, not bad, doc. We're on a bit of a win streak, which always makes things better, doesn't it?"

You laughed politely, and also genuinely– because you know it's true. Hell, Soap and Gaz wouldn't shut up about the number of tests they've one so far this season, and their egos seemed to shoot through the roof.

"It definitely does help," you told him. "And have the boys been behaving themselves? Johnny's always up to something, isn't he? And I can imagine Gaz would be much the same."

Price let his eyes wander across your face and briefly over the rest of your body too– well, what he could see above the desk, anyway. He hummed a response, a sure from the back of his throat, as his eyes skimmed over you. He tilted his hips in the chair, his clasped hands now resting on his lap.

"Not sure if those lads can behave themselves, if I'm being honest," Price laughed, shaking his head at memories of his boys. Then, his laughter flitted out and the heat of his gaze settled back over you like a veil. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip in thought, still leaning comfortably in the chair, the pain in his shoulder almost forgotten about. "What do you think, doc? Have they been behaving themselves?"

Perceptive, analytical as always, Price saw the way you shifted in your chair. He noticed the way some kind of expressive emotion flashed through your pretty eyes, and he picked up on the way the corners of your mouth twitched ever so slightly– a frown or a smile, he wasn't quite sure, but the movement had a surge of pride filling his chest.

His boys had been treating you well. He knew that, of course. Gaz had already told everyone about how he pursued you and how, like the perfect thing you were, let him. Price'd also heard about Soap's little adventures in wooing you as well, although slightly less graceful than the winger. Last but not least, he knew that Ghost wanted you too. He knew the number 8 had a plan to have you, just like Gaz and Soap did. And judging by the way you shifted in your seat, the way you had a slight unbalance in your walk and the (obvious) fact that you were wearing Ghost's joggers, Price knew the lads had been successful.

It wasn't so much of a game to Price as it was to the boys. Obviously, they all did genuinely care for you, and appreciate everything you did for them, but the chase of it all was way too fun to ignore. But with Price, he thought– no, he knew– that he didn't need to chase you around like a bunch of horny dogs. He didn't have to apply any sly tactics to get you to talk to him. He just had to be himself because, based on the way you reacted when he so much as glanced in your direction, he knew. He knew you wanted him, too.

"Have they been behaving themselves?" Price repeated, watching the way your fingers paused over the keyboard.

You took a deep breath and sent the email, before turning to face Price with as much courage as you could. Did he know? Fucking hell, how did he know? It was all so confusing– how on earth did Gaz, Soap, Ghost and now Price know just the right things to do to get you worked up? It was almost as though they were conspiring with each other.

Oh, wait a fucking second...

You felt embarrassment flare through you as you met the captain's eyes. He smiled calmly at you as your head flopped and you hid your face in your hands.

"Please don't tell me they told you..." You all but squeaked into your palms, with the hopes of shielding yourself from whatever comment Price was about to make.

Price released a low chuckle. "Told me what, sweetheart?"

Your body heated up at the term of endearment. What was wrong with you? Four fucking rugby union players? Are you serious?

"Don't make me say it," you groaned, finally moving your hands away from your face. "Oh, god, I am so fucking sorry. I know it's– oh my god, this is so embarrassing– I'm so sorry. I'll quit–"

"Woah, woah, woah, doc, calm down," Price said quickly, holding up his hands in a gesture for you to take it easy. "It's alright, I promise. It's okay."

You chewed nervously on your bottom lip as the heat of his gaze was almost too much for you. You squirmed in your seat, Ghost's joggers almost too hot against your legs. Your stomach was in knots.

"If... if you're referring to you and the boys' little... encounters, then yes, they have told me," Price said softly. "And– listen to me, doc– it's okay. It's completely okay."

You placed your hands on your cheeks, cupping your face as your stomach swooped with each of his words. He was still leaning so casually in that chair that it was almost unnerving. But his tone was soft and genuine, and the sparkle in his eyes was still there as he looked across the desk at you.

"I'm... I'm not in trouble?" You whispered.

Price shook his head. "Of course not."

"And... you're not mad at me?"

"Mad at you?" Price frowned. Now he leaned forward, bringing the broad frame of his upper body closer to you. "Why would I be mad at you? Why would I be angry that you're taking care of my boys, hm?"

Taking care. Your whole body flushed with heat at that, goosebumps raising across your skin as you cupped your face tighter, a whine eliciting from the back of your throat. You weren't sure if the sudden sensations you were feeling was from the sheer embarrassment of this situation, or the fact that Price's comforting words, paired with the baritone of his voice, was– oh my god– turning you on.

What the hell was your life at this point.

"Price–" You whispered.

"Why don't I take you out to dinner, and we can talk a bit more about it. How does that sound?" Price asked, getting to his feet. Instinctively, you got to your feet as well, but you remained tucked behind your desk. You weren't sure if you were grateful for the small barrier between you and the imposingly attractive man on the other side of it.

"Are you sure?" You voiced, tentative. Your eyes darted behind Price to the door, where you could hear the rumbled voice of the coach echoing down the hall. Your stomach turned.

Price obviously knew what you were thinking. "It's okay, doc. You can come to dinner with me without getting in trouble. I promise you. I wouldn't compromise you like that."

You chewed your bottom lip again, thinking. When you did finally look back at Price and forcibly maintain eye-contact (which was difficult considering he was looking at you like he wanted to bend you over your fucking desk), you nodded.

"Yeah... dinner would be nice, thank you."

He smiled. A wide grin. "Yeah? Alright then, sweetheart. I'll pick you up at six-thirty. How does that sound?"

Your eyes widened, stomach flipping again. "Oh, tonight?"

Price nodded.

"Oh... oh, okay, yeah. Six-thirty's good."

"Good," Price was still smiling. "I'll pick you up then."

As he headed for the door, so casually that it made your heart rate pick-up, you called after him: "Don't you want my address?"

Price chucked as he opened the door. He looked over his shoulder and winked at you. "I'll just ask Gaz." And then he was gone.

Your entire body was on fire. What had you gotten yourself into?

•º•º•

Six-thirty rolled around and you were ridiculously nervous. You didn't know what to expect, and you had half the mind to just cancel and then lock yourself in your bedroom for the next few years. But when a knock sounded at your door at six-thirty exactly, you swallowed your nerves and opened the door to fine Price standing there.

The captain was well dressed, and you couldn't help but stare at how fucking good is arms looked in the dress-shirt. After exchanging pleasantries (kept to a minimum since you were afraid you might pass out if you talked too much), Price led you to his car and helped you into the passenger seat. He got in on the other side and drove off. You fidgeted with your fingers on your lap.

"You look gorgeous, sweetheart," Price said, sparing a look at you while driving. You felt yourself warm at his words, fidgeting with one of the rings on your fingers. He noticed, and reached his hand across the centre console and blanketed both of yours in one of his. "It's okay, doc. There's nothing to be nervous about."

"Nothing to be nervous about?" You asked as he began stroking his thumb along your knuckles. You hated admitting to yourself you liked it– and that you missed it once he pulled his hand away. "I have a lot to be nervous about, Price. One reason being I'm probably going to lose my job–"

"Why would you lose your job?" Price asked genuinely.

"Why would I lose my job?" You looked at him as though he was crazy. "Do you realise what–?"

"That's enough of that. You're not going to lose your job," Price decided to interrupt you before you had the chance to spiral. "You've done nothing wrong."

"That's not true–"

"You've done nothing wrong except look after my lads who, by the way, are very, very thankful," Price glanced at you, annunciating the second very in a way that made your heart skip a beat. He turned back to the road. "They're very grateful too. Not only have you patched up their injuries, you've given 'em something to focus on."

"Focus on?" You frowned.

Price nodded. "They tend to do better during games, and focus better during trainings when they know you're watching. And they love it when you watch. Makes 'em feel... proud."

"Proud?"

"Mhm, proud," Price said. "They're proud of themselves that they have a pretty thing like you keeping an eye on 'em, and they're proud of you for paying attention to 'em."

"Right..." You mumbled, eyes looking out of the windshield at the steady, fast-moving flow of traffic you and Price were behind.

Silence filled the car as you stared out the window, fingers still spinning and sliding one of your rings up and down your finger. You also chewed on your bottom lip briefly, all kinds of thoughts whizzing through your head. So many thoughts were bouncing around your brain that you were surprised that you weren't dizzy yet.

After allowing for a few moments of silence, Price glanced at you once more, clearing his throat. "Can I ask you a question, sweetheart?"

You turned to face him this time, altering your attention towards him rather than the road. You nodded, humming your consent and you watched as he stewed over the question in his head, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

"You like me how you like the boys?" Price asked gently. "Or are you just acting all shy 'cause I'm the captain?"

He looked at you once the car rolled to a stop at a red-light. The red reflections of the car infront's break lights reflected in Price's eyes, and you wondered whether your eyes appeared a glassy red too.

Despite your nervousness, the anxious bubbling in your stomach, the slight tremor in your fingers, you mustered up enough courage to look him dead in the eyes and say, "I think you're smart enough to figure that out yourself."

Price's eyes darkened, but his lips curled into a smile. The lights turned green, which drew his eyes back onto the road. After a moment of driving, of turning a corner and adjusting his speed to the traffic, Price glanced at you again.

"Four rugby lads, doc? You got a thing for four, hm? S'abit greedy, isn't it?" He almost purred, and the butterflies in your stomach were no longer there because of nerves, but because of... well... horny.

You shrugged, a rueful smile appearing on your face as the car stopped at another red light.

"There's nothing wrong with being a bit greedy, is there?" You prompted, eying the captain with purpose. "Besides, it's not an issue if everyone shares, is it?"

Price tutted at you, shaking his head with a sly grin on his face. He looked at you in such a way you swore you could've melted into the car seat. "M'not sure if you've noticed, sweetheart, but my lads and I... well, we work as a team, yeah? And we certainly don't have a problem with sharing. Especially when we all really want something."

"Hmm..." You hummed and the light turned green. Price almost didn't notice with how locked-in he was on you. You gave him a little nod– pay attention, captain– so that he'd continue to drive and not anger any of the cars behind.

Now, it was your turn to reach across the centre console and place a hand on the thick expanse of Price's thigh. God, you had been wanting to do that for so fucking long. And, making your heart flutter, Price settled a hand on top of yours and held it firmly. Warm and solid and secure.

"Have you shared in the past?" You asked, and Price's quick response was a shake of the head.

"Not like this," Price answered truthfully. "Not– not like this, no. We've talked about it, but we've never... agreed on anyone. Until..."

"Until?" You raised your brows.

Price smiled. "Until this pretty little physio strolled through the front doors of the rec room and made half the bloody team fall in love with her in the first fifteen seconds."

You laughed. "Half the team?"

"Mhm."

"Well, good thing I don't want half the team," you told him, finger's squeezing his thigh. He sucked in a breath. Your smile grew. "I only want four, and that's fair, isn't it?"

Your hand squeezed and groped the thick muscle of Price's thigh, and you could visibly see the way he stiffened– the way his body tensed up at your touch, waiting expectantly to see where your hand would move too. But you didn't move it from the spot around mid-thigh, petting him there beneath the weight of his large hand.

"Seems fair..." Price grunted, jaw tensing. Your fingers simply squeezing his fucking thigh was enough to have a significant amount of blood rushing towards his cock.

He tried to concentrate on the road. He really did. But your touch on his leg and– christ– the weight of your stare against the side of his face was enough for him to slowly lose focus. He missed the turn towards the restaurant but, as he was about to express his frustrations at having missed the turn, you opened that pretty little mouth of yours.

"Price..."

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Finally, fucking finally, your hand trailed higher, and Price let you. He let your fingers skate just shy of the crevice between his thigh and groin, where his cock was definitely half-hard in his trousers. Price gripped your fingers tighter, but made no move to stop you. It was just purely to make sure he didn't absolutely lose it.

"M'not that hungry anymore. Well, not for food, anyway."

•º•º•

It didn't take long for Price to find a secluded carpark down an empty street to pull into. Maybe it's because he was speeding, maybe not. Either way, it also didn't take him long for him to settle himself into the backseat and pull you with him. And it certainly didn't take long for your clothes to be removed, and for him to be dragging his hands down every inch of your beautiful body.

Price groaned low in his throat the entire time he worked you with his hands and fingers. As you straddled his lap, he groped and grasped at your breasts, kneading the soft flesh against his hardened fingers and palms. He pinched lightly at the buds of your nipples, tweaking them with his thumbs, watching you closely as you arched against him.

His hands didn't stay in one place for too long, as though he was eager to touch you everywhere. His hands coasted down your sides, squeezing the expanse of your waist and hips, rocking you against him. Price watched the way he could manipulate your supple skin beneath his hands, the way he could form ripples and folds against the flesh beneath his probing fingers.

"You're fucking perfect," Price muttered as his hands moved from your hips to your thighs, running up and down. You whined quietly as he grabbed at your thighs, before shifting his hands back to your midriff, where he pawed at your stomach. His hands were big and warm, and one pushed down on the pudge of your lower stomach, pressing lightly. He groaned. "God, I can't wait to stuff this pretty tummy with my cock, sweetheart."

He said it so quietly, so tenderly, that it didn't make you moan. Instead, you released a whimper of his name as his gaze remained transfixed on where he pushed against you. Finally, he tore his gaze away, his eyes instead darting over every single inch of your face.

"You're gonna feel it right here, doc," Price pushed gently again, and you couldn't help but squirm against him. He hummed, content, as though the thought alone was absolute bliss. Which, to him, it was. "Yeah... yeah, m'gonna fill you up with my cum, n' you're gonna really feel my cock, aren't you, sweetheart? Gonna feel it right here in this pretty tummy..."

He rubbed your stomach as he leaned forward, his other hand clasping the back of your neck to drag you into a heated kiss. You whined against his lips as he split your mouth open with his tongue, delving inside with warm flicks against your own. You held onto his broad shoulders– minding his injury– and began absent-mindedly grinding down against him. He was still fully dressed, and that turned you on even more.

Price got the hint. He pulled out of the kiss, the small bit of facial hair just below his lower lip sparkling with your spit. He didn't go far though, as he continued mouthing at you, dragging his lips along your jaw and then down your neck.

"Unbutton my shirt." He whispered against your neck before skimming his teeth against the skin and sucking. You obeyed, popping the buttons of his shirt with shaking fingers. You managed to undo all of them by the time Price was finished practically chewing on your neck, judging by the amount of saliva and visible teeth indents against you. You expected something like that from Johnny, not Price. But either way, it turned you on. Of course it did.

"That's a good girl, well done." Price nosed at the bottom of your ear before pulling away and shucking the rest of his shirt off. His trousers followed– he popped the button under your excited gaze, unzipping them, before lifting his hips to pull them down.

He did so with you still on his lap, his strength not at all surprising. After his trousers were bunched up beneath you now, his boxers followed, and you let out a loud moan as his cock sprung free against his abdomen. Immediately, you grabbed hold of it, and Price released a thick grumble that had your cunt dripping onto his lap.

He wasn't as long as Simon, but Price was fucking thick. The weight of him in your hand had you whimpering, and the beads of pre-cum settling against his slit made your stomach flip. You ran your fingers gently up and down the solid, velveteen length, watching more and more pearls of pre-cum begin dribbling out of the reddened tip. He huffed out a breathy groan, watching the movement of your hand as your foreheads came together.

As you gently stroked his cock, one of Price's hands slipped down from your tummy to your thighs. His fingers traced the silken skin of your inner thighs before he found your slick core, his hand cupping you there for a moment before he ran a single digit up and down your folds.

You moaned against him, his finger joined by a second, now toying with your clit with tiny ministrations, as though you were made of glass. Your hand on his cock faltered as zaps of pleasure appeared in the base of your spine, forcing you to arch and wriggle in Price's lap. His fingers were warm and almost rough against the sensitive bundle of nerves, but you were in heaven– his circles growing deeper, his touch falling heavier as he drew shapes against you.

You moaned again, and this time, Price caught it with his mouth. He kissed you deeply, smoothing his tongue against your own as his fingers moved from your clit to your dripping hole. He wasted no time in pushing two fingers inside you, catching more of your moans in his mouth. He moaned too at the feeling of your tight, wet walls constricting around his fingers, your arousal smearing against his hand.

"Fuck, Gaz was right," Price groaned as he pulled out of the kiss, dropping his head to suck at the column of your throat. "This is such a perfect– fuckin'– pussy–" He punctuated his sentence with thrusts of his fingers, ripping whimpers from you.

His fingers worked quickly, thrusting in and out of you and filling the car with obscene, wet squelches. The windows– tinted, thankfully– were slowly beginning to condensate as you ground yourself down onto Price's hand while stroking his cock.

His cock twitched and leaked in your grasp, so hard that you could feel the heat of him against your palm. The flushed tip was leaking so much pre-cum that you had only had to spit once into your hand to slicken your movements.

Your stomach was no longer alight with butterflies or nerves. You felt confident and, hell, happily horny as you jerked off the captain of one of the best rugby union teams in the United Kingdom. As Price's head moved back to take a good look at you against his lap, it was your turn to lean forward and suck kissed up the side of his neck. He groaned loudly when you attached your lips to his skin, the vibrations tickling your lips as you sucked. You continued sucking kisses all the way up to the base of his ear, before nipping playfully at his earlobe.

"Oh, fuckin' hell..." He grunted, hips bucking into your fist, his fingers losing rhythm inside you for just a moment.

But he found his memento soon after you whispered into his ear, "You're making me feel so good, sir."

Sir. Sir, sir, sir–

Price leaned his head back against the headrest and groaned outwardly, the word sending even more blood (if that was even possible at this point) to his cock, more pearls of pre beading at the ruddy tip. He groaned your name, his fingers increasing their pace, the heel of his hand grinding into your clit.

"Sir? Yeah, that's right, sweetheart, call me sir." Price whispered as you sucked a bruise just below his Adam's apple. It bobbed at the feeling of your tongue and teeth laving against him. His fingers curled inside you, and you mewled against his skin.

His fingers, long and thick and hitting that good spot inside you, pulled you closer to release as you continued to fist his cock. You prised yourself away from his throat, giving yourself just a second to admire your handiwork, before you were tossing your head back as your entire body began to tremble. Your hand on his cock desperately tried to maintain pace, but you struggled with the way in which his fingers were fucking you. It was hard to focus on anything else but that.

"S'alright, sweetheart, let go've my cock and come 'round my fingers, it's okay," Price whispered, eyes on your face as he continued to curl his fingers inside you, thrusting upwards. You tried to keep your fingers moving around him, whining at him that you wanted to keep stroking his cock, but he shushed you, using his free hand to cup your face gently. "I said it's alright, doc. Jus' want you to come, yeah? Don't worry 'bout me, jus' come 'round my fingers."

Your mind wanted to ignore him, but your body listened– your hands flying up to hold onto both of his shoulders just as your orgasm rocked through you. You came around his fingers with a stuttered moan of his name, your hips tilting and rocking against his hand, his palm still flat against your swollen clit. He fingered you through your release, that had waves of heat rolling across you, his eyes transfixed on your face.

"An' Soap was right, too..." Price muttered, removing his fingers from your cunt and forcibly shoving them passed your lips and into your mouth. It was the first time of the night he wasn't gentle. "You do look fuckin' gorgeous when you come."

Before you had a chance to lazily wind your tongue around his fingers, he pulled them out of your mouth and sucked them into his own. It was lewd and wet, but the sight of his eyelids fluttering shut at the taste of you made your core begin to throb again.

You wondered if these men were increasing your libido somehow.

Price removed his fingers from his mouth and wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. He fisted himself for a second, his other hand moving to your hip to urge you to rise just a bit. You did, holding onto his shoulders for support, as you hovered over him. Then, Price guided his cock until it was aligned with the slick entrance of your cunt, before rubbing the leaking tip back and forth between your folds.

You mewled when he circled the head around your hole, probing gently but never pushing any further than a few centimetres. He did this repeatedly, his eyes on your face, watching your expression as he teased the head of his cock against your cunt. Eventually, you looked down at him with a fucked-out frown– your best orgasm-drunk attempt at scowling– and whispered, "Please fuck me, Price. Need you so bad."

"Aw, do you, sweetheart? You need my cock?" Price queried with just the right amount of condescension in his tone to have you wriggling against him.

"No– well, yes– but need you. Please, sir, please."

Slowly, Price pulled you down as he slanted his hips upwards, pushing his cock into your wet hole. You let out a desperate moan, clutching his shoulders as you sunk down onto him. The wet heat of your cunt swallowed him, your silky walls clinging to every ridge and vein on the length of his cock as he bullied his way inside you. Price moaned too, low and deep, switching between watching his cock disappear inside you, and watching the changes in your facial expression.

"There we go, sweetheart..." He bottomed out inside you, the tip of his cock nudging that spot inside you that had sparks bursting in your tummy.

You whined, pawing at him, dragging your hands down his bare abdomen and running your fingers through the coarse hair. Your fingers found his happy trail, and you rubbed the pads against it, whining still.

Price stilled, not yet thrusting. He chuckled lowly. "You like that?"

"Yeah, fuck," you said breathlessly. "Wanna kiss it."

"You can kiss it next time," Price told you, kissing you gently on the cheek. "This time, 'm gonna fuck you like you deserve."

That's when he held both of your hips and snapped his pelvis upwards, driving his cock deeper into you. You choked on a moan when he pulled out slightly and then shunted himself back in, proceeding to repeat those movements over and over and over again. Your moans were getting trapped in your throat as he planted his feet on the floor of the car and thrusted up into you, pulling you back down with ease. You bounced against him, hips rolling.

As he fucked you, you couldn't help but realise the gravity of your situation. The captain of the rugby union team you were physio for was fucking you in the back of his expensive car. Not only that, but he wanted to share you with three other players. And, not only fucking that, but you had already had your pussy eaten by one of them, masturbated in front of the second, and sucked off and thigh-rode the third.

What kind of blessing was this?

Now, you were being stuffed full by the fourth, who had an obsession with groping and grasping every inch of flesh he possibly could. As he speared you on his cock, he massaged his fingers against your hips, delving down into the top of your arsecheeks. Your breasts bounced in his face, and he had to stop himself from taking one into his mouth. Instead, he looked at you the entire time. You were the prettiest damn thing he'd ever seen.

"S'that feel good, sweetheart?" He asked, the car rocking gently around you, tinted windows fogging. "S'this what you needed? Needed to be stuffed full'a my cock?"

You nodded, swamped in delirium as you rode his thrusts, the head of his cock slamming against your g-spot, your cunt squeezing around him.

"So good..." You whined, thighs drawing tighter around him.

You were close, and so was he. Price knew he wasn't going to last very long as soon as he got inside you, and he was right. His balls were pulling tight, his cock twitching inside you as your cunt tightened around him. Sweat built on his brow, his breaths were falling in pants, and his thrusts were growing increasingly sloppy. He needed you to come.

He was in luck.

"Price, sir, m'so close–" You mewled, interrupting yourself with a moan. A thin layer of sweat covered your lower back, and the base of your tummy tingled with your growing orgasm. Your clit pulsed too, dragging against the hair at the base of Price's cock, forcing another desperate, whiny moan from your mouth.

He fucked you hard and fast, quickly snaking a hand down to toy with your puffy clit. The sudden, sporadic movement of his fingers paired with his deep thrusts were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time that evening.

You gushed around his cock, your orgasm drawing a long-winded moan from you. You moaned his name, your body trembling against him as he fucked you through it, the fat head of his cock unrelenting against that perfect spot inside you. Your arousal coated his cock, soaking through onto his lap as his pace increased.

"So fuckin' beautiful," Price whispered as your body went lax against him, barely managing to hold yourself upright. "Fuck. I can't fuckin' wait to share you with my boys. Can't wait for you to take all of us, how's that sound, sweetheart?"

You whimpered softly. That was about all you could do in your state. Two orgasms in and you were absolutely wrecked.

Price chuckled, thrusts mismatched and desperate as he grew closer to release. "Yeah, I bet you'd like that..."

His cock continued bullying up into the plug of your womb, stretching your cunt open and forcing more drips of arousal onto his lap. Price maintained his finger on your clit, rubbing lazily as his other hand held your hip tightly and pulled you back down onto him. He was panting like a dog, grunting from deep in his chest as your tight, wet cunt pulled him closer to orgasming. He can't recall coming this soon during sex ever.

He was so close. Before he came, he took his hand away from your clit and pressed down on your tummy again, moaning when he felt the light imprint of his cock fucking up into you. You moaned and, without much warning, came again.

"Christ–" Price gritted his teeth as your third orgasm spilt around him, your walls sucking his cock in further. Still with his hand against your tummy, and still stuffing you full of his cock, he whispered lowly to you, "See, pretty girl? I told you you'd feel it right here... my cock stuffin' this pretty tummy..."

He groaned, and with his hand flushed against the soft mound of your tummy, he came inside you. You could feel his release inside you, all thick and warm, painting your cervix. Price thrust a few more times before plugging his cock inside you and tucking you against his chest, the both of you panting.

