#I hope this can clear the air a bit I never wanted to leave on bad terms
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APPLE CIDER lee heeseung ౨ৎ
synopsis! your new roommate, heeseung, seems to underestimate just how naive you really are when you catch him in a compromising situation.
wc! 5k
cw! perv!hee, switch!heeseung & switch!reader but make it competitive, voyeurism(??), size kink if u squint, male masturbation, degradation, praising, oral (m!receiving), grinding, riding, no protection (Plz wrap it), hee a FREAAKKK, creampie, unspoken aftercare but like barely??, hee calls reader baby, good girl, slut, i think that's it lmk if i missed any!
BREAK THE SKIN M.LST
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“jay, i do not have time for a party right now!” you complain, getting dragged by your best friend into some frat party. he’s been urging you to get your mind off of your living situation, as it seems like it’s all you can think about these past few weeks.
thanks to your idiot landlord, he’s made some overlap in the house you’re supposed to be living in for the next school year, thus leaving you in the dust since the other tenant had a better credit score than you (you can thank your impulse purchases for that). so you’ve been crashing at jay’s place for a bit and you’re starting to get sick of the boy house smell, and have been wanting to get out as soon as possible.
unfortunately, the odds seem to not be in your favor as it seems like everyone you know doesn’t know anyone else who’s been looking for a roommate.
“yeah, but you said it yourself! you’re sick of… the ‘boy’ smell at my place. you’re not smelling it anymore, right?” he teases, using air quotes as the both of you arrive at the front door and exchanging a nod with the frat boy at the front before walking inside. you huff out a sigh, releasing your wrist from jay’s grip. he is right in some way.. you’ve been looking nonstop for some place to stay at and you do need a break at some point.
you hear someone call jay’s name, approaching the two of you. “hey, jay, nice to see you!” they greet, and you excuse yourself because you refuse to stand there awkwardly as the two of them catch up. you make your way to the kitchen, seeing the multiple bottles of different alcohol brands lined up on the island and you scrunch your nose. you and jay never talked about who’s being the designated driver tonight, so you decide to be safe and just have something else.
you find a cooler beside the counter on the floor, hoping there’s something for you to drink. bending down and opening the cooler, another hand invades your view of your options and you see that they’ve grabbed the last bottle of apple juice. you frown a bit, searching through the ice cubes to only find gatorade and lemonade left.
you stand up, shutting the cooler with a hefty sigh, a clear pout on your face that doesn’t go unnoticed by the culprit who stole the last apple juice. “oh, oops. did you want this?” he asks, tearing the straw from the carton and poking it in. as if he’s taunting you, he’s slightly shaking the juice in his hand.
“oh, it’s alright. i’m sure i can just have something else…” you mumble, but offer a smile to him anyway since he was nice enough to offer it to you.
he nods, “good. i wasn’t gonna give it up anyway.” he gives you a boyish grin, sipping the juice in front of you like he’s doing it on purpose, in the most menacing way possible. his words have you choking your thoughts, eyes narrowing at this ridiculous(ly handsome) boy in front of you, innocently sipping at his apple juice.
“wh- you dick??” you gape, brows furrowing in frustration. your hands think on their own, reaching up for his juice carton and squeezing at the sides so that the juice goes to spill all over his clothes. and it’s his turn to gape at you, eyes wide and mouth open in shock as he comprehends what you just did.
“morning,” you hear a grumble from behind you, a sleepy heeseung clad in plaid pajama pants and a teen titans t-shirt making loud footsteps towards you in the kitchen. you raise your brow at him as you turn around, holding a cup of apple juice in your hands.
“umm, don’t you have a ten am class today? it’s eleven,” you inform him curiously, watching his eyes still try to blink open from sleep as he’s opening the fridge in haste. he throws his head back, groaning loudly and proceeds to stomp on the ground like a child throwing a temper tantrum.
“you finished the apple juice?!” heeseung whines, lips forming a pout like you did that night at the party, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you. you roll your eyes, setting your half-finished cup of juice on the counter and sliding it towards him as if it’s your nth time dealing with this (it is. it happens every time at the end of the week).
he gratefully takes your cup, chugging down the apple juice before licking his lips in satisfaction. he completely ignores your question, passing you to get to the sink to wash the mug. you turn your body to look at him again, head tilted to the side curiously as you watch his lazy hands scrubbing the soap sloppily on the cup.
he’s extra sleepy this morning, and he’s usually not the type to skip his classes (surprisingly), especially not his important classes that impact his major. “are you okay?” you ask him once he finishes, setting the cup upside down to dry.
heeseung pauses in his tracks a bit, blinking blankly before meeting eyes with you. “oh… yeah. don’t worry about me. just had a rough night i guess…” he mumbles, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck awkwardly.
it’s a habit you notice that he does every time he’s nervous or when he’s hiding something. although the two of you have been roommates for over four months now and have a good friendship, bonding over your love for anything apple juice or apple cider, you wouldn’t think he would be the type to confide in you.
“it’s all that gaming you do,” you reprimand him like you’re his mother, patting him on his shoulder before walking back into your room. he releases a breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding once your door shut, leaving him alone in the kitchen.
rubbing a hand over his face, heeseung does his best to recollect himself but his lower half seems to have a mind of his own, creating a clear imprint of his hardon through his pajama pants. he shuffles his way to his own bedroom, hurriedly shutting the door as he lays himself down on his bed. “fuck,” he huffs out, eyes screwing shut. not his fault, he tells himself; you just look too pretty in the morning, slightly ruffled up hair and not to mention your cute pajamas.
but he thinks nothing beats the outfit you wore to the party the night he met you.
all dolled up, putting in effort to the way you look but not trying too hard. he blesses jake for convincing him into going that night, or else he probably would never get a pretty roommate like you. you were so cute to him, eyes widening in shock at your own action when you had sprayed the juice all over him. sure, the stain never got out of his favorite shirt but you definitely made it up to him that same night.
his cock restrained in his pajama pants only feel tighter the more he resists, a grumbly groan leaving his lips as he shamefully fishes his cock out. his hand begins to slowly move up and down, hips lifting off the bed from being impatient as he needily thrusts up into his fist.
his breath starts to pick up when he hears you humming on the other side of the wall, presumably with your headphones on as you study or do homework. so cute, so innocent, you have no idea that he fucks his hand to you every night.
“god–” he gasps, fist speeding up as he pretends you’re doing it for him; soft and pliant hands wrapping around his thick girth– you probably can’t even fully wrap your hand around him. the thought sends him into a needier state, letting a whine slip from his lips before he captures his bottom lip between his teeth to quiet down.
he reminisces about your pretty party outfit, simple yet effective enough to get him worked up. your small hands immediately reaching for his chest in a terrible attempt to clean him up, still shocked about what you had just done. the mere size difference of his broad chest compared to your hand has him reeling, imagining that you’re on top of him and discovering his body.
he pretends his hand is yours, his free hand going underneath his t-shirt and scratching at his stomach but his dull nails are nothing compared to your pretty, manicured nails. he licks his drying lips, fist tightening around his cock as he feels himself get close. he muffles his voice again, having a bad habit of being too loud when he’s approaching his high.
he moans into his hand, hips twitching and still slightly thrusting up to get the last bit of satisfying overstimulation. his cum spread all over his hand and shirt, he lets out a sigh, one of relief and shame.
he feels so dirty, so gross and perverted– what was meant to just be two people temporarily taking advantage of each other’s situation is going on for too long.
“oh god, i’m so sorry!” you quickly apologize, hands wiping at his clothed chest to get rid of the juice but you realize you’re only making it worse. “fuck, i’m sorry,” you mumble another apology, but the man in front of you only laughs. you cock a brow, thinking he’s laughing at you. maybe you don’t regret squeezing the juice box all over him.
“no, sorry, i–” he breaks out into another fit of laughter, slightly hunching over and you just don’t get what is so funny. you cross your arms across your chest, brows furrowing as you watch him collect himself once more. “damn. i don’t know someone who takes apple juice this seriously.”
you frown, “i’m not. sorry, i’m just stressed cause no one has a free space for me to live in temporarily, and all i wanted was a sweet box of apple juice but someone took the last one!” you say pointedly, eyeing him up and down with narrow eyes (in a judgemental manner… totally not checking him out).
he raises his hands up in surrender, shoulders shrugging. “whoops! well you should’ve just told me that. then i would’ve offered to share,” he hums, flashing you another boyish grin. you think he’s lucky he’s attractive, because if he wasn’t, you would’ve been long gone out of this conversation.
“wow, just ‘share’? that’s how you’re gonna treat me while i’m in a crisis?!” you exaggerate, eyes wide with sarcasm as you scoff at him.
he giggles at you, enjoying how expressive you are. “you do know you’re not the only one experiencing a crisis, right?” he raises a brow at you, grin still remaining on his face.
the rest seemed to be history, him explaining to you that his dickhead old roommate just stopped paying rent and was kicked out so now he’s paying the entire floor and is in dire need for a roommate to fill in.
it was all too convenient, it seemed too good to be true.
heeseung is a good roommate. you had your doubts about living with a guy, especially after staying with jay for a while, you were worried the boy stench would apply to living with heeseung too. but since it was just him, it wasn’t overwhelming as long as you didn’t step foot into his man cave.
he does his fair share of chores, like doing the dishes and taking out the trash. he’s clean in the shared space and has yet to ever make you uncomfortable or doubt living with him. but of course, jay has his own reservations about you living with heeseung.
“what?” jay’s voice pierces your ears, his tone of disbelief and disappointment at the same time making you a bit wary. you shrug, giving your best friend a sheepish smile before you try to defend yourself.
“come on! it’s a win-win situation? i’ve been looking for weeks! i need a place to stay!” you plead your case, folding your hands like you’re praying (for jay to not kill you).
he scoffs, eyes rolling. “you do have a place to stay. here! safe! and not with a stranger!” jay reprimands you, finger pointing down to the couch the two of you are sitting on.
you sigh in return, “he’s not a stranger! plus, aren’t you guys friends?” you suddenly question, brow raising up at him and he seems to be appalled at your accusation.
“huh?? where did you get that from? me and heeseung are not friends. i don’t like him. he’s weird for asking you to live with him,” jay mumbles in the last sentence, eyes peeling off of you for a second as he looks at his fiddling hands.
you find his sudden change in attitude strange, your best friend usually never gets shy around you to say what’s on his mind. nor does he ever get this heated about a choice you’ve made. “okay, geez. i just thought you guys hung out with the same crowd…” you frown, your fingers now nervously playing with the hem of your shirt.
jay makes you nervous. despite being your bestest and longest friend, he seems to always have certain reserves around you and it’s difficult for you to point out sometimes. you know he cares for you and vice versa– that will never change. but it’s hard to understand what he’s feeling if it’s not already written all over his face. that means it’s already too late, he’s been feeling that way for a long time.
nonetheless, through all his protests and complaining that you should absolutely not move in with heeseung, he still helped you move in the next week.
heeseung’s been nothing but good.
until you decide to skip class one day, holed up in your room because you weren’t feeling well that day. you don’t have heeseung’s schedule memorized yet, since it’s only been three weeks since you first moved in. but you hear shuffling from outside your room, and if there’s one thing you discovered, it’s that heeseung is a loud walker.
the footsteps stop, but then a few minutes later, you hear faint moaning. it’s so quiet that you think you imagined it, but now your ears are perked up to try and perceive what you’re hearing. you swear the sounds go up a decimal higher, and you can pick up high-pitched squeals and moans from outside your room.
your eyes widen, half of your face hidden underneath your blanket as you piece together the scenario. is he really watching porn out in the living room? it’s not that you’re judging him for watching porn, but out in the shared space that the two of you have movie nights and eat dinner together feels… dirty.
but you suppose you’re not any better. the fact that heeseung is a few feet away from you, horny and doing god knows what in an intimate space that the two of you share.. your thighs squeeze together under your bed sheets.
you secretly wish that the living room was closer to your room since it’s hard for you to really hear anything other than the porn playing. but then it suddenly stops, the sound from the video no longer masking the pants and moans of your roommate. he doesn’t seem to be shy given how vocal he is, probably because he thought he was alone.
you can’t help but feel a little guilty, thighs rubbing together as your heated face stares up at the ceiling, trying to get rid of the visual your brain presents of heeseung stroking his cock, probably manspreading with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut with pleasure.
you didn’t regret moving in with heeseung at first. now that you know his secret, you regret it a little bit.
either heeseung has no shame or he’s really good at hiding it. he doesn’t seem to be affected when sitting on the couch together, indulged in whatever movie he had picked while you two ate dinner. you were a bit awkward at first, eyes wandering around the couch to look for stains, shifting as if you’re impatient to the point that heeseung had to ask if you were okay.
he’s impressively well at keeping things casual with you, like he’s the most innocent man in the world. you suppose you’re doing the same– you’re not exactly in the clear, listening in on him when you could’ve easily thrown on some headphones for the sake of his privacy.
this went on for months, and now that you’re on month four of living together, you’ve almost forgotten about that incident… or perhaps you just pushed it to the back of your mind to not distract you.
and while you think heeseung might be unintentionally a freaky pervert, he’s really quite the opposite. getting off to the mere thought of you possibly hearing him gets him worked up, and your innocent conversations you have with him the next day only gets him hot and bothered.
the thought of you possibly knowing his “habit” has crossed his mind more than a few times, but he highly doubts it since you’re able to sit down and have dinner with him on the very same couch that he had just cleaned cum off of an hour ago. you just seem too sweet, too distracted with your difficult classes to even bother with him.
but he likes to indulge himself, always imagining you walking in on him. perhaps your class ended early, and you open the door to find him jerking off on the couch with a picture of you from your instagram on his phone screen.
until the imagination falls short, and he hears your voice. his eyes open, hand halting to a stop on his hard cock and he’s faced with the sight of you standing in front of him, between his thighs. his throat goes dry, pupils enlarging as he cranes his neck to look up at you.
his eyes follow your gaze– you’re not even looking at his face, instead you’re looking at his thick length, accompanied by his large hand and he thinks you’ve fallen into some sort of trance. but heeseung, too horny to even comprehend this situation, manspreads wider than usual on the couch to allow you some room.
“go ahead,” he speaks after some silence, your eyes finally meeting his as he directs you to look back at his neglected, throbbing cock. you feel unsure, you feel like you’re possessed, maybe your horny spirit finally letting you indulge in your secret crush on your roommate, but you drop to your knees, your hands going over heeseung’s own hand still on his cock.
the size difference of yours on top of his is enough to make his dick twitch, his hips lifting off the couch with need. “fuck, c’mon, you’re looking at it like you need it. good girls like you always get what they want, right?” he says through gritted teeth, nudging his cock towards your mouth.
his praise goes straight into your head, making your brain and lower stomach feel fuzzy. your mouth opens, tongue shyly going past your bottom lip and heeseung takes this opportunity to rest his tip on your peeked tongue, instantly hissing at the wetness. “s’cute, now take as much as you want, okay?” he praises, slowly guiding you down his cock with your hands still on top of his own.
your lips envelope around the head of his cock, taking it deeper and doing as he says. your hands stay on his hand, starting to go deeper until your lips meet his finger. heeseung groans, resisting on bucking his hips into your warm and wet mouth.
“shit, coulda’ just said you wanted all of me,” he mumbles, watching you start to get used to the feeling of him inside your mouth. “fuck– just like that, y/n,” he whines, barely keeping his eyes open but forcing himself so he can keep looking at you, cheeks puffed out and drool slipping from the corner of your lips already.
you try to whine in protest from his words, but it only gets muffled with your mouth stuffed full of your roommate’s dick. he chuckles at you, his free hand resting on top of your head. “roomie,” he teases as your brows furrow together but he only thinks you look cuter like this, “don’t you know to not talk with your mouth full? where’s your manners?” he tsks, but gets shortly cut off by his own moans, your tongue working at his sensitive tip.
heeseung curses under his breath, his hand on your head starting to push you down more. “since– hah– someone forgot their manners… i feel like i need to teach you a few things,” he hums, low-lidded eyes peering down at you. he suddenly pulls you off, strings of saliva attached from his cock to your wet lips.
truth be told, he was getting impossibly close but he didn’t wait four months just to cum inside your mouth.
he grabs you by your waist, hoisting you up onto the couch and laying you on your back. “now lemme just see how wet you got from sucking my cock,” he grins, but it’s different from his usual boyish smiles, it’s one that speaks he’s getting more than just a ‘look’.
heeseung tugs your bottoms off, throwing them onto the floor beside the couch. he moans at the sight of a wet spot through your white panties, soaked to the point where he could see the outline of your pussy. “shit,” he groans, index finger prodding at your covered entrance. he leans in closer, tongue slipping past his lips and pressing against your panties.
his hot breath is enough to rip a shaky moan out of you, your hands unsure of what to do as you grab at a random couch pillow. he looks up at you through his lashes, pressing his tongue more against your clothed pussy to add pressure. you whine, a pout forming at your lips, “fuck! you’re so annoying,” you huff.
you pull your hips away from him, and he gives you a confused look until he understands that you’re just pulling your panties down in a hurry. he chuckles at you, amused in your rush to get fucked by him. he grabs at your thighs, pulling you back down closer to him. “what? you want me that bad or you just desperate for some dick like a slut?”
his words have your eyes widening, look at him still in between your legs. “the fuck?” you curse at him, and heeseung only laughs mockingly some more. “i think you’re the slut, no? jacking off in our shared space where i could walk in anytime,” you scoff, shuffling as you sit up on your elbows, “you wanted me to see you like this, right?” you taunt, your hand now pushing at his chest to lay him down on his back.
“you’re the one desperate for some pussy like a slut,” you whisper, cunt hovering over his cock that’s laid hard on his stomach. you lower your hips, pussy meeting the thick veins of his cock as you begin to rock your hips against him. he gasps at the contact, hands flying to your waist as he looks down at where the two of you meet.
“fuck–” he hisses, his own hips bucking up to meet your slow grinds but he feels even more desperate, feeling his cock twitch against his stomach and your wet cunt. it’s your turn to grin down at him, your hands on his chest keeping you up. “now you got nothing to say? not even a sorry for acting so innocent when you’re not?” you hum, beginning to grind faster on him.
heeseung whines at the sloppy noises from your cunt grinding on him, the sounds so sticky and lewd that only makes him feel like he’s going to cum faster. “i’m–” he moans loud, his hands on your waist gripping tighter. “i’m sorry! fuck, stop, i’m close–!” he whines and begs, desperate to not cum like this on his own stomach.
you giggle as you lift your hips up, away from his cock as you watch him catch his breath, chest heaving up and down. you pout at him, a hand reaching to cup at his jaw as your thumb rubs soothingly at his cheek. “i dunno, i think you liked th–at!” you begin to speak, but your voice breaks when you feel a sudden intrusion at your entrance.
“fuckkk,” heeseung moans, his hands on your hips reaching down to your ass as he slowly guides you down his cock, “you’re so fucking hot talking to me like that,” he chuckles breathlessly, staring at your shocked expression as you feel the stretch of your pussy from his cock.
you whine at the pressure of him pushing his cock into you, your chest meeting his after your arms felt too weak to keep you up. “oh my fuck!” you squeal, eyes squeezing shut as he keeps on going deeper slowly, inch by inch that makes you feel like passing out.
“so good,” he breathes out, a hand leaving your ass but to grab at the nape of your neck to pull you into a kiss, a messy and sloppy one, but it also feels like he’s been waiting to do this since the day he met you. you whine into the kiss, tongues meeting and sliding against each other and he takes this as his opportunity to bottom out on you.
he swallows your moans, inhaling your scent, your lips, your everything as he stays still to let you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. you whimper as you pull away from him, barely catching your breath as you begin to rock your hips impatiently on him, causing him to moan out your name.
“fuck, hahh~! feels so good,” you slur, biting your lower lip as you grind on him, feeling your clit meet his pelvic bone each time that only makes your stomach tighten. he leans back more, his arms wrapping around your entire body before he snaps his hips up into you, making you take it as he maneuvers your body.
you cry out, your cunt barely able to accommodate his size but the burning stretch makes your head feel blank as you bury your face into his neck, your moans sounding muffled out. heeseung groans with each thrust, your wet pussy making his lower stomach messy as your juices slap against his balls.
“shit, you’re so fucking hot,” he moans out, hips beginning to get sloppy but it only turns you on more to see him become desperate for you. you put in effort to lift your head up, meeting your lips with his and the two of you moan and whine into each other's mouths, the entire living room echoing of wet skin slapping and sloppy kisses.
“ah– don’t stop! pleaseee,” you beg, your nails scratching at his shoulder blade and chest as you feel the knot in your lower belly tighten, threatening to snap. “fuck–shit, me too, baby, g’na cum too!” heeseung moans out, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses at your sensitive lower jaw and neck that only sends shivers down your spine, leaving you shaking as you reach your orgasm over his cock.
“fuck, fuck fuck, y/n,” he whimpers, lips releasing from your neck as he throws his head back in pleasure. your walls contracting and pulsating against his twitching cock pushes him further into his high, his hips sporadically delivering you deep and fast thrusts that have you hiccuping as you moan.
the two of you catch your breath, your forehead meeting his chest as you both breathe in silence, chests heaving up and down. he stays still inside you, his softening cock making his cum leak down the inside of your thighs. neither of you say anything, despite the soothing back rubs that heeseung gives you and your hand in his hair that is gently massaging at his scalp.
the buzzing of your phone on the coffee table reaches both of your ears, and you shoot up from heeseung’s chest, sitting up straight and still on his cock. the both of you wince at your sudden movement from being too sensitive. “sorry…” you say quietly, bending slightly to get your phone.
jake (project partner): hey. are you on your way yet?
you curse underneath your breath, slapping your hand against your forehead as you had forgotten about your project with jake. heeseung gives you a curious raised brow, “is everything alright…?”
you purse your lips before giving him a sheepish smile as you carefully lift your hips off of him, slightly wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of his cum slipping out even more. “uh… i actually got a project to do right now.. so…” you trail off, meeting his eyes and the two of you look at each other in silence for a good ten seconds.
you slowly bend down awkwardly, grabbing your discarded bottoms and giving your roommate (that you just fucked) a small wave goodbye before rushing to the bathroom to wash up.
heeseung opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out as he watches your bare butt with his cum dripping out of your cunt go into the bathroom. he sighs, awkwardly shuffling his pants back on as he tries to pretend that it’s normal to fuck his roommate.
it’s normal, right?
#enhypen smut#enhypen x reader#enhypen#heeseung x reader#heeseung smut#lee heeseung#heeseung enhypen#heeseung#enhypen fanfic#enhypen hard hours#enhypen hard thoughts#heeseung fanfic#heeseung fluff#kpop smut
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Frat!Rafe has his target locked in and it's shy!reader (pt. 2)
part one / part three
Writer's note: And then here it is: part two. Can you believe it? Obviously it's not the last. I would really like to hear your thoughts and ideas on this. I have some of my own, already typed out a little bit too but still struggling to choose exactly what way I really think works best. Love y'all and thank you for your support xxx rafebaby
After your "moment" with Rafe, you decided to lock yourself in your room all weekend. Hoping it would all pass by as a bad dream. But it didn’t pass by. No matter how hard you wanted to forget about it all, memories of him and you and what happened, repeated itself in your head over and over and over again. You felt ridiculous.
This was Rafe Cameron, for heaven's sake – a guy who had every girl swooning over him. You had nothing against him, but this was literally stupid. It's as if he planted a parasite in your brain, and the parasite is him and now you're kind of doomed to have these feelings that you don't really want yourself having.
So as Monday comes around, you have a hard time convincing yourself to get out of the house to go to the first class of the week. It also happens to be the only day of the week none of your friends are in your class. But Rafe is.
Normally that wouldn’t mean a whole lot to you, but today it has your anxiety peaking. You're afraid to see him, afraid of him seeing you, afraid of embarrassment and probable rumors already being spread around campus. Maybe someone took pictures, maybe they recorded it. Not that you deem yourself so incredibly interesting but stories including campus royalty like Rafe spread like wildfire. Yet missing education for a boy and as a result of a game of ‘spin the bottle’ is something you can not justify to yourself.
You walk into the lecture hall a few minutes before the start of the class, head facing downwards, avoiding any kind of interaction. You're greeted by the professor who is already setting up her presentation. You look up at her briefly and smile before you turn to the room to find yourself a seat, but are shocked to see Rafe Cameron sitting in the back staring straight at you.
Shit.
You immediately break eye contact and nervously sit yourself down in the first seat closest to you Front row. With nervous hands, you manage to get your laptop out of your bag and start it up. Automatic pilot takes over and helps you find the document from the previous lecture, but you can hear the beat of your heart in between your ears, knowing he's behind you.
Maybe you should just apologize to him after class, you think. It was kind of rude to have done what you did, was it not? After all, he never did anything wrong. Only, you have no clue what is going through his head. You've heard about him getting into fights, him dealing, him threatening other people.... But you actually didn't know him at all, so, you know, maybe he would just be happy if you just cleared the air. You're sure he could be nice, you felt it in his touch, in his pace…
Your face flushes red as the memory pops into your head again. Quickly but subtly you take a careful look over your shoulder, wary of Rafe being able to read your mind. As soon as you lay your eyes on him, his head turns into your direction, his eyes following just a bit slower.
The teacher starts her class. “Welcome class!” You snap your head to her. “Today, we’ll follow up on the chapter we started on last week, chapter 9. We left of at page 67 in the textbook…” She goes on.
You are definitely not going to talk to him. After class, you are just gonna leave this room as fast as possible. He's too intimidating. Too scary.
Too handsome.
No, fuck, stop.
During the rest of the period, you find yourself dipping in and out of attention for the lecture, struggling to take notes as time drags on slowly.
When the professor finally concludes the lecture and wishes the class a good rest of the week, everyone hastily starts packing their belongings, eager to escape the confinement of the dusty room. Yet, nobody is as eager as you. The people passing by make it difficult to leave your spot. To them you are more or less invisible. Not to Rafe though. He follows your every move as Topper walks beside him, going on and on about the troubles of his latest relationship troubles. It was always the same with him.
“I don’t know what she wants, man. Whatever I do, I always seem to do the wrong thing. One minute we’re being all lovey dovey, the next, she says she needs space.”
Rafe’s completely unbothered. Unlike himself, Topper is a total doormat. The wait-and-see type of guy. Rafe however likes to go after what he wants. And so, without any announcements, he leaves Topper behind, following you at a covert distance. “Hey dude! Where are you going?” Topper tries to catch up with him again, but Rafe strides on. “See you later, Top!” He exclaims unentertained with his head acing his target. You’re too jittery to notice, so busy to get out fast. He can tell, but he won’t have it. This time he won’t let you get away that easily.
➤ taglist: here
#rafe cameron x reader#rafe x reader#rafe cameron#drew starkey#rafe outer banks#rafe obx#rafe cameron imagine#obx x reader
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I know this kinda sounds stupid- but can you do a feral deer reader who was found by the task force? The reader has some magical healing abilities, so she ended up captured and hired as a medic. Since the reader never really communicated with humans/ other hybrids and was mostly by herself, she doesn't understand social stuff. For example, she can be convinced that getting groped is a greeting, and she'll agree since she never interacted with other hybrids before. So she's pretty much oblivious.
If possible- make her a bit fluffy? 👉👈
I’m going to make this the continuation to Doe because I can!! Muhahahahahah!!!!!! ψ(｀∇´)ψ
Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, non-con touching, magic, hybrid, groping, tell me if I missed any.
You were introduced to Laswell after the mission, dressed in better clothing than the tattered dress you wore, antlers cleaned from all the leaves and officially claimed by the Task Force, you found a place in their group. Going through a few rough patches and scuffles to get you out of your home, they watched you tend to your wounds, your hands glowing over the scrapes and tongue lapping at your bleeding fingers. Your… ability was the driving nail that forced Laswell to bend to their words, she’d been hounding them to get a medic or someone with better medical knowledge than the four of them combined.
After all the paperwork and sweat, Price had the honour of locking the pretty collar they team bought you around your neck, the insignia gleaming under the office light was the final step to bind you to them as your handlers, a poor and fragile, little deer they saved from the freezing Canadian wilderness. But in all honesty, all they did was separate you from your herd, the warmer spring announcing the end of your antlers and the growth of a new set, it made frolicking and dancing easier than winter did. You were plucked from everything you knew, ripped from your lush forest and livelihood where you watched over the fauna and little critters that came to you for healing, and forcefully placed in a dead and unfeeling world where grey buildings towered over the forests and life restrained to small patches of dying soil. It made you uncomfortable, but the binding words the four men - human men - and the nice but stoic lady (she looked so tired, it made your hands itch to soothe her aches) shared with you made it seem like it was impossible for you to return to your home.
“This is your new home, sweetheart,” the bear-like man said, his gruff voice and imposing figure had you shuddering in your seat, much more than the energetic man with electric, blue eyes that you then learned was Soap.
You wanted to argue, but your voice died in your throat when they all stared at you with dark and expectant eyes, seemingly anticipating submission and obedience from you as a deer. How could you fight when they held such an oppressive air around them, but perhaps it was just their broad and muscular bodies that made your nerves bristle; perhaps they were nicer than they looked, gentler and tender like the way that man with brown eyes held you in the metal bird, whispering sweet and comforting words; or perhaps they were truly mean and dominating, like some pack of wolves that shared your home. You hoped they were as nice as the Gaz, who made you call him by his… real name? You were confused, but you did as he asked, calling him Kyle unlike the other men.
You gave Price a muted nod, eyes cast down and fingers scratching and pulling at your restrictive clothes, feeling too covered and your skin too sensitive by all the irritating fabrics and silks. It hadn’t taken them much time to intergrate you in their schedule, finding you a place in their group to stare at and work despite your clear confusion about the social norms and your sudden duty. The human world was a stranger to you, foreign acts and alien words that you needed help with: you could read some words while others were completely incomprehensible for your feral mind, or your confusion about the use for phones and anything too advanced had you fumbling with your words.
It’s good that you had them to help you, no?
Price made you attend classes with him and Ghost, being taught the alphabet and complicated words after the training drills and morning rituals, sometimes seated between them, squeezed so tightly between their broad shoulders, and other times seated on their laps, their shadow looming over you when they bent over to show you something. They touched you a lot, Ghost having less restraint than his Captain, his rough, gloveless fingers sliding beneath your shirt and groping the softness of your stomach and kneading your breasts, feeling its weight and perky nipples. You squirmed on his lap, whined out your discomfort, used to physical interaction in your herd, but never something so forward, but Ghost had reassured you that this was a normal human behaviour towards someone they cared deeply for.
Price kept his to your stomach and ass, feeling the fat of your cheeks and occasionally standing a hit, drinking in your yelps and whimpers from his touches. He, alike Ghost did, assured you that it was normal that he hooked his arm around your hip and holding you flushed to his side, his musky scent wafting around you like a thick cloud of smoke. He ruffled your hair once your antlers fell, petting you like he would a dog, carding through your washed locks and chuckling when your ears twitched from being handled. He would often call you to his office at random times, allegedly wanting you to train healing them since humans were slightly different than hybrids and having you lick his paper cut with your pink tongue. He liked shoving two fingers down your throat and pumping until you gagged and choked, drooling down his wrist while he breathed heavily and palmed himself.
Gaz and Soap helped you with other things: understanding human behaviour, training you mind and body and helping you around the base when you were lost and disoriented. Both men were enthused to be your chaperone, excited to take part in your schooling in other ways. Gaz lead you around the base hand in hand, his fingers intertwined with yours in a strong and unmoving grip while he pulled you forward, your tail flicking anxiously when people gazed your way, their eyes probing your uniform-clad figure. He was more upfront than the older men, pulling you to his chest and cuddling you in public areas, the bigger rec room, the mess hall or the gym, nuzzling the crook of your neck, lips drawling pretty words on your throat and shoulder and hair tickling your skin, mumbling the sweetest praises despite your obvious stiffness.
Soap, not unlike Gaz, had you call him Johnny (Ghost called him that too, you quickly found out) and was the touchiest of the four, always placing a hand on you even in awkward and weird situations. Soap was more animalistic than the others, panting and huffing when he spent too long around you, rutting your thigh like a wolf in rut or another reindeer deep in the season, you were quite sure this one wasn’t that much of a norm, seeing people avert their eyes or Ghost scruffing Soap and hissing degrading words. He especially loved sparring with you, pinning you on the mat, hand wrapped around your nap and putting his weight on your struggling body. He’d grind his hard bulge against your ass, ignoring your cries and whines, happily huffing and groaning in your ear while Gaz and Ghost watched on, admiring the sight, a pretty and vulnerable deer with little stubs and flickering ears, writhing under the mutt of the Task Force.
Even if your initial use was for healing wounds and supporting the team, they found a secondary task for you in all the chaos and caution, to help you open up to them faster and easier. It’d only take a few kisses, cuddling and sessions until you grow attune and accept your new home.
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts
#x reader#cod mw2#cod mw2 x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost mw2#captain john price#captain price x reader#price mw2#gaz mw2#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#john soap mactavish#soap mw2#soap x reader#gaz x reader#hybrid!au#hybrid au#deer hybrid!reader#hybrid!reader#dead dove do not eat#tw dubcon#tw: dub con#tw: dubcon#dub con#dubious consent#cw: non con#tw noncon#tw: non con#tw: noncon
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Dom Steve Fic Recs
Strange as Angels (soft dom steve) by @munsonkitten
Eddie hasn't been able to get himself off in months, and now he's high, sweaty, and horny, thinking about the very man sitting in his room in nothing but a wife beater and a pair of tiny athletic shorts, and he thinks he might die. Steve notices.
Of course, Steve fucking notices, what, with all the squirming Eddie's doing. Steve offers to help get Eddie off. As friends do. (As long as those friends are completely in love with each other.)
Like The Hero Who Never Ran (dom awakening series) by callmejude
While Steve and Dustin are searching for survivors, they're surprised to find Eddie alive, hiding out in Rick's cabin. Steve takes up the task of caring for him while staying in his trailer.
Practice Makes Perfect (soft dom, blindfolds) by @mixsethaddams
“I need the practice, right?” asked Eddie. “Need to know what people might try to do.”
Steve swallowed.
“You’re able to quit the performance whenever you want, yeah?” asked Steve. “When you’re out there for real?”
Eddie nodded.
“I can say stop any time I want,” breathed Eddie.
“Good,” said Steve, a familiar feeling creeping through him.
Or Eddie signs up for a performance art piece and Steve helps him to practice.
Genius Loci (dom bottom, magic steve) by @sayesayes
It’s 1986, and Steve falls in love with a boy who is leaving.
It’s 1990, and Eddie comes back home.
The fic where Steve is a selectively mute, homesteading, truck-driving witch with head injuries and also somehow it's canonverse.
(Don't) cream your pants (soft dom steve awakening series) by @corrodedbisexual
“Don’t know how to cream your pants, huh?” Steve asks, unable to conceal a smirk.
He hears a quiet whine as Eddie seems to try and make himself disappear inside the couch.
“Want me to show you how?”
Gilded (dom steve, blindfolds, ice play) by @cheshiredogao3
Steve and Eddie are looking forward to a weekend all to themselves, but it doesn’t go as planned.
Trouble Looks Good On You (wip, spanking, kink discovery) by me indelicate
It happens like a fever dream.
The first time Steve gives Eddie a swift smack on the ass, it’s obviously just an old jock habit that’s stuck with him. It wasn’t meant to have Eddie’s knees going weak, or turn his blood hot under his skin, or give him a brand in the shape of Steve Harrington’s hand, or— Nope, because Eddie’s not even into that.
But then, it happens again.
Or, Steve keeps accidentally awakening Eddie’s new kinks.
You Make Me Feel Like I Am Whole Again (wip, dom top and dom bottom steve) by @munsonkitten
Eddie has never felt like his body belongs to him. It gets worse after he's nearly mauled to death, left with scars and healing wounds, a lopsided chest, and more trauma stacked on top of everything already wrong with him.
Steve Harrington finds out Eddie's trans by accident after the bats, and Eddie finds out Steve's surprisingly okay with it. More than okay with it.
The Bartender Was a Trap (soft dom) by @mixsethaddams
Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Steve was just naturally amazing at DND?
Like he can see the strategy clear as day and can’t understand why the other players are taking so long to decide on their next move. He’s never caught by surprise by the story. He built his nearly flawless absolute weapon of a character in less than twenty minutes.
Eddie fucking hates it but oh boy does it turn him on
Or Steve rails Eddie while talking about D&D
Bite Through These Wires (soft dom steve's strap game series 🤭) by @steves-strapcollection
“Wouldn’t you be Ken, though?”
Steve had hoped Eddie would ask a question like that and he had to refrain from punching the air and ruining his punchline.
“I come with all the coolest accessories, so clearly I’m still Barbie,” Steve retorted, his voice going just a bit deeper as he leaned closer to Eddie.
Relax (Lay it Back) (soft dom yoga instructor steve) by @wynnyfryd
Five times yoga instructor Steve teaches Eddie how to chill the fuck out, and the one time he learns his lesson.
Melt Me On Your Tongue (soft dom, bathing) by me indelicate
“This okay?”
“Yeah it’s— shit, it’s more than okay, Steve.”
“… you’re crying, Eds.”
Eddie can’t hold back a choked off noise then, somewhere between an overwhelmed laugh and a sob.
“No one’s ever done this to me before.”
He doesn’t know if he means no one’s ever given him a bath, or braided his hair, or just any of the things Steve does for him, really.
Eddie's never had a Steve before.
Kiss Me (Beneath the Milky Twilight) (pleasure dom steve, virgin eddie) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x
Eddie has never been kissed. Steve apparently would very much like to volunteer to fix this.
Getting Lost in the Dark is My Favorite Part (wip, masochist virgin eddie, kink discovery) by queerontilmorning
After his near-death experience, Eddie decides it's time to get rid of his pesky virginity and heads to a gay bar. It leads to some... realizations... for both him and Steve.
You're a Sweet Shot of Kerosene (When I Threw it Back, it Poisoned Me) (wip, mob boss steve) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x
Whatever fucked up shit Eddie’s father had inadvertently roped him into simply by being what he was — a shit-stain excuse for a sperm donor who preferred sticking a needle in his arm to taking care of his family — well, Eddie’s pretty sure it’s about to be him that pays that price.
And maybe Eddie’s delirious, because by the time it’s apparently his turn and they’re dragging him down some hallway (and yeah, it’s not like Eddie’s not trying to put up a fight, but it feels almost performative at this point considering he’s pretty much hogtied here), the only real thought he has when they deposit him on yet another cold, wet tile floor is this:
Uncle Wayne is gonna be so pissed at me if I get shot in the head tonight.
closer to you (soft dom steve) by @natesfwl
“C’mon baby, where's my little rockstar?” Steve spanks him, groans when he feels Eddie tense up around him from the impact, “Perform for me.”
“You let me penetrate you” Eddie stutters out the line as he lifts himself up with his knees.
“There you go,” Steve whispers, watching as Eddie fights to keep his eyes locked onto Steve’s when he sinks back down.
or
the really self-indulgent fic of steddie fucking to the song closer by NIN.
Destroy The Silence (drummer steve) by @artaxlivs
Steve becomes the drummer for Corroded Coffin and Eddie can't handle his thirst
Trouble and Temptation (series wip, businessman dilf steve) by @heartharps
“Come on, Harrington. I’d lay you badly but I’d lay you gladly.”
When Steve looked up, he was glaring, as stern and serious as ever. “Eddie, let me remind you that as far as I'm concerned, nothing has ever happened between us other than of a professional nature.”
Sting, and Other Brainworms (series with switching) by @riality-check
“Do you need to go down, baby?”
Eddie gets like this, sometimes. Stuck between overwhelmed and incredibly bored. Steve watches until he remembers that they have a way to fix this.
Eddie calls it a hard reset. Steve calls it fucking him until he can’t see straight.
Edification (sadist steve) by aristal
“Alright Munson.” She bares her teeth and grins like a wolf. “Tell the class: what’s your biggest sexual fantasy?”
A slow smile creeps into his features, and his dark eyes flash. “Oh, you’re asking the good questions, Wheeler.” He takes another long pull of his joint, dragging the moment out for dramatic effect. Steve doesn’t care. He wants to know the answer. He needs to know.
Eventually, Eddie blows out the smoke, eyes a little hazy as he grins at the ceiling. “I’ve always liked the idea of being slapped around and choked in someone’s car.”
In My Boxers, Half Stoned (dom bottom Steve) by eddywow
"You can," Eddie said, almost sounding like he was nodding along to his words. The image was too pure for Steve. "You could say anything you want to me and I'd- I think I'd be into it. Because I saw your pics and like, I know your face isn't in them but- but I really like them. Is it okay that I liked them?"
Insatiable (public, skirts, cages) by @cheshiredogao3
When their club ritual is rudely interrupted, Steve and Eddie make a point of proving their bond—rather publicly.
Done Deal (series with switching) by @morningberriesao3
Steve Harrington doesn't have any money with him, so he offers to pay Eddie Munson some other way.
Lovebite (sub vampire eddie) by hellcore
It shouldn’t feel so good, being tasted.
* The next few don't have the tag but in my opinion they have dom Steve vibes and I want to include them here (:
Cyclical (wip, time loop fic, rimming, switching, lots of smut with plot) by @cuips-not-cute
steve keeps finding himself back in the boathouse where everything started, wrapped up in the arms of a boy who can’t stop dying. he's desperate to rewrite the timeline, trying everything he can think of to fix it. including falling in love.
Dirty Words by @morningberriesao3
Steve gives Eddie a lesson on dirty talk, but things start to get carried away.
Memorize My Number, That's Why I Got A Phone (phone sex) by queerontilmorning
while on tour with Corroded Coffin, Eddie makes an important phone call to Steve.
My Right Hand Man (spanking, kink discovery) by @entanglednow
In which movie night takes an unexpected turn, and it's surprisingly easy to just let it happen.
Shot Right Through (pierced eddie) by @entanglednow
Steve overhears a conversation between Eddie and Robin, and then spends a few weeks trying to think of anything else.
