󠁇

✧

✧ 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐣𝐢𝐧

Seokjin had always been the dramatic one, the member who could turn even the smallest inconvenience into a full theatrical performance.

But when it came to you, his secret love, that drama wasn’t just for show—it masked something much deeper. He was head over heels, the kind of love that kept him up at night thinking about your laugh, your voice, the way you looked at him when no one else was watching.

You two had agreed to keep it hidden for now, protecting the relationship from the intense spotlight of idol life. Still, every time someone else stole your attention, it hit him harder than he let on.

The backstage area buzzed with pre-concert energy. Staff members hurried around, stylists adjusted outfits, and the members stretched or reviewed last-minute details. Seokjin lounged against a table, flipping through his phone with practiced nonchalance, but his eyes kept drifting to you across the room.

You were chatting with one of the newer lighting technicians—a friendly, outgoing guy who had been making everyone laugh all week. The technician leaned in closer as he explained some technical detail, gesturing animatedly, and you smiled at him, nodding along.

Seokjin’s fingers paused on his screen. He forced a smile, but inside, irritation prickled. It’s just a conversation, he told himself. You’re allowed to talk to people.

Yet the way the guy’s hand brushed your shoulder lightly as he pointed something out on a tablet made Seokjin’s stomach twist. He cleared his throat loudly, but no one noticed. Fine. He could play this game.

“Wow, okayyyy, I see how it is,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to potentially hear if you were paying attention. You didn’t turn. The technician said something else, and you laughed again—that bright, genuine laugh that Seokjin usually earned with his dad jokes and cooking stories.

He pushed off the table, wandering closer under the pretense of grabbing a water bottle. “Guess I’m invisible now,” he added in a sing-song voice, dramatic and pouty, drawing a few amused glances from nearby staff. But his eyes stayed on you, sharp and needy.

Deep down, it wasn’t just theatrics. He genuinely felt the sting. He wanted your focus on him, your smiles directed at him, your time reserved for stolen moments in hotel rooms or quiet van rides where he could whisper how much he adored you.

The technician touched your arm again, this time resting his hand there a second too long while showing you a funny video on his phone. That was it.

Seokjin stepped forward with exaggerated flair, placing a hand on his chest like he’d been wounded. “Ah, I see the new lighting expert has taken over my role as the funniest person in the room. Should I just disappear into the background? Maybe become a stage prop?” His tone was light, teasing, but the undercurrent of real upset made his words sharper than usual.

The technician blinked, suddenly awkward, and pulled his hand back quickly.

You turned to Seokjin, catching the flash of genuine hurt behind his dramatic mask. The technician excused himself with a nervous chuckle, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

As soon as the two of you had a moment of semi-privacy near the edge of the room, Seokjin’s facade cracked further. He crossed his arms, lips pursed in that signature pout. “You like him more than me now? Be honest. I can take it. I’m just the handsome chef who makes you laugh and cooks your favorite meals at 2 a.m. No big deal.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, but before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and tugged you toward his private dressing room down the hall, closing the door firmly behind you. The lock clicked, sealing you both away from prying eyes.

The moment the world was shut out, Seokjin’s dramatic complaints melted into raw emotion. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight back hug from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

His breath was warm against your neck. “I hate this,” he whispered, voice dropping the playful tone. “I hate pretending I don’t care when someone else touches you or makes you laugh. I want all of it. Your attention, your time, your everything. It’s selfish, but I’m in love with you. Secretly, stupidly, completely.”

His hands roamed up your sides, pulling you closer against his chest. The clinginess kicked in hard—exactly as expected after his jealousy flared. He pressed a series of soft forehead kisses along your hairline, then turned you in his arms to face him. “You like me more, right? Tell me. I need to hear it.”

“Of course I do, Jin. Only you,” you reassured him, and that was all it took.

His mouth descended on yours in a kiss that started tender but quickly ignited with pent-up need. Seokjin kissed like he performed— with full commitment and flair.

His lips moved against yours hungrily, tongue teasing until you parted for him. He backed you toward the couch, never breaking contact, his large hands cupping your face as if you might vanish.

Clothes came off in a heated rush. He peeled your shirt away slowly, savoring the reveal of your skin, then shed his own to expose his broad shoulders and toned chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion and desire.

He laid you down on the couch, hovering over you, dropping more forehead kisses and soft ones along your collarbone. His hands explored everywhere—squeezing your waist, tracing your curves, gripping your thighs as he settled between them.

Seokjin took his time, despite the urgency of his jealousy. He kissed down your body, lingering at your breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his fingers played with the other. You arched into him, fingers threading through his dark hair.

Lower, he went, until his breath ghosted over your core. He looked up at you with those expressive eyes, still a hint of that dramatic pout lingering. “This is mine. Only mine.”

His tongue delved in, licking a slow stripe through your folds before focusing on your clit with precise, teasing circles. Two fingers slid inside you, curling expertly as he worked you open. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine.

Seokjin ate you out with the same dedication he put into everything—thorough, passionate, a little extra. He brought you right to the edge, then eased back, kissing your inner thighs while you caught your breath.

“Not yet,” he said, climbing back up your body. “I want to be inside you when you come. I want to feel how much you want me.”

He positioned himself, rubbing the thick head of his cock against your entrance, slick with your arousal and his saliva. With a deep push, he entered you, both of you groaning at the perfect fit.

Seokjin’s hips rolled slowly at first, savoring the connection, but jealousy still simmered beneath the surface. His pace quickened, thrusts becoming deeper and more insistent.

“Tell me again,” he panted between kisses, pinning your hands above your head with one of his. “You like me more, right? Say it while I fuck you.”

“I like you more—fuck, Jin, so much more,” you moaned, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.

That spurred him on. He released your hands to grip your hips, angling you so every thrust hit that sweet spot inside. The room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, your shared gasps, and his occasional dramatic whispers. “That’s right. No one else gets to make you feel like this. No technician, no staff, no one. Just me.”

He shifted positions, pulling you up so you straddled him on the couch. You rode him while he guided your movements with strong hands on your ass, thrusting up to meet you. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking marks that would be hidden under your clothes later.

One hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in time with your bounces.

Pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Seokjin could feel you tightening around him. “Come for me, baby. Show me I’m the only one.”

Your orgasm hit hard, waves crashing through you as you clenched around his cock, crying out his name. Seokjin followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a long, satisfied groan.

His arms wrapped around you tightly in another back hug as you both came down, even while still connected.

For several minutes, he just held you like that, pressing forehead kisses to your temple, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach. The clinginess returned full force.

“I’m sorry for being dramatic out there,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck. “But I can’t help it. When I see someone else getting your smiles, it makes me realize how badly I want to tell the whole world you’re mine. Until then… stay close to me, okay? Lots of hugs like this. Lots of kisses. And always tell me I’m your favorite.”

You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “You are my favorite, Jin. Dramatics and all.”

He smiled, genuine and warm now that the jealousy had been soothed by your touch. But he wasn’t done. After cleaning you both up gently, he pulled you back into his lap, hands wandering again. “Round two,” he announced with a playful wink. “I need more reassurance. And more of those sounds you make just for me.”

This time was slower, more intimate. He took you from behind while you leaned over the couch arm, his chest pressed to your back in a constant hug.

One arm wrapped around your waist, the other between your legs, rubbing you as he thrust steadily. He whispered praises and silly jokes mixed with love confessions, keeping things light even as pleasure built again.

By the end, you were both exhausted in the best way, tangled together on the couch with his arms securely around you. Seokjin’s dramatic jealousy had led to this—raw passion, tender aftercare, and a deeper bond strengthened in secret. He kissed your forehead one last time.

“Don’t forget who loves you most, even when I have to pretend I don’t in front of everyone else.”

The concert would start soon, and he’d be back to his charismatic, funny self on stage. But you would carry his touch, his words, and the quiet promise of more hidden moments like this.

✧

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢

Yoongi didn’t need to raise his voice or put on a show for his jealousy to land like ice water down the spine. It was the silence that made it terrifying—the way his face stayed almost neutral, sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction, while the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

He was in love with you in the quietest, most consuming way possible. A love built on late-night studio sessions where words weren’t necessary, on shared headphones and fingers brushing under tables. You kept it secret because that was the only way it could survive right now. But secrets had a way of sharpening everything else, especially the possessiveness he rarely let show.

The green room hummed with the usual pre-show chaos. Staff adjusted mics, members chatted in low voices, and you stood near the couch talking to one of the tour photographers.

The guy was friendly, talented, and clearly interested. He leaned against the wall, camera slung around his neck, smiling as he showed you some shots from the previous night on his screen. “You always end up looking perfect in these,” he said, voice dropping a little. “The way the light hits you… I could shoot you for hours.”

You laughed politely, flipping through the images. Yoongi sat on the opposite couch, hood up, earbuds in but no music playing. His expression didn’t change. He looked half-asleep, legs stretched out, cap pulled low. But his gaze followed every movement.

The way the photographer stepped closer. The way his hand brushed your elbow to point at something on the screen. The way you smiled back—not flirtatious, but warm enough to twist something deep in Yoongi’s chest.

He didn’t speak. Not at first. His answers to the staff member asking about setlist changes became short, almost curt. “Yeah.” “Fine.” “Whatever works.” The calm shifted. People around him started glancing over, sensing the subtle change in the air without understanding why. Yoongi’s eyes stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, tracking the photographer’s every gesture like a predator deciding exactly when to strike.

When the guy laughed at something you said and let his fingers linger on your arm, tracing a light path down to your wrist while complimenting your “natural presence,” Yoongi moved. No words.

No dramatic sigh. He simply stood, crossed the room in that slow, deliberate way of his, and slid an arm around your waist from behind. His hand settled firmly, fingers pressing into your side with quiet ownership. He pulled you back against his chest, chin brushing your shoulder for a brief second before he released you—but not really. His presence stayed right there, a wall of silent warning.

The photographer straightened immediately, mumbling something about checking equipment, and disappeared faster than expected. Yoongi didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. He just looked at you once, eyes saying everything his mouth wouldn’t: We’re leaving. Now.

He guided you out with that same hand on your waist, touch deceptively light but impossible to ignore. Down the hallway to his private dressing room.

The door shut with a soft click. The lock turned. And then the real shift happened.

Yoongi leaned against the door for a moment, staring at you. Still silent. The jealousy didn’t explode out of him like it might with the others. It coiled, controlled, and burned hotter because of it. He crossed to you slowly, backing you against the makeup counter without touching you at first.

His hands finally came up, framing your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with surprising gentleness before his grip tightened just enough.

“You let him touch you,” he said, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question. “Laughed with him. Let him look at you like that.”

His lips crashed into yours before you could answer—slow, deep, devastating. Yoongi kissed like he produced music: layered, intentional, every movement building something heavier. His tongue slid against yours, claiming, while one hand dropped to your waist again, pulling your hips flush against him.

You could feel how hard he already was, pressed against your stomach.

He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking lightly at first, then harder, leaving marks that would hide under your collar. “Mine,” he breathed against your skin. No theatrics.

Just fact. His hands worked methodically, peeling your shirt off, then his own. The sight of his pale skin, slim but toned torso, and the faint lines of muscle made your breath catch. He lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your legs.

Yoongi’s possessiveness showed in the calmest, most intense ways. He didn’t rush. He unbuttoned your pants and dragged them down along with your underwear, eyes never leaving yours. When you were bare, he ran his palms up your thighs, spreading them wider.

Two fingers traced your entrance, feeling how wet you already were, before sliding in deep. He curled them slowly, perfectly, watching every flicker across your face.

“Eyes on me,” he murmured when your head tipped back. His free hand gripped your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. Those dark eyes held you captive while his fingers pumped steadily, thumb circling your clit with maddening precision.

The room filled with the wet sounds of his hand and your growing moans, but Yoongi stayed mostly quiet, only letting out low, controlled breaths.

He brought you right to the edge, then withdrew his fingers, ignoring your frustrated whimper. He freed himself from his pants, thick and flushed, stroking once before pressing the head against you.

One smooth thrust and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning softly into your neck. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming.

His hips rolled in deep, measured strokes. Not frantic—deliberate. Each thrust claimed you, reminded you exactly who you belonged to. One arm wrapped around your back, holding you impossibly close, while the other braced on the counter. Skin met skin in rhythmic slaps, but his voice stayed low.

“No one else gets this,” he whispered against your ear, biting the lobe. “No one else hears you moan like this. No one else feels how tight you get when I’m inside you.” His pace increased gradually, still controlled, but the jealousy fueled every snap of his hips. He angled just right, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.

You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in. “Yoongi—”

“Say it,” he demanded quietly, voice dark. “Tell me who you belong to while I fuck you.”

“You. Only you.”