You laid like that for a while. Both of Price's hands wound around you and held him to you, the two of you basking in a heady post-sex silence. After a few minutes, Price slowly peppered your face and head with kisses, rubbing his hands along your back.

One of his large hands cupped the back of your head where you rested it against his chest, listening to his heart beating.

"You okay, doc?" He asked, rubbing you, tending to you, appreciating you.

You nodded. "M'fine. Just sleepy..."

Price placed a tender kiss to the crown of your head, continuing to hold you close as the dark tint of his car windows and the condensation trapped the both of you in your own little world. Outside the car, evening had turned to night, and it had started to rain.

"Sir..." You said after a while.

He hummed against your, his face still pressed to the top of your head.

"Do... do you really want to share me?"

Price peeled his face away from you. Gently, he grasped the back of your head and angled your face towards him. He leaned down and placed a sweet kiss to your lips, before pulling back and gazing at you softly.

"Wouldn't mind it," he joked, but then said seriously; "If that's what you want, of course. You don't have to do anything you don't want too."

You nodded in acknowledgement. "I know... and, I do, you know."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I... I like all of you."

Price smiled. "Greedy girl, hm?"

"You love it." You bit back, chasing his mouth for another kiss. He let you swipe your tongue against his lips, and he smiled against your mouth when you attempted to deepen it.

You pulled back with a huff and he laughed. "Eager?"

"Shut up." You grumbled.

Price kissed you long and hard once more before settling back against the car seat. He took a deep breath, looking back down at you. You watched him expectantly. He cocked his head at you, brows raising, imploring a silent what?

"I can basically hear you thinking. What're you thinking about?"

"What am I thinking about?" Price placed both hands on your cheeks, holding your face so that he could get a really good look at you. He smiled. "I was thinking... I mean, the boys and I were thinking... are you free this weekend?"

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#captainfern #141rugby!au #captain john price #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #captain price #captain price x reader #price smut #captain john price smut #cod price #cod smut

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aschriles · 7 months

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Secret identity shenanigans AU where Danny is an intern at LexCorp and has no idea the guy he's been flirting with these past few weeks actually wasn't a fellow intern, but was the son of his boss' boss, and is also Superboy.

(Yeah, that Superboy. From the Titans. The one who kept flirting with him while they were on the field, and sent him a DM on his Phantom account insisting they met during Danny's internship. In his defense, Kon wore flannel. And glasses.)

Danny might not have the best relationship with rich people (see: Vlad), but he had to suck it up if he was going to intern at LexCorp. Anyway, it wasn't like he'd have to personally deliver Luthor his coffee every morning.

Except that's exactly what happens. Somehow, by some sheer cosmic force of the universe, he ends up interning directly under Hope, aka one of Lex Luthor's personal assistant. Which means he's like, Lex Luthor's personal assistant's personal assistant... or something. In theory, it was perfect. In reality, it was stupid.

It was stupid, because Hope sends him out for Luthor's special coffee (an iced Americano from that one coffee shop all the way on the other side of Metropolis) and pastries (a whole-ass apple pie) at nine in the morning every single day when everyone and their mom knew the traffic was literal hell, then expected him to be back at the office five minutes later. Among other things, of course. For the thousandth time since he got stuck in this hell-hole, he made a mental note to burn all of Luthor's robots to the ground the next time Superman called for the JLD to help out with Luthor's stupid invasions. Stupid Luthor. Stupid coffee. Stupid apple pie.

Danny grumbled under his breath as he speed-walked inside the lobby. "Why can't Luthor just take his coffee and shove it—"

"Up his ass? Yeah, that's what I ask myself aaallll the time."

Danny whipped his head around so fast, he almost tripped on his feet. Sitting on one of the comfy couches was a guy around his age. He looked like a weird cross between a country boy (flannel and glasses) and a punk (messy dark hair, piercings, and was that a tattoo?) but like, in a hot way. He also looked—he looked kinda familiar, in an 'I know I saw you from somewhere' kind of way, but Danny couldn't remember where he actually saw him from. He shook his head, figuring he could deal with it later. "You an intern, too?"

Made sense he wasn't the only intern around, but a part of Danny couldn't help but pity the poor guy if he got stuck interning as Mercy's personal assistant. Mercy was scarier than Zatanna and Nightmare Nurse combined.

Flannel shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, I do some odd jobs here and there, so..." His face lit up, like an idea had suddenly occurred to him. "Hey, I could come with you, if you want. As like, moral support or something. You're heading to Hope's office, right?"

Danny paused. Technically, it's not like there was any harm with letting another intern tag along. Plus, he could use some help with the apple pie. "Sure, man. I'm Danny," he added, since it was the polite thing to do, even if he couldn't go for a handshake because Luthor's stupid coffee and apple pie required both hands.

Flannel grinned, all teeth, and maybe he really was famous, like a model? Or someone from TV? Danny was pretty sure he'd seen that smile before. Maybe Flannel was a random civilian he'd rescued? "Nice to meet you, Danny. The name's Conner Kent, but you can call me Kon."

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #conner kent #super dead #dc comics

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hollyhomburg · 7 months

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Before I Leave You (Pt.60)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Life changes come in many many forms; courting gifts, leaving jobs, and...Murder

Tags: Slow burn getting warmer, Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Trans! Tae, Transphobia, gender thoughts, workplace discrimination, flashbacks, murder, the word 'r*pe' is used to describe what Geumjae did to her but there are no graphic depictions of it, allusions to physical abuse, graphic violence, there is a brief moment where someone not in the pack touches the m/c's ass without her consent, blood, briefly implied suicidal actions- but it's nothing like what you haven't seen before.

W/c: 12.6k

A/n: i'll be attending my cousin's wedding at the time this is posted so! give me lots of love when you read it cuz i'm so nervous~ i've never been around so many fancy people before <3

Previous part ~ Masterlist

You dab at the skin under your eyes carefully. You know they must look red and puffy. Tae’s careful instruction to treat your skin well as all good baby pups should has somehow stuck.

Even here. Even now.

“Do people like always loose it with you? Like when they walk in, do they all cry?”

Your therapist (yes, your therapist) across the narrow room is the opposite of threatening; soft face, pulled back hair, neutral clothing that might just as well be out of a country living catalog.

You don’t know where Jin found her, what little medical booklet he perused like a take-out menu, or how much her services cost per hour. Those kinds of details were not for delicate little pups like yourself to worry over in his opinion.

Most of the time, you're glad not to have to worry about things like this. But right now you're chomping at the bit. Weighting your odds. The other unknowns hover before you. One sticks out. One you're most concerned about.

Is she trustworthy?

Nothing about Dr. Rima seems outwardly threatening, yet you curl in on yourself. She smiles, scrawling something on the top of her notepad before she answers, and something taught in you ticks tighter.

“You’re correct in assuming that most people I meet cry in the first few minutes when they meet me, but you are the first person to cry on my threshold. Most of the time people wait until they’re at least in the chair.”

That has a smile tugging at your lips, albeit unwillingly. Your smile is like a leashed wild animal, with too many teeth when you feel threatened. Contained for now.

If you got up and walked out right now, would she call someone to restrain you? Will you be committed if you tell the truth? Or are you just misinterpreting the stakes?

You are here of your own volition. Even if it was a condition that Jin and Namjoon weren't willing to budge on after the events of last week. It's not like the pack is having you put in a mental institution or something, although they did come with you today. For moral support.

The waiting room was stuffy and yellow, one of those little waterfall mirrors in the corner that you’d watched in a fog sat between Yoongi and Jimin while Jin filled out the necessary paperwork. His pen hovering over the small boxes every few seconds. He'd taken the afternoon off of work to make sure he was there, just to fill out paperwork.

Are you on any medications? Do you have a history with substance abuse disorders? Do you have any intent to harm yourself or others?

Sending glares to anyone who dared to come too close, Jimin had looked and smelled threatening. You're not sure he’d have let you go into an isolated location with her if she’d been an alpha. Jin too had looked close to snapping.

yoongi was the only one who looked somewhat calm, althoug his hand was tightly laced with yours (and a little sweaty)

It’s a wonder that the rest of your pack had agreed to stay home for this. This was just one of several concessions you’d made after what the pack has politely begun referring to as 'sad pup time' during your more vulnerable moments, and blatantly 'your breakdown' during less fragile ones.

But sweet words or not. The facts remain; You are here in this chair after a nearly tearful departure.

You’d met the therapist in the doorway, shaking in your boots, and upon being separated from your pack with the promise that they’d be just downstairs in the lobby, you’d followed her inside.

Yoongi had made a noise in his throat, making you turn back. Dr.Rima turned to watch as he’d pulled you in for a last-minute hug, ducking down to your level. “One hour, okay? We’ll be just downstairs. Text me if you need me.”

His eyes were heavy-looking at the stranger. Unwilling to let you go just yet. A little stalwart, a little standoffish.

“Take good care of her please. She’s very precious to us.”

Precious.

That much was evident by the nearly three-page document that both your pack alpha and omega sent through once Namjoon and Jin had selected Dr. Rima as your therapist. Dr. Rima has quite a bit of experience dealing with overprotective pack alphas and pack omegas. Let alone a pack alpha and pack omega who have such a clinical background.

Yes, you must be well taken care of. At least on paper.

She’s already itching a little, to get her hands on all the others. Packmates and their names are written out, as a part of all intake files. Large packs aren't so common anymore. Her eyes fix on one name; Min Yoongi (beta, mate) unemployed.

The big windows help it feel not so small, on the second floor, the trees block out most of the view of the park below. A small voice that sounds like Hobi whispers that it’s a shame she doesn’t have any plants in here, they'd do so well with all of this natural light.

Your knees clack together a little, moving listlessly, the anxiety in your body begging to be released somewhere.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Why don’t we start with why you wanted to come in today.”

You avoid her eye contact, looking instead at the tops of the trees, you don’t know why they haven’t changed color yet, all of the trees on your street are half bare already. She has a smooth inoffensive scent, but you’re mated to a beta so you know what to expect when it comes to the relaxing effects, the subtle haze at the edge of your vision. It must come in handy, having the biological upper hand, when it comes to patients in distress.

If therapists are rare, beta therapists must be even rarer.

You can practically hear Jin, “Nothing but the best for my pup.” There is a part of your brain that won’t ever turn off, appraising everything around you. The designer pumps that she wears. The knickknacks on her desks, there are no photos of any packs that she might call her own, just a pink calendar in the corner.

Your breath goes just a little bit rapid, just a little, hitching when you think of it.

“Did Jin tell you anything?”

“He didn’t. Although my secretary did inform me that he filled out the paperwork for you.” The air in the therapist’s office is cold. Cold enough that it has you wrapping your sweater sleeves over your knuckles.

Your cheeks heat “My pack they- get a bit- protective.” Your fingers circle your wrist. You’re glad that Hobi convinced you to take one of his sweatshirts. He'd had a strange look on his face while he zipped it up, and you'd had to worry and wonder about it the whole morning. You'd worried more once he texted, just after he must have gotten to work.

“I have kind of a history of self-destructive behavior and I- I kind fell into bad habits a few days ago and blew up. It was all kind of triggered by this like- thing that happened with me and my other packmate.” It’s surprisingly easy to tell the truth.

You’re a right side better than you have been the last few weeks, now. A little bit more present, less foggy. The doctor just looks at her screen and not at you. What is it with her asking questions that make you not want to lie? Why does it feel like you should anyway?

Dr. Rima reads between the lines, what you're trying to say without saying it. “Is there a possibility of you hurting yourself again?” She clicks at the screen a little rapidly.

“No.”

The truth is you have no idea. It seems best to lie in this situation. But you consider it; one of your packmates making the call that you are too much to handle, that you need more help than they can offer. You imagine what it would be like to be in inpatient care. Grippy socks and group therapy and probably observed mealtimes. Maybe Iv's and feeding tubes if it came to that. Away from the pack and away from Yoongi.

He’s just downstairs, but that feels too far. There was no way that he was going to let you do this alone, you wouldn't be surprised if he never left the waiting room.

It’s just a therapy session. The very thing that you once refused. But now that you're here you might as well heal, you might as well work to stop this endless train of brief highs and endless lows. you'll give it a go, why not? What do you have to lose?

And yet, the texts from Hobi remain unanswered:

Ho-🐝 (9:48): Hey, I’m really proud of you.

Ho-🐝 (9:48): I’m really happy I get to be your packmate. In case you ever worry.

Ho-🐝 (9:49): And your best friend too <3

Ho-🐝 (9:51): Just so you knowwww

The pack has kept you substantially plied with little solutions since your breakdown last week. They haven’t let you rot like usual. They’ve kept your days full of little activities; nothing too extravagant or tiring. Letting you rest when you need to and encouraging you to get outside of your comfort zone when it’s clear you’re giving in.

It comes down to that more often than not; giving in or not giving in.

Not giving in looks like trips back to the beach with Hobi. Like going to the salon with Tae and shopping with Jimin. Or another workout class with Jungkook where you’d spent more of the time lounging on the yoga mat than actually moving your body. But you'd still tenuously agreed to sign up for more classes under the encouragement of Wonho and Jungkook.

And now twice a week, you’ve got a mat to call your own during any classes, in the back, if you decide you want it. Your callender hasn't felt so full in years, it feels strange, to have something to do during the weeks that isn't just scraping the bottom of the barrel and doing house chores. Strange in a good way.

Not all of the pack's solutions aren’t silly but sometimes, silly is a good way to push out the dark.

The morning after your breakdown; you'd watched your pack work, fighting back a flush. Sitting at the kitchen bar stool while Yoongi applied painter’s tape to the floor, not intent on keeping back paint this time, but marking it off for you.

You’re a little bit more determined this morning although your first night without nightmares in a little over a month had kept you in higher spirits. You feel more well-rested than you have in ages.

“You don’t need to- I promise- I’m not going-“ but your requests had fallen on deaf ears. Worry building until Jungkook stood up fast grinning up at you, pupils wide brown pools from getting scented stupid this morning.

(Scented stupid, you'd been scented by the pack too, had struggled a little against it, too shy as Namjoon dragged his throat along yours, squirming until yoongi held you down a little, checking with you each few seconds that you wanted that, that your squirming was really just needing to feel a firm touch, a dominant one.

You will go nowhere until your pack have had their right to you, scenting you up, making your scent gland tender and swollen under their teeths and tongues.

It felt so much better to be made to handle it, each of the pack, even hobi, hovering over you to scent you with their wrists and throats. until you smelled so claimed by them that you couldn't breathe without smelling it- Pack.

Jungkook had pouted until he'd gotten the same treatment, although the omegaspace haze had lasted longer on him than it had on you.

He stands up so fast that his hair fluffs. Catching himself on your leg with a giggle before he topples over. grinning up at you before pressing a sleepy sloppy kiss to your knee and then another to your lips,

“No pup zone!" Omega Space Jungkook can get a little bit ridiculous even at the best of times. He's got a case of the morning omegaspace zoomies as he giggles and nips at your nose. You playfully push at his chest. He doesn't budge.

"Your whole face is a no-pup zone." The dissatisfied pur-chirp he'd let out had sounded half hurt, half encouraged.

Namjoon had eased your discomfort. Pulling you from the stool to lean back against his chest, fingers drumming out a rhythm on your legs as Jungkook huffes into your throat.

Having this failsafe- this rule, does not mean that they think you’re going to fail, these are guard rails to keep you on track. Namjoon looks down at you, his full bottom lip tucked a little, not a pout but close. “This is the easiest solution, if you don’t go near it then maybe, maybe it helps.”

His fingers drum against your skin again, and you lean back into him. Uneasy but willing to let him soothe you.

So yes, you’ve been banned from the kitchen, banned from crossing that line that runs from the edge of the coffee stand and just in front of Tae's library room, to the island and over to the fridge. Unless there is someone else close by. You are not allowed here without supervision.

It’s a simple solution, limiting you from the place that you use to hurt yourself. Never mind the fact that there are dozens if not hundreds of other possible avenues you could use. Your creativity knows no bounds when it comes to pain, but you quiet that part of yourself when the desire for hurt gets loud.

You can’t say it hasn’t helped. But then again, the pack has kept you so busy since your breakdown that you haven't had any time to think of hurting yourself let alone put any plans into action.

Across from you, Dr. Rima waits expectantly.

"It was kind of triggered by this thing that happened."

The tip of her pen bobs a little as she writes. “Could you describe the event to me? Or is that something you're not ready to talk about?" You nod and she waits patiently. It takes you a breath to answer.

“A little less than a month ago one of my packmates and I found a dead body."

You feel a little vindicated at her inhale of breath. Wide eyes that say yes- that is something traumatic, yes, it's fair that it kinda triggered you into a more fragile state.

"It dredged up a lot of feelings about my past. Before that, I was kind of starting to feel s-safe which I haven't like, ever been able to feel."

“And your packmate?"

There is new treacherous wetness balancing on your waterline. “Hobi’s a lot stronger than me, his past and mine are really similar but he just- handles his better. A lot of the time it feels like I learn from him even though he’d tell you the opposite is true. He’s my best friend." Your voice goes quiet, "I love my mate more than I love anyone else, but sometimes- Hobi just- gets me you know?" You go a little misty-eyed. Hands tightening on Hobi's sweatshirt.

“Yet he’s not the one sitting in my chair right now.”

You close your eyes, "he's not."

“For what it’s worth- you can have more than one best friend.” Dr. Rima writes as quickly as she can, taking it down. “How long have you been romantically involved with him? Who came first, your mate or him?”

You jolt forward, “Oh no- we’re not- Hobi and I aren't-" You take a deep breath to clarify. "Everyone else in the pack is together but Hobi and I are just friends. We all have our like… little units?”

"Primary partners." Dr. Rima offers.

"Yeah, that." But even that doesn't really cover it, because while Jin and Namjoon are JinandNamjoon and Jimin and Tae are JiminandTae. Jungkook is everyone's problem (in the best of ways) and you and Tae are something else too. The pack's girls the rest of them would say.

(You and Hobi are, well, YouandHobi.)

It sounds weird to say it once it comes out of your mouth. It makes an odd choked feeling lodge in your throat. Too much hope and too much shame for hoping blooming in your chest.

“I don’t know if I want to talk about him.”

She folds her hands over her knees, setting her pen down. Dr. Rima has chubby hands, disproportionate to her body. They look like they'd be soft.

She reminds you of your mom a little bit.

“That’s okay, we can talk about whatever you want. What you want and need is going to be the focus of our sessions. You’re the pilot here. I’m just here to help you interpret your thoughts and feelings.”

She folds her hands over themselves, setting her pen aside, “Why don’t we talk about the last time you remember feeling safe.”

"Physically or mentally?"

"Either, you can choose."

The rest of the session passes frightfully quickly. You can’t say that you don’t cry again. When you finally talk about Geumjae, her smile quickly dissipates. You talk and talk and talk until your throat is raw. Until you’ve depleted the whole box of her tissues. She shows you she's got more hidden under her desk when you apologize, her secret stash gets a laugh out of you.

“The fact that your pack omega filled out your paperwork isn’t the most unusual, but his preference for daily meetings or every other day is a little bit on the nose for a pack omega, I’m wondering if you share his preference.”

“He’s just overprotective.” She eyes you like Jin has good reason to be. You don’t blush this time, a little more comfortable with Dr. Rima than you were at the beginning of this. “I think maybe more than once a week but not every day.”

“How does Monday- Friday sound?”

~-~

When you walk to the door with Dr. Rima Yoongi stands abruptly from his chair.

You can tell by the shiny edge to his to his scent that he doesn't want to stay here any longer than necessary. He gets the information about your next appointment and then tugs you out the door.

Jins got his legs crossed, fancy leather shoes glinting in the sunlight by the windows. The lobby is buzzing with people coming and going. This building isn't just a therapy office but a collection of other businesses with a few shops and restaurants on the ground floor as well. He looks up and double-takes when he spots you, not standing from his chair, but he opens his arms and you fold yourself along his side, conscious of the other eyes but this.

This you need.

You press your face along the column of Jin's neck, breathing his cream scent in deep.

“Oh pup.”

Your red-rimmed eyes are too obvious and you sniffle wetly, “It was okay, I like Dr. Rima.” He laces your hands together and resists the urge to pester you with questions. Yoongi's hand is still tangled in the hood of your (Hobi's) sweatshirt. Your therapy sessions should be yours and only yours. Yoongi and Jin do not have Dr. patient confidentiality.

And yet the need to know if that helped burns through them. They won't have to wonder for long.

By the coffee stand, Jimin waves and he returns to you when the barista hands over a bag of sweets and a quad of cups. Jin continues scrawling something out for another second before he’s standing and pulling you in for another chaste scent mark.

“Let’s go home.” It's somewhere between an order and a request. But no one disobeys.

On the drive back (37 minutes total) you're a little quiet. You let the sounds of the others be your buffer. You look down at your phone and stare at Hobi’s texts. You respond with just a little heart emoji when you finally still can’t figure out a good response and you're close to home.

Home is its usual conflagration of moving bits and pieces. Each of your packmates is like a shiny cog in a pretty clock, tick tick tick tocking along. Tae and Namjoon are at the table looking through some of the pack’s bills, the pastries and coffee cups litter the table with little piles of powdered sugar and cinnamon. jimin bought enough for the whole pack.

You look at them a little too long, although not because you don't want to eat them. It’s been a while, a few weeks since you’ve made something like that, but every single one of the pastries is something you know how to make. You don’t know why you keep looking at them.

Tae smiles at you, still in the doorway. and it makes you feel a little less like you want to burst into tears. Her voice speaks of the quiet time you have in the library (the tenderness of having someone else do your makeup, another person combing your hair). You hope you'll get some dedicated one-on-one time with her soon.

"Hey little lovely, How was it?"

"She put me through the wringer but I think she got some suds out."

She and Namjoon giggle and you smile small. and you can tell that Namjoon wants to ask you more but he doesn't after a pointed look from your mate. There are footsteps in the hall and before you can move to take off your shoes Hobi is standing in the archway.

Yoongi efficiently strips you of Hobi's sweatshirt with a frustrated huff. It's Kind of like he’s trying to peel away the sadness (your clothes are soaked with your sour scent, rainy and unhappy. Regardless of Jin’s scent mark, you kind of stink).

You might have overheard their words just before you got into the car. Jin's hissed admonishment. “A lot of people cry during therapy Minnie, she’s not in trouble, can’t you smell it?”

Your scent is mellow underneath the memory of your distress, going sweeter by the second. Yoongi wants all memories of your sad scent banished from the house. Hobi stands at the door to the hallway, shifting back and forth, his eyes a little warmer than usual, hands shaking a little bit.

You’ve caught him looking at you a lot since the night he ran away, in the quiet moments when he thinks you’re not noticing. Eyes a shade warmer than usual, a sweetened franticness to his scent. Nervousness and happiness mix like blueberries and whipped cream.

When he pulls up beside you during movie nights and sits thigh to thigh with you. When his hands intertwine with yours over his knee or sometimes or when he pulls your legs sideways across his lap. He looks at you like that when he's doing the small things and he's looking at you like that right now.

You know how love starts, that it starts with the small things.

Hobi resists the urge to open his arms. would you come to him? Would you fold your body along his front so that he could feel your heartbeat? Pressing again and again to the opposite side of his chest with every thump?

He doesn’t say hey, but he does step a little closer. Fingers reaching out. The pad of his index finger slides down the meat of your pinky till it reaches the ball of your wrist. His own special hello.

Your breath hitches, just barely, almost imperceptible if it wasn’t for how close he stands.

A look behind you says Yoongi hasn’t made himself scarce, instead fussing with the pack's coats. Now that it’s getting colder, they don’t all fit by the door. You look behind Hobi and find Namjoon watching the three of you, he raises a singular eyebrow.

“How was it? Bad?” Hobi asks, breaking the silence and the tension, drawing your attention back to him. The next breath you let out is a lot less heavy, and your eyelashes flutter as he steps closer. Hobi smells good, a little earthy, mellowing out his usual sweetness. Sweet for an alpha.

“It was kind of hard, I kinda wanted to run away for a bit at the beginning." You can't keep meeting his eyes with how intensely he's looking at you and they flutter down to his hands. "I almost did.”

"I'm glad you didn't pup." Jin comments, full of reproach, the mirror to you and Hobi as he leans down to press a kiss to Namjoon's forehead. Shucking off his lapelled jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt.

“If you’d have called me, I’d have picked you up. We could still like- run away, if you're down.”

But the house is starting to heat up, and Jin and Yoongi are starting to cook. The light is still honey-yellow happy. And you tip your cheek into his arm. He finally- finally lets his arms settle around your waist.

“Nah, not yet.” You drag out the syllable all playful, and something forbidden stirs in Hobi’s gut. “Jin’s making my favorite tonight. not until later?”

Hobi goes silent, pulls back, biting his lips, eyes flickering from your eyes down. and-

You laugh and Hobi blushes. “Just spit it out.”

Everyone’s been a little bit touchier with you since that night (a little more overbearing too). You won’t immediately chalk Hobi's touchyness up to what you're all thinking. But the affection makes your scent gland feel tender. Zinging when Yoongi steps up behind you and nuzzles into it, huffing again.