Pleased To Meet You (demon steve) by midnightdrive
Eddie accidentally summons a demon who is bound to fulfill his every wish. He, somehow, gets more than he had bargained for.
#for the baddies that get it#i'm sure i missed some great ones please feel free to add on <3#steddie#steddie fic rec#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#dom steve harrington#sub eddie munson
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all's well that ends well | lh44
pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!reader
content warning(s): suggestive content? (like one little comment nothing outrageous
word count: 2,107
note: this is a part two to this fic! thank you to the anon who gave me the idea otherwise i would have been stuck for ages!! so happy so many of you enjoyed it and i hope you enjoy this one just as much 😚🫶🏻
(masterlist!)
you let out a shallow sigh as you gently pushed the door closed with a click. last night's fight had plagued your mind and haunted your dreams meaning you had gotten almost no sleep at all. you just wanted to get all your stuff and find a small place to rent while you looked for a more permanent place to stay.
but lewis had other plans.
"hey, baby-"
"don't call me that, lewis. i thought i made it clear last night that it was over. i thought i also made it clear that i didn't want to see you again."
"ok, ok. i'm sorry. i just, i know i fucked up. but i can make it right again. i promise."
"like how you promised we would have a normal life together? i don't want to wait anymore, lewis. i told you this already. now please, let me just get my stuff and leave."
"no, just, just hear me out on this. i can't imagine how you felt while waiting for me to finally catch up to what you realised a long time ago. but i have been in love with you since the day i met you and if i let you walk away again i would never be able to live with myself."
despite what you had said earlier, you didn't hate him. and lewis could see you weighing up the idea in your head.
"saying it is but proving it is another. otherwise your apology means nothing."
"ok. yeah, ok i can do that."
he grinned at the possibility of winning you over.
"but, i need space. so, i will be getting my stuff and leaving."
"wait! you can stay here. i'll go, it's only fair."
"don't be silly, lewis. i still have my hotel room booked don't worry about it."
"no, no, please stay here. this house is yours as much as it is mine. don't worry, i can find somewhere else to stay. i know how you get sleeping in a bed that's not yours."
he knew you too well.
"ok. uhm, thank you, lewis."
"you don't need to thank me. i'll see you soon?."
"ok, yeah. see you soon."
you thought sleeping in your own bed would help you get a good night's rest but you seemed to toss and turn for hours on end. looking to your left, the digital clock on the bedside table screamed some unreasonable time in blinding red. you huffed before realising that maybe it wasn't just the bed. after all, all those years you slept in this bed you weren't sleeping alone. eventually, you did manage to fall asleep at some ungodly hour after scrolling on your phone mindlessly. but not without pondering how lewis was planning to change your mind.
the next morning you were awoken by a knock at the door. rolling your eyes, you readied yourself to turn lewis away but instead you were met with a bouquet of flowers on the doorstep. you peeked your head out to see if the person who dropped it off was still around but it was like they had disappeared into thin air. bringing the bouquet to the kitchen to place in a vase your eyes caught notice of a note gently tucked into the leaves.
thank you for giving me a second chance. you won't regret it.
he was making it hard to stay mad at him. you pulled out your phone and sent him a quick text.
thanks for the flowers.
anything for you. and i meant what i said.
read 9:26 am
humming along to the radio, you plated up your lunch and made your way to sit at the counter to eat. the recent weather had been unusually pleasant with the sun shining all day, and you thought about going for a run outside when a text popped up on your phone.
do you have any plans tonight? it read.
you debated lying to him but you had already finished with your work that day and you found yourself wanting to see him again after a little bit more than a week of being apart. you typed out your reply after a couple of seconds.
depends. what do you have planned?
it's a surprise.
you grinned.
i'll pick you up at 6.
oh and can you wear that black dress again? the backless one?
read 12:46 pm
you felt your face go warm at the reminder of what happened the last time you wore that number. god damn it. no matter what he would always have that effect on you. looks like you had something to look forward to tonight.
you smoothed away imaginary wrinkles while obsessively checking your entire appearance over in the mirror. it felt like you were doing too much but then again, you had to show lewis what he would be losing out on if he couldn't convince you. before you could check the time there was a knock at the door.
you calmed yourself down and opened the door to come face to face with lewis.
lewis swore he felt his world stop spinning.
"you- wow. you look...as beautiful as ever. seriously, why were you ever dating me?" he eventually managed to get out, audibly breathless.
your giggles filled the air as you hoped your makeup meant he couldn't see your entire face going red.
"you look, ok." you were lying straight through your teeth. he could make a trash bag look like a designer outfit and you both knew it. he found it funny enough to let out a chuckle though so maybe it was the right move.
"oh and uh, these are for you." as he remembered the bouquet of baby's breath, white chrysanthemums and blue hyacinth in his hands that he painstakingly put together himself.
"oh they're lovely. thank you. i'll just go put these in a vase and we can go."
he couldn't mess this up now. not again.
"ok, do you plan on telling me where we're going now or is it still a surprise?" you asked locking the front door and heading towards the car.
he opened the passenger door for you as you got in.
"y'know there's a saying that goes something along the lines of 'good things come to those who wait'. you ever heard of that one?" he retorted before getting behind the wheel.
"hmmm, i don't know. doesn't really ring any bells for me."
"that's too bad because i'm still not telling you."
"fine, be that way."
he looked over at you staring out the window refusing to spare him so much as a glance. you always have been a stubborn one he thought. shaking his head with a smirk, he began driving.
you were definitely surprised when you two arrived at the restaurant you raved about months ago - you didn't think he had been fully paying attention while getting ready for bed. now sat down at the secluded booth, you couldn't help but grin at the fact while in awe of the decor. all lewis could do was admire the pure joy and glee present on your face.
"what? why are you looking at me like that?"
"like what?"
"y'know, like that."
"i don't know what you're talking about."
all the other patrons must have been irritated by the way you two couldn't stop chatting and laughing as the bottle of wine dwindled down over several courses of delicious food. but if it meant he could see you so happy after everything he put you through he was ready to pay for them all to leave.
"so i've been thinking, and, i'm ready to take the next step with you. don't worry, i'm not about to get down on one knee right now, but i just thought you should know."
"what changed your mind?"
"i should've listened to you but instead i was an idiot and i let you leave. i'm sorry for that. and everything else. i guess seeing you walk out really brought me to my senses."
"yeah? well i'm glad it did."
"and i am absolutely ready to retire and start a family with you-"
"what?" you almost spat out your wine.
"i've thought about it and i want a family with you more than anything."
"no, lewis, i won't let you do that. you love racing. you said it yourself it's your whole life!"
"not anymore. i want to be there for you and i can't do that if i'm away driving every weekend."
"i can travel while pregnant, lewis. i'd follow you until i am physically unable to and we would be waiting for you until you come back home. i know how much racing means to you and i will always support you. besides, wouldn't you love to have your kid cheer you on in the garage?"
you two were cheekily grinning now at the prospect. he couldn't believe how lucky he was to find you.
"are you sure? it's not going to be easy."
"yes, of course i am. i've been sure for years, lewis. you were the one who wasn't ready."
his smile faltered a little as he wished he could go back in time and tell himself to get his act together. he couldn't change the past but he was damn well going to change your future together.
"ok."
"ok."
to everyone else in the restaurant, it seemed like a normal date, but if lewis kept his word then it meant the start of a completely new chapter in your relationship.
"you ready for this?" you were in awe of the man stood in front of you.
"more than ready."
"stay safe, ok? we want you back in one piece."
"of course. anything for my two favourite girls."
he placed a kiss on your forehead before taking the toddler from your arms.
"you ready to see daddy race? hmm?"
lewis nuzzled his nose against hers and placed gentle kisses all over her face, prompting an endless symphony of infectious giggles.
he had been absolutely petrified when you told him you were pregnant. he wanted nothing more than a family with you but babysitting nieces and nephews was very different to having your own child. even after all the baby books, birthing classes and packing dozens of hospital bags, lewis still almost passed out when your water broke. and if you weren't in excruciating pain due to your rapidly growing contractions, you would have teased him for his panic.
soon enough, his daughter was placed into his arms for the first time and all of a sudden there was nothing to be anxious about. he could still visualise the moment perfectly and yet somehow failed to describe just how he felt looking at the little one's face. she was the perfect mixture of the two of you.
"i'm so proud of you, my love. you know that right?"
season after season, he was left fighting in the midfield when he was finally given a championship contending car to restore his former glory. it was clear to everyone that lewis was more motivated than ever and that he just needed a car good enough to take him back up to the top step. all the late night meetings and simulator runs had finally paid off, as the legendary eighth world championship was won just a few races ago.
now, as you helped him prepare for his final race in formula one, you looked fondly back on the beginning of your relationship. you had everything you always dreamed of and you wouldn't trade it for the world.
"i couldn't disappoint my biggest supporters!"
"even if you didn't win we would still be your biggest supporters! isn't that right, my sweet girl?" you tickled your daughter as she curled back into lewis' neck to evade your hands.
"thank you."
you looked back at him with furrowed brows while fussing over the toddler.
"what for?"
"for everything. for taking me back, for making me the happiest man in the universe. twice, by the way."
you beamed from ear to ear at the reminder of the wedding that awaited you next year. he had proposed to you just before you found out you were pregnant and it felt like your life was falling into place at last. studying his face, you felt content knowing that you were truly meant for each other. nothing else mattered more than what lied ahead of you and you couldn't wait to experience it with the man you had fallen in love with years ago.
"i would do it all over again in a heart beat."
note: omg. it's literally 1 am but i had to finish this before my random streak of motivation ran out. i didn't think so many people would want a part 2 like i was so shocked at how many people enjoyed part 1!! never thought i'd get 10 notes let alone 100+ you are all tooooo kind 🥹
#f1 fic#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x fem!reader#lh44#lh44 x reader#lh44 imagine#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton x you
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Killer Instinct
× Playlist ×
“Beomgyu knows better than to get himself involved in that shady fight club you always warn him about— but he never listens to you, and despite how much you beg him to leave that place alone, you don’t find yourself to be too surprised when he starts bringing those same people you warned him about to you.”
MMA Fighter! Taehyun x fem!reader
Genre: underground fight club! au, mma fighter!taehyun, enemies to lovers, thriller/action, angst, smut
Word count: 37.4K
Warnings: general violence. (This is an mma au; fighting, blood, injuries, etc.) illegal activities (underground clubs, gambling, etc) older!mc (3 years gap), use of the word “noona”, talks about family issues, single parenting, tae is a little bitch, weapons, (knives, guns), stabbing, cigarette smoking, mc is also a bitch (they’re mean to each other), medical inaccuracies probably sksjsj, a bit of jealousy… mentions of bullying, mentions of power imbalance & manipulation, alcohol consumption, mentions of death & coping, mma inaccuracies bc i am not a professional!!
Smut warnings: dom!tae, sub!mc, mc is slightly bratty, manhandling, breast play, marking, biting, oral (f. rec), bro is a pussy fiend, (service top!tae? maybe?) hair pulling, scratching, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie(s)
Notes: i’ve worked on this stupid story for so long that i don’t even want to look at it anymore. (/hj.) another warning that idk anything abt mma, so there are definitely inaccuracies! features literally the whole idol industry,,, they're scattered like easter eggs.
The air is thick and foggy; Taehyun can already feel the sweat beginning to form on his brow the moment he enters, pushed around like a rag-doll from the full capacity of the room. No one bothers to spare him a glance— he’s a nobody, a clueless figure that’s given away from the sheer curiosity that breaks through his eyes. The poor boy is forced to hold in a cough as someone proceeds to blow cigarette smoke in his face; he hears a few mocking chuckles around him.
None of that matters, though. The flickering, weak lights overhead manage to spotlight his objective perfectly, his eyes lighting up with wonder as he feels a grin threatening to spread on his face; before him, two unknown men stand in a ring.
Taehyun’s muscles twitch in attention— his mind is racing, imagining himself in their place as he watches the two slowly circle each other, wondering what he would do if he were in their place; even from here, Taehyun can see the hungry look on one of the men’s faces, a bloody grin stuck on his face as he keeps his hands up and close— his hair is tied up and out of his face as he stares his opponent down.
It’s tense, wild even, as he finally swings, landing a punch to the other man’s stomach as the crowd around the ring roars— in approval or dread, he isn’t sure entirely. It’s a mixture of everything, men and women alike gesturing wildly as their screams blend in with the crowd; all to form a violent audience, closing in hysterically on the ring in hopes of getting a good view.
Taehyun feels adrenaline coursing through him— it’s contagious.
He fights the urge to try and push through, curious to see what might be going on as a sudden unanimous roar sweeps through the crowd. His eyes dart wildly, watching people celebrate, clapping each other on the backs as they cheer; others don't share the feeling, upset or even angry as he finds people being held back from trying to get on the ring— security is quick to put an end to it, though.
And as he slowly watches the crowd scatter, he sees the same man from before circling the ring, bloody and bruised as he walks back to the referee; his arm is thrust up by the official as his supporters cheer in victory. Eyes scanning the room, his eyes briefly land on Taehyun’s before he’s back to gloating, proud despite the clear beating he took himself.
Taehyun can feel his ambitious heart beat faster— he doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but he wants to be up there next.
The buzz of it all is quick to calm down; it’s as though nothing happened, and he notices the way the unconscious man gets picked up and carried towards an infirmary— taking in his condition, Taehyun shudders, trying to shake it off before he looks for his target.
“‘scuse me,” Taehyun says, voice rough and as confident as he can get it to be— he hopes the referee can’t see through his act of bravery. The man barely spares him a glance before he nods, seemingly able to see what he’s here for— the small quirk of his lips is more mocking than anything to Taehyun.
“What do you want, kid,” the unamused tone of the man before him isn’t very encouraging— for a moment, Taehyun almost feels foolish for stepping inside such a foreign ground without proper connections; he’s quick to push the feeling away, much too used to the patronizing looks he gets for being a newcomer.
“Get me in the ring,” he can’t seem unsure now— if anything, any ounce of hesitation will get him denied immediately. Taehyun is demanding, jaw clenched and gaze hard as he stares at the older man before him; his eyes narrow at the younger’s words, and for a second Taehyun wonders if he took the wrong approach.
“You got money to bet?” The older man’s words only bring excitement to Taehyun— he can’t hold back his eager nod, ignoring the man’s amused chuckles as he reaches into his duffle bag; carefully, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, allowing it to peek slightly out of his bag as he glances back up at the referee— judging by the smug look on his face, Taehyun is sure that what he’s brought is more than enough.
“Good boy,” the referee whistles, but Taehyun chooses to ignore his blatant mockery as he tucks the envelope back in.
“Jin,” the man introduces himself, offering his hand out in the introduction— Taehyun takes it, the smooth leather of Jin’s black gloves stained with blood as he holds the younger’s hand tightly; he tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice the blood smudge onto his skin, attempting to wipe it off without being noticed. “Let’s go get you on the registry, I’ll see if I can find another newbie for you.”
“Taehyun,” he says, following obediently as Jin weaves through the crowd effortlessly. Taehyun, however, isn’t as lucky, struggling to keep up as everyone seemingly goes out of their way to get in his path— it isn’t long before Taehyun resorts to pushing roughly through the faceless people.
“Newbie? I don’t—“ Taehyun grunts as someone shoulder checks him, turning to the side roughly as he attempts to keep his sight on Jin; slowly, he’s able to catch up, “Don’t put me up against a newbie.”
The curious glance Jin spares is enough for Taehyun to get the confidence to continue.
“Put me up with someone experienced— all or nothing.”
Jin can’t control the laugh that escapes him at the younger’s words; his head is thrown back, briefly catching the attention of those around him as he stops before the bar. Leaning against the wooden counter, Jin’s act quickly becomes unamusing to Taehyun as he’s forced to watch as the older man attempts to regain his composure. When he does, Taehyun can feel his jaw tick— pure mockery fills Jin’s eyes.
“You even know how to fight, kid?” Taehyun says nothing, afraid of what might come out if he chooses to open his mouth. But his steely gaze is enough for Jin, who reluctantly holds his hands up in surrender—he can tell there’s still a reluctance in the man to take him seriously.
“Fine, I’ll give you your money’s worth,” Jin mutters, glancing back at the black duffle bag that remains secured at Taehyun’s side, “from the amount you showed me, I’m sure I could get The Bear’s attention.”
“The Bear?” Taehyun echoed, frowning at the name. Jin only scoffs, rolling his eyes at the title.
“I know. Stupid, isn’t it? Whatever sticks, I guess,” the referee grumbled, clearly displeased at the thought of having to announce any ridiculous names— clearing his throat, Jin squared his shoulders as he shot Taehyun a smug smile.
“The one who just won— that’s The Bear,” Jin explains, narrowing his eyes as he gauged Taehyun’s expression, “I saw you staring— you stick out badly— and I know you wanna have a go at him.”
Solemnly, Taehyun nods— Jin only sighs at that.
“Of course,” he runs a hand through his hair, seemingly unfazed by the uncleanliness of his gloves, “everyone does.”
Taehyun wondered if Jin berated every newcomer like this— he wouldn’t put it past the referee, quite honestly. It hadn’t been long since they met, but this short amount of time had Taehyun wondering if the older man even wanted to be a part of this place; slowly, a fire lights in Jin’s eyes, leaving Taehyun confused as he watches the man let out a cruel laugh; his eyes were no longer on Taehyun’s, but instead at a very distant point behind him— one glance over his shoulder and he was able to see victor from before approaching— The Bear.
“Cocky, faceless fighters like you,” Jin calls out, bringing Taehyun’s attention back as the younger’s eyes meet his— something is threatening within them, and Taehyun wished that he didn’t feel a sense of danger lick up his body as a grin overtook the referee’s face, “I love watching them get put in their place.”
Taehyun was unable to say anything to that— Jin’s expression seemed to light up as he pushed himself off the bar, his gloved hand slapping on Taehyun’s shoulder, startling the boy as he felt himself turned around forcefully— any angry comments died on his tongue as Jin pulled him into his side, walking forward as he called out a foreign name: Beomgyu.
“Beomgyu!” Jin calls out, grinning wildly as he forces Taehyun to follow along. Like before, Taehyun is turned into nothing but a rag-doll, fighting back the urge to shake him off as they approach the man— he can feel the curious stares of the patrons dig into him, and Taehyun begins to wonder what he got himself into as Seokjin’s fingers dig into his shoulder— almost as though he were preventing him from running away.
One look at the man before him has Taehyun’s nerves on fire— were they really going to let him fight like this? The man before him is bruised and bloody, refusing to stop at the infirmary as he shrugs on his coat; slowly, a grin overtakes his features, a slight wince stopping him as his cut lip reopens— Taehyun can hear the man curse under his breath.
“Who’s this?” Though Beomgyu’s eyes remain on Taehyun’s, he’s not truly talking to the newcomer; Jin is quick to respond, shaking the young boy teasingly as he laughs.
“Taehyun,” Jin says, patting the boy’s shoulder as he glances at him, “says he wants to have a go at you.”
Beomgyu quirks a brow at that— he’s clearly amused, letting out a soft huff as he’s crossing his arms over his bare torso; Taehyun can already spot dark bruises forming in certain spots, his thin and reddened fingers tapping at his bicep impatiently as he surveys Taehyun.
“I don’t know,” Beomgyu drawls, tilting his head as though he were in thought, “I don’t wanna scare the poor kid off by giving him a good beating.”
This, Taehyun decides, is about all he can put up with; shrugging Jin’s hand off his shoulder, he scoffs, stepping forward and coming face to face with Beomgyu— the man isn’t even much taller than him, and he seems to be around his age too— yet the arrogance pours off him in waves, looking at Taehyun as though he were lesser than him— yet, he hasn’t seen what Taehyun can do.
Beomgyu doesn’t seem phased by any of this; it’s like the smug look on his face is permanent, his head held high as Taehyun takes a moment to survey him. The air is tense as the patrons at the bar become aware of what’s happening before them; it isn’t long before they’re all taunting either Taehyun or Beomgyu, encouraging them to fight in hopes that they’ll get another show.
“If anything, I should be the one worried for you,” Taehyun mutters, a fake look of sympathy crossing his face at the thought, his voice patronizing as he continues, “I wouldn’t wanna ruin your pretty face.”
A pause. Beomgyu’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing as he fights back the smile that itches to show; shaking his head, he scoffs, enjoying the way Taehyun’s fiery gaze seems to burn into his skin. He sighs— it’s long and labored, his head thrown back as he shakes his bangs out of his face— then he reaches out, clapping Taehyun on his shoulder as he looks at Jin, nodding in approval.
“Get us in the next best slot,” Beomgyu says, and the spectators seem to grow more excited with his every word. Glancing back at Taehyun, he smiles; it’s mischievous and sly, but Taehyun doesn’t allow it to get to him as he stands his ground. “I need to freshen up.”
The room is buzzing with energy as everyone seems to spread out, watching Beomgyu disappear into the locker room before they begin to bet on the results; Taehyun grimaces at the number of people who are already betting against him.
“Seems like you bit off more than you can chew,” Jin whispers, leaning in as he bumps against Taehyun playfully. “You got twenty minutes; pray if you need to.”
Taehyun grits his teeth as Seokjin walks back to the bar, leaning in towards the bartender as they talk, glancing back at Taehyun before they’re laughing and nodding— it doesn’t take a genius to guess what they’re talking about. Readjusting the strap of his duffle bag, Taehyun has no choice but to make his way into the locker room; he just hopes The Bear can save his temper for the match.
It wasn’t as though he wanted to provoke the man— if anything, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But, it wasn’t long before Taehyun realized that being nice wouldn’t get him anywhere; luckily for him, he didn’t truly mind.
The locker room is small, just as Taehyun expected; the lighting is dim and there isn’t much room to move due to the benches that line the walkways— Taehyun frowns at the inconvenient layout. At the end of the wall to his left, he finds a doorway to another room— he catches a glimpse of showers and bathroom stalls; the water runs on that side of the room, and Taehyun can already guess who might be behind the flimsy wall that separates them. Sighing, Taehyun looks for the nearest empty locker.
The sound of running water fills Taehyun’s head, blocking out everything else as he begins to think— attempting to remember all the moves Beomgyu used, trying to decipher his fighting style; his mind raced with different possibilities he could use to counter him.
“Hey,” Taehyun is ripped out of his reverie at the firm voice, his head snapping up at the realization that they were talking to him; turning around, he’s unfazed to find The Bear staring at him blankly.
“First time in the cage?” He asks, tilting his head as he surveys Taehyun curiously. Taehyun shakes his head in response, watching as Beomgyu only nods thoughtfully at that. It’s clear he took a moment to patch himself up, but it’s still strange to Taehyun that he’s willing to go for another match so soon— his cockiness only fuels Taehyun further.
“It sure does look like it.” Beomgyu doesn’t bother lingering around— he’s ready, clapping Taehyun on the shoulder before he’s walking away, heading back out as he spares Taehyun one last apathetic glance. “Don’t get your hopes up too much, ‘kay? I’ll even go easy on you.”
Taehyun says nothing. He can feel his jaw clench, trying his best to bite back another comment as he watches the older man exit the locker room; His fists tighten, the feeling of his hands tightening over the material of his wraps allowing him to calm down as he takes a steady breath. Sighing, his head is tilted back, eyes surveying the dim room for a clock— it isn’t long before he spots it above the doorway, calculating how much time he has left to prepare.
Ten minutes.
That’s more than enough for him.
⊹⊹⊹
The cage is freshly cleaned. It reeks of cleaner and is scuffed and old under Taehyun’s feet. He has no interest in hearing about the fight that went on before his— the bored mumblings of the spectators were enough for him to tune everything out. The seating area wasn’t that big, but it was enough for the people that were more than ready to gamble and waste away from alcohol as they watched; it didn’t take a genius to know that the regulations in the place weren’t very strict.
There’s someone new standing in the cage— a commentator, Taehyun realizes. He looks like he could be a fighter himself, but the fire in his eyes seems to be curated more for the thrill of commentating every detail of the fights before him. Words spill rapidly from his mouth, but Taehyun can’t bring himself to tune in; his bright platinum hair is glowing, even under the flickering lights, and the commentator’s names manages to slip through the walls of Taehyun’s concentration— Taeyong, with his co-commentator, Jeno.
It’s clear they’re here to do nothing more than build up tension, making useless comments that make the audience cheer or roar with disapproval. Taeyong is gesturing wildly, pointing to the fighter’s separate corners as he seems to be talking about them; Taehyun can feel the searing stares of the people around him.
Beomgyu stands across from him, his hair pulled back and his face gone dead as he stares at Taehyun— he doesn’t look away for a second. His hands are left at his sides, fingers clenching around his wraps as he tilts his head side to side; Taehyun hears the faint crack of his bones, even from where he stands. He frowns, beginning to feel antsy the longer the commentators take— from the corner of his eye, he sees Jin enter the ring, nodding to Taeyong and Jeno as they shake hands.
Taehyun takes a slow breath, jaw clenching as he feels his teeth bite into his mouth guard. He can feel his impatience growing the longer he stares at The Bear, watching as the man before him only smiles mischievously at him; he’s pacing around his side, eyes pinned to Taehyun as though he were a predator ready to strike.
The Bear’s eyes light up the moment the two commentators exit the ring.
Their voices still ring out through the speakers, spewing random things about the scene as Jin beckons the two to approach him.
“I want a clean, fair fight.” Jin begins, reaching out to clasp the two’s shoulders, “You know the rules. Protect yourself at all times, touch gloves if you want to.”
A beat passes as Jin glances at the two fighters— Taehyun does nothing; Beomgyu only grins at that.
Sighing, Jin backs away from the two, clapping his hands before he points back to their respective sides.
“Back to your corners,” Jin yells, huffing as he backs away, mumbling under his breath as he does so, “let’s get this over with.”
Taehyun’s hands come up instinctively, eyes narrowing as he waits for the familiar sound of the bell. Beomgyu does the same, his stance opening as an undeniable smile graces his lips; if Taehyun didn’t know better, he’d almost think this was nothing but a game to him.
His body tenses the moment the bell rings throughout the room, his mind racing as he watches Beomgyu begin to make his way to him.
Nothing happens at first; they circle each other, Taehyun’s feet pacing quickly around the cage as he waits for a good opening. The useless chatter of the commentators threatens to break his concentration, but he knows better than to pay attention to anything other than the man before him.
Beomgyu throws the first punch. A sharp jab is directed toward his head, but it doesn’t land as Taehyun sharply moves away. Everything changes in an instant; the moment Beomgyu puts his arm out is the moment Taehyun begins to look for a weakness. It’s a rapid flow of punches and dodges, the commentators making a fuss over everything as nothing connects properly.
Beomgyu’s punches are strong; Taehyun’s forearms ache at the impact, jumping back the moment Beomgyu attempts to land a kick— a liver shot, Taehyun realizes with a small smile.
The two boys are equally matched, and it isn’t long before the crowd catches onto that fact— suddenly the fight has become more interesting, and Taehyun can sense everyone’s eyes on them as he watches Beomgyu prep for another kick, the minuscule mistake of his rear hand coming down giving Taehyun the perfect opening.
Taehyun’s body twists violently, his right hand swinging around as he aims for Beomgyu’s head; the impact sends the crowd roaring.
He feels his fist come in contact with a wound from his previous fight, his brow splitting back open as Beomgyu winces at the feeling— he wobbles slightly from the shock, his eye squinting as blood begins to trickle down.
“You motherfucker,” Beomgyu’s lips read, snarling at Taehyun as his guard seems to be raised. His arms immediately come back up, protecting his head as another of Taehyun’s punches threatens to connect. With his body exposed, Taehyun is unable to stop the kick that shoots straight at him, at the same spot as before; He feels his vision blur for a second as his breath is knocked out of him.
Beomgyu is coming back for more as the last counts for the round are yelled out. Jabs and kicks are exchanged in rapid fire, and it’s all lost in a blur of motion as the two attempt to weaken the other— the bell rings, signaling the end of the round.
Back in his corner, Taehyun is surprised to find that Beomgyu has no coach. He’s just like him, forced to tend to his wounds and think of a new strategy on his own; Taehyun is surprised The Bear was able to land such strong hits with his vision impaired so badly.
Beomgyu is a ruthless fighter; he has technique and experience, and it seems that all mercy will fly out the window the moment he catches his opponent in a vulnerable spot— Taehyun just needs to make sure to not give him the opportunity.
“Ready?” Jin’s strong yell breaks through both of the fighter’s minds, and it isn’t long before Taehyun finds himself back in the center of the ring, adjusting his mouthpiece as he doesn’t bother paying attention to Jin’s rambles.
“Knock ‘em out Bear, get this over with,” it’s the only thing that catches Taehyun’s attention, the sharp glare he sends to Jin doing nothing as he’s told to go back to his corner— though he doesn’t miss the smug look that Beomgyu sends him.
The new round is immediate; there’s a fire in Taehyun’s eyes, his body pumping with adrenaline as he immediately approaches Beomgyu, unsurprised to find that he does the same. His breathing is slightly labored as the exhaustion from the last round seems to be catching up to him, but Taehyun doesn’t let the feeling deter him as Beomgyu attempts to deliver another kick; Taehyun counters it with one of his own.
Nothing seems to land properly; it’s beginning to frustrate Taehyun, but he knows not to let the feeling linger too long— he’s found himself cornered, and it isn’t long before he’s wrapped up in a clinch; The Bear’s limbs constrict his, tightening around him as he attempts to wrestle him to the ground, his punches directing jabs to his ribs and face— one connects roughly against his nose, and he can already feel the familiar liquid dripping out. It’s painful, but Taehyun doesn’t let the feeling overwhelm him as he tries to break the other’s hold on him.
Though he finds himself on the floor, he’s able to break away from The Bear’s grapple, shaking himself off as he backs away, attempting to reassess the situation before him.
Something shifts in his opponent.
Time is running out in the round, and they both seem to realize this as punches are delivered in a more rapid fire. Taehyun hates to think it, but The Bear’s technique is good as his hits begin to fly before him, struggling to keep up as he delivers a few of his own.
One lands against the side of Beomgyu’s head; it manages to break his concentration, the hook breaking through him as it connects harshly to the man’s jaw. Taehyun can already feel his body moving before he realizes, his body seemingly moving on its own like instinct. Beomgyu manages to get a jab of his own, but it does nothing against the next punch that has him stumbling back, his vision spinning as Taehyun continues to go after him, preparing for one final move.
A roundhouse kick— straight to his liver, stunning the man as he feels his body begin to scream at him from the impact, leaving Taehyun stumbling from his horrible footing. He’s only able to get a few more punches out before Beomgyu’s falling, the referee screaming at Taehyun to back away from him the moment he falls back.
Adrenaline fills Taehyun’s body the moment he processes everything.
The crowd roars at the spectacle; Taehyun doesn’t realize what he’s doing as he roams before Beomgyu— his wounds sting and his skin is red and bruised as he grins, teeth gritting against his mouthpiece as he smiles, not bothering to wipe away the blood that drips down from his wounds— the cage is stained with it, a mark of his territory as adrenaline courses through his veins; his eyes scan over the crowd, filled with people who were set on him losing— he can only laugh at the sight.
“Get up,” Jin yells at Beomgyu, attempting to break through the noise as he pats his cheek, “can you get up?”
Beomgyu’s nod is slow and defeated. He’s sitting up and leaning against the cage as the bell tolls like a deadly gong around him. Peering through his heavy lids, he sees Taehyun’s celebration, in a condition no better than his as he’s stumbling to the center to meet Jin.
“Impressive,” Jin admits quietly, and just like he’s seen before, his hand is thrust up as the audience cheers wildly, the proud grin taking energy from Taehyun as his posture slouches slightly.
Despite looking down at him, Jin looks surprised— impressed, even. The thought makes Taehyun smile as he tilts his head back, squinting at the bright lights that are hot on his skin, a long exhale leaving him as he laughs once more; he was just getting started.
⊹⊹⊹
Taehyun’s head feels as though it’s been split open; he doesn’t really remember what happened after his win.
He can’t bring himself to move, a deep sigh escaping him as he winces at the bright lights above him; the cot he lays on is stiff, the uncomfortable paper beneath him crinkling as he attempts to get slightly comfortable— his face is stiff with bandages.
Another fight seems to be going on outside; the annoying ramblings of the commentators seem to seep into where he is. Taehyun is too tired to linger around, so he attempts to put the last of his energy into sitting up properly— his thoughts are interrupted by the loud footsteps that approach the room.
“Beomgyu!” The voice is angry, growling with frustration as the door swings open. Taehyun attempts to look up at the sound, but it’s futile as the curtain around his cot obscures his view.
“Beomgyu, you fucker!” Taehyun winces— his head is throbbing at the intrusion, and his eyes shut tightly in hopes that the newcomer will shut up soon. “You little snake, you’re dead meat!”
“Can you please quiet down?” The voice that was once taunting and dripping with confidence is now gruff and tired— Taehyun can recognize that voice anywhere, and suddenly, his urge to leave is only amplified.
“Jesus, I don’t get why you always come here screaming like that,” Beomgyu says, exhaustion sowed in his voice, “It’s not like it’ll change anything.”
“Fuck! Look at you!” The woman pushes past all his irritated comments, and Taehyun hears both protests from Beomgyu and the crinkling of paper, “I can’t believe you, how the hell am I gonna explain this to your mother? You know she hates it when you sneak over here!”
“Chill with that, I can handle myself just fine,” Beomgyu scoffs, “You should be more worried about the other guy, anyway— gave him a good beating.”
Taehyun scoffs at that.
“The other guy?” The woman says, and before Taehyun can prepare himself, he hears footsteps approaching where he lays— the curtain is ripped away without warning, and Taehyun hisses at the lights that shine in his eyes.
“Holy shit!”
He’s not sure if he should be offended by that, but Taehyun keeps his eyes shut in hopes that the woman will simply turn her attention back to Beomgyu; he’s surprised to feel her approaching him more.
“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles, observing Taehyun as though he were a spectacle; Taehyun takes a deep breath, hoping that his patience doesn’t run out soon, “Beomgyu, you prick!”
“Hey,” Taehyun grumbles, brows twitching in frustration as he screws his eyes shut, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream in my ear.”
“Oh shit,” The woman jumps back at his words— almost as though she hadn’t expected him to be awake. One look at his angry expression has her quieting down, whispering a soft apology before she’s turning back to Beomgyu.
“You little snake,” she hisses, whispering angrily as she crosses her arms on her chest angrily, “you were supposed to come help unload the delivery today! You were the only strong one available that day, so imagine your mother’s surprise when you’re nowhere in sight!”
Peeking through his lids, Taehyun is able to catch a glimpse of the woman stomping over to Beomgyu, slapping his arm roughly as he yelps in response; the sight is almost amusing.
“I had to lie my ass off and say you were fucking studying!” Another rough smack is delivered to his arm, as though her mentioning the incident brings back pure rage, “Of course she didn’t believe me at first! So I volunteered to do it myself! My arms are so sore, you fucker!”
“Don’t seem sore to me,” Beomgyu grumbles, rubbing his bicep as he scoots away from the violent woman. “I’ll make it up to you, ___. I promise.”
The woman, ___, only shakes her head in disappointment. Turning back around, she stalks her way back to Taehyun.
“Sorry about his recklessness,” she says, and Taehyun’s eyes only widen as she bows in apology— he sits up, wincing as he awkwardly attempts to shake her off. Standing straight, she huffs, hands folded neatly in front of her as she sends him a polite smile.
“___,” she introduces, fishing in her pocket for something; a business card, he realizes. “Feel free to stop by for a meal— on the house. I promise we don’t condone that one’s behavior,” Beomgyu quietly dismisses her, saying that he’s not that different from me; his words don’t seem to reach her.
The card is cool and smooth in his fingers, and Taehyun nods softly as he watches her bow again; then she’s walking back to Beomgyu, sending him a sickly sweet smile as she leans in.
“Two hours. You better be back for the dinner rush. Or else,” wordlessly, she brings up a fist, slamming it into her open palm in a clear threat. Beomgyu gulps, the action not as subtle as he wished as he nods nervously. Straightening up, she smiles, ruffling Beomgyu’s hair before she leaves— it isn’t until then that Beomgyu clears his throat, calling after her hurriedly.
“Hey,” He yells, pointing at her accusingly— yet she doesn’t turn back around once, his words falling on deaf ears as they watch her retreat, “Stop giving out free meals like that, you’ll go broke doing this shit!”
Swiftly, she flicks him off.
Then, she’s gone.
Taehyun has to stifle a laugh as Beomgyu huffs in bewilderment, clearing his throat in an attempt to hide it the moment Beomgyu sends him a killer glare. From the corner of his eye, Beomgyu runs his hand through his hair desperately, cursing quietly to himself as he stares at the doorway, then glances back up at the clock— it’s silent save for the quiet mutterings of the man next to him.
The door opens again, and Jin walks inside.
“___ just left?” He asks, leaning against the doorway as he looks expectantly at Beomgyu; he nods, a frustrated look on his face at the very mention of the woman. Jin groans, shaking his head as he lets out a deep sigh.
“Damn. I promised Jungkook I’d try to make her stay a while.” Beomgyu sneers at that, throwing his pillow at the referee as Jin dodges it with ease, a squeaky laugh escaping him before he throws it back at the younger man.
“Tell him to go find her at that damn restaurant if he’s so interested,” Beomgyu snarls, rolling his eyes at Jin’s amused reaction. Laying back down, he pulls the curtains back around his cot, his voice muffled as he calls out, “And you better not be thinking about going for that free meal, newbie.”
It becomes Taehyun’s turn to sneer.
⊹⊹⊹
Beomgyu is dead meat.
It’s the only thought that runs through your mind, glaring at the cutting board beneath you as vegetables fly through your hands. All the background noise dies as you allow yourself to think, glancing back at the clock in hopes that the next hour will pass by quickly.
You’re not sure what led him to involve himself so deeply in that strange underground MMA club. It was dangerous and untrustworthy— you and his mother made sure to drill that into his head the first time you caught him messing around.
Even so, it seems as though your efforts only fall short in the end. No matter how much you team up with his mother, telling him that he should consider taking up the business in the future, or god forbid, actually focus on college, it always ends up in him shrugging you off dumbly, or waving you off as he tells you not to worry— he knows what he’s doing.
You’re on autopilot as you sift through the countless orders, the small open layout of the kitchen allowing you to peek at the entrance from time to time—all in false hopes of seeing the young boy you always pestered.
Two years isn’t much of a difference, but god, Beomgyu made it feel like it was sometimes. Most of the time you felt more like an older sister than an employee at his mother’s restaurant— it wasn’t your fault the man was quite the nuisance, your schedule becoming much more consistent and forcing you to see him practically all the time, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself wrapped up in the Choi family's personal lives.
Five minutes. You think to yourself, gritting your teeth as the next hour passes, you’ll give him five more minutes.
The next five minutes pass seamlessly.
Honestly, was two hours not enough? You get that Beomgyu was very particular about his appearance despite his interest, but two hours was more than enough for a person to patch themselves up and come back home. You attempted to not let your frustration show, averting your eyes the moment Ms. Choi appears in your peripheral vision, mumbling in curiosity about where her son might be.
Another five minutes pass— then, thirty. The restaurant is beginning to fill up as it always does, and you’re trying to hone your concentration in hopes that your undying rage won’t seep through your face. The sound of the bell ringing breaks through your thoughts, and you look up automatically to greet the new customer.
Your grip on your knife tightens.
“He—“ Ms. Choi gulps, her jaw dropping at the sight as she turns frantically to you. Taking in your expression she sighs, exasperated as she rubs at her face in frustration. “He wasn’t studying, was he?”
Making eye contact with Beomgyu, you allow your muscle memory to take over, cutting through the vegetables effortlessly as you grit your teeth, not looking away from him for a second.
“No ma’am.”
His mother is speechless as she scoffs in frustration, cursing at her son under her breath before she’s taking off her apron— you don’t bother glancing back at the younger boy as you turn back to your cooking, the sounds of the Choi’s hushed bickering reaching your ears as they go to the back.
It takes a while before Beomgyu emerges, patched up and pouting as walks up behind you.
“Where do you want me,” he says, petulant with his tone as he glances at the workers around him; they barely spare him a glance, all too used to his behaviors as they focus on their orders instead. You hum in thought, looking up from your stove as you survey the area— like always, Beomgyu has managed to sneak in toward the end of the rush hour; it’s not like you’re short-staffed in the kitchen, either.
“Go bus tables,” you say, rolling your eyes at the way Beomgyu whines at your words. He’s as annoying as ever, pulling at your sleeves in an attempt to get your attention as you refuse to look at him; shrugging him off, you hear him groan behind you.
“You never let me help in the kitchen,” he protests, and it takes all the strength within you to not turn around and smack him.
“If you arrived an hour earlier, you would’ve,” you hiss, waving him off, you walk past him as he opens his mouth to protest more, “get to work.”
His mumbles and whines still reach your ears as he exits the kitchen— and it only takes one sharp glare from you to shut him up. For the rest of your shift, all you can think is how spoiled this boy remains— he doesn’t know how lucky he is, watching as his mother finally grows soft on him, shooing him back to their home to rest as he meekly nods at her words, putting an act of weakness as he immediately leaves his position— but the smug smile he adorns as he hangs up his apron doesn’t go unnoticed by you.
Sighing, you glance back at the clock— two more hours, then you close.
⊹⊹⊹
“You’re still here?”
You refuse to respond to that— instead, you grit your teeth, scrubbing at a stain on the bar as you continue to pre-close. Beomgyu sighs, sitting at the bar as he leans on the counter, seemingly paying no mind to the damp wood that comes in contact with his sleeves. He’s desperate to get your attention, calling your name out softly as you continue to ignore him.
“Are you closing today? Why is it just you?”
“Sent everyone home. They helped enough.”
If the place remained as empty as it is now, the only thing you would need to do is clean the floors and machines— which takes little to no effort for you. Beomgyu shakes his head at your words, sitting up straight as he folds his hands in his lap.
“I’ll help,” his words are immediately met with a scoff from you, his brows furrowing as he watches you shake your head in amusement— you only laugh more as he softly questions why you’re laughing.