That seemed to break something in his restraint. He lifted you off the counter, turning you around and bending you over it. Your hands braced on the cool surface as he entered you again from behind, deeper this way.

One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, the other reached around to rub your clit in tight circles. His chest pressed to your back, lips against your shoulder as he thrust harder, faster, but still terrifyingly silent except for the occasional low groan.

The orgasm built like a wave you couldn’t escape. When it crashed over you, your walls clenched around him, legs shaking. Yoongi followed moments later, burying himself deep and coming with a quiet, shuddering breath, filling you completely.

He stayed inside you for a long minute, arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed to your back.

Finally, he pulled out carefully, cleaning you both with a warm cloth from the side table. He didn’t speak much even then. Just pulled you into his arms on the small couch, holding you against his chest.

His fingers traced slow patterns on your bare skin—possessive, soothing. The silent jealousy had morphed into this: quiet intensity, the kind that wrapped around you like smoke.

“I hate it,” he said eventually, voice barely audible. “Seeing someone else flirt with you. Touch you. Makes me want to pull you away every single time. I know we can’t say anything yet. But you’re mine. In every way that matters.”

You turned in his arms, kissing his jaw. “I am yours, Yoongi. Always.”

He nodded once, eyes softening just a fraction. But the possessiveness lingered. His hand slid down to grip your thigh, pulling you closer. “Good. Because we still have time before soundcheck.”

His lips found yours again, slower this time, but no less hungry.

The second round was different—slower, face to face on the couch, your legs wrapped around his waist as he moved inside you with those same deep, claiming strokes. He kept his forehead against yours, eyes locked, forcing you to feel every emotion he rarely voiced.

When you came again, whispering his name like a prayer, he followed, spilling into you once more with a quiet curse.

Afterward, he held you tightly, pressing soft kisses to your temple. No dramatic declarations.

No over-the-top clinginess. Just Yoongi—silent, steady, and terrifyingly in love. The kind of love that didn’t need noise to be felt in your bones.

He helped you dress eventually, adjusting your clothes so the marks he left stayed hidden.

When you stepped back into the hallway, his expression had returned to that neutral calm. But his hand brushed your lower back one last time, a secret reminder.

The mood around him stayed shifted for the rest of the evening. Short answers. Watching eyes. And when anyone got too close to you again, that arm found your waist without a word.

Because Yoongi’s jealousy didn’t roar. It simply took what was his, quietly, completely, and left no room for doubt.

✧

✧ 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤

Hoseok was sunshine personified—bright smiles, infectious laughter, and that endless energy that lit up every room he entered. But when jealousy crept in, especially over you, the person he was secretly, deeply in love with, that sunshine didn’t disappear. It just burned hotter, more focused, until it consumed everything else.

He tried so hard to play it cool, to keep things light and fun like always, because that was his role. The one who kept morale high. The one who made everyone feel at ease. But with you, his ult, his hidden heart, the mask slipped faster than he could catch it.

The backstage lounge was alive with pre-rehearsal chatter. Members stretched, stylists touched up makeup, and you were standing near the snack table talking to one of the new choreographers—a charismatic guy who’d been brought in for a fresh routine. He was funny, confident, and clearly drawn to your energy. He demonstrated a quick footwork move, laughing as you tried to copy it, his hand lightly steadying your waist for balance.

“See? You’ve got natural rhythm,” he said, eyes lingering a second too long. “We should practice together sometime. I could teach you a lot.”

Hoseok, who had been sipping water across the room while chatting with staff, felt the shift instantly. He forced a wide smile, the one that usually lit up stages worldwide, and sauntered over with his signature playful bounce. “Yah, what’s this? Stealing my favorite dance partner?” he teased, voice bright and sing-song.

But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It tightened at the corners, turning a little sharp. His laugh when the choreographer joked back sounded forced, almost brittle.

He tried again, keeping it playful. “Careful, she might outshine you on stage if you teach her too well!” Another laugh, but it fell flat even to his own ears.

Deep down, it wasn’t funny. Not when this guy had his hand on your waist. Not when you were smiling at someone else the way Hoseok wanted you smiling at him in every stolen moment—those quiet van rides, late-night texts, and hidden hotel nights where he whispered how much he adored you. You were his secret, his everything, and watching someone else flirt so openly made his chest ache with a need he couldn’t voice publicly.

The choreographer chuckled and touched your arm again, leaning in to say something quieter. That was the breaking point. Hoseok’s playful facade crumbled in an instant. He moved smoothly but decisively, sliding right beside you. One arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against his side. His other hand found yours, fingers intertwining tightly.

He rested his chin on top of your head, nuzzling in just enough to make his claim crystal clear without words. The warmth of his body enveloped you, that familiar mix of cologne and stage energy that was so distinctly him.

“Actually,” Hoseok said, voice still light but edged with something deeper, “we have some partner work we need to go over. Right now.” His smile stayed plastered on for the choreographer, but his grip on you tightened. Everyone in the room could see it—you two were close. Very close.

The choreographer got the message, nodding awkwardly and stepping back with a quick excuse about checking the stage layout.

As soon as the guy was out of sight, Hoseok didn’t let go. If anything, he held you tighter. His arm around your shoulders became a full embrace, chin still on your head as he swayed you gently side to side like you were dancing to music only he could hear. “I hate that,” he murmured into your hair, voice dropping the playful tone. “I try to act cool, but seeing him touch you… it makes me want to pull you away and keep you all to myself. You’re my person. My favorite. I need everyone to know how close we are, even if we can’t tell them everything yet.”

He guided you down the hallway to his private dressing room, never once releasing your hand. The door closed behind you, and the lock clicked. In the quiet space, Hoseok’s energy shifted completely.

He turned to you, eyes soft but burning with that mix of love and jealousy. “You know you’re my ult, right? My everything. I can’t stand the thought of someone else thinking they can have even a piece of you.”

His hands cupped your face tenderly, thumbs brushing your cheeks, before he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed—it was deep, passionate, full of all the affection he poured into every performance. Hoseok kissed like he danced: with soul, with fire, with every part of himself.

His tongue moved against yours in perfect rhythm, drawing soft sounds from you that made him smile against your lips.

Clothes disappeared between heated kisses and wandering hands. He peeled your shirt off slowly, worshipping every inch of skin he revealed with his mouth. “So beautiful,” he whispered, voice husky.

His own shirt came off next, revealing his toned dancer’s body, lean muscle honed from years of powerful performances. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the wide couch.

Hoseok laid you down like you were precious, but his touches grew more urgent. He kissed down your neck, sucking gentle marks along your collarbone—marks only the two of you would see.

His hands explored your curves, squeezing your hips, tracing your thighs as he removed the rest of your clothes. When you were bare beneath him, he took a moment just to look, eyes full of adoration. “Mine,” he said softly, almost reverently. “All mine.”

He settled between your legs, mouth hot and eager as he tasted you. His tongue moved with expert precision—playful flicks on your clit mixed with deep, languid strokes that had you gripping his hair. Two fingers slid inside you, curling in that way he knew drove you crazy, matching the rhythm of his mouth. Hoseok moaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks through your body.

He looked up at you the whole time, eyes locked, making sure you felt exactly how much he needed this.

But he didn’t let you finish that way. He wanted to be closer. Needed it. Hoseok climbed back up, shedding the last of his clothes, his cock hard and flushed with need.

He rubbed the tip against your entrance, teasing just enough to make you whimper, before sliding in deep with one smooth thrust. The feeling of him filling you completely drew matching groans from both of you.

He started slow, rolling his hips in that fluid, dancer-like motion, grinding deep. One hand held yours above your head, fingers still intertwined, while the other caressed your face. “Look at me, baby,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “I need you to see how much I love you. How crazy you make me.”

The pace built gradually, thrusts becoming more powerful, more possessive. Skin met skin with rhythmic slaps, the couch creaking softly beneath you. Hoseok’s usual playfulness returned in little ways—he nipped at your lip with a small smile, whispered silly-sweet things between moans—but the jealousy fueled an intensity that made everything hotter. He shifted you onto your side, lifting one leg over his shoulder so he could go even deeper, hitting that perfect spot with every stroke.

“You feel so good,” he panted, sweat glistening on his skin. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to hold you, touch you, love you like I do.” His free hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in tight, perfect patterns. The combination sent you spiraling fast.

When you came, it hit like a wave—walls clenching around him as you cried out his name. Hoseok followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a long, throaty moan, hips stuttering through the pleasure. He collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you, arms wrapping around you in the tightest hug.

Even in the afterglow, the clinginess stayed. He pressed kisses all over your face—forehead, cheeks, nose, lips—while still inside you. “I’m sorry I got jealous,” he whispered, nuzzling your neck.

“But I can’t help it. You’re my ult, my sunshine, my reason for smiling even on hard days. I need the world to see how close we are, even if it’s just through little things like holding your hand or resting my chin on your head.”

He pulled out eventually, cleaning you both with gentle care before pulling you into his lap. The second round came naturally, slower and sweeter this time. You rode him on the couch, his hands guiding your hips as he looked up at you with pure adoration.

He sat up midway, arms around your waist in a full embrace, mouths meeting in messy kisses while he thrust up to meet you. More forehead kisses, more whispers of love, more of that special energy only Hoseok could bring.

Afterward, tangled together and breathing softly, he kept you close. Fingers tracing patterns on your back, chin resting on your head again. “Promise me something?” he asked quietly. “No matter who flirts or how hard we have to hide this… you’ll always come back to me like this.

Let me hold you, love you, remind you that you’re my favorite person in the entire universe.”

You smiled, kissing his jaw. “Always, Hobi. You’re my ult too.”

Hoseok’s bright laugh returned, genuine this time, as he hugged you tighter. The jealousy had faded, replaced by warmth and certainty.

He would go back out there soon with his playful energy, but everyone would still see it—that extra closeness, the way his arm found your shoulders so naturally, the protective glint in his eye. Because when it came to you, Hoseok didn’t just love quietly. He loved with his whole heart, his whole body, and everyone nearby would feel it.

✧

✧ 𝐉𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧

Jimin carried his heart in his eyes. That was what made his jealousy so devastating—not loud or possessive in a flashy way, but a quiet ache that turned those expressive eyes softer, almost glassy, like the light inside him had dimmed. He was deeply, secretly in love with you, the kind of love that bloomed in stolen glances during rehearsals and whispered confessions in the dark of hotel rooms.

You kept it hidden because the world demanded it, but that only made moments like this cut deeper. He wasn’t angry. He was hurt. The kind of hurt that made him question everything.

The waiting area backstage before the showcase was filled with the usual energy—stylists rushing with last-minute fixes, members warming up their voices, and low chatter bouncing off the walls. Jimin sat on a low couch, legs tucked under him gracefully, scrolling through his phone. But his attention wasn’t on the screen. It was on you, across the room, talking to one of the backup vocal coaches.

The guy was kind, experienced, and had a gentle way of speaking that clearly put you at ease. He laughed at something you said, leaning in slightly as he offered tips on a tricky harmony, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder in encouragement.

Jimin’s smile, the one he’d been holding for the staff earlier, faltered. His eyes softened, the usual sparkle dulling into something quieter, more vulnerable. He looked away for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek, but his gaze kept drifting back. Do they make you happier than I do? The thought crept in uninvited. Am I bothering you lately? Maybe I’ve been too clingy in our secret texts. Maybe you need someone who doesn’t have to hide. His fingers tightened around his phone, but outwardly, he stayed composed—almost too still, too quiet. The members noticed the shift; Jungkook asked if he was okay, and Jimin just nodded with a small, forced curve of his lips.

When the coach’s hand lingered on your arm a second longer while demonstrating a breathing technique, Jimin couldn’t stay seated. He stood gracefully, crossing the room without fanfare. No dramatic words, no tight smiles like Hoseok might use. Just a gentle touch—his hand slipping into yours, fingers intertwining as he tugged you lightly toward him. “Hey,” he said softly, voice barely above a murmur. “Can we talk for a minute?” His eyes met yours, pleading in that subtle way only you could read. The coach sensed the moment and stepped back with a polite nod.

Jimin led you down the hallway to his private dressing room, his hold on your hand never loosening. Once inside, with the door closed and the world locked out, the overthinking spilled quietly from him. He turned to you, eyes even softer now, almost misty. He didn’t let go of your hand, instead pulling it up to press against his chest so you could feel his heartbeat—steady but a little faster than usual.

“I saw you with him,” he whispered, voice gentle but laced with that hurt. “The way he made you laugh… it was nice. Really nice. Do they make you happier than I do? Be honest with me. I can take it, I think. But lately I keep wondering if I’m bothering you. If all these secret moments, the late calls when I can’t sleep, the way I always want you close… maybe it’s too much. Maybe you need space.”