Friends can hug each other after therapy right? Hobi swallows thickly and you feel it against your collar bone as he pulls back and steps away from you. “I ugh- got you a present?”

You brighten up instantly, and Hobi's anxiety increases tenfold. A bit of casual mischievousness on the edge of your lips that always have Hobi feeling like he’s being teased even though he knows he isn’t.

“Oh? A present? You’ve never gotten me a present before!”

He kicks at imaginary dust bunnies, fighting back what he knows is a noticeable flush. “I ugh- still owe you, from the car you know and honestly it's not even like a big gift it's like- so small in comparison and-”

Yoongi huffs and continues to disrobe you. Pulling your sweater over your head when he’s not satisfied that your unhappy scent has dissipated. Muttering something like. “hopeless alpha” under his breath. Your tank top pulls up, inches of your hip and skin on display. It's nothing that Hobi hasn't seen before and yet the blush reignites. The sunshine to your morning glory.

“I guess you're right.” But it doesn’t feel like it. Hobi doesn’t owe you anything for that, not when it was so easy to give. Not when you’ve gotten so many late-night drives from that gift.

Hoseok got the idea for your courting gift, one morning while watching you say goodbye to Namjoon:

The pack alpha has always been a fan of goodbye kisses, good morning, and goodnight kisses too. The particular kiss that morning had ‘I’ll miss you’ written all over it. It was so pretty in the way that you lingered, arms around Namjoon’s neck. His hand is underneath your shirt on the small of your back. Such a small touch and yet so gently possessive that it had Hobi aching to see it.

Hobi is unfortunately prone to jealousy and it turns the back of his neck hot. Makes his hands feel oddly tender. He's distracted by the visual, the task of packing up his work bag forgotten. Hoseok’s shift at the flower shop doesn’t start for another few hours, and he’s waiting, watching, an unhappy voyeur.

You and Namjoon have quite the height difference, if he was in between the two of you he’d be the perfect middle ground. That’s just another stupid thought, another stupid thought in the countless number of stupid thoughts that he’s had. (I like my alphas a little pathetic, and nothing's more pathetic than an alpha pining after an omega.)

He grumbles.

Yoongi prattles on, more awake than all of them as he outlines what you have to do today to make progress on the house- which is to go find a place that sells cheaper tile than the ones you first thought of using in the bathroom on the first floor. And maybe change it up a little.

The bathrooms escaped the renovations somehow, and a few nights ago- Jimin had admitted how much they actually use it even though it’s not the pack's primary bathroom anymore. Now that it’s not in use, they’re more willing to part with it for a few days for some very necessary re-styling. it toes the line from vintage to old a little too hard. The yellow is a little…yellow.

Yoongi wants to go light and airy with the color scheme, like he did with the upstairs bathroom and it's seafoam and brown tones. But like with most of the house, your vote is for colorful. “How about a light blue-” Yoongi continues to argue while you kiss Namjoon a little senseless in the doorway, at least Namjoon seems properly dazed, chasing your lips when you pull apart.

“No- we don’t have a room that’s magenta yet!”

This starts the same argument as always; “We can’t make every room in this house pink for Tae.”

But goodbyes take precedence, and when you turn back and smile at Hobi he flushes, shy to be caught looking. He moves, stepping around you and Namjoon to put his water bottle into his bag when you shout, “Stop, Seokie!”

Seokie is a new nickname, one that Jin only uses in the quietest of moments that you've somehow adopted when you don't want to call him Hobi. Hobi always thought that if you’d use any other nickname with him- you’d use daisy (he might want you and yoongi to share that pet name). But he’s a good pup and stops what he’s doing. Every atom in his body every electron no longer circulates neutrons but circulates you instead. Pulled in by your gravity.

You’ve moved so suddenly that you’ve spilled a bit of your coffee onto the floor. Maybe kissing Namjoon has left you feeling a little dizzy too. Yoongi just sighs fondly and wipes it up. Jimin looks up from his phone, smiling when he sees.

“You’ve got a rainbow on your cheek.”

It’s a trick of the light, early morning sunshine refracted through the mottled window just right to cast a single rainbow on the wall and on Hobi when he steps in front of it.

You cup his cheek, finger skimming across where the rainbow sits.

"Pretty."

Hobi feels hot all over.

At Tae’s call of, “If I have to do my eyeliner one more time I’m going to scream!” You giggle and dart away from him. Going to tend to Tae with a soft reply of "I've got you baby."

Hoseok is left, blushing in the morning light. Staying still like you might come by and cup his cheek again, Like a flower staying still in the hope of pollination.

Hobi is left, wanting to scream and somehow demand you back, both would be fair. His plight isn't missed by his packmates, who lean in like a set of jackals, grinning ear to ear at hobi's flustered predicament.

She's going to send him into rut if she's not careful Jin thinks, but doesn't say. instead he teases, “You’ve got to leave in the next ten-minute Hobi.”

Only then does Hoseok move- released from his spell and finally losing the rainbow on his cheeks though they might as well have stayed with how happy and warm he feels. How absolutely incandescent the love is glowing in his chest. A full spectrum of feelings, longing for you to come back.

He almost trips over noodle, darting after you with his tail raised high, catching himself on the edge of the couch at the last second, one shoe on and one off, his water bottle falling and spilling in the process.

yoongi sighs, and stoops to wipe it up. Jimin giggles and pulls Hobi up by his hips, the alpha's fingers feel hot where they've touched him, scalding. “What’s wrong, omega got your tongue?” yoongi returns to his breakfast, throwing the wad of soggy paper towels into the trash.

Jungkook laughs, “It’s more like he wants an omega to have his tongue in her-“

“You guys are gross,” He pushes at Jimin’s shoulder finally moving right. Yoongi hides his smile in a mouthful of Captain Crunch.

Hobi doesn’t think about the rainbows again until his next afternoon shift. When the low angle of the autumn sun cuts through the windows and catches the suncatchers that they hang in the doorway of the flower shop and cast more rainbows- dozens of them really across him and the flower.

He remembers when you came to visit, how you'd lingered over them, looked at them a second longer than you looked at the plants.

It’s a bit of a kitschy display. Other polished stones and nick nacks sitting on the deep shelf along with some smaller potted plants. A little tray of rose-quartz stones falsely advertises themselves as ‘heat reducers.’

The colors start to blend, and the rainbows sway softly in the light, gentle and pretty. He snaps a photo and thinks about sending it to you, but doesn’t.

The store is blissfully empty of Hobi's coworkers when he selects three of them. It's quiet when he packages them in tissue paper, one with a huge pink stained-glass moon at the top, another with three tiers. Each of them is delicate and pretty in their own right. No one’s bought a single one of them in the last three months anyway. They'll hardly be missed. Hobi gives himself a fat employee discount.

Hobi is unfortunately bad at hiding things, especially when he's nervous. Luckily the pack alpha doesn’t have it in him to tease. Namjoon had in fact been only too encouraging and given him a pep talk just this morning about courting and courting presents.

“The worst that can happen is that she doesn’t like it- and then you just have to try again which you were already planning on doing anyway.” Namjoon is quite simply the best at courting. It doesn't matter which subgender; alphas, beta’s, and omegas have all fallen under his touch. At least Hoseok has the opportunity to learn from a professional. Somehow the thought that you'd compare him to namjoon doesn't cross his mind.

Hoseok isn’t good at the romantic gestures that courting necessitates. He’s more of the ‘there when you need him’ kind of lover. Ready to make the small changes to make his loved ones' lives more manageable. Ready with his car keys for adventures. Those parts are easy, this is out of his depth.

Especially when it comes to you. Even After the love confessions, (are confessions still confessions if they’re so internal?) Hobi feels mostly unmoored. About to shatter upon unknown shores.

God, crushes are so frustrating (in the best kind of way, the way that keeps you sighing and daydreaming, the kind of way that makes you look in the mirror a little longer).

Tae helped him half an hour before she started on the pack's paperwork. They'd spent an hour deciding which places were best to hang them to get the greatest number of rainbows. She had even fussed with his hair a little to make it lie right. Having him hop up on the couch so she could see Hobi's face from your angle.

Hobi wanted to make sure there were at least one or two rainbows when he shows you. But when he leads you to the sunroom, his hands over your eyes (the same position you found yourself in when Namjoon surprised you with the nesting pod) there are more of them than there were when he set them up, whole constellations swaying softly.

The suncatchers are pretty and twinkly sparkly in the golden hour light, and your lips part in a simple show of awe when Hobi tells you you can open your eyes. It's so bright, they send dozens of little rainbows across the walls and your nesting pod. Over the white couch and the fig in the corner.

It’s very very pretty. and when you turn back to look a thim, Hobi once again has a rainbow on his cheek.

Your eyes twinkle, but you don't say anything. you stay quiet for long enough that Hobi gets nervous. his anxiety makes him talk fast. “I hung them here- but you can put them wherever you want- in the kitchen or upstairs or I can get you more for any places you want to put them- or- or- ”

You just about tackle him, arms looping around his neck resting your weight in his arms that instinctively grip around your waist. Hobi teeters, unsteady with such a heavy heart, toppling both of you onto the couch as you cry. "I love it!"

You’re sprawled not lying across him but his hand goes out to support the way you cling and rub your face into his chest, a happy little chirp slipping past your lips.

The wild thing in Hobi’s chest settles, settles, and curls around you. Tight and protective like a vice. You pull back, and your smile is just as bright.

Hobi sags, and rests his neck back against the couch, "Good- thank fucking god- I was so fucking nervous-" You fiddle with the buttons on his flannel, it's one of Yoongi's. It seems fitting that you steal his clothes and he steals Yoongi's.

"What brought all this on?"

Hobi doesn't have a good answer, in the quiet with the rainbows, or at least an answer he's ready for. He doesn't say that this is a courting present, and he doesn't need to because instead of answering your question- he replies with one of his own.

“Wanna go for a drive later?” he asks, voice tremulous like he thinks you might refuse him. You’ve never said no to him before, never said not tonight only not right now. Do you treasure our little talks the same way I do?

“Sure, after dinner? like I said? Just-" You lean back against his chest, and Hobi’s hands go tight tight tight around your waist. Holding you close. Clingy. He does not slip his hand under your shirt to cup the side of your hip the way that Namjoon might, but the thought crosses his mind.

Hobi is a good alpha, he won't cross that line until you tell him it's okay. Until then a thin layer of fabric separates his skin from yours. You're still warm to the couch.

“Sit and watch them with me?” You ask quietly. Almost shy, like you think he’d refuse you. He nods and the two of you sit on the couch to look at the rainbows together.

Eventually, Noodle finds the two of you, meowing and hopping up to stretch out along your thighs. Worming his way between the two of you.

The rainbows don't last forever, but Hobi sits with you until they fade.

~-~

Tae’s library is just like every public library:

Tall windows, wide quiet shelves with room for the stories to breathe. A colorful young adult section and an even more colorful kid’s section. A bit aways from the tables and computers so that any over-excited pups don’t disturb the adults. Big deep beanbags for small children to cuddle up to while they ponder fairy tales and adventures only a plastic-covered book away.

Tae’s long plaid skirt barely makes a whisper along the ground. The colder weather has allowed her to live all of her cottage core fantasies, her dark academia aesthetic truly flourishing. Her shirt is a little translucent today, and the fading summer tan of her skin pokes through it in spots where her tank top doesn't hide. Pretty long earrings dangle and clink in the quiet while she works on her shelving.

Wearing her chosen clothing items at work has been a bit of a work in progress.

Most of Tae’s coworkers approve of her transition in that overly willing-to-be-an-ally way that middle-aged women who generally consider themselves progressive outside of closed doors all do. And the ones that don’t approve have swallowed their words with lingering sour eyes and raised upper lips after the general receptiveness to Tae’s social transition.

It's hard to know who's genuine with it, who just doesn't want to cause a fuss, and who just doesn't give a shit. But most of the time her outfits get one or two compliments and thats it. Tae would rather them say nothing than anything negitive.

Tae likes the quiet of the library at this time of day, the silence gives her enough room to let her imagination wander. Tae likes to file away books in mid-morning, when there are fewer people around and her humming is less likely to disturb any of the library’s patrons. She sings to the stories and they sing back, tempting her with every well-worded title and delicately chaste summary.

But she doesn’t just think about stories or the book she's writing (her book is currently giving her hell on the 30th chapter) No. Today- there is a much more interesting love story blooming in her head, in the pack's den too.

She’s been thinking about you all morning (Tae thinks about you almost every morning) there are even little poems scrawled on the edge of her newspaper. Lines that are you and a bit of Hobi too.

I wished that I might be your hair clip / to know what it feels like / to be pressed against the nape of your neck/ To be your suntan/ perched on the edge/ of what you show everyone and what you show no one/ To be the bearer of every freckle/ like the sky holds the stars/ To hold and never let go/ Like birds hold sunshine / and flowers hold songs.

Everyone had noticed of course, how much time you and Hobi have been spending together.

The pack had even talked about it during a quiet moment without you and Hobi. Yoongi’s lack of communication regarding you and Hobi. “I don’t know anything” he’d unsuccessfully lied, and nearly been heaved up and wrestled to the couch as a result. But Jungkook’s puppy eyes had unsuccessfully endeared him.

Yoongi has kept Hobi's secret, but it's kind of hard not to notice. Tae isn't a fool. Tae is a much better liar than Yoongi is- because when you'd come to her after your late-night drive to gush with her about Hobi and the rainbows over makeup. She hadn't said anything about what she knows.

Tae couldn’t tell you how many times she’d noticed little touches, Hobi’s hand lingering on the small of your back, grabbing your waist when he moved behind you in the bathroom. When he take the greatest care to set out his sweatshirts in the morning and even asks Jungkook to make sure they’re clean. They’re practically not even his sweatshirts anymore with the amount you’ve been wearing them.

Tae isn’t an idiot, she knows that Hobi’s finally realized it. While she doesn’t trust herself to play matchmaker given how poorly the first time she pointed out Hobi’s attraction went. that doesn’t mean she’s not going to park herself firmly on the edge of her fantasy land with a box of popcorn.

If they were gonna get married, would Hobi wear a red tux or black or grey? Her brain is already thinking of wedding dresses. One of these days she’s really going to have to make a Pinterest board. Hobi would probably want to do sunflowers, and that might clash with the red unless it was a fall wedding- ooh, and what about pearl details and daisies? a beach wedding might be a little too on the nose for you.

Tae is so absorbed with her shelving and her daydreaming that she doesn’t notice the sound of small shoes on the carpeted floor. Nor does she notice the light-up flash of tiny iorn man sneakers. Her musings are easily interrupted by a small tug on her skirt, shy almost. She startles a little, looking down at the sudden touch.

The little pup's thumb is wet from where it was clearly placed behind their bucked teeth. He's got wide brown eyes and soft-looking hair, Tae can't stop the smile that comes to her lips.

“I wanted to read a book but I couldn’t reach, can you help me? Please?”

Tae’s heart swells as she leans down to the pup's level. “Of course, I can! Why don’t you show me what one you wanted,” diligently Tae follows the little one a few isles over, tugged along by their insistent pulling as he tells her about the pretty cover.

The little pup turns back, furrowing his bushy brows up at Tae, “are you a princess?” he asks. Tae almost has to laugh, a bright happy gender euphoric feeling filling her chest, that feeling of I could be filling her.

She makes her whisper just a little more hushed, playing along, “Don’t tell anyone okay? It's a secret.” The little pup nods, eyes darting around like there are dragons that would threaten her.

“What gave me away?”

“Princesses wear long skirts!” the pup says cheerfully, like it makes the most sense in the world. He's a little too loud and Tae winces. He finally finds the shelve with the story. The spine glimmers pink and gold and Tae is unsurprised to find the illustrated copy of Cinderella. Not the Disney or PJ version, but the Brothers Grimm version.

Tae cringes at the pair of doves on the cover.

Tae doesn’t say that the little pup is too small to read a book so big, or that there is one with more pictures much more appropriate away from the young adult section. The child can’t be more than 6 years old.

But still, Tae retrieves it and delivers it to their waiting arms. The little one clutches it to his chest, thanks Tae, and then promptly plops themselves onto the carpeted floor right there.

He opens the first page, huffs, and then looks up at her imploringly.

“I just realized I can’t read.”

He pouts and Tae melts. Tae wonders where the pup's mother is, but really, there certainly can't be much harm in this. This isn't the first time Tae has been guilted into reading a story to a pup while their parents work or make use of the library's computers.

"Just the first page.” She intones, caution for the child’s hopes in her voice, she presses her skirt under her knees and sits on the scratchy carpet. The pup curls close to see the pictures. Resting his tiny chubby cheek in the billow of Tae’s big puffy sleeve.

Tae's chest is all tight as she reads. The pup is very well-behaved, he pauses, and asks questions in a soft voice only when Tae gives him space to respond. Tae easily ommits the parts that aren't appropriate. but tae finds herself watching the pup a little bit more as the minutes stretch.

In a few years with your own little ones around, will Tae become the defacto bedtime story reader? Will she do this with the pack's pups one day? Will she be the one to take that bright little light in their eyes that imagines things as greater and more and cultivate it? Her cheeks feel warm at the prospect, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings in excitement.

Your pups and Jin's pups too- they're gonna be so loved. Tae's gonna be the best mom to them, The best alpha too.

One page turns into two and then three. In this quiet corner with only Tae’s voice as ruler and god, the little pup hinges on every word. Until there’s another voice close by. An adult not wishing to be loud, a whispered name.

“Jae?”

Tae smiles up at the woman at the end of the aisle of books. Her smile turns sweeter when Jae hops up and runs to press his face into her jeaned thighs. Tae remembers how that felt, how every scent besides Tae’s own omega mother felt overwhelming and icky.

Tae stands with a crack of her knees and makes to hand over the book, “This makes a great bedtime story until about chapter 8, that one you might want to skip until he’s a little older.”

The woman makes to smile, but it only goes so far. Tae watches in perfect detail, everything in slow motion, as her eyes flicker down to Tae’s Addams apple.

She drags her child close by their wrist quicker than Tae can blink. Tae sees the moment that the child realizes this touch isn’t gentle, wide eyes going fear-stricken as he's tugged behind her back. And then it's all downhill from there.

I'll spare you the more vile bits.

But the saddest moment of the argument that follows (Which involves not one but three of Tae's co-workers to calm down the hysterical woman whose screeches echo around the quiet library) is when the pup tries to get his mother's attention. "Mom, I liked that she was reading to me."

"He" the certified Karen hisses, moving in a way that makes the pup flinch back. "-should know better than to corrupt a pup with such- such-" her eyes dart down and up, and Tae's skin burns. "Disgusting behavior."

The misgendering doesn't even sting. What does hurt is the eyes peering in. She isn't being quiet and it's causing many of the library's patrons' attention is diverted. Tae's coworkers have put themselves between Tae and the woman. But there still aren't enough people (enough packmates) in between her and the verbal tirade.

An hour later, after the woman has left after threatening to call the police, Tae talks with his boss and his boss’s boss. The room behind the front desk is glass, and he knows that the door doesn’t keep the sound of their raised voice out.

“I wasn’t harassing her child; I was just helping him find a book for Christ sake!”

The worst part is that this isn’t the first time that this has happened. No- since Tae came out there have been two other complaints leveled against her from bigoted patrons. Both right at the beginning before she got the hang of presenting how she wanted to.

At least those confrontations weren’t face-to-face. At least those complaints didn’t end with someone threatening to call the police and a pup cowering, tugged along too roughly out the door.

The little pup had glanced back at Tae, mouth in pout, eyes swimming with tears.

Even if the woman felt righteous in her anger, the least she could have done was not yell in front of the pup. Tae promises herself right then and there, that she'll never raise her voice in front of the pack's pups, not in anger.

The book has stayed on the counter at the front. Pink and gold and treacherous. Tae hopes that if anything, the pup finds it and reads the ending one day. Stories have a way of finding us, even when the world makes us let them go.

Now in the back room behind the check-out counter. Tae’s boss levels her with an expectant look, the kind that people give when they don’t want to be transphobic not really- it’s just so hard for them not to, so learned. Tae is the nail that sticks up. It’s bullshit really. Tae can tell it's bullshit before she opens her mouth.

“Really? He asked for Cinderella?”

“Yes.” Tae’s biting tone is an alpha’s tone, not a man’s, and yet she knows how it sounds.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m not lying.” Is Tae supposed to only help some children find the books they want? Is she supposed to look at them and make her best guess if they’ve got homophobic parents and skip them over? It’s not her fault that the sweet sweet pup’s parent was a bigot.

“I can’t help but feel like- you’ve got a personal agenda-“

"Charlie-" the district manager cautions.

Tae can’t stop herself from snapping, alpha anger sparking with the intent to burn. “Little boys should be allowed to read Cinderella if they want to” Rats and all. Her hands are shaking, and it isn’t missed by them. The room smells thick with Tae’s spicy cinnamon anger.

The district manager sets her hand on Tae's shoulder, and her anger ebbs just a little. “I think maybe you should go home a little early today, just to cool off. We can talk about it more tomorrow.”

Tae doesn’t want to go home early, Tae doesn’t want to go home at all as she packs up her books. Her bag lighter than usual, absent of the stories that she wants to take home. For once there aren’t any that she wants to read.

She walks to the train station because Jimin won’t be off work for another 2 hours and that’s when he’d usually pick her up, the last three days he’s gotten her flowers too; white roses the first day, pink the second, and red the third. She sends him a text.

Tae <3 (1:48): I left work early today, you don’t have to pick me up, I’ll get an Uber home.

Mini-alpha (1:49):!!!!!

Mini-alpha (1:49): What happened? Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up? I can leave now.

Tae sighs, looking down at her phone while she waits for the crosswalk light to come on. Red still, green in a few seconds, she only has to wait. She can practically feel Jimin's nervous energy through the phone. it's a wonder he doesn't immediately call her.

It makes her soft. It isn't in Jimin's nature to give any of his lovers any space but he always makes an effort when it comes to her.

Tae <3 (1:53): No. It’s fine. I’ll talk to you when you get home.

Tae doesn’t want to talk to Jimin about transphobia again. At least not yet. It’s too much energy. It’s not that Tae doesn’t want to make what happened during Namjoon’s rut better. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk about it- it’s just that there’s nothing to talk about, the explanation of his actions are such a burden for Tae to bear. And Tae trusts that Jimin’s heart is in the right place even if he makes mistakes. And even telling Jimin off, yelling at him, wouldn’t change it.

Either one day Tae will not have to deal with bigoted parents, either one day she’ll pass and won’t have to worry, or she'll always be in this awkward middle ground.

Trans people are like toupees, you only notice them when there’s something off, something a little misplaced about them. Tae fears that most of all. Femininity, as much as she wants it, as much as it's hers to take, what if it won't ever fit right? What if she never passes?

Tae loves her job at the library, it’s the perfect mix of boring and safe and easy even if it doesn’t pay enough. But even as she's gained things like skirts and puffy sleeves, she's exchanged them for days like today. Really, the library was her favorite place before today and now, every step away from it makes her feel a little lighter. She's not even angry anymore, just exhausted mentally.

Tae decides to walk home at least she’s in her most conservative channel flats, they could use a little bit more wear and love and Tae’s thoughts are still too sharp. She dulls them to a palatable edge that all falls apart when she gets home.

You’re there, thank fucking god you’re always there when she gets home. You’ll always be Tae’s comfort person.

Tae opens the door with a creek and push of cold air, you're saying something to Yoongi turning with a toss of your hair, eyes brightening when you see her before you've even said her name.

You look a little healthier today, with a little bit more of a rosy glow to your cheeks and a healthy brightness to your eyes, not all glassy.

"Tae! You're home early!"

Tae will never stop being proud of how hard you try, and will never stop being a bit envious either because Tae-

Tae looks at you and wilts, bag flopping onto the floor, and predictably burst into tears.

"Oh- oh Tae."

"Baby girl-"

You and Yoongi are just about the best security blanket a packmate could ask for. You're so good as you pull her down to your level so you can kiss away her tears, maneuvering her like a perfect team onto the couch. Yoongi's strong hands slide off her shoes. Yoongi's fingers digging into her sore heel as you kiss away her every tear.

A substantial amount of babying and a Sos packmate in distress text later, and Tae is reclining across a freshly fluffed nest, the muscles in her body relaxed. The blisters on the back of her feet are bandaged and kissed. Every inch of her body is too.

You don't talk about it until after the pack's facemasks are finished, and hobi's clear coat has dried over the tiny nail sticker that you left. a small bumblebee.

Your skin smells sweet after a long long bath full of fancy bath bombs. Jinnie had also rubbed oil onto her freshly shaven legs. You helped, dragging it along oh so carefully to not nick her skin. Ending each pass with a kiss to her ankle and then upper thigh.

Tae’s head is in your lap now, cheek pressed against your (slightly chubbier) thighs. Her sniffles the background music as Tae gives her final recap of what happened.

Your nose gets a wrinkle in it when you go cross. "There's so much meanness to the world, I hate how people have to add to it."