“Help?” You say, tilting your head as you finally look at him. Throwing the wet towel on the counter, you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back.
“I asked for your help— three hours ago. Yet you still chose to be a brat and go back upstairs the moment your mother pitied you. You—“ cutting yourself off, you sigh, shaking your head before you’re picking the wet towel back off, turning your back to him, “I hope you realize how much she spoils you.”
A twinge of embarrassment threatens to consume you due to your outburst, for the silence that follows after is entirely unexpected— usually, Beomgyu never knows when to shut his mouth. Then again, he never really knew what to say when the topic of his parent arose; he was afraid of saying something insensitive to you, you suppose.
Yet you refuse to be the one to cave in— you refuse to even make eye contact with him, walking out of the kitchen area as you go to wipe down tables; it’s then that the small bell above the restaurant door rings.
Mentally, you sigh— there was less than an hour left; nevertheless, you plaster on a cheery smile, straightening as you glance behind you and to the new customer; stiffening, you wince as you try to not let your surprise show through.
“Welcome,” you grit out, meeting eyes with the same man Beomgyu had beaten to a pulp a couple of hours ago— yet he seems perfectly fine, patched up and unphased as he sends you a somber nod, your worries that he’d be another bitter fighter that tracked Beomgyu down dispelled.
“You—!” Beomgyu is back to his awfully rambunctious self in a split second, twisted around in his seat as he sends the man by the entrance a sour look. “I told you not to come here!”
Taehyun pays no mind to the dirty looks Beomgyu sends him— if anything, he smiles, ever so casual in his demeanor as he goes to sit down; next to Beomgyu, of course.
“This place any good?” He asks, his voice gruff as he leans into Beomgyu cheekily, “you seem really eager to keep it hidden.”
“You kidding? You’re at the hottest spot in town,” Beomgyu scoffs, puffing his chest out as he leers at Taehyun “I doubt you’ve never heard of this place.”
Their conversation becomes nothing but a muffled mess to you. Their tension is unending as they converse, their eyes filled with a fire that suggests that they might just forget about the food and fight here and now— which is why you step in, not wanting to clean up after any more messes as you take Taehyun’s order.
At some point, you find yourself tuning back into their conversation— their rivalry is ridiculous, the tension rolling off in waves as you take a breath; Turning around, you go to place Taehyun’s order in front of him, reluctant to meet his eyes as you go to leave.
“Hope I didn’t scare you off today,” Beomgyu goads, ever the instigator as he rests his chin in his hand cheekily, “but then again, you did ask for it.”
Taehyun scoffs— it’s enough for you to turn back around, watching from afar in fear that Beomgyu will try to take things too far.
“Don’t act like you left the ring all perfect,” Taehyun tilts his head, brows furrowing as he inspects Beomgyu, “Remind me, who was it that won?”
You bite back a laugh at that, surprised to hear the results of the fight— it’s easy to do when Beomgyu is sitting up, a clear fire lighting in his eyes as he leans closer to Taehyun; his food remains untouched. You’re tense, watching carefully and waiting for a switch to flip inside Beomgyu; the last thing you want is for his mother to come down and find him in the middle of another fight.
Instead, Beomgyu smiles; it’s a small twitch of his lips at first, his mind clearly telling him to fight it off before it overtakes him, a bewildered laugh escaping him before he’s clapping Taehyun on the shoulder, the action so rough and sudden that Taehyun is flinching from his touch. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts as he continues to laugh— you’re unsure if he’s getting ready to throw a punch or not.
“You…” Beomgyu grins, letting go of Taehyun with a sigh. He shakes his head, huffing in amusement before he continues, “I like you, you’ve got ambition.”
“The ring’s closed tomorrow, but it’s available for training. I’ve been needing a new sparring partner,” Beomgyu trails off, and Taehyun is quick to catch on as he frowns.
“Tomorrow?” Beomgyu nods in confirmation. It’s silent, and you’re making your way back to them as Taehyun seems to ponder it.
“You won’t be free tomorrow Beomgyu,” you say, grabbing his attention as you send him a warning smile, “You’re helping with a catering order, remember?”
Beomgyu, shameless like always, only tilts his head in innocence.
“Really? I don’t recall you telling me about it,” Beomgyu ponders, pouting slightly as you glare at him, “plus, I was told you would be fully staffed tomorrow— if anything, I remember my mother suggesting you give some people a day off.”
You have no patience to deal with his sly ways— your jaw clenches as you suppress the urge to jump at him from across the counter, crossing your arms over your chest as you raise a brow in disbelief.
“If you need help, you could always keep those people on standby,” you’re unsure of what annoys you more— Beomgyu’s smug look, or Taehyun, who has finally decided to eat his food as he watches the two of you, clearly amused by what’s happening before him as he doesn’t even attempt to hide his smile.
“Good idea,” you grit out, leaning toward the younger man as you smile, “I should let your mother know you’ll be out tomorrow then; I’m sure she’ll be wondering where you went off to.”
“You know, for a mere worker, you sure are involved in our personal lives.” Beomgyu’s words are hissed out and sting like acid as your eyes widen, gritting your teeth together as you watch Beomgyu sit back in realization— as though he didn’t know what he said until now.
“You’re right. Sorry,” you say, a gritted smile on your face as you go to fetch a takeout container; returning, you place it in front of Taehyun, ignoring his curious gaze as you send him a patient smile.
“We closed fifteen minutes ago; sorry, but you can take the food with you if you’d like— on me. I’ll be back, if you need anything let him know,” jerking your head to Beomgyu, you ignore his attempts to call your attention back to him as you bow politely, quick to excuse yourself to the bathroom in a weak attempt to soothe your hurt and anger.
The restaurant is quiet save for the soft ticking of a clock that hangs above them; a sound of warning as Taehyun glances subtly at the man next to him— whether Beomgyu picks up on it or not is beyond him. He’s frowning, bottom lip chewed and tugged at as he stares at the doorway which you disappeared through, a hand running repeatedly through his hair as he lets out a soft curse.
“What was that about?” Taehyun asks— whether or not he’s crossing a boundary, he’s unsure— but he does know that he truly doesn’t care enough to gauge the older man’s reaction. He’s quick to finish his food, surprised by the quality of it as he peeks at Beomgyu from the corner of his eye; watching the way Beomgyu seems to ponder whether or not to talk, inevitably giving in as he lets out a heavy sigh.
“I fucked up. Said something I shouldn’t have,” standing up, Beomgyu slides the stool he sat on back in, shaking his head as he goes to turn off the blaring open sign— he’s quiet, lost in thought as he carries out the usual closing duties.
“My offer is still open, by the way,” Beomgyu calls out, and before Taehyun can say anything, he clicks his tongue in frustration, “I doubt she’ll wanna see me tomorrow.”
Taehyun says nothing. Beomgyu doesn’t bother trying to convince him, muttering out a tired one p.m under his breath, unable to help the way his eyes travel back to the hallway you disappeared to now and then— it isn’t long before Taehyun is bidding goodbye, the offer left out in the open as Beomgyu is forced to sit with his own thoughts, ignoring the way his muscles ache or his wounds throb whenever he performs a certain task.
It takes a while before you come back out— you refuse to look at Beomgyu as the two of you clean in silence, your face left blank and cold as Beomgyu fails to decipher what you might be thinking; even though he wishes nothing more than to take back what he said, he finds his words stuck in his throat every time he looks at you.
You don’t bother saying goodbye when you leave.
⊹⊹⊹
“Were you lying when you said you’ve been in the cage before?”
Taehyun rolls his eyes at the older man's words, a scoff escaping him as he chooses not to answer. Beomgyu watches with amusement as the man before him looks away, neck tilting side to side as he feels it crack with ease. The air is hot and there isn’t much light coming in from the small windows atop the room, cracked open to let the cool wintry air inside. Yet it doesn’t seem to help a lot, the two men in the cage weathered down and sweaty from hours of sparring.
“You’re quite annoying, you know,” Taehyun grumbles, wiping away his sweat before he begins to stretch, preparing for another round as he looks back to Beomgyu— he seems unfazed by his comment, a smug grin overtaking him as he mimics his stretching.
“So I’ve been told,” Beomgyu pouts, straightening up as he waits for Taehyun to approach, “how long have you been doing this?”
Beomgyu has his own guesses as Taehyun throws a careless jab— he’s tired, not putting any effort into his movements as he dodges Beomgyu’s own hits with ease.
“Little over two years. It’s been nothing but a hobby until recently though,” Taehyun admits, stepping back as he puts his arms down, “didn’t know this place was a thing.”
“It’s been running for four years, actually,” Beomgyu says, sighing as he lowers his guard as well; he takes this time to rest, feeling the way his body is beginning to ache from the activity, “Jin and a couple others started it for fun. It’s only recently that things turned serious.”
Taehyun thinks of the referee— and his clear bias with Beomgyu— and frowns, realizing that the very same man he met yesterday was the owner of the building. Shaking his head, he sighs— then jumps back at the unexpected jab Beomgyu sends to him in warning.
He has no time to complain; his arms immediately come up for defense as Beomgyu seems to have regained his energy, a mischievous smile plastered on his face as he lands a hook on Taehyun— he groans at the feeling, stumbling back as he attempts to regain his composure.
Before he can regain stability, he’s pulled into another clinch— Beomgyu’s got him good, unable to keep his balance as Beomgyu pulls him into a tight chokehold; He’s trapped, unable to get away as he’s forced to tap out.
“You know, I’ve noticed quite a few things about the way you fight,” Beomgyu says, ignoring the way Taehyun gives him a pointed glare, “you give all your energy in the first round— you need to be able to conserve your energy, you know.”
Though all Taehyun does is roll his eyes, he secretly takes note of the older man’s comment; he noticed Beomgyu had been giving him pointers the entire time, and he would be a fool to not take advice from the club’s toughest fighter— Taehyun’s pride could only stretch so far.
Silently, they decide to take a break; there was no use in practicing if neither of them had the energy to throw a proper punch. Exiting the cage, Taehyun lets out a groan as he immediately takes a seat at one of the benches before him— annoyingly, his water bottle is empty again, and he’s forced to trudge to the only water fountain in the building that’s been placed all the way by the entrance; he grimaces at the thought of having to drink water from such a rusty old thing, but the dehydrated scratch of his throat isn’t giving him much of an option.
Taehyun isn’t too phased when the doors slam open; there have been a few other fighters that have come in while they were sparring, so he figures this must be another regular as he keeps his eyes on the water fountain— it isn’t until he hears haste footsteps and lows cursing that he looks up in curiosity.
“Of course he would be here,” you’re as irritated as always as you push past Taehyun without much more of a glance, your brows knitted together in annoyance as you make a beeline to the cage— Taehyun gets the privilege of getting front seats to the scene as he leans back in amusement, taking a sip of his cool water before grimacing at the taste.
“Hey!” You yell, jumping up on the outskirts of the cage and glaring at Beomgyu, who has the audacity to look up at you with puppy eyes as he lays spread out in the center of the ring, “do you always have to be here? Why don’t you go do normal things for once?”
Taehyun can hear you grumbling something about the long drive and shady district, but it’s left an unintelligible mess as he watches Beomgyu sit up, wincing slightly in the process.
“You knew I was gonna be here,” is all he says, ticking his head side to side as loud cracks ring throughout the empty building, “plus you’re acting like you couldn’t have called.”
You can’t seem to control the bewildered laugh that escapes you at his words, eyes widening as you jump back down from your place; crossing your arms, you sit down at a bench, jaw clenched as you shoot Beomgyu a lethal glare.
“You think I didn’t try?” You ask, crossing your legs as you tap at your bicep in annoyance, “your phone is always in the damn locker room!”
“Alright, whatever!” Beomgyu says, throwing his hands up in defeat, “what do you need now.”
“Two of our workers called off. Your mother wants you to come back and help with the catering order,” you say, your gaze cold as you watch Beomgyu begin to whine at you, giving you excuses that you don’t bother to listen to as you shake your head.
“Listen to your mother and go. Quick,” you say, not wanting to linger any longer as you stand up, leaving without so much as a goodbye as you’re rushing back out again.
“Yeah, listen to your mother,” Taehyun teases, raising a brow as you snap your head towards him, delivering a cold glare that only makes Taehyun grin, much to your annoyance; he can hear you muttering curses under your breath as you slam the doors open, the sound of your rambling only amusing Taehyun further as he makes his way back to Beomgyu.
“Crazy how you let yourself get pushed around like that,” Taehyun knows he’s only instigating, but it’s amusing to watch the older man get worked up as he simply huffs in annoyance, cursing under his breath in the same manner you did— he can see where Beomgyu gets his short temper from.
“I don’t.” he snaps, but the way he’s already beginning to pack up says otherwise; there’s defeat in all his actions as he becomes sluggish, trudging to the locker room where he reluctantly begins to change, “come back here tomorrow, same time— I need to show you something.”
Beomgyu leaves shortly afterward— the annoyance in his mood has yet to go away as he glances back at the ring one last time, watching solemnly as Taehyun continues to shadow box without him. For a second, he almost considers dropping his responsibilities and going for another round, but your fiery and threatening voice echoes in his head, allowing him to finally leave as a shiver goes through his body.
⊹⊹⊹
“Stupid workers… making me clean up after their mess…” Beomgyu thinks he might go insane if he has to pack another to-go tray filled with the same order, his mind fried and his hands on auto-pilot as he watches you busily cook out of the corner of his eye. You’re as stone-cold and intimidating as always, sending Beomgyu a sharp glare every time you catch him slacking off— it’s eerie, the way you can almost sense it, never giving Beomgyu a break as you stress the fact that you need to have the order done by the next thirty minutes.
He’s almost done, so he doesn’t feel as rushed as you do— then again, you may just be on edge due to the fact that you’ve been pulling the weight of the two workers that called off as well as your regular tasks; the sight is enough to have Beomgyu irritated once more.
You work way too hard for your own good; it’s a fact that Beomgyu always calls you out on, but you’re always just as quick to dismiss it as you shake your head in denial, telling him that he’s overreacting. Yet, as he watches you now, stressed and irritated, he can practically feel himself biting his tongue to prevent calling you out on it.
The catering order is finished with ease; Beomgyu can feel a weight lift off him the moment a delivery person takes the order from him— the same can be said for you— and he’s almost ready to leave when his eyes catch sight of a new patron that walks in.
The place has calmed down a bit, so it’s relatively empty— meaning, there should be no reason for Beomgyu to linger around anymore. Yet, he can’t help but be nosy and stay as he watches Jungkook beeline towards you, confident and handsome as always as he sends you a beaming smile.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” you remark sarcastically, leaning against the bar counter as you match Jungkook’s mischievous grin, “the usual?”
“You know me so well,” Jungkook coos, and the exchange is enough to have Beomgyu straightening up— he’s never seen Jungkook at the restaurant before, let alone the two of you talking so casually to each other.
Neither of you seem to catch Beomgyu’s analytic stare, much too caught up in your own world to notice anything around you; even the new customer that comes in through the door, trudging over to the bar as he sits a few seats away from Jungkook— Beomgyu is the first to notice as he quickly makes his way over.
“The hell are you doing here?”
The smile Taehyun sends is pure evil as he leans on the bar, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he raises a brow at Beomgyu’s pointed question.
“Here to eat, what else?” Beomgyu says nothing in response, his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed as he takes Taehyun’s order, “and if you’re done eavesdropping on their conversations over there, I’d like to know what you were talking about earlier— I’m not exactly free tomorrow.”
The man’s words are enough to have Beomgyu standing straight, sending Taehyun a glare as he grits his teeth at the comment. “Am not.”
“Come on, be slick about it at least,” Taehyun sighs, eyeing the two of you from the corner of his eye, watching as you continue to converse with the customer— it takes a moment, but Taehyun is able to recognize the patron as he looks back at Beomgyu, pointing their way as he asks, “the hell is the bartender from the club doing here?”
“That’s Jungkook,” Beomgyu mutters, putting his notepad away as stops to watch the two of you carefully for a second, “and that’s what I’m wondering myself. It’s clearly not to eat.”
“Yeah, who gives a fuck,” Taehyun grumbles, watching as Beomgyu reaches in his pocket for a piece of paper— pausing, he takes a second to examine Beomgyu, biting his lip as he fights back a smile, “hey, you jealous?”
“Shut up,” Beomgyu groans, rolling his eyes as he turns his back to you, jaw clenched as he narrows his eyes at Taehyun, who’s only left smiling in return, “she’s basically family, don’t even assume shit.”
“Not what you said last time I was here,” Taehyun’s words have Beomgyu pausing entirely, forced to take a second to breathe as he takes in the younger man before him.
“You’re an instigating little bitch, huh?” Is all Beomgyu can utter, watching as Taehyun simply laughs at his words, clearly unaffected by Beomgyu’s anger, “you better keep your mouth shut if you wanna stay in here.”
“Alright, do your thing,” Taehyun sighs, putting his hands up in defeat. A moment passes, and Taehyun huffs out a laugh, his eyes falling to the piece of paper Beomgyu pushes forward before he continues, “This better be good.”
Beomgyu watches as Taehyun begins to scan the paper, turning away so he can put the younger’s order in as he does. Once finished, he pauses, leaning against the wall as he waits for Taehyun to finish—Taehyun can practically feel the said man’s stare burn into his skin as he reads the information carefully, eyes widening as takes it all in; looking up, he finds Beomgyu’s eyes effortlessly.
Folding the paper back up carefully, Beomgyu makes his way back over, surprised you haven’t swooped in and asked what’s going on yet; hurriedly, he gets tries to get his point across, leaning in close to Taehyun and sending him an excited smile as he watches Taehyun open his mouth to ask questions immediately.
“How did you find this?” He asks, searching Beomgyu’s eyes as he watches the older man take the flier back, running his fingers over the creases in an absentminded attempt to smooth them out, “who gave you this?”
“Old friend of mine.” Beomgyu says, leaning back as he watches Taehyun do the same, crossing his arms as he watches Beomgyu with scrutinized eyes, “thought you’d be interested in this.”
“You’re inviting me? Letting me in on this?” Taehyun asks, frown only deepening as Beomgyu nods innocently, “what makes you think I won’t just win the tournament and take the prize money for myself?”
“That is a possibility,” Beomgyu hums, “but that’s also what makes it fun.”
“The hell is this? FightX?” Beomgyu can’t help the way he jumps as you appear behind him, looking over him as you reach to grab the flier from his hands. Beomgyu, in a weak attempt to distract you, attempts to call Jungkook over, trying to snatch the flier back while doing so; his attempts fail miserably as he watches the way your eyes grow wide.
“Are you kidding me?” You say, taking the flier and tucking it away in your own pocket smoothly. Beomgyu only sighs, used to your antics as Taehyun can only watch with an amused look in his eyes, ever as eager to poke the bear as he finds your anger intriguing.
“Beomgyu, I swear to god that if I see or hear anything about you in that FightX club, I’ll kill you myself.” Your hands are tense as you cross them over your chest, giving Beomgyu a pointed glare as you continue, “I don’t care about you going to Seokjin’s little place— but if you even try to go to that tournament—”
“Hey, relax, won’t you? You wouldn’t even know what goes on in a place like that,” Taehyun’s words are enough to have your eyes widening, mouth parting in surprise as you slowly turn to the man; beside you, Beomgyu shakes his head in warning, sending Taehyun a warning glare as he mouths the words shut the fuck up.
“What did you just say to me?” You ask incredually, leaning forward and against the counter as you examine Taehyun carefully; the man is nothing more than amused as he smiles innocently at you, standing his ground as he tilts his head like a puppy, “who are you, anyway?”
“Someone who knows way more about what goes on in that club than you,” he says softly, a tired tsk leaving him as he takes in the twitch of your brows, watching the way you try to keep your expression neutral, “you don’t need to worry about what Beomgyu does in his personal time.”
You’re left speechless as you press your tongue against your cheek, huffing out a bewildered laugh as you take a step back; glancing at Beomgyu, you narrow your eyes at him, watching as he simply attempts to diffuse the situation with stuttered excuses and a nervous laugh, his behavior changing drastically under your heated gaze.
“I warned you.” is all you say, not bothering to regard Taehyun at all as glare at Beomgyu, turning on your heel as you hear a coworker call your name for your help.
“What the hell man?” Beomgyu whispers, turning to Taehyun with wide eyes; the man simply shrugs, unphased by the tension as he sighs tiredly. Mind muddled with everything that just happened, he’s quick to find himself untying his apron; he’s done what you’ve asked, and he doubts that you’ll be able to force him to stick around now— especially after the confrontation you just had.
“FightX? Yo, you’re not planning on going, are you?” Jungkook is slow to the scene as he takes a seat next to Taehyun, recognizing him as the new fighter from a while ago as he nods to him in greeting; turning to Beomgyu, he raises a brow as he waits for him to respond.
“I don’t know. The prize money’s no joke,” Beomgyu admits, holding onto his apron as he narrows his eyes at Jungkook, who’s only shaking his head in dismay.
“The prize money is like that for a good reason,” Jungkook warns, nudging Taehyun as he tells him to listen as well, “that place is dangerous. Both the fighters and the patrons are something else, and if you don’t have connections to the right people…”
The way Jungkook trails off is enough to give the two younger men a gist of what he means, the troubled look in his eyes disappearing as he watches you pass by— his signature smile is back as he pats Taehyun on the back, sending Beomgyu a look before he’s standing up, ready to go to where you’re at now.
“Use your brain for once and think this one through, yeah? And you,” Jungkook says, nudging Taehyun before he leaves, “stop putting our most valuable asset in danger.”
The way Jungkook goes to you is reminiscent of a puppy, the two men watching as he goes back to shamelessly flirt with you— you seem unphased, rolling your eyes as you try to hide your smile of amusement all the while.
“Think this through,” Taehyun chimes in, bringing Beomgyu’s attention back to him, “you seem to have connections— plus, I think it’d be fun.”
The offer becomes more tempting as Beomgyu recalls the prize money that comes along with the win, and Beomgyu is left with more uncertainty than expected as he thinks back to the warnings that came along with it.
⊹⊹⊹
Beomgyu hasn’t been home today.
He’s never home, really, so the fact should be no surprise to you. But there’s something about today that leaves you on edge, your leg bouncing under the table as you hide your unease with a shaky smile.
“You’re such a hard worker,” Beomgyu’s mother sighs, pouring you a cup of coffee as she makes her way back to where you sit at the dinner table, “I can’t thank you enough for what you do.”
“I should be the one thanking you,” you say, taking the warm mug from her, trying to hide your shaking hands as you cup the dish tightly, “For giving me this opportunity. For giving me a home.”
The Choi family was the only reason you were still alive and healthy; if it weren’t for them, you’d probably still be on the streets, dependent on the money that came from shady clubs filled with dangerous people.
That was the only reason you met Beomgyu— you had just finished a fight of your own as you stumbled out of the infirmary, barely patched up as they began the men’s lightweight division fights; you only wanted to stay and bet on the fight before you before you left with the rest of your earnings, curious as to how the match before you would end.
To say the crowd loved it was an understatement; they were sick people, and the moment they realized that one of the most experienced lightweight fighters was currently pitted against a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy, the betting pool practically tripled within seconds.
You‘ve never seen him before; it was clear to you that he was new within seconds of watching him in the cage, from his unsure missteps, to the way his arms didn’t come down from his head for a second, wide eyes watching carefully for any opening available.
He got beat and knocked out within minutes; the match had been more of a joke to those watching than an actual fight. His injuries were nothing to laugh at however, the cage floor littered with his blood as nurses rushed out of the infirmary for him, picking him up and carrying him away as the patrons around you remained unphased at the sight— you still remember wincing as you took in the state his opponent left him in.
It was a general consensus within the ring that those more experienced shouldn’t be too harsh on newbies— simply out of respect for one’s opponent. But respect didn’t exist in such a place— if anything, respect wasn’t even earned after countless grueling matches in a place like FightX; it didn’t matter if you were good, the only thing that mattered was the number of wins under your belt and how much cash you walked out of the place with— which is why the patrons of such a club knew better than to mess with you.
This was no place for a child, you remembered thinking to yourself, scoffing at the way people continued to berate and talk about the loser of the previous match. Rolling your eyes, you figured it was better to leave now than to stick around and have shady people try to strike up deals with you— wanting to become your manager, to move you further up the ladder, to share profits with you.
It usually wasn’t a problem for you to leave; if anything, regulars knew better than to get in your way after you’ve had your fill of fights— but it had been different that day, left to push your way through as a commotion began to form at the entrance.
“Woah, who the hell is this?” The speakers above you were booming with the commentator’s sneering remarks, the current fight before them no longer a priority as the screams of a woman tore through the crowd.
“Please, please tell me he’s here,” the ruckus was beginning to become more of a headache to you than anything, pushing through the heaps of people in an attempt to get past the dramatic scene and back home— “home” consisting of a random motel that was cheap enough for this week’s earnings— only to pause once you were able to take in the woman’s helpless state.
This was someone’s mother, you realize, raising a brow as you take in the way her eyes are wide with fear and worry, brimming with tears as she attempts to put on a brave front. The mocking commentary of the men continue to boom over the speakers as those around the older woman ignore her or tell her to get lost, not bothering to listen to her words as they immediately turned their backs to her.
The boy’s mother. You realize, taking a deep breath before you walk toward the woman, grabbing onto her bicep tightly in order to gain her attention. She seemed more than ready to brush off your grip and fight to stay, but upon taking in your solemn appearance, she paused, her mouth parting as she no-doubt became ready to ask the same question she had been asking everyone else.
“Your son is over here,” you sigh out, tugging her along wordlessly— at your claim, she quickly follows, asking endless questions that you can’t even seem to keep up with.
“Tall, scrawny, long hair?” You ask, glancing back at her to catch her nodding incredually, “around sixteen?”
Once again, she nods, her gesture only making you sigh once more as you ignore the pressing stares of those around you.
“Yeah, he’s this way,” you say, finally arriving at the infirmary as you’re left to scan all the cots around you; his mother seems to spot him first, exclaiming loudly before she leaves your side to run to him.
The sight is enough to have you clenching your jaw as you lean against the doorway, arms crossed defensively over your chest as you watch the boy’s mother cry and scold the barely conscious boy. It was clear she cared for him, and the sight was foreign to you as you found yourself frozen in one place, forcing yourself to spectate a scene that you knew you’d never experience for yourself.
You stuck around to help the woman take her son home, listening quietly as she turned to scold the boy, huffing once in a while as she observed the way you effortlessly helped him walk with an arm thrown over your shoulder— the patrons around you were wise enough to keep their comments to themselves as they flinched at the hard glares you gave them.
“Don’t come back here kid,” you remembered telling him, dropping him in the passenger’s seat of his mothers car, rolling your eyes as he incoherently attempted to argue with you, “this place is too dangerous for someone like you.”
“And you?” His mother’s words had been enough to snap you out of your dazed state; looking up, you had been surprised to see his mother staring at you with the same concern in her gaze, her head tilting as she scanned your bruised skin and tired face, “will you be alright here?”
Her concern had been unexpected— so much so that you couldn’t help the way you laughed softly at her words, shaking your head as you ignored the strangely warm feeling that bloomed within you from her concern.
“I know how to handle myself here,” you told her, jaw clenching as you watched the way she remained unconvinced. Slowly, you watched her reach in her jacket pockets, fishing around for something until she finally found it, a small ah, escaping her mouth before she finally offered you the object with polite hands; you stared at the business card she handed you, unsure of what to do until you finally accepted it after a pause.
“Thank you so much for your help today,” she says, bowing gratefully as she looks at you with a kind smile, “if you’re ever hungry, you can always stop by. On the house.”
The laminated card feels smooth under your fingers as you absentmindedly accept her offer, unsure of how to react to her kindness as she thanks you again; you try to ignore the way her eyes are coated with concern and pity, the emotions within you nothing but bitter as you watch her drive away.
Shoving her card into your jacket pocket, you sigh, turning on your heels and walking back to the cheap motel that you knew was too shady to stay at for too long. If you win another match tomorrow, you might be able to stay at the better motel just a few blocks over.
The thought was promising as you made your way back, your muscles aching and your stomach growling as you inevitably thought back to the free meal that boy’s mother promised you.
Maybe tomorrow, you thought, pulling the card back out of your pocket to examine it, you should treat yourself after tomorrow’s fight.
⊹⊹⊹
Your life had taken a surprising turn after that day— now you found yourself here, sitting in the home of the Choi family, welcomed as always and reformed of your ways of fighting— you only wish the same could be said for Beomgyu.
“So,” you say, clearing your throat as you try to get the nerves out of your tone, “Where’s Beomgyu at?”
“Oh,” she sighs, slumping down in the chair across from you as she takes a sip from her cup of coffee, “God, I don’t even know— he left really early today, didn’t even bother to let me know— he hasn’t been back since.”
The news was odd to you; it was late already, but Beomgyu wasn’t the type to be up in the mornings, much less make any plans. You took a second to process her words, nodding absentmindedly as you took another sip from your drink— the flier you took from him seems to be weighing your pocket down now more than ever.
He wouldn’t, the more forgiving part of you thought, he knows better than to go off to a place like that.
But the more skeptical part of you knew better; Beomgyu was always one to be swayed easily, and with that new sparring partner of his, your trust in him only seemed to dwindle more and more.
Taehyun had only proved himself to be a danger to Beomgyu— especially if he was so eager to get himself into a place like FightX.
Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the sound of a phone ringing echoed throughout the room; blinking wildly, you allow Ms. Choi to excuse herself as she leaves to answer the phone— you take this chance to take the flier out of your pocket, unfolding it carefully as your fingers smooth over the wrinkles.
Reading it carefully, your eyes widen, biting at your lip as you feel your heart beginning to beat faster.
It was tonight.
And it started two hours ago.
You don’t give much of an explanation to Ms. Choi as you’re standing abruptly, making your way to where she stands at the kitchen to say goodbye— you can see the confusion and concern swim in her eyes at your suddenness, but you hope that the bright, carefree smile you send her is enough to soothe her as you apologize for leaving early.
It’s scary how easy it is for you to make your way to that club— despite it being years since you last stepped inside, you can still feel instinct take over as you’re speeding off to the tournament.
If Beomgyu’s still alive by the time you get there, you’ll kill him yourself.
Clenching your jaw, you pray that there are no cops around as you speed through the empty streets, your only priority clouding your mind as you run past a few red lights.
And his little friend too.
⊹⊹⊹
Beomgyu’s body feels like it’s been set alight with anxiety.
He’s pacing around the locker room, attempting to control his breathing as he focuses on his next opponent; on his fighting style, on how to beat him.
He’s been in this position many times— it’s like second nature to him, only the new setting seems to be affecting him more than he expected. It’s not like he’s never branched out to other underground fighting tournaments before; he’s been all around the city and even outside of it, trusting Seokjin’s judgment as he made a name for himself through it— in a way, Seokjin had almost been like a manager to him.
But he hasn’t been here in years; six years, to be exact. He can still feel the danger that looms through these walls, feeling more trapped than anything as memories of his first match come to mind— a primal fear is prominent in every single one.
Beomgyu is much more different than he was six years ago— both in muscle and mentality, he knows how to handle himself in such a shady place. Yet, he can’t help but remember your warnings, his brows furrowing as he feels his heart pound a little harder against his chest.
“You overthinking things again?” Beomgyu’s spiraling train of thought is interrupted as he snaps his head over to the doorway, meeting eyes with Taehyun who sports a bright smile, much more relaxed and excited than he is.
“Can’t help it,” Beomgyu admits, sighing heavily as he turns to stretch instead, “new territory.”
“Thought you had connections to this place?” Taehyun asks, tilting his head as he listens to Beomgyu explain that while it is true, he still isn’t experienced with this club.
“Don’t think about it too much,” Taehyun says, making his way over as he sits at the bench near Beomgyu, “the bracket looks easy today.”
The plan was simple; make it to the end of the bracket, where Beomgyu and Taehyun would inevitably have to fight each other— the earnings would be split between the two after.
Just makes the odds of earning the prize money higher, Beomgyu had explained once Taehyun began questioning his motives, that way, both of us win, and get experience out of it.
The prize money was already so grand that even half of it seemed more than enough for Beomgyu— and of course, the thought of returning to such a place and finally winning a grand tournament was thrilling to Beomgyu.
The things he could do with the prize money were endless— he already had a few ideas in mind, thinking back to his hardworking mother and how much she struggled to raise him on her own while still managing her restaurant. Then he thought about you, of the hard times he gave you, knowing how much you feared him going through the same things you did, of turning to a life dependent on fighting and gambling.
“Hey hey, focus,” Beomgyu is blinking rapidly as Taehyun claps in front of his face, laughing at the way the older man managed to zone out once more, “you’re up in three minutes, you should prepare yourself.”
Beomgyu is nodding absentmindedly as he watches Taehyun exit, still feeling nerves creeping up his system as he wonders if this is all such a good idea; then his name is called, and the referee pops in to ask if he’s ready.
“Yeah,” Beomgyu finds himself saying, feeling as though he’s lost control of his body as he’s walking out of the dimly lit locker room, “lets go.”
⊹⊹⊹
“Hey, I know we haven’t talked in a while but— yeah, no need to remind me,” your voice is low and your footsteps are echoing as you walk through puddles, the smell of rain still lingering in the air as you weave your way through dark alley— the feeling is oddly reminiscent as you find yourself laughing along with your old friend on the phone.
“No, it’s serious stuff,” you sigh, turning the corner as you find the place you’ve been dreading to step inside of. A small shop meets you, the lights off and the gates closed around the windows— the unassuming shop makes your stomach churn with dread, approaching it slowly before you’re walking around its perimeter.
“You’ll never guess where I’m back at right now— yup, the very one,” your friend’s incredulous laugh booms over the line as you let out some bitter chuckles yourself, rounding towards the back as you see a deep, ominous stairwell; faintly, you can hear the brutish screams and commentary leaking through, the sound only beginning to worsen as time passes; the sound has a deep sigh leaving you as you begin the long descend into the basement.
“Listen, I need you and your men to be here on standby— I’m serious, you think I’d joke about this stuff?” You finally reach the bottom as you pause at the very last step, staring at the metal door that’s left at the end of the corridor.
“Thanks. I’ll call you if I need you to come in,” you say, bidding your goodbye before you’re finally hanging up, tucking your phone in your back pocket before you’re taking a final, deep breath.
Hopefully I won’t. You mutter, reaching forward before you’re finally opening the heavy, metal door.
⊹⊹⊹
Beomgyu feels dizzy.
The bracket looks easy today, Taehyun’s voice echoes in his head as he rests against the ring’s ropes, the layout different to what he’s used to as he takes a moment to recollect himself.
Easy— the fuck was Taehyun talking about? Beomgyu feels left out as he watches his opponent talk with his coach, discussing strategies and glancing back at Beomgyu, who’s left on his own as he takes the opportunity to stretch.
He just needed to beat the man across from him, then he was officially in the finals. The thought was the only thing that soothed him as he scanned the crowd for Taehyun, finally finding him right at the front; he was just as tired and beat as Beomgyu was, but the encouraging smile he sent Beomgyu managed to keep him on his feet a little longer— the prize money loomed over his head as he watched the referee call the next round, the fighter before Beomgyu gritting his teeth against his mouthpiece as his coach yelled at him to knock Beomgyu out.
His opponent became predictable fairly quickly— Beomgyu’s arms came up to his head for defense as the man attempted to jab at him, only to slide down to his sides and squeeze as his opponent attempted to land a hook to his side; at his liver, to be exact.
Chenle, Beomgyu remembers the commentators announce, his name was Chenle.
He looked to be around his age, if not younger. The man before him was energetic and strong, but seemed to get too excited during the rounds; it seemed as though he only came into the ring with one tactic in mind, and remained persistent to knock his opponent out in one specific way— it seemed he targeted Beomgyu with liver shots.
His punch was quite lethal— Beomgyu would know, because he fell victim to his attack in the first round. If anything, he still feels as though his mind is all muddled as he shifts away, avoiding the man’s attempt to get him cornered before he’s throwing a few quick punches himself.
It doesn’t take long before Beomgyu is able to turn the match around, however. Chenle seems to be very poor in adapting to an opponent’s fighting style, and Beomgyu is quickly able to pull him into a chokehold that has him tapping out within seconds— without his hooks, Chenle was practically useless.
All this fighting had taken a toll on Beomgyu— he’s sure it showed as well, panting like a dog as the referee thrust his hand into the air, the commentators announcing him as the winner over the speakers: The Bear wins again.
Beomgyu could see why you attempted to dissuade him from going to such a place as he takes in everyone’s reactions— the good, the bad, and the dangerous. From the corner of his eye, he can see Chenle stumbling back to his coach, the two clearly bitter and angry as they whisper plans to each other— Beomgyu shivers involuntarily as their glares land on him, his gut telling him that they’re up to no good as the referee finally lets go of his wrist, quick to exit the ring and get as far from them as possible.
“Hey, we made it,” Taehyun grins, clapping Beomgyu on the shoulder as he laughs with joy— only to apologize as Beomgyu winces, his hand coming off in a second, “Our fight’s in thirty minutes, go rest and clean up— I don’t wanna have to go easy on you now.”
Absentmindedly, Beomgyu nods, ducking his head and making his way back to the locker room as he tries to ignore the stares of those around him— he can practically feel his body become alight with nerves by the time he’s back in the dark locker room, his heart pounding and his hands shaking as he begins to wonder if all your warnings have made him paranoid.
It must be the adrenaline, he thinks to himself, undoing his hand wraps and wincing as he stretches his cramped muscles, yeah. adrenaline.
He can’t help the way he groans as he makes his way to the bathroom area— all this fighting has taken a heavy toll on him, and he quickly finds that he’s already begun to sprout plenty of injuries and bruises as he finds his reflection in the mirror; his eyes remain downcast as he goes to wash his hands, sighing as the cool water splashes against his skin.
“I’m telling you, you were great!” Beomgyu can’t help but hear the conversation that begins to leak into the locker room, frowning at the way the second person begins to complain and yell angrily— the sound is enough to have Beomgyu on guard, straightening up slowly as he quickly turns the sink off.
“No, I wasn’t great— I fucking lost!” He jumps at the sound of something striking hard against the lockers— Beomgyu can feel his stomach sink with dread as he realizes that it must be Chenle that walked in— he’s able to recognize his voice fairly quickly.
“I know, I know— It’s odd, really, you weren’t supposed to have…” Beomgyu feels like he’s unable to breathe as the manager walks into sight, locking eyes with him through the reflection in an instant as he immediately stops talking; Chenle’s irritated what? Is enough to have Beomgyu snapping out of his daze, turning around as he watches the boy’s manager let out an exasperated laugh.
“Hey,” Chenle begins, spotting Beomgyu as he quickly makes his way to him— Beomgyu remains silent, his eyes narrowed coldly as he tries to make a point that he’s not intimidated, “what the hell was that about back there?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Beomgyu mutters, watching as Chenle scoffs, turning away for a second to compose himself.
“The match,” Chenle clarifies, enunciating each syllable as though Beomgyu were incapable of understanding, “you were supposed to throw it.”
The words are definitely news to Beomgyu; he’s sure it shows on his face, because Chenle only seems to grow angrier by the second, Beomgyu’s silence only irritating him more as he runs a stressed hand through his hair.
“Don’t act fuckin stupid,” Chenle spits out, pushing Beomgyu’s chest and taking him by surprise as he stumbles back into the sink, “We had our deal. Give me back the money I gave you.”
“You have the wrong person,” Beomgyu says slowly, attempting to remain calm as he briefly looks over Chenle’s shoulder, and at the exit behind the two; he had two options: fight— which Chenle seemed more than ready to do— or stay out of trouble and run. The second option seemed very tempting at the moment.
“I didn’t make any deal with you.”
This seems enough to set Chenle off, more than ready to throw a punch before he’s interrupted by his manager; the man’s sharp Chenle is enough to have the two men looking back, over to where his manager leans against the wall, arms crossed as he stares at Beomgyu carefully.
“You,” the man says carefully, nodding at Beomgyu as he raises a brow questioningly, “what’s your name?”
“Beomgyu,” he replies gruffly, watching as the manager only becomes more confused by his response.
“Who sent you here?”
“Hey man, what’s the hold up, our fight started two minutes ago and people are already calling a forfeit—“ Taehyun pauses at the sight of the scene before him, taking a second to compose himself before he’s sending a cold glare to Chenle’s manager, “what’re you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” the man replies, pushing himself off the wall before he’s shoving his hands into his pants pockets, “now that I think about it, you two weren’t on the original roster we agreed to.”
“The hell are you talking about?” It’s clear that the situation has begun to annoy Taehyun, who remains unphased as the manager begins to walk towards him, “We were invited to the tournament.”
“Oh yeah? By who?” The man asks quietly, tilting his head as he waits expectantly for Taehyun to answer.
“Choi Yeonjun,” Beomgyu says, the name foreign to Taehyun’s ears as he gauges the men’s reactions, the two of them watching Beomgyu with a scrutinizing gaze— what he sees does nothing to soothe his nerves.
“Choi Yeonjun?” It seems as though that was not the answer either of them were looking for, the older man beginning to walk towards Taehyun, cornering him against the wall as Beomgyu attempts to step in— the warning glare Chenle sends him has him stilling for a second.
“That little rat sent you two? He still has the courage to try and involve himself here?” Something isn’t right— Beomgyu feels as though his body is on fire, buzzing with adrenaline as he watches the man’s tone drop dangerously— he’s reaching towards his jacket, the sight alarming as Beomgyu decides to divert his attention before it’s too late.
His attempt to take down Chenle works fairly easy— at least, that’s what Beomgyu thinks initially, able to take Chenle by surprise with a punch to the face before the boy is recovering; he’s more than ready to take back any of Chenle’s hits, only that’s not what the younger man seems to have in mind as he reaches into his jacket pocket instead.
Beomgyu isn’t given much time to react before Chenle is tackling him into the wall, his head banging harshly against it before he feels himself grow paralyzed with shock and pain— the knife Chenle drives into Beomgyu’s stomach is quickly plunged out, the younger man’s manager pulling him back with a scolding tsk and a harsh pull of his collar.