His free hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, touch feather-light, as if afraid you might pull away. Those beautiful eyes searched yours, vulnerable and open in a way he rarely showed the world. Jimin melted when he felt loved, but right now, the jealousy had him unraveling in the softest, most heartbreaking way.

You reassured him immediately, cupping his face and telling him how much he meant to you—how no one compared, how his attention was your favorite thing. The words worked like magic. His shoulders relaxed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he leaned into your palm. “Really?” he breathed, voice cracking just a little. And then he melted completely, stepping closer until his body pressed against yours, arms wrapping around your waist in a needy embrace. “I need you,” he murmured against your neck. “Show me I’m still your favorite.”

The kiss started tender, almost hesitant, like he was afraid to ask for too much. But as you deepened it, pouring reassurance into every brush of lips and tongue, Jimin came alive. His hands roamed your back, pulling you impossibly closer, fingers tracing the curve of your spine with familiar reverence. Clothes came off slowly, between soft kisses and whispered affirmations. He peeled your shirt away like unwrapping something precious, lips following the path of exposed skin—collarbone, shoulder, the dip between your breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, eyes drinking you in. His own shirt slipped off, revealing the lean, sculpted lines of his dancer’s body, skin glowing under the warm lights. He lifted you onto the vanity table, stepping between your legs, hands gentle but sure on your thighs. “Tell me again,” he asked softly, forehead resting against yours. “That I’m the one you want.”

“You’re the only one, Jimin. Always.”

That was all he needed. He kissed you deeply, tongues sliding together as his hands explored. He cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked under his touch, drawing quiet gasps from you. Lower, his fingers trailed, slipping between your legs to find you already wet for him. Two slender fingers eased inside, curling slowly, perfectly, while his thumb brushed your clit in lazy circles. He watched your face the entire time, eyes soft and locked on yours, feeding on every moan like it was oxygen.

“Please,” you breathed, and he nodded, removing his fingers to free himself. His cock was hard, flushed, curving beautifully as he stroked it once before pressing against your entrance. He slid in slowly, savoring every inch, both of you sighing at the connection. Jimin’s hips rolled in fluid, graceful thrusts—deep and unhurried, like a dance only the two of you knew. One arm wrapped around your back, holding you close, while the other braced on the table.

“Feel me,” he whispered, voice husky with emotion. “I’m yours too. Completely.” His pace stayed tender at first, but reassurance turned the heat up. He buried his face in your neck, sucking soft marks as his thrusts grew firmer, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl. You clung to his shoulders, nails lightly scratching his back, and he shivered in pleasure.

He pulled back to look at you again, eyes half-lidded but shining. “I was scared for a second… that maybe someone else could make you smile bigger. But this—us—it’s everything.” The vulnerability mixed with desire made it intensely intimate. He shifted you slightly, angling deeper, one hand slipping between you to rub your clit in time with his movements. The build was slow, overwhelming, until you came with a soft cry, clenching around him, pulling him over the edge too. Jimin moaned your name quietly, spilling deep inside you, hips stuttering as waves of pleasure washed over him.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, holding you tightly, foreheads pressed together as breaths mingled. Then the melting happened fully—soft kisses all over your face, gentle hands cleaning you both with a warm towel from the side counter. He carried you to the small couch, curling around you like a koala, legs tangled, arms secure around your waist. “Thank you,” he murmured, nuzzling your hair. “For always making me feel wanted. I get so scared sometimes that I’m not enough in all this hiding.”

“You’re more than enough,” you reassured him again, fingers carding through his hair. He practically purred at the touch, eyes closing in contentment.

The second round came naturally, slower and even more emotional. You straddled him on the couch, sinking down onto him inch by inch while he gazed up at you like you hung the stars. His hands guided your hips, but gently, letting you set the rhythm. Every roll of your body drew soft praises from him—“So good… you feel perfect… I love you like this.” He sat up midway, chest to chest, arms wrapped fully around you in a tight embrace as he thrust up to meet you. Mouths met in lazy, deep kisses, tongues dancing as pleasure built again. When you both came this time, it was together—whispers and shudders, bodies trembling in sync.

Afterward, Jimin kept you in his lap, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, chin resting on your shoulder. The hurt jealousy had dissolved into pure, warm affection. He was quiet again, but this time it was peaceful, content. “I don’t want to go back out there yet,” he admitted with a small smile. “Just a little longer like this. You make everything better.”

He would return to the others soon, eyes bright once more, that charming stage persona slipping back into place. But the secret marks on your skin, the way his hand would brush yours a little longer than necessary, and the soft glances only you understood—they would remind everyone, subtly, that his heart was already claimed. Jimin’s love was like that: not loud, but profound. And when reassured, he gave it back tenfold, melting completely into the person who made his world feel right.

✧

✧ 𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠

Taehyung felt everything deeply. Love, joy, sadness — and especially jealousy. Out of all the members, no one burned with it quite like he did. You weren’t dating. Not officially. You had never put a label on whatever this was between you: stolen kisses in the studio after midnight, fingers brushing under tables, late-night talks where he called you his soulmate in that low, sincere voice of his. But the lack of a title didn’t stop the fierce possessiveness that surged through him every time someone else got too close to you. If anything, it made it worse. Because without a label, he had no real right to feel this way — yet he felt it all the same.

The green room before the soundcheck was lively. Members sprawled across couches, staff moved around with tablets and cables, and you were sitting on the arm of a chair talking to one of the new international staff members — a tall, friendly guy who had been helping with translations. He was charming in an easy way, laughing as he showed you something on his phone. Taehyung sat across the room, legs spread wide, wearing an oversized hoodie, but his usual boxy smile was nowhere to be found.

Instead, his dark eyes were locked on you. Brows slightly furrowed. Lips pressed into a straight line. He didn’t even realize how obvious it was until Jungkook nudged Jimin and both of them started smirking.

“Hyung, you’re staring again,” Jungkook teased quietly, loud enough for the others to hear. “Looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

Taehyung blinked, trying to school his expression into something neutral, but it was too late. The frown was already there, deep and sulky. His gaze flicked back to you immediately. The staff guy leaned closer to show you another video, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair. Taehyung’s jaw tightened. That should be him. Sitting next to you. Making you laugh like that. Being the only one allowed in your space.

He stood up suddenly, long legs carrying him across the room without thinking. The members watched with knowing grins — they had seen this side of Taehyung more than once when it came to you.

“Hey,” he said, voice deep and a little rough as he stopped right beside you. He didn’t even acknowledge the staff member at first. His eyes were only on you. “Come sit with me instead.”

You looked up, catching the unmistakable sulk in his expression. The staff guy paused mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the heavy aura surrounding Taehyung.

“I was just—” you started, but Taehyung was already gently taking your hand, fingers wrapping around yours with quiet determination.

“Please?” he added, softer this time, but the jealousy was written all over his face. Big brown eyes, slight pout, shoulders a little hunched like the weight of watching you with someone else actually hurt him physically. The staff member cleared his throat awkwardly and found an excuse to leave.

The second you let Taehyung pull you over to the couch and sit beside him, his entire mood shifted. The frown melted away. That beautiful boxy smile broke across his face like sunshine after rain. He immediately draped one long arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side, chin resting lightly on your head. Soulmate behavior. Like the universe had clicked back into place now that you were close again.

“Much better,” he murmured happily, voice low enough for only you to hear. His fingers played with the sleeve of your shirt, absentmindedly tracing patterns. The members exchanged amused looks but didn’t comment further.

But the jealousy hadn’t disappeared. It had simply been redirected into need.

A little while later, when the room cleared out slightly, Taehyung leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Come with me for a minute.” No room for argument. He took your hand again and led you to his private dressing room, locking the door behind you with a soft click.

The moment you were alone, the intensity returned. He backed you against the wall, hands framing your face as he stared down at you with those soulful eyes.

“I hate it,” he confessed, voice husky. “I know we’re not… official. But seeing him next to you, making you laugh, touching your chair like that — it drives me crazy. You’re mine in here.” He pressed a hand over his own heart. “You feel like my soulmate. Even if we haven’t said the words yet. I get so jealous I can’t hide it.”

His kiss was deep and consuming, the kind only Taehyung could give — passionate, emotional, like he was pouring his entire soul into it. Tongues moved slowly, tasting, claiming. His large hands slid down your body, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him so you could feel how hard he already was.

Clothes came off with urgent but reverent touches. He peeled your shirt away, kissing every inch of skin he revealed, whispering how beautiful you were, how no one else should ever get to stand that close to you. When he removed his own hoodie and shirt, revealing his broad shoulders and toned chest, you couldn’t help but run your hands over him. He shivered under your touch.

Taehyung lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and laying you down. He hovered over you, eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of your clothes. “So perfect,” he breathed, kissing down your stomach until he reached your core. He took his time, tongue moving in slow, sensual strokes, savoring you like fine wine. Two long fingers pushed inside you, curling gently while his mouth focused on your clit. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending pleasure shooting through your body.

But he didn’t let you finish there. He needed to be closer.

Rising up, he freed himself, thick and flushed, and rubbed the tip against your entrance. “Look at me,” he whispered. The eye contact was intense as he pushed in slowly, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried deep. Both of you groaned at the feeling.

His thrusts started deep and rhythmic, hips rolling in that smooth, artistic way of his. One hand held yours above your head, fingers intertwined, while the other cradled the back of your neck so he could keep kissing you. “You’re mine,” he panted between kisses, even though you weren’t officially. “Even if the world doesn’t know yet. Tell me you feel it too.”

“I feel it, Tae. Only you.”

That reassurance made him melt and burn at the same time. His pace picked up, thrusts becoming harder, more desperate. The jealousy that had been simmering all afternoon poured out in every movement — possessive but full of love. He shifted you so your legs wrapped higher around his waist, going deeper, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

When you came, clenching tightly around him and moaning his name, Taehyung followed right after, burying his face in your neck as he spilled deep inside you with a low, broken groan. His body trembled against yours, arms wrapping around you tightly like he never wanted to let go.

Even after, the clinginess stayed. He cleaned you gently, then pulled you into his lap, arms locked around your waist, chin on your shoulder. “I know I get too jealous,” he admitted quietly, pressing soft kisses to your temple. “But I can’t help it. You’re my person. My soulmate. Watching someone else get your attention feels like losing a piece of myself.”

You stayed like that for a while, his hands gently stroking your back, mood completely bright again now that he had you all to himself. When desire built once more, the second round was slower, more intimate. You rode him on the couch, his hands guiding your hips while he looked up at you with pure adoration. He sat up to kiss you deeply, chest to chest, whispering sweet nothings and jealous little confessions between moans.

By the time you both finished again, you were tangled together, breathing softly. Taehyung kept you close, refusing to let go just yet. “Stay with me a little longer,” he murmured, voice warm. “I need more of this. More of you.”

He would go back out there soon with that signature boxy smile, acting like nothing happened. But everyone would notice how his eyes followed you, how he found excuses to sit next to you, how his hand always seemed to find yours when no one was looking too closely. Because Taehyung’s jealousy wasn’t subtle — it was obvious, deep, and rooted in a love so strong it didn’t need a label to feel real.

He was the most jealous for a reason. You were his soulmate. And he would keep reminding you — and everyone else — of that fact, one stolen moment at a time.

✧

✧ 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤

Jungkook tried so hard not to care. He really did. He told himself a thousand times that you weren’t officially his, that the secret moments you shared—late-night gym sessions where he’d spot you, quiet studio cuddles, and stolen kisses behind closed doors—didn’t give him the right to feel possessive. But he cared the most. Out of everyone, no one’s heart twisted quite like his when someone else flirted with you. It made his ears burn red, his usual bright energy go quiet, and his big doe eyes stay glued to you like you were the only thing in the room.

The backstage lounge before the final rehearsal was buzzing. Members were scattered around, some playing games on their phones, others stretching or chatting with staff. Jungkook sat on the floor against the couch, pretending to scroll through his camera roll, but his attention was locked across the room where you stood talking to one of the young backup dancers. The guy was energetic, funny, and clearly interested. He kept leaning in, demonstrating a move and laughing when you tried it, his hand brushing your arm more than once.

Jungkook’s ears turned pink, then bright red. He pressed his lips together, trying to look unbothered, but his eyes never left you. That should be me,his brain repeated like a mantra. Making you laugh. Touching your arm. Standing that close. He stayed silent, jaw tight, fingers gripping his phone a little too hard. The members noticed. Jimin nudged Taehyung with a smirk, whispering something that made them both glance at Jungkook’s obvious struggle.

When the dancer stepped even closer, placing a hand on your waist to “correct your posture” while showing another step, Jungkook couldn’t stay back anymore. He stood up, ears still flaming, and crossed the room with that effortless athletic grace. Without a word, he slid right beside you, one arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you gently but firmly into his chest.