Jimin’s anger leaves an undercurrent in the air, dragging the other alphas along, Hobi’s hands are strong where they dig into Tae’s shoulders, belly down in the nest while you play with her hair, braiding it back and forth. The attention makes her feel a little tingly.

“Do you know what her name was? Did you get a look at her car-“ Jimin asks, nearly barking. The library has cameras. Jimin knows it does.

Jin sets a hand on the back of his neck, a scruff threatening. “Down pup. Tae doesn’t need you to track them down.” Jimin’s teeth look particularly sharp in the light. For a face so soft he has quite the mouth on him.

“They made her sad,” he growls, but it's softer, more pointed as he crouches over her.

Namjoon’s quiet voice unlocks the whole world's worries, massaging gently down the column of Tae’s delicate neck, rough hands, worn tender touching her regardless. Namjoon is rarely ever so pointed, but it's logical, from an alpha's perspective, Tae knows what he hints.

"I think that if your bosses aren't going to protect you from people like that, then I want you to leave your job." Jin gives him a look like, 'Now you know where I'm coming from' but Tae's the important packmate right now.

Tae rolls Namjoon's words around her tongue, her hand loosely twined with his. Namjoon has the steadiest hands out of everyone in the pack and a few minutes ago he repurposed his surgery skills to do her nails. Took off the chipped red and re-did them because Namjoon knows she feels best when her claws are polished. He checks them now. Tapping them lightly to not smudge them.

It's a girl's night, the first girl's night you've ever had with the whole pack. Tae's face is still glossy from the face mask.

“I don’t think I want to quit; I don’t think that would help at all that’s not going to like- solve the world and all its issues.”

“No, but- if it’s making you more sad than happy. Then maybe it’s worth considering.”

Tae knows Namjoon’s not saying that she doesn’t make enough to affect the pack's finances, but that's still the truth. Hobi pulls himself along her other side and you watch him with heavy-lidded eyes.

Hobi presses a kiss to Tae's temple, “All you want to do is write every day anyways, and we just want you to be happy,” 6 heads nod their agreement.

Hobi isn't wrong; The last four weekends in a row Tae has woken up several hours earlier than the pack would usually stir from morning cuddles, just to get a few hours of uninterrupted writing done. She’s also spent nearly every night in her library room, staying up late after the pack has retired upstairs until one of you comes down and wrangles her upstairs. The pack's prettiest alpha needs her beauty sleep.

But is it enough to count on? Is it worth quitting her job over?

You duck down low, kissing the same spot Hobi did, your lips touching just a Tae away. a heavy breath wooshes out of her chest. "Yeah why wouldn't we want you to quit? If you're always here then I can always do this."

Your kiss is gentle, and it tastes like belonging more than Tae would ever be able to write, to describe. A love that makes you feel like you belong is a rare thing. And Tae's hand goes up to tangle in your hair, keeping you there for just a shared breath longer.

The next breath tastes a bit like freedom. It's scary to be free.

(But Tae leaves her 2 weeks' notice on her boss’s desk before the end of the next work day, and she doesn't feel bad about it one bit).

~-~

(1 year prior)

Maybe the truth is that the reason why you don’t feel you deserve agency is because you know what your agency looks like. The choices you’re willing to make when it comes down to it.

The secrets you tell and the lies you have buried deep in your pocket like one of Hobi’s found things. Something you can’t get rid of and cast back into the ocean. No matter how hard you try. There is something about murder that sticks, that stays no matter how many times you try to wash your hands of it.

It's not guilt, because you don't feel guilty for what you had to do.

Being backed into a corner can make someone do a whole hell of alot of monstrous things. And back then Life was monotonous. Back then there was Anguish without change.

Your life went like this: Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Meet up with Hyejin. Make poison. Make pastries. Go to the Don’s house. Feed it to them. Listen to Moonbyul tell you to wait. Go home. Get beaten again and again. Get raped every night. On and on and on.

Clean up your blood from the tiles. Clean it from the carpet. Hydrogen peroxide and not bleach. Cover the bruises up with color corrector first before you put concealer over them.

Smile and tell everyone that your husband and you are perfectly happy. There will be a pup on the way soon enough, I'm so lucky to have someone who supports me, and I'm so lucky to have a love like this.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Go to sleep and don't cry because then he'll beat you for keeping him awake.

In the darkness that curls around you. Blood going tacky between your legs, you start to dream of wicked sweet things.

What you've been through would be enough to make anyone go crazy, Enough to make anyone consider drastic action. Enough to make anyone consider murder.

Enough for you to slide a pair of small syringes off of Moonbyul’s night desk and a small packet of arsenic too. You know how to make a simple syrup. You know how to mix in arsenic to it, how to make it liquid soluble without breathing it in.

You make it in the fine china and break it after so that you can throw it out without worrying. You get a beating for it but you hardly feel it when Geumjae drags you across the floor by your hair. It hardly breaks your heart when he steps on your ribcage with the intent to break bones because you know what you have to do.

After, with your own blood on your teeth, you make sure to leave it in the bottom of the trash, and ask the cleaning staff not to take it out yet. They're supposed to find it.

You don't care if you die, you just want to make sure the necessary villains are punished. When it comes to blame the person who is most to blame is you anyway. You are simply numb to pain, numb to your own anguish. Numb to the idea of your own death too. Geumjae's already killed you in every way that matters.

Cut off a wolf's head and it still has the power to bite; give a girl an enemy and she'll do dangerous things.

Your meetings with the Don and beta always go the same; gossip, and greetings. Sometimes when you come bearing bruises, they tell you to wait just a little longer.

Go home. Get beaten. Get hurt. Get Raped. Wake up. Just give it time for his temper to settle. Once you're mated it will get better.

Even Moonbyul and Hyejin tell you that planning the perfect crime takes time. That you'll be saved if you only wait. Help is coming.

Bullshit.

You’re tired of waiting for him to kill you, you're tired of waiting to die. You're smarter than all of them because you know exactly how to get everything you want and you're willing to do anything to get it.

The next time Moonbyul and Hyejin take you to the Don and Beta’s house under the guise of afternoon tea, you are prepared for war and dressed with revenge in mind. Your white dress knotted at the shoulders falling in a heavenly sheet, like an avenging angel, neither pious nor sinful.

You are a force of nature and nature does not ask when it takes lives.

What’s worse; the people that enable the abusers or the abusers themselves? Who is more to blame for the pain caused?

You are no longer hiding and you won't let them hide this time. The bruise on your cheek is purple and mottled, the rings of bruises on your wrists from his hands while he held you down.

When you smiled at Geumjae over breakfast this morning, there was only one thought in your mind.

You’re next.

Your agency looks like this; elegantly done hair your skirt a little short for fall. A basket of arsenic-backed goods in a basket as is usual. Fluffy pink cupcakes with the perfect Swiss meringue buttercream in little spirals.

A gentle smile at the beta when she opens her doors for you, letting the monster in, because you’ve been over enough times that she trusts you. You suppose that's your doing too, you've fooled her into thinking you're just another idiot girl who decided to marry rich and didn't bother to consider the strings attached. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, you bare your teeth when you smile.

Hyejin has helped on that front; over the past few months, she has taught you exactly the kind of conversation that the beta likes- the useless conversations about family drama, the small little bits that you let through about your husband’s opinion on which pup is marrying whom, which alpha is good or bad for the packs near dozen omega pups that aren’t mated yet. Which alphas are likely to be a liability? This kind of gossip is all information and strategy.

You might have lied in your call to her and told her you were fearful of one of the younger ones- and a conversation you’d happened to witness on a street corner, a shadowy figure that looked a little too severe not to be the authorities. Of course, these kinds of things have to be handled with discretion and ginseng tea.

The Don does not bother to turn down the TV when you walk in, sitting vulnerable in his recliner with his feet up. It doesn’t appear that he has any sort of inclination or plans to interact with you when you sit here at his kitchen table and talk. Instead, he lounges and watches his sports, loud because his hearing is so bad, nearly deafening.

It’s good. hopefully anyone nearby will not overhear.

You hope that if this goes south before you have a chance to confess that they find the letter you wrote at home; the one that says your husband is the one that put you up to this.

You know that the pack’s retribution will be swift, that any sort of alibi he has will be null and void with the evidence you’ve been leaving. A little trail of breadcrumbs that leads right into a pretty little grave for your husband. Even if you won't be around to see it.

You're already a friend of pain. You already find comfort in it. If they kill you (which they will) then at least it will finally be over.

You wait until the moment you know is coming, when the Don looks over his shoulder at you and comands “Be a dear and bring me one.”

You put one of your artfully created confections on a pretty gold-rimed plate and walk to his side, you lean over to put it in his lap as he indicates. the same way he does every time you come over with sweets.

The lingering hand on your ass is hardly abnormal. behind you the beta's tea cup clinks as she sets her tea down and says nothing. even though you know she notices.

He’s so busy coping a feel he doesn’t notice your other hand, going to the syringe duck taped to your thigh.

It happens quicker than the Don can blink. The most powerful man in the underworld can't be bothered to protect his life for a pretty little piece of ass. You smile down at him, and his hand squeezes the round apple of your behind.

His hand is still on your ass when you whip your arm around with as much force as you can and drive the syringe and plunger into his neck.

You must have hit something in his neck because he barely has a second to splutter before he’s going still and quiet. Mouth falling horrifyingly slack. His breath rattles and his eyes dart as his whole body is paralyzed near instantly, in the time it takes for his blood to circulate.

Two paces, swing, plunge.

The beta barely has a second to scream or stand to attack you. You are so much younger than they are. Your body might be fragile and frail but It’s still stronger than hers. Her brief scream is easily drowned out by the scratch of the TV.

She ends up on the floor, the icing on the cupcakes sticky as she falls into half of them, tossed onto the floor by your brief tussle as you straddle her struggling form. Her pushing gets weaker and weaker and she sobs.

It doesn’t surprise you when you see the black tracery of a dying mating mark itching up her skin.

One thing that the family had always been oh so careful of was to talk only in their mother tongue around you. Secrets are best kept when they’re spoken in foreign tongues. It was a way to isolate you. To make them speak English for you to understand felt like a beholden request. At one point It was a point of insecurity for you, always left out of the loop, always relying on your husband to keep you in the know.

You bend over her as her pushing gets weaker and weaker, the arsenic doing its job, causing numbness and the tingling of extremities before it causes paralysis and then coma and death. Your hair falls in a sheet over the beta’s face.

You’ve studied much over the last few months. Enough that you lean in close over her and speak your words in perfect Korean.

“You look so angry,” you croon softly, dragging a finger down her cheek. Spittle froths at her mouth as she breathes heavily. “You shouldn’t- if you want someone to blame you only need to look in the mirror.”

You lean in close until your lips brush her ear, “it's your fault you see- you're the one who lied" you mimic her voice, making it scratchy, "'just wait a little longer, it will be better for the family if you stay quiet." you laugh, "as if that where true, the only person it benefits is you. You where ready to let him hurt me and kill me if i just stayed quiet."

You wipe away a bit of spit from her lower lip, "You always told me how it was your duty to protect the family- but you only serve yourself. If you'd have done something, if you'd have helped me I wouldn't have had to do this. You just wanted me to shut up and die quietly.”

You switch back to English, “Well now it’s your turn.”

You watch her tongue go numb, paralyzed, but the poison hasn’t advanced far enough for her not to speak.

“Fucking- worthless bitch.”

You laugh and stand brushing some crumbs from your skirt. She’s already too weak to move, to shout, or fight you. You watch the light start to leave her eyes, winking out so slowly, like a dying star. But she still looks so pissed.

“You don’t have a right to be angry, you killed me first. You can’t blame me for fighting back.”

She gives her last breath and the TV plays on. Your shoe ticks her hand, her fingers twitching weakly. You watch as she gasps her last breath, a small smile on your face.

You sit at the table and turn the TV down. You wait a few minutes, but it quickly becomes an hour. You have yourself a nice little treat while you watch, turning the channel to a food network while you eat.

You really are a fantastic cook. The crumb on this batch is so nice you don’t even taste the metallic tang of poison. You eat through one, and then another, until the whole basket is empty.

Before you know it there is a concerned knock at the door. The lock clicks and turns when you answer it.

When Moonbyul opens the door, you laugh at the expression on her face. Licking the frosting from your lips. Even that is delicious.

She takes in their bodies, crumpled on the floor the frosting on your cheeks. The evidence. Both of them dying. A violence you cannot undo.

Her voice is somber. “Oh Pup, what have you done?”

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 every word helps motivate me to write the next chapter!

Series Masterlist ~ Donate ~ Twitter

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

~-~

Notes:

this chapter is a very classic bily chapter, in the fact that there is a fuck ton of fluff and then bang the mafia bits just take you out. we needed to get back into the mafia bits of the story sooner rather than later though 💀

i felt like i was going a little too over the top with certain bits of puptalk in this chapter, but i really wanted to use it to show that like yeah- the pack has been treating her alot more gently since her breakdown, they've been babbying the fuck out of her, even if we don't get to see it :(

Hobi's texts are so???? Fucking cute?? He's so hopeless my god he wants to make her feel loved without actually saying it and i hope you read them and just go "oh, you're an idiot."

I have this whole elaborate backstory to how wonho's gym works with monthly subscriptions to classes where people can decide how many classes they want to take a week, ie gym dues for facilities and then discounted classes on top if they pay for it before hand, with several tiers.

this chapter almost feels clerical- this is definitely more of a set up chapter- where i needed to check off a lot of boxes, like hobi's courting present- before we go any further into the story. things are going to start amping up in terms of stakes pretty quickly.

That one part, where hobi is kinda malfunctioning after the m/c touches his cheek and everyone teases him feels the most representative of the pack as a whole. like that part where they're all replying- feels very real. i struggle a little to capture a sense of domesticity in concise ways, but i think this part is very tidy.

That little touch with hobi- where he touches her wrist and her finger, that touch has so much weight to it, i personally think the whole pack was tasting the sexual tension on the air, can you guys feel it too or is it all in my head?

idk why yoongi calling tae babygirl makes me so flustered but it does 🥵

i really wanted to work calling tae mommy into the chapter someway but tbh this chapter felt complex enough without it.

there is like- one plot hole in this whole story, and that is in the first chapter of the story when yoongi gets a call the person on the other line says "grandfather is dying." implying that his death wasn't instantaneous like this is shown to be. however, in my mind- the injections don't actually kill the don and beta but plunge them into a coma that they never wake up from- is this an actual possibility with arsenic poisoning- NO IT ISN'T lol, you're just going to have to suspend your disbelief for me.

the m/c has always been the person who killed the don and the beta- i've known this since like...maybe the 4th chapter? it wasn't in the og og plan for the story but almost everything in bily has been hammered out since then. and tbh you already knew she killed them just not that it was this violent! does this count as a secret???? idk! maybe!!!

she's a little murder baby just like minnie <3

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tasteleeknow · 4 months

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HELLO STRANGER. NINE.

PAIRING: minho ft. hyunjin x fem!reader GENRE: smut, angst, fluff, soulmate!au. enemies to lovers. jealousy. pining. unrequited love. CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 5k

masterlist ♡ pt.1 | pt.10

do not repost to other sites, including translations.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hurtful,” Suho answers from above, continuing his mission up the wall. He grabs at a pipe, putting far too much trust in a thing not designed to carry even half his weight.

“She’s not wrong,” Hyunjin adds.

Suho looks down at you both, halting his progress. “You were both supposed to be here for moral support and instead all I’m getting is hateful chatter.”

“Hateful is dramatic,” you call back, using your hand to shield your eyes from the afternoon sun.

Suho refocuses his attention on the climb. “Dramatic…” he grumbles, just loud enough to travel to your viewing spot below.

Hyunjin nudges your shoulder and offers you a strawberry. “Stole these from Minho,” he says. “They’re good.”

He’d been distant since the storm, your soulmate. Just not in the way you were used to. It’s not an emotional distance.

He’s just hardly ever around.

Keep reading

#lee know smut #lee know fluff #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #kpop smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagine #stray kids imagines #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios

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vhstown · 8 months

Text

time out (part 1)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, description of (boxing) injuries, self-destructive behaviours, briefly implied death, pov switch (yay), gtranslate spanish

word count: 3.9k

a/n: ive never written 42 miles before but he's a cool lil guy split into two parts cuz it was too long 😭 semi-edited (for the millionth time)

PART 2 → / THE AU

"Just six rounds in, Miles Morales knocks out the Vulture!"

Screams and cheers exploded from your phone as you laid in bed, watching the recap of your boyfriend's boxing match. Your eyes were straining from how close you were holding the screen to your face; this was probably the third time you’d watched Miles’ win. After training to hell and back, he’d made it to the national league with you and Aaron to support him. He did more than just “make it”, in fact. His “revolutionary” victory was plastered all over social media and the news. Everywhere you looked was: “17-YEAR-OLD NYC BOXER OVERTAKES LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION ‘VULTURE’ IN US NATIONALS”. Miles Morales — your boyfriend — had made boxing history.

The giddy grin on your face only grew wider as he came up again on screen, sporting the stoic expression he'd perfected over the last few months behind the overly-done editing and animations of the recap. As much as you'd wanted to go out and see him live (though begging your family to let you go to Vegas wasn’t exactly feasible), he'd made it clear he didn't want you, or anyone for that matter, in that arena. It was something about having "total focus" — and it must've worked, you thought, as you watched him give his post-fight interview.

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

Despite his boyish, adrenaline-fuelled shout at the mic, the quiet laugh you let out was one of pride rather than embarrassment. He had every right to celebrate, and you were watching, even if it wasn’t live. Everything he'd done up until this point was well worth it: the constant training, sparring, the late nights and early mornings — maybe even the countless unanswered texts and missed calls too. Miles had worked himself to the bone, and while it might've worried you at the time, it was nothing compared to the satisfaction you felt while watching him on screen. He knew what he was doing; Miles was semi-professional at this point. You had to let him do his own thing, even if that meant letting him go for a while.

Right now, though, Miles was home from Vegas. Tapping out of the video, you scrambled to your messages. The last ones were from you, sent weeks ago, a "good luck" and "i love you" read and without a response. Your fingers kept missing the keys, and you frowned at yourself until you finally were able to hit send.

CONGRATS BABY!!! Not delivered

IM SO PROUD OF YOU Not delivered

You tried resending them, only to be met with the same red message.

why arent my texts sending Not delivered

miles??? Not delivered

Not delivered? It'd almost been three days since the tournament; Miles always had his phone on.

"To leave a message, please press one—" The call went to voicemail for the third time. Your stomach swirled with something like uncertainty. It didn't even ring at all. Miles made it a habit to always be available, so why...?

Boxers needed time to recover, he was probably just tired and turned his phone off. Or he could be busy with an interview; Miles Morales was sort of a celebrity right now — who wouldn't want to talk to the 17-year-old boxing prodigy? You knew you wanted to, prodigy or not.

It was probably because you hadn’t seen Miles in so long, but possibilities kept forming in your head, disappearing just as fast. What if he blocked you? Or he could’ve changed his number. Were you over? No. Nope. No way. Not like this.

There was one other reason that made some sort of sense, but you decided to think against it. Miles had made it to the semi-finals in entire the National League. It was over; he'd gotten what he wanted. He was supposed to be resting right now.

Miles wasn't that stupid, right...?

You pulled up Rio's contact. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Riiiiiiing, riiiiiiing…

Better for him to be safe than sorry — or stupid.

"Hello?"

"Hola, tía, uh, could I speak to Miles?" You felt just a little crazy as you held the phone to your ear, but there was no harm in calling his mom.

"Ah, he's not home right now — said he was going out with his tío."

"Oh… Do you know where they went?"

"I'm not sure. Something important. About a... contract?"

"Contract…?" you muttered to yourself. “Okay… thank you.” It wasn't like you knew anything about a contract, though it wasn't like Miles would tell you anyway. At least he was safe, and with Aaron. It was probably important, official — something that didn't involve you. Not a lot of things in Miles’ life involved you, it seemed.

"How have you been?” Rio's voice interrupted your thoughts. You had called her out of nowhere, and after a while. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Oh, um..." The last time you'd talked to Rio was… right before Miles had left for Vegas. Well, you hadn't exactly talked. All you remember is just comforting her in silence. "Yeah, tía. Have you?"

"I have, but I've just been all over the place recently. So many reporters…" Rio's voice lifted up slightly in exasperation. You could only imagine what it was like for her. Your feelings suddenly felt a lot less significant, and you were back to your comforting mode all over again.

"I see. Must be exhausting." You attempted a polite laugh, which came out more like a sigh. If only you could be as patient as Rio…

"I'm so proud, though." Her voice warmed with a smile. If your chest ached with melancholy or empathy, you didn't know. "I didn't want him to leave home so soon. I still think this whole… professional thing is a bit too much, but… I want to trust him also."

"I'm sure he'll be fine, tía. If he's in the nationals already, he's probably getting a lot of support." It was more like you were trying to convince yourself. "I'm sure he has great coaches... and he's got me and Aar— uh, his uncle, too."

"I know…" For a moment, you weren't sure if either of you had anymore to say.

"…If not, I'll have to go there myself and give them a piece of my mind, eh?" she continued. You weren’t sure if it was a joke, but a smile formed on your lips anyway.

"Yeah…" A quiet laugh leaving your mouth at the image of Rio cussing out Miles' poor manager, in two languages no less. No wonder he was such a good boxer — Rio must have passed down her fighting spirit. "Maybe you'd even get signed,” you joked, the image of that even more amusing (and a scary possibility.)

Rio let out her own laugh, and your smile only grew; talking to her always made you feel better. "Me? Boxing? Nunca (Never.) — I'll work in that hospital until the end of me."

There was another stretch of silence. You thinned out a sigh, trying not to let the smile leave your face, even if she wasn’t there to see it.

"Come over for dinner tomorrow. I'll tell Miles to come and get you."

"Sure, tía, I'd love to." He probably just needed a break. Not from you specifically, but in general.

"You know tú y Miles sois mi vida, ¿bien?" (you and Miles are my life, right?) It wasn’t often Rio said that, but you always remembered every time she did, and how it made you feel — like you were family. Rio was pretty much a second mother to you. It made you wonder what Miles' father would've been like.

"Well, it's getting late, and I have a lot of laundry to fold." Rio's tone had a fake sort of enthusiasm — tiredness? You couldn’t really tell with her; the woman was always upbeat. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will." It was late, you realised, and the sky outside your window was a lot darker than it had been before. "You too, tía."

“Descansa, ¿sí?” (Get some rest, yes?)

“Sí, tía.”

The call ended, and you were left facing your messages, a bittersweet feeling hugging you from behind. Right now, Miles was out with Aaron, about some contract, probably to do with boxing…

But why weren't your texts going through?

miles are you ok? Not delivered

im really proud of you Not delivered

i wish i couldve seen you live Not delivered

It wasn’t like there was much point, but…

i love you Not delivered

Maybe it was just out of habit; maybe you just missed him. Your reflection frowned at you behind the messages, thumb hovering over the power button to shut your phone off, until your phone pinged with a notification — Aaron was texting you.

Hey man

Out of town

LMK if miles breaks in

You sat up immediately, fingers floating uselessly above the keys for a moment.

sure Read at 11:24PM

are you out of town already? Read at 11:25PM

Ping!

Yeah

@ Queens

Miles was with Aaron about some “contract”... and Aaron was in Queens?

You knew Miles hadn't blocked you, or turned his phone off — he had no signal. And there was only one place in Brooklyn you could think of that had no reception, and that MIles had any reason to be in. It was also the one place you didn't want him to go to: that damn warehouse.

The place he’d spent training all those weeks — what reason did he have to be there right after finishing the tournament? Putting on your jacket, blinking back the sleepiness and collecting the fleeting remains of patience you had left, you could only hope that Miles had even a shred of common sense with him.

THWACK! THWACK! THWA— Crack!

"Mierda..." (Shit...) Miles hissed, drawing his glove away from the punching bag. His hand was paralysed for a moment, a deep, gnawing pang running through his fingers down to the rest of his arm. The tight gloves only suffocated him more, doing nothing to ease the pain as he gritted his teeth and waited for it to dull down.

Why was he even here? It was over — that Norman bastard had blown him off hours ago. It felt like a couple minutes, the words still fresh in his mind. Searing pain shot through his hand when he tried to flex his fingers, the rest of his muscles starting to ache too. This was going to hurt after the adrenaline wore off. Damn it, Morales.

The walls flashed white all of a sudden, a faint rumble of thunder interrupting the pounding of his heartbeat as he tried to straighten himself out. It was quiet, except for the sounds of the incoming storm. The playlist he was listening to had finished ages ago — your playlist. If he didn’t want to think about you, he wasn’t doing a good job of it.

Rain blasted quietly against the windows, and Miles’ eyes stung with dryness as he squeezed them shut. There was no way he'd be able to go back now, not to you, definitely not to his mom. She'd probably go on and on about how he should've taken his jacket, how he ruined his hair in the rain again, maybe how he wasted his damn time being a boxer...