“Shit,” he can hear Taehyun exclaim, running to Beomgyu’s side in an instant as he attempts to add pressure to the wound; Beomgyu is still in shock as he groans at the feeling, a shuddering breath escaping him as he watches his blood run down his skin and stain his shorts.
“Chenle, let’s go,” the manager hisses, tugging Chenle along and hiding the weapon before either Beomgyu or Taehyun are able to process it.
Beomgyu feels as though he’s swimming underwater with how disoriented he feels, the quiet apologies Taehyun lets out over and over falling onto deaf ears as the noise outside only grows louder.
“We need to take you to the hospital man, shit,” Taehyun says, doing his best to carry Beomgyu with him as they make their way out— he knows better than to try and trust anyone in this place to treat him.
“What’s this?” Taehyun is already rolling his eyes at the sight of a new person blocking their path, more than ready to curse them out and push them out of the way before he realizes who it is; Choi Minho, the club owner, simply smiles down at them, inspecting the two men before him before his cold gaze stops upon Beomgyu.
“Playing dirty already?” His lack of urgency has Taehyun’s stomach churning with dread, wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into as the owner of the club only stops to laugh at his own joke.
Taehyun’s guilt and fear for his friend seems to cloud his reasoning; without another thought, he’s pushing past Minho, trying to find his way over to the exit before he quickly realizes that he’s managed to bring all the attention to him.
The crowd goes wild at the sight of Beomgyu’s injury; they’re crowding around the three, attempting to instigate a fight and bet money as their eyes light up with bloodlust— the sight has Taehyun shivering as he stumbles forward in uncertainty, avoiding a woman that attempts to grab out to Beomgyu in the process.
The sight was terrifying; Minho could only watch in satisfaction behind them, crossing his arms in amusement as he watched Taehyun try to push through the packed crowds of people; his hold on Beomgyu was slipping, and he’s sure he’s left a trail of blood by now as his ears begin to ache, trying his best to ignore the catcalls and insults that are thrown at him; both to try and instigate and annoy him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Minho calls after them, following behind as people almost seem to clear a path for him; in turn, the people on the other end seem to grow bolder, blocking his path and eager to witness conflict as Taehyun begins to yell at them to move.
“We still need to discuss your connections to this place,” Minho says, his eyes darkening as he meets Taehyun’s heated gaze, “Choi Yeonjun, was it?”
It’s no use; the crowd is getting handsy, pushing Taehyun back towards Minho in order to see the drama unfold. Beomgyu can only cling tighter to Taehyun, groaning in pain as the adrenaline slowly begins to wear off.
Choi Yeonjun, what the fuck did you do, Taehyun is practically ready to spit in Minho’s face from the anger that courses through him, but the fear that Beomgyu may bleed out on him keeps his senses on high alert as he tries to formulate a plan to escape.
His chance to escape comes in the form of five gunshots that boom through the room— each causing more panic than the last, the people around him bigger cowards than they let on as they immediately fall to the floor or scramble for cover.
Taehyun is startled but remains alert, his head whipping around and meeting the eyes of someone who was more than used to coming to unorthodox places to wrangle Beomgyu out of danger.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you angrier as you point a gun towards the ceiling, your jaw clenched and your face confronted into a nasty glare as rubble falls around you.
“Get down,” you seethe, sweeping your gun through the area as you watch everyone cower at the sight, eyes pointed at those who try to get back up to escape, “I said get the fuck down!”
The place seems to grow still the moment you put your finger back on the trigger, the startled yelps of those hiding the only thing that you can hear as you begin to walk forward; your gaze only darkens more at the sight of Beomgyu slumped in Taehyun’s arms.
“___, so nice to see you back here,” Minho smiles, attempting to charm you with an innocent tilt of his head, “What brings you to this place?”
“Let them go, Minho,” you warn, raising your gun towards him as he simply puts his hands up in surrender— yet, the mischievous smile and his unphased body language tell you otherwise.
“And why should I?” He asks carefully, eyes flickering over to where Beomgyu barely remains standing, Taehyun attempting to put all his strength into stopping the blood flow of his wound, “They wronged me, and I simply want answers.”
“Bullshit,” you spit out, jerking your arm as you bring your gun to aim at his head instead, “I have Agust and his men outside. Let them go if you know what’s good for you.”
The sudden name seems to be enough for Minho to falter, his smile wavering for a second before he’s letting out a deep sigh; rolling his eyes, he takes a moment to think before he’s looking over to Taehyun and Beomgyu.
“Go.”
Taehyun doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s making his way over to you without hesitation, struggling to step over the cowering bodies as Beomgyu clings to him like a ragdoll— you’re immediately pulling the two behind you before you’re jerking your head back to the exit, walking backwards as you keep your gun aimed at Minho in warning.
“You’ll be back soon,” Minho grins, his eyes alight with something mischievous and dangerous as he lets his arms down slowly, “just you wait.”
Your free hand reaches for the heavy metal door, your eyes narrowing at his words as he waits for you to say something; in response, you spit at him, slamming the door behind you before you’re ushering Taehyun to hurry up.
“I fucking told you, I can’t fucking believe this,” you mutter under your breath, shoving the gun in your back pocket before you’re taking Beomgyu from Taehyun, slinging his arm over your shoulder as you spot Taehyun staggering behind in exhaustion.
“Hurry up before I leave your ass here!” You yell, now at the top of the stairs as you meet eyes with the one person you now owed your life to.
“Shit, you really weren’t messing around,” Yoongi says, his eyes widening as he takes sight of the unconscious man you carry with you. With a snap, his men take him from your arms, carrying him over to the backseat of Yoongi’s car before he’s gesturing for you to get in, Taehyun following close behind.
“We need to get him to the hospital, now,” you stress, unsure of how much Beomgyu was bleeding out before you got there; from his pale sweaty skin and slow, shuddering breaths, you know it’s best to act fast and ask questions later.
“Don’t need to tell me twice,” is all Yoongi says, gesturing towards his men as they all begin to scatter, more than ready to speed off into the streets as he yells at Taehyun to put pressure on Beomgyu’s wound.
Pressed against the seat, you can’t ignore the way your head aches and your eyes sting with the threat of tears, unsure of what you’ll tell Beomgyu’s mother the moment he gets checked in the hospital.
Silently, you reach over to Yoongi, grabbing his hand as you let out a soft thank you. In turn, he squeezes your hand in reassurance, his foot pressing down on the gas pedal as he takes in the anxiety that rolls off you in waves.
⊹⊹⊹
The hospital is cold and unwelcoming.
You’re in the waiting room, unable to stop yourself from pacing as Yoongi remains by your side; Taehyun lingers nearby, his gaze downcast and glued to the floor from the moment Beomgyu was taken away by paramedics.
Your fingers dig into your arms as you sigh for the upteenth time; your gaze falls on Taehyun, your jaw clenching as you take him in— his head is downcast and he remains hunched over in his seat, his elbows propped on his knees as he hangs his head. But even from there, your eyes are able to look over the way his clothes are drenched with blood, his knuckles turning white as he clasps his hands together tightly.
“Excuse me, are you Choi Beomgyu’s guardian?” The three of you are quick to turn at the meek nurse that approaches you, her hands folded politely as you take initiative to step towards her; nodding, you watch as she sighs, her face unreadable under the medical mask she wears.
“I’m sorry to inform you that Choi Beomgyu’s wound was quite severe, and he lost a significant amount of blood.” You can feel Yoongi grasp at your arm as you exhale slowly, feeling yourself become unstable as your mouth falls open in disbelief, “We were able to stop the bleeding, but we’ve noticed that his wound has shown signs of infection; due to this, his condition is still critical— He is currently in the intensive care unit, and we are doing everything we can to stabilize him; Unfortunately, only immediate family can visit at this time.”
She lingers for a moment as she waits for you to say something, but you’re only able to muster enough energy to nod politely, ripping your arm out of Yoongi’s grasp before you’re stumbling outside— the said man is hot on your trail as he keeps a close eye on you, his quiet presence enough reassurance that he’s there if you need him.
Your hands are shaking horribly as you shove them in your pockets; your head hurts, and you feel sick to your stomach as you lean against the hospital walls, your head banging softly against the concrete wall as your pockets fish for something to distract you; Yoongi is quick to guess as he reaches into his own jacket, pulling out a cigarette and placing it in between your lips before he’s lighting it for you.
“He’ll be okay,” Yoongi reassures you, watching with narrowed eyes as you take a slow drag from the cigarette, “he’s a strong kid— in good hands, too.”
“I know he’ll be okay,” you grit out, sighing softly as you watch the smoke escape from your lips and disappear into the night sky, “he has to be.”
Your worries don’t lie entirely on his health; his recovery will be slow and tedious, but you’ll do anything if it ensures Beomgyu’s safety— the problem, however, lies on how much it’ll cost to ensure his recovery.
With the treatments and antibiotics the doctors were currently giving Beomgyu, you’re sure Ms. Choi would break down at the sight of the bill; running a restaurant on her own can only do so much, and you’re sure as hell not blind to the reasons as to why Beomgyu took up fighting in the first place, witness to the way he would leave his prize money before her in hopes that it would take care of the monthly bills.
A prize from the tournament at FightX would’ve been enough to have Ms. Choi closing the restaurant for a while and going on vacation— Beomgyu’s motivations slowly start clicking together in your head as you scoff, taking another drag from the cigarette in your hand as you feel the way your head begins to ache; the last thing you’ll do is have Ms. Choi worry about the bills.
“His mother,” Yoongi starts softly, interrupting your thoughts as he practically reads your mind, “are you gonna tell her?”
You take a moment before you answer, watching as Yoongi leans against the wall next to you patiently; flicking the ashes off your cigarette, you bite your lip, frowning in frustration as you sigh slowly.
“I have to,” you say, your mind already wracking for ways you could deliver the news to his mother, “she’s already worried enough as it is.”
Pulling your phone out, you turn it on to show Yoongi your screen; an onslaught of missed calls and text messages greet you, all from Beomgyu’s mother as you wince at the escalation of the contents— all of them asking if you’re alright, if you know where Beomgyu might have run off to.
“She’s already onto me,” you laugh softly, though it feels more forced than anything as you watch your screen light up again, her contact name taking over the screen as you take a second to look at it; with one last drag from your cigarette, you exhale, accepting the call as you drop the item and grind it into the ground, wincing slightly as Ms. Choi’s alarmed voice fills your ears.
“Yes Ms. Choi, I’ve found him.” You look beyond exhausted as Taehyun watches from afar, only able to hear your soft voice as you continue to reassure his mother— the guilt that was plaguing Taehyun’s mind only comes back stronger as he watches you deliver the awaited news tensely, the words awkward in your mouth as you visibly flinch— only to quickly tell Beomgyu’s mother that he’s safe and there’s nothing to worry about.
“We’re still here. I’ll wait for you, don’t worry.” Your voice is soft and calming as you speak, a stark contrast to what Taehyun saw earlier— he shivers at the thought, eyes widening slightly as they meet yours— stiffening, he can’t help how tense he feels as you gesture for him to come to him.
It’s silent as Taehyun walks to you; tucking your phone into your back pocket, your eyes narrow at the sight of Taehyun walking towards you, as though his tail were tucked in between his legs as he refuses to meet your gaze. The sight is enough to have you angered again as you cross your arms, pushing yourself off the wall as you dig your fingers into your biceps, teeth gritting as you attempt to keep your voice steady as you speak.
“What the hell happened back there? How did this all start?” You ask, your gaze intense as Taehyun forces himself to meet it; you look beyond furious as you wait for him to respond, Yoongi surveying carefully over your shoulder, the sight oddly intimidating as Taehyun begins to recount everything that happened.
“The match was rigged— you weren’t even supposed to be there,” you conclude, looking over your shoulder to see Yoongi agreeing, “who was invited there?”
“It was me,” Taehyun says, not an ounce of hesitation in his answer as he watches your eyes widen at the news, “It was all my idea, I thought it’d give us a bigger chance to win the prize money— I… I was the one who got the invite.”
Taehyun isn’t entirely sure as to why he just took all the blame for Beomgyu; maybe it was his guilty conscience, or the way that he knew if he told the truth, Beomgyu would be in more trouble than he already was— yet a small part of him seems to regret it as he watches the way your eyes widen, unable to stop yourself as Taehyun’s head jerks to the side— his cheek stings at the impact of your palm, but he doesn’t find himself to be angered by it as he remains silent.
“This— this is all your fault?” You say, incredulous as you begin to pace again— whether it’s to hold yourself back from hitting Taehyun again or to process everything, he isn’t sure— “Do you have any idea the shit you just got us involved in?”
From the way Taehyun stares at you, his brows furrowed in concern, it’s clear the answer is no.
“Do you know how much it’ll cost for Beomgyu’s treatment? He could’ve fucking died!” The fact that Beomgyu still stepped foot in the underground club despite knowing the dangers of it isn’t lost on you— if anything, it angers you more, feeling as though he took everything you told him and went through as a joke, teeth gritting together at the thought of it, “his mother can’t afford something like this, do you realize how terrified she is to hear her son is in the ICU?”
“The money from the tournament,” Taehyun interrupts, watching the way you pause in your steps before he continues, “we can just use that— it’s more than enough.”
You remain silent— all you can do is stare at Taehyun for a second, eyes narrowing at him before you shake your head; bitterly, you smile, tilting your head as you cross your arms defensively once more.
“Did you finish the tournament?” You ask, watching as Taehyun slowly shakes his head, “did you win?”
“No— it was just me and Beomgyu left anyway—”
“Did you win?” You repeat, your voice much more stern as you take a step closer to Taehyun; he can feel his heart sinking as he takes in your close proximity, your expression serious as he feels the realization dawn on him as well, “did you stay in the cage, did you hear them announce you as the winner?”
You both know the answer to your question; Taehyun’s voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks.
“No.”
“No,” you echo, hands falling to your sides, the burst of emotions from earlier taking a toll on you and leaving your voice quiet and tired as you continue, “They might as well call it a forfeit from your part.”
“The prize money is still their’s, and they’ll even hold another tournament while they’re at it.”
Backing away, you glance at Yoongi before gesturing for him to give you another cigarette; the lighter is the only thing that illuminates your face for a second, your eyes tired and angry as they flicker back up to meet Taehyun’s.
“Unless you want to go back and win it, you’re no use here.”
You refuse to talk to Taehyun any further as you turn your back to him; the smoke that escapes from your figure is oddly soothing as Taehyun lingers by your side, lost in thought as he leans against the wall; feeling a set of eyes searing into his skin, he looks up, meeting Yoongi’s curious gaze, watching as he tilts his head before he finally speaks to the younger man.
“Who sent you that invitation?” Yoongi asks, burying his hands into his jacket pockets as he watches Taehyun intently— the said man pauses, mind thinking back to the name Beomgyu mentioned before he’s uttering it quietly, unsure of himself as he avoids Yoongi’s gaze.
“Choi Yeonjun.” Taehyun is surprised to find both of you reacting, watching as your shoulders shake with quiet laughter, head turning to Yoongi who simply sends you a knowing look; the two of you shake your heads in dismay, leaving Taehyun to wonder if he said the wrong name as he watches Yoongi let out a deep sigh.
“That explains it,” Yoongi mutters, taking the cigarette from your hands before he’s taking a drag of it himself; he’s blowing the smoke out to the side before he finally decides to give Taehyun more context, the sight of the man staring at him bringing him amusement as his lips twinge into a small smile.
“You and Yeonjun, were you guys close?” Taehyun slowly shakes his head at the question, making Yoongi scoff— he wonders why the older man seems to be making such a big deal about this person, but the heavy feeling in his gut tells him it’s nothing good, “Makes sense— thought you had a death wish or something.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Taehyun asks, tired of being left out in the dark from the way Yoongi refuses to give proper context; he can’t help the way he straightens slightly as you turn back around to face him, your gaze still full of anger as you glare at Taehyun.
“That invitation was a setup,” you begin, brow raising at the way Taehyun’s mouth falls open in surprise, “Choi Yeonjun was exposed as a rat years ago; he was working with police to try and get the club shutdown, greedy for money— didn’t exactly end well for him.”
It all seems to make sense now; the hostility whenever either boys mentioned the man, the danger it wound them up in— Taehyun tries to keep a straight face at the news, but it’s difficult to do as you grow quiet, surveying Taehyun carefully as you take a step closer to him; then another, and another until you’re eerily close to him, attempting to analyze everything about him before you’re tutting softly.
“But why he would send an invite to you, I have no idea— let alone how he got a spot in the bracket— what’d he tell you, anyway?” your questions are enough to have Taehyun gulping softly; hell, how was he supposed to know any of this? Yet, as far as you were concerned, Taehyun was the only one who was in contact with the man.
“Nothing much,” Taehyun replies, hoping you can’t see through his lies as he stares straight into your eyes, “it came in the mail— just told me he secured two spots.”
“Think about it,” Yoongi says, diverting your attention away from Taehyun for a second— he can feel himself relax slightly, free from your intense gaze as you turn to look at your friend, “Why else would he try to get involved with FightX again? And through other fighters, on top of that.”
“He might be trying to get back in the scene,” you say, seemingly coming to a conclusion before Taehyun can as your face lightens up; first, with confusion, then with amusement as a smile tugs at your lips. Turning back to Taehyun, you can’t help but laugh slightly in disbelief, “The prize money probably wasn’t going to be yours to begin with.”
Still a rat, hmm, you mutter, the smile on your face contradictory to the way you bite your lip in irritation; the laugh you let out isn’t very convincing either, and Yoongi can only roll his eyes at your antics as he’s leaning against the wall once more, taking a slow drag from the cigarette in his hand before he’s flicking off the ash absentmindedly.
“How do you know all this?” Taehyun asks, the question hitting him suddenly as he takes a good look at the people before him; a restaurant worker and a man who seemed to be involved in shadier things than he let on— his curiosity laid more on you, taking in the way you seemed unphased by his question, “who are you guys?”
That’s enough for you and Yoongi to share a bewildered look; it takes a second before you’re both laughing, amused at his words as you allow Yoongi to answer.
“Kid, you’re looking at the two old champions of FightX,” Yoongi smiles, eyes creasing as Taehyun takes notice of the scar that runs through one of them, “We’re the only fucking reason that club survived for so long.”
Taehyun’s look of bewilderment is the only thing to have you cracking a genuine smile; rolling your eyes, you huff as his eyes land on you, observing you for a moment before he frowns in confusion.
“You’re a fighter?” Taehyun asks, watching as the two of you nod without hesitation, “Makes sense.”
“Alright you little prick,” you seethe, eye twitching at his witty comment, “I know you have a smart fucking mouth, but I still can’t get used to it.”
You feel as though you might show Taehyun some of your moves when he simply cracks an innocent smile at you— only to stop, the sound of hurried steps and the loud yell of your name making the three of you turn towards the sound.
Ah, you hear Yoongi mumble behind you, dropping his cigarette and snuffing it out before Ms. Choi can pick up on it; the tense smiles the two of you sport quickly has Taehyun doing the same, shuffling back until he’s covered behind Yoongi— from the corner of your eye, you see the younger man cross his arms awkwardly, attempting to cover his blood-soaked clothes as he keeps his head ducked down.
Ms. Choi is a wreck; you’re able to pick up on it easily, the light that leaks out from within highlighting her features that are soaked with worry and stress; her face is pulled into a frown and her eyes threaten to leak with tears as she stumbles to a stop before you.
Her expression is unreadable; you’re unsure of how she might react or what she might do, but you wouldn’t blame her if she lashed out any of her anger on you— jolting, you’re taken aback by the way she practically leaps on you, arms caging you in a bone crushing hug as she buries her head into your shoulder— the sounds of her sniffles are enough to have you snapping out of your frozen state, arms coming up to hold the woman tightly in return.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she mutters, her hands gripping onto your clothes at the reminder, “I’m so glad he’s alive.”
“He’s safe, Ms. Choi. He’s okay, he’ll recover in no time,” your reassurance is soft and endless as you pat her back, allowing her to cry freely into your arms as you give her a moment to recollect herself— sniffing, she pulls away, wiping at her eyes before her gaze falls on Yoongi.
“Ma’am,” Yoongi nods, his face tense as he awaits for her to say something; his face mirrors your own as he’s pulled into a hug, eyes widening and posture stiffening before he slowly returns the gesture.
“Thank you for bringing my son back to me,” she says, pulling away before she reaches up to cup Yoongi’s face; she takes him in, smiling tenderly as she adds, “I’m happy to see you’ve been well.”
Yoongi smiles at her comment; he’s surprised to see that she still remembers him, times spent visiting you at work and pestering you coming to mind as he lets out a soft laugh.
“They said only immediate family is allowed to visit at this time,” you mutter softly, taking her attention as she turns to face you, “We’ll wait out here for you.”
Taking your hands, she nods; you can see how apologetic she is as she takes a moment to smile reassuringly, telling you that she’ll let you know how he’s doing before she disappears inside— watching her figure retreat, you can’t help but frown after a moment, wondering if she’ll be alright on her own.
“Fuck,” you sigh, the reality of it all hitting you again as you tilt your head back defeatedly; staring at the night sky, you bury your hands into your pockets, fighting the emotions that threaten to spill over as you speak, “How the fuck am I supposed to handle all this now.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Yoongi says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as he becomes quick to reassure you, “I can help you out, I know some people.”
“No Yoongi,” you quickly say, shrugging off his shoulder as you send him a stern look, “I don’t want you to get involved in any shady stuff over this— I got this, you don’t need to worry.”
Your argument continues to go back and forth for a while— Taehyun feels insanely awkward as he’s forced to watch, unsure of what to do as he wonders if it’s just best to sneak away and go back inside— after what seems like ten minutes, he realizes he’s had enough as he goes to butt in.
“Let’s just win that stupid thing back,” Taehyun blurts out, stopping the both of you in your tracks as you slowly turn to look at him, “you said they’d probably hold another tournament, no? We’ll just win it back through there.”
“Are you—?” you cut yourself off as you place a hand over your mouth, running it down in frustration before you’re starting again, “You were invited to that place by Choi Yeonjun, a fucking rat. You really think they’d just let you waltz back in and join?”
“Minho—” Taehyun says, pausing for a moment as he frowns, thinking back to what the owner of the place said, “You’ll be back soon. That’s what he said, no?”
“He wants us to come back,” Yoongi realizes, glancing at you as he watches the way your jaw clenches in annoyance, “He knew we’d be back for that damn prize.”
“And what better way to draw in gamblers than with a match after tonight’s show,” you continue, your mind racing with ideas before you’re finally looking back at Taehyun, “But what, how are we supposed to arrange something like this? You seriously think we can just walk in and have a civilized conversation?”
⊹⊹⊹
“Are you fucking insane?”
Taehyun’s hushed scolding is enough to have you rolling your eyes, unphased by his reaction as you tug your shirt over your jeans more; shrugging your jacket on, you nod back at Yoongi, who only returns the gesture after he’s zipped his own coat up; you can barely feel the gun that’s tucked into your waistband, but Taehyun is determined to not allow you to forget about it as his eyes fall onto it’s hiding spot every three seconds.
“It’s rude to stare,” you mumble, slapping Taehyun’s shoulder and forcing him to turn back around; you allow Yoongi to lead the way through the busy streets, the bright alleyways and busy shops entirely inconspicuous as you make your way to a familiar store, entirely empty except for the owner that attends it.
There are no customers when you enter; The store is packed with products and is poorly lit, and it’s oddly quiet as you walk around; making your way around the aisles swiftly, it almost feels like muscle memory before you’re stopping at the checkout— narrowing your eyes, you’re not surprised to find Minho sitting on a stool behind the register, not bothering to look up from the book he reads as he adjusts his thin wired glasses slightly— leaning on the counter, you clear your throat, raising a brow as you tap your fingers rhythmically on the surface.
“A win is only official after it is announced by the referee; if both fighters fail to present themselves in the ring, the match is invalid.” Minho doesn’t bother to look up from his book as he speaks; carefully, he reaches to fold the page he’s on, pressing his fingers on the dog-ear meticulously before he’s shutting the book gingerly; placing it on the counter, he finally looks up, smiling sweetly as he does so.
“But you already know that, don’t you?”
“You’re holding another tournament, aren’t you,” you say, the words coming out as a statement rather than a question.
“Perhaps.”
“We want in,” you can see the way Minho processes your words, his eyes scanning from you to Yoongi before his smile is growing a bit wider; catching onto his thought process, you’re quick to shake your head, reaching behind you and pulling Taehyun roughly as you ignore the way he stumbles forward.
“I mean him. Just him.”
Minho’s smile wavers a little— you can practically see the dollar signs in his eyes decrease slightly, but his expression is still amused as he quickly recalls who the fighter in front of him is; narrowing his eyes, Minho hums, oddly docile as he looks back at you.
“Fine,” to say that it’s unnerving to watch Minho agree so easily is an understatement; you’re sharing a confused look with Yoongi as you watch the way Minho stands from his seat, rounding the counter before he begins to walk away— glancing back at you, he nods to the exit, telling you to follow him before he continues walking.
Before you can think too hard on it, you’re tugging the two men along; anything to make sure he doesn’t disappear from your sight, you think, but you can’t help but pat yourself down slightly in search of your gun the moment you see where you’re headed.
“Relax, it’s empty right now,” Minho hums, swinging the door wide open and allowing you to see, smiling in amusement as he takes in the way you remain a few steps back, “I’ve decided that a tournament is just too simple.”
“After the glorious show you put on last night, I knew my patrons would love to see more of your people,” Minho continues, a satisfied look flashing through his features as the three of you finally make your way to his level, peeking through the door cautiously, “and what better way than to skip the bracket and give the public what they want?”
There’s a single person inside; you’re on guard as you watch them, the dull lights of the place barely allowing you to see them as you squint your eyes; He’s practicing, you realize, watching as he uses the punch bag before him diligently, his sounds of effort reaching you as he continues.
“One v. One match,” Minho smiles, glancing into the door to see what the man inside is up to; the four of you watch as he does a spin kick, the force from it sending the punching bag flying to the side, the sound of the impact echoing throughout the empty area as you wince at the sight.
The man lets out a huff of exhaustion after; he’s backing up, shaking his body as he steps into the light that emits from a window behind him— pushing his hair back, you’re able to take in his features, your eyes widening as you realize who it is that currently stands before you.
“Your fighter versus mine— The Cobra.”
The Cobra— otherwise known as Park Jongseong— or rather, Minho’s last apprentice before you left.
“The best of the best, no?” Minho continues, his gaze meeting your own as he smiles knowingly, “you win this, you win everything— no questions asked, no… attacks, on my part.”
You can already hear Yoongi’s thoughts behind you; this is dangerous, this is a horrible, insane idea.
And you agree— you agree wholeheartedly, hesitating to respond as you take another moment to observe The Cobra— yet it seems as though you’ve taken too long, lost deep in your own thoughts as you fail to account for another, stupid variable.
“Deal,” Taehyun butts in, leaving you speechless as you’re forced to watch the way he shakes Minho’s hand casually; the older man can only laugh at the action, grinning from ear to ear as his eyes meet yours— his smile only widens more as he takes in your baffled expression.
You find yourself speechless— even when you go back up to discuss the rules and terms of the fight, speechless when Yoongi reluctantly agrees, and speechless when you walk out of the inconspicuous store, your hands clutching tightly onto the paper given to you with the specific details of the match.
You’re only able to muster up the courage to look at Taehyun once you’ve gotten back in the car safely; he meets your gaze after a moment, brows furrowing as he finds himself annoyed with your dumbstruck expression.
“What the hell do you want?”
This stupid boy has no idea what he just got himself into.
⊹⊹⊹
“Three weeks,” you say, pacing back and forth as you find yourself in the last place you would ever want to be; Seokjin’s small fight club is no match to the basement of FightX, but it’s enough for you to train in as you choose to look past the dimly lit area, the natural light that leaks in from the small windows above the only thing that allows you to see properly— Taehyun watches you impatiently, stretching his muscles as he stands by the training equipment in attention, wanting nothing more than to get started already.
“For the next three weeks, you’ll throw away any plans you’ve made— I expect to see you here everyday for training.”
”Wait, you’re training me?” Taehyun interjects, watching the way you narrow your eyes at him in warning— he looks back to where Yoongi sits, slumped over in his chair as he smiles lazily the moment their eyes meet— then he looks back at you, biting his lip before he continues, “Why not him?”
“Because you want to get trained by the best, no?” Yoongi calls out, already able to see the way you bristle at Taehyun’s comment; the said boy nods, lips pressed together as he takes a moment to observe you again, “Then she’ll be training you. Now watch your mouth before you sweet trainer here decides enough is enough.”
“But the restaurant,” Taehyun backtracks, realizing how his comment may have come off as he speaks, “Won’t you be busy?”
“Winning that tournament is more important,” you say, not missing a beat as you begin to stretch, “Especially since you agreed to fight The Cobra, of all people.”
“Seriously, why is that a big deal?” Taehyun huffs, rolling his eyes as you signal for him to continue stretching, “the dude can’t be that dangerous.”
“That dude has been in the ring for years,” Yoongi says, catching Taehyun’s attention as he pauses in his movements, “Much longer than you, to be sure.”
“Meaning,” you continue, sighing in dismay at the thought of your next words, “He’s been trained by Minho himself.”
“And us.”
The sudden revelation is enough to have Taehyun tensing; stomach sinking, he seems to realize why you were so hesitant to agree to this arrangement.
“Anything we teach you, Park Jongseong has already mastered,” you say, putting on focus mitts before you gesture for Taehyun to come closer, “That’s where you come in— I’ve been praying that you’d be a decent fighter, hoping you’d have some skills of your own we could hone in on.”
Taehyun frowns at your words— you aren’t exactly the most encouraging person he’s met, and he can even feel his confidence dwindling as he stands before you, pausing as he watches you put up your mitted hands— a moment passes and you’re rolling your eyes, scoffing at the way Taehyun seems to be hesitant before you.
“What are you waiting for?” you scold, your tough voice enough for the man to snap out of his daze; his expression is unreadable as you watch a shift in his form, his hesitation quickly being wiped off as he takes a step toward you— his stance is shifting, and you watch with delight as his eyes turn dangerous, honing in on your mitts as he brings his fists up.
Let’s see what you got.
⊹⊹⊹
“Again.”
For once, Taehyun begins to realize the consequences of his actions.
His body is on fire; he feels as though all his strength has escaped him, pushing his hair back for the upteenth time as he winces at the sweat that coats it— you remain unphased, and Taehyun wonders for a second if you have unlimited stamina as you raise your brow at him expectantly.
His body has yet to become accustomed to this new schedule. He’s gotten used to seeing you every day, reviewing techniques and giving him pointers before you’re giving him a thorough workout; tonight, you’ve decided to focus on his kicks, bringing up many different fighting styles and forcing him to practice on the punching bag that hangs in a nearby corner.
“Come on, can’t we just take a break? I’ve been at this for—“
“I said again,” you interrupt, glaring at the way Taehyun sends you an irritated look; Taehyun has grown used to your intimidation tactics after spending more time with you than should be considered normal, your once terrifying anger nothing more than something Taehyun has to put up with as he sighs— he still knows better than to go against you, though.
And so, he does exactly what you taught him— though it’s sloppy, and he knows he’ll get an earful as he executes the kick weakly— though, he personally blames your refusal to give him a proper break for his actions.
“Have you not been paying attention to anything I’ve been saying?” you ask, exasperated as you make your way to him; standing next to him, you gesture for him to step aside, getting in front of the punching bag yourself before you’re getting into the proper stance.
“I need you to remember to swing your hips; like this,” stepping forward with your right foot, you extend your left leg slowly, twisting your hips along with the motion as you freeze, gesturing to your hips, “If you don’t, your kick won’t be as powerful; you need to put your whole body into it, not just your leg.”
Stepping back, you demonstrate again, pushing through the rest of the kick as you listen to the thud that echoes from your move— Taehyun can’t help the way his eyes widen as he watches the punching bag swing back and forth, analyzing your form before another thought is popping into his head.
“That kick,” Taehyun mumbles, switching spots with you as he begins to envision what you just did, trying to get his body to recreate it before he pauses, “Beomgyu did that— he used that move all the time.”
“Yeah? Glad he finally got it right,” you sigh, unfazed by his words as you cross your arms, smiling in amusement— Taehyun turns to look at you, frowning in confusion as you practically read his mind, “Hey, if I can’t stop that idiot from sneaking off to this place, I might as well make sure he doesn’t die.”
The laugh you let out after is tense and bittersweet; Beomgyu was doing much better now, but he remained in the hospital due to complications from the infection of his wound— you were given the news that he would most likely need physical therapy as well, the sound of it only motivating you to work harder after you watched the way Ms. Choi paled with the news.
“He almost knocked you out with it? Holy shit,” you laugh, incredulous as Taehyun tells you the details of his first encounter with the boy— the proud smile that spreads across your face catches Taehyun off guard, your eyes twinkling with delight as you gesture back to the punching bag. “Don’t you wanna get as good as him? Come on, show me you’re not all talk.”
The sudden comparison to Beomgyu has Taehyun bristling with annoyance, rolling his eyes as he reluctantly follows your words— a strange, nagging feeling manifests within his mind, telling him to prove himself and dispel all your worries about him as a fighter— it motivates him, taking a deep breath before he’s getting into the proper stance; closing his eyes, he envisions his body following the same movement path you did, eyes zeroing in on the punching bag before him as he finally executes the kick.
“There we go,” you hiss, an excited grin spreading on your face as you listen to the impact of Taehyun’s kick— though it’s too early for the said man to celebrate, his eyes lighting up for a second before you’re back to pester him for pointers.
“You need to stay light on your feet,” you remind him, rolling your eyes at the way he tries to interfere with your comment, telling you that it’s because I’m exhausted, “Do you think Jongseong will care if you’re tired? You think he’s gonna go easy on you if you start bitching at him the way you are now?”
“There’s no need for you to be such a bitch, either,” Taehyun sneers, getting back into stance as he watches the way you remain unfazed by his comment.
“Maybe I’ll start being nice once you prove to be useful.” you mutter, and Taehyun swears the anger that courses through him fuels his kick as he feels his body twisting with energy— so much energy that he’s losing his footing, the impact that booms from his move much louder than his previous attempts as he stumbles back— from the corner of his eyes, he sees the way your eyes widen slightly at the sight.
“Not bad,” you say, tilting your head as you study Taehyun for a second; he’s exhausted and soaked with sweat, his eyes filled with pure anger and frustration you might just think he’ll fight you instead— the thought is enough to have you stifling a laugh, your lips twitching slightly before you’re snapping back to reality.
“You need to practice your balance if you’re gonna use your body like that,” humming softly, you think for a second, brows furrowing as you continue, “if anything, you should try some spinning hook kicks— that could improve your balance great—”
“You’re here again?” the voice that yells out from the entrance has you startled for a second, turning around before you’re groaning in frustration; you’re leaving Taehyun’s side immediately as you go to the source of the sound— Seokjin seems to be just as annoyed as you are, turning on the rest of the lights with an irritated look on his face.
“You know why we’re here, Seokjin,” you say, yet the reminder of your reasoning doesn’t seem to be enough for the man, watching as he shakes his head in disapproval.
“You know I have a club to run, right?” it’s clear you’ve given up as you mutter a yeah yeah, softly, pouting like a child to the older man, “I can’t have this place running while you’re training that poor kid to death.”
“My regimen has results.” you say defensively, glaring at Seokjin, who simply puts up his hands in defeat, unphased by your attitude as he glances back at Taehyun.
“He looks like he’s about to pass out.”
Following Seokjin’s line of sight, you find yourself wincing; it seems that you’ve only now gotten a good look at the man, watching the way he’s already slumped down at the bench nearby, his chest heaving with shallow breaths and his eyes fluttering as he holds onto his water bottle tightly— frowning, you listen to the way Seokjin quietly asks you how long have you been in here today? your mind going back to the hours you’ve spent cooped inside this building— not to mention day after day.
“Go back to opening this place,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at the way Seokjin smiles triumphantly— the guilt you feel is odd as you approach Taehyun, standing by awkwardly as you watch the way he doesn’t even acknowledge you, much too tired to even open his eyes.
“Hey. Don’t pass out on me,” you say, slapping Taehyun’s bicep and watching as he startles awake— his eyes meet yours, wincing at the sudden increase of light as he squints up at you.
“We’re done for today. Let’s go,” you mutter, unsure of what else to do as you give Taehyun a helping hand; he observes it for a moment, oddly skeptical before he finally takes it— his skin is surprisingly soft for having the hands of a fighter, though you try not to let it show on your face as you help him up; the groan of exertion he lets out isn’t lost on you, and you’re surprised to find yourself feeling bad for doing this to him.
A pitch black night greets you the moment you’re exiting the building, yelling one last goodbye to Seokjin before you’re closing the door behind you— you can hear Taehyun softly grumble about having to climb way too many stairs, and you can only let out a huff in amusement before you’re linking an arm with him for support.
“Come on tiger, don’t let a set of stairs knock you out,” you mock, ignoring his angered rebuttals that he can barely slur out— you’ve really done a number on him today, you realize, the witty man beside you reduced to nothing more than a slumped figure as he continues to complain under his breath, leaving you unfazed the moment he tries to complain about your routines again.
“Don’t make me regret what I’m about to do for you,” is all you say in response, leading him to your car as you ignore his protests that he just wants to go home, “It’s been hours since you’ve eaten— come on, let’s go see Beomgyu, I bet he’s going insane from the hospital food.”
You’re not sure if it’s the sound of food or the mention of Beomgyu that has Taehyun perking up with interest, but you’re rolling your eyes at him nonetheless as you’re starting your car; driving towards Ms. Choi’s restaurant, you’re guessing it’s the former as Taehyun tells you that all he wants at the moment is some simple ramen.
The drive is calming— Taehyun doesn’t seem as annoying to you anymore, but a glance at him makes you realize it’s only because he’s knocked out in your passenger’s seat, completely silent save for his occasional shifting to get more comfortable.
Now this is a side of him you like.
⊹⊹⊹
Seokjin’s words seem to have affected you more than you’d like to admit.
At least, they definitely have if it’s enough to have Taehyun staring at you as though you’ve gone mad, feeling a strange heat rush to your cheeks as you press your lips together awkwardly.
“Are you messing with me?”
“No. Unless you want to go back to the usual,” you snap, and Taehyun can only put his hands up in surrender as he bows his head down; your proposal to have a rest day feels odd to Taehyun, even more so when you’ve already managed to drag the man all the way to the club.
“What’re we even doing here then?”
“There’s less than a week left before the match,” you sigh, feeling your phone buzz in your back pocket as you pause to check the message— you feel your shoulders slump with relief as you’re answering, glancing up at Taehyun, who was already watching you curiously.
“While you have shown improvement in your techniques, there’s still more you could improve on,” your sentence is interrupted as the sound of the door opens, the two of you turning to see who might be coming in— while Taehyun fully expected Jin to burst inside and start complaining, he’s surprised to find something else.
“I don’t want your body to wear out on me, so I’ll tone down the intensity of your routines as the final day approaches,” you continue, unfazed by the people that begin to approach— Yoongi is casual as he sends the two of you a wave, the woman next to him sending you a cheery nod before her gaze is falling on Taehyun.
“And we’ll work on your fighting IQ instead.”
One glance at Taehyun is enough to tell you that he has yet to connect the dots; you’re gesturing for the woman next to Yoongi to step forward, bringing her to your side before you’re introducing her— Taehyun notes that the two of you must be good friends, if the way she clings to you happily is enough of a sign.
“This is Sooyoung,” you say, and the woman next to you— Sooyoung— simply smiles, her eyes creasing and her face lighting up as she sends Taehyun a friendly wave, “Sooyoung, Taehyun.”
“So he’s the reckless boy you were telling me about?” Sooyoung asks, tinted lips pursing as she stares Taehyun down— the nickname is enough to have Taehyun’s gaze hardening, sending the woman a harsh look that only makes her laugh— the woman’s bubbly attitude feels far more patronizing than genuine as she tilts her head like a puppy.
“I do see potential,” she murmurs, lost in thought for a second before she’s snapping out of it— turning to Yoongi, she practically bounces over to him, and it isn’t until then that Taehyun takes in the duffle bag that the man carried in with him.
“The locker rooms are back there, right?” Sooyoung asks, looking at you expectantly before you’re sending her a nod of confirmation. Cool. Be right back! she says, skipping away with the duffle bag, her long dark hair swaying behind her as Taehyun’s mouth falls open at his words.
“Is she— am I fighting her?” Taehyun breathes out, a bit skeptical as he looks at you in bewilderment. All he gets in return is the usual roll of your eyes, unable to hold back your laugh at his stupidity.
“No dumbass,” You say, reaching up for the zipper of your jacket before you’re tugging it down— it isn’t until you’re shedding the layer off that Taehyun takes in your appearance, your hair tied back and your face turning serious as you begin stretching— he takes note of your hands, wrapped tightly in the wraps he always uses as his brows are jumping up in realization— catching his reaction, you smile.
“I am.”
Sooyoung is skipping out of the locker room moments later; it’s hard to not notice her, especially with her bright trunks and wraps that match the rest of her outfit— a bright green, the hair tie that keeps her hair up the exact same color as she makes her way to the cage.
“You’ll be my coach for this. I’ll only follow your instructions, so you better not get me fucked up,” you explain, joining Sooyoung by the cage before you’re turning back— Taehyun has yet to follow you, his brows furrowed as he waits for you to tell him you’re joking; instead, you’re left unamused as you cross your arms, hissing for him to hurry up and get over here.
“How is this supposed to help?” Taehyun asks, his gaze following you as you make your way inside; he’s never seen you like this, and though he hates to admit it, you’ve definitely piqued his interest.
“Seriously, are you always like this?” Is all you can say, looking down at Taehyun from where you stand within the cage— Taehyun remains silent, choosing to hold his tongue for once as he simply stares at you in response.
“You’ve never seen The Cobra fight. You don’t know what moves he’ll pull or how to counter them,” you begin, glancing back to the opposite corner; Sooyoung is crouched down in it, speaking to Yoongi through the fence as they throw the occasional look back at you, “You need to learn how to analyze your opponent— their tells, fighting style, go-to moves— everything.”