His other hand found yours, fingers intertwining tightly. To everyone else, he acted completely normal—casual smile, soft “hey” like he was just joining the conversation—but his body told a different story. His thumb stroked the back of your hand, and his fingers rested possessively on your waist, right where the other guy’s hand had been.

The dancer got the hint quickly, mumbling something about warming up and backing away. Jungkook’s ears were still red as he kept you pressed against him, chin resting lightly on top of your head for a second before he pulled back just enough to look normal. But inside? His brain was a mess of cute, jealous thoughts. Mine. Should be me. Only me

A few minutes later, when the room thinned out, he leaned down, voice low and a little shy. “Come with me?” He didn’t wait for a full answer, just gently tugged you toward his private dressing room, hand still holding yours the entire way. The second the door closed and locked, the shy act cracked open.

Jungkook turned to you, ears still tinged pink, big eyes soft and vulnerable. “I know I’m not supposed to care this much,” he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not even… you know. But seeing him touch you like that? It makes me crazy. That should be me. Only me.”

His jealousy was the cutest thing in the world—those wide eyes, the way he tried so hard to play it cool but failed adorably, the soft pout forming on his lips. You smiled and stepped closer, cupping his face. The reassurance made him melt instantly. Jungkook leaned into your touch like a puppy, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he pulled you into a tight hug, arms wrapping fully around you.

The kiss started sweet, almost shy, but quickly deepened with all the pent-up emotion. Jungkook kissed like he did everything else—with full commitment and passion. His hands roamed your back, pulling you flush against his strong body as his tongue moved against yours. He walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, then gently laid you down, hovering over you with those sparkling eyes.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, voice husky but still carrying that adorable nervousness. He helped you out of your shirt, then removed his own, revealing the sculpted muscles he worked so hard for. His hands were gentle as he explored your body, kissing down your neck, across your collarbone, and lower, sucking soft marks that made you shiver. When he reached your waistband, he looked up at you for permission, ears still faintly red.

Once you were both bare, Jungkook settled between your legs, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs before his tongue found your core. He was eager and attentive, licking and sucking with focused dedication, two fingers sliding inside you and curling just right. He moaned softly against you, the vibrations making your back arch. His free hand reached up to hold yours, fingers intertwined again—like even here, he needed that connection.

But he didn’t let you finish that way. He wanted to be closer. Jungkook climbed back up, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his lips. He stroked himself a few times, then lined up and pushed in slowly, groaning your name as he sank deep. The stretch was perfect, his thickness filling you completely. He stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing shakily.

“That should be me,” he whispered again, almost like he couldn’t help it. “Only me touching you. Only me making you feel good.”

His thrusts started deep and steady, hips rolling with that powerful athletic control. One hand stayed laced with yours above your head while the other gripped your thigh, holding you open for him. Jungkook’s jealousy melted into the sweetest, most intense lovemaking—every movement full of adoration and quiet possessiveness. He buried his face in your neck, kissing and nibbling as his pace gradually quickened.

“You feel so good,” he panted, voice adorably breathy. “So tight… so perfect. I get so jealous because I like you so much. Like… really like you.”

The confession made your heart flutter. You pulled him closer, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. Jungkook’s thrusts grew faster, deeper, hitting that spot inside you repeatedly until you were moaning his name. His hand slipped between you, thumb rubbing your clit in perfect circles. When you came, clenching hard around him and trembling, he followed right after with a cute, broken moan, burying himself deep and filling you with warm spurts.

He collapsed gently on top of you, careful not to crush you, arms wrapping around your body in the tightest hug. His ears were still pink as he nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft kisses everywhere he could reach. “Sorry if I was too obvious out there,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “I tried not to care… but I care so much. You’re my favorite person.”

The aftercare was pure Jungkook—sweet and attentive. He cleaned you both carefully with a warm towel, then pulled you into his lap on the couch, arms locked around you like he never wanted to let go. He kept playing with your fingers, intertwining them over and over, chin resting on your shoulder.

The second round came naturally, slower and even cuter. You straddled him, sinking down onto his cock while he looked up at you with those big, sparkling eyes full of affection. His hands guided your hips gently, but he let you set the pace, whispering praises and little jealous confessions between kisses. “No one else gets to hold you like this… only me, right?” He sat up halfway, chest pressed to yours in a warm embrace, thrusting up to meet you as you rode him.

The closeness made everything more intense. When you both came again, it was with soft moans and foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling in sync.

Afterward, Jungkook refused to let you move, cuddling you tightly against his chest, one hand stroking your hair. His jealousy had turned into the fluffiest, warmest afterglow. “Can we stay like this a little longer?” he asked, voice shy but hopeful. “I just… I like having you close. Makes me feel better.”

He would go back out there soon, acting cool with that signature Jungkook confidence, but everyone would notice the little things: how his hand always found yours, how his eyes followed you protectively, how his ears turned pink whenever someone got too friendly. Because when Jungkook got jealous, it wasn’t scary or dramatic—it was the cutest thing in the world.

A big, strong guy reduced to blushing ears and needy hugs, all because he cared the most.

And deep down, you loved every second of it.

© stlllle — 2O26

Everybody on the set knew Michael Jackson was hopelessly in love and obsessed with his girlfriend, Y/N.

Not regular boyfriend obsessed. Not casual celebrity relationship obsessed. No.

This man looked at her like every love song he’d ever written had somehow become a person.

And unlike people assumed Michael wasn’t oblivious. Naive sometimes? Sure. Too kind for his own good? Absolutely. But stupid? Never.

He noticed when women flirted with him. He noticed the lingering touches. The giggling. The way too-long stares. He just usually ignored it because none of it mattered to him.

Not when his Y/N existed.

And honestly? Michael kind of enjoyed letting people embarrass themselves sometimes.

Especially when Y/N got possessive.

Because underneath all her confidence his girl had a little crazy in her.

Not toxic crazy. Fun crazy. Sharp-tongued. Territorial. The kind that smiled sweetly while threatening somebody psychologically.

And Michael secretly adored it. Secretly even got a little bit turned on by it.

Especially during the making of his album History.

Because, lucky Michael, Y/N followed him everywhere during that time. Sets. Tours. Studios. Rehearsals. You name it, she was there. And he absolutely love it and begged for her to be around.

Sometimes she would sit behind the monitors in giant sunglasses and one of his jackets criticizing choreography like an offended sports commentator.

Sometimes she wandered onto stage during lighting checks just to bother (kiss) him while he worked.

And Michael? Oh, he orbited her constantly.

If she disappeared too long he noticed immediately.

If somebody annoyed her he noticed immediately.

If she looked jealous—oh, he definitely noticed immediately.

Which became a problem once that stupid (according to Y/N) backup dancer showed up.

Beautiful girl. Very aware she was beautiful too. One of those women who walked around like every room was an audition.

At first it was harmless. Too much laughing. Standing too close. Finding excuses to touch Michael during rehearsals. Nothing they weren’t used to. And Michael ignored all of it politely. Not passively, though. He’d subtly step away. Redirect conversations. Immediately look for Y/N afterward.

One afternoon during choreography rehearsal the dancer pressed herself against him during a move that absolutely did not require it. Michael caught it instantly.

His expression flickered. Not flustered, no.

Annoyed.

He stepped backward smoothly.

“Careful,” he said lightly. “That’s not part of the choreography.”

The room went awkwardly quiet.

Because the correction sounded polite, but very pointed. The dancer recovered quickly though. Smiling wider instead. “Sorry,” she purred. “It’s hard to focus around you.” Michael gave the smallest tight smile imaginable.

Then immediately looked across the room.

Right toward where Y/N was.

She sat on top of a monitor table sipping on some tea while watching the entire interaction over the rim of her cup.

Their eyes met instantly. And Michael saw it.

That little look.

Worse than insecurity.

Amusement. Dangerous amusement. Like she was deciding whether to kill somebody recreationally.

Michael bit back a smile and abandoned rehearsal entirely, walking straight toward her.

The dancer blinked in disbelief and confusion.

Michael stopped between Y/N’s knees automatically while she looked up at him lazily.

“You surviving over there?” she asked sweetly.

Michael leaned down just enough for only her to hear. “She’s annoying me.”

Y/N nearly smiled. Nearly. Instead she tilted her head innocently.

“Aw. You need me to save you?”

Michael looked at her through his lashes with a tiny smirk. “Maybe I want you to.”

That was the thing about Michael. People thought he was shy all the time. But around Y/N? He knew exactly what he was doing.

The next few days only got worse.

The dancer became bolder because apparently humiliation wasn’t enough to stop her.

One day Y/N walked into Michael’s trailer and immediately stopped in her tracks.

The dancer stood there laughing at something Michael clearly had not found funny.

Too close again. Hand on his arm. Michael looked up the second Y/N entered.

And immediately—immediately—his entire body language changed. Relief crossed his face and his shoulders relaxed.

“Baby.” He said, an enormous smile taking over his pretty face.

That one word alone made the dancer look irritated.

Michael stood up right away crossing the trailer toward Y/N while the dancer still talked. It was like he genuinely forgot she existed halfway through the conversation. And the best part was that he didn’t even did it on purpose.

He kissed Y/N’s forehead softly before murmuring. “Please tell me you’re done with wardrobe?”

The dancer stared at them like she wanted to scream. Or commit a felony.

Y/N smiled sweetly.

“Mhm.” Then she looked toward the dancer casually and waved her fingers at her. “Oh. Hi.”

The girl crossed her arms. “You’re always here.”

Michael answered before Y/N could. “Yeah.” He looked down at Y/N and smiled. “That’s where I keep her.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, a small giggle getting through. The dancer clenched her jaw. And Michael noticed that too. Because again: that man was not oblivious.

That night after filming the music video wrapped, Y/N sat in Michael’s lap backstage while he removed the iconic tape pieces from his fingers. He grunted with frustration as one particular tape was stubbornly sticking to his hand. He shook his head lightly and placed his hand on Y/N’s lap, giving up on taking it off. She took his hand in his and started to work on it.

“Told you she wants you,” Y/N muttered, eyes on the tape.

Michael didn’t even look up.

“She wants attention.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “She does?”

Now Michael looked up. Completely calm. “Baby, women who actually get my attention don’t act like that.”

That sentence sat directly in Y/N’s bloodstream for the next forty-eight business hours.

Unfortunately the dancer overheard enough little moments like that to start resenting Y/N badly.

And truly? Y/N was handling the situation with all the grace and emotional restraint of a jealous housecat.

Not because she doubted Michael, never that. But because watching another woman repeatedly ignore boundaries made her act a bit mean.

One morning while getting some coffee with a makeup artist from the crew, Y/N watched the dancer laugh a little too loudly at something Michael said from across the room. She stared for a moment.

“You know,” Y/N said casually to the makeup artist, “I actually feel bad for her.”

He looked up.

“Why?”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “Can you imagine embarrassing yourself in front of Michael Jackson every day?”

“Babes, that’s literally all you do.”

“That’s different.” She argued, eyes not leaving Michael’s little annoyed expression as the dancer talked his ear off.

The makeup artist frowned. “How?”

“Well, he thinks it’s cute when I do it.”

That made him snort.

Across the room, the dancer laughed again. Too loud. Way too loud for Y/N’s liking.

Y/N’s eye twitched. Just a little. Michael looked up automatically. Their eyes met.

And immediately he knew.

Uh-oh.

The dancer kept talking. Y/N kept pretending she wasn’t watching. Michael kept pretending he wasn’t watching her watch him.

The cycle continued for approximately three full minutes. And then rehearsal finally broke for lunch.

Michael made it maybe halfway across the room before finding her. As usual. As he always did.

He dropped into the chair beside her, arms crossed over his chest and a tini-tiny smirk on his pretty face. He looked far too pleased with himself.

Y/N narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t like your face.” She motioned to his face.

“My face?”

“That face you have going on.”

“What face?” He was doing it on purpose at this point.

Y/N nodded, a bit annoyed, actually. “The one you’re making right now.”

Michael smiled. Exactly. That face.

Y/N sighed dramatically.

“She’s so annoying.”

Michael’s smile widened instantly, cheeks starting to hurt. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N looked away rolling her eyes.

Michael bit the inside of his cheek as he tried not to laugh. He failed, the tiniest of giggles leaving his lips. “Baby.”

“Oh, don’t you ‘baby’ me.” Y/N said, a pout taking over her face as she crossed her arms over her chest.

He shook his head in a very teasing way.

“Oh, my miss possessive.”

Y/N whipped her head around so fast. “Excuse me?” Voice laced with annoyance.

Michael’s smile got bigger.

“Miss Possessive.”