It was probably fair; his mom had enough on her plate trying to support them both — especially him right now. She’d done everything in her power to make sure he got to Vegas, and he’d just left her alone again right after. But how was he meant to face her now? He was supposed to make her proud, make his dad proud, but it wasn’t like he had any pride left after he’d lost his contract. The Green Goblin had probably set the record for fastest knockout when Miles lost to him. Of course just the semi-finals weren’t enough; Norman Osborn was the big shot of boxing, and if Miles lost to some rookie in just about 15 seconds, then maybe he wasn’t worth the investment.

It didn’t make sense — nothing about The Green Goblin (or “Harry”, whatever they liked to gossip about) made sense. He’d just debuted, but didn’t even look like a boxer; he didn’t stand right, his style was inconsistent, his head movement was all over the place, but his punch had almost knocked Miles’ brain straight out of his skull. It was almost superhuman. Even with no openings, the freak of nature had forced his way through like an animal. And he was scrawny, not nearly as built as Miles at least, like he should’ve been in the weight class down. Either way, the asshole was being celebrated, and Miles was out of a contract.

And Miles had just stood there, while Norman berated him and tore Miles’ dream apart right in front of his very eyes. Maybe he’d hoped too much as an “amateur” boxer. That’s all he was, apparently — no matter how hard he worked, or what he achieved, or what he promised.

“Why should I keep you? The Vulture was destined to lose at his age.”

“Even rigged matches wouldn’t get you anywhere.”

“I mean, you’re as good at fighting as one of those street kids.”

“That’s all you were before I decided to give you a chance, no?”

The image of the Norman’s uncanny, sneering face sent his good fist reeling towards the punching bag. Should’ve pummelled his pelirojo (redhead) ass to the ground—

"Miles!"

The glove crumpled mid-air against the bag, arm going rigid. It was silent as he let out a breath through his teeth — he wasn’t hearing things, was he?

The rush was starting wearing off, his mind starting to cloud and pain faintly radiating again from his other hand. His good fist tightened inside the glove, pushed against the bag which was still and awkwardly tilted.

You’re losing focus, just punch the damn thing—

"Miles, what the hell are you doing here?"

The noise of the door shutting made him turn around, floor squeaking under his stumbling feet. It was you by the door, breathing just as heavily as him and dripping head to toe with rain, in a jacket that was way too thin for any sort of weather.

Dios... (God...) He knew he couldn’t be hallucinating that disapproving look on your face.

Rain was pattering gently against the glass as he pulled his arm away away from the bag, letting it swing in front of him before his eyes met yours.

"It's midnight, what are you..." A sharp intake of breath interrupted your words — a shiver.

"What’re you doin’ here...?" Miles asked instead through a grimace. His voice came out wrong — hoarse. Cold sweat was clinging to his skin, and his throat was dry and tightening. A mess — that’s what you were talking to right now, barely your boyfriend. All he could do was stare as the rush died down and his senses were coming back to him. The fog in his mind made it hard to speak, even harder to look at you.

"My texts and calls weren't going through— You weren't with Aaron or your mom, I just..." You sucked in another breath through your teeth; raindrops were glistening on your skin. He should’ve just stayed home, damn it. "Was just worried."

Well, he certainly looked worrying, even more so than you. Swallowing back his breathlessness wasn’t helping; it was like he’d ran a marathon with his fists. The pain from his knuckle was starting to bleed into the rest of his hand so much so that it might’ve been broken.

"'M good... You, though?" He let out a bit of a growl to clear his throat before deciding to cut straight to the chase: you’d come here in the middle of the night, in the rain, by yourself. As much as he was being an idiot right now, the amount of times he’d told you to not do any of those things, pleaded with you even, was making you look like the delirious one in his eyes. Miles was being stubborn, but he knew you were worse.

“You insane…?” he muttered, taking a step away from the bag. “Did Aaron tell you to come here or sumn’?"

"No, he was supposed to be with you," you shot back, eyes narrowing at him from under your hood before thunder bellowed from all around. The rain was growing into a loud static noise, and your voice was muffled as your expression grew more exasperated. "You came home 3 days ago and you didn't even text me. Yeah, I probably should've texted you, and I tried, but now you're here training alone again when your mom thinks you're with Aaron and—"

"You come here to scold me?" His jaw crunched a little as he tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Miles wasn’t trying to be mad at you — he was just mad in general. It just so happened to be in your direction right now.

“Huh? No, I came here because you scared the hell out of me — and Aaron told me to not let you break into his place.”

If it was supposed to be funny, the laugh he let out was anything but amused. At least Aaron wasn’t here for him to disappoint too, or get a weirdly-phrased life lesson from, or both. “Well I’m not breakin’ in, and I told you, I’m good, so I don’t get why you’re still here.”

You stepped a little closer, and Miles’ heels dug into the ground to keep himself from moving. “Isn’t it obvious? Or are you just being difficult on purpose?”

“Difficult?” he mirrored dryly, trying to push back the growing exhaustion clouding his head.

“Can you not just take a break for once? It’s over, Miles; you already won—”

“I didn’t win.” The walls echoed with his voice, words having escaped on their own. It wasn’t at you, but he didn’t know what he was mad at, resolve fading as he watched your face straighten with realisation.

“Don’t tell me that’s why you’re here…”

His fingers unconsciously clawed into the boxing glove, pain shoot through his hand. Nothing came out of his mouth, but his silence was loud — incriminating. That was the reason, right? That he didn't win?

“Kid didn’t stand a chance.” What was the point of you being here?

“A one-punch concussion — on a newbie, no less.” It was over, like you said.

“It’s a shame, I bet on him too.” Everyone had given up on him.

“You should be resting right now— you’re shaking, Miles.” So why wouldn't you?

“No ‘m not…” is all he could muster, flexing his shoulders uncomfortably. Your hand was on his arm before he could realise, and he was met with a stern look as he tried to keep his gaze from shaking too.

The velcro on his gloves crunched as you started undoing them, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you. It’s not like he had the energy.

“You coulda’ got hurt on your way here.” The croak in his voice made him sound more hopeless than reprimanding as you slipped off the first glove, pausing half-way down his palm. His bare palm.

“…I could’ve got hurt?” Miles held back a sigh as he was made to look at his own hand. Bruised, blackened, branded with anger — it hurt more to look at it than anything. “You didn’t wear your wraps?”

The other glove slid off, revealing the fresh, festering swelling coming from his middle knuckle — the aftermath of that sickening cracking noise. You took his curled hand, easing up his middle finger and making him hiss under his breath.

“Think you can straighten it?” you muttered, gently trying to do it yourself only to lose his hand from your grip.

“’S gonna be fine,” he mumbled, eyes fixed to the side as his hand closed back up.

“It won’t if you can’t move it properly.”

“You a doctor now?”

“Nah, but your mom’s a nurse.” You carefully held his hand by palm, thumb tracing over the tender, split skin, his fingers wrapping around the side of your hand in futile protest. He’d have to bother his mom again — he didn’t even think about that. “You basically just punched yourself.”

Everything you were saying was right — it always was. He hated that fact.

“You a boxing expert too?” he thought to retort.

“Thought that was supposed to be you.” Miles’ eyes narrowed, and yours narrowed in response. “I don’t get it, baby...” you sighed, shaking your head a little as you put down the gloves to the side.

Baby. His breath almost hitched. You were dating, and it didn’t even seem like it anymore. Not after all those weeks apart. The word didn’t even feel endearing, it was condescending, like he didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was being a baby, and maybe he always had been. You were the one who always had to drag him out of this make-shift gym. Right now was no different, except…

“…Why are you still doing this?” he heard you mutter, still turned away with his hand in your grip. You didn’t even know the half of it.

“Why are you still here?” His hand tried to slip away again, but you only took it by the wrist instead, now facing him.

“Why won’t you answer my questions, Miles?” Your voice deadened into a whisper, only serving to frustrate him.

“I don’t know why you care so much.” He let out a quiet huff, staring at your hand when your grip ceased to relax.

“I care because you look like you’re about to pass out and I can’t let my boyfriend kill himself over something stupid—”

“I’m not killing myse—” A pained groan escaped his mouth as you ruthlessly pushed up his injured finger.

“Don’t push me, Miles.” Oh, you were serious.

“You’re pushin’ sumn’,” he strained through gritted teeth. “Mierda… quit it already.”

The pain tore on another moment, and he was just now realising how bad it actually hurt. All you were doing was staring at him, brows knitted together. “Cariño, please…” he whispered, a wince forming on his face.

Your hand loosened, and he let out a quiet, frustrated, somewhat relieved sigh.

Still a sucker for nice words... He didn’t say them as much as he would’ve liked.

“You need to take a time out,” you stated after a beat of silence. The expression on your face was serious again, killing any sense of tenderness you might’ve shown.

He freed his hand from your grip with the opportunity, before giving you a dubious look. “Like, for kids?”

“Like for boxers, dumbass.” Your gaze followed his retreating hand for a moment before falling back on his eyes. “But if you want me to treat you like a kid…”

“I’m good.” Another roar of thunder rang out before he could add anything, and the rain was so heavy that anything you could see from the windows became a blur.

“…You got your jacket?” you suggested, without much hope.

The idea only made Miles’ eyes squeeze shut again. A shallow exhale left him, and he tried not to let his fatigue cloud his judgement. If he kept talking stupid to you, he’d probably have worse to worry about than a broken knuckle. “You think imma go outside?”

All you could do was sigh. It seemed like the two of you would be in “time out” for a while.

🕸️🔭👾

thank you for reading part 2 soon but then again its not my fav fic in the world 💔 i rewrote this like 8 trillion times and it still wasn't clicking for me 😭 idk i just got sick of editing it again and again

this isn't as short as my usual fics because i felt like i needed to add context... I've never written an au or anything remotely original so this is just yeah... im tryna figure it out! i have . too much lore for this au

reblogs appreciated lmk if you did like it (i hope this is someone's cup of tea lmao)

catch my atsv masterlist here !

#miles 42 x reader #42!miles morales x reader #42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles 42 #earth 42 miles x you #miles g morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles g morales #miles gonzalo morales #atsv fanfiction #across the spiderverse #atsv x you #42!miles x reader #atsv #prowler miles x you #prowler miles x reader #prowler miles #vhstown

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hisunshiine · 8 months

Text

—in good hands | jjk [M]

💻 pairing: streamer!jungkook x female!reader 🫶🏻 au/genre: camboy au, smut 💻 rating: M 🫰🏻 wc: 1,500 💻 warnings: second hand embarrassment from your friend exposing your thirst for JK; explicit sexual content: masturbation, voyeurism, cum eating, fingering. 🫶🏻 summary: camboy!Tae helps convince his streaming/gaming friend Jungkook to try it out, especially when a mutual friend’s input (yours) sweetens the deal, and you’re more than ready to get your hands dirty helping him. 💻 an: thank you to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for beta reading when i needed a…hand. Hehehe. 💻 an 2: part of the @bangtanwritershq September 2023 “Big Boys” flash fiction writing event. request received from @colormepurplex2

“Stop staring, babe.”

Jungkook adjusts the volume on his gaming headset, unsure about what Taehyung could be talking about, but the attitude in his voice is apparent.

“Everything cool, Tae?”

“Yeah…”

He falls silent and Jungkook uses the grappling hook to bring Widowmaker above enemy lines before using Infrasight to show his teammates the enemies positions on the map. Climbing a bit higher, he takes a few opponents out with her assault rifle, and D.Va appears to his left on screen, using her fusion cannons to take out the rest.

“Fuck yeah! Good game,” Jungkook praises, but Taehyung remains quiet. Jungkook turns off the livestream he set up for the game and tries to check in once more with his friend.

“Tae?”

“Yeah, sorry, I muted, but uh, Hana wants to tell you something.”

Jungkook can hear as Hana takes the headset from his friend, and her light vocals replace her boyfriend's much deeper ones.

“Hey Kookie, have you ever thought about camming like Tae does? I mean, I’m skimming a few comments from the stream and you have more than a few viewers talking about your hands.”

Jungkook feels his cheeks grow warm at what Hana is implying. He knows about the thirsty viewers, the requests he gets to put his hands to better use. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it—the pay alone could be quite good—he’s just a little shy.

“I’m not saying you have to, I just have a friend…you’ve met her a few times! Tae said you thought she was cute—ow! Anyway, she thinks you’re hot and enjoys watching you guys play and well…she’s interested in watching a different type of content if you ever decide on it. Okay, here’s Tae-Tae.”

Hana disappears as if she didn’t just insinuate that Jungkook should stream himself fucking his fist on camera because her friend thinks he’s hot. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. They're a match made in heaven if he’s ever seen one. Taehyung and Hana met when she won a contest through his livestreams, and they’ve been dating for a while. Jungkook bounces the idea around in his head as Taehyung takes back his headset.

Hana’s friend is pretty cute, not that Jungkook’s ever said that to her. It’s nice knowing that she’s attracted to him, because the few times they’ve hung out as a group he felt like they seemed to hit it off. Maybe…

“Hey, Tae, what platform do you use to cam, again?”

You can’t believe Hana, your so-called-best-friend, told Jungkook that you watch when he and Taehyung stream themselves gaming because you think he’s hot. Or that she let slip your little fantasy about watching him stream—playing with something else. You can’t be too mad at her though, because Jungkook messaged you on discord for your number the next day.

He’s shamelessly flirting, masking it by asking you to help him with his first ever non-gaming stream, and after texting for a few days, he asks if you can help him decide on some of the finer details—in person—as moral support before he goes live and to help him make sure to give his audience what they’re looking for.

Of course you agree, because spending time with Jungkook, helping him get into the mindset for the camming he is about to do sounds like exactly how you want to spend your Friday night.

Jungkook’s hands are sweating just a bit as he positions the camera in place. He’s waiting for you to show up at the agreed upon time, and though you aren’t late, he kind of wishes you would be super early, so he would stop overthinking.

When you finally knock on his apartment door, ten minutes early because you were overly excited and couldn’t linger anymore downstairs without feeling like a creep, you don’t expect to be met by him shirtless and in sweatpants. He looks a little frazzled, like he’s run his fingers through his hair too much, but it looks sexy paired with his rippling abs as he greets you.

“You look pretty,” he says, complimenting your choice of sundress as summer comes to an end. “I don’t know what to wear…I have these sweats, but I also have another pair of pants…make yourself comfy, I’m gonna try those on for you to see.” Jungkook had led you into his bedroom as he spoke, and he motions to his bed next to it, disappearing into his closet.

You glance around his room, taking in the set up he has for streaming and try to focus on how you can enhance the set for this type of streaming. You make a few changes to the orientation of the lights until you hear his soft footsteps pad back into the room. Turning, the sight in front of you is so heavenly, it’s sinful. It takes you a few moments to speak.

“Definitely wear the leather.” You wipe at your mouth in case some drool leaked from the corner. The white tee and the leather pants he’s squeezed his fit thighs into have you clenching your legs together—you aren’t sure if Jungkook notices or not, but you take a deep breath so you can get yourself together.

You reach for your purse. “Okay, I think you’re ready. You got this.”

“Um…can you stay while I go live?”

Jungkook’s fingers nimbly undo the single button on the black leather pants he’s wearing, making sure to peel back each side of the opening as he slowly reveals the divots in his hips, and the top of his hardening cock. He keeps sliding until the tops of his thighs appear and his cock springs free, bouncing slowly from the weight of his arousal.

You watch from your own phone seated on the edge of his bed, enthralled by his movements. The view is so much better than what you had hoped for, mostly because you were able to curate your wildest fantasy.

He reaches off camera for the bottle of lube, a self-heating KY Jelly that squelches lewdly into his hand before he sets it back down. The camera is angled so close that just his tattooed hand and cock can be seen, but you look away from your phone where you’re viewing the content for perfect placement when you feel his eyes burning into the side of your face.

Your phone falls to your lap, eyes entranced by his gaze on yours as his right hand begins a slow, wet glide down over the tip and along his shaft. When the edge of his pinky finger and palm reaches the base, he pauses briefly to give himself a tight, teasing squeeze, and lets out an orgasmic groan that taunts your throbbing clit.

Fuck. You want to take over for him—want to deepthroat him until he’s whining and then climb on top and ride him until he’s breeding you like the little cumslut you are. But for now, you watch from the best seat in the house as he pleasures himself.

His eyes are low, full of desire as he watches you, hoping you will return the favor and touch yourself, too. With each glide his grip makes, you feel your legs inching apart—if you were home, it wouldn’t even be a question of whether you would be joining in or not.

“I hope you’re touching yourself, too,” Jungkook’s voice is deeper than usual, breathy. He continues talking to his viewers as the numbers climb, but his eyes are on you. “In fact, I want you to. Want you spreading those pretty thighs apart for me, just like that.”

You follow his directives, unable to disobey.

“Don’t be shy, let me see.”

Quietly, you shimmy your panties down, glad you wore a dress that so easily allows him a view of your dripping pussy.

“Touch yourself how you want me to touch you, baby. Good girl.” Jungkook bites his lip, just for your viewing pleasure, as your fingers slip and slide through your lips, teasing your clit and taunting your opening. “Wait till I get my hands on you, I’ll make you feel so good.”

Your eyes follow the pattern he makes as he speeds up, tattooed fingers gripping himself tightly as he pulls his shirt up to reveal his abs, flexing as the pleasure builds.

A gasp from your lips sends him over the edge, opaque cum oozing over the ridge of his fingers as he fucks his fist through the high. You watch with eyes hooded as his tattoos become less visible, two fingers rubbing your clit furiously so you can follow him. You vaguely hear him say something else before he’s out of his chair, hands replacing yours as his body cages you onto his bed.

You wrap your fingers around his cum covered ones, sucking them clean before he dips them inside of you. You let out a whine as his fingers reach deeper than yours did, hips rocking for more friction.

“You’re in good hands, now, baby.”

Thank you for readinggg!!!! Hope you liked this! Read camboy!Tae's 3-part mini series here!

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comfy-whumpee · 6 months

Text

Being in the #whump community bingo! How many do you get?

Full list of squares:

first whumperflies stories

“they have all of my issues lmao”

favourite trope version #3547

everyone knows I love whump vs. nobody can know

posted as screenshots on pinterest

posts that are one line but hit just right

tag games that take 5 hours to scroll past

beloved mutual going feral in the notes

found your new best friend via niche tropes

discussions on improving diversity

“dead. i’m dead. this killed me.”

extremely nuanced, developed characters called A and B

bad things happen bingo never completed

fighting the morality police

fanfic about the character with 0.3 seconds of screentime

ao3 links for the really saucy stuff

“bestie you forgot your readmore” “OH NO”

prioritising fun

one of your OCs is called Sam

sharing irl experiences to inspire each other

gifsets of shows you’ve never heard of

twelve reblogs deep in the au with the mutual

picking the trope to fall asleep thinking about

making a whumpee for your friend’s whumper and vice versa

blacklisting a tag your mutual loves but supporting them anyway

crack posts and shitposting about agony

anonymous asks for the most fucked up tropes <3

monthly challenges for almost every month

realism has no power here

an arcane but extremely detailed tagging system OR nothing

that one trope you will always reblog

misspelling it ‘whimper’

everyone from the discord server knows the plot twist

whumpee who gets every disease

intro post with 200 notes

watching the show from all those gifsets

#whump community #whump meta #tell me about your OCs called Sam #ps made this together with some friends from The Discord Server

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romana-after-dark · 4 months

Text

Room's on Fire Masterlist

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Years after the world fell apart, various communities have established themselves, one of which is ran by four men who claim to be divine.

When they decide it's time to and heir to be born, they chose a virgin from their cult and make her their wife. Reader is offered a choice, of course. She doesn't have to marry them. But if she doesn't, the savior won't be born. She choses to become the Madonna. She is wed to all four of them, and moved into their home where her body is open to use whenever her husbands desire (free use au), in the hopes of getting her pregnant. It doesn't matter whose baby it ends up being, because they are all part God, so it doesn't matter... right?

Warnings for full fic, if anything is added or really emphcized it will be in additional warnings.

THIS IS A DARK FIC THOUGH SO BE WARY! I CAN'T PROTECT AGAINST EVERYTHING.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

Unknown amount of chapters right now.

Chapter 1: Pilot: Delta finds their Madonna Chapter 2: The wedding Chapter 3: Aftermath of the wedding FishBen: Symptom of Being Human Chapter 4: Pope is not pleased. Chapter 5: Jonah lore, Madonna gets through to Frankie Chapter 6: Madonna gains Frankie's heart, Santi is jealous Iris: Rey and Iris find pockets of time Chapter 7: Fun with Ben: wining Pope back Chapter 8: big announcement to the community

Non canon Frankie Madonna Chapter 9: Madonna’s blissful ignorance to the world around her. Chapter 10: There's a lot Madonna doesn't know.

Chapter 11: Things start to crumble around Madonna

Chapter 12:

Chapter 13:

Chapter 14:

Chapter 15:

Chapter 16:

Chapter 17:

Chapter 18:

Chapter 19:

Chapter 20:

Bonus Content

not necessary for the series. Pieces in the main list are suggested as they add depth and sometimes small plot points.

"Can you peel my orange?" Jonah smut

Jonah Hanson character ai

ROF characters Star signs

Jonah x non-Madonna reader x Marcus flashback commission

Art

By @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

By @survivingandenduring

Lil comic by @my-secret-shame

As I said, a lot of themes and dynamics ended up accidentally similarly to Watch Your Step by the amazing @charnelhouse Some was because that fic is what developed my characterizations of the boys. Some was totally incidental, like Pope and readers relation to art. It's different though, a much different series, but I wanted to tell y'all that she s PUBLISHING WYS AS A NOVEL NOW, Its called Cardinal Sin's and I'll link it right here!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

Follow the tag Rooms on fire

THANK YOU FOR YOU'RE SUPPORT!

Please remember to reblog, and I love comments/asks, anon or not, and would love to see engagement and theories!

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callmelola111 · 6 months

Text

K.O. ♡ e.w. oneshot

✄ - - - - inspo track - - - - bull believer- wednesday

synopsis: as hours, minutes, and seconds count down till the new year, secrets are revealed and trust is broken. who knew the downfall of your life could be so freeing—and that a total stranger would be the one to catch you.

| 𓆣 | pairing & wc: ellie williams x reader. wc: 4.8k

| ❀ | cw: 18+ themes (MDNI), modern au, reader is in a toxic relationship with a man (sexuality isn’t mentioned in huge detail so feel free to hc however you like—they could be bi, pan or just a lesbian with very real comp het), coming out scene (refers to self as “gay”), heavy swearing, descriptions of intense violence + gore, cheating (bf on reader), underage drinking + use of marjuana (18), reader is called a slur (dyke)

a/n: hi hellooo, long time no see! **first, a quick disclaimer: this isn't realistic, there is a complete lack of morals and an unethical/dangerous amount of violence that i wouldn't condone irl. but alas this is fan fiction based off a M rated game whose whole basis is violence, sooo plz keep that in mind when reading.** anywaysss... i’ve been obsessed with this song for months now and it sparked a little oneshot idea so here it is. not exactly my usual stuff, more of a passion project as i process my hatred for men as a lesbian who used to date them. soooo i guess this one goes out to my small town comp het girlies who love ellie williams. thanks for all the support!! ♡~ lola

In the south it never really felt like a true winter. All the holidays that came along with it never felt real either. Christmas was dull and New Years was even worse. After spending the last 18 years of your life in a small hick town, it felt like no use to wish for some “better future”. You were damned from the start. Sure it was a new year, but it was the same old shit and you knew nothing was gonna change until you got out of this hell hole.

Just 6 more months of pretending, you’d tell yourself. 6 more months of bending over backwards to please your overbearing parents. 6 more months of mediocre sex with your shitty boyfriend that you weren’t even sure you liked. 6 more months of artificial conversations with your estranged friend group from middle school who claim to “not get you” anymore. But at this point, as every little thing ate away at you, you weren’t sure if you could keep up your act for much longer. Especially tonight, where you’d be faced with the challenge of appeasing all 3.

December 31st, 9:00pm:

Adorned in a matching set of mint green pjs you sat patiently on your bed waiting for the go-ahead. Like clockwork, your parents gave a small knock and pushed open your door from its cracked position. It always annoyed you how they knocked, pretending to respect your privacy while simultaneously enforcing a “no closed doors” rule. You thought at 18 they would’ve let it go, but no.

“Well hun, me and your mother are heading out now. We don’t expect to be back till the morning… Ya know, just to be safe while taking part in all the ‘festivities’.” Your dad chuckled, throwing up some air quotes. Your mom stood deadpan waiting for him to wrap up his little bit before butting in.

“No plans for the evening, right?” She phrased her words like a question but you knew this was just her way of subtleing enforcing the stupid rules you’ve followed your whole life.

“Of course not momma. Probably just gonna watch Gilmore Girls reruns and then go to sleep before any fireworks start up.” You gestured to your pjs but your perfectly made bed said otherwise. See, you knew this little routine like the back of your hand. You knew just what to do and just what to say in order to lure your parents into a false sense of security. While they stood in the frame of your door wishing you a goodnight, your party clothes hung on the other side of it, just out of their view.