“Yoongi is coaching Joy in this match; the next match, he’ll be coaching me.” Taehyun finally seems to understand as he looks at Sooyoung— or Joy, as you called her, the strange nickname not going unnoticed by him as he furrows his brows at the sound of it. Yoongi coached Jongseong— so did you.
Through this match, he’ll get to take a peek into his opponents mind, no matter how miniscule.
After a minute of discussion, you finally decide to start the first round; Taehyun is oddly anxious as he watches you, your footsteps careful and calculated as you watch Joy, eyes narrowed and dark as you keep your guard up— the said man’s advice runs through your head, knowing you warned him you’d mostly be using his tips as you circle Joy carefully.
Taehyun realizes why Sooyoung is called Joy; he almost feels unnerved looking at her, the carefree smile and relaxed body language entirely enticing, a perfect trap to lure someone into lowering their guard— but Taehyun knows better than to think lowly of anyone you decide to bring in, her light steps and playful jabs enough to tell him that she’s definitely more calculative than she lets on.
Taehyun’s advice gets you a solid punch to the face and a painful kick to the stomach— it hurts like hell and makes you want to fight properly, but the need to allow Taehyun to improve on his own is nagging as you take the injuries and trudge over after the round is over, eyes pointed at him as though to say now what?
“Don’t look at me like that,” Taehyun hisses, annoyed at the way you already seem to be losing— he knows you can fight, yet the results of the round say otherwise as you stare at him expectantly, enough of a reminder that you currently put all strategies into his hands.
“Okay, okay,” he sighs, glancing back at the corner Joy and Yoongi currently converse in, “It’s clear that she enjoys taunting you. A lot.”
Taehyun seems to be talking more to himself than anything, thinking back to what he saw as he continues rambling, “But she seems to have this tell— every time she’s going to strike, she smiles a bit— which is fucking creepy— it’s barely there but I’ve noticed it, especially in her eyes.”
His comments have you both impressed and amused; it had taken you quite some time to figure out Joy’s tell when you first met her, so to watch as Taehyun thoroughly breaks down her fighting style is enough to have you listening to him intently.
“I think she’s aware of it too, because her rear hand always comes a little closer to her face when she does it—” the one-minute timer is up as Yoongi calls you back to the center of the ring, and you’re looking at Taehyun expectantly for one last comment— with his train of thought interrupted, he stumbles over his words, giving up after a moment before he’s waving you off.
“Just watch her tells. Oh, and avoid her kicks, that looked like it hurt.”
The way you scoff mockingly isn’t lost on Taehyun— but before he can call you out on it, you’re off, the next round starting as Taehyun watches you carefully.
Joy’s tell has become much more obvious to him; it only takes a moment, but he’s able to see every small habit and go-to that Joy has, his mind racing with strategies as he quickly realizes you’re doing the same. Joy is a predictable fighter to you— granted, she was your sparring partner for years— and with Taehyun’s new discovery, you allow yourself to exploit what you know of her and use it to your advantage.
You’re able to turn the match around with ease— Taehyun isn’t able to fight the way his eyes slowly begin to stray, away from Joy and to you, observing the way you remain focused, your moves precise and strong as he even finds himself wincing at times.
After a moment, Taehyun realizes that he’s seeing you in a new light— literally and figuratively, the spotlights suddenly turned on as someone new walks in— it highlights your features perfectly, and Taehyun is able to see your expression crystal clear, watching as your focus is shattered and you’re looking over at the entrance; the small moment of distraction costs you greatly, and Joy is able to land a punch straight to your nose before you’re falling down.
You’re placed into a tight chokehold seconds after, still disoriented from the punch as you reluctantly tap out— gasping for air, you’re quickly turning back to the entrance, glaring daggers at Jungkook, who simply smiles at you sheepishly.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, cheeks reddening slightly from the sudden attention, “we’re just getting ready to open soon— you looked really cool though, ___.”
A moment passes before you’re laughing softly at his comment— Taehyun can’t help but wonder what might be going on between you two as Joy pulls you up, calling an early end to the match before you’re both exiting the cage.
“That was super fun,” Sooyoung hums, watching as you can only agree reluctantly; she coos at your disgruntled state, patting your head and laughing cutely as she apologizes for her harsh blows; turning to Taehyun, her smile widens, and Taehyun is impressed to find a bruise forming on her jawline as she speaks.
“___ told me you figured out my tells,” she pouts, her tone playful as she crosses her arms, “I seriously thought I finally got past those. Well done.”
Taehyun feels oddly embarrassed as he nods.
“Let’s continue where we left off tomorrow,” you say, glancing over to where Jungkook busies himself at the bar, ignoring the way all of you seem to observe him for a second before you continue, “Looks like you’re not that useless after all.”
“I think he’ll be okay!” Sooyoung says, a bright smile on her face as she looks at Taehyun happily, “I mean, if you keep going the way you are, you’ll definitely survive!”
The way you and Yoongi snicker makes Taehyun’s jaw clench, rolling his eyes at the way they all constantly patronize him— his lack of response is enough to have Sooyoung apologizing softly, saying that she just loves to tease.
“We should go,” you say, throwing your jacket back on and zipping it up all the way, “they’re opening soon, and I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t wanna be in a place like this any longer.”
Yoongi and Sooyoung agree— they mumble something along the lines of “brings back too many memories,” the words making Taehyun raise a brow as he begins to wonder just how many people you knew from that club.
Taehyun feels awkward as he watches them leave— it’s just you and him, and he’s forced to stand around awkwardly as he watches you gather your things, reluctant to leave you for reasons he can’t seem to think of.
“___, you’re not staying?” Jungkook’s soft pout is a stark contrast to the rest of him, decked in full black and piercings that shine under the lights— Taehyun wonders if the bartender is secretly a fighter as well, the muscle that bulges from his arm not remotely subtle, even under the sleeves of his shirt.
“Nah, I’m too tired. I took a good beating ‘cause of you,'' you say, watching as Jungkook only smiles sheepishly. Your body feels sore and you’re more than ready to go home and rest, but the way Jungkook continues to give you puppy eyes suggests that you might have to fight him off too.
“I can patch you up,” he says, and you’re rolling your eyes at the way he flutters his eyes at you, “I haven’t seen you in so long— you’re never at the restaurant, you know.”
“Well, I am kinda busy,” you say, nodding softly at Taehyun who, to your surprise, is still at your side.
Jungkook remains silent for a second. His eyes leave yours as they inspect Taehyun, analyzing the man who simply huffs and crosses his arms in annoyance. Meeting his eyes, Taehyun refuses to back down, raising a brow as he waits for Jungkook to say something to him.
“Aren’t you tired of being around him all the time?” Jungkook finally speaks, clearly set on ignoring Taehyun as he turns back to you— his smile is seemingly innocent as he leans against the counter, ignoring his duties as he continues to try to get you to stay, “I can bet you I’m more fun to be around than him.”
“Noona,” Taehyun says, his voice stern and clear as speaks. This time, you both turn to him; your shock is clear on your face, eyes wide and confused as your brows knit together, wondering where the sudden formality appeared from.
“We should go. This place is opening soon,” he says, watching as your mouth opens in an attempt to respond— though you can’t seem to figure out what to say, and Taehyun is quick to roll his eyes and go ahead— with one last glance at Jungkook, you bid him goodbye, feeling oddly tense as you follow Taehyun outside.
“Shit,” he hears you say, though he doesn’t pay any mind to it as he stands outside— the smell of rain lingers in the air, the city alight and busy even after dark hours— from behind him, he can still hear you mumbling to yourself, your words incoherent and irritated to his ears.
“You know, if you wanted to stay with that guy you could’ve—“ he’s stopped short by the sight of you, brows furrowed together and a sleeve pressed firmly to your nose as you curse under your breath— though the blood that ran out of your nose still clings to your chin, and you have yet to wipe it off as you continue to complain about the issue quietly, digging in your bag as you ignore Taehyun.
“Hey, you don’t happen to have tissues, do you—?”
The answer is a definite no. Taehyun can feel himself acting on impulse— maybe it was because the sight made him cringe, or maybe he was looking out for your safety— but next thing he knows, he’s tugging you along, away from the hidden building and straight to the convenience store a block away.
“Wait, where are we even going?” You ask, unable to put up much of a fight as you focus on keeping the bleeding under control. Taehyun doesn’t answer, and when you attempt to tug your arm out of his grip, all you get in response is the feeling of his fingers tightening around you.
“Tissues,” Taehyun mumbles, tugging you into the store without a second thought.
You feel oddly awkward around him— you’re not used to seeing him like this— he’s quiet, serious and not the same person that’s always trying to piss you off with some ridiculous comment. Instead, he’s oddly tentative, and you find yourself sitting at the table placed outside as you watch him rummage through the bag, pulling out one thing after another as you sit there, pressing the tissue he gave you a bit firmer to your nose.
“This wasn’t necessary, you know,” you say quietly, eyes narrowing as you observe him carefully— despite your constant reassurance that you didn’t want him to spend on you, you currently watch him eat his instant noodles in silence, your own still covered up and warm while the two of you wait for your nose bleed to die down— though you pretend otherwise, you notice the way he glances at you every other second to see how you’re doing, offering to pour you a bit of soju that you decline with a soft scoff.
“A ‘thank you’ would suffice,” he comments, his words muffled through a mouthful of noodles— he ignores your scolding to not talk with his mouth full, clicking your tongue in annoyance as you only get a roll of his eyes in return.
“Yeah…. thanks,” you mutter, barely audible as you take the tissue away from your nose slowly— Taehyun is mid-bite as he freezes, eyes darting up to observe you— and you smile slightly, relieved to feel that your nose bleed is finally gone.
“Ugh, that was so annoying,” you grumble, wiping at your face for any blood that’s still there; you’re fussing quietly to yourself, unable to notice as Taehyun begins to rummage through his plastic bag once more, finally finding his desired item before he throws it at you, the small packet landing right in front of you unceremoniously.
“Here,” is all he says, avoiding any more eye-contact as he goes back to eating, the ramen disappearing within seconds from how quickly he eats.
An odd silence falls between you; the ‘thank you’ you let out is barely audible, your demeanor awkward as you open the packet of wet wipes he tossed at you— he simply nods at you in response, and you find yourself feeling tense as you watch him sit back in his seat, shameless in the way he stares you down, clear in thought as he presses his lips together.
“Back at the club,” you begin awkwardly, folding the wet tissue in your hands as you speak, “you called me “noona”— the hell was that about? You’re not one for formalities.”
“But you’re older, aren’t you?” Taehyun says, oddly unfazed by your sudden line of questioning, “Thought I might as well start, if we’re spending so much time together.”
“Not even Beomgyu calls me that,” you say, bristling at the way he quotes Jungkook— you feel oddly flustered by the sudden title, even more so when Taehyun simply looks up at you after a moment— his eyes are wide and innocent as he observes you, and slowly, he breaks out into a soft smile.
“I’m just being polite,” he says, straightening in his seat as he tilts his head, “Noona.”
“Enough of that,” you bark out, gritting your teeth at the way he only grins at your response, “We need to talk strategy— your fight’s a few days away.”
“Right, right,” Taehyun says, chopsticks circling the inside of his bowl as pauses, thinking back to the man he only got a glimpse of in FightX, “Jongseong— what’s he like?”
The sudden question has you sitting back in your chair, deep in thought as you think back to Jongseong— The Cobra, or the scrawny thirteen-year-old boy that stumbled into Minho’s convenience store by what you thought was an accident.
“Can you teach me how to fight?” He had asked you, eyes wide and innocent as he stared up at you, a mere sixteen-year-old that worked at Minho’s store as a side hustle. You remembered pretending as though you had no idea what he was talking about, laughing off the way his curious gaze drifted over the pain patches on your shoulders and your bruised knuckles.
“Where’s your mother?” You remembered asking, incredulous at the way he refused to leave or buy anything; instead, he insisted that you teach him to fight, gluing his feet to the floor despite the fact that you chose to ignore any questions he had about you and your secret hobbies.
“Don’t know,” he admitted casually, and it wasn’t until then that you noticed his roughed up appearance, his face dirtied and bruised, and his hair filled with dirt and twigs, “she doesn’t come home until night time. I’m alone right now.”
“What… happened to your face?” You asked him, leaning on the counter to get a closer look; you remember reaching over to rid his hair of the dirt, watching as he scrunched his face and slapped your hand off in reaction— the sight of him was an eerie mirror of your own before you found Minho, your brows furrowing at the tough front this kid seemed to put up.
“Some stupid kids at my school,” he brushed you off, running a hand through his hair as he felt the dirtiness of it with a wince; looking back at you, he took in your concerned expression, frowning at the sight as he leaned against the counter.
“You know,” he says, raising a brow at the way you study his injuries, “If you’re that worried, why don’t you teach me how to fight?”
His proposition caught your attention— his words were reminiscent of your own, years ago, when you stumbled upon Minho’s small club by accident, a sad attempt to find asylum— and suddenly, you found yourself thinking it through.
“Okay. But just for self-defense.”
“So you practically raised him,” Taehyun says, the very thought of it making you shiver as you shake your head no, your eye twitching at his words, “No? Well, you did train him, right?”
“Well, he trained for a good two years. Yoongi and I trained him for a while since everyone was too busy to deal with another newbie, and Minho…” sighing, you go to open your own instant noodles, now cooled and a bit soggy as you wince slightly at the sight, “Minho had the idea to throw him in the ring after he reached fifteen.”
You still remember his first fight— you remember being strictly against it the moment Minho proposed it, sudden and instant as he quickly escorted Jongseong away from you; you, being freshly out of a match, barely had any energy to fight back properly.
“This isn’t what he wants. This is too dangerous, Minho,” you remembered telling him, trying to reason with him despite the roaring spectators drowning your voice out. You remembered how Jongseong looked under Minho’s arm; small, skittish and tense, his eyes flicking around the cage in attempts to familiarize himself with the layout as Minho’s fingers only dug deeper into his shoulder.
“Of course it’s what he wants,” Minho responded, always quick to leave you helpless with the way he towered over you, a Cheshire smile on his lips as his eyes twinkled with a dangerous delight, “Don’t you remember how you were in your first fight? Could barely throw a punch.”
Before you could argue, Minho continued.
“You know he has potential. What, afraid he’ll steal the spotlight from you and Yoongi?” Jongseong’s eyes flickered to you then— and in that moment, you realized just how long Minho seemed to have prepared him for this moment, the deep breath he took stabilizing him momentarily as Minho leaned down to speak quietly in his ear.
“Do you know how much money you could make from today’s match?” Minho had told Jongseong sweetly, and the two of them looked over to the other side of the cage, where his opponent waited for him, “It’s your first match— but I’ve given you an easy kill, I know you’ll win.”
An easy kill— that was definitely one way to describe Jongseong’s victory. You watched first hand as the fear drained from Jongseong’s face, replaced with a dangerous gaze that you had never seen before; you watched as he threw perfect jabs, calculated and lethal as he landed hook after hook on his opponent.
Even now, you can’t help but feel surprised at how protective you got over him— especially when he was sent flying with a kick to the stomach, crashing against the ground and leaving you tense as you watched the way he didn’t move.
At the memory, you laugh softly— your eyes flicker up to Taehyun’s, your tone grim as you speak.
“That was his winning move.”
His opponent got sloppy— he let his guard down, approaching Jongseong so casually that the punch he got to the jaw was definitely deserved— and though his body crashed to the floor and Jongseong was able to get the higher ground, he didn’t stop.
“He doesn’t care if you’re down. He doesn’t care if he’s won,” you grit out, your appetite lost as you stare down at your cold food, the memory of Jongseong landing hit after hit to his weakened opponent making you frown.
You still remember the look in his eyes as the referee tore him off his opponent; wild and hungry, still lusting for blood as he attempted to shake the authority figure off. Even when his eyes met yours, horrified at the person Jongseong transformed into, he didn’t care, his grin only widening as the referee announced his name, the audience going wild at the way his arm was thrust up in victory.
The spectacle of his lethal fighting style earned him his special nickname; Minho’s triumphant smile left a sick feeling in your stomach, forced to listen to the way the announcers paraded around Jongseong like a killer animal.
After that day, you watched Jongseong grow into the person he is today; cold, calculated, and borderline murderous.
“Every time I look at him, I’m reminded of the kid who came to me looking to learn self-defense,” you chuckle dryly, frowning at the memory, “Then I remember who he’s become, and I can’t help but feel responsible for it.”
“When I met Beomgyu through that god-forsaken club, I was reminded of Jongseong,” the sudden revelation has Taehyun listening intently, leaning in to watch as your eyes drift off to the city around you, foggy and reminiscent as you tell him your story.
“For some reason, I thought that maybe this time, I could prevent him from becoming a monster,” you mutter, leaning your chin into your palm as you sigh, “Though, I don’t think I like this outcome either.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Taehyun quickly interjects, and he flinches slightly at the way your eyes flicker back to meet his, regarding him for a moment before you smile.
“I know. It was yours.”
He’s not sure how to respond to that; he’s not sure if he should, unsure of what he should say or do as you stare him down silently— after a second, you’re breaking out into a soft laugh, tired and broken up as you wince from the feeling of your bruised ribs.
“I’m just fuckin with you,” you say, sitting up at you take in the way Taehyun visibly relaxes, “You didn’t force Beomgyu to do anything. It was all out of his free will.”
“And I kinda know that you lied about the whole thing being your idea.”
Your confession has Taehyun looking like a deer in headlights— it’s enough to make you laugh, easing the tense mood as he asks you how you knew.
“I had my suspicions from the very beginning,” you say, pausing for a second before you add cheekily, “And, Beomgyu told me.”
“Ah,” he mumbles, biting his lip as he tries to smile at you, “Sorry I lied.”
“Don’t be. It’s interesting that you chose to cover for him,” you say, returning the awkward smile as you add, “I should be the one sorry. For slapping the shit out of you.”
The two of you laugh— though, it’s a bit tense, and a silence falls between you two after.
“You… met Beomgyu? At that club?” He asks after a moment, watching the way you nod without hesitation.
“Yeah. He was sixteen, I made sure to kick him out and warn him once I saw how his worried mother came looking for him. And it worked, for like two years. Then…”
“Then Jin’s club opened.”
You raise a brow at his words, pausing in surprise before you’re nodding slowly.
“Yeah, then Seokjin’s club opened,” you repeat slowly, frowning at the way he already knew, “Beomgyu found himself involved there, and it wasn’t long before his mother came to FightX looking for him. Jin’s club wasn’t as shady— I mean, compared to FightX, that place was like a church. I knew I didn’t have much to worry about, but I still decided to train him for a while… just to be safe.”
Taehyun sees the way your eyes are filled with nostalgia, a soft smile forming on your face from the memories.
“That’s kinda how I ended up where I am now. I could only drag Beomgyu back to his house so many times before his mother started treating me like family too,” meeting Taehyun’s gaze, you’re surprised to see him listening to you intently— it has you tensing slightly, not realizing how much you’ve revealed about yourself until now.
“So,” you start, clearing your throat awkwardly from the way Taehyun’s gaze sears into you intensely, “What’s your story? How’d you end up in this scene?”
“Oh, it’s nothing interesting,” Taehyun waves you off, though you refuse to be the only one delving into their personal life as you press Taehyun for details, “Seriously, it’s pretty normal.”
“Well, tell me anyways,” you say softly, tilting your head as you send Taehyun a challenging look, “Might as well get to know each other, if we’re spending so much time together.”
The way he laughs softly at your mocking comment is slightly contagious— and though you pretend otherwise, you notice the bittersweet look on his face as he reaches for the bottle of soju, pouring himself a shot for the first time in a while before he offers you one; with a slight laugh, you accept it.
“I got into mma with a friend of mine— gave me lessons, sparred with each other, all that fancy stuff. We were really close, and getting into this hobby together only made us closer,” he laughed softly at his words, his mind filled with memories as he stared down at the table, “And now… Well. He’s not around anymore. Passed away less than a year ago.”
You frown softly at the way he pours himself another shot— the grief on his face is still fresh, you realize, his gaze hardening as he places the shot cup back down.
“Without him, I felt… lost. I didn’t really know what to do with myself— after a while, I mostly felt angry.” His finger traces around the rim of the cup, slow and steady as he takes a moment to pause, “I hated that feeling. So, I tried finding the next best outlet, and found a few underground clubs. That’s how I met Beomgyu.”
The air is tense from his story; you’ve never been the best at comforting, so you find yourself unsure of what to do. After a moment, Taehyun laughs, taking in your tense expression with amusement, and it’s only then that your eyes fall onto the dimple that digs into his cheeks cutely.
“God, I’m sure he’d go nuts if he knew the shit I got myself into,” he says, running a hand through his hair as he shakes his head, “I’m not sure if he’d want to stop the fight or get front row seats— hell, probably the latter.”
Taehyun is quick to pick up on the glint of amusement in your eyes— he’s just as quick to reach for the soju bottle and pour the two of you another shot, the air much lighter than it was a moment ago as you watch him give you a bright smile, the sight unusual for you as you find yourself giving him an unsure one in return.
“We only have three days left,” Taehyun says, bringing his glass up, watching the way you shake your head in amusement, “Let’s keep up the hard work, noona.”
“Don’t call me that.” You grimace, clinking your glass with his before you’re both downing the liquid—though you can’t help the slight smile that tugs at your lips in amusement, watching as Taehyun slowly becomes more open with you as you let him finish the bottle— I have to drive, idiot, you told him with a sneer, pushing the bottle back to him when he pouted that he shouldn’t be drinking alone.
Taehyun is oddly light—and lightweight— though, not light enough for you to be tugging along back to your car, grimacing at the way he stumbles and knocks into you drunkenly.
“Noona,” he said to you, his words slow as he smiled at the way you snapped at him to not call you that, “Noona, you think I’ll win?”
“Fuck, I hope so,” you grumble, finding your car in the now-filled abandoned parking lot that was close to Jin’s, “It would be a huge fucking waste of time if you didn’t.”
“Okay then,” Taehyun pouts, pushing you away from him and walking off to his own car, only for you to tug him back to your own as you tell him he shouldn’t drive like this, “Why would I wanna be stuck in the car with someone who acts like such a bitch?”
“I act like a bitch because I care,” you bark, opening the car door and shoving him carelessly, only to watch as he turns back to look at you with that same, stupid, patronizing smile.
“If you say so,” he says, his cheeks a bit flushed as he leans back towards you, “Nooooo...na.”
Your reaction is immediate— he feels as though the punch you land on his arm is enough to sober him, rubbing the sore area with a drunken pout.
“Get in the damn car.”
⊹⊹⊹
You currently stand outside FightX. There’s an hour left before the match.
You pace around in worry, unable to stand still as you hear the ruckus of the club and it’s awaiting patrons inside. Your brows are knitted in a deep frown and you can’t fight the way you bite your lip anxiously as you walk around in restless circles, over and over as you’re left in deep thought.
“Stop that, you’re making me dizzy,” a voice calls out, snapping you out of your daze as you watch Taehyun walk up with a leisurely smile on his face— the sight is almost unnerving, his mood a complete opposite from yours as you watch him adjust the strap of his bag on his shoulder, taking a moment before he’s standing before you.
“Aren’t you nervous?” You ask, watching as he simply shakes his head without hesitation, “you’d be stupid not to be— although, that does make sense…”
“Hey,” he says, lips pressed into a line as he frowns at you, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t degrade me before the match. You’re messing up my concentration.”
“Right. Of course,” you huff out, looking away and missing the way that Taehyun smiles, taking in your jittery figure with amusement— his expression is immediately dropping the moment you look back at him, and he’s mentally cursing at himself for suddenly being so weird.
“Are you gonna make me workout before the match or something? Why are we here so early?” He asks, tilting his head and taking in your attire slowly; it’s not what you wear when you train him, but it’s still light and athletic as he raises a brow at your apparel, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to wear my energy out just yet.”
“I’m not making you do anything, I just needed you to be here so you could get into the right mindset.” you say, and your response is enough to leave Taehyun silent as he stares at you; it’s odd, and you find yourself unnerved by his analytic stare. “What? What’s wrong with you now?”
“Are you worried?” He asks, his question sudden as he takes a step toward you— startled, you try your best to remain unfazed, resisting the urge to take a step back as you take in his sudden proximity.
“Worried? About what?” You say, your responses much too curt to seem natural; mentally, you’re cursing at yourself for feeling so odd, unable to hide what you’re thinking as well as you usually are— especially under Taehyun’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Worried…. That I’ll lose?” He says, leaning in slightly to get a better look at your face; you refuse to pull away, looking into his eyes and keeping your expresion blank despite how close he is— his scent is invading your senses, oddly alluring as you finally get a good look at the man before you, “Or… no.”
Another pause. You don’t know what Taehyun might say next, but judging by the way his lips twitch with the hint of a smile, you know you won’t like it.
“Maybe… worried I’ll get hurt?”
Your eye twitches.
“Hmm. Okay,” he says, quick to catch your small reaction as he backs away, a smug smile on his face— you frown, wondering what he might be insinuating as you send him an incredulous look.
“Okay? Okay what?” You say, watching as Taehyun chooses to remain silent— his sudden refusal to speak to you has you far more annoyed than you’d like, slapping his arm and telling him to look at you, irked by the way he deliberately ignores your request and looks around in wonder, “Okay what? Of course I’m concerned!”
Your sudden confession has Taehyun’s gaze snapping back to yours.
“If The Cobra takes you out, we lose. And if we lose,” you pause, taking in Taehyun’s expression— he’s bewildered, mouth slightly parted as he listens to your irritated words— “If we lose… seriously, will you stop looking at me like that?”
“If we lose…” he repeats slowly, and your frown only deepens in response, “You said we.”
“Yeah…?”
“You’re… coaching me?”
“No, I’m getting front row seats and betting against you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and smacking Taehyun’s bicep in annoyance, “Yes, I’m coaching you. Wouldn’t be here wasting my time if I wasn’t.”
The way Taehyun’s eyes are sparkling under the lights is slightly creepy— you don’t think you’ve even seen such a genuine expression on him before, and you can only take a step back in uncertainty as Taehyun smiles at you; a genuine, soft smile.
“Right, it’s just…” he pauses, clearing his throat before he’s reaching towards you to return the hit you gave him moments ago— though it’s a bit stiff, and you’re raising a brow at the action as you watch Taehyun carefully, “Haven’t had a coach in a while.”
Oh.
You’re sure the thought shows on your face, the reminder of Taehyun’s past life coming back to the forefront of your mind with a slight pang of guilt— though Taehyun doesn’t let you dwell on it, making fun of your face and prodding at you with enough annoying comments that you have to meditating to not slap the shit out of him.
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll beat you before your match even starts,” you hiss, your threat enough of an incentive to get him off your back, “Yoongi and Sooyoung are coming as well. We’ll wait for them before we go in.”
“Are they really?” Taehyun asks, and you simply nod in response— the thought of Sooyoung watching him fight wasn’t exactly pleasant, and he finds himself thinking back to the nickname you gave her in the ring, “Joy… what an odd name. Did you ever get a title back here? I don’t think you ever mentioned it.”
“Because I didn’t have one,” you huff, rolling your eyes at the way he seems surprised by that, “My name was enough intimidation for them.”
Wowww, Taehyun cooed, the patronizing gesture enough to have you reaching to smack him on instinct— though it seems as though your move was too predictable for him, flinching out of the way with ease and continuing to send you that stupid smug smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he continued to try and provoke you.
“If you two are done with this weird tension, we’d like to go in now,” the look Yoongi sends you is enough to have your face heating up with embarrassment, unsure of what he might mean with his words as you shake your head in annoyance— grabbing Taehyun’s elbow, you lead him down the steps, watching as Yoongi and Sooyoung follow behind with teasing eyes.
“Yoongi, did you have to bring your men along? It’s already crowded enough in there as it is,” you groan, your head beginning to ache at the sight of the packed club— Yoongi simply scoffs, telling you better safe than sorry as he gestures for the two of you to go inside.
“Go find Minho,” Yoongi nudges you, and you nod firmly at his words, “Make sure to let him know we are also here.”
If you insist, you mumble, ready to go off before you feel Sooyoung grab onto your elbow, tugging you back to get your attention— the moment your eyes meet, she sends you a bright smile, pairing it with a thumbs up as she squeezes your arm in reassurance.
“You got this!” She says, letting you go and watching as you weave through the crowd with Taehyun in tow.
“You think we’ll win?” Yoongi mutters in Sooyoung’s ear, watching the way her smile tenses a bit.
“I prayed a little yesterday.”
⊹⊹⊹
“…from what I remember, he’s very straightforward; very serious— spends a good couple of minutes gauging what kind of fighter you are before he strikes. I need you to be careful during this match, okay? Fight with your brain, not just your fists.”
You’ve been talking Taehyun’s ear off for an impressively long time. Taehyun didn’t think it was possible to see you like this, restless and fidgety as you followed him into the locker to give him a pep talk. There was ten minutes left before the fight.
“Relax, I got this,” Taehyun says, and he’s greeted with an unamused look of yours in return, “I didn’t watch you and Joy beat the hell out of each other for nothing, you know.”
The mention of your matches with Sooyoung is enough to have you cringing; while it was good for Taehyun to get a grasp of what you and Yoongi might’ve taught Jongseong and vice-versa, it wasn’t as good to leave sore after each training day you spent with him.
“Can’t believe I did that,” you mutter to yourself, leaning against the lockers behind you in dismay. Though by the way you can hear Taehyun laugh at you mockingly, you know he picked up on it as well.
“You care more than you let on, noona,” he smiles, your eye twitching at the name; you have yet to get used to this sudden formality, and Taehyun is clearly taking advantage of it, judging by the way his smile only widens with your every reaction.
“Noona?” The source of the voice is from someone you’d never forget; both you and Taehyun are looking over at the entrance in an instant, and you can feel your eyes widen as you take in the way Jongseong stands there, much more grown than the last time you saw him.
“Oh. Hi,” you grit out awkwardly, cringing at how tense you sound.
“Hi? Is that all you have to say?” He asks, walking toward you without hesitation; his hair is black and slicked back neatly, a stark contrast to the messy brown hair he could never bother to style when he was younger, “it’s been three years, you disappeared without a trace!”
You’re not sure what he’s going to do as he approaches you in a hurry— hug you, maybe— because he pauses, taking in the sight of Taehyun sitting in front of you, his eyes narrowing as he takes a moment to take the man in.
“You’re…” he pauses, brows furrowing as he goes deep in thought for a second, “Taehyun.”
Taehyun’s name falls from his lips with pure disdain; Jongseong is looking between you and him, his face dropping with disappointment as everything begins to click together in his mind.
“I was hoping Minho was lying,” Jongseong mutters, taking a step back from you as he meets your eyes; he no longer holds the same, wide and nostalgic gaze that greeted you when you first saw him. Instead, it’s cold and scathing, a reflection of the dangerous man you’re preparing Taehyun to face in the ring.
“You’re coaching him, then?” He asks, and all you can do is nod as you take in the anger in his eyes, wondering what lies Minho has been feeding him to look at Taehyun with such hatred, “I see.”
He’s backing away from you. You feel as though you’re losing him all over again as you watch his eyes turn to you, filled with nothing but restless anger as he sends you a vicious smile.
“Try not to lose another one, noona,” he says, feigning a pout as he takes in the way your jaw clenches at his words. His eyes flicker over to Taehyun, pleased to find that his jab seems to have affected him, as well, “Good luck. You’ll definitely need it.”
He lets out a bitter laugh, waving you off before he’s out of sight. It’s quiet, and you’re unsure of what to say now that it’s just the two of you. Sighing, you look back at Taehyun, only to see that his eyes were already on you.
You gulp.
Taehyun has never looked this angry; his jaw is clenched and his brows are furrowed as he leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs as he jerks his head side to side— the cracks of his neck have you wincing, though you don’t think he cares, his lips pressing together for a moment before he breaks out into a breathy laugh.
His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a smile spreading across his face, fangs dangerous as he bites his lip in a failed attempt to suppress it.
“I can’t wait to fuck him up.”
⊹⊹⊹
The place is packed.
It’s deafening as you make your way to the cage, Taehyun stuck to your side as the patrons make a path for you; you try not to tense at the feeling of Taehyun’s hand on your waist, pulling you in and keeping you away from the men that stare at you with a disgusting hunger.
Their excitement is deafening. It makes your head pound and your concentration waver, jolting into Taehyun from the way people try to reach out for you— the call of your name by old regulars isn’t lost on you, but you try to grit your teeth and ignore it.
“They’re here for you,” Taehyun muses quietly, leaning into you so you can hear him. You scoff, shaking your head as you finally reach the cage’s entrance; Jongseong is already inside, waiting.
“They’re here for you,” you say, watching as Taehyun unzips his jacket and hands it to you; he grins at that, and you’re scolding him to put in his mouthpiece so he can’t come up with a stupid comeback.
“Go get ‘em tiger,” you grin, watching as Taehyun can only shake his head in amusement. Your eyes flicker back to where Jeongseong stands, chatting idly with his own coach— your expression turns grim at the sight of Minho giving him tips with a bright smile.
Your hands are warm as you reach out to Taehyun; grabbing both sides of his face, cradling his jaw as you’re pulling him in towards you boldly— he’s slightly caught off guard by your action, eyes widening as he’s forced to remain silently and stare at you stupidly.
“Light on your feet. Be calm. Preserve your energy,” you say to him, repeating all the tips you’ve given him through three curt sentences. He nods, and you nod along with him, slightly amused at the sight of him.
“You got this. I believe in you.”
You’re pushing him into the cage after that.
The floor is scuffed and old. It’s nothing in comparison to Jin’s pristine cage, and Taehyun is finally beginning to take it all in as he looks out, the club packed and rowdy as he scans through the crowd; he spots Yoongi and Sooyoung, the two giving him a nod and a thumbs up the moment their eyes meet.
“Tonight’s match looks quite interesting,” a voice booms out, and Taehyun looks over to the commentator’s table, able to recognize the two faces that beam back at him in excitement— Taemin and Kibum, if he remembers right.
“Not only is it winner-takes-all, but we also seem to have a legend in our midst— if not, two,” Taemin’s smile is ear to ear as the crowd grows louder, and Taehyun is able to spot you shrinking slightly from the sudden attention.
“The king and queen of FightX— sound familiar?” If the crowd’s reaction is any indication of their answer, then Taehyun would say yes. Kibum’s laugh echoes around the cage, and Taehyun feels overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.
“Not only that, but apparently she’s coaching this guy too!” Taemin and Kibum are off in their own world as they chatter, and Taehyun can’t help but wonder when the theatrics will end and the match will start.
“Minho even seems to have stepped up for today— the best of the best, hmm?”
Minho is more than willing to indulge in all the fanfare; in the ring, Jongseong only rolls his eyes, clearly as impatient as Taehyun.
“Oooh, now now, we should probably stop,” Kibum grins, nudging Taemin playfully, “It looks like our fighters are getting restless.”
“Right, we should probably get on with it,” Taemin agrees, though the way they both continue to talk says otherwise, “This is what you all came to see, right?!”
More cheers.
Taehyun has begun drowning everyone out at this point. Even when the referee steps inside and gestures for the two to come to him, he can’t bring himself to listen. Instead, he focuses, his eyes never straying from the man before him.
The Cobra seems to be just as concentrated as him. His gaze is dangerous and he’s restless as he shifts in front of Taehyun, lips twitching into a smile as the referee asks them to be courteous, to touch gloves.
Neither of them move.
Three rounds, he hears the referee remind them— then he’s stepping back, gauging their reactions before the loud bell rings out, signaling that the fight has begun.
Jongseong moves immediately— but he doesn’t strike, and Taehyun’s eyes narrow at the way he remains in a low stance, swaying slightly as he remains on guard; his constant movement makes it difficult for Taehyun to hit him, and he’s left unamused at the way Jongseong seems to taunt and bluff with a mocking smile.
He throws out meaningless jabs, not bothering to hit him properly as he continues to grin and mess around. This behavior is a strong contrast to the characteristics you warned him of; He keeps his fists close to his face, a complete opposite of Jongseong, who’s body remains relaxed.
Usually, Taehyun would see this as a weakness; he’s left unguarded, goading the audience that only seems to yell at Taehyun to do something— to take the bait. If anything, the way Jongseong smiles through his mouthpiece is enough to remind him of Sooyoung; confident, skilled, quick and agile enough that he can afford to keep his body open as a bluff.
Taehyun throws a left hook as a test. Immediately, Jongseong is jumping back, dodging it and putting his hands up with such speed that Taehyun could’ve missed it if he blinked. Jongseong’s eyes narrow, and it seems as though he’s realized that Taehyun has caught on to his show tactics.
There’s no room to play around anymore. Jongseong seems to have thrown out any tactics to bait Taehyun, choosing to throw punch after punch instead, a slight form of bait on its own.
Taehyun could fight back. He could retaliate to the blows on his forearms and sides, could try to land a few kicks on the man before him and try to injure him. But he would also waste all his energy in the first round, potentially leaving him vulnerable to The Cobra’s attacks in later rounds. It’s clear that’s what he wants— Taehyun throws a punch here and there to make it seem as though he’s falling into the trap, but your words to preserve his energy ring out in his head all the while.
The action to remain on defense makes Taehyun look like a coward. But he doesn’t really mind, especially with the way Jongseong grows cocky, a confident smile broad on his face as he lets his guard down slightly, laughing along to the scathing comments the audience throws at him.
His rear hand falters for a second. And in that second, Taehyun is able to deliver a right hook, his padded fist colliding with Jongseong’s jaw and sending him stumbling off, the people roaring and drowning out the sound of the commentator’s ramblings.
One minute on the clock, will he be able to get another hit in?! Taehyun is effortless to drown out Kibum’s cries, stepping back the moment Jeongseong is back on his feet— for a moment, the two circle each other, and Taehyun can see the way his opponent’s eyes scan him, mind rapidly thinking of a way to counter his most recent blow.
Kibum is audibly disappointed at the sound of the first round ending. How uneventful, he mourns, and Taehyun is happy to see that you’ve made it into the cage, Minho trailing behind you as you both get a minute to talk.
“Fuck, good job, that was a good hit,” you immediately say, grabbing Taehyun’s wrist and dragging him to your corner. His mouth is sore as he takes his mouthpiece out, taking slow drinks of the water bottle you hand him as he listens to you.
“He’s a lot more different now. Still agile, but it looks like he likes playing with his food now,” you say, wiping off the sweet that’s gathered on Taehyun’s skin gently; he feels oddly tense at the action, your tender gesture making his heart beat a little faster as he wonders instead if he’s finally beginning to get nervous from the match.
“He definitely knows you’re not one to play with now, but it’s still good to feed into it sometimes,” you pause, your hand stilling on his chest, the thin towel the only barrier between you as you look up at him sternly, “I know I said to preserve more energy, but get more hits out. He has really good stamina.”
Taehyun tries to sear your words into his head as the referee calls for them to get ready for the next round, the two of you exchanging a reassuring look before you’re off.
Like last time, Jongseong doesn’t seem too keen on being friendly before the match.
Taehyun takes your advice quite seriously— though Jongseong is also able to get more hits on him this way, his bottom lip cracking open after a particularly rough punch. Jongseong, Taehyun realizes, mostly fights with his upper body. He’s quick on his feet and dodges hits easily, but Taehyun has yet to be pinned down or hit with a kick— he tries to keep this knowledge to himself, the next five minutes uneventful as the round ends without any memorable hits.
Could it be that The Cobra has met his match? Taemin mused into the mic, grinning at the way the crowd only booed in response. Ignore that, you muttered in his ear, rolling your eyes at the way the two commentators were still just as annoying as you remembered.
“He only punches,” Taehyun comments, his brows furrowing as he looks over to Jongseong’s corner, “No kicks, clinches, anything. It’s odd.”
“Because he’s saving it for the last round,” you tell him, reaching up to brush the hair from his forehead— you’re serious, trying your best to hide the worry on your face as you warn him, “I’m telling you— he likes to play with his food. Be extra careful, I’m sure he’ll try pulling something new on you.”
The referee calls the break to an end. Pressing your lips together, and you’re nodding as you step back to leave.
“Go all in now. Everything you got, now’s the time to use it.”
The way Minho laughs as you meet him at the cage entrance has you scoffing; Taehyun can see the older man talking to you, though he’s unable to try and see what he’s saying as the referee calls the fighters to the center.
“Last round,” he reminds, placing a hand on both their shoulders, “Clean, fair fight, okay?”
Jongseong nods— then, he reaches forward, offering his gloves to Taehyun.
The slight twitch of his lips is mischievous. Slowly, Taehyun does the same; their gloves touch softly, the commentators quick to point it out as the match begins.
Jeongseong throws a punch instantly.
It’s like a switch has been flipped in his mind. His eyes are filled with eager bloodlust and alight with adrenaline, throwing hit after hit at Taehyun with no signs of stopping. All Taehyun can do is defend himself, unable to get an opening as he’s forced to take the blows Jongseong delivers.
Taehyun thinks he might have an opening the moment the man backs up, hands going down and leaving him unguarded for a second— but as Taehyun throws out a punch, he’s met with a harsh kick to his side, shocking him and knocking him off balance as Jongseong quickly uses it to his advantage.
He’s disoriented with how quickly Jongseong wraps around him; limbs tangled, arms around his neck in such a strong chokehold that Taehyun can already feel his head pounding. Is he gonna tap out? He can hear the commentators asking, forcing him to grit his teeth and throw punches at Jeongseong’s head and sides in an attempt to throw him off.
It seems to work; he’s somehow landed a punch directly to his nose, and the man behind him is stunted by the blow, his hold faltering and giving Taehyun the opening he needed to escape.
Quick to get up, Taehyun slowly catches his breath. Two minutes on the clock! He hears them yell. Jongseong has yet to get up, the blood dripping from his nose making his eyes widen in shock, watching as he struggles to stumble to his feet, still disoriented from the blow.
Jongseong’s eyes meet Taehyun’s; he’s tired, a panting mess and reflection of him as he slowly makes his way to Taehyun, stumbling slightly and heavy on his feet as he winces— an easy finish. For a second, Taehyun can feel himself relax, the tension in his body releasing as he watches Jongseong carefully.