“Michael.”

“My miss Possessive.”

“I swear to God—”

Now he was just fully laughing. Shoulders shaking. Head ducked down. The worst part? The man looked delighted. Absolutely delighted.

“You were staring.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You so were.”

“I was observing.”

Michael nodded thoughtfully. “Right.”

“I was.”

“Very scientific.”

“Exactly.”

“Research purposes, am I right?”

“Absolutely.”

Michael looked away again. Trying (unsuccessfully) to recover.

Y/N pointed a sharp finger at him, eyes wide. “Stop enjoying this.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” She nodded. “Too much, actually.”

“I’m really not.” He mumbled holding his hands up like a guilty man.

“Michael.”

“Okay, maybe I am enjoying little.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re cute when you’re jelous of me.”

Y/N groaned loudly and threw her head back. Michael looked like he’d just won an award. “I don’t get jelous.” Deny, deny, deny.

Michael nodded, a full ironic expression on his face. “Right, what ever makes you sleep at night, princess.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Deny, deny, deny.’ She thought to herself. But then again, what the hell? “You know what?” She finally snapped, whipping her head in his direction. Immediately he perked up.

“What?”

She cocked her head to the side and raised her brows for a moment. “I lied.” She stared into his eyes. Michael blinked.

“You lied?”

“Yeah.”

She threw both hands into the air. “I’m jealous.”

Silence. Then Michael smiled so hard he nearly looked embarrassed.

“Really?”

“Oh, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That.”

Y/N pointed at him again.

“The face again.”

“What face?”

“The one I just said you do when you’re enjoying something way too much.”

Michael laughed. Actually laughed.

Oh, the audacity of this man.

“Baby—”

“Shut up.”

“Baby.”

“Nope.”

“You’re so cute.”

Y/N covered her face immediately.

“This is very humiliating for me.”

Michael gently pulled one of her hands away.

Still smiling. Still completely in awe of her.

“I like that you care.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“I do.” He intertwined their fingers and kissed her hands.

“You’re making it worse.”

Michael leaned closer.

“Miss Possessive.” He whispered.

Y/N pointed at him immediately.

“Keep talking and I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

She stared at him for about two seconds. “Yeah, probably not.”

“Exactly.”

And somehow that made him smile even bigger.

One afternoon the dancer walked past Y/N and muttered. “Some girls get way too comfortable.”

Y/N smiled immediately. “Oh, I’m beyond comfortable, thank you!”

The makeup artist nearby actually choked on her water at that.

Then came the shirt.

Michael arrived on set late one morning wearing black jeans, curls tied back loosely, sunglasses and a T-Shirt that read:

MY GIRLFRIEND IS HOTTER THAN YOU

That man.

That. Impossible. Man.

The crew in the studio did not know how to react.

Screaming.

Wheezing.

People dropping things.

Y/N’s hand just flew over her mouth, disbelief flashed across her face. She shook her negativity head at him.

That infuriatingly beautiful man.

“Michael Jackson, you are unbelievable.”

Michael looked around confused.

“What?”

“You cannot wear that!”

He glanced down at the shirt casually.

“What? I thought it was cute.”

“You are insane.”

Michael smiled slowly then. A little smug this time. Good Lord. “I know.”

Y/N stared at him in disbelief.

“You did that on purpose?”

Michael shrugged lightly. Then leaned close enough for only her to hear. “She keeps staring at me.”

Y/N went silent immediately.

Because oh. So he had noticed.

Michael slid his sunglasses down slightly.

“And she keeps making you mad.”

Y/N folded her arms trying not to look pleased.

“And?”

“And I don’t like it.”

That should not have been as attractive as it was. Unfortunately for Y/N it was devastatingly attractive.

Y/N just shook her head again, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest. Michael let out a loud laugh and kissed the top of her head.

The final confrontation happened two days later.

Y/N sat backstage getting her eyeliner fixed when the dancer appeared again.

Arms crossed, cocky expression on her face.

“You know,” she started casually, “it’s kind of embarrassing how attached he is to you.”

Y/N looked at her through the mirror.

“It is?”

“He’s obsessed.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “Yeah, I know.”

That clearly wasn’t the reaction the dancer wanted. She stepped closer.

“I just think if Michael met somebody more…” She actually looked Y/N up and down. “,exciting—”

Y/N actually laughed this time. Not fake. Real. Sharp. “Okay,” She mumbled still smiling.

Then finally she stood up slowly.

And suddenly the room felt different.

Because Y/N wasn’t intimidated. Not even slightly.

She walked closer until the dancer had to tilt her head upward slightly.

“My boyfriend would never look twice at you,” Y/N said calmly.

The dancer scoffed. “You sound very confident.”

“I am.” Then Y/N smiled. Mean. Beautiful. “But if you wanna embarrass yourself…” She shrugged lightly. “Try him.”

And apparently the woman was dumb enough to do exactly that.

Later during rehearsal Michael sat alone near the stage sipping on some orange juice while checking choreography notes when the dancer approached.

Y/N watched from across the set already bitting down a smile because she knew this was about to go horribly.

The girl leaned against his chair.

“You know…” she said softly. “I think you deserve somebody less possessive.”

“Huh?” Michael looked up slowly, brows frowned slightly. Already looking very unimpressed. “My girlfriend is a little possessive.” His eyes flickered briefly to where Y/N stood, a small smile appearing on his lips. “I like it.”

The girl laughed lightly.

“She watches every woman around you.”

Michael capped his water bottle calmly.

“Because every woman around me keeps bothering me.” The dancer blinked. Michael continued before she could recover. “And honestly?” He tilted his head slightly. “I’m starting to think y’all do it on purpose.”

The dancer forced a smile. “I just think maybe you’d get bored eventually.”

Michael stared at her for a long moment. Then glanced across the room toward Y/N. And the second he saw her? His entire face softened automatically.

Then he looked back at the dancer and said very simply: “I’ve been in love with her for years.” Silence. “People don’t get boring when you actually love them.”

Murder. Complete murder.

The dancer looked like she wanted earth to swallow her whole now.

And Michael wasn’t finished. Because suddenly he smiled politely. Not cruel, which felt, somehow, worse. “And respectfully…” He gestured vaguely toward Y/N across the room. “Have you seen my girlfriend?”

The dancer’s face went blank. She honestly didn’t know what to say.

Y/N covered her face laughing discreetly, pretending she wasn’t doing her absolute best to eavesdrop when Michael finally stood up and walked straight toward her.

The second he reached her he wrapped one arm around her waist naturally, pulling her closer.

Y/N looked up at him through a grin.

“You’re a little crazy in the head, you know that, right?”

Michael looked very pleased with himself.

“Yeah? Well, I’ve learned from the best.” He teased her and Y/N shook her head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Then Y/N grabbed the front of his stupid shirt and kissed him right there in front of everybody. Just because she could.

And because Michael Jackson looked at her like she’d invented sunshine just to brighten his day.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭

Tags:

He shrugged and curled into the pillows. "I don't know... I just.. you could have done better. Someone who wasn't-" Scarred. He wanted to say but didn't. He knew that you'd know.

Your smile dimmed a bit. "Honey..." You leaned closer to caress his face. His scarred side, specifically. He sighed and looked up at you, letting you touch him. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

Zuko hesitated for a moment then exhaled. "Overheard the staff talking." You raised a brow. "They didn't know I was there- They were just talking."

"And what were they saying?" You asked with confusion. The staff adored Zuko, so it didn't make sense why they'd say anything mean about him. Specially after Ozai and all the ones before, they loved how kind and nice Zuko was.

"Just ... Just how beautiful you are. How in every room, you are the sun." He explained. "And that made me feel like... I'm just not good enough for you. You are beautiful. And I'm... scarred."

You stared at him in shock. "You can't possibly-"

"I do. I- Even in our royal portrait, you are stunning and-" He paused and sighed, planting his whole face into the pillow.

"Sweetheart-" You tried and he whined.

"Everyone probably sees you like you did a charity by marrying me so no other poor girl had be subjected to me." He pouted and turned his face to look at you. That made you laugh. Proper and loud. "Oh- I'm glad my misery brings you joy."

You laughed harder. "It does when the misery is so stupid. Is this really what's been keeping you moping all night?"

"You don't understand-" He mumbled. "You don't see how everyone talks about me."

"Actually- I know exactly how everyone talks about you." You kissed his cheek. "Remember when you got injured in that assassination attempt and the whole palace was distraught? And everyone kept worrying for you? Or how about when the children waited for you outside the gates to give you their drawings for Avatar Day?" You reminded him softly. "Or what about that old lady who walked miles and miles from her village just to thank you personally for rebuilding her hometown?"

"None of that means anything. I'm just doing my job." He frowned but leaned into every kiss you gave him.

"People love you, Zuko. And I happen to love your scars." You smiled, touching his cheek and then his chest. "Both of them."

"You're just saying that..." He looked away, his cheeks turning pink.

"Oh? Then maybe I should make a more assertive point." You giggled and pushed him to lay flat.

"What are you- Oh-" Zuko smiled as you straddled him, his hands settling on your hips. "Well... Maybe I could be convinced." He hummed. "You'll have to make several points, however."

"Several huh?" You mused. "Sounds very serious."

"It is. I need extensive reassurance." He sighed dramatically and his hands dragged down your thighs, only to slip under your robe and go back up again. "Would the Fire Lady be ever so kind to help out?"

"Hmmm perhaps." You pretended to think as you undid his trousers. "What's my incentive?" You cooed at him, rising to your knees while he lifted his hips to help get the garment off.

"How about eternal gratitude from a lowly exiled prince?" He smirked, slowly undoing your robe and watching it slip off your shoulders. "Mhm. Maybe gratitude that could last a few lifetimes." He said, eyeing your naked form greedily.

You laughed and rolled your eyes. He was so easy to make feel better.

"Don't burn the curtains like last time. Or the sheets." You warned him, your hand wrapping around his half hard cock.

"No promises-" He gasped softly and melted underneath you. His hands flexed and rubbed across your thighs, up your waist and on your breasts.

You bit your lip and felt yourself ache in need. Your legs were spread apart over his thighs and you desperately wanted some friction.

"What kind of night is it, my love?" Zuko asked as he sat up slightly to kiss your neck.

That was his way of asking what you wanted. Rough, soft, messy, hard- Anything you'd ask for, he'd give you. He'd give you a hundred times over.

"Soft and gentle." You hummed, giving him a light squeeze. "Definitely soft and gentle." You repeated in a whisper. "So I can show you how much you are adored."

You kissed him deeply, your tits pressed against his chest and both your hands between your bodies as you slowly stroked him to full hardness. You breathed him in as your tongue licked into his mouth and his hands tightened ever so slightly on your hips. He groaned, gently manoeuvring you both so that he was on top.

"How'd I ever get so lucky?" He sighed, kissing his way down, nipping at your skin until he was settled between your thighs. "I should pray more, I think-" He smiled, inhaling your arousal. "And this is the perfect altar."

You laughed, "I was supposed to make you feel better."

"You letting me taste you is a reward," He winked and dove into your cunt.

Licking a thick stripe then swirling his tongue around your clit, he made you gasp and whine so easily. He groaned and the vibrations made you drive your hips more into his mouth. His fingers joined his tongue quickly. Index and middle thrusted in and out of your fluttering pussy. You felt the coil tighten deep in your gut but then suddenly the feeling disappeared.

"What- Why?" You whined, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"I think I need to feel good by feeling you cum around my cock, sweetheart." He rose to his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He then tied his hair up messily and loomed over you. His broad shoulder covered your body entirely so. "Can I?" He purred, rolling his hips so his painfully hard cock rubbed across your pussy.

You bit your lip and nodded, holding onto his shoulders to brace yourself. Zuko wasn't inhumanly long but he was girthy and the stretch was always so delicious.

"Spirits- I missed this-" He sighed, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he slowly inched himself into your wet heat.

"We just- Oh- Yesterday-" Your words mingled together because of his measured thrusts.

"Yesterday was too long ago." His breathed heavily. "And prayers should be offered every day."

.

.

.

Jax was in the back, collecting all the dirty dishes so he could prepare for the evening rush. He grumbles as he collects dishes from around the kitchen. Picking them up and setting in a white tub to tote them to the sink. He's about to finish filling up the tub, when he hears the customer's response due to his sensitive rabbit ears.

“Well, baby, are you on the menu?” The customer leaned to get a better look at you. You giggled but shook your head. Jax almost dropped the dishes on the tiled ground. He quickly swung them onto the counter roughly, before making his way to the front. There's practically steam coming out of ears by the time he reaches.