December 31st, 9:30pm:

A loud honking blared from just outside your bedroom window. You ushered the sheer curtains open and glared out at the little sedan sputtering in your driveway. Your hands ran down your face followed by a big sigh. It’s not like you didn’t know your boyfriend Jax was coming to pick you up for the new years party that night, you had planned it just days before. But unbeknownst to him, the only reason you reached out was because you didn’t have a ride and tonight was one of the few times your parents wouldn’t be around to police curfew.

You climbed into the passenger seat already cringing at the unidentifiable smell and litters of trash covering the floor. Forcing a smile to your face you greet the grimey boy sitting at the wheel with a wave.

“Come onnnn, not even a kiss? You must be real happy to see me, huh?” You grit your teeth, squeeze both eye’s shut, and lean in for a peck to appease his complaints.

“Of course I’m happy to see you babe.” This was a lie. Something you had become quite good at these past few years, even lying to yourself at times. The rest of the car ride was silent, leaving you to ponder this drudgery of a relationship. You weren’t quite sure when things shifted or if there was ever an attraction at all, but after a year together and college approaching you just decided to ride it out until the inevitable. And part of you recognized the same in him, so there was never any guilt about it.

December 31st, 9:45pm:

Alcohol was the first thing on your mind as soon as the car went into park. The door to the house was propped wide open, inviting in teens of the small town. Some top 10 hit boomed from a speaker nested in the main living area, not really your style—at least not sober. You scavenged the kitchen for a clean solo cup to designate as your own and began the journey to drunkenness. Jax followed in suit with a couple bottles of beer. The harsh burn in your throat lingered but the alcohol's effect was already beginning to take off the edge that was your life.

You attempted to initiate some conversation with the man who had brought you here but he was too busy texting to listen. So consumed with the glow of his screen, you couldn’t help but peek to see what was so interesting. As soon as you got a glimpse you wished you had been less nosey. His attention was not being stolen by a dumb Instagram reels, but actually, a long string of texts with a girl whose name you didn’t recognize. Your stomach pinged at his possible infidelity. Partly because he was your boyfriend but mostly because you’d spent months convincing yourself to like him, to stay with him, to be a good girlfriend—and he could care less. All this work and effort on your part was simply discarded with his unloyal behavior. It was all for nothing. But hey, maybe you were just drawing conclusions. It could just be a friend. Right?

December 31st, 10:15pm:

Jax had finally shifted his attention back to you before his screen lit up again causing you to retaliate in irritation. You swiped up the cracked device before he had the chance and began to scroll.

“Can’t you just silence it? What is soooo fucking importan-.” Your voice caught at the sight of flirty messages littering the screen.

“Are-are you fucking cheating on me?” You instantly questioned.

“Bro no! Give me my fucking phone back!”

“Who the fuck are you texting then? ‘Mary Jane’,” you spouted in a mocking tone, “no way is that someone's real name. You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“It’s a joke between me and my cousin. Now would you chill?”

“Your cousin?? You call your cousin baby?? I mean, I knew this town was full of hicks but I didn’t know y’all were those kinds of hicks.” The alcohol was giving you a little too much courage as your taunting waded into dangerous territory.

“The fuck did you just say? Don’t fucking test me! Can’t even handle a couple shots without getting all crazy on me!!”

“Crazy?? I’m being fucking reasonable. Literally any other person would be bothered by this just as much as me.”

“You know what, just fuck off. We can talk when you stop being such a delusional bitch.” He then disappeared into the living room, landing onto the couch, leaving you alone with your anger.

December 31st, 10:30pm:

You stood idle, bubbling over with emotion, eye’s filling with tears when a wet sensation hit your upper lip. Its flow grew stronger and began to trickle onto your hands where your gaze was locked. Deep red stained your palms- a random nosebleed. It was like a sign from the universe. A sign that you weren’t crazy. In fact, you might be one of the only sane people in this whole damn town. Stuck in your reverie, blood continued to drip on your hands, your shirt, your lips- everywhere. That is until a kind eyed girl slipped you a dish towel to stop the flow.

“Uh hey, your nose is bleeding.” You snapped your head up finally acknowledging the moment in full.

“Shit thanks, sorry…” Your face went hot realizing how long you had been just standing still, letting the blood fall where it may. The heat doubled, spreading to your ears when you finally acknowledged the person who had witnessed the whole thing. Ellie Williams. You had never formally met but knew of her existence, as she had kind of a reputation around school. There wasn’t anything inherently bad about her (at least in your opinion), she just didn’t fit the mold of most residents in your town. Therefore, she was a target for people's prejudices, especially being the only out lesbian in your senior class. Despite everyone else’s thoughts, you really admired her. You wished you had that type of courage.

“It’s no problem…” the auburn haired girl glanced down deciding what to say next before lifting her gaze back up to you. “Not to be nosey, I know you don’t really know me, but like… are you okay?”

Head tilted back, you gave a nasally reply, “Oh me? Yeah, yeah uh- I’m okay”

“No offense but uh, you don’t look that okay.” she gestured to your bloody everything.

“Alright so I’m not okay, you got me.” You looked down to your now crimson stained blouse and scrubbed frantically at the chiffon material trying to reprimand the damage.

“Here, here– You can just take my flannel to cover it up, I promise I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Before you could say anything else, Ellie was sliding the warm garment over your shoulders and guiding you into the arm holes. It was dark blue, in a faded plaid pattern, and smelled of pine and incense. The girl was now left barren in just her white tank– and all for you.

“Yeah of course.” She then took it a step further, buttoning you up. You watched as her dexterous fingers worked up from the bottom of the shirt to the top, brushing you at each maneuver. A little jab into the plush right under your naval, a swipe past your ribs, and a tap at your collarbones. The quick, unexpected interaction left you completely flustered and you weren’t quite sure why.

“Thank you.” was all you could say.

“Sooo… do you wanna talk about it?” At this point, Ellie was completely enamored with you from the way you handled yourself with Jax. She had this unusual feeling, a feeling like she needed to protect you. A feeling that you were different from most. Maybe you were even a little like her?

“Honestly, yeah. My friend Samara was supposed to be here tonight but I guess she decided not to show, and I’m starting to wish I didn’t either.”

“Well, if it’s worth anything, I’m glad you’re here. Come on now, follow me.” Ellie led the way to a set of stairs at the edge of the living room. You snaked right past the couch where Jax was drunkenly passed out, mumbling obscenities at his phone. Of course, he paid no mind to you. The idiot was too consumed with himself to even wonder if you were okay.

December 31st, 11:00pm:

You and the sweet girl sat on the rough carpeted step talking about everything under the sun. Ellie was the first person in a really long time who you felt you could be honest with.

“So you think he’s cheating on you?” she questions trying to clarify the few bits of dialogue she heard while watching from afar.

“I know he is. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sure you’re not.” Ellie put her head down staring at the laces of her dirty converse. You felt so unreadable, making her unsure of how to proceed in the conversation. “So00, how do you feel about it all then?”

“I don’t know, I guess angry.” you answered with a remarkably solemn tone.

“What about… sad?”

Like second nature, you instantly thought of a less than honest answer until Ellie’s attentive green eyes brought you back to Earth.

“It feels like… I’m supposed to be sad, but I can’t. In a twisted, confusing way, I’m honestly kinda relieved. So fucking pissed, but relieved.” Ellie’s lids widened, this was an answer she wasn’t expecting at all–but one she was glad to hear.

“I can’t blame you, he does kinda seem like a piece of shit.”

“And his dick is small too.” you quipped, making Ellie chuckle under her breath.

“Maybe I’m reading into things, but… it seems like you never really liked this guy in the first place.”

You took a guilty pause before confirming, “Maybe…”

“So why haven’t you broken up with him?” Ellie was genuinely curious. She thought if it was her in the situation she definitely would’ve gotten rid of that Jax guy long, long ago. Who would wanna keep around a douche bag like that?

“Being with Jax felt convenient. He felt like my ticket to ‘normalcy’.” You put your head down in slight shame but continued the explanation. “I got so caught up in my image that I neglected how I actually felt. I was doing everything to please everyone but me.” Ellie scooted in one inch to the left, now connecting your thighs and bringing in a sense of comfort.

“Trust me, I understand. This town is fucking ruthless.”

“God yeah, the things I’ve heard people say about you are seriously fucked up. I don’t know how you do it.” A beat of silence lingered as Ellie articulated her thoughts.

“I think… community. I mean, obviously most of the people at our school look down on me, but all it takes is one singular person to be right there with you and then things don’t feel so bad. I guess for me, I can’t imagine being anything but myself. Like completely myself.” The girl looked up from the hangnail she was picking at as she spoke and was met with your tear filled eyes. “Fuck, did I say something?”

Your hand shot up to quickly wipe away the floodgates threatening to fall, “No, no. It’s just that you’re right,” you stuttered, choking down another cry, “an-and, I wish I would've realized it sooner because these past 4 years have been like hell. I don’t wanna be the cookie cutter straight girl anymore. I just wanna be me.”

Ellie then placed a gentle hand to your knee and brought her eyes to meet your own, “And what might that be?”

“Gay. Like really fucking gay.” you said through teary-eyed laughs as Ellie joined in with her own hearty chuckle.

“Welcome to the club.” she said, sticking out a strong hand for you to shake. You grasped it tightly as her warm palm guided you up and down, her touch lingering just a little longer than the gesture itself. As you collected yourself you whipped out a small pocket mirror to touch up the smudged mascara littering your undereyes. Ellie admired in silence. She was in pure awe of your resilience, and when you were finished with your clean up, you turned back to realize what had just gone down.

“Fuck, I’m sorry for dumping all that on you considering we just met. It’s weird how things I’ve never even said out loud before can come out so easily around a stranger.”

Ellie nudges you with her shoulder, “I guess I just have that effect, huh?”

“I guess you do.” you sighed, nudging her back.

December 31st, 11:15pm:

The two of you continued your banter until a cold breeze from the back door gave Ellie a brilliant idea.

“Dare I say… you look like you need a blunt?” she said with a mischievous smirk.

“No, please. It's exactly what I need.”

Ellie then reached into the pocket of her baggy jeans, “I guess it’s your lucky day then.” she said, revealing the most perfectly wrapped blunt you’d ever seen.

“You’re actually god sent Ellie. How are we just now meeting?” The auburn-haired girl gave a small laugh before grabbing your hand and leading you to the backyard. As she pushed the white panel door open, every single ounce of weight that had been lifted off from that one singular conversation, all came crashing back down. Ellie and you weren’t the only ones who adventured outside into the brisk night air. Right on the porch stood Jax, accompanied by your “friend” Samara, who up until this point you didn’t even think was coming. The piece of shit was practically sucking her face off before the creaking sound of the back door sent them 5 feet apart.

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” you yelled, eyes growing dark with rage. Ellie just stood and watched from the corner.

“Babe, please! I swear it’s not what you think!” Jax stumbled forward, attempting to grasp at your figure.

“Don’t you dare try and touch me! You don’t even deserve to look at me. It’s over Jax. I’m done being suffocated by your never ending bullshit!” Knuckles clenched, you continued your lashings, this time at Samara. “I-I thought we were friends. What happened to that?”

“You don’t even like him. You should be thanking me.” she spat.

“You really don’t get it, huh? This has nothing to do with me liking Jax or not, you completely betrayed our friendship the second you started fucking him behind my back. Friends don’t fuck each other boyfriends Samara!” Before she could even respond Jax was dragging her away, flipping you off on the way inside.

“Ellie-” you squeaked, trembling in shock.

“Come here, it’s okay love.” she whispered, parting her arms to make a safe space just for you. You collapsed into the warm cavity and relinquished the buckets of tears you had been saving for the moment someone actually gave a fuck. And Ellie did. She never let go of you even for a second as you crumbled under her.

“Jeez I’m sorry.” you said after minutes of pure silence, lifting your head to meet Ellie’s green eyes.

“For what?”

“For being a drunk mess, crying to you about a man, and also, I think I got a little snot on your shirt.” you tried to laugh it off but you really just wanted to disappear.

Taking your face in her palms Ellie reassured you, “hey, hey no need to be sorry pretty girl. You’ve been through a lot tonight. Besides, I think I look kinda good with this huge ass wet spot in the middle of my tank top. What do you think?” You stepped back and took a look at the damage, and honestly, she was kinda right. With the white cotton material you could see right through to her toned stomach, barely missing the bottom of her breasts.

“Fine, yes. I’m sure there’s plenty of girls who’d kill to see you in a wet shirt Ellie.”

“Lucky you then.” she said, playfully nudging your shoulder.

You couldn’t help it as the corners of your mouth turned upwards, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“There’s that smile. Soooo… blunt now?”

“Yes. Blunt.”

December 31st, 11:30pm:

And just like that, you were halfway through the chestnut wand of herbs and deep in conversation.

“So you really haven't seen But I’m a Cheerleader?” Ellie asked, blowing out a puff of smoke with the question and passing it on.

You took the blunt from between her fingers and let it rest between your own, “No. Should I have?”

“Definitely dude, it’s like queer classic.”

“Oh yeah?” You cocked your head at the freckled faced girl.

“Yeah. And now that I’m thinking about it, you’re honestly just like the main character.”

“How so?” you asked, taking another long draw.

“She’s in denial about being gay for like the first 30 minutes of the movie.”

A string of coughs unleashed from your chest as you let out a hefty laugh mid-inhale, “Bitch-”

“What? I’m being so deadass!”

“Fine, what character are you then?” you pry, passing the lit blunt back over to Ellie.

Taking a hit she replies, “I guess I’d be graham.”

“And what does she do?”

“I’m kinda like your awakening in a sense. Graham is all gay and cool, and of course Megan—that's you—totally falls for her.”

You retrieve the lit cannabis and roll your eyes, “I haven’t fallen for you yet Williams.”

“Yet.” she emphasizes, placing a soft finger to the tip of your nose tauntingly.

“Ha. Ha.” you monotonously mock, “Now here, I think it’s done.” You hand Ellie the roach and she promptly stubs it out into the concrete slab deck.

“Come on, let’s go inside. I’m fucking cold.” she pleas.

“Dude I’m scared. Like I am way too fucked up for this.”

“No, no– I promise you’re fine. I’ll protect you.”

“Fineee.” you drag out.

December 31st, 11:50pm:

Things were seemingly fine as you and Ellie entered the muggy living area of the packed house once more. Your hesitancy was quite clear though and Ellie could sense you needed just a little reassurance. Your right hand, currently picking away at the hangnail on the thumb of your left, was quickly captured by Ellies own rough hand which led you back to your comfortable spot on the ascending stair set.

As you both took a seat your grip remained tight on the girl, afraid that if you let go you might jump up from your spot right then and there just to give Jax one more lesson. Just the sight of him through the slats of the stairs’ wooden railing—legs casually spread wide and eyes focused in on a casual game of Mortal Kombat—drove you fucking crazy.

“Dude if you keep staring like that you might actually burn a hole through his dumb ass T-shirt.” Ellie said, nudging your tensed shoulder.

“Good it’s ugly anyways.”

“Fair point.”

“I just have this burning need to get back at him. I wanna beat his ass just like in that game he can’t take his eyes off.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, “Very funny, but you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Oh yeah?” you questioned before laying a soft punch to the girl's forearm. A string of dramatic “Ows” reverberated from her lips. “See, I’m a badass right?”

“Fine you’re a total badass” she agreed begrudgingly, rubbing the soft tissue of her arm where you had left your mark.

“What? It hurt that bad? You need me to kiss it better?” you taunted.

“Maybe I do.” she said, longing eyes staring into your own.

You gulped down any hesitation and felt it drop straight to your nervous stomach, “Where does it hurt?”

Ellie pointed to her arm slowly, “here.”

You placed a soft peck.

Hot breath raising goosebumps to the surface of her skin, “and here”, she gestured to her outstretched neck

Another supple kiss.

“And um-” she continued, but was quickly cut off and brought back to reality with the bellowing sound of a countdown. Too caught up in the moment, you both had almost forgotten about the holiday currently taking place.

FIVE… FOUR… THREE… TWO…

“Can I kiss you?” she blurted frantically, and with no words you dove into her plump, chapped lips. Just like a puzzle piece your bottom lip slotted perfectly between her own. It was a gentle and delicate kiss at first, drinking in the euphoric moment. Quickly though, soft maneuvers of the mouth got quicker and harder. Spit was exchanged with passion and need, as your hands were becoming grabby at the girl's toned figure. The heat growing between your legs was an easy distraction from the fact that you were at a large party, in a hick town, with your ex-boyfriend now hovering over your more than friendly exchange.

January 1st, 12:01am:

“The fuck? You’re a dyke now?” he yells, practically loud enough for the whole party to hear. You and Ellie frantically pull apart, bumping heads in the process.

The calloused hands that were once caressing the small of your back are now balled into tight fists as Ellie rises from her seated position.

“The fuck did you just say?” she questions, tilting her head to the right.

You now stand up with her, worried where this might go, “Jax you need to walk away.”

“Oh shut up slut. You’re so fucking desperate you’d do it with anyone!”

That one hurt. That was the tipping point. Tears welled in your eyes.

“I’M NOT A FUCKING SLUT! I’M GAY AND NEVER LIKED YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE!”

“You need to leave now before I do something I’ll regret, you dirty bitch.” he threatens. And that's it, Ellie takes a swing aiming straight for his nose. Her fist retracts and reveals his bloody and now crooked cartilage. Through clenched teeth Jax grips onto Ellies white tank, throwing her into the open space of the living room. Just like a car crash, it’s one of those things where a scene can be so disturbing but you just can’t look away. And everyone else in the room was feeling it too—backed into corners, hands over mouths, some men even obnoxiously chanting “fight, fight.” But this isn’t what you wanted. Not at all.

“STOP! YOU NEED TO FUCKING STOP IT!” you screamed desperately. You didn’t even want to imagine what Jax would do to the freckled girl who changed your life in mere hours. But you didn’t have to, because here they were, brawling it out for the whole school. Jax swung at Ellie’s head to which she ducked before jabbing him in the stomach, stealing whatever air was swimming in his lungs. He stumbled backwards 3 steps, coughing through the hit, but this just made him angrier.

He charged back at the flustered girl with more force and gained a grip on a wad of choppy auburn hair. With a forceful yank she came tumbling to the ground with him on top. Ellie wriggled, pushed, and kicked but the sheer weight of the furious man was enough to keep her pinned. Jax began punching left and right, capturing her face with each blow. Thick crimson decorated his knuckles and the entirety of the girl's face. You could barely make out her litter of freckles and the half-lidded slits of emerald green—it was blood, all blood.

But as Jax kept on going, and the room grew quieter, this fight turned into something much more serious. It was inching on life or death and you had to do something. You surveyed the room, eyes dancing from counter to counter until a large glass beer bottle nagged at the tips of your fingers. Grabbing it tightly in your fist, you did what you had to to end this. Glass and gasps scattered through the room. The sharp brown shards littered the floor and evoked a gushing red stream from the back of Jax’s head. He instantly rolled to the side leaving Ellie an opening to escape. You weren’t done yet though, he hadn’t gotten what he deserved yet. Falling to the floor right at his body, hot tears streamed down your face.

Through curses and screams you thrashed at the man's barely conscious frame, “FUCK YOU JAX! FUCK YOU!” This was for every time he made you feel stupid, for making you feel like the ugliest girl in the room, for all the times he kissed you while you just prayed for it to be over, for making your life a living hell. With each scratch, punch, and kick all the pent up anger and resentment drained from your soul. Ellie let you have at him for a bit but as the crowd started to thin she knew the cops would be here any second now.

“Come on! We gotta go hun!” she nagged.

“NO I CAN’T! NOT YET” you yelled, collapsing down into tears. Ellie promptly scooped you up by your armpits and dragged you from Jax’s limp body.

“I know baby, you're angry, it’s hard. But the cops are coming and we need to leave now.” she said, picking you up completely and carrying you through the frame of the propped open front door. You nestled your head into her bloody top as your chest still rapidly rose up and down, choking on the last few streams of tears and snot. “I’m gonna get you home love, don’t you worry.”

January 1st, 12:15am:

Finally through the small window of Ellie’s red truck you spot your familiar 2 story home. She grips the steering wheel, whipping to the right into the empty driveway. Of course she helps you inside and up to your quaint little bedroom. It felt weird almost—so quiet and still after such a chaotic night—and void of any life but you and the freckled faced girl. It was a cold feeling knowing you’d be all alone in just a few minutes, and tonight, you weren’t sure if that was a feeling you wanted to know.

“Els?”

“Yeah?” she answered softly.

“Can you stay?”

With a kiss to the head she agreed, “Of course I’ll stay.” The rest of the night was spent cuddled up under your warm comforter, and despite all the events from just hours before, you felt safe. And for once, in fucking years, you were content.

✄ - - - - masterlist - - - - ♡

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captainfern · 5 months

Text

141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part Three - Good Girl •

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

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chapter summary - after hearing the kind of treatment you're giving his teammates, the number 8 thinks it's only fair for him to receive the same treatment too lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 7.5k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], oral fixation type beat, oral [m!receiving], dry (wet?) humping, thigh-riding, discussion of m!masturbation, degradation, light dumbification, praise, dacryphilia?? idk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, discussion of foursome/sharing, simon's a little possessive tho, and simon's obsessed with you tbh, and he talks about his dick a lot lol, strong language

Ghost is a number 8, or eighthman – supports the back line, carries the ball well and tackles strongly. this position tends to be the perfect mix of strong and agile.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

<- part two | part four ->

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"How was dinner?" Simon asked that evening, entering his and Johnny's shared flat, kicking off his shoes near the door.

It was late, nearing midnight, when Simon returned home. He, Price and Gaz had trained for several hours, and then went out to dinner. Simon returned home expecting for Johnny to be occupied, and so he entered tentatively, but he found the Scot sitting on the couch watching some shitty reality TV programme.

"It was nice," Johnny said flippantly. "Yeah... real nice."

Simon raised his eyebrows, coming to perch himself on the couch– the couch that, unbeknownst to him, you had made a mess on just a few hours prior. Simon looked over at Johnny, who ignored the blond and continued watching TV. Slightly annoyed, Simon snatched the remote and shut the TV off, much to Johnny's dismay.

"Hey!" Johnny frowned.

"Tell me about your date." Simon said, and Johnny sat up, leaning back against the plush armchair.

"It wasn't a date," Johnny rolled his eyes. "And I told you, it was nice. She's really nice company, you know."

Simon hummed, intrigued. "I bet..." Then, he waited for Johnny to continue, but he didn't. Simon cocked his head to the side, and Johnny mimicked the movement, a grin on his face. Simon rolled his eyes. "You already know what I'm about to say."

Johnny laughed. "No, we didn't fuck."

"How come?"

Johnny shrugged. "Just the way it went. Dinner was nice, and we talked for fuckin' hours. I could listen to the lass talk forever," he smiled, then continued. "By the time we stopped talking, it was too late, and she had to head home."

Simon narrowed his eyes at his friend, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arm atop the top of the backrest. He drummed his fingers against the fabric. "S'that all you did? Talk and ate?"

Johnny smiled. Simon knew that fucking smile.

Simon raised his eyebrows, imploring Johnny to tell him everything. Johnny cocked his head to the side again, wanting Simon to ask about it.

"Fuck sake," Simon shook his head. "Fine... what did you do?"

"'M glad you asked," Johnny split into a cheeky grin. "Since you really want to know–"

"Really is a bit of an exaggeration–"

"She played with herself while I watched. Right there on that fuckin' couch, Simon." Johnny nodded at the couch, and Simon instinctively looked down at the fabric. Johnny smiled. "Right where you're sitting, actually."

Simon made no effort to move. He looked back up at his friend. "You told her how to touch herself, Johnny?"

"Mhm," Johnny said proudly. "While I fucked my fist, too. Came so fuckin' hard I almost burnt my fuckin' roast."

Simon laughed through his nose. "I don't think the force of your orgasm is what made you almost burn your roast. It more likely had something to do with your distraction."

"It was a bloody good distraction, Ghost," Johnny said around a smile. "You... you need to try her, sometime."

Simon felt his eyebrows pinch together in a subtle frown. "Don't talk about her like that. She's not a toy."

Johnny looked offended. "No, no, didn't mean it like that. I just mean, you know, if you wanted too, she'd... she'd probably let you."

"Let me what?"

"Let you..." Johnny raised his eyebrows. "Let you fuck her."

"Wow, real mature, Johnny," Simon quipped, leaning back into the sofa, adjusting his sitting position with a shift of his hips. "What makes you think I want her like that?"

Johnny rolled his eyes. "I'm not fuckin' blind, Ghost. You fancy her, as do half the fuckin' team, eh? And besides, who wouldn't like her like that. She's perfect."

"Perfect?" Simon mumbled out, looking around the living room.

If he put his head at a certain angle, in a certain direction, he could smell you– the sweetness of your perfume, the fragrance of your shampoo. It managed to linger in the air over top of the smell of roast, and the vague tang of citrus cleaning products.

In the armchair, Johnny shrugged again, eyes wandering. "Well, you know, I could put in a good word for you if you wanted me to."