Jongseong takes in Taehyun’s shift instantly— Taehyun is jumping back before he can process it, eyes widening at the way Jongseong aimed a right hook for him, the swing of his arm ripping through the air as he stumbles slightly from the lack of impact.
Then, he’s knocked back.
Taehyun can barely process the way his body moved with such acute precision, spinning and twisting just as you taught him as he lands with no problem, the feeling of him colliding right into Jongseong oddly instinctual; he watches as the man jolts from the impact, his body stiffening and his eyes rolling back as he can only fall from the impact to his body— to his head.
The sound of his body colliding against the floor is loud, Jongseong’s face blank as he simply lays there, eyelids flickering and mind swimming in and out of consciousness as the referee runs to him.
After a moment, the winner is declared.
Taehyun is unable to process anything— the sounds of the audience roaring, the feeling of his arm being thrust into the air, the sight of Jongseong lying on the ground still— he doesn’t process anything, eyes drifting around and looking for one thing like habit.
There you are, face alight with joy as you cheer furiously.
Taehyun laughs slightly— it’s a bit pained, and he winces at the feeling of his sore body, the referee finally letting go of his hand as he stumbles out towards the exit, and straight towards you, pulling his mouth guard out with a wince.
“You did it!” You grin, your voice clear as day, even through the bewildered chatter of the rest as you wave him over. “Fuck, you really did it!”
Taehyun thinks you might hit him again, like you always do; instead, he feels you grab his face, your own alight with euphoria as you tug him into you and crash your lips against his— he barely has enough time to process things before you’re pulling away, your expression sobering as you take in what you just did.
“Hey!” Yoongi calls out, attempting to weave through the crowd as you turn around to the source of the distraction, “Find Minho, make sure he doesn’t try to slip away!”
“Right,” you respond, turning back to look at Taehyun— he’s left frozen and bewildered as he looks at you, mouth slightly agape as you feel a heat rush to your face.
He attempts to call after you, but you’re slipping away before he can get you to stay.
He can still feel the ghost of your lips against his.
⊹⊹⊹
“You guys are insane,” Beomgyu huffs, laying back in his bed with a slight wince, “My mother would be mortified if she found out what you did to get this money.”
“It’s a shame we had to get it at all,” you say, glaring at Beomgyu and watching as he shrinks under your gaze, muttering a quiet sorry, sorry in response. Sighing, you shake your head, taking in Beomgyu’s condition with a smile, “you know, after all these expenses, I think we might just have a bit left over.”
“We could go on a trip,” Beomgyu says without hesitation, and you shake your head in amusement.
“Focus on getting better first,” you scold, smiling at the way Beomgyu lets out a yes ma’am! In response, “I need to go. Visiting hours are over.”
“I’m supposed to get discharged in two days, don’t forget me!” He calls out, and you choose to ignore it as you exit, stopping in your tracks as you close the door behind you softly.
The last thing you expected was to see Taehyun waiting for you, patched up and changed as he leaned against the wall.
“Hey,” you smile, albeit a bit awkward— he says nothing, and you clear your throat, nodding back to the room behind you nervously, “Visiting hours are over. Uhm, maybe come back tomorrow?”
“I’m not here to see him,” he says, raising a brow at the way you only send him a confused look, “I’m here to see you.”
“And what could you possibly want from me?” Your steps are brisk as you begin to walk back to the exit; Taehyun is just as quick behind you, trying to get your attention to no avail.
“What do you mean what could I possibly want? You’re not one to act stupid, noona,” he says, hot on your trail as you finally make it outside.
You know he’s right— and yet, you feel terribly awkward about it, refusing to look back at him as you begin to wonder where you could have parked, wandering around the quiet lot— you’re a few feet away from your car when Taehyun grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks and turning you around harshly, his eyes angry as he looks at you.
“You kissed me.”
“What?” You say, trying to shake his hold off as you look up at him with shining, innocent eyes, your right one twitching for a second, “What is this, some kind of adrenaline-induced hallucination? Don’t be weird.”
“Hallucination—” he’s in disbelief as he begins cornering you, your back pressing flat against the driver’s door as he practically towers over you, his free hand planted by your head and caging you in, “The way you felt against me felt very real.”
You gulp. This was weird— this was new, something that you definitely had not accounted for, because as you stare at Taehyun, his gaze intense and his face inches away from yours, you can’t help but feel your face heat up.
“It’s— it meant nothing,” you stutter out, heart pounding at the way he very clearly doesn’t believe you, “I wasn’t even thinking, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”
“It meant nothing?” He whispers, his voice low and breathy as he leans in even closer; your eyes are shutting from how close he is, able to feel his breath fan across your cheeks as he lets out a soft laugh, “If it meant nothing, then why have you been avoiding me?”
“I haven’t been—”
“I don’t appreciate you lying to me, noona.”
You’re silent. Your breaths are shaky, lips parted as you wait for him to say something.
After a second, his lips press against yours.
For a second, it’s gentle; unsure, waiting for you to pull away and tell him to leave you alone— instead, you let out a breathy sigh, your lips beginning to move against his.
The moment you reciprocate is the moment he loses control. His hands are coming up to your face, cupping your jaw tenderly and tilting your head up to him, his lips needy and messy as he pries your mouth open, tongue prodding at your mouth before he’s pulling away to sink his teeth into your soft lips— the pained whine you let out has his mind reeling.
You’re breathless and dazed by the time he finally pulls away— you think you can feel your knees go weak at the sight of a string of saliva connecting between the two of you, watching as he smiles at you cruelly, his gaze dark and hazed as his thumb runs across your bottom lip fondly.
“I won just for you,” he breathes out, eyes darkening from the way your tongue runs across the pad of his finger mindlessly.
“Don’t you think I deserve a reward for working so hard?”
⊹⊹⊹
Taehyun’s apartment is nice— well, at least you think. You didn’t really get a chance to get a good look at it.
However, you can confidently say that his bed is nice— you practically sink into the soft mattress, the once neatly done sheets beneath you now a mess from the way you’re squirming under Taehyun.
All he’s done is kiss you— yet, you feel so terribly fucked out and needy, unable to keep your hands off him for even a second, your fingers weaved into his hair and tugging as you feel him moan into your mouth.
“Even now you’re so fucking mean,” he hisses, feeling the way your nails rake down his back; leaving a red trail against his skin, his shirt discarded long ago as he currently worked to get you to do the same. “Shit, I just got out of a match, noona.”
“Shit, you’re right,” you pant, and Taehyun frowns above you as you begin to pull away, “poor baby is too hurt to fuck—”
“I didn’t say that,” he groans, and you’re surprised by the way he takes a hold of your shoulders and pushes you back down into the mattress firmly. He takes this moment to tug your shirt up, throwing it in some random direction before he’s smiling at the sight of you, “Fuck, you have such a smart mouth.”
“Guess it rubbed off,” you say, your words wavering pathetically mid-way, all from the feeling of Taehyun biting and sucking at your neck ruthlessly while his hands came up to feel your breasts, slipping under the fabric and circling your nipples teasingly.
“Yeah? I taught you that?” He asks, nipping at your skin and taking off your bra with swift hands, “Maybe I should teach you how to be good for me then.”
You’re unable to gather your thoughts and bite back— his mouth is sucking at your nipples messily, tongue making a show of it as he groans at the feeling and traces shapes on your skin, too focused on the messy teasing to notice the moment his hand slips past your waistband and cups your pussy.
“Fuck, you’re so sweet for me noona,” he sighs, middle finger running up and down your slit teasingly, feeling the way you practically soak through your panties, “This wet for me already?”
“Don’t let it get to your head,” you grumble, mouth falling open at the way he begins prodding your entrance teasingly, pushing into your hole then going to circle your clit slowly over the fabric.
Taehyun laughs. The way you refuse to submit to him isn’t surprising in the slightest, watching as you refuse to give him reactions with dark eyes, trained carefully onto your face as he feels you get wetter from his motions, taking in what works and what doesn’t simply from the way your face reacts— even if you try to hide it, much to his annoyance.
“What’s wrong noona? Don’t you feel good?” He asks you quietly, his hands already dragging your pants off agonizingly slowly, biting his lip to suppress the smile that threatens to break through, far too amused by this strong front you seem to put up, “I’ll do better then, don’t worry.”
Taehyun is sinking down to his stomach before you can process anything, hands running along your thighs teasingly before they’re hooking under your knees— lifting them up, pressing them against your stomach, able to look down at your glistening pussy with ease.
You’re scrambling to hold on to something the moment he gets his mouth on you— he’s pressing you into the mattress, willing to control the way your hips jump as he presses his tongue flat against your slit, drinking up your wetness and teasing the tip of his tongue along your fluttering hole. The moans you let out are pathetic and embarrassing, your face heating up as you begin to squirm the moment Taehyun wraps his lips around your clit, face buried in your pussy and hair soft tickling against your thighs as he eats you out.
The sounds are enough to make you cover your face— Taehyun is shameless as he eats you out, slurping and sucking and moaning against your cunt loudly— it’s almost as though he were doing it on purpose.
“Taehyun, Taehyun, fuuuck…!” You can’t control your mouth— the sound of his name coming from your lips is enough to make Taehyun moan more against your pussy, cock rutting into the mattress below him as he listens to the sounds you make intently, smiling against your cunt at the sight of you finally breaking under him.
You feel dizzy— the way Taehyun fucks you with his tongue has you whining stupidly, his hand leaving your leg and coming to circle your clit as he continues to fuck you— after a moment, he decides he’s had enough of your squirming under him, his hands reaching to cup your ass before he’s pulling you back into him; your legs are falling over his shoulders, and his face is pressed against your pussy as he grants you no escape.
His grip is bruising on your skin; your thighs close around his head, but he pays no mind to it as he continues to lick at your pussy, gathering your arousal on his tongue before he’s looking back up at you with innocent round eyes, showing it off to you and forcing you to watch as he lets it drip back onto your cunt.
It’s all so messy and overwhelming; you don’t even register the moment you cum on his tongue, your mind going blank and your body relaxing under his hold as he lets you ride out your orgasm, his tongue eager to lick up your release as he lets out soft hums against your cunt.
“Taehyun,” you whimper out weakly, fingers weaving into his hair and tugging at it in order to get him to stop his ministrations— you can hear him complaining to you softly as he refuses to give in, the soft whine of his name only making him want to give you another orgasm— you have to tug harder on his hair to pull him from you, his lips and chin shining with your arousal as he smiles coyly at your reaction; his tongue darts out to lick his lips, wiping at his chin before he’s coming back up to hover over you.
“What happened baby? Just wanted to make you feel good,” He tuts softly, grinning at the way you struggle to come down from your bliss. You don’t seem to realize the moment he’s become completely bare, the feeling of his cock poking at your inner thighs making your snap back to reality, feeling the tip smudge his precum all over your skin as he leans down to kiss you; it’s slow and messy, and he’s eager to push you lips apart and allow you to taste yourself, cradling your jaw as you feel him smile against your lips.
“Why don’t you be quiet for a second? I like you more that way.” the way he frowns at your words has you breaking out into a teasing smile, running your fingers through his hair as you laugh softly— though it quickly falters the moment you feel him rubbing against your slit, his tip running up and down and catching on your clit as your body jolts from the sensation.
“Noona, do you hate me?” He pouts at you, watching as you fail to formulate proper words from the way his tip prods at your entrance, teasingly beginning to stretch you before he pulls out. This continues for a moment, and it’s clear he’s waiting for a response you clearly refuse to give him; frowning, he continues his motions, slowly rutting against your pussy as he looks down at you with sharp eyes, watching as you whine at him to stop teasing— he shakes his head, telling you to answer him, his voice sharp and low as he tightens his grip on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that has you stuttering your response out weakly.
“N—no.”
“Then why are you so mean to me?” He continues, tilting his head as he finally pushes the tip in; he watches your expression carefully, drinking up the way your brows furrow and your eyes become glossy.
“I… your reactions are cute,” you admit, clenching around Taehyun tightly and watching the way he hisses at the feeling.
“Yeah? They’re cute?” He repeats, straightening up and kneeling as he looks down at you. Your fucked out expression could make Taehyun come on the spot, but instead he grabs a hold of your waist, settling in between your legs and pulling you in close to him.
He’s inside you with one swift push; the yelp you let out is embarrassing and you’re quickly slapping a hand over your mouth, eyes fluttering at the sensation of Taehyun fully inside you, thick and twitching wildly. Taehyun takes your hand away immediately; his fingers are lacing with yours, and he’s smiling sweetly as he looks down at you.
“I think your reactions are cute too,” he’s moving after that, his thrusts slow and deep as he waits for you to adjust to his size. You’re holding tightly onto him as moans and whines fall from you, the sounds only fueling Taehyun further as he slowly begins to fuck you faster.
“Feels nice, noona?” He groans, eyes trained on the way your tits bounce with his every thrust. The way you refuse to admit to him how good he’s making you feel has him rolling his eyes, letting go of your hand and gripping your hips before he’s bringing you back into him, bottoming out and rolling his hips slowly into your cunt as he feels the way you tighten around him, his cock taking in every flutter of your walls around him as he lets out pleased sighs.
“What, too embarrassed to admit that it’s me making you feel good?” He asks, biting his lip as he concentrates on not coming too soon from the way you squeeze him, “You didn’t seem embarrassed when you kissed me in front of all those people earlier.”
“It was in the heat of the moment…” you answer back pitifully, unable to hide the way you can barely speak from the way he fucks you.
“Hmm, okay. If you say so,” he hums, and you’re not given room to fight back as he goes back to fucking you— careless, pulling you back into him, enjoying your sounds with a wicked smile, unable to take his eyes off you for a moment.
The moment his hand slips to rub circles on your clit, you feel your mind go blank— the sounds you make has Taehyun cursing under his breath, the feeling of your walls clenching around him and sucking him in driving him mad as he gets a hold of your thighs, pressing them against your body and putting you into a mating press as he continues to fuck you.
“Tae— Taehyun, ah, please,” you whine out, left defenseless to the way his hips slam against yours, losing his pace and letting out soft groans as he feels himself coming at the sound of your whines of his name— his cum is barely able to stay inside with the way he continues fucking you, cock rutting into your sensitive pussy as you whine at him to slow down.
“Wanna see you do that again,” he mumbles, eyes flicking up to gauge your expression, “Like, a few more times.”
Your pussy tightens around him in response, and he has to bite his lip to suppress the moan that bubbled up his throat. After a second, he’s slowly fucking you again, feeling his cock harden inside you from the sight of his cum escaping you with every thrust.
You don’t know how many times he makes you cum after that— you might’ve blacked out halfway through, Taehyun’s obsession with making you come undone leaving you filled with cum and undeniably sore— he’s insatiable, leaving you a mess under him as you let him use you how he’d like, manhandling you into all sorts of positions as he continues to groan about how good you feel, reassuring you just one more, with your every whine, yet lying each time.
You’re only able to think straight once you’ve found yourself pulled into Taehyun’s chest— the rise and fall of your bodies is relaxing, and you don’t even remember Taehyun cleaning the both of you up as you lie under his covers, the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around you very much welcomed.
“So, did this also mean nothing to you?” Taehyun mumbles into the crown of your head, nuzzling into your scent as he struggles to stay awake.
“No. This definitely meant something,” you say, equally as tired as you burrow further into the warmth of his chest. You can hear the deep rumble of his chuckles above you, his hands running across your back soothingly as he speaks.
“And what did it mean?”
A pause. You think you both know what it means, but you won’t give him the satisfaction as you nip at his skin teasingly.
“Means you’re okay, I guess.”
You refuse to admit that Taehyun has you wrapped around his finger— though it’s definitely reciprocated by the way Taehyun laughs at your comment, pulling you in even closer still and cooing jokingly that you looove me, hmm?
God, even now, he was insufferable.
But you kinda liked that about him.
#txt fanfic#txt fanfiction#txt imagines#txt oneshots#txt ff#txt angst#txt fluff#taehyun x reader#taehyun x you#taehyun x y/n#taehyun ff#taehyun imagines#taehyun oneshot#txt smut#txt hard hours#txt hard thoughts#taehyun smut
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A Seams Christmas special oneshot | Moodboard
{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: T
Summary: Joel swings by yours with a little something before Christmas dinner at Tommy and Maria's.
Warnings: Unapologetic fluff and softness, inspired by this ask from @casssiopeia from the beginning of the year, no use of Y/N, very lightly edited
Word count: 2k
Notes: I'm so proud of writing up this little drabble. I've been in such a weird place with my writing, I'm just happy to end the year on a creative high. Obviously, I'm a few days late to Christmas, but better late than never!
There is a voice in my head telling me that this isn't good enough, that it doesn't hold up to what I was writing earlier this year. But I need to rewire my brain. There is no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to fanfiction. All fanfiction is good fanfiction. This is our hobby, not our jobs, and we need to be kind to ourselves.
I am posting this at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve. Happy new year y'all, I hope Joel and Pin can bring you some festive cheer ❤️
Joel is this close to have a fucking breakdown.
He would measure out how close this is between his thumb and index finger if they were not currently tangled in webs of yarn, rapidly unravelling from from the bottom of what is supposed to be a sweater.
Your sweater.
The book that Lucy lent him months ago lies on the table before him, the pages yellowed and dogeared, open at the the easiest pattern of the lot to knit - a simple pullover in chunky yarn, in your favourite colour.
Well, it was supposed to be easy, anyway.
Despite Lucy basically holding his hand throughout the whole project, he’s had far less time than anticipated to work on it. Too many nights he finds himself at Tommy and Maria’s, elbow deep in dirty baby’s clothes and diapers, making himself useful for whatever needs to be done around the house.
Even Ellie chips in without being asked, often bringing back food from the canteen and making sure the severely sleep-deprived adults are eating, if not well fed. Joel honestly doesn’t remember how he did it with Sarah as a clueless twenty-something, with an even more clueless younger brother.
As he attempts to free himself from the quagmire of wool, he grimaces at the stiffness all over his body, feeling it especially in his back after sleeping in an armchair all night with a rapidly growing two-month old.
He’s too old for this shit - but there’s no saying no to the little rascal with Tommy’s nose and Maria’s eyes.
The knitting needles clatter to the floor when he jumps at the front door opening and slamming shut, a frustrated fuuuuuuck slipping past his gritted teeth.
Ellie’s voice rings out loud and clear as she scampers up the stairs, getting progressively louder until she’s outside his study. ‘Hey! Did you remember to put the potatoes in the oven? We have to leave for Tommy’s in an hour - dude, what the fuck is happening?’
‘What do you think is happenin’?’ he growls.
Crossing her arms, Ellie leans against the doorframe wearing a far too amused expression. ‘Maria said no gifts.’
Joel rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not for Maria.’
The teenager squints, perplexed, at the bits of wool in his hands. ‘What is that meant to be?’
‘... A sweater.’
Ellie bites her bottom lip, holding in a poorly concealed giggle. ‘I think a sweater is meant to have sleeves.’
‘You think?’
‘Want me to go get Lucy?’
With a heavy sigh, he mutters, ‘Fine.’
At the arch of her half-eyebrow, Joel adds begrudgingly, ‘Please.’
Ellie grins, sneakers skidding on the floorboards as she takes off. ‘Hang in there, old man!’
Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty, sticking to the kraft paper wrapped haphazardly around the even more haphazard package clutched tightly in his right hand.
The night air mists before him in puffs of white as he shuffles a path through the falling snow. His ears are tingling from the cold, and flexing the stiff, frozen tips of his fingers, Joel knows he should’ve worn his gloves. They weren’t in their usual place by the door though, and he was so frazzled that he barely got his shoes tied up before dashing out the door, sending Ellie ahead with the potatoes (that are definitely undercooked) to his brother’s.
Your cottage glows yellow and orange in the darkness, and your stairs no longer creak when he trudges up them, having fixed them just in time before the first snowfall.
He hears your footsteps come from deep within this house when he knocks. Your eyes are wide when your door cracks open tentatively, but then your lips curve into a smile - the smile that he takes with him and keeps him warm when he has to leave Jackson for days-long patrols.
‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, ushering him inside, not batting an eye at the snow he tracks inside. ‘I thought we were meeting at Maria’s.’
Pressing a kiss to your lips, he softens at the way you lift your face towards him to catch it, careful to keep the parcel out of sight behind his back. ‘Yeah, we were, but thought I’d see if you need a hand with anythin’.’
‘Such a gentleman,’ you tease.
A low fire burns in the hearth, the wood he chopped for you in the fall stacked in a tidy pile next to the mantelpiece. Sweeping his eyes across the living space, he spots the book with the cracked spine that he reads when he’s here on the coffee table, next to yours. On the other side of the couch is the Christmas tree that he cut for you, and he watched you dress it up in tinsel and fairylights one night after a quiet dinner and before hot cocoa under thick blankets.
He likes seeing himself at your home. In the things he does for you; in his things, casually scattered around - like they belong in your space.
‘The pies are in the kitchen, could you please put them in a bag?’ you ask. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’
‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he answers, waiting until you’ve disappeared into the bedroom before setting down the present under the tree.
He’s leaning against the back of the couch when you pop back in, a few layers deeper than when you left him, the pies nestled safely in a carrier bag by his boots.
‘Shall we?’ you ask brightly.
Joel hesitates, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to tell you about the present. It only takes his eyes darting to the foot of the tree for the briefest moment for you to catch on. The slow smile that stretches your cheeks and lights up your eyes warms him from the inside out.
You cock your head to one side, playing coy. ‘What’s that, Joel?’
He shrugs, feigning cool. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and find out?’
His chest physically swells at the way you dash towards the tree, landing on your knees in uncharacteristic recklessness, the impact only softened by the rug underneath. You cradle the lumpy package to your chest like something precious. ‘You got me a present.’
He settles on the end of the couch next to you, his heart beating harder in his ribcage than he’d like to admit. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.’
You frown at him. ‘Why?’
‘You’ll see, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.’
You open the package carefully, as if it was wrapped in the fancy paper people used to buy at the shop. Joel holds his breath when you peel it away to reveal what’s inside.
He’s far too inside his own head to hear your inhale that sounds a lot like wonder. You pick up the sweater gently, shaking it out, and Joel winces when he sees it in the flicker of the firelight.
Disastrous doesn’t begin to cover it. Lucy managed to connect the sleeves to the shapeless body in a last-ditch salvage attempt, but one is clearly longer than the other. The stitches are untidy, some have obviously caught onto something and pulled loose. Rough around the edges is putting it kindly.
Joel wants to reach out, grab it, chuck it into the fire and let the flames swallow it whole.
Finally, the silence gets the better of him, and he blurts out. ‘I’m sorry.’
You stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’
Under his whiskers, his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he rambles, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. You deserve better sweetheart, here, let me -’
You almost lose your balance keeping the sweater out of his reach. ‘Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.’
Confused, he watches you rise to your feet, shucking your outer coat and another layer. ‘What are you doin’?’
Grabbing the sweater, you slide it over your head and thread your arms through the sleeves. The soft knit drapes over your curves, too big over your shoulders and the hem falling unevenly, higher on the right side than the left. One sleeve is long enough to cover half your hand, while the other sits right on the wrist.
And yet.
You’re beaming like you just picked up something at Bloomin’dales or whatever the fuck those department stores were called back then.
‘I love it,’ you declare, no trace of irony in your voice, as hard as he’s trying to find it.
He scoffs in disbelief. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, you’re just sayin’ it -’
You surprise him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him towards you to plant a firm kiss on his lips.
‘I love it,’ you repeat slowly, with conviction, as if willing him to believe you. ‘Thank you.’
He doesn’t quite still, but he smiles and kisses you back. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’
‘Since we’re doing this -’ you trail off, sliding out of his grip to reach around the back of the tree, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you.’
Joel pauses.
For him.
For the longest time, nothing had been for him unless it was soul-crushing grief and pain.
And yet here it is - his name on the tag written in your neat handwriting. Something he can hold in his hands. For him.
His fingers tremble when he reaches out. The package is soft, and the paper crackles under his grip. He all but tears it open, uncaring of the way the wrapping falls to the floor.
A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and you look relieved at his reaction. ‘You like it?’
It’s not quite a Santa hat. It’s a chunky dark red beanie with a white brim folded back, and topped with a white pompom.
‘My ears were so cold walkin’ over. It’s perfect,’ he says, pulling it over the crown of his head. Of course, it fits just right, sliding soft and warm over his ears. He adds with a wink, ‘Y’know what, I might just shimmy down some chimneys after dinner.’
‘As long as you shimmy down mine too,’ you retort, not hearing the euphemism.
Joel quirks an eyebrow at that, one large palm squeezing your backside through the layers. ‘That an open invitation, sweetheart?’
You duck your head, more out of habit than actual shyness, with mischief in your smile. ‘Don’t be so crude, Joel Miller.’
Adjusting his new hat so that it sits comfortably, he points at the pompom and jokes, ‘Shame I can’t wear this on patrols.’
Right on cue, you hold up a finger. ‘Funny you should say that.’
He chuckles when you pull out a second, plain black beanie, as if out of thin air. ‘You really thought of everythin’, sweetheart.’
You shrug playfully. ‘I’m smart like that.’
‘I know you are,’ he smiles.
‘Merry Christmas, Joel.’
His lips find yours again in a slow, lingering kiss that has you leaning into him for more when he pulls back. ‘Thank you. For everythin’.’
You hold his gaze - heavy with meaning, light with joy. It wouldn’t take more than a tilt of the head towards the bedroom to derail your evening plans, and you both know it.
In the end, you’re the one who stays strong. Taking one step back from his warmth, you reach for your coat. ‘We’re late, we should go.’
His eyes widen. ‘Wait - you’re not wearin’ that to dinner are you?’
‘Of course I am,’ you say, buttoning up your coat over the sweater.
‘You don’t have to, sweetheart,’ he almost pleads with you.
You grin, heading for the door, blowing out candles as you go. ‘Too bad, I’m never taking it off.’
Joel shakes his head with a wry huff. ‘Well, I hope not never -’
You have one foot out the door when you suddenly remember. ‘I almost forgot - you left your gloves here last time. They’re in the cupboard by the door.’
Ah, that’s where they went. He opens the drawer and pulls them on, one after the other, the leather, worn smooth with age, creaking as he wraps his fingers around the handles of the carrier bag.
Joel is about to follow you out the door when he pauses over the threshold. Glancing down at the black beanie in his grasp, he reaches up and hooks it on the coat rack, nestled among your clothes.
He hopes that when the time comes for him to wear it for the first time - maybe on a patrol that will take him away from you for a few days - it will smell like you.
Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics ❄️
More notes: I hope I will return to the main series in the new year. I've missed these two lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude! ❤️
#fuckyeahseams#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fluff#joel miller fic#joel imagine#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem!reader#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfiction#goodbye 2023
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★彡 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄.
❝𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐦 𝐈 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮?❞
SUMMARY. redamancy is a love returned in full — except you express that by staring at your lover like a madman.
CHARACTERS. xiao, venti, kazuha, heizou, zhongli, albedo, gorou, itto, scaramouche, ayato, childe, diluc, thoma, kaeya.
GENRE. cotton candy fluff, little bits of crack, teeny tiny angst in kaeya's part, established relationship.
CW. use of pet names.
THOUGHTS. weewoo, my first multi post! i may have screamed, kicked my feet in the air, and sobbed while writing this and i hope you do too <3 /pos
☆ masterlist.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─
XIAO turns his face away nervously. You are silent, yet your gaze speaks many volumes; volumes that he is unable to comprehend properly. What exactly should an Adeptus say to such peculiar manner of staring? Xiao clears his throat, "If you have words to spare, then spit them out." Bold words for someone with reddening cheeks.
VENTI grins as if he had caught a thief red-handed. "Is it me or is someone awfully shameless today, hm?" Although it is clear as day that you're not even trying to hide it, this bard sees the opportunity to tease you and he takes it in stride. As a performer, Venti is used to having eyes on him — but to receive such attention from his beloved is so much sweeter, is it not?
KAZUHA returns your gaze with an even softer one. He asks, "Is something wrong, my love?" What started out as a way to express your adoration for his beauty turns into a mutual contest. Kazuha's eyes are a beautiful scarlet red, you know that — but why is it so hard to acknowledge when he's staring right back at you? But in his defense, he is but a humble man returning the favor and using it as an excuse to adore you.
HEIZOU pretends to poke your eyes. "Ah-ah, where's your permission to stare?" A cheeky one, indeed. Heizou hovers two fingers in front of your eyes as if poised to poke on command. With the way his smile is almost reaching his ears, it's so difficult to take him seriously — and it doubles by tenfold when Heizou dives in for a kiss. His giggles tap against your lips, "There you go, permission granted." Great, just awesome; now, you feel like poking his pretty olive eyes instead.
ZHONGLI is unmoving yet knowing all the same. No, he is not oblivious, not in the slightest. In fact, he knows you are staring at him. Zhongli usually doesn't mind being gawked at; yet as he takes a sip of his tea, he can't help but chuckle, "You can look until you've had enough, but don't let the tea get cold now." Your eager gaze that is almost akin to a stupefied child is more amusing than he thought, it seems.
ALBEDO wonders what is running through your mind. As if his thoughts have morphed into crystalflies that leave a trail of epiphany in their wake, you exhale a cold breath and two words for him, "You're beautiful." Albedo realizes that maybe, his metaphor might've been off the mark; because no longer are the crystalflies taking flight in the air, they are here in his chest like fluttering butterflies at the sight of your smile.
GOROU blinks in confusion. Deciphering has never been his best suit, so when Gorou finds you staring at him without a word, his first instinct is to assume the worst. His ears droop down almost instantly, "W-what's wrong?" The genuine fear on Gorou's face makes you panic and he swears he never relished in relief like ever before after you explain. No, he's not mad — he just can't help but sulk, just a little. Ahem, please don't scare him like that again.
ITTO pats himself in accomplishment. "Are you staring because I look extra, super duper handsome today? Ohoho!" Was it the new shampoo? Mouthwash? Eyeliners? His pearly white teeth? The comb he exchanged for snacks yesterday?! He sounds obsessed but hey, he wants to look good for you — and if you're staring at him like that, it means his efforts aren't in vain! How silly though, you've always been staring at him like this; Itto was just too immersed in his beetle fights to notice.
SCARAMOUCHE flicks your forehead. You get two privileges, though; a forehead flick and a somewhat gentle one at that. He doesn't just flick anybody's forehead, you're special (or whatever). Scaramouche huffs, "Got a staring problem? Your eyes look like they're gonna pop out." But you don't mind, you'd gladly pick them up just to stare at him again. "Ugh, weirdo," he rolls his eyes but he's actually smiling, so who's the weirdo here?
AYATO only hums in acknowledgment. "Is this angle good enough for your liking, dearest?" He says that so casually. As a man who has etiquette engrained into him since young, you partially expect him to reprimand you. It's common knowledge that staring is improper in public, after all — but that's exactly it; right now, he isn't the public figure, Kamisato Ayato but simply a man with his beloved. How ironic would it be to reprimand the very person who gives him a sense of normalcy? Besides, you're adorable, so he's not complaining one bit.
CHILDE tilts his head questioningly at first but plays along. He searches your eyes; is this a prank or are you angry? The corners of his lips crook into a grin, there's a playful agenda in his mind. "Are we doing a staring contest? If I win, will you give me a kiss?" His jokes are just a way of his to get a reaction from you. But when it fails, Tartaglia's grin quite literally drops, "Wait, are you actually upset? [Y/N], what did I do—" And he won't stop pestering you with a whine until you explain.
DILUC lowers his head into a bow. He mutters quietly, "I'm sorry." Straightforward words, but the thing is does he even know what he's apologizing for? Actually, why is he apologizing? Diluc looks so meek underneath your gaze, you wonder how he'd react if you tell him that you're merely staring because you can't look away? Simple, he wouldn't know how to; so, he'd fake a cough to hide his face or more specifically, the shades similar to his hair blooming on it.
THOMA frowns with concern. "Do you need something, my love?" His hand is warm as he cups the side of your cheek as a giving touch of comfort. Are you staring at him to get his attention? Has something been bothering you? Worried questions begin to fill Thoma's mind — of course, your well-being is what comes to mind first, not the thought of you admiring him for no reason. "Ah, you're such a tease. You scared me there," he pinches your nose; that's a Thoma-like way to get revenge, alright.
KAEYA leans in closer. He does so with no hesitance, no warning whatsoever and you lean back with a squeak. Kaeya chuckles to his heart's content with a cheeky jest, "Why, I thought that was an invitation?" But beneath the desire to fluster you, lies an odd sense of contentment; knowing that you stare at him with such a loving gaze. "Thank you," two words that seem so out of place, but Kaeya wants to say them anyway.
— © seelestia, july 2022. do not repost, plagiarize, translate nor claim as your own.
#genshin impact#genshin#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x you#genshin impact x you#genshin fluff#genshin scenarios#genshin imagines#genshin headcanons#xiao x reader#venti x reader#kazuha x reader#heizou x reader#zhongli x reader#albedo x reader#itto x reader#gorou x reader#scaramouche x reader#kamisato ayato x reader#diluc x reader#thoma x reader#kaeya x reader#seelestial.inks
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I cant edit my draft on the og ask :(((
cw: cis fem reader, mild pet play
"Sero told me what you said."
You have a tipsy sway in your walk, those sky high heels teetering against your kitchen linoleum. Your drinks have been replaced with water and your make up has been smudged, but Denki thinks you look hotter than ever, lit by the warm lighting of your own home. You place a hand on his shoulder and lean in, eyes never leaving his.
"You wanna fuck me so bad, don't you?" Your eyes are dark with want. Glitter atill clings to your cheeks. "Come on, don't you?"
Sero's down the hall and in the shower, rinsing off the night. He was gracious enough to let Denki sleep on the couch and now that same man is pressed up against his girlfriend. Guilt racks through the blonde's chest as he watches the hallway, waiting to be caught.
You see where he's looking and laugh. "Don't worry. Sero said I can keep you."
Your fingers loop under to strap of your dress and pull it down over your shoulder. The curve of your chest strains against the fabric, pressing your cleavage even higher than before.
"You just have to admit you want me."
Denki can't find the words, as simple as they are. He just acts. He's gripping for your dress, both hoping to pull it down and inch it up, trying to slide his knee between your thighs-
But your hand against his forehead locks him inches from you.
"Bark for it," you say, those pretty lips tugged into a shit eating grin.
"What?"
"Bark like a dog." You repeat it like it's nothing, "And I'll give you a treat."
Denki hesitates. His heart is thrumming in his chest-- so hard that he can feel it in his cock. His whole body is vibrating for you and whatever you'll give him.
"Uh, woof?" he tries. It's embarrassing, but he almost... likes that.
"Like you mean it.'
The blonde clears his throat, then tries again, deeper, more serious this time. It resonates a bit in his lungs, thrums in parts of his body he hadn't been aware could vibrate.
"Aw, good job, puppy," you coo, "Now get on your knees."
Denki had always considered himself a slut. He was the master of his own sexuality, driven by his own desires and wants, but something in his brain goes pink as he obeys. The leash is in your hands as he kneels, chin tilted to watch you as you gather your dress up and expose your panties. They are nude and full coverage, but the way they hug the curve of you labia makes Denki's cock kick out of pure need.
"Can you smell how wet I am?" You spread your legs slightly as you lean against the kitchen counter, steadying yourself on your elbows.
Denki walks forward on to his hands until he can feel the heat of your cunt against his lips. He can practically taste you, the musk and the sweet and the salt all clinging to the air. He can see the damp stop in your crotch from this angle: either your excitement or Sero's cum from earlier. Without a thought, he buries himself in the plush of your thighs and sucks. Your body tenses and curls at the pressure, a moan punched from your chest, but all Denki can think is how he can definitely taste his best friend's cum on your pussy-
and how much he likes that.
"Oh, good dog." Your fingers curl into his hair and pull his mouth deeper. "Good fucking dog."
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Make Me Yours
Oscar Piastri x Reader
Genre: chaotic smut (I'm a slut for this man)
Summary: Daniel mentions something to Oscar and he takes a shot in the dark.
Warnings: KNIFE PLAY, blood, intensive aftercare, Max and Daniel being big brothers, Oscar is a dork and we love him for it, enemies to lovers if you squint, soft dom Oscar, Reader is a mess for Oscar and he loves it.
Notes: This was an anonymous request! I hope you like it!! Please remember to communicate and take care of yourselves if you engage in a kink like this!! Reader is a Redbull rookie which I know is ridiculous but it's fiction.
Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi
She wouldn't say her sex life is vanilla. Definitely the opposite, actually. Most people would look at Oscar and assume he is the most boring human on the planet.
They are all wrong.
Most the drivers, including herself, teased him about how he knows two positions maximum. He'd gotten fed up with it and showed her exactly why everyone is wrong.
Turns out pent up tension from being rivals from F3 and F2 leads to these situations. The situation being mind-blowing sex with the one guy who you didn't want to admit feelings for.
Formula 1 is an unforgiving world. She didn't need feelings getting in the way. Until Oscar came along and ruined it all.
Until that night, at least. Now they are stuck together like glue. It drives Max and Daniel insane with how much he's around the Redbul garage.
She tried to use the 'best friends' excuse until Daniel caught them in her driver's room.
"It's always the rookies."
That being said, her problem isn't the sex, or Oscar, or her relationship at all. The problem is how to bring up something she would like to try.
Both of them like trying new things and have been very clear on boundaries and keep open communication about the subject. He's never judged her for anything she's brought up. So why can't she just ask him?
"Something on your mind?" Daniel appears from thin air, and she slams her phone down out of view. She prays he didn't see the pictures of the silver blades and thinks she a psycho.
"Nope," she squeaks. A terrible recovery on her end.
"Watching porn? Looking at Mr. Piartri's nudes? Come one, you can tell me!"
Max pokes his head out from around the corner. "Are we talking about sex?" Here she thought the secluded space would be far away enough for them to come bother her. Then again, Daniel could help her out. He's good at talking to people.
"Pretty sure you and Charles talked about it last night." She quips without looking at him.
She's blushing and embarrassed. Her brain is yelling at her to run as far away as possible before she does something stupid-
"Hey Daniel, you know about sex stuff right?" Wow, that doesn't sound awkward at all.
"Yes?" He quirks his eyebrow at her. "But if you're looking for a threesome I'm going to have to decline. For now, at least," he winks.
She chokes at the notion. She's going to explode at this rate. Time to bail out. "Never mind, it's not that, but it's dumb."
Max appears fully in her line of sight. "You can't leave us hanging now! Oscar not performing well anymore?" His expression suddenly goes dark. "Or if he hurt you, I won't hesitate to send him into the barriers."
"No! no, it's not him it's me. I don't know how to ask him about something."
Both the males soften. It eases the anxiety a tiny bit, but she'd still rather not be here.
"Hmm, can I ask what it is?"
"A kink," she whispers away from him.
Daniel hears it anyway. "Yours or his?"
"Mine."
Daniel, now seeing he's not going to get anywhere like this, tries a new approach. "Look, this is a no judgment zone, right? Max talks about Charles and their sex life any chance he gets. I am an open book. No laughing or cringing, okay?"
It still feels weird having this conversation. But Daniel isn't going to let it sit now. Curse her impulsive mouth. "Knives. I want him to use a knife on me."
~~~~~
Oscar is sitting in wait around the Redbull motorhome. His girlfriend had said she'd meet him out here and he hasn't seen her all day, so he came early.
Media days are usually difficult for her. The journalists manage to find some new sexist thing to point out every race weekend. It drives all the drivers insane. They can't just let it go and move on to something new.
"Hiya mate!" Daniel appears around the corner and Oscar manages (just barely) to not jump out of his skin. "You waiting for your girl?"
"Yeah, I'm early though. Do I need to go?"
"Nah, you're fine." Daniel throws him a grin. "I'm curious how you keep the marks on her hidden. Been wondering for a while now."
Oscar blinks. His brain is trying to process the last Statement. "You mean... like a hickey?"
"No! The scars." Daniel looks like he's just said the most obvious thing. Oscar is still trying to remain neutral in what is definitely an odd conversation.
Scars? What scars is he talking about? "I-"
"Don't tell me you don't see it! That girl totally has some kind of knife kink."
Knife kink?! Where is this coming from? He tries to think back to any hint of it on her end. It's not like he's opposed to trying new things and he wouldn't be shocked if she felt weird about bringing it up.
"I'd ask her about it mate." Daniel winks and disappears into the crowd of people.
Oscar tries not to think too hard on it. It's just a weird comment made by Daniel in passing.
At least, that's what it started as.
Oscar then finds himself doing research on it. A deep rabbit hole that now occupies far too much space in his brain.
The idea of her permanently some kind of mark he puts there drives him wild. Which is odd, because it hasn't before. A visible hickey every now and then does the trick. Satisfies him when they go out places.
After the first 'I don't see your boyfriend,' he started putting one on her collar bone. Not visible unless she deems it so amd fresh enough to ward off any suspicious characters.
Curse Daniel for giving him this stupid idea. Something more permanent than a hickey sounds appealing.
If it were up to him, he'd keep her in his pocket. It's funny, really, how she thought he didn't know about her feelings. Oscar had played the game for two years. Then he couldn't take it anymore and he snapped.
Yes, she's snarky and moody, and as picky as Lando, until you get past the hard exterior and see she's all soft and squishy. Most of the time, anyway.
He asks her about it after Silverstone. He's coming down off his high and drunk on the adrenaline paired with a shot of success. The confidence boost is really what he needs to put the idea out there. As outrageous as it seems, Daniel might have a point.
"I was thinking about something." He starts off with. She flops onto her bed. Not his since Lando manages to get into his room at the worst times.
"Something good I hope?"
"Depends." Oscar adjusts their position so he can cradle her. The way she snuggles into him like an affectionate cat makes him melt. "It's kinky."
"The best kind of thoughts to have!" She taps his nose with her index finger to accentuate each word.
Oscar steels himself for the possible outcomes. "What if we tried knives."
There is an unmatched look of pure shock on her face. Oscar is prepared to reassure that she doesn't have to, until he notices the glint.