“No. She's not.” Jax’s flat tone could be heard clearly from where he'd come to stand behind you. He was very annoyed, eyeing up the guy, who'd dare flirt with his girl. His hands possessively grabbing your hips, and he glared at the customer. Gangle’s rules be damned. He wasn't about to be nice to this fucking guy.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, bunny boy. Just being nice.” The customer was practically taunting Jax, beckoning him to jumo over the counter and beat the shit out of him.

You gladly accepted the heat from his body. Even leaning against him a little bit, after hearing what the customer said. Your eyes widen in shock, a disgusted look playing at your lips. You're hoping it would keep him grounded.

“What did you just say to me?” Jax all but growls.

“You should go on break.” You turn around and face him, lowering your voice as you speak. “He’s not worth losing your job, We both know I'm yours.” you offer to keep him calm.

“Fine, whatever.” He huffs, but makes sure to press his lips to yours but maintains eye contact with the customer. a sinful like smile playing at his lips when you pull away from in surprise. He didn't even want your coworkers to know you were together, but he's showing off for this random guy. You'd have to yell at him about that later, but your tummy did tingle over his need to stake claim. being wanted can cause a certain kind of heat to stir.

You push him towards the back, face the customer again.

“What would you like to order?”

—

After the customer, you tell Gangle, that you and Jax are on break. Swooping through the back doors where you find him sat on the trunk of his car. His foot is propped on it, and it's thumping, showing his annoyance. While he puffed on a cigarette trying to calm his nerves. He wasn't used to being jealous, jealousy meant that he cared. Perhaps that was true, which troubled him further.

Once he saw you coming out the door, he all but launched himself off the car. Dropping his cigarette he steps on it to put it out, and keeps a steady pace crossing the parking lot towards you.

“Hey, so what w-” you begin to try and start an argument about the kiss by the cash register, but his lips against yours stopped you from saying anything else.

His hands grabbed both sides of your face almost harshly, as he deepened the kiss. You couldn't help moan into the kiss, he took that opportunity to wrap his tongue around yours, like he was chasing it in your mouth. Jax groaned into the kiss pushing you against the harsh exterior of Spudsy's. You whine half from the uncomfortable feeling of the concrete oushing into your flesh from the thin restraints of your uniform.

“Tell me you're mine, again.” He demanded, his eyes boaring harshly into yours. His arms cage you in, as his palms flatten against the walll. Pushing his body fully against yours, pining you to the wall with his towering figure.

He moves to start kissing harshly into the skin of your neck, making your knees go weak when he finds that sweet spot. That feeling is almost doubled when he starts grinding his clothed cock against.

“All yours, Jax, Fuck.” You whined out, basically putty in his hands. You completely forgot you were even at work, your desire blurring reality. All you knew is just that you need him.

“Jax, please, m all yours, please.” You don't even know what you're saying, you just know you're blind with the feeling of him. You could feel him smiling against your skin, a chuckly groan deep from within his chest. He comes back to envelope your lips with his, and your hands move up to wrap around his neck. Surrounding yourself completely with him, but it still wasn't enough.

“Fuck,” Jax breathes out as he separated from you, pressing his forehead against yours. He stopped the grinding, and the kissing. he doesn't miss the barely above a whipser whine of disappointment that falls from your lips.

A huge smile takes over Jax’s face as he closes in on you again. Towering over you as you back up against the wall, you were giggly and nervous. He just made you feel so good, it took you away.

“Pretty little thing, you would have just let me fuck you right here, wouldn't you?” One of his hands coming to grip your chin, not allowing you to look away from him.

“Where anyone could have seen us? naughty girl.” He clicked disappointedly at you, obviously just trying to rile you up, and it was working.

“Hmph, stop.” you whined, trying to look anywhere but at him. He just chuckled darkly.

Michael finally had an off day, and you had been wanting to go to a local petting zoo with him for a while. So when you finally got the chance to, Michael immediately rented out the entire zoo so you could have peace and quiet alone.

You walked through all the exhibits, seeing the llamas, alpacas, goats, sheep, and many more while Michael told you random facts about them until you finally got to the back. You and Michael checked the pamphlet you got at the front of the zoo to see what was there. The deer exhibit was up next and as soon as you got to it, Michael ran towards them before slowing down when he got closer. The main reason you wanted to come was because you knew Michael loved animals, and you could see him smile and take his mind off the stress of his life.

“Aren’t the deer here so cute, baby?” Michael’s voice rang out as you caught up to him. He was petting one of the fawns and they were both looking up at you, and something crossed your mind. “Michael,” you said while crouching on the opposite side of the fawn and petting its back. “Has anyone ever told you how much you resemble a deer?” Michael’s eyes widened as his cheeks flushed. “No, do I really?” You laughed at the expression on his face. “Yeah really! Maybe I should start calling you Bambi..” You mumbled that last part half joking. “Bambi..?” Michael repeated as he blushed more. “What? Do you like the nickname, Bambi?” You dragged out the nickname while leaning in as Michael got even more flustered and covered his face with his hands. “It’s getting late, let’s go now.” Michael said quickly as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to the entrance like something suddenly started to bother him.

-at home-

You walked out of the bathroom in your pajama set into your bedroom to see Michael fidgeting with the cover while deep in thought. “Hey Mike, is everything ok?” You ask worriedly as you crawl into bed. Michael looked up towards you and smiled. “Yeah, angel.” You smiled back as you leaned in and kissed him. It started slow but got more heated as Michael pulled you onto his lap. You got the memo and ground down onto him as he whimpered. “Is this why you were in such a rush to leave the Zoo, honey?” You whispered in his ear, sending shivers through his body. You heard Michael let out a sound of slight disappointment. “Michael? Did I do something wrong?” Michael shook his head. “No! No, never. I was just..you know, wondering if you could call me that nickname you made for me earlier?” He asked shyly as he looked up at you. You knew exactly what he was talking about, but you decided to play naive. “Nickname? Do you mean Mikey?” Michael whined as you laughed “Come on, Mike. You know i’ll give you what you want, you just gotta say it.”

Michael nervously played with the hem of his shirt before shakily asking “Can..you call me bambi again?” You smiled down at him, caressing his face. “Of course, my sweet bambi..such a good boy..” You cooed as you pulled your shirt off. As soon as it was off, Michaels eyes were stuck on the newly exposed skin. You weren’t wearing a bra so you were an even bigger distraction. “What a gentleman you are” You teased as you grasp Michael’s jaw and shake his head lightly before taking his shirt off. You lean down to kiss his neck as Michael sighs softly. You kiss down his neck, to his chest, then down his stomach.

“Lift your hips for me, bambi.” You murmured barely above a whisper. After Michael obeyed, you pulled his pants and briefs down. Once his already hard dick was freed, you licked from the bottom of his shaft to his tip, making him cry out as he bucked his hips. You sucked on his tip lightly while holding his hips down before taking his entire length down your throat. His whimpers and moans made you clinch around nothing. “Oh yes, oh god, just like that!” Michael whimpered, throwing his head back. “ I’m so close, I’m..I’m-“ Just as you felt Michael begin to twitch in your mouth, you pulled off of him, making Michael desperately whine and buck his hips, trying to chase the feeling. “Oh, angel, why’d you stop? I was..I was right there!” You got up and off the bed and took your bottoms off before leaning in to kiss Michael’s forehead. “Be patient for me, ok? You’ll cum sweetie.” You mutter sweetly as you begin to cradle Michael’s face with your thighs. “Just be good for me.”

You lowered yourself on Michael’s face and threw your head back at the feeling of his nose rubbing your clit. Michael pulled you down closer to his face as he desperately lapped at you. When you reached behind you to jerk Michael off, the whines and moans Michael let out sent vibrations to your cunt, making you let out cries of your own. You quickly felt your climax arriving and when it did, you felt Michael buck at the feeling of your essence covering the lower part of his face. It was muffled, but you heard Michael begin to whimper about getting close to cumming. Just as that familiar twitch began, you let go of him. Michael started sobbing as you got on your knees to move down his torso. When you looked at his face, you saw that it was wet with not only you, but his tears as well. “Oh, poor baby..” You said with sweet condescendence as you leaned in to kiss him. “I’m so mean, aren’t I?” He surprisingly shook his head “No! The sweetest..” He says between sobs “So good to me, I love you angel” The words made your heart melt. You smiled as you finally lined Michael up with your entrance and sat down on him.

You and Michael moaned as you started moving with a steady rhythm. You leaned down to pepper kisses on Michael’s face as he whimpered and cried. “I’m sorry! I’m..I’m close!” Michael whined, burying his face in your neck. “Already? you’re acting like I just edged you twice or something.” You teased as Michael glared up at you. “It’s ok, sweet boy, I’m..close too.” You whimpered shakily. You sped your pace up, making the frequency and pitch of Michael’s moans go up. The orgasm washed over the both of you like a tsunami. You twitched as you rode your orgasm out before you crashed onto the bed beside Michael. You were both out of breath, chests heaving and sweating before you looked over at each other and laughed.

You reached over to the right edge of the bed and into bedside drawer and pulled out some towels, and then into the cooler beside the drawer to get water. You and Michael started keeping these things beside the bed for aftercare after your first time together left the both of you too tired to get up. “You know baby,” You started as you wiped the sweat off of Michael’s forehead and handed him a water bottle. “I was thinking about calling you bambi for a while. but I was to embarrassed to bring it up. I thought you’d thing it was weird.” Michael took a sip from his water bottle before laughing. “Oh angel, I could never even imagine calling you weird.” You smiled warmly before leaning down and kissing him “I love you bambi” “I love you too”

bestfriend!michael who sometimes wonder what he did in his past life to be blessed with a best friend who’s patience and understanding is out of this world, where you never argued when he couldn’t squeeze hanging out with you in his already busy schedule. It’ll at times be weeks since the last time you saw him, but your guys bond is still held strong. His schedule is out of his control, you can’t change that even if you tried. However, on days he can’t visit, he’ll never end the night without hitting up your line to chat about each other’s days before sleep hits the both of you.

bestfriend!michael who’s close friendship he had with you made you hear the same question be asked to you over the years.

“Are you guys anything more?”

You remember the first time hearing something similar, when you guys were only kids. Your older sibling teasing you, asking if that’s your new boyfriend, and you still remember your reaction. You immediately shook your head with a grossed out expression, responding with giggles: “No, never!”

Now? You don’t know if you can say the same answer.

Over time, you felt your eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. Heading into your guys’ early 20s, you started to notice things that undoubtedly left your cheeks flushed. When did his mindless touches to your shoulders, hands on waist to move past you, or ruffling your hair to be an ass leave you holding your breath? When did him sitting next to you during your guys many movie nights at home have you fighting the urge to scoot a little closer, so close your fingertips would graze his resting on the cushions, longing for his touch?

When did your eyes had a mind of its own as it traveled down to his soft lips as he spoke to you, thinking of what it would feel like if you closed the distance between his and yours?

And when are you going to start to realize he’s been having those same thoughts about you as well?

bestfriend!michael who for the past few weeks has been driving you crazier than you would like to admit. There’s been a shift in your guys’ dynamic, starting to pick up hidden intentions in Michael’s actions and words.

A swipe of his thumb to get rid of a crumb sticking too close to your lip when you guys grabbed lunch, ignoring the fact that there are plenty of napkins to instead offer on the table.

Catching his eyes on you through the living room mirror you’re using to fix up your appearance, not missing the way they check every curve on your body as quick as he thinks he’s being.

Being Invited to join him during an event, a fun first time experience for you that he’ll happily make happen. You missed the way his breath caught in his throat when you came down the steps after an hour of getting ready, your gussied up appearance a sight he’s never seen before until now. You caught yourself at a nearby mirror and overthinking thoughts started to flood your mind, asking out loud to yourself if you should change something up about your hair or wear a completely different dress.

“You look gorgeous.”

You slowly peered over your shoulder, how naturally the compliment rolled off his tongue like he’s been meaning to say it for the past few minutes. He’s quick to play it off after how you reacted, rolling his eyes. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Now c’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

He’s testing that best friend label you guys have, and he isn’t careful anymore about it. Now he’s just waiting when you’ll join in.

bestfriend!michael who sits at his desk, writing lyrics for his new album the second it comes to him and crumbling up any that doesn’t sit right with him anymore. Doesn’t matter he just got back from the studio almost an hour ago, back to working in his room as his mind is still racing with ideas that could or could not work. He isn’t alone, you sitting on the bed as his company for the night. You insisted on coming over, not caring to hear how he’ll still be working and it would be boring to stick around, to visit another time.

Michael places a few papers onto the bed without ever looking. “Tell me your thoughts on those.” You go to pick them up, reading each line with a small smile on your face. It was your favorite how much Michael values your opinion on things he does in his life, being the first he comes to for advice. One of them being his lyricism, knowing you won’t hold back on your thoughts if they rhyme or if they’re too cheesy.