Simon shot daggers at Johnny, then got to his feet, stretching out his back. His knuckles cracked when he flexed his fingers, a throbbing pain appearing at the base of his fingers. Johnny noticed the way Simon's face contorted into a pained grimace.

"Oh, so the appointment's real?"

"What?" Simon frowned.

"You're really going to see her 'cause you're hurt? I thought you'd made it up." Johnny said, and Simon huffed, annoyed, tossing his Scottish friend an unimpressed look.

"Yes, I'm hurt, you fuckwit," Simon muttered, holding his right hand to his chest. Then, defiantly, he turned back to his friend. "You know what?"

"What?" Johnny was grinning now.

Simon wished he could wipe that cheeky grin off of his friend's face. But he knew he couldn't. Not when his next words made the smile grow tenfold.

"I am going to try her an' see how perfect she really is."

•º•º•

Simon didn't want to come onto you to strong– pun definitely not intended. Not yet, anyway.

He didn't want to crowd you, or stress you out. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, or make you feel as though he was taking advantage of you. He didn't want that. He admitted telling Johnny he wanted to try you was a fucking prick thing to say, but he didn't know how else to phrase it. Because, well, it was true. He did want to try you. Just like Johnny and Gaz did. The lucky bastards.

His interest piqued when he got a good look at you on the sidelines of one of their first matches. Of course, he saw you on your first day, and around the grounds several days after that, but he really got a good look at you when you were taping up Gaz's wrist all those weeks ago.

Simon was benched, and sitting at the very opposite end to you. He did find himself glancing over in your direction every so often, just to see what the fuss was about. Many of the lads had taken interest in you, but you seemed oblivious– or possibly just immune– to their charm. But, Simon did notice that Gaz's charm seemed to be working.

So Simon took note.

He noted the way Gaz was genuinely nice to you, polite and well-mannered. He didn't flirt with you heavily, not like how the other players described their flirting tactics. Gaz was feather-light with his advances, and he never forced you close to him. He simply allowed you to gravitate towards him.

And so that's how Simon knew he wanted to play it. He had always been a strategist– being a number 8, that line of thinking was critical. He read the play well, picked up on body-language and non-verbal cues– that was his job, basically. So he took note on how Gaz approached you, how he spoke to you, how he spoke about you to the others. The winger was polite, respectful and, above all, successful.

He had told Simon, Johnny and Price all about his little encounter with the team's physio while at the gym a couple of weeks before Johnny decided to give it a go. He explained how he did it, why he wanted to do it– and then proceeded to gush about how much he enjoyed it, how much he enjoyed you.

You, you, you.

That's what triggered Simon's interest in you.

Of course, like he said before, he picked up on a few things while you taped Gaz's wrist that day. You were so gentle with him, smiling and joking, and you did your job so well.

But when Gaz couldn't shut his mouth at the gym that night, and now how Johnny wouldn't stop fucking smiling about you– god, Simon really, really wanted you now.

And usually, when Simon wants something, he get's it. He got the number 8 position in the team. He got player of the year last year. He'll get the team's physiotherapist, too. If Johnny could do it, surely it wouldn't be too hard.

But Simon purposely made it harder for himself to ensure that everything seemed easier on you.

The first appointment he had with you, where you took his hand so gently into yours, running your fingers over his knuckles, his palm, his wrist, he willed himself not to get hard. Willed himself not to pop a fucking boner in his boxers at your touch, at the way your pretty eyes stared up at him, and the way you had that welcoming, warm smile.

That appointment, he made sure he didn't flirt with you. Not one little bit. He kept conversation casual, platonic. The small talk was polite and, dare he say it, mundane. It was his own fault, but he had to stick with it. He asked you about your day, about future appointments. He asked you about why you took the job, and how you were liking it so far. He didn't push it.

But, after booking the next appointment, he headed for the door, looking over his shoulder to give you the simplest of smiles. He then uttered, "Have a nice day, love."

Success. He watched you fidget on the spot at his words. Then he left.

He'd jerk off to your expression in the shower when he got home. But first, he needed to go to the fucking gym.

The next appointment, about a week after the first, Simon knew it was time to start wiggling his way into your mind. Get you thinking about him. He knew you were still thinking about Soap and Gaz– and probably still paying them visits, too– so Simon knew that putting thoughts of him into your head wouldn't be too hard.

So he planted little seeds. Polite, of course, without pressing into any boundary that he knew would make uncomfortable.

But he placed lingering touches– brushing his fingers against yours when you handed him something, or craning his head just a bit closer to yours when he looked over your shoulder as you showed him something on your computer. He wore more cologne so it'd linger in your office. He said hello to you in the hallway before anyone else could. He made sure to do his warm-up stretches in the middle of the playing field where he knew you'd have a good view from your office.

Strategic. Like all number 8's should be.

And he wasn't the best number 8 in the entire UK for fucking nothing.

He noticed it start to work that very same week. The following days after his second appointment, leading up to his third. Days he noticed your eyes light up when he waved to you in the hall; days you smiled from your window while you watched him warm-up; days where you got flustered when he winked at you while you were talking to Johnny.

Johnny noticed it too.

That happened just a few hours before his third appointment– an appointment he scheduled a bit earlier in the week than usual, only a few days after his second. He was so close.

Johnny teased him. "You're on the fuckin' prowl, Ghost."

"Don't say it like that, Johnny, what the fuck," Simon growled. The pair were walking from their flat towards their home stadium. Simon shook his head. "She's a human being."

"She sure is," Johnny said wistfully, as though remembering something he was fond of. Simon guessed he was, something fond of you, so he elbowed the Scot in the ribs as they crossed the road. Johnny laughed. "Alright, that's enough, I get it."

Simon grumbled under his breath as the two friends made their way towards the stadium along the roadside. As cars drove past, he heard the voice of a kid yell, "Ghost! Soap!" which made Simon smile.

After a moment of walking in silence, Johnny cleared his throat. Simon looked at him in annoyance.

Johnny pouted at Simon's expression. "What're you mad for? I haven't said anything yet!"

"You don't need to," Simon said. "I know whatever you're about to say is gonna be stupid."

"Is not."

"Is too."

Johnny grumbled. "You're no fun."

Simon looked at Johnny, then over to the looming stadium, then back to Johnny again. He sighed, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie as he walked.

"Fine," he said. "What is it?"

Johnny smiled. "Have you got a plan?"

"A plan...?"

"Yeah to, you know, woo the lass."

"Woo the lass," Simon echoed with a mouthful of disinterest. "You're a fuckwit."

"Hey, I'm just asking!" Johnny held up his hands in mock-surrender. When he put them back down, he wiggled his eyebrows at Simon. "...So?"

Simon rolled his eyes.

Johnny smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."

Simon sighed through his nose. Johnny was right, but he didn't want to admit that. Simon'd rather hurt his other hand than admit it, because the look on Johnny's face already– and Simon hadn't even admitted anything– was enough. Enough for Simon to shoulder Johnny and force him off the pavement.

Johnny laughed as he toppled over into a row of hedges. He yelled out at Simon as the blond kept walking. "Don't go throwin' me 'round, Simon! Otherwise I'll end back up in doc's office!"

Simon clenched his jaw. Don't bite back.

•º•º•

"How does that feel?" You asked, two hands holding one of Simon's large ones.

Your soft fingers traced over his lower knuckles, pressing gently on the space of finger between those knuckles, and the row in the middle of the fingers. You rubbed circles on each finger for a couple of seconds, and Simon watched you, his gaze unwavering.

You felt very warm.

"That's good," Simon said quietly when you got to his pinky-finger, pressing at the bones and joints and looking up to his face for any flicker of pain. He looked at you as you searched his face. He allowed himself a small smile. "It's good, doc. I promise."

You smiled back up at him and dropped his hand. He frowned.

You didn't notice. "Good, that's good. Alright, so I suppose this is our last appointment..." you meandered over to your computer, sliding into the chair and beginning to type at lightening speed. Simon watched your fingers fly over the keyboard.

"Our... last one?" Simon voiced, tone even and not at all betraying the disappointment he felt inside.

"Yep, our last one," you said. You finished up on your computer and then looked over at him with a beaming smile. "You're all good to go."

Simon slid off of the medical table, not having to drop far. He towered over you, which he knew you liked– based on the way you chewed subtly on your bottom lip when he stood over you.

So, phase one of his plan that, if Soap was somehow listening, definitely did not exist– use his height to his advantage.

You got up from behind your desk to walk him to the door, and Simon took the opportunity to walk directly next to you until you both reached the door. When you opened the door, Simon stepped into the frame and turned around so he could face you, leaning his shoulder against the framing and crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest. He watched the way your eyes followed the movement. You swallowed nervously.

"Thanks for that, doc," he said lowly. "I appreciate it."

"O-oh, yeah, it's no big deal," you stuttered. "Just... just doing my job, you know?"

Your eyes didn't meet his. Not when he was executing phase two– holding eye contact. A soft kind of eye contact, the same Gaz always used. Simon kept a slight crinkle in the corners of his eyes, his lids lowering a fraction as his eyes scanned your face, darting from your eyes to your lips in perfectly timed intervals.

Your throat was drying. You cleared it with a low cough. "Right, well... did you need anything?"

Phase three, the riskier part of the plan–

"You like the way I look at you, doc?" Simon whispered. He felt nerves twisting in his own stomach as he waited an eternity (less than a second) for your response. He looked down at you softly.

You cleared your throat again. "I... I mean, I don't– I don't mind if, you mean– if you meant it like that–"

Phase four, even fucking riskier–

"Answer my question, doc," Simon whispered. "An' use your words, hm? You like the way I look at you? You like the way I'm talking to you?"

And, if his plan worked, if it somehow worked, then the outcome would be–

"...yes." A whisper from your pretty lips.

Perfect. Mission-fucking-successful.

"Yeah?" Simon was still leaning against the doorframe. "How do I make you feel?"

"...warm," you confessed quietly, not meeting his eyes. "You... fucking hell, you give me butterflies."

"Butterflies?" Simon grinned. "Do I? How else do I make you feel?"

Simon walked forward, and you walked backwards. Enough so that he quietly shut the door and then spun the lock. It clicked. Locked.

You swallowed. "I– you–"

"Look at me when you're talking to me, doc."

You looked up at him, his hazy blue eyes and the mosaic of scars running across his face.

"How do I make you feel when I look at you like this?" He asked, moving forward. You were backing yourself towards your desk. He cocked his head at you. "How do you feel when you look at me?"

"Good," you breathed. "Feel's good... I like the way you look at me and... and I like looking at you."

"Yeah? You do, love?" Simon goaded, and your backside hit your desk. "D'you want to know how I feel?"

You nodded quickly. Simon chuckled.

"O'course you do..." He stepped into your space, the lower part of his chest up against the top of yours. He looked down at you, his arms coming to rest on your hips. "Is this okay?"

You nodded. "Yes..."

Simon leaned down until his nose brushed against yours. You closed your eyes in anticipation, your lips just a hair-length apart. You could feel his breath fanning across your face, and your stomach flipped at his close proximity.

"I love the way you touch me," he whispered, his words tickling your lips. "Love the way you look at me, too. Y'look at me like I'm the prettiest thing on earth, don't you? Love the way you look at me with them pretty eyes, like you want me to fuck you, hm?"

Your mouth dropped open in a gasp, and Simon took the opportunity to press his mouth to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. One of the hands he had on your hips moved upwards to cup the back of your head, moving you closer to him as his lower body pushed yours against the wooden desk.

"That's what you want?" He asked, breaking the kiss and shifting his pelvis against yours. You could feel the hard, large imprint of his cock against your front, and it made you whimper, squirming in his hold. He hummed, closing his eyes as you ground yourself against the growing bulge in his trousers. "Yeah? You want me to fuck you? You want me to fill your tight cunt with my big fuckin' cock, hm?"

You moaned, and Simon swallowed it– kissing you roughly by pulling you into him using the hand he had on the back of your head. His tongue licked against yours, running over the ridges of your teeth, and he groaned. He groaned at the taste of you, the warmth and the wetness of your mouth. His cock twitched in his boxers.

He pulled out of the kiss, placing one quick peck on your lips before pulling his face away. "Got a pretty damn mouth on you, doc."

The hand on the back of your head shifted to the side of your face, and you were blinking back surprise when his thumb brushed over your lips. You opened your mouth when he flicked his thumb against your bottom lip, and he grumbled in his chest– a pleased purr, almost– when he slipped his thumb into your mouth. You wrapped your tongue around the digit, retaining eye-contact as you sucked his thumb further into your mouth, the rest of his hand holding firmly onto the base of your jaw.

Simon pressed his thumb down onto your tongue when you took the digit further back into your mouth. You gagged, but he kept his thumb there. You gagged again, eyes watering, and Simon slowly dragged his thumb back to the front of your mouth, flicking it against the tip of your tongue.

"You wanna suck my cock, love?" Simon asked in a whisper, swiping the pad of his thumb along your teeth, feeling the ridges of your molars and the points of your lower canines.

You whined around his thumb, still sucking gently, nodding as his eyes swept over your face.

"'Atta girl," Simon praised, pulling his thumb from your mouth and then gripping your jaw, smearing your saliva across your cheek. "How about you get down on them knees, doc?"

He spun you both around so that he was now leaning his backside against the desk. He then let go of your head and allowed you to lower yourself to the ground in front of him, your hands resting on the thick of his strong thighs.

He gestured to his fly and button, and you got the hint. Saliva already pooling in your mouth, you popped the button of his jeans and then unzipped the fly, lowering them enough to get a good look at the imprint of his cock in his boxers. There was a small wet patch on the front, and it made your pussy flutter around nothing.

Acting on your own accord, you leaned forward and pressed kisses along the bulge, tongue moving against the cotton, laving over the patch of pre-cum that stained the material. Simon's hand shot down to hold the crown of your head as you kissed the hard imprint of his cock, whimpering in the back of your throat at the warmth against your lips and tongue.

His hips bucked, the stain of pre-cum growing bigger as his cock leaked within the confines of his boxers, twitching as the warm wetness of your mouth pressed open-mouthed kisses over it.

"Fuck, yeah, that's it, love," Simon breathed. "Kiss my cock– use that pretty mouth."

You whined against him, nose sliding over the waistband of his boxers. Your fingers trailed up his thighs until they reached the waistband, and you leaned your head back so you could pull his boxers down far enough for his cock to fall out.

Simon's cock was heavy, curving forward under the weight of his arousal, his balls heavy too, waiting– just waiting– to bust a load all over your pretty face, or in that warm mouth. His tip was flushed red, all the blood flow having travelled down while you kissed him, leaking droplets of pre-cum. And then your favourite part– the dark blond hair of his happy-trail leading to the patch near the base of his cock.

You whined again, bringing a hand to your face and spitting in it, before wrapping your fingers around the girth of his cock. Simon groaned, fingers flexing around the top of your head, holding you still as you began to work your hand up and down.

"Dirty fuckin' girl, that's it," he hissed, your eyes on him as you jerked him off. Your lips were just a whisper away from his leaking tip, and with each laboured breath you panted out, his cock twitched. He looked down at you with a lust-drunk gaze. "Are you going to keep playing with my cock, or are you going to put it in your mouth?"

You answered him by opening your mouth and letting your tongue drop out slightly. He hummed– a deep grumble from his chest– pleased with you, before bringing his free hand down to grab the base of his cock. You dropped your hand away from him, instead resting it against the solid warmth of his thigh.

Simon fisted his cock in front of your face, one hand keeping your head in place. He angled his hips so he could tap the flushed tip against your tongue, smearing pre-cum along the flat of the smooth muscle. A bead of saliva pearled at the tip of your tongue, and he smacked the tip of his cock against it, forcing your saliva to drip out of your mouth and down your chin. You frowned at him, and he smiled, whispering, "so messy."

Your jaw was just beginning to ache when he finally dropped more of his cock against your tongue, the solid weight of it wiping the frown from your face. You continued to look up at the rugby player before you as his cock inched further into your mouth– slowly enough that you could feel the velveteen ridges and veins across the surface of your pre-cum tainted tongue. You whimpered softly as Simon held your head firmer, feeding his cock into your mouth, forcing your tongue to draw back inside and your lips to seal around him.

"Take it..." Simon whispered, his tone soft. The fat head of his cock nudged the back of your throat after a moment, and you immediately gagged around him, tears springing to your eyes. Simon tutted, shifting his hips back and pulling his cock away from your uvula. His fingers massaged the top of your head. "What's 'a matter, pretty girl? S'my cock too big?"

You frowned at him again, your hands tightening against his thighs. Without his instruction, you pushed forward and took more of him into your mouth, the leaking tip nudging near the back of your throat. You withheld a gag, tears blurring your vision as you took most of him, your nose parallel to his pelvis. He was still holding his cock, so your lips pressed flush against his knuckles. You worked your tongue around him, smoothing warmly around the girth of his cock, and he tossed his head back and groaned, hips twitching.

"Yeah, that's'a fuckin' girl, baby–" he growled, head flopping forward to watch you once more. "Yeah, take my fuckin' cock. Take it all in this pretty mouth."

He removed his hand from his cock, instead gripping the edge of your desk for leverage. His other hand remained on your head, gently beginning to guide you. You worked with him– taking him as far back in your throat as you could, coating his cock in saliva, running your tongue along the underside of him until he eased back into your mouth a bit– then, you circled the tip, sucking gently, hollowing your cheeks, before he was pushing further in again. You took one hand, still sticky with your saliva, and pumped the base of his cock– all of which you couldn't fit in your mouth.

He grumbled out grunts and groans, his eyes on you the entire time. You did your best to maintain eye-contact as well, but tears were still fresh in your waterline, and the force of his thick cock sliding down your throat urged your eyelids shut.

A tear slipped from each eye, dropping down your cheeks. As he panted, focused on the warmth of your mouth around his desperately hard cock, Simon moved both of his hands to your face. He cupped both of your cheeks, running his thumbs along your cheekbones and catching the tears, smearing them across your soft skin. You blinked up at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looked down at you. He continued to cup your face, both large hands heavy on your cheeks, as he gently guided your mouth along his cock.

"There you go, that's my girl..." He muttered, pulling your head right down to the base of his cock, your throat constricting around him as you resisted the urge to gag. You whimpered around him, the heady tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat, messing with your oxygen intake. The vibrations from your whimpering made Simon groan above you. "God, love, keep doing that. Jus' like that, yeah... fuck– keep using that pretty mouth."

He continued to look at you– in such a way your stomach was doing flips, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You desperately blinked the moisture from your vision so you could see more of his handsome face, and the way he occasionally drew his lower lip between his teeth, and the way his dark brows pinched together in pleasure.

He still had both hands on your face, guiding you, petting you, stroking your cheeks and thumbing your cheekbones. His eyes never left your face as you sucked his cock. You were the prettiest damn thing he'd ever seen.

Simon groaned at his own thoughts, hips twitching, more pre-cum dribbling out of his slit and down your throat. You swallowed around him, and he groaned again.

"Fuck– fuck– m'close, love, m'so fuckin' close–" Simon whispered, gritting his teeth as he felt his balls begin to tighten, along with the muscles in his lower abdomen. He held your head just a bit tighter. "M'gonna paint your face, doc."

Romantic, you thought, and you couldn't help but let slip a small giggle around his cock. Simon groaned, his hips jerking faster as he held your head in place, essentially fucking your throat. He was still so gentle though, despite the urgency of his thrusts into the warm heat of your mouth. You let him move you along the length of his cock, saliva dripping down your chin, before he was pulling you all the way off of his cock, a string of saliva connecting the tip and your lips.

"Tongue." He said breathlessly.

You stuck your tongue out as he fisted his cock quickly, wet sounds eliciting through your office. He groaned, a hiss of your name, before he was coming across your face. Most of his cum spurted across your tongue and in your mouth, but splatters flecked over you, milky strings along your saliva-slick lower face. Simon groaned the entire time he came, still pumping his cock in a bruised-knuckled fist, dribbles of white dripping from his cock while you curled your tongue back into your mouth and swallowed.

He was breathing hard, stuffing his semi-hard cock back into his boxers and trousers, and reaching down to take you by the upper arms. You let out an involuntary yelp when he effortlessly hauled you to your feet– as though you weighed absolutely fucking nothing– and pulled you with him. Wordlessly, he rounded your desk and sat down in your office chair, yanking you down onto his lap.

"Good girl." He was whispering as he brought his face to yours and kissed you. You hummed a moan against his lips. His tongue coaxed your mouth open, and the warm, wet muscle was smoothing against yours before you could even think.

One of his large hands cupped the side of your face, his thumb smearing a fat droplet of his cum against your cheek, while the other hand held your hip. With that hand, and all while kissing you, Simon guided you to straddle just one of his thick thighs, and slowly began rocking you against it. He tensed the muscle, and immediately felt the warmth of your clothed cunt beneath your trousers.

He broke the kiss to moan against your lips. "Fuckin' hell, doc, you're fuckin' soaked."

You whimpered, almost embarrassed, as Simon gripped your hip harder and ground you against him. He pressed you down heavier against him, revelling in the way he could feel the warm wetness of your core through both yours and his trousers. He kissed you again, rougher this time– a small clink of teeth, and a large amount of cum-tainted spit.

Butterflies in your stomach, you helped his urging movements. You moved your hips back and forth, sliding yourself against the taut muscles of his thigh. A high-pitched noise filtered from the back of your throat as your clit began to throb, your underwear damp against your slit. You tilted your head back, breaking the kiss so that you could mewl quietly into the silence of your office. Simon immediately attached his mouth to your throat, sucking harshly.

He grunted against your throat. "This pussy's all wet from suckin' my cock?" He then angled his head to suck kisses along your jaw, you face still inclined towards the ceiling.

"Yessss–" You whined, moving your hips faster. He let you– smiling against the skin of your jaw– letting the hand he had on your hip keep up with your desperate pace.

The two of you fell into a short, comfortable, lust-filled silence. The sounds of you panting, his grunting against your neck, and the shifting of fabric the only noises in your office. You whimpered as Simon continued sucking and biting kisses along the expanse of your neck and throat, the skin there sticky with his spit. You could still feel his semi-dried cum on your face.

But as you neared your first orgasm, rocking your clothed cunt against his thigh, your noises grew louder. You whimpering turned to stretched-out whines, and your panting increased in volume, coupled with airy moans– sounds that Simon loved and sounds that had his cock throbbing hard in his boxers. But he didn't want to compromise this situation at all.

The hand he had cupping your head moved along your face, two fingers dragging along your cheek and collecting a generous amount of his cum. Then, he simply shoved them past your lips and pressed down on your tongue, cutting you off mid-moan. Your eyes flew open, finding his, as you instinctively began sucking on the digits.

"You're a noisy girl, aren't you?" Simon muttered, eyes mapping every aspect of your face. "A noisy girl, and a messy girl."

You whimpered around his fingers, eyes almost rolling as your orgasm built heavily in your lower stomach. Your thighs quivered alongside his, and he could feel your cunt pulsing against him– all warm and wet and begging for his cock. But not yet. Not fucking yet.

You were so close– your entire body buzzing against him, skin flushed with a layer of sweat, face and neck sticky, lips tender from the force of Simon's kisses. Your orgasm was building, and building, and building still, and you were so close–

"Come for me," Simon ordered in a soft whisper, his two fingers rubbing against your tongue. "Come for me, love."

It was like your body had been waiting for his permission. The band in your lower belly snapped, your orgasm racking through you in forceful waves, your body shaking against him. A loud moan was caught in your throat, his fingers pinning your tongue to the floor of your mouth, forcing you to whimper out to him instead. Your eyes dropped shut, a bead of saliva pushing out from between his fingers and your lips, running down his wrist. He groaned.

But he didn't stop rocking you against him. Even when you tired and your desperate movements slowed, he didn't. He didn't slow. With all the stamina and strength of a good number 8, he kept his hand tight on your hip and continued to grind you against his muscular thigh.

After a moment of realising that he was not stopping, your eyes flew open and found him already looking at you. His eyes had been on where his fingers disappeared into your mouth– and he pushed them in further, until the middle knuckles slid past your lips. You almost choked, moving your tongue around them now that he wasn't pinning them to the bottom of your mouth. His eyes then found yours.

"So pretty..." He muttered. "So pretty when you come. Want you to come again."

You whimpered, frowning. Simon chuckled, a beautiful smile stretching across his face. He leaned in, moving his fingers to one corner of your mouth so that he place a chaste kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, he was still smiling.

"You thought I was done with one?" He asked you, not quite condescending, but enough so to make you pout around his fingers. "No, no, love, we're not stoppin' at one. We're not fuckin' stoppin' until you've drenched my trousers, got it?"

That had your second orgasm creeping up inside you. You nodded wildly, and he pulled his fingers out of your mouth briefly to give you a pat on the side of the face.

"Good girl." He said, and then his fingers were back in your mouth again. This time, he hooked them around your bottom teeth and, with his thumb on your jaw, he pulled your mouth open just a little bit– enough so he could lean in and kiss you deeper than the last time. He licked into your mouth and you squirmed against him, the feeling of his tongue against yours making your hips stutter against his thigh.