"Yes! I mean - yeah, we should give it a try."
Huh, so Daniel was right. Oscar will have to thank him later for the tip. "We need to talk about it first. I'm thinking either talk now and do it or we save it for a later date."
"How about we talk now, then see?"
"Sounds lovely."
~~~~~
The more Oscar talks, the more she wants it. It's ridiculous what he does to her with merely his voice. Or maybe it's the constant regard for her wants, needs, and safety.
Yeah, it's true what they say: consent really is sexy.
"Love? Did you hear what I was saying?" His voice has they soft mellowness about it that calms the raging see of her emotions.
"No..."
"Stay with me, yeah? I'll put this off if you aren't coherent enough to truly consent to anything." Yep, sexy. No doubt about it.
"I'm here, promise! Just got distracting... thinking."
"About?"
She waits a beat to see if he's willing g to drop it. He makes no indication he'll be moving on, however, making her forced to answer. "Your voice..."
She is going to combust at this rate. It's embarrassing how wrecked she is already. Oscar hasn't even touched her, but the sight of him with the glinting silver blade in his hands has her going feral. The crazy eyed, drooling kind that makes her seem like she should be locked up.
The fact Oscar spent over two hours in discussion and has research to back up every point her makes drivers her wild. She would happily spend the rest of her life with him even after a measly two years together.
He's ruined her. Oscar has made it so she will never be able to leave. So what if she's dramatic? Can you really blame her when she has Oscar Piastri standing in front of her looking ready to devour her?
Oscar takes his time. It's slow and gentle kisses, nimble fingers finding their way around the canvas he knows so well. "Fucking hell you're gorgeous."
She takes a mental note of the way she's in no clothes and he's got all his own. It's unfair and she tugs at his sleeve to signal she wants it off. Oscar complies and pulls the fabric off.
He goes back to licking his way around the inside of her mouth. Her hands relax around his body, taking comfort in the warmth and closeness of the skin-on-skin contact.
His fingers slip through her folds and like muscle memory locate her clit. It's pathetic the sounds he's getting her to make. Specifically, while holding the pocketknife, unopened, in his free hand.
"So pretty for me love. I would cut you up and put you in my pocket if I could. Carry your cute ass around with me like a good luck charm."
She's so far down the rabbit hole of her favorite headspace. Oscar's words are just swimming around her, until the sound of the black clicking open pulls her back into reality.
He presses the flat part of the blade against her arm. The cold of the metal sends a shiver running down her spine.
Oscar is looking deep in the eyes, mapping out every emotion and physical reaction she's having to the sensation. "Color?"
"Green, very green, the brightest of greens-" Oscar shuts her up with a kiss to her temple. It's gentle and meaningful. Enough to turn her right into a blushing mess.
Oscar checks in frequently every time the blade moves. The masochist is jumping for joy when the tip barely rests against her shoulder blade. "Are you ready? Want me to mark you? Shall I make you bleed for me?"
"Please," She whines.
"Keep your eyes on me yeah? You say red and I stop."
She signals that she understands and would like to continue. Oscar traces the line he wants to make.
She hisses when the knife presses downwards. Oscar panics, but he watches her eyes roll back and knows to continue. "Eyes on me, love. I want to see how pretty you look."
The cold stinging sensation makes her whimper in pain and moan in ecstasy all at the same time. He's still talking to her. Voice still calm and gentle. He's watching her intently, tracking every shift until he's done.
He keeps a hand on her to let her know he's still present as he tucks the, now closed knife, safely onto the bedside table. Despite looking so composed to everyone else, she notices the small thing about Oscar's shift in demeanor. Like how his pupils are staring at her, just the slightest bit tinged with the desire tor take her in the next ten seconds.
He resists and makes sure she is ready for that first. "Color?"
She slurs through an ungodly number of praises and words resembling 'green'. Oscar basks in it. He sits and caresses her skin as he watches the cut to make sure he really did go light enough.
Small beads of red appear at the surface, but not enough that he's concerned with first aid at the Moment. He breathes a sigh of relief.
"Osc? Are you still green?"
Oscar softens again. "Yeah, I'm green, just taking in the sight and - happy I didn't stab you." He's breathless and panting. His jeans straining and her hands aching to get her hands on him.
There is so much love and kindness leading up to him finally getting inside of her. The towel underneath her shoulder catches the run-off red. It falls away with every thrust of his hips and rock of her body.
They hit the edge to quickly. Falling over it in white hot pleasure and moans of joy.
"You're such a good girl for me. You did such a good job." Oscar whispers in her ear as he wipes the cut with disinfectant.
Oscar carries her blissed out body to the bathroom and lets her look at the wound before bandaging it. A perfect heart now rests on the peak of her shoulder. Not massive, but enough to be seen without looking to close.
"I love it."
"Yeah? You ready to bandage it?"
"Do we have to?"
She doesn't get her way. Oscar bandages the heart and gets them cleaned up. Then it's water and snacks in bed.
"I never thought you'd be into it."
"I wasn't until Daniel brought it up."
Her entire being stills. Maybe even goes pale and Oscar looks at her in confused worry.
"I might have asked him for advice on how to ask you... about this."
Once again, his face softens. "You know you never have to be afraid of asking me." A gentle smile appears on his face. "I do think we'll have to thank him for this later."
"You're just going to inflate his ego."
"Maybe it's worth it if he keeps giving me advice." Oscar winks at her and smirks.
Yeah, maybe Daniel's pestering isn't to bad.
~~~~~
Oscar stands waiting for the drivers parade the next race weekend with all the other drivers. He's waiting patiently for his favorite rookie to come and join him.
Instead, he is once again jumping out of his skin because Danile is grabbing his shoulders from out of nowhere. "Could you not, like, scare me? Please?"
"But this is more fun! Certainly not as much fun as you had, I'm sure. I saw the scar." Daniel wiggles his eyebrows.
Oscar is blushing, he can feel it in his face. The words he wants to say are not coming out like he intends. "yep, I - um... thanks."
"Let me know if you need any other advice." Daniel smirks and claps him on the shoulder, Leaving Oscar a mess.
This is why I get teased; he thinks.
#x reader#f1 fic#formula 1#f1 fanfic#max verstappen#daniel ricciardo#oscar piastri f1#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri fanfic#op81 imagine#op81 x reader#op81#mclaren formula 1#mclaren racing#mclaren#redbull racing#redbull#redbull daniel#dr3#mv1#mv33#f1#f1 imagine#f1 x reader
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ONE SHOT: THE CASTING COUCH
PART ONE OF THE DARK & SEXY SERIES
NOTE: This is a series of one shots and mini series for Cillian Murphy & Tommy Shelby in which he acts totally off-canon. Most of these shots are very dark in nature and you should read their individual warnings. All of these shots are requests from readers. Co-written with @darkshelbyfiction
PAIRING: CILLIAN MURPHY X VIRGIN READER
WARNING: DUB-CON, BLACKMAIL, LOSS OF VIRGINITY
"Thank you for coming over Cillian, and for helping me out with my rehearsals," you said after opening the door for him. You hesitated, your eyes glancing at the untidy mess strewn around, hoping he wouldn't notice how disorganized you were. You were still young and inexperienced when it came to acting and life in general and had recently finished filming your first movie under Cillian's guidance.
"No problem, Y/N," Cillian replied smoothly, stepping inside your apartment with a confident swagger. "I was looking forward to it," he told you and you nodded silently, forcing out a smile.
"Great! Well, let me just clear up a bit of space here," you murmured, quickly moving clutter off your couch and onto the floor.
You noticed that Cillian took note of this odd behavior, raising an eyebrow curiously. His gaze lingered on your body, taking in every curve and line.
"You know you've got a lot of competition to get this role," he stated matter-of-factly. It sounded like advice rather than a threat, but there was something strange about his tone.
"I know," you mumbled back, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes, Cillian," you told him and he smiled, the corners of his lips quirking upwards slightly.
"Whatever it takes, huh?" Cillian mused thoughtfully, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, almost tender, and you could feel your skin tingle beneath his fingers.
"Yeah, I really want this part," you admitted quietly, meeting his gaze directly with your big eyes. There was something magnetic and yet uneasy about his presence, drawing you in despite your better judgment.
"Well, I can help you with that," Cillian offered with a knowing grin. "But I need something in return," he added, his voice dropping low to a husky whisper.
You swallowed hard, feeling a wave of trepidation wash over you. "What do you mean by that?" you asked innocently, squirming under his steady gaze.
"Come on Y/N, you are a smart girl, aren't you?" Cillian asked with a playful smirk. "I am sure you know what I want," he continued, running his fingers through your soft hair.
Your heart raced in your chest as you struggled to find the right words. "Look, Cillian, I appreciate you giving me this opportunity, but I don't think I can go there," you finally managed to say.
His eyes narrowed slightly, assessing your resolve. "You know that roles like these don't come along often, especially when you're starting out in this business," he explained coolly. "It's all about connections. And trust me," Cillian said, his voice dropping even lower—a soft purr against your ear, "I have plenty of those."
"I will touch you, down there, if you like, but I won't sleep with you. I never had sex before, so..." You hesitated, unsure how to express yourself. Your voice trembled as you tried to maintain composure. "I mean, I am not ready and..." you suggested cautiously.
Cillian's gaze intensified, locking onto yours as he interrupted you mid-sentence.
"Y/N, I want to fuck you properly," Cillian explained calmly, watching your reaction carefully. "You either take it or leave it," he whispered softly, leaning closer. "But if you want to have this role, then you'll have to make some sacrifices."
The air between you felt thick and heavy, charged with an electric tension neither of you dared to confront. Cillian was older, far more experienced in both acting and life, but there was something that made you feel uneasy about his request, despite your attraction towards him.
"But I have never done anything like this before," you insisted feebly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not ready," you pleaded, clinging onto hope that he would relent.
"I didn't ask if you were ready," Cillian retorted sharply, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I asked if you wanted the role," he reminded you coldly, crossing his arms defensively.
"Yes, I do," you agreed hurriedly, eager to appease him.
"Good, then we understand each other," Cillian said confidently, stepping closer. "Now I will try to make this as comfortable for you as I possible can," he promised, his voice low and soothing. "Take off your clothes," he then commanded abruptly, staring intently at you.
You hesitated, biting your lip nervously. The silence hung heavily between you two, making your palms sweat. But the prospect of achieving your dream outweighed any doubts or fears you may have had. So without further hesitation, you began undressing, shedding layer after layer until only your panties remained.
Cillian watched your transformation with rapt attention, his gaze lingering on your exposed flesh. His eyes gleamed with lustful desire, sending shivers down your spine.
You stood naked before him, completely vulnerable, as he appraised your curves and lines.
"Such a beautiful young woman," he muttered, admiring your form. "You're perfect for this role and many others, if you play your cards right."
He stepped closer, reaching out to trace a finger along your collarbone. You flinched slightly, bracing yourself for what was to come.
"Relax, darling," he cooed, his voice deepening. "I will be gentle with you."
He placed a strong hand on your shoulder, guiding you gently backwards until you reached the edge of your study desk, the wood now pressing into your lower back.
You felt nervous, his proximity threatening to overwhelm you.
"Just relax, Y/N," he reassured you, his voice a soothing balm to your anxious nerves. "We're going to take things slow, okay?" He reached down and scooped you up in his arms, placing you delicately upon the desk. Your knees wobbled with uncertainty, but you forced yourself to stay upright.
Cillian stepped away, leaving you in nothing but your panties. His eyes trailed over your entire body, scrutinizing your vulnerability.
"Sit up straight," he instructed firmly, reaching out to adjust your posture. You complied obediently, clutching the tabletop tightly.
"Don't worry," he consoled you, his voice calm and collected. "This will hurt a little, but everything will be fine." You looked doubtful, swallowing a lump in your throat. But you knew you couldn't turn back now.
As he moved closer, you saw his eyes sparkle mischievously. "Lets take a look at this little virgin hole of yours, shall we?" Cillian murmured, trailing a finger along your inner thigh. You instinctively jerked away, causing him to chuckle.
"No need to be shy, love," he teased, reaching out again to stroke your knee. You didn't respond, instead opting to close your eyes, focusing on breathing deeply.
"Alright, alright," Cillian sighed, removing his hand. "Why don't you lay back for me, baby?" Cillian says, his voice thick with seduction.
You gulp, your palms sweating profusely now. The anticipation builds within you, and fear mixed with excitement dances across your veins. Despite the situation, you can't deny the urge to surrender to Cillian's will. To submit completely to his desires. After all, you remind yourself, this is your ticket to stardom.
"Are you sure about this?" Cillian asks, concern etching his features. "You know I would never force you, Y/N."
"I know," you reply weakly, mustering a thin smile. "It's just that I-- I've never, uh, I am nervous," you murmured.
"I know," Cillian murmurs, reaching out to cup your cheek before running his fingers over your stomach, stopping again at the hem of your cotton panties.
Hooking his fingers into the hem, Cillian pulled them downwards, exposing your most intimate area to his hungry gaze.
A groan escaped him as he stared hungrily at your swollen pussy, nestled between smooth thighs. "So fucking gorgeous," he breathed reverently, reaching out to trace your slit delicately.
"And so small," he chuckled, his fingertip circling your entrance. "But don't worry, I will manage to work my cock into you, baby," he assured you, his tone laced with confidence. Your breath hitched, the anticipation mounting within you. "You see, I've been waiting for this moment ever since I laid eyes on you," he confessed, stroking your cheek lovingly. Your heart pounded in your chest, the thrill of being desired by such an experienced man overwhelming you. "In fact, I've fantasized about you countless times," he whispered, leaning in closer.
"My cock is already throbbing with anticipation, imagining your tight pussy wrapped around it." He ran a finger down your belly, tracing the path it would soon follow.
Cillian then reached for the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a condom, which he placed onto the desk beside you before unbuckling his belt.
He then slid his pants down, revealing an impressive erection, rock-hard and ready for action.
Leaking pre-cum, it stood tall and proud, a testament to his arousal. You couldn't help but stare at it, mesmerized and concerned all at the same time.
"I don't know..." you started to stammer, but Cillian put a finger against your lips.
"Shh," he hushed. "It will only hurt for a moment. I promise," he told you as he picked up the condom and opened the wrapper.
As he rolled it onto his throbbing member, you couldn't help but glance at that massive erection standing erect, a symbol of raw masculinity. It seemed almost intimidating and you closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of this situation. You knew what was expected of you, but somehow the reality of submitting to Cillian scared you.
"Open your legs for me, sweetheart," Cillian said softly, interrupting your thoughts. He reached out to pull you open, spreading your bare thighs apart to reveal your moistened folds. You whimpered, arching your back involuntarily as he touched you.
"You've got a tight little hole, haven't you?" he commented casually, brushing aside your tears with callous indifference. "It's good though—it means you're going to feel every inch of me," he added.
"Just relax, Y/N," he urged you once more, positioning himself between your legs. You shut your eyes some more, concentrating on slowing your racing heartbeat when you felt the head of his cock press against your wetness.
"I'm going to enter you now, baby," he murmured before slowly pushing the tip of his cock inside you. You gasped loudly, squeezing your eyes shut as the burning sensation spread throughout your body.
"Ssh, it's alright. Just let me in," Cillian murmured. You let out a yelp as he pushed harder, your eyes widening in shock as he stretched you.
"You're doing great," Cillian encouraged you, easing the head of his cock deeper into you while looking down in between your bodies, enjoying the sight of his cock slowly opening you up.
"The head is in," he whispered triumphantly, watching the initial resistance crumble before the persistent pressure of his manhood. "Now, I'm about to stretch you out some more," he warned, the anticipation building with every word.
You writhed helplessly on the desk, your eyes squeezed shut, your grip tightening on the wooden surface beneath you.
"Just breathe," Cillian comforted you, his fingers caressing your cheek. "It's going to burn for a second, but it'll pass," he promised, his tone soothing.
You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his shaft sliding inside you as he inched forward. Each thrust drove deeper, stretching you wider. The pain was intense, but you bit your lip to hold back your groans.
"That's it, baby," he praised. "You're doing great. Just a few more inches and I'll be fully inside you," he told you, his eyes locked on yours. "Can you feel it? My cock stretching you wider with each push," he whispered, his voice sending chills down your spine. "That's right, baby," he encouraged you, watching as the muscles of your vagina contracted around his shaft. "Just a little more," he growled, his movements becoming more forceful.
His cock felt huge inside you, filling you up entirely as he took your innocence, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with each thrust.
"You feel so good," he moaned, his cock twitching in response to your tightness. "I could cum right now," he groaned, grinding his hips against yours before pulling out abruptly. "But I want to enjoy this for a little longer. Turn around," Cillian demanded, reaching out to spin you around on the desk.
"I want to fuck you from behind," he said before thrusting his length back into you. "Spread your legs wider," he ordered, and you did as he asked, your cheeks reddening from embarrassment as he increased his pace.
Cillian's cock throbbed inside you, filling you up completely. He withdrew a little, teasing you with shallow thrusts. "Mmm," he moaned approvingly, running his hands up and down your body. "You're so hot like this," he whispered, pulling on your nipples roughly while watching his cock plunge in and out of your swollen pussy. "I can tell you're getting used to me," he observed, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer, impaling you on his erection. "Getting tighter, too," he noted, grinning wickedly. "It's like you're trying to squeeze me," he joked, bucking his hips wildly until he was balls-deep inside you.
"Fuck!" he shouted, his cock throbbing painfully. "I might cum too quick," he muttered, grabbing your waist tightly.
"I've been thinking about this for so long," he confessed, his breath hot and heavy in your ear.
"Such a good girl," he rasped, thrusting deeper into you. "Tighter than I imagined," he groaned, digging his fingers into your hips. "I bet you're going to be a real star one day," he praised, slamming into you harder. "This isn't going to be easy, Y/N," he warned, his voice strained. "But I've got faith in you," he said, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust before pulling out abruptly and ordering you onto your knees.
"You are going to swallow my load now, baby," he barked, your ears ringing with the harsh command. "If you want to become a star, that is," he added ominously, pulling off the condom and then holding his cock firmly in his fist while he guided it toward your mouth.
"Oh no, please," you begged, shaking your head in protest.
"Open up," Cillian ordered sternly, guiding your jaw wide while aiming his cock at your mouth. He then shoved his cock into your mouth, gagging you instantly.
"Good girl," he said gruffly, his fingers gripping your chin tightly. You whimpered, unable to speak as he fucked your mouth mercilessly.
"I am going to pour my seed right down your throat now," he ordered, his voice muffled by your gag reflex as he started to groan loudly. "Here it comes," he announced, his cock swelling and pulsing with pleasure as he released his load directly into your mouth.
You gagged inadvertently, your eyes watering from the sudden influx of semen as you swallowed his essence and, going by the sounds he made, he was clearly pleased by your efforts.
"That's good. Drink my seed," he grunted, withdrawing his cock from your mouth. "Swallow it all down," he ordered, watching you struggle to catch your breath.
"Fucking fantastic," he then complimented, patting your head affectionately. "There's a good girl," he cooed, handing you a wad of tissues to clean off before pulling up his pants.
"Now, we start shooting next week," he informed you, checking his watch. "You did well, but I really got to run," he grinned, kissing your forehead lightly. "I'll text you our schedule tomorrow," he confirmed before saying his farewell.
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy imagine#cillian murphy x y/n#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy fanfiction#cillian murphy fanfic#cillian murphy fic
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A Little Bit Of Heaven
CW: NSFW, FTM subbot Gaz, domtop Male Reader, oral, scar kissing, soft fluffy sex, body worship, lingerie, fem language, reader is whipped for Gaz
PS: This is inspired by @ramvur 's art piece of Gaz, @el-chonkus you wanted to be tagged so here you go :D
The last few months have been Hell on both of you; mission after mission, drill after drill, chasing away exhaustion and sleep deprivation with copious amounts of caffeine in an attempt to put a dent in the stacks of paperwork you've been given. Despite spending most of your time together, be it training recruits or as battle buddies on missions, it feels like you and Kyle never have time for each other, the only time you two have to be intimate being when Kyle sleeps on your shoulder during the long plane rides.
So when Price tells you you two are cleared for a week of military leave, you jump at the chance to have a proper vacation. Once you get the tickets you put it in an envelope, going out to find Gaz.
You find him in your shared bunk room, peacefully snoring with a book splayed over his chest. Even in his sleep he's on edge, fingers twitching occasionally as if pulling the trigger of a gun. You're quiet as a mouse as you walk to his bed, kneeling to press a chaste kiss to his lips.
Kyle's eyelids flutter open, your familiar outline in his blurry vision calms him before military grade instincts can kick in, having to blink a few times to focus on you. "Mhm, what'ime isit?" He slurs as he sits up, the few minutes of sleep doing nothing to lessen the bags under his pretty brown eyes.
"Still early." You say, keeping your voice low. "I'm sorry for waking you,"
"Is fine," He waves away your apology, reaching out to wrap a loose arm around your neck, pulling you closer. "Did you need something?" Kyle's still groggy as he nuzzles your cheeks together, aiming for your lips but winding up kissing your nose.
"Yeah," You take a moment to relish the intimacy, not that Kyle minds, breathing in your scent with a happy sigh; God knows how long you'd spent in an intimacy deficit. "Guess what I did." You say with a humorous tone.
That sobers him up enough to lean back and give you a critical eye. "If you hid Price's cigars again I'm not hiding you." He warns, but there's obvious amusement in his voice.
"No, no," You snort, holding out the envelope for him. "It's something better."
"Do I even want to know?" Kyle raises an eyebrow but takes the envelope, opening it. Inside he finds two plane tickets to Greece, along with an invoice for a rented villa. "Are these. . .?" His voice dies down as he looks at you with wide eyes.
"You did say you wanted to go somewhere warm." You shrug a shoulder, trying not to show how much you hope he'll be pleased by this seeing as you two hadn't planned anything for your leave.
"Oh, mate," You can't describe the wide smile that graces his features, bright like the sun, one you'd happily let blind you. "Come here you-" He pulls you so close your foreheads bonk together, you can feel his grin as he kisses you. "-beautiful bastard." He sighs as your lips part but you don't, breathing in the same air.
"You're the beautiful one." Your comment has him giggling like a child; Kyle's laugh feels like silk on your ears, so infectious you find yourself giggling too. "Do you like them?"
"Do you even need to ask?" He teases, pulling you into another kiss.
. . .
Gaz is very smug on the day you're supposed to leave, cheeky as he gushes to Soap of all the things you two have got planned for your vacation, which of course has the Scot whining to Ghost about 'stepping up'. But it's all in good fun and you're sent off with a few demands to bring souvenirs.
Despite how tired you two are, the entire plane ride to Greece is spent learning about the local town near the villa you'd rented and all the tourist attractions there, learning a few sayings as well as how not to get scammed.
He's like a kid on Christmas when you finally get to the villa, exploring every room and the grounds around it; It's as pretty as it is old, spiderwebs of ivy and roses wrapping around the columns and sides of it, built on a cliff overlooking the ocean, but far bigger than what you two are used to, Kyle's animated assessment of every little detail in the frescos, evaporating the eeriness of the empty rooms.
And of course, the first thing you do when you get there is sleep a solid 24 hours, your exhaustion catching up to you two. You wake up the next day to Kyle still snoring next to you, much more relaxed and clutching you like a koala. He doesn't even stir when you get out of bed to make him and you a very late breakfast, receiving loving kisses on the cheek when Kyle finally stumbles out of dream land.
You spend your vacation doing all the typical couple things, thousands of photos filling Gaz's phone — you two dinning out or attempting to make some local dishes, several of you two donkey riding across the mountains (and one that he'd favored of a donkey trying to eat your clothes), silly photos of you two interacting with the statues in a nearby garde (you especially love the one of him imitating one), pictures of sunsets and sunrises and a dozen more of him coming out of the water, some selfies of Gaz with you haggling with a merchant in the background as well as your triumphant smirk as you hold a pearl necklace to Kyle's neck from behind.
Kyle likes to look at the photos when he wakes up before you, your body warm and pressed against his from behind while you sleep with your arms around him, his chest light as a feather from how intimate you two had been able to be, how lovely you'd been to him, a true gentleman and every bit the man he fell in love with.
And Kyle decides he wants to do something for you. And for him. A nice gift for the both of you.
He has to shove his pillow into your arms otherwise you wouldn't let go of him, a small giggle leaving his lips at how you nuzzle and hug the pillow like a koala. He tries to stay quiet as he goes to the dresser to pick up the small special suitcase he'd brought just for this vacation, picking out the clothes he'd wanted to wear just for you and him, but never got the time.
He watches himself in the mirror as he puts on the stockings, the material soft against his skin, the kitten heels fitting him perfectly. Kyle struggles with the bralette for a few minutes, but it's worth it when it frames his pecs in such a pleasing way, perking them up and hiding the top scars that run beneath them. Finally comes the long feathered robe, dragging behind him when he twirls in front of the mirror.
Kyle can feel giddy bubbling in his chest, heart beating just a bit faster. Back on base he would have felt ashamed at wearing something so frivolous and impractical, he was a soldier god damn it, but here, with you, he's just Kyle.
Gaz glances to your still sleeping form as he sits by the vanity to do his makeup, lipstick and mascara and a light blush, taking care of the small amount of facial he's managed to grow. He can't wait to see how you'll react when you see him like this. . .
A little mischievous smirk crosses his features and Gaz silently comes to your side of the bed, leaning down to kiss your face, leaving red lipstick marks all across your skin before leaving you to wake up to his surprise.
. . .
You wake from sunlight filtering through the curtains, the soft sound of Kyle humming rousing you from your dreams. You attempt to cuddle closer but soon enough figure out it's a pillow you're hugging. You grumble and sit up, your brain stuttering when you see yourself in the mirror. Bright lipstick marks dot a side of your face, from your forehead down all the way down to your jaw.
Kyle's work, no doubt, but you can't bring yourself to wipe his marks on you — a type of stigmata you'd happily wear. You don't bother with clothes, yawning as you follow the soft sound of his humming to the balcony.
You nearly swallow your tongue when you see him; wreathed in the soft morning light, his skin glowing like the golden bracelets on his arms, the pink roses blending in with his robe making him look like he's sitting on a cloud, soft feathers accentuating the robe like pearly sea foam he'd formed from. Your eyes roam from his red heels up the toned thighs, the sunlight softening the harsh scars decorating his stomach, the sheer material of the bralette both leaving nothing to the imagination and making you want to pull it off, his red lips like the red skin of an apple Eve had been tempted with.
If you were a Trojan prince, you wouldn't have looked at any goddess had Kyle been there, someone the sculptors of old times would have clamored to have as a muse.
If he told you he was a god, you'd take it as gospel, gift Kyle all your devotion just like the pearl necklace he's appraising.
"Holy hell." You mumble, scared to distract him, unwilling to pull him out of his own little world where his face isn't tense with unease and exhaustion, where his shoulders are relaxed and his instincts are blissfully sleeping, where he can just be.
But Kyle hears you, his warm brown eyes shifting to you, a bit of surprise flashing in his face before smiling. "I was wondering when you'd wake up." Kyle chuckled, a flush of heat spreading across his face at the way you look at him — eyes smoldering like coals with desire, a lovesick puppy just for him.
"You could have just woken me up if you were lonely." You hummed as you slowly approached him, brushing your fingers against his cheek. "You know I'd never say no to you."
"I know, I know." He huffs, pretty dark lashes fluttering as he pats your hand before pulling you into a kiss. You can taste wine on his lips, soft and plush against your own. He pulls back, holding up the pearls pearls. "Help me with these yeah?"
"Sure," You say, watching him shift so his back is facing you. You clip the pearl necklace around his neck easily, kissing the back of his neck just to feel him shiver. "There you go, handsome man."
"Trying to seduce me are you?" Gaz grins and quickly turns to you, pecking your forehead but pulling back when you attempt to kiss him.
"Can you blame me?" You nuzzle his neck, laying gentle kisses across his neck, your heart fluttering when he tilts his head back to give you more room. "You're absolutely gorgeous."
"Oh you," You can just about catch the way a blush darkens his face to a rich mahogany, his skin warming under your lips as you nibble on his collarbones. "charming bastard." He chuckles, holding the back of your neck as you go further down to trace the outline of his sternum with your lips.
"Just for you," Your hands rise up to cup his pecs over the bralette, lightly groping without attempting to take it off just yet. "Do you want to. . .?" You ask, rubbing your thumb over his pebbled nipple and god, if the soft silk pressing against his sensitive skin doesn't turn him on, nothing will.
"Fuck yes." Gaz whines so sweetly, holding your head close to his chest as you pull one nipple into your mouth, wetting the silk and making him shiver. You pull off to do the same to the other nipple, your hands roaming over his torse, tracing the harsh scars before going back up to push the bralette enough for you to be able to trace the top scars with your tongue. "Oh shit." He grunts as you kiss along the sensitive skin from one side of his chest to the other. "Love." He whines, embarrassed by his own eagerness, but if you don't touch him more he swears he's going to die.
You pull back and settle on your knees; Gods may be worshiped in blood and wine, but your devotion is all he needs. And you'll give it to him.
Your revenant fingers grope the muscle and fat of his thigh, slowly pulling down the pink stocking and following after it with your lips. Tracing the imprint the stocking had left at his mid thigh, pecking the bony part of his knee, kissing the small scars dotting his shin down to his ankle as you finally pull his heel and stocking off him.
Gaz swears he can feel his heart beating in his throat as he watches you repeat the process on his other leg, warmth lingering long after your lips have moved on. "Christ alive," He mumbles, the moment you peel off his remaining stocking he's spreading his legs for you, cheeks growing warm as your eyes settle on his cunt. A damp spot has grown on the feathered robe where his slick had trickled down, curly dark hair slick with his arousal, his dick starting to peek beneath it's hood. "Don't tease me now love." He whines out the last word, buzzing nerves threatening to force his thighs to close, but his need for you outweighs the embarrassment of exposing himself like this.
You're between his legs in a second, hiking his thighs on your shoulders and feeling the hard earned muscles tense around your ears. "Alright, alright." Is the last words you say before starting to really worship him, his hand brushing your hair as you press your face against his cunt.
Your tongue circling his hole and lapping up the slick dripping from it births a relieved and pleased sigh from Kyle's chest. The slow movement of your tongue exploring his pussy lips has his muscles relaxing, forcing him to recline on the bench, the railing of the balcony providing needed support as you slowly circle his hardening dick. You flatten your tongue to give his dick something to rub against, moving your tongue up and down as Kyle's hips twitch to meet your movements, lazily following after the pleasure.
You have no need to rush, listening to his pleased sighs and small little whimpers as you let him set the pace. Kyle can barely see you from how blurry his eyes are, soft sounds leaving his lips as you search out all his pleasure spots like you don't know where they are, like you're doing this for the first and last time; He has to bite his lip to give his thoughts something to latch on to lest his mind drown in the pleasure, embarrassment curling in the spaces of is belly not overtaken with heat at the thought of cumming so fast.
But you can feel how he comes closer and closer to an orgasm by the way his chest heaves, the way more slick continues to trickle from his cunt, staining your chin despite your best efforts to swallow his ichor down. His hand on the back of your hand keys you in to go faster, and without further ado you focus solely on his dick, swirling your tongue around it like it's a lollypop, dipping to lap beneath the hood.
His thighs tense like vices around your ears, threatening to crack your skull— what a wonderful death —is all your mind can think as oxygen slowly depletes, your sole objective to pleasure him. Distantly you can hear him chant your name, thighs shaking and hips twitching to grind his dick against your tongue.
Suddenly you wrap your lips around his length and suck.
His orgasm crashes over Kyle like a wave, pulling him down to drown in the depths of mind-numbing pleasure, sea foam popping in his belly as heat burns in his bones. You mouth opens to swallow all the slick gushing from his cunt and down your jaw, wet hair tickling your face as his shaking thighs clench around your head.
You don't pull away when Kyle's orgasm winds down and his thighs relax. "Sh-ah- shite!" Kyle moans when your tongue returns, feather light flicks against his pulsating walls collecting his slick like you've been in a desert for months. Your name falls from his lips, both a prayer and a curse, his thighs shaking as static dances across his nerves, his hand on his mouth trying to uselessly silence his moans as you lap up his arousal.
He finally manages to gather enough strength to pull your head back, both of you struck dumb by the other. You— by how ruined he looks, lines of mascara down his cheeks from where tears had laid a path, chest heaving and skin turned rich mahogany from ears to collarbones; Kyle — by how debauched you look, the lipstick marks he'd left earlier smudged all across your face, jaw and throat shining with his slick.
Fuck, he's aroused again.
He whimpers your name, tugging your head. "Need you." He whispers, eyes hooded.
In one smooth move you rise to your feet and pick him up, his legs and arms wrapping around you as he pulls you into a kiss, uncaring of his own taste on your tongue. You have just enough sense in your head to make your way to a laying couch close by, putting him down, your heart fluttering at how the feathered robe spreads out around him like a cloud.
"Hurry up," Kyle grumbles, a blush burning his cheeks even more as he splays his legs open for you, cunt clenching around nothing and dick hard as a rock, his arms still firmly wrapped around your neck to keep your mouths close.
You chuckle, the tip of your achingly hard cock kissing his cunt just as you do to his lips, "Breathe in and relax." You grip your dick in one hand to position yourself.
"'m not a bloody virgin." Kyle complains, his entire body so relaxed and pussy so slick that his cunt doesn't offer even a smidgeon of resistance as you push in, both of you groaning as your cock spreads his warm walls open.
"Let me treat you like one." You snort and distract any discomfort he might feel with a kiss, slowly sinking deeper and deeper until your balls rest against his ass, cock throbbing inside his clenching cunt. You stop, resting your forehead against his as you wait him to adjust.
Kyle breathes out a small grumble, "Only if you move." His leg wraps around your waist, heel digging into your back to force your hips to shift.
You grin and kiss him again, swallowing his moans when you pull back a bit and push your cock back in, his cunt greedily swallowing you back in and clenching around you like it doesn't want to let you go. But Kyle shifts his hips to meet your thrusts half way, his nails clawing scratches into your back when you start moving quicker.
"Oh, fuck- yes!- like that, just-" Kyle pants into your mouth, eyes hooded and unfocused, pleasure gnawing on his nerves as every deep thrust nails a pleasure spot inside him, the veins of your cock scrapping his sensitive walls, his slick wetting both of your pubes. He jumps the second you reach down to stroke his dick between two of your fingers, timing it to stroke down every time you bottom out inside him, the air around you filled with the scent of sex and Kyle's sweet moans and chants of your name.
"Fuck, I'm close." You warn as you increase your pace, your entire body buzzing with pleasure. "Do you want it inside?" You ask, biting your lips and trying to stave off your orgasm.
"Shite- yes, yes, yes-" Kyle throws his back as his orgasm sneaks up on him for the second time, slick warm walls clamping down on your flesh like vices as he cums. You follow suit soon after, bottoming out as you cum inside him.
You're both breathless and sweaty as you shift him around so you're not crushing him when you lay down, your head resting on his chest. Your eyes close as you listen to his breathing, and you swear you could fall asleep if his hands didn't brush your hair, scratching the back of your neck until you force your eyes open.
His smiling face greets you, soft and warm like the sun, "Thank you love." He grins, tugging you into a quick and soft kiss.
"Thank you." You hum, making him laugh a little. You lay there just enjoying the sound of the sea and the chirping birds for a bit. Then you feel him shift, grinding his hips back onto your soft cock still inside him. "Kyle?" You ask, your cock hardening slowly despite the pain of overstimulation.
"Think you can go again?" There's an impish smirk on his handsome face as he grinds his hips again, every bit a demanding god as he pulls you back into a hungry kiss, all tongue and teeth.
And you wouldn't dare refuse him. . .
#new year new me eh?#cod mw2#x reader#top male reader#male reader#Centerpieces of the Hoard#kyle gaz garrick#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x male reader#kyle gaz smut#kyle gaz x reader#cod x male reader#cod modern warfare#cod smut#ftm character#kyle garrick x male reader
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right back home to you - h.s.
a/n: had a hard time deciding if i wanted to put this out since im not too happy with the outcome but i wanted to feed u guys. in the future ill probably go back in and edit it but for now i hope you all enjoy this little angsty girl xx im also working on part 2 of love in secret !!!!!!!!!! she should be out fairly soon <3
wc: 4.8k
warnings: none, angst, fluff, flight anxiety
“Hello? ‘M home,” Harry shouted into the cold house. Not that he would even notice, but the air was dull and the atmosphere was still, hues in the normally vibrant house now gray and lifeless. “Baby?”
“Oh, hi Harry,” A dulcet smile was on her face as she walked around the corner with sweatpants and a baggy hoodie on, a baseball cap on top of her head. She had her dirty and beat up air forces on her feet that Harry loved to make fun of, small dollops of paint on the soles of the shoe. She also had a pair of sunnies that lay stagnant on the dark blue visor, a tell tale sign for Harry that she was going out. “I didn’t hear you come home.”
Harry hummed, holding his arms out for her to walk into. She did, but only embraced him with half of her body, one arm curling around his waist loosely while the other stayed swaying by her side. In both of their opinions, it was way too short to even be considered a hug, not even close to being an embrace, but Y/N did it purposely. Harry frowned, feeling a twinge of hurt at her unusual lack of affection. “Um… Are y- are y’going out?”
She laughed falsely, shaking her head and turning her body to face the large windows in their apartment. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
Harry was still confused. “What d’you mean?”
It’s now or never, Y/N thought, and mustered her bravest smile as she pivot turned to face him again. “I’m leaving, Harry. I’m going up to New York to stay with Eliza. I don’t know when I’ll be home, but I’ll be sure to let you know in advance, is that okay?”
A few beats pass, Harry staring at her in disbelief. “What the fuck? No, no, s’not okay! Why- why are y’leaving? Y’didn’t even tell me? When were you planning on telling me y’were leaving?”
“I’ve been planning on leaving for a long time, Harry. I was actually meant to leave before you even got home, really, but you’re early.” She sighed, rubbing at her temple and knowing the fight that was about to ensue.
“Why are y’leaving?” Harry’s voice started to grow in volume, becoming harder and harsher as he tightened his hands into balled fists, trying to channel his feelings in another way rather than yelling at his girlfriend.
“I’m leaving because I can’t do this anymore, Harry. I cant keep arguing with you every day, it’s just not fair to me. And it’s not fair to you either, really, so I’m just… taking the stress off of the both of us and making the bold decision to leave.” She explains, moving to grab her suitcases from the hallway and roll them into the living room.
“That’s wha’ this is about? The fight we had last night?” He asks, eyes widening and mouth drying at the sight of her multiple suitcases.
“Um— not entirely, I guess. I’ve meant to go up to visit Eliza, if you remember, we were going to but you had um— a party, that you needed to attend. So I just decided to book a flight last night after you went to sleep.” She's as quiet as a mouse, her words not staggering but it was physically obvious that she was nervous.
“So what now? Is that it? You’re just… throwing away four years of my- of our fucking life?” Harry spat. She’d started to shrink into herself quite a bit, sweaty palms running over the now warm black handle of her small suitcase.
“I’m not throwing away anything, Harry. We had a fight, you and I both said some nasty things, and I’m just going up to my sister's house for a little bit to clear my head. Like I said, I was meaning to go up anyway. This isn’t really about you, Harry, as much as you think it might be. I’ve been miserable here all alone and all I want is to be with someone who I know can provide me with love and attention right now, which is what I need. You need it too.” She tried to hold her ground but the tremble in her soft voice made her feel weak.
She and Harry had gotten into a multitude of arguments within the past weeks that he had been off tour. It started from little things, like a sock being thrown over the laundry basket and not inside of it, or one of them leaving their dirty tea mugs on the counter when the sink was right there! But as small and insignificant as these things were, they also grew into arguments about bigger issues. One of the more nasty arguments had pushed her to pack her bags and book a plane ride up to her sister’s house in New York.
The argument on the table this time around was that whenever Harry was home after an elongated amount of time on the road, he would treat Y/N as if she was his friend and not girlfriend of three years. She’d had a problem with this seeing as all she ever wanted him to do was love her and take care of her, and for some reason she couldn’t help but feel he found that hard.
“Bullshit. I know y’leaving ‘cause your feelings got hurt or whatever, but you know y’don’t have to leave, pup. We can resolve this, don’t we always?” He grumbles, taking a few small steps forward to meet her where she stood by the door.
“It’s entirely different this time, Harry.” She sighed, bending down to sit on the floor since she knew they’d probably be there for a while.
“How?! How could this be any fuckin’ different? We’re jus’ arguin’ are we not?” Harry runs a stressed hand through his hair, trying to channel his energy away from his voice. Though he tried to refrain from allowing his anger to seep its way into his voice, his girlfriend could still pick up on the edge that lined his vocal chords.
“No, baby. We aren’t just arguing. This is me trying to tell you how I feel, and you keep pushing it aside. So this isn’t just us arguing anymore, I guess I’m surrendering. I’m tired of doing this with you whenever you’re home, Harry. I’m alone every day, 24/7, and then you come home and it’s like nothing has changed. Which I love, I love how we can just bounce back, but sometimes I need more love or attention when you come back, and I just…” She starts to gnaw on her lips, trying to word her next thought carefully. “I’m tired of being treated like your friend rather than your girlfriend.”
“What?”
“Mhm. Besides me being alone all the time, whenever I do have you— or people around, you only ever want to keep me at arms length. The whole world knows we’re together, Harry. You’ve posted on my birthday and it’s no secret to anyone anymore. I… I just can’t understand why you do that, really. It makes me feel like I’m just your friend and not your lover.” She pauses, inhaling a sharp breath of air and willing her tears away.
“What do you— what do you even mean? I’m always with you whenever I’m home, I bring y’everywhere w’me?” His anger just kept growing and growing, but this time he noticed that the weight of guilt that was sitting on his heart had gotten heavier with every breath he took, the weight of the pull almost being able to bring him to his knees.