One line made you giggle quietly, but he heard it nonetheless. He looks over, eyebrows knit together. “What?”

You shake your head, having your hand cover your smile that threatens to grow. “Nothing, nothing, just— ‘girl I can thrill you more than any ghoul would ever dare try?’”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Find it hard to believe, is all.” It wasn’t uncommon for you two to mess with one another, it comes with being best friends with anyone. That’s how you would’ve excused your response, but it was a clear attempt to start something. Something that goes beyond being playful with one another.

He raises an eyebrow, standing up to snatch the papers out of your hand with a scoff. “Oh yeah?” First butterfly to flutter in your stomach. “It’s okay, wasn’t expecting you to, anyways.” He finishes saying with his back towards you again, stacking his papers all neatly.

“Oh good, because we’d be here all day.”

You saw him stop stacking, perking his head up. He not only faced you again, but walked over till his knees bumped the edge of the bed.

You saw a glint in his eyes that made the butterfly in your stomach to flutter a second time.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re wanting me to prove you wrong.”

Oh, was it that obvious?

Your mouth went dry, staring up where Michael stands who doesn’t even look like the best friend you’ve grown up with. Someone who looks like they’ve been holding back their desires that’s been getting too loud inside of them the second your guys’ closeness took a shift. Someone who’s been clinging onto strength that gets thinner each passing day they set their eyes on you.

Someone who’s been waiting for the other to grant them permission this entire time.

“I’d say prove me wrong, Mike.”

bestfriend!michael who for the past three minutes has his lips travel all across your skin besides where you want it to land the most, feeling his smile due to every squirm and whine you can’t hold back.

He scatters the gentlest kisses down your neck, starting from a sensitive spot he discovered behind your ear, leaving nips in between then soothes it with his tongue. You had your neck craned to the side, giving him as much room as you could allow to paint your skin in hickeys like a blank canvas, hickeys you won’t find yourself worrying to conceal until the very next morning.

Until you squirmed again, lolling your head back forward to catch his lips with yours in another desperate attempt. He once again denies, a soft chuckle at your face screwing up in frustration.

“Please, Mikey..” His nickname that you’ve claimed for him since you were kids leaves your lips, and he couldn’t help but to fully pull back with a more audible laugh, rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

He goes to lean in, having you believe he’ll finally kiss you, but his lips just stops short from yours with a smile. “I hear ya, girl.”

Michael has the kisses go lower, and lower, immediately making you forget being mad at him again for denying your lips to meet. It travels down the valley of your chest, one of his hands bunching up the fabric of your shirt so it can smoothly continue down to your stomach. He revels in every shiver he pulls out of you, every squirm, every soft moan you try so hard to resist to but fail miserably. You didn’t want to prove his point this quickly, too stubborn for your own good sometimes. And he knows this, so he’ll spare you the embarrassment and won’t comment on your little noises until much later.

You feel a gentle tug at the waistband of your pants, but it was to only grab your attention. You pick your head up to meet his eyes, who’re silently asking for permission. You nod, a little too eager, and he hooks his thumbs underneath to slide them all the way down.

You feel the cool air hit your damp panties, tinted pink rising to your cheeks at the realization settling in on how wet you’ve been since this started, especially just from him kissing all over you. You see him bite the bottom of his lip, holding back a tease, starting to slowly disregard the cloth that loosely stands between him and your cunt.

You caught from your half-lidded eyes him pocketing the material, but you don’t get a chance to comment as he lets his breath fan against your cunt, causing your hips to jerk up. He holds your legs open, fingers digging into your skin unapologetically.

He covers the inside of your thighs with bite marks, aiming to have you jump each time his teeth caught skin, then soothing the slight pain with his tongue. You truly couldn’t wrap your head around in the situation you’re in right now, how this all unfolded with innocent banter. Or so you’d like to excuse it as being and nothing more…

You were barely given any time to grab a fistful of his hair the second he stopped the bites and pressed his mouth to your soaked cunt, grip on your thighs now bruising. A broad, heavy stripe is licked up the length of your cunt before he takes your clit into his mouth and rolls it hard between his lips.

There’s nothing slow in the way he devours you, a complete contrast to his kisses earlier before. It’s seeping with hunger he’s been carrying for days, longtime yearning, and need. Every sound he makes against your cunt is shameless, has you tugging and gasping but he never relents for a second.

His tongue fucks into you, and you tried to chase for more, hips going to grind up into his mouth. However, he responds by tightening his hold, thumbs digging harder into your thighs to hold you down. Never giving you an inch of space to breathe, having you take every tight swirl of his tongue on your pearl, every deep suck that pulls cries from your throat you never thought you could make until now.

In the midst of his tongue working rough, precise strokes, his nose starts to nudge juust right against your clit that has your hand slip from his hair to now twist into the sheets. His eyes fluttered open to look at the way you let out a choked moan, legs trembling on either side of his head, and he knew what it did to you.

“Fuck, you’re—“ but the words barely formed as you get lost into another breathless gasp, Michael nudging his nose more firmly up against your clit with purpose this time.

The pleasure starts to blur into something more sharper, every muscle in your body seizing tight as the world narrows to the heat of his mouth, taking you to what you think will be the rush of your orgasm.

But it abruptly stopped. The heat of his mouth no longer swarming your cunt, instead met back with the coolness of the air. You snap your eyes open, hips still chasing for a feeling that’s been long snatched away. You have yourself be propped up lazily with your elbows, greeted with a shit-eating grin you so badly wanted to slap right off of him.

“W-What is wrong with you?” You spatted, every nerve on your body feeling like it’s on fire from the intense edge you just had to endure.

Michael wipes your slick clean off from his mouth with the back of his hand, the calmness written all over his face in regards to your frustrated one almost laughable if anyone else were in the room.

He had felt lightning strike his heart then, but he had actively tried his damnest to bury it deep. He had to be the responsible one. He had to keep Lo'ak in check, keep Tuk safe, and prove to the Metkayina that the Sullys were not a curse.

He had spent years averting his gaze whenever you’d arrive in his line of vision, suppressing the way his pulse jumped when you spoke. But tonight, the "responsible son" he thinks he is, is losing the war against himself.

He is the oldest son of Toruk Makto; he is disciplined, the Golden Boy who returned from the brink of death to lead.

And he really shouldn't be here.

He doesn’t mean to be near the private grottoes carved into the great roots of the mangrove trees. He knows this place is reserved for the female members of the Metkayina Clan, he learned it the hard way when he was on the receiving end of Ronal’s scolding, the Tsahik shooing all the boys: as well as Lo’ak, Ao’nung and Rotxo away when they played too close.

The scent hits him first: crushed sea-lilies and the sweet, metallic tang of oils. It’s mixed with your scent. And then his feet move of their own accord, drawn by a gravity he can no longer resist.

He stops. His breath hitches, his lungs stalling in his chest. 

Through the swaying fronds of sea-fern, he sees the infamous ritual reserved only for Metkayina women of high status, the Moon-Wash.

He sees you.

You are standing waist-deep in a pool of heated seawater, the surface shimmering with glowing plankton that swirl around you like fallen stars.

Your attendants — clan sisters and healers who honor your rank — pour bowls of bioluminescent water over your shoulders, they cling to your skin like liquid diamonds.

Neteyam watches, his golden eyes dilated, as something is dragged slowly over the curve of your shoulder.

He tracks the way the water sluices down your teal-hued frame. It highlights the finned ridges of your forearms and the broad, graceful sweep of your paddle-like tail as it swishes beneath the surface.

When you turn, the moonlight catches the swell of your chest, rising and falling with deep breaths. The bioluminescent dots along your collarbone — dots he has memorized from afar for years — glow a fierce, steady green in the darkness. In the chilly night air, he sees the lighter, wave-like stripes, signature to the people of your clan, standing out against your skin.

I see you, he declares, the traditional greeting feeling like a prayer, a confession, and a sin. Eywa, I see only you.

Neteyam’s own tail twitches — a sharp, hungry flick. The air in his throat feels like fire.

He remembers how he used to scold Lo'ak for being too obvious, for letting his heart lead his head. Now, Neteyam realizes he was never any better than his brother; he’s just been better at suppressing his feelings to submit to what’s “right”.

Watching you under the eclipse-light, he doesn’t even realize that the last of his legendary self-control has snapped like a dry branch.

He feels like a hunter, locking in to stalk its prey. He inhales, a deep, shaky draw of air, committing your very scent of you to burn into his nostrils.

He remembers you as the gorgeous girl who taught him how to breathe when he first arrived. He thinks of the contrast: his deep sapphire skin against your bright reef-teal; his four-fingered hand splayed over the dip of your waist, pulling you against the heat of his body until the forest and the sea finally meet.

He knows he should look away.

Tonowari would have his head for such an intrusion. If Ronal finds him now, she wouldn’t hesitate to exile his demon blood away from the reefs for good. And Ao’nung? He only hopes that your brother — now one of his closest friends — as a man of the same age as him, would understand.

That the yearning is a physical weight, a heat that pools low in his belly and makes his blood flush with something primal.

It is no longer a crush that he harbors for you; it is an obsession, a hunger that has been aged to perfection over years of silent discipline.

As you step out of the water, your skin glistening like the very ocean you were born into, Neteyam finally forces himself to look away.

Tonight, when he retreats to his hammock, he will not find sleep.

He will lie in the dark, the crashing waves powerless in cooling the fever in his heart. He will dream of the day he no longer has to watch from the shadows. He will picture the day he finally allows himself to take what he has wanted since the moment he stepped off his Ikran.

The way your powerful tail would wrap around his own in a desperate, drowning grip.

Until then, he will paint the memory of your glowing skin behind his eyelids, a secret he keeps in the silence of his heart.

And like the great Toruk his father once rode, he is a hunter who knows exactly when to strike. He will wait, but he will have you.

Ever since then, you were even more inseparable. Well, maybe expect for your duties as tsakarem since it was clear that you would follow after his grandmother and mother. And whenever Tuk showed up, in a way you found rather cute, really.

As much as Neteyam loved you and you loved Neteyam, Tuk was a really close second to being your love. No matter what you were doing, if she could see you, she would immediately drop everything to be by your side and talk your ear off, typically earning a scolding from Neytiri.

To you, it was the most endearing thing ever. You were glad you were getting along with the youngest Sully, never having a little sister yourself. Most times, Tuk would refer to you as her best friend and bragged to everyone she could that she was your favorite—even when you and Neteyam were very clearly together.

Nevertheless, Neteyam—being the most patient Na’vi on Pandora—didn’t mind Tuk’s constant love for you most of the time . He knew how much his little sister admired you and everything you did, and who was he to tell her to back off and find a new friend?

Unfortunately, the other times where his patience wore thin were when his duties to train to be an Olo'eyktan with his father got to his head and all he wanted to do was be in your presence as it often calmed him—not you and his little sister.

It just so happened that today was one of those days.

Neteyam found you wandering the village with a woven basket to your hip, knowing your path was distinct in your head when your ears flickered in a specific pattern. He had just gotten back from a flight with his father and desperately wanted to see you, tail swishing behind him happily when you caught his gaze.

“Where are you off to?” He wrapped an arm around your waist loosely, kissing the side of your head while you grinned up at him with the smile that could melt him anytime.

“Teyam.” You say softly in recognition, letting yourself soften from his simple touch, your own tail swaying in giddiness. “I’m on my way to visit your family since I dropped some herbs off to your grandmother earlier, and I feel like I haven’t seen them in years.”

He scrunched his nose in amusement from your words and tilted his head, taking the basket gently to carry it for you. “You saw them this morning.”

“Same thing.” You wave him off with a flick of your hand and enter his home, smile widening when you see the youngest Sully daughter sitting with her sister that was attempting to teach her how to bead together a top—the older girl sighing when she saw you.

“Tuktuk!” You called out for the young girl, bending and holding your arms open for her to run into.

She called your name out in response, jumping into your arms as you caught her, spinning her around and around until she squealed for you to stop. You kiss her cheek and tuck her hair back, complimenting a new bead in her hair when you heard Neteyam clear his throat beside you—your eyes flickering to him in mild confusion.

“I don’t get that as much enthusiasm when you see me?” Neteyam frowned in a way you assumed was a teasing manner, making you pat his cheek.

“Hush.” You laugh softly before turning back to Tuk, her eyes shining with joy as she gained your attention once more, her tail whipping furiously behind her. “I missed you so so much, sweet girl!”

“I missed you too!” She giggled and looked away for a second, contemplating her next few words while you acknowledged the rest of her siblings.

Lo’ak rolled his at Tuk, giving you a faint smile but immediately began to complain about what his sister was going on and on about the entire day. “She kept whining about when we would see you again. She was all like, “When’s she coming over again?” “Can we visit grandma so we can see her?” and “Tell Neteyam to mate with her faster.””

The last comment made you and Neteyam burn bright purple, the words completely lost on Tuk but oh-so amusing to Kiri and Lo’ak when they heard their youngest sibling repeat the phrase several times. It got so bad that they physically had to cover her mouth when their mother did a quick check on them.

You were about to say something—asking the two of them why they hadn’t asked her to stop repeating the words—when Tuk tugged on your arm, finding the next big thing to bother you about while you were still here.

“Come! I have something to show you!” She dragged you out of the Sully home, away for her sibling’s sights.

Kiri watched in amusement as the flaps to the place flew, a teasing smile on her lips as she dropped her head in Neteyam’s direction. “She’s going to take her from you.”

Neteyam stared at the spot where you stood for a second, shaking his head and smiling weakly toward Kiri. He wasn’t too bothered by Tuk today… right?

“I’m just glad that they’re getting along.” He said almost flatly, causing Kiri to raise a brow at him.

Lo’ak snickered while he dodged a swipe from his brother, earning an eye roll from him as he reminded them of Tuk’s past shenanigans. “Remember there was entire week where Tuk wouldn’t let her go anywhere without her? She’s so protective of her.”

“I wonder why.” Kiri drawled in his direction, yelping when Lo’ak tugged at her tail. She furiously pushed his chest, making Neteyam sigh and pull them apart from each other as Kiri yelled at Lo’ak who was still making faces toward her. “Skxawng!”

Just then, the flap to their home opened, their mother entering with a sharp gaze because of the loud sounds she heard on her way over—the three of them looking at each other knowing they were caught. Well, mainly Lo’ak and Kiri.

“Enough.” Neytiri put a hand up and looked around the place, her ears tucking back when she couldn’t find her youngest daughter. “Where is Tuk?”

None of them spoke for a second, simply watching their mother clean the place up with a grace none of them could master just yet. It’s not like they how to pick up wooden toys and toss them into a basket while still looking like a woodsprite.

Neteyam was the first to speak, tilting his head with a fond look in his eyes as he revealed to her that Tuk was with you, his younger siblings looking at each other at their brother’s lovesick look.

Neytiri hummed, grabbing the basket you brought earlier and picking it up. She took the fine beads that were carefully wrapped on the inside before looking up at her eldest, a soft smile gracing her lips.

“Speaking of your future mate, she has Tsahìk training with your grandmother and I tomorrow morning.” She revealed, cupping his cheek and pinching it. “So no staying out late tonight with her. We need her up bright and early.”

Gagging and laughing could be heard from where Lo’ak and Kiri stood, their noises making their brother’s face flush, warmth flooding his face with embarrassment at his mother’s words. He couldn’t tell if that was what his mother was exactly insinuating, but it certainly what his siblings were.

“Mother.” Neteyam cleared his throat, pushing Neytiri’s hand away from him.

She clicked her tongue in his direction, shaking her head and giving him a look that told him that her and Jake were once like him and you long ago. “Are you not courting her?”

Neteyam feigned annoyance, eyes darting away from her knowing gaze as he spoke only to be cut off by the sibling who loved you just as much as he did.

“I am, but—“

“Mama!” Tuk shouts and jumps out of your arms, running up to her mother and hugging her tightly while you stumble slightly at the sudden movement.

Luckily, Neteyam caught you within seconds, his tail wrapping around your waist in protectiveness. You smiled softly before taking a step closer to him, your hand brushing with his before you laced them together, making him lift your joined hands and kissing your knuckles.

Lo’ak whistles at the action as he walked out of the home, earning an eye roll from Kiri. She simply sat back down on the woven mat and continued to bead together a top, still listening intently to the conversation without fail.

“What did I miss?” You ask with a smile, ears perked up and tail swishing behind you before it instinctively curled around Neteyam’s thigh, causing the boy’s cheeks to flush a darker purple than it already was.

“Nothing worth listening to.” Neteyam murmured against your hair, pressing another kiss to your temple before his voice dropped even lower to the point where only you could hear him. “Are we still going to the river tonight, yawntu?”

This time, your own cheeks flush a deep purple to match his, the end of your tail thumping on his thigh in an exultant manner. “Who would I be if I ever said no?”

“C’mon, let’s go! She’s probably waiting for us already!” Tuk dragged Neteyam by the arm as they walk through Pandora’s vast forest, her small legs doing her best to run while Neteyam did his best to hold onto her tightly, praying to Eywa that she wouldn’t trip or fall.

Lo’ak pulled a face and rolled his eyes at his younger sister, nudging Spider in amusement while Kiri gave him an unimpressed look. “Tuk, slow down. We won’t get there any faster if you twist your ankle and complain about the trip to the river.”

Now, Neteyam had no idea how Tuk found out that he was going to meet up with you at the river that evening. All Neteyam knew was that she threatened to tell their parents if he didn’t let her go with him to see you—but that didn’t include telling his siblings and apparently Spider. So the next thing he knew was that he was taking four others to your spot, each step diminishing his eagerness to see you.

Tuk stuck her tongue out at Lo’ak, only earning one from him as well before she saw you standing at the clearing by the river, her tail swishing energetically behind her in excitement. Tuk called out your name and your ears perked up at the voice in surprise as you thought you were only supposed to see Neteyam.

Turning around, your golden eyes found the Sully family—including Spider—approach where you stood, the youngest climbing over a large log hastily to get to you somewhat faster.

When they got close enough, you opened your arms for a hug that Neteyam thought was his, his own arms raised before you bent over and gathered Tuk in your arms. Neteyam froze with his arms still up, stunned ever so slightly before glaring at the three behind him who were stifling their laughter.

“Tuktuk!” You smothered her face in kisses—the ones Neteyam should’ve received. You admire her softly, knowing you saw her earlier during dinner but nonetheless offered her your compliments. “You look so pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you!” She giggled and held onto your neck tightly as you swayed back and forth, her eyes catching the new beaded top you wore. “You weren’t wearing that earlier.”

Your cheeks warm at her observation, your tail flicking behind you slightly before you shake your head knowing the top was supposed to be for Neteyam but she didn’t need to know that.

“I just wanted to try it on for once. Does it look good, Tuktuk?”

“So good!” She giggled again and began to ask millions of questions about the beads, the river, the different glowing plants—anything she could that would retain your attention for as long as she could have it.

Lo’ak punched his brother’s shoulder, now laughing quite loudly in Neteyam’s opinion. “Bro, you wish that was you.”

And before Neteyam could say something back, Kiri let her heart get the better of her, saving her older brother from getting ruthlessly poked and prodded by her other brother. And, unfortunately, saving Lo’ak from an earful—which she didn’t really care for.

“Tuk, come here. Let’s get you adjusted to the water so you can swim.” Kiri called Tuk over with a small smile in your direction, making the youngest Sully dramatically sigh and reluctantly leave your arms with an exaggerated pout.

You watched her to ensure she was safe in her sister’s arms before turning to Neteyam whose ears were flat with his tail swishing vigorously back and forth. You walked over to him and lead him away from the rest of the group, your eyes scanning his figure.

“What’s wrong, Teyam—?”

“You love Tuk more than me.” Neteyam interrupted, his tail now moving more fiercely as his gaze met yours. His golden eyes flickered with an emotion you thought was impossible for him to ever feel, amusement running through your veins.

“That’s not true.” You laugh with a shake of your head, cupping his cheeks gently as you spoke and thumbing the patterns decorating his face. “I love you and Tuk differently.”

Neteyam softens under your touch but still mutters in complaint about the attention you give his much younger sister, a pout settling on his lips that reminded you of said little sister. “But you just have to greet her first?”

“She’s my little baby!” You scoff with a teasing smile as he finally wraps his arms around your waist, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re jealous, Neteyam. Of your own sister.”

“No.” He meets your eyes carefully before deciding to bury his head in your neck, mumbling against your skin in embarrassment. “No.”

“Mhm.” You grin and rub his back gently, ears perking up when you could hear his siblings shouting at each other before shaking your head, focusing your attention back to the Na’vi you loved with all your heart. “You shouldn’t lie to the person you’re courting, Teyam.”

“I hate you.” He groans and holds you flush against him, your tail wrapping around his leg naturally from the familiar position while his own tail found its home around your waist once more.

“No you don’t.” You laugh again and lightly pull him up from his spot in your neck, your golden eyes catching his—your eyes reflecting his beautiful face. “I see you, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. And I know I could never find anyone else like you.”

Neteyam looks between your eyes, his own eyes shimmering before he pressed his forehead against yours, meeting your lips with tenderness. “I see you too, yawntu.” He pressed another kiss to your lips before pulling away, forehead still against yours. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You murmur, thumbing his bottom lip with a small smile. You peck his lips once more, gaze catching his. “It’s okay.”

“We’re not going to be able to sneak away, are we?” He mumbled as you begin to kiss every inch of his face, his hand finding the curve of your back.

You hum against his lips, pulling back ever so slightly to meet his blown eyes. “Not unless you want to lie.”

“Sounds perfect.”

The second you started scratching lightly at his scalp, Michael's eyes closed.

A content sigh escaped him.

"Mmh right there mama.."

You smiled immediately. "Where baby?"

"Mmh..." His head tilted slightly into your hand. "There." Your heart melted.

You loved how comfortable he was with you. How he never hid when he wanted affection.

How he trusted you with every soft part of himself. You carefully combed your fingers through his hair again. Michael practically melted beneath your touch.

"Mmh...that feels so good." he murmured.

Then his hand found yours. Not to stop you.

Just to hold it.

His fingers slipped around your wrist gently, guiding your hand a little higher into his curls. "Right there, baby." You laughed softly.

"Oh, you bossy." His eyes remained closed.

A smile tugged at his mouth. "M'not bossy, baby."

"You absolutely are." You clapped back.

"Mmh..." He sounded far too relaxed to argue properly. Your nails lightly scratched through his curls again.

then again, he mumbles—"There."

A pleased sigh. "That's nice." You couldn't stop smiling.

to be honest, you could sit here forever. Michael's thumb slowly brushed across your hand while it rested in his hair, Back and forth.

Absent minded Affectionate. Like he couldn't help touching you whenever you were near. His eyes opened slightly.

Just enough to look up at you.

And ugh.

That Beautiful look, That Completely in love look.

You leaned down and kissed his forehead. Michael's smile deepened instantly. Then you kissed his cheek. Then the tip of his nose. Which made him laugh quietly.

"Hey baby."

You laughed too. "Hi, baby." He looked entirely pleased hearing that.

His fingers intertwined briefly with yours before placing your hand right back where he wanted it.. In his curls.

"Mama." You brushed a curl away from his forehead.

"Yeah?"

"I love you." The words came so naturally.

So simply.. Like breathing.

Your chest squeezed.You leaned down and kissed him again.

Very Slow and Sweet.

The kind of kiss that made Michael smile halfway through it. When you pulled away, his hand immediately found your cheek.

Just holding it there for a second. Looking at you. Really admiring you, Like he never got tired of it. "I love you too." Michael's expression softened even more.

If that was even possible.Then he settled back into your lap again, completely content.

Your fingers returned to his curls.

few seconds later—"Mmh..." His eyes fluttered closed.

"There, baby." Your nails lightly scratched against his scalp, Another satisfied sigh escaped him.

His thumb continued stroking the back of your hand while he relaxed beneath you.

Not saying much now. Just enjoying you.

The kisses & the touches & The comfort of being together.

After a while, he lifted your hand from his hair long enough to press a gentle kiss against your knuckles.Then another.. Then he tucked it against his chest. Holding it there.

"Mama."

"Hm?" You laugh quietly.

A sleepy smile appeared on his face."You take real good care of me." Your heart nearly burst.

You bent down and kissed his forehead once more.

And Michael smiled without even opening his eyes, perfectly happy right where he was.

© 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚

❧Bishop who became your boyfriend because of a late bar hopping night with your friends.

❧ He was very quiet and reserved when you first talked, but once some drinks got in your system, the two of you were having hour long conversations that night.

❧Bishop is very reserved and quiet, but his actions of love are strong for you, has a tight schedule but always makes sure to take take his time for you.

❧Takes you on dates, drives you to your job, picks you up from your job, even offers to go your appointments and house sits for you.

❧Expensive and I mean expensive gifts.

❧A new bouquet of flowers on your desk office every week, jewelry of all kind, designer clothes and designer bags, the best brands of makeup, etc.

❧You had asked multiple him times what his job is like and each time he would just explain it so briefly to only say, “You don’t have to worry.”

❧They’re are nights where you don’t see him and miss him. He’ll call you and talk to you for hours. “I’ll be in your bed in the morning.”

❧ And Bishop