He kissed you like that, with his chin resting on his own fingers, until your second orgasm hit you. He pulled away with your spit smeared across his lips as you came, your cunt pulsing against him again. He could almost feel your heartbeat in the warmth of your pussy, making the muscles of his thigh flex again. He continued to rock you through it.

"I think one more will do it," Simon hummed, more to himself than to you. He could feel the heat of your slick soaking through your own trousers, but it was yet to soak through to his. He wanted a wet patch on his fucking leg. "You can do one more, can't you, doc?"

Simon pulled his fingers from your mouth and gripped both of your hips now. He renewed his efforts, dragging you across his thigh, your legs shaking around him as your glazed eyes struggled to stay open. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, brain fuzzy, body warm against his.

You mewled, hoarse and barely above a light whimper. "Simon–"

He groaned. "Fuck yeah, love, want you to say my name like that again. Go on. Say it again while I drag this pretty pussy over my thigh."

You did as you were told, moaning out quietly, your head dropping onto his shoulder. You mewled another "Simon–!" against him as you mouthed at the flushed skin of his neck. You were met with another deep groan, rumbling in his throat.

"Fuck," he grunted. "You– fuck– you have no idea how many times I've fucked my fist to that sound in my head. So many times I've come all over my fuckin' hand thinkin' about this perfect fuckin' pussy."

His accent was thickening. That made you moan.

He ground you harder against him, tensing his muscles tighter. You moaned into his neck, your body shaking.

Simon placed a gentle kiss your damp forehead. "Come on, love, come one more time. Soak my fuckin' thigh. I know you can do it, doc, I can feel how wet you are."

You whimpered. "Simon, please–"

"Look at me."

You did. You picked yourself up and looked at him as he guided you towards your third orgasm– your third orgasm in your fucking trousers only by grinding against his leg. Oh my god–

"When you come..." He began softly, one of his hands moving from your hip to hold your throat carefully. He held your head still, forcing as much eye-contact as he could. "When you come, I want you looking at me with those pretty eyes. Got it, doc?"

You nodded.

He smiled gently and repeated a soft "good girl" for what felt like the hundredth time. But you weren't complaining. It had your stomach twisting, your swollen clit pulsing, and finally your third orgasm washing over you.

Like a good girl, you listened to what he said. You maintained eye-contact as you came, despite the overwhelming urge to shut them. Your body shook against his, your cunt gushing into your underwear. You moaned his name and he kissed you quiet.

He chuckled against your lips– a triumphant smile forming as he felt your arousal dampen the leg of his trousers. He pulled away and lifted your hips lightly, getting a good look at the dark patch on his thigh. He moaned, cock twitching.

"God, what a messy fuckin' girl..."

You mewled, high on pleasure, beginning to palm at his crotch where his bulge pressed up against his zipper. Your hands groped the shape of him, and he hissed, grabbing hold of your hand.

"You want my cock that bad?" He whispered, your foreheads coming together and the two of you staring down at his bulge. "You want my cock in this pretty pussy?" The hand he had on your throat somehow found the wet space between your legs, rubbing his fingers along the seam there. You were so wet. He groaned. "You want my big cock to stuff this wet cunt, hm? Fill you with my cum? Fill you up and ruin you for anyone else?”

"Simon, oh my god." You uttered, still pawing at his hard cock. Your cunt was throbbing so fucking bad.

"This pussy just can't get enough, can she?" Simon mused, still rubbing at your overstimulated core, fingers grinding against the damp material covering your slit. "You fucked Gaz an' Soap, an' now you want my cock? So greedy, baby. Such a greedy little slut..."

His tone was so soft, that you almost missed the degradation. Instead, you shook your head, whimpering quietly as your fourth orgasm built in your lower tummy, the base of your spine tingling.

"No, no, haven't– fuck– haven't fucked them." You whispered hurriedly as he worked his fingers against you.

Simon tutted. "But you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd love for both of them to fuck you, yeah? Just want three big fuckin' cocks stuffin' this tight fuckin' cunt."

Strong accent, more cussing. You moaned loudly. God, he was hot.

"I bet you want the captain's cock too, eh? Wouldn't be fuckin' surprised."

You moaned again, orgasm building heavier and heavier inside you. You imaged Price for a split second, and you moaned again.

Simon chuckled darkly. "Yeah? Needy girl, wanting four men? Want four cocks? Want us all to fuck you dumb, eh?" 'Course you fuckin' do."

"Please, Simon..." You whispered, body on fire.

He groan from the back of his throat. "But s'just me now, an' I'm the one making you come. So go on, pretty girl, come once more for me."

You came for a fourth time and you swear you almost blacked out. Stars burst behind your eyelids, a long string of whimpers falling from your lips as your cunt leaked arousal into your underwear, wetting your trousers even more. Simon peppered your face with kisses as you came down from your high, trembling, before he gathered you into his arms and hugged you to his broad chest.

"Good job, love," he whispered soothingly, rubbing your back. "Did such a good job for me. Such a good girl."

You were about to reply, something along the lines of– probably– begging for his cock even though you were so tired. But your phone buzzed against your desk, a brief vibration. You turned to look down at your screen to see a reminder flashing. Your eyes grew wide, realising you had another appointment in twenty minutes.

You peeled yourself away from Simon.

"Fuck, fuck!" You cursed. "I have another appointment in twenty minutes, Simon!”

"So?"

You looked at him, annoyed, then gestured to your trousers. "So? So? Simon, I've come four times in my fucking trousers and I'm wet."

He smiled.

"Don't fucking smile."

His smile dropped and he cleared his throat. "Right, sorry, love. I'll get you a pair'a my joggers if you want."

"You're taking the piss." You muttered as Simon got up, adjusting the way his hard cock sat in his trousers. You tried your best to avoid eye contact with it, as well as the large wet patch on his thigh. “Your joggers?”

He passed by you, kissing you gently on the forehead.

"Mhm," he hummed, already unlocking the door. "Anything for you, doc."

He disappeared, and you stared after him, shaking his head. Then, you spared a glance at yourself in the small mirror near the medical bed. You looked an absolute mess, with cum and saliva on your face. You groaned, heading towards the washbasin.

Maybe you had time to pop home and freshen up. Surely the captain wouldn't mind if you were a bit late.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#captainfern #141rugby!au #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley #ghost x female reader

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writefightandflightclub · 30 days

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Nine (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list).

Author’s note: Shorter chapter this week (be warned, next week's will be the heftiest yet), but I hope you like this next instalment! It's really gearing us up for the FINAL TWO! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. If you've read this far, THANK YOU! ILY :-*

Word count: 3.8k for this part.

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Today is a new day. It’s a new day and you’re done crying. You’re done holding on to anger and resentments.

Besides, you feel as though you gave Santiago everything you had last night, and - at least for now - there is nothing else left to give.

So, instead of wallowing, you plod downstairs to where Frankie is stationed in the kitchen, offering up your favourite pastries, coffee, and even pulpy, freshly squeezed orange juice. You pull up to the breakfast bar, hopping up on a stool to survey your extravagant pity platter.

It’s true then. “He’s gone.”

Frankie nods solemnly, leaning into the other side of the island like he’s a sympathetic bartender in some old Western flick. He claps his palm to your shoulder in a supportive gesture. “I’m sorry, chiquita.”

You shrug.

His face twists. That’s not all there is. “Don’t shoot the messenger, but…”

“What, Frankie?”

“He had to bounce but he didn’t want to wake you. Said you looked far too peaceful sleeping for him to come along and fuck that up.”

Your brow notches, absorbing all of that with a contrived neutrality. “How did he… seem?”

Frankie’s eyebrows raise lightly as he ponders, thinking back over prior events. “Calm, actually. Happy, even.”

“Hmm.” You smile softly to yourself. Makes a change from lately to hear that. You get it though. After last night, you can’t feel anything else either. Even if he technically didn’t say goodbye in words, you get it. You aren’t mad. Chances are one or both of you would have fucked it up this morning. This way at least, it leaves the night you spent together untarnished. Makes it feel like holding on to a good dream, before the realities of the day can set in and make things fraught.

Frankie’s face crumples with concern as you gaze wistfully into the middle-distance. “You gonna be alright?”

You pump your eyebrows. Search yourself for feelings. “You know what? Yeah. I am. I’m okay.”

Frankie’s eyes glint playfully then. “Oh. So you won’t need alllll o’ these yummy pastries?”

You laugh as he eyes the pain au chocolat pointedly. “Get stuck in, Morales,” you invite fondly, and he obliges, scraping up a stool and wiggling on his ass until he’s comfy.

“Hey. So,” he says through mouthfuls. “Did you two figure anything out?”

You groan at the sheer complexity of Frankie’s simple question. Did you? Or are you still going around in circles? “We know we love each other. The rest? Uh. I still don’t know.”

“He’ll get there.”

You puff air out from between your teeth.

“You don’t think so?” Frankie interprets.

You wrap your arms around your middle. “It’s not that. It’s… I don’t think it was all on him.” You don’t have any blame or accusations left. No grudges to hold on to - your hands are open. You’ve both made mistakes. Manufactured this distance, in your own ways - sometimes literally, sometimes not. You were both just trying to figure all this out as best as you could.

Frankie’s brows notch and rise with a silent question. How so? What do you mean?

The thoughts form as you speak them. Clumsy yet intrepid. “I guess... It just feels like we were… Both waiting for the other person to get somewhere, you know? But this whole time, we should’ve been heading there together. Otherwise, how the fuck were we supposed to know where to end up?” You slide a palm over your face. “Christ. Does that make any fucking sense?”

Frankie ponders. “I think so. Like trying to meet on the highway without a time or a place or directions?”

You reach out and clasp his hand. “You get me, buddy.”

Frankie blinks, tangling himself up further in your metaphor, but valiantly trying to muddle through. “And so… do you…?” He scratches his chaotic mop of hair. “Do you have a map now? A meeting point? I mean… What happens next? On the highway?” Your mouth lilts into a gentle smile at Frankie’s earnest question. He notes and feeds your amusement, going off the deep-end with this metaphor now. “Are you driving in shifts, chiquita? Grabbing cheez-its for the road?”

You laugh, the musical sound mingling with Frankie’s throaty chuckle. “What happens next?” You repeat the question out loud, carefully, posing it to yourself. Hasn’t that always been the question? However, the very sentiment which used to scare you now feels a lot more like potential. Like possibility.

Still, you feel -for the moment- like leaving that question hanging. You leave a pregnant pause. You let it breathe.

For now; you let it go. You let him go.

“Where are the other guys at, anyway?”

Frankie rides your tangent with ease. “Packing shit up.”

“We should help them.”

“Yeah, we should,” Frankie grins mischievously, and yet neither of you make any effort whatsoever to mobilise.

Instead, Frankie pours you a cup of coffee from the pot.

“You wanna call off the hike today?” he asks hopefully, Frankie increasingly a creature of comfort.

“No. Hell no. I need to move.” You lock your fingers and stretch your arms above your head, a satisfying stretch extending down your spine.

Frankie’s eyes sparkle across at you. “Just not in aid of helping the Millers pack their trunk, huh?”

“Exactly! What did I tell you, bud. You get me.”

You do though. You need to move. You need to move forward. No more standing in place. No more moving in circles, always repeating.

Still, when you think about it. When you think to what is ahead, to what is next, your stomach drops. You feel overcome by a sudden anxiety which you can’t place at first. Like having misplaced something dear to you. Like having done something wrong but not being able to recall exactly what. Then, all of a sudden, you understand it entirely.

“Listen. Tell me about this job, Frankie.”

He immediately tenses up. “What job?”

You take a bite of your pastry. “The one with Lorea’s cash house.”

Frankie simply groans. He always knows more than he lets on, this one. About everything. Everyone.

“Is it true? That you and the boys are in?”

You can plainly see his reticence to respond. But you know for a fact that he’s about to cave.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

“They need a pilot,” Frankie states, looking up at you with guilty, puppy dog eyes.

“Fuck me. He dragged you back in too, huh? You know… Sometimes I wonder if any of us are good for each other.” Your tone grows mildly irate, your heart quickening, but you recognise it for what it is. It’s simply anger veiling worry. You love these boys.

“Come on, don’t say that,” Frankie bargains. “We’ve dragged each other out of hell.”

“And back again.”

Frankie takes a deep breath. His tongue pokes around the meat of his cheek. “He says it’s simple recon. In and out. No mess.”

You jut your chin up. Stare at him levelly, unblinking. You know that Frankie will give it to you straight. Know that he can’t help himself. “And you buy that?”

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

“Not for a fucking second.”

You scoff, shaking your head. Not when it comes from Santiago, no. After all, you’ve fallen for Santiago’s bullshit plenty of times yourself. It’s the fact that Frankie would wander in with his eyes wide open to it that really gets you. It’s something else.

Still, before you can chastise him for being so stupid, Frankie glumly offers up some explanation. “Look. I need the job. I… I got my license revoked.”

Your heart drops - and your face with it. Your hands clamp over your mouth. “Frankie,” you say softly, with empathy. “Fuck.”

He hunches in on himself despondently, his hands disappearing up his sleeves, his fists clenching and his gaze cast downward. “I fucked up, man. Cassie has a baby on the way and I fucked up.” His eyes swim with a deep shame.

“Coke?” you venture, tentatively.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Slowly, he nods.

“Frankie.” Your hand swipes over your face, and your eyes fill with concern for him. His palm waves in the air, however, quickly dismissing any sympathies you may care to bestow.

“I’m back on track. Getting there. I am.” His eyes are nothing but determined. Sincere. “But I need this gig. No matter how fucking hare-brained a scheme that pendejo is cooking.”

“Think of the baby, dude.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Frankie says forcefully, in a harsh tone he rarely uses, and you know in no uncertain terms that the conversation is done. That he’s made his mind up, and that he won’t hear you out any further on the matter.

You swallow. Regroup. You chew on some platitudes, but none of them feel quite right.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Frankie says after a stretched, tense moment. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay,” you jostle his shoulder, and it shakes a little of the tension from him and the room. “I get it. And shit. I’m sorry for putting all of my bullshit on you this weekend. I wish you’d said something, Cat.”

He shrugs. Speaks with finality. “There’s not much to say. It’s done. I just need to make it right. And I will.”

“I believe it. But you do know that I’m… If you need… Anything, Frankie.”

He looks up at you then, the warmth back in his eyes as your voice cracks, searching for the words. But, he already knows everything you could ever say. You’ve said it before, a hundred times. He knows you love him. Knows you’re proud of him. Knows you’d do anything for him. Knows you want the best for him. He knows it already.

In turn, you are sure that he already knows everything you could possibly call him out on. That he’s already thought about it. Weighed it up. Thought about the risks. About the possibility that he’s acting out of desperation. The possibility that he’d probably be better off staying the hell away from Pope’s schemes.

He scrapes his stool back and comes to you, bundling you into a tight, warm, big brother hug. You tug in a deep breath, and you let it go. You’re done trying to control everything around you. It never really got you anywhere.

Still, there’s an undeniably uncomfortable knot in your chest as you think about them all gearing up. Strapping on their tac vests. Shoving clotting pads into their med packs. It makes you feel physically ill. And so, you can’t help yourself. “Do me a favour, Frankie? Don’t take Tom?” You muffle the words into his shirt, half hoping they will get lost there. That maybe he didn’t even hear you. But, you know when he braces his hands on your shoulders to get a good look at you, that your game is up.

“Why not?”

You see it then, in his eyes. That Tom is not a risk Frankie has considered. His presence not something he has weighed up.

You deliver your words as plainly and transparently as possible. “He’s too hungry, Cat.”

Frankie simply locks eyes with you, as though trying to weed out your motives. Shrewdly trying to assess your conclusions. Is this just your petty vendetta talking? Is this intelligence? Is this coming from your gut?

“Please. Just trust me.”

“I do,” he nods eventually, but you should know better than to feel any relief. And next, there it is. “I do but it’s not my call.”

Well. You’ve said your piece. You guess that’s all you’ve got. Absent-mindedly, you tug on Frankie’s lapels. “You’d better come back to me, Cat,” you plead plaintively. “And by God, you’d better bring those other fuckers back with you to boot.”

With a wistful affection, Frankie tugs you to him again and you stand there in silence for a few more moments, the sounds of the other guys evident in the background. In time, you and Frankie release each other and gravitate towards them, tucking yourselves under the porch to survey their efforts packing up the trucks.

“We should probably help,” you repeat again, and, to your side, your hear Frankie’s murmur of agreement. However, when you glance to him you see his long, lean frame stretched out up against the wooden porch post. He looks like a man with nowhere else to be in a hurry.

“Fuck,” he curses at nothing in particular, surveying the animated bodies of his buddies before him with both awe and trepidation. “How did we get here? Years of service and none of us have anything to show for it.”

That’s a Santiago sales pitch, through and through, you reckon. You recognise his propaganda. Funny, since he used to swallow the flag for breakfast. Is that how he got to him then? Convinced Frankie he could finally make bank? Take what he deserved? Ah. Or give his family what they deserved? Frankie is all about family.

A sad smile twitches your mouth. “Well. That’s not entirely true, is it? Not nothing.” You think of what you’ve gained from all of this. “I got a gaggle of weird ass brothers. A suitcase full of trauma. A fucked back. And! An array of unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

Despite the darkness of your statement, Frankie’s eyes crinkle. What else is left to do but laugh, anyway? “Maybe Will should put that in his speech.”

You belly chuckle at that, moving to lean up against the opposite post. “Yeah. Scare those poor recruits off before they can end up like us, huh?”

Frankie looks wistful again. “It hasn’t been all bad.”

No. It hasn’t. He’s not wrong about that.

You ponder on it. If you could go back and change your path - would you? But, despite everything, your squad would be far too much to lose. “Sure. The weird thing is, as shitty as it’s been at times? I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

There is a beat, and Frankie reaches out across the space between you and wordlessly clasps your hand.

“Listen. You gonna be okay, Frankie?” He looks down at his worn sneakers, contemplatively, as though he really doesn’t know the answer yet. You give his hand a squeeze, trying to let him know that’s okay. “We’ll talk more, okay?”

He nods - a subtle, concessionary thing, like maybe he could really do with that.

“I get why you didn’t tell me. But I’m sorry. That I didn’t do a better job of asking.”

“It’s not on you,” he says generously. A little too generously, in your estimation. You’ve been rather wrapped up in your own shit. A little too self-involved. “I know I can talk to you. I just… I, uh. Didn’t want to ruin the weekend.” The irony of that statement causes a throaty chuckle to bounce in Frankie’s neck, and your palm slides over your face in regret even as you laugh in reciprocity.

“Christ. I did a great job of that all by myself.”

“Well,” Frankie says good-naturedly, shifting to bump your hip with his. Wrapping his crooked arm over your shoulder. “You had some help.”

It is your turn now to look wistful, as you contemplate the storm that is Santiago, and all the rubble he left behind. “He’s really gone again.” Frankie simply squeezes you a little tighter. “Hey. Anything else I should know, by the way?” you needle. “You’re not holding out on me?”

Frankie sucks air through his teeth. “Tom and Molly. She finally served him papers.”

You fold forward, hinging to collapse your upper half onto the porch rail. “Fuck. Shit. I really need to start being nicer to that shithead.” Still, from behind, Frankie’s familiar chuckle buoys you, even as you inwardly berate yourself for getting wrapped up in your own business. “We’re all messes, huh, Frankie? Do you think we can fix it?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I do.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

You toss him a soft, grateful smile, which extends as Will makes his way over to your position, greeting you “Hey, slackers!”. You and Frankie share a conspiratorial glance.

“All set for the hike, Captain?”

“No thanks to you.”

“I had an alternate mission. Ranks of pastries to deplete.”

Will feigns tiredness, but his baby blues sparkle even as he rolls them.

“Anyway. Didn’t need you. All set to head out as soon as you slackers get your act together. You wantin’ to do the usual route, hon?”

You brace your arms against the porch rail. Dig your fingers into the wood. “No,” you say, the words a little tight in your chest, but they feel good. “Not today. There’s somewhere else. Somewhere I always wanted to go.”

Somewhere new.

“Fine by me,” Frankie offers. “Just let me grab more pastries.”

***

You relish the hike, when it comes. You relish walking a path that is -to you- entirely untrodden. That he can’t touch. You walked the old, familiar trails for too long, and the only place it ever got you was right back where you started.

The bullshit ends here. You’ve decided.

And so, you turn your attention away from your sun, and to the wider constellation of stars around you. To yourself.

You even do your best to make peace with Tom. To put old grudges to bed.

You relish the hike. Enjoy the undulating landscape. You don’t know for sure what’s next, or where you’re going, but the difference is that for once, that feels okay. Full of potential.

You walk until your legs burn, and when you get to the summit you take a moment to drink in the crisp, clifftop air. To look out across the ocean. To see it from a distance and to know that this time, it cannot break you over and over and over.

Still, when you’re at the top, as if by providence, Santiago texts you.

“Hey. Sorry I had to take off early. I wanna say… Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the best night of my life.”

“Ah. Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself, and you press the button to call him. You immediately call him. He immediately picks up. “Hi.”

”Hi. What’s up? They just announced my gate.”

”That’s okay, I’ll be quick. I, uh. I just needed to tell you too. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For a proper goodbye.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I-”

“-I’m not mad, Santi. I think… I think we said everything we have to say, right? I think it was…”

”…Perfect?”

”Yeah. Yeah, pretty perfect.”

“Listen. It’s selfish, but. With everything coming up. The Lorea job and… I needed it, you know? Needed that image of you sleeping.”

There’s an ache in your chest and it’s bittersweet.

He cares for you in every way he knows how, doesn’t he? In every way he can. He’s not perfect, but hey, neither are you. You’re both a little bit broken, but that doesn’t mean you can’t heal. And most of all, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love while you’re doing it.

One day, he’ll turn up at your door, and he’ll be welcome. Whenever that is. Whenever it happens. But until then, you can’t just wait for him.

Until then, you’ll love him; from a distance.

No longer can you leave him in anger. No longer can he break you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Maybe one day, that will even be enough.

“Would you promise me something?”

“Sure.”

“Come back and visit soon, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.”

You conclude the call, and you stretch your arms above your head. A pleasant tingle snakes down your back as it cracks. You haven’t felt so relaxed in a long time. You don’t think you’ve ever felt such peace.

The path that you are walking is yours, and you implicitly trust where it’s taking you.

***

You are grateful to slip into the passenger side of Frankie’s car, beginning the drive back to the city and signalling the end of your stay at the beach house. Still, there is something bittersweet there too as you leave behind the site of so many memories from over the years - and now, the site of your most perfect night with Santiago.

It reminds you of all you’ve been through. The ups and the downs and plenty of things which went sideways. You are starting to realise though, that perhaps the landscape of love is undulating. That sometimes the terrain is tough. It shouldn’t have been quite so tough though - so steep and unforgiving; and so, you hope for gentler, easier paths ahead.

It is bittersweet then, as you leave this place behind.

As you look forward, having said goodbye. As you wrestle with your past, future, and present.

Frankie swings the car out and onto the highway, the Millers up ahead and Tom behind, your vehicles forming a convoy through the dark, the glow of headlights illuminating the route ahead.

You sit in silence, eyes and thoughts unfocussed, in abstraction, as you watch vague shapes and colours slipping by the window, your own face occasionally reflected right back at you. You look older than you used to. More tired. But you don’t dislike that.

After a while, Frankie’s robust voice slices through the dark, his eyes on the road and hands threading the wheel. “I don’t know if this will make things better or worse but… Do you want to hear it?”

You swivel your head towards him, fractured, liquid panels of light slipping over the planes of his face as your surroundings pass by in a haze. “Hear what?”

“Pope’s heartbreak playlist?”

Your hands dig into your thighs where they rest. “Do I?”

“Well?” Frankie asks, his finger poised over the button, and evidently not willing to make that decision for you.

“Yeah. Fuck it.”

You brace a little, in all honesty. A tightness takes hold of your chest as you wonder if the first track to befall your ears might be angry. Resentful. Full of blame or sadness that you can’t hope to wrestle with and come out on top. But, as the first notes of the track sound out, you are surprised to find a full, unfettered laugh rises from out of your throat. The tears swell in your eyes next, for it is nothing if not bittersweet.

“That dickhead. I can’t believe…”

You can’t believe it. The fact he has chosen a song which reflects your life together? Which reveals a happy memory?

He loves you, doesn’t he? He has for a long time. And you can’t help but hope that maybe one day, that will even be enough. For tonight though, it will definitely do. You’ll take it. You’ll treasure it.

“Whiskey in the Jar,” Frankie scoffs as he catches on to the song, even if his fingers are drumming against the lip of the wheel involuntarily. “I mean. What the shit’s that all about? He’s a weird kid, I swear.”

“Frankie,” you laugh brightly, turning once again to look wistfully out of the window, as the view of the beach house and the ocean recedes into the distance. You catch another glimpse of yourself in the pane, and this time you look younger, you think. More alive. “Did I ever tell you about that night in Philadelphia?”

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac #ride or die series

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