She lets out a wet laugh, shaking her head before dropping it in defeat. “Harry… I hate to bring it up but— you’ve been home for what, three weeks now? We haven’t had sex, we barely have cuddled, you don’t put your arm around me in public or kiss my cheek. I— I feel like I’m losing you. It’s so hard to love you when you won’t let me. I’ve tried to be understanding and just trying to accept the fact that you’re readjusting to our normal life but… I miss you. The only time we talk for longer than a few minutes is when we fight, and that’s not okay. You know how much you mean to me, but I just can’t keep trying to love someone you aren’t anymore. It’s just too destructive to me and I just can’t. I’m sorry, Harry. I hope you can understand, and I’ll be back whenever we’re ready.”
Harry’s now shaking with sobs. Uncontrollable, messy, heartbreaking sobs. Her words were finally making sense to him. All of the arguments had finally made sense. She was arguing with him just so he would talk to her. He thought he could die with the amount of guilt squeezing his heart right now.
“I love you, isn’t that enough?” He whispered.
“I don’t think it is anymore, Harry.” Lifting herself up to her feet, she rolls her suitcase to stand behind her, taking a few small steps to be inches away from her Harry. “I’ll be back, H. I promise.”
Placing a kiss to his wet cheek, he watched her walk away with a damp smile, and against his will, engrained the image of her leaving to his mind.
This wasn’t how he imagined they would end.
He didn’t even entertain the thought of them ever ending; but now he feels like he just lost every single atom of his being in the quickest of moments.
—
It was hell.
Harry could say with full conviction that it was absolute hell to be in that house, that big house on the beach, alone.
Nothing felt right. From the second he woke up in the morning, to the minute he slid his legs under the covers at night, he almost felt nauseous because of how unusual he felt. How unusual everything felt.
And it was all his fault.
Picking up his phone, he goes to text his sweet girl again when he decides to scroll up to find the reprieve of gray amongst the sea of blue.
Harry: Please text me when you land.
Harry: I love you, please don’t forget that.
Harry: Take all the time you need, Angel. I’m here if you need me. I’m so sorry.
Harry: I’ll be waiting for you when you get home. Just say the word and I’ll get you a ticket.
Harry: Take your time though, please be safe. I love you.
Harry: Again
Y/N: just landed. kinda busy rn, talk to you later bug
Harry: That’s okay, be safe. ❤️
Y/N loved this message
Harry: I love you
Y/N: yeah love you too h
Allowing his head to drop onto the back of the sofa, his arm fell limp onto his thigh, his green eyes scanned the interior of the living room, twinges of pain and guilt panting in his chest whenever he’d land his gaze on something that was proprietarily hers.
Her growing orchids in a handmade pot that they’d painted together on their first Valentine’s Day as a couple.
The godawful mirror she thrifted from a random corner store back in her hometown that she begged Harry to put up.
A small canvas filled with tiny paintings of inside jokes and memorable dates that she gifted to him last Christmas. He allowed himself to trace over that painting for a little longer than the rest of the small things placed among their living room.
11/29/19. The first time they met.
1/16/21. When Harry asked her to be his girlfriend.
4/07/21. The first time they said I love you.
12/25/22. When Harry surprised Y/N on Christmas with a down payment on a house. The one he was now residing in, alone.
A red convertible figurine, the car they first kissed in.
A coffee cup and a teacup, symbolizing the first date they went on, where he learned she hates tea and preferred coffee, which led to an argument on whether coffee or tea was better.
A small tulip, representing the first bouquet of flowers he ever bought her.
And a small pearl ring, an exact replica of the promise ring Harry had given her on their 3 year anniversary.
He didn’t even notice the streaks of tears beginning to run down his face until he felt a teardrop fall onto his inner wrist, making him look down.
But as he canvassed the room once more, he perked up at the sight of a small snow globe that she brought him back from New York, and that was when he got an idea. He knew it was dramatic, and a bit of a stretch, but who said he wouldn’t go to extreme lengths to get his soulmate back?
Yeah, no one ever.
To: Eliza
Harry: Hey Liz, got a sec?
—
Harry hated flying alone.
Since he was a teenager and stepped foot on his first plane, he was anxious even being next to someone he barely knew even though his friends were two seats away. Though he would claim that he’s always been a bit anxious and just chalking it up to flight anxiety, he knew that the real reason why he hated flying alone was because he always feared that something bad would happen on the ground when he was in the air and vice versa, and that was always his greatest vice.
His hands began to tremble nervously as he looked out the window of the airplane, seeing nothing but fluffy white on the exterior and the soft red light of the aircraft’s wings blinking every so often. His headphones were placed over his head, smushing his curls down flat onto his head, a mask covering the bottom half of his face. His hood was pulled up as well, trying to conceal himself as much as possible. He hadn’t brought much, just a little carry on and a small tote to shove under the seat in front of him. It was wishful thinking that he wouldn’t be there for a long while, but he brought the keys to his apartment in New York anyway.
He kept his head hung in nausea, the speed of his shaking hands increasing tenfold. The pit in his stomach grew and he had to beg his own body to allow his eyes to not stray to the window next to him. Sure, he could close it, but he feared if it was too dark he would become more anxious than he was right now. The mask covering the bottom half of his face now felt constricting— as if he was being suffocated by the thin layer of fabric. The light douse of perfume that danced around the sunflower print of the mask couldn’t even distract him, and it only pained him more that his senses were fully encompassed by her. He bit down on his lip to distract himself by the whirling feeling of nausea that now swirled around in his throat, willing away the sick that begged to come out.
The rest of the flight was the same, his anxiety only decreasing when he allowed himself to take a small nap. However, when he woke up, his nerves had heightened when he flickered his gaze from the window to the screen in front of him, reading only 20 minutes until he was set to touch down. Grasping his phone from his hoodie pocket, he aligned it to his face then rolling his eyes when he remembered he had a mask on. Lowering his phone he typed in his password— Y/N’s birthday— and pulled up their messages again.
Harry: Good morning baby. I love you. I hope you have a good day today!!
Y/N: thanks h love you
He couldn’t lie and say that her being short with him didn’t hurt his feelings, because it did. He wasn’t going to avoid the fact, but that didn’t mean that he liked it regardless. He felt like a fool checking his phone so often, especially when he knew that she wouldn’t be making an effort to reach out first, but he could be hopeful, right?
At least that’s what he’s telling himself.
The plane landed safely, nerves rolling off of his back in waves and he was more than happy to leave his flight anxiety on the floor of the plane, relieved to not be miles high in the air. There was a lull that was obvious to Harry, and he felt himself switch to function in autopilot, waiting mindlessly to enter the aisle to retrieve his bag from the overhead compartment.
The nippy New York air was the first thing to snap Harry out of his trance. Looking down at his phone, he felt a soft buzz and soon after felt his heart beat almost fast enough to eject from his chest.
Y/N: saw this in a store earlier, thought of u
Y/N: Attachment: 1 Image
Eliza: waiting near terminal b for you, lmk when you get outside
Harry: I’m outside, can you see me?
Eliza: yep. be there in a sec
Swiping out of Y/N’s sisters messages, he went to click on Y/N’s before a black car stopped in front of him, averting his attention from his device to the car that just screeched to a halt. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he trudged forward and grabbed onto the door handle, prying it open and avoiding Eliza’s deathly stare. “Um- hiiii.”
She scoffed. “Hi, H.”
He throws his tote to his feet, awkwardly buckling himself in and turned in his seat, avoiding eye contact but making sure she knew that conversation was open if she’d wanted to make it. “How— um… How are you?”
Silence follows his words for a few seconds, making him heat up in embarrassment. “Good.”
“Oh- that’s good… I, um— haven't seen y’in quite a while, Lizzy,” He says softly, guilt evident in his voice. “I missed you.”
Eliza was basically Gemma’s best friend. They were attached at the hip the first time they met, bonding over being the eldest sisters, and shared secrets. Y/N and Harry’s family had always been interconnected, close with each other even if Y/N and Harry lacked that communication.
They were basically soul tied in every sense of the phrase.
“Yeah, I missed you too, H. But,” Eliza starts. “You’ve been a right dick to my sister.”
“I know,” He whispers.
“Do you? Fuck, H, my fucking baby sister came to me crying because of you. And you know how much I love you, truly, you know I do, but I love her more. So, I just have to ask,” She pauses, gnawing on her lip and clicking her blinker on to signal her turn. “What the hell happened?”
“I,” He sniffs, trying to contain his emotions already begging to come out. “I don’t know.”
Eliza snorts. “Bullshit.”
“I— I really don’t, Lizzy. I guess I was really in m’head about… well, everything. I lo- love her so much,” Harry’s voice cracks, his facade shattering into more microscopic pieces than the most delicate sheet of glass ever could.
“I know you do, H. That’s why this is so confusing to me. To Gems. And most importantly, to Y/N. What happened, Curly? How’d we lose you?” She begs, trying to get him to explain where he was mentally. She loved him as she would Y/N, which was the hardest part. It hurt her as much as it hurt him to confront him about the issue.
“I don’t want her to hate me! Okay?” Harry sobs, chin falling to his chest in weakness. “I don’t want her t’hate me for being away all the time, and I’m so fucking scared. ‘M scared because the press is doing nothing but talking bad about me and I don’t know if I can equally protect her as much as she does me when this happens. When it happens t’me I jus’ ignore it, but I know she can’t do that. I know it, Lizzy, and so d’you.”
“I know, H. I know.” She whispers.
“I jus’ wanted to keep her as far away as I could so that if she did decide she didn’t want me anymore, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.” He murmurs so quietly, he himself even doubts if he said it out loud.
Silence followed the rest of the car ride, the only sound filling the space of the vehicle being the soft splatter of rain on the glass windows and windshield, paired with the crackly static of the stereo. The sun even seemed to be hiding away, the sky dark with clouds, little to no light making an appearance to greet Harry’s arrival.
Pulling up to her driveway, Eliza parked the car, keeping her ignition on so she could drive away after Harry got into the house. Turning to Harry, she chewed on her bottom lip as she traced his side profile with her eyes. “You need to tell her exactly what you told me. Word for word, Harry. You can’t keep her in the dark. She doesn’t even know I went to pick you up. So, just promise me that you’ll tell her exactly what you told me.”
“I promise.” Harry’s voice cracked in a broken whisper, vocal cords thrumming against each other as if they were rusted. “Love you, Lizzy. Thank you.”
Stepping out of the car, he knocked on the door thrice, and tapped softly on the doorbell for good measure. His hands had gone cold with anxiousness, but he wrote it off as the stark cold weather of New York.
“Harry? Oh my god, baby, get inside,” Y/N pulled him in immediately, pushing his thick puffer jacket off of him that was shiny with rainwater, hands coming up to pull his baby blue beanie from his hair, revealing his soft curls. They shared no words as she pulled him to the living room, where she sat the both of them down and covered the length of their torsos and legs with a big fluffy blanket. Y/N didn’t waste a second before she threw her legs over his thighs, grabbing his hands and rubbing over the cold and cracked red skin, trying to exude as much warmth from her own as much as she could.
She’s always been warm.
Her hands have always been graced with heat and more significantly, she always tended to carry around an aura as sweet as honey and as warm as a hug with her wherever she went. Bringing their hands up to his lips, he presses kisses all over the back of hers, kissing her knuckles and fingertips that moved erratically over his own. She could feel the dry chap of his lips on her hands and down to her wrists but she didn’t care. She didn’t mind one bit. She would rather commit the feeling of his lips on her hands to memory rather than not know what they felt like at all.
“What’re you doing here, baby?” She asks, concern etched in her face as she lifts her head to look at him, her movements on his hands not staggering or slowing.
“Came t’see you,” He whispers weakly. “Couldn’t bear it. I need t’see you, hold y’again… Fuck, do jus’ about anything to be near y’again.”
Her heart twisted with the most intense emotion that she could only describe as heartbreak. “You— you got on a plane by yourself just to come see me?”
“Would do jus’ about anything f’you, sweet girl. Of course I would go on a plane jus’ by myself if it meant I could hold you.” He admitted. He avoided eye contact with her, keeping his eyes trained on their conjoined hands that now lay stagnant on the soft fabric of the blanket.
“Harry,” She whispers. “Why are you here, my love?”
“I felt too guilty t’let you leave like that,” He says, gnawing on his bottom lip to will away the tears begging to escape. “I couldn’t let y’go without telling y’I loved you. And I didn’t…” He pauses, struggling for air as he over explained. “I didn’t even explain m’self. I didn’t tell you I loved you. I didn’t kiss y’back. I didn’t even tell y’to be safe.”
He’s fully sobbing now, Y/N tracing his side profile with his eyes, jittering with fear and anxiety. “It’s okay, hey, baby, listen,” Grabbing his chin with the tips of her fingers, she turns his head to hers, resting his forehead atop of hers. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I just needed time to think and I didn’t want to lash out on you because I didn’t have time to. We’re okay, baby. I promise.”
He shook his head while she spoke, tears falling on the fluff of the blanket with every movement. His eyes were clenched as if he was in pain, and uneven erratic breaths fell from his mouth. “Nonono. I should— should’ve listened to you. I did- didn’t mean t’treat y’like tha’,” Harry’s accent had gotten heavier with how much emotion he was feeling, stumbling over his words as if he was drunk.
“And I should’ve explained myself more. It’s not your fault, H. Please baby, breathe,” She begged, tightening her grip on his hands as she pleaded with her nose slotted next to his, every whispered beg pushing her lips forward to lightly brush against his raw-bitten ones. “There, that’s it.”
His breaths began to even out, just the slightest bit. His hands still shook dramatically, veins in his neck that once protruded from the force of his cries now retracting. “I’m sorry.”
“Harry, stop apolog-“
“No. I have t’say this before I leave because if I don’t, I don’t think I ever will. I— I didn’t mean t’push y’away. I was trying to protect m’self but I didn’t see that it was hurting y’too. It wasn’t my intention, and now I realize it wasn’t the right thing t’do.” He sniffles, pulling back from her face to hold eye contact for the utmost emphasis on his words.
“I tried to keep you far away because if you ended up resenting me for being away all the time it would hurt less if you decided to leave me. Paired with everything that’s being said in the media about m’right now, I tried t’keep y’as far away as I could so that if everything came crashing down on me, I would’ve had to cope with losing y’less than everything else. And I kept picking fights with y’so that if— or when y’got too fed up w’me, you’d leave me yourself instead of something else forcing y’to leave me. I think it was all subconscious, seeing how I freaked out on y’when y’told me you were leaving. I guess I didn’t really prepare myself for when it was really going t’happen. I’m really, really sorry, Angel. I really do hope y’can forgive me.”
She’s silent. It scares him, he can’t lie. He takes her silence as an answer and pulls his hands from her grasp and moves her legs softly off of his thighs, standing up and brushing off his pants in an attempt to stall. She’s still mute, and he takes it as his cue to go. There’s still tears streaming down his face, but they’re silent. Like he doesn’t even want to acknowledge that they’re falling at all.
“I love you.” He whispers, before turning and walking to the door. Placing his hand on the knob, he turns it, and his heart follows the motion with a sharp twist that he thinks he feels in his entire body. He’s gnawing in his lip to avoid breaking down in front of her, even though she’s arguably seen him at his worst and most vulnerable times. Opening the door, he’s greeted with the harsh cold air, biting at his skin so aggressively he feels like his tears have now frozen to his face. Bearing the pain, he forced himself to take the step out the doorway and onto the porch, on autopilot as he let his feet decide his motions.
“Harry, wait,” Y/N pleaded, running out behind him, meeting him in the middle of the driveway in nothing but tiny shorts and a stolen crewneck of his that she'd haphazardly stuffed into her luggage. “I love you. I love you more than I could probably ever explain, and I— I just need you to know that. If you’re done with me or done with this, that’s okay, I just need you to know that I love you.”
“I love you. Always.” He whispers, lips trembling with sadness.
“You know I always will, right?” She asks, placing a warm hand onto his wet and cold cheek.
“I know, baby. I do.” He says.
“I’m here whenever you want me. I promise.” She pleads, coming up to reach his lips, placing a soft kiss to his cold ones.
“Come home, please.”
“Always, H. I’ll always come right back home to you.”
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fluff#harry styles fanfic#harry styles x y/n#harry styles blurb#harry edward styles#harry styles angst#harry styles one shot#harry styles au#harry styles imagines
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yours only
Wednesday Addams x Reader
Summary: You make Wednesday feel something she never felt before; jealousy. And maybe a bit of something else too.
Requested by anon
A/N: First time writing for her, who stole my heart pretty quickly. I hope this is okay, hope I could somehow capture her personality that's definitely not an easy one. Let me know what you think. Requests for her are open. <3
Masterlist
You felt a little petty, just a little, as you walked amongst the woods to meet Xavier in his secret spot, the one where he stored most of his paintings.
But he's been a good friend of yours ever since before Wednesday came to Nevermore, and if she can spend however long she wants in that coffee shop, why can't you do the same?
You weren't expecting to fall for her, in reality, you couldn't stand her in the beginning. But one doesn't choose one's feelings, and when underneath all that secrecy and nonchalant attitude she does things like; take an extra tray of breakfast for you when you wake up a little late, or help you in class when you forget the particularities of a flower, or even send Thing to your room in the dead of night with a written note for you to meet her the next day for an outing, which was code for sneaking out to investigate, but the gesture is there.
It was safe to say you were a goner. As much as it might be — her words, not yours — a terrible decision.
But lately, Wednesday has been distant. And you were jealous, even if you didn't have the right to be. So over the past week, you've been spending a good amount of time with Xavier. He's been helping you with your drawing skills, the piece you're working on now is almost done, and you're quite proud of it.
The entirety of your day is spent in Xavier's shed, laughing and painting and getting your head off of things. You think you see a dark silhouette spying on you from outside, but when you go looking, it's gone.
It's already late at night when you do go back to your dorm, your roommate is sneaking into her boyfriend's room tonight, so it's just you. You're looking forward to the quiet night.
You open the door to your room with a yawn escaping your lips. Your backpack is thrown somewhere to the side and you don't care much for where it lands, you stretch your muscles, a little sore for being in the same position most of the day. Only then do you take a glance over your room, and in the right corner, sitting by the end of your bed on the floor and mostly covered by the darkness, is Wednesday.
You almost jump out of your skin. With the way your heart is beating under your hand, you swear your soul did leave your body for a second; "holy shit Wednesday, a little warning next time."
Wednesday gets up, taking a single step towards you before deciding against it, her eyes never leave you. "You're distracted today, why?"
"Hello to you too," you grumble, taking off your jacket, "and, how did you even get in here, the door was locked."
There's a ghost of a smirk on her burgundy-painted lips, and it gets you wondering if they'd leave a print on you if you stole a kiss. "You can't expect a simple lock to stop me," Wednesday tells you.
You chuckle, knowing damn well there were few things out there that held any power over her. You just don't know that you happen to be one of them. "no, of course not."
A beat passes where you just look at each other, both waiting on something, wondering whether the other person’s feeling the same way. The air feels heavy around you, almost electrical.
You clear your throat and walk past Wednesday and to your wardrobe to pick up your pajamas, figuring a shower would do you good.
Wednesday has a staring contest with the back of your head as you rummage for clothes, her jaw is set tightly in place and she hates the feeling that's in her stomach right now. "You didn't answer my question," she says, with more bite than usual.
You huff, running a hand through your hair as you turn to her again. You walk up closer, your personal space mingling with hers.
She sucks in a sharp breath when you stop before her, her gaze darting to your lips before settling back on your eyes. It's so fast that you don't notice it.
"What question?" You ask.
Wednesday gulps, twisting her words into what she really wanted to know; "why are you spending so much time with Xavier?" She deadpans, as if she couldn't care less.
Your lips tilt up on the sides, because you know better, but you won't indulge her just yet. "Why are you spending so much time with Tyler?"
"This is childish."
"Indeed."
"His father is the sheriff, and I need information on the attacks," Wednesday raises her brow, "my relationship with him is merely convenient."
You bite the inside of your cheek, nodding softly, "well, Xavier has been my friend for years already, so…" You shrug and walk around her, heading to the bathroom.
"It doesn't look like it."
"Like what?" You turn and ask impatiently, waiting for her to do the same and look at you again.
Wednesday does so slowly, staring at you through her lashes. "Like you two don't want to be more than friends."
There's something complicated about her tone that you can't quite put your finger in. Her eyebrows are a little crooked, her eyes glinting just a little brighter under the moonlight and her hands painfully closed into fists. You realize she's upset.
You soften. For her, this might just be the equivalent of a crying plea. You walk over to where your backpack lays forgotten on the floor and carefully pull out your sketchbook. The cover is black and a little worn as you run your fingers over it, taking a steadying breath.
You sit down on your bed with it and pat the space beside you.
Wednesday regards you with caution, she's lost and not in control, two things she absolutely hates; however, she doesn't feel as uncomfortable when it's with you. She takes calculated steps to your bed and gently sits down beside you, closer than she thinks she should have, but it's too late to back down now.
"Xavier has been giving me a hand with a few of my drawings," you explain, opening your sketchbook on the last page you used, "and uh- this is the one I'm working on."
Wednesday takes the sketchbook from you, holding it tenderly between her fingers as if it could fall apart. Her heart beats erratically against her ribs, for a moment she thinks she can hear it. The feeling is foreign to her.
The drawing is a perfect picture of her, undoubtedly by your eyes, as she sits beside you in class, focused on her notes. It's a sight you're all too familiar with, one that you love. The lines are a little rough still, all black charcoal and dark ink; tracing the lines of her jaw and hair to perfection. It's pretty, probably not a word Wednesday usually would use to describe herself, but it's true now.
"I couldn't see Xavier as more than a friend," you tell her quietly, so as to not break the bubble of intimacy around you, "I'm afraid that spot is already taken."
Wednesday's gaze snaps up to you, and you think that's the most emotion you've ever seen her let on. You wish you could bottle this moment up like fireflies in a glass jar.
You reach out a hand, and Wednesday holds her breath before you even touch her, you do too. Her hair, deep black and so incredibly soft, meets the pad of your fingertips as you push it behind her ear. The motion is all delicacy and shyness, just a breath over the fragile line between you and her.
Wednesday's lashes kiss her cheeks when her eyes almost drop closed for a millisecond before she takes back control. She's stiff, hands now with a bruising grip on the sketchbook, "what are you doing?"
You inch closer, and when she doesn't pull away, you gently cup her cheek; her skin is a little cold under your touch. "What do you think I'm doing?"
For the first time in her life, her words get caught up in her throat before she forces them out; "Something you'll regret."
Smiling against your own volition, you whisper; "do you really believe that?"
Wednesday wonders if you're aware that you're killing her slowly; agonizingly, because you're so kind with her demise. She's the one who closes the gap between you, when you're just a hairs width away from her, one hand letting go of your sketchbook in order to bunch up your shirt in her fist and pull you to her.
It's everything you're not expecting, her eagerness, urgency even. She's kissing you like she's trying to memorize you, not sure if you're real or not. It's still soft though, still uncertain, still her.
When she parts, it's slowly, her lips almost refusing to let yours go. The outlines of your mouth are faintly smudged with her lipstick, testimonies of her affection, of how lucky you are to have it.
The sight pulls a smile from Wednesday, and consequently from you as well once you see it. Because albeit small, her smile is real, and you think you already have your next project for the sketchbook.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3
Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242
#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday addams imagine#wednesday addams x fem!reader#wednesday addams#wednesday#wednesday addams x you#wednesdayedit#imagine#fanfic#fluff#angst#wednesday addams fanfic#jenna ortega#wednesday x reader#my story
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—timeless
pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader
summary: draco malfoy wouldn’t have thought to come across you in a dark magic shop or how eager he would be to marry you
notes: i changed it up a bit, i hope that’s alright
warnings: mentions of grooming, loved ones dying || navigation
the dim light of the street lantern was falling into the window of the dark magic shop. the wind hit the bells behind the door when it got opened, making them chime a melodic melody.
“hello?” a voice asked.
you looked up from the paper on the counter and searched for the person that had just come through the door. it wasn’t long until draco malfoy entered your field of vision.
“l/n?” he asked surprised when his eyes fell on you.
“malfoy” you noted. his hair was as light as ever, but he looked a bit healthier since the last time you had seen him, which arguably wasn’t the best. it had been the final fight and you had watched him being walked away by his parents.
“what are you doing here?” he proceeded to ask “i wouldn’t have thought that someone like you would come anywhere near this shop”
you hadn’t been friends at hogwarts. quite the opposite really. you had always belonged to ron, hermione and harry, while draco had made it his mission to torture them.
although you had always been by their side, he had never once said anything about you. probably because even draco malfoy pitied you, like the rest of the school. your parents had been brutally killed by death eaters during your second year in hogwarts. even though you hated to see the pity in people's eyes, you had never noticed it when he looked at you. it was just silence, like he had not a single thought in his head whenever he would look at you, as if looking at you would silence the rest of the world.
you had always looked at bit smaller, a bit more fragile than your classmates. so fragile, not even draco malfoy dared to break you.
“my uncle bought the shop last year” you answered truthfully “and as i’m staying with him..” you trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.
“aha” malfoy nodded, and having decided that that was enough smalltalk either of you could endure, without growing uncomfortable, his hand went to the bag he was carrying and took something out.
he set the object down on the counter in front of you. it looked like a normal mirror, but it was black and you knew that it wouldn’t do you any good to search for your reflection.
“it’s my fathers” malfoy said after a few seconds of silence, before he cleared his throat “it was my fathers”
“oh” was all you could say.
“i’m trying to sell a few of his belongings.. that are on the darker side” his eyes found yours as he finally looked up “i don’t think anyone would be particularly happy about us still keeping those things”
“yeah, no” you agreed, gently taking the mirror into your hands.
“what does it do?” malfoy asked and you furrowed you eyebrows, surprised that he was asking you.
“nothing good” you said vaguely, watching his eyes darting over the object in your hands “it’s corruption” you concluded “every object of dark magic just corrupts the soul and in comparison, what they can do is just not worth it”
“i know” malfoy nodded quickly, his eyes returning to watch you instead of the mirror.
you wrapped it up in some paper and taped it shut, so no one was dared to look at it.
“that’s why i’m selling it” he said “that’s why i’m selling all of these things my father owned. it will just take me some time to find all of them”
“okay” you nodded, not sure what you could say instead.
“i just have the mirror with me today, i wanted it out of the house as soon as i found it” he added quickly. it seemed like not saying anything was motivation enough for him to talk.
or maybe, what you didn’t know was that he had so much to say, because he couldn’t tell it to anyone else. there were just him and his mother in that dark house and he wouldn’t try to talk to her about any of this. she had been through enough.
to his surprise he found a bit of comfort in your warm eyes, making it almost impossible for him not to tell you everything. and it was weird that you were harry potters best friend of all people. but you were friendly and you were here, so he didn’t care.
maybe he had never really cared that he should not be feeling about you this way.
you took out a book that seemed so old, that it almost fell apart when it hit the counter and turned the pages to find the price range for the dark magical object that was still laying next to you.
malfoy was watching you in complete silence and before he could question if the mood had shifted to become uncomfortable, a happy squeal broke out of your lips.
“i got it!” you smiled, pointing at the top of the page. malfoy tried to bend his head to look at it, before you were finally friendly enough to turn the book in his direction.
“huh” malfoy nodded “it's more than i thought it would be worth”
“that's quite common with these objects” you smiled happily and malfoy mirrored your expression. he was a bit surprised you were smiling at him, but it seemed like you didn’t harbour any hard feelings towards him.
he remembered you clearly, a few months ago at hogwarts, standing on the stairs, your braid ripped apart, lose strands of hair flowing in the wind. your face filled with dirt. there had been blood coming from a cut in your lip.
he wasn’t sure if he had just imagined it, but for a split second, your eyes fell on him. standing on opposite sides, tears brimming and flowing over your cheeks quickly.
maybe you had been the sole reason for him to throw his wand at harry potter. maybe he had done it because it had felt like you had asked him to.
how could he ever ignore the calling of a beautiful girl, standing in the middle of a war, crying for him to do something?
“thank you” he nodded when you passed him the galleons. he walked back to the door, feeling your eyes on him.
“draco” you called and he turned around quickly. he had never heard his first name coming out of your mouth. it sounded so beautiful when you said it. so soft and gentle, almost like it wasn’t a curse. “thank you”
no, he had not only imagined it.
draco smiled at you and nodded. he left the shop without another word.
it only took him about a day to come back. he spent more than just a few hours searching the house for more of his fathers artifacts, storing them away safely, so he could bring in one at a time. he wasn’t sure why, but the possibility of seeing you excited him. making his days bearable.
“draco” you greeted when he entered the shop. he was almost glad that you stuck to calling him by his first name.
“hello” draco nodded, he wasn’t daring enough to use your first name just yet.
“you came back quicker than i had thought”
just because of you, draco thought to himself, just nodding to you, as if that was answer enough.
just like the day before, his visit didn’t take long. with you inspecting the artifact, taking out the book and giving him his galleons before he could even ask you anything.
he made sure to bring more than just one object when he came in the next day.
“how have you been?” he asked as he watched you turn the pages of the book.
you shrugged, not quite sure what to answer “harry, ron and hermione went back to hogwarts, so it’s a bit lonely, but it’s alright”
it astonished him how often you spoke about your friends. you had even done that during your time in hogwarts, a bit like you were always dependent on them.
“why didn’t you?” he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line.
“huh?” you looked up at him “went back to hogwarts?” you asked and his smile died down when you began to laugh. “no” you shook your head and he recognized the sadness quickly wandering over your face.
“and why—“ before he could finish his question, you had taken out the galleons and held them in his direction.
“here” you interrupted.
he left the shop with an uneasy feeling, scared he might’ve offended you. but everything was back to normal when he came in the next day and the few following after that.
it had been three weeks of him visiting the shop regularly, his mother already wondering what he was doing there so often, when for the first time it wasn’t you behind the counter, but an elderly man.
draco waited patiently at the door, as another costumer was standing at the counter.
“where is y/n, cornelius?” he could hear the man ask. he was well into his thirties, looking a bit too old to have any connection to you, but maybe you were just as friendly with him as you were with anyone else and draco really wanted to know the answer to his question.
“oh” the bearded man, probably cornelius, behind the counter shook his head “she went off to collect a few things that we need”
“that’s a pity” the costumer noted “i had hoped to see her beautiful face one of these days”
draco grimaced at that. he ignored the costumers greeting, before the man left the shop.
“hello” cornelius waved at draco to come forward.
“afternoon” draco greeted.
“draco malfoy, right?” the man asked “y/n told me about you coming in and selling your father’s artifacts”
“that’s right, sir” draco nodded.
“you two went to hogwarts together, didn't you?” cornelius smiled “i’m her uncle, cornelius barnes”
“it’s very nice to meet you, mr barnes” draco shook the man’s hand “is y/n alright?” somehow he could sense that barnes answer to the strange man’s question had been a lie.
“yes” barnes nodded “she’s just in the back. she’s not fond of hector” he pointed to the door.
“ah” draco nodded. he could understand that you’d rather hide away as soon as that man came into the shop, even draco found him uncomfortable.
“he’s been wanting to marry her” barnes continued and draco wondered if it was in the man’s nature to just tell private things to costumers or maybe, draco was the closest thing to a friend y/n had right now, considering the rest of them had went off to hogwarts.
“isn’t he at least ten years older than her?” draco wondered.
“twenty” barnes corrected and draco shivered. “sad enough that she’s actually considering it”
draco’s chin had almost hit the counter at that “what?” he asked outraged “why would she ever marry someone— like that” he finished quickly.
“i’ve been trying to talk her out of it, but she’s always been too selfless for her own good. she didn’t even go back to hogwarts”
“i had figured she didn’t want to”
barnes shook his head “she decided against it. i wish it wasn’t like that, but money is tight and y/n wants to do anything possible to save me” he pointed down to his leg “i’m not as fit as i was a few years ago”
draco nodded understandingly.
“she’s convinced that her marriage to a man like hector could help me” barnes shook his head sadly “i wish she wouldn’t feel as responsible for me and rather find a man she could have an equal relationship with, someone that could bring her comfort after my death, someone she could actually love”
“yeah” draco nodded and mirrored the man’s sad expression. he left the shop a few minutes later, the galleons clinking together in his pocket, which made him even sadder, feeling like he was robbing you and your uncle of your last money.
it took him more than just a few days to return back to the shop, carefully thinking about how he could help you best.
“draco” you smiled when he entered the shop and he could almost read the relief from your face. “it’s alright, uncle cornelius” you patted your uncles shoulder “you can sit down in the back, i will take care of it”
barnes greeted draco, before he limped into the back of the shop.
“he’s really nice” draco said as soon as the door to had closed.
“yeah” you smiled and draco noticed how much you admired the old man “sadly we all can’t stay young for forever”
draco nodded.
you looked at him expectingly “what?” you smiled “no dark magical object?”
“not quite, no” draco shook his head, before he took out the velvet box and set it down on the counter in front of you.
“what’s that?” you asked surprised. he looked at you and nodded when you went to open the box. a beautiful ring was shimmering so much it almost blended you. “a ring?” you wondered “okay, which curse was it hexed with?”
draco shook his head. “it’s my mothers. it’s not cursed..” he thought for a short second, before he added “or magical”
“draco?” you asked and he admired how his name slipped past your lips so effortlessly, so gentle it reminded him of his first visit to the shop and the shiver he had felt every time you had said it since.
“marry me” draco said a bit faster than anticipated.
“what?” you laughed, entirely astonished at his demand.
“your uncle told me about the money problems you had” he quickly explained “i get access to my father’s assets as soon as i’m twenty-five or sooner if i get married before that”
“my uncle told you that?” you repeated faintly.
“yeah, but it’s not a problem”
you looked up at him with big eyes. “you can’t just barge in here and ask me to marry you.. you can’t just come in here and save me.. that’s not how that works, draco” you shook your head and his heart sank.
“why not?” he wondered “i’d be ready to do that for you. you need money and i have it”
“draco” you touched his hand softly “i don’t want to get married out of convenience” you explained.
“but you're thinking about marrying hector?” he raised his voice.
“he really told you everything, huh?” you muttered, looking back at the door to the private area of the shop.
“y/n!” draco called and your eyes focused back on him.
“that’s different” you tried to escape his eyes.
“how is that any different? at least i’m not twenty years old than you!” draco argued “so you’d rather get married to that disgusting—“
“yes!” you interrupted and your voice was now matching the loudness of his. “you can’t just decide to marry me because it’d be the right thing to do!”
“but it is” he shook his head “i’m trying to help you. marrying me would benefit you”
“but i don’t want to get married to you like that” the sentence had left your mouth faster than you had been able to stop it, immediately making you close it and look down. right at the velvet box and the ring that was still sitting in the middle of you.
“what?” draco asked surprised.
you sighed “i don’t care about marrying hector out of convenience, but i would care if it was you”
the smile broke out quickly on draco’s face. “you would want to marry me?” he asked “but only for the right reasons?”
“i wasn’t talking about a marriage just yet” you raised your finger and corrected him “but i wouldn’t want to destroy that option just because i could profit from it. and if i would get married to you, it surely wouldn’t be because of your money”
draco almost recognized something in your eyes. something that you saw in him that no one ever did. and even though he had never seen it before, it felt familiar and safe. “do you think you could ever love me?” he asked unsurely. maybe he was just interpreting this conversation wrong.
“i think i have loved you longer than what was probably healthy for me” you whispered, leaning on the table and resting your chin on top of your hand. “do you think you could ever love me?” you repeated his question.
his smile grew impossibly bigger. “i don’t think i could even stop if i wanted to”
he was ready to jump over the counter, to hold you close and kiss you, to make all the bad years disappear.
but before he could do anything of that sort, you smiled and closed the box containing the ring, pushing it in his direction.
“so marriage is off the table?” he asked faintly.
“not completely” you smiled “but how about you take me on a date first?” you suggested.
“okay” he smiled, then he looked around the room. there was still your problem, the one that had provoked him to ask for your hand in marriage in the first place. “i think i know someone who would buy a few of these artifacts, for more than just their market price”
“you do?” you wondered and he nodded. it was like a weight had been lifted off you shoulders. or maybe for the first time in a long time, someone else knew what to do.
you went around the corner and hugged him. he held your head in his hands, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear before he finally kissed you. soft and gentle, making a shiver run down your spine.
after all, everything became better than you had hoped it to be. you returned to hogwarts, just having missed two months of classes that you had caught up to quicker than you had been able to worry about it.
draco had started finishing his education from afar, while helping your uncle to sell most of the magic items and finally deciding on new things to sell, completely updating the place until it was filled with costumers coming in all the time.
it took a few more years, but soon enough draco proposed to you again. and in the summer of the year 2002, y/n l/n married draco malfoy for only the right reasons.
#draco malfoy x reader#draco x reader#draco lucius malfoy#draco malfoy#draco fanfiction#hogwarts#hogwarts houses#slytherin group#slytherin boys#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin#harry potter#tom felton#harry potter fandom#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#timeless#taylor swift#speak now
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clandestine meetings
Alexia putellas x williamson reader!!
It was late afternoon, probably around 5 p.m., and the sun was setting. It was October, the fall season. The air smelled like leaves, almost like pumpkin. I was so focused on people walking down from the rooftop that I didn't notice someone joining me.
I didn't have to turn to see who it was since I knew who it was right away. Just by her hair, her height, and the vibes she radiates. I couldn't be wrong, I knew it was her. Memorising those small details about her makes me hate her because I can't seem to get over her.
She moved closer to me, leaving a small distance between us. She took out a cigarette, lit it, and went on about her business while I was at a loss for what to do beside her. I don't think starting a conversation with her would help either, so I just stood quietly, admiring the view and watching the sun set as the wind blew through my hair.
There's something about that comfortable silence. We didn't have to say anything to one other or anything like that. Or, if we did talk. We didn't have to worry about running out of topics or being awkward since simply being with her in silence is plenty; her presence is enough. Being together felt like home; it made us feel complete.
Leaning over the rail, I turned my head to check on her, and she was as lovely as ever. She was always beautiful. She was the first person who caught my attention when I moved to Barcelona. I've kept an eye on her ever since.
She continued smoking and admiring the view, while I got lost staring at her. She sighed and smiled, "You know I can see you staring, right?" she asked, turning to face me.
I couldn't think of anything to say so I just chuckled and shrugged it off.
She turned to face me, tossed her cigarette in the trash can, and moved closer to me.
"Why did you stop smoking?" I asked as she approached me.
"I don't want you to smell like smoke, plus i don't think you like it when people smoke near you" she went on to say
"That's very thoughtful of you, ale," I comment, laughing at her.
She was taken aback for a moment because she had never heard me call her by her nickname. It was my first time addressing her as such. I usually refer to her as "alexia" or "cap"
She paused for a bit before clearing her throat, "Is your sister okay?"
she said, seeming nervous
She seems to have gathered up enough courage to ask that question. Leah and Alexia weren't on the best of terms, so hearing her ask this makes my heart melt.
"She'll be fine; I'll be back home once the breaks come," I reassured her.
"I know she was against you going to Barcelona," she said as she drew closer to me than she had ever been.
"Um, yeah. She was," I answered nervously, hoping to keep it hidden because she was closer than ever right now.
"I'm pretty sure you know why she didn't want you to come here, right?" she asked, with a slight smirk on her face. She was clearly having a good time.
"Of course," I answer, trying to cover up my nervousness. Having her so near to me makes my knees shaky, like jello. Her stares make my knees wobble.
"She didn't want me coming here because she'll be alone, and we've never been separated this long, it'll be new to her, to me as well," I reply, looking wherever I can to avoid facing her because I know it'll be a dead end for me if I do.
"Come on, that's not all of it, isn't it?" she nudged me
"I'm not blind, I know the main reason why williamson doesn't want you to come here is because of me" she said with that annoying smirk on her face that I desperately wanted to erase
I just nodded and tucked my lips because she got it right
"What does she say about me? I bet she told you I was bad influence" she said and laughed
“You should surely take your older sister's advice, don't you think?"
"Like the good girl you are," she said, smirking.
We fell silent and let the breeze wash over us.
She drew nearer as I walked toward the doorway, placing both of her arms on either side of the rail to enclose me.
"Do you think I'm a bad influence? Do you agree with your sister?"
I look at her and see her eyes piercing at me, green with a tint of brown, she looked breathtaking. I felt like I could drown in her eyes.
"I don't think you are," I responded, swallowing hard.
"I'm your sister's rival, and yet you still stick with me?"
"I don't think you'd like it if I ignored you, though," I muttered, glancing down because just looking at her makes me want to pass out.
She tilted her head in such a way that it gave me butterflies. Lord, when will this end?
"Why so?" she inquired, completely teasing me.
"Would you like me to ignore you for the entire season, ale?" I said back.
She pouted at me, seeming to think about what she was about to say.
"Hmm, no. It would make me sad," she teased, smiling.
"Sad, why?" I inquired, still smiling.
"Because if I were to ignore you, that would make your sister feel relieved that I'm not circling you. I want her to be mad at me and for her to feel annoyed because it makes me happy." She grinned and moved closer to me.
"You're really messed up in the head, ale," I joke, pushing more against the rail because if I don't, you know what would happen.
"I want her to be annoyed, I want her to be angry at me, I want her to feel all the emotions," she said as she locked her gaze on mine. Her eyes seemed to want to express more, as if there was more to what she said.
"Which is why i won't be leaving you"
She whispered and stared at me for what seemed like hours. She was just staring at me, as if she was trying to memorise my face. I felt very vulnerable.
"Is that the only reason you don't want me to ignore you?" I asked, leaning closer to accept her challenge.
"Do you think there's something more?" she replied, edging closer to me until our faces were almost touching.
"I know there is"
I'm so sorry for leaving u w a cliffhanger 😭😭 i promise you there is a part 2! THERE WILL BE A PART 2 👹👹
Dm me if u wanna know some bits of the next part 😎
#woso#woso community#arsenal#awfc#lionesses#leah williamson#arsenalwfc#leah catherine williamson#leah williamson x reader#aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#spn wnt#engwnt#engwnt x reader#fcb x reader#fc barcelona#barca femeni#fc barca#visca barca#alexia putellas x reader#lee x ale#arsenal x barca#fr#new fic!!!!#chrlvctius#alexia putellas fluff#the tension is omg#we fell in love in october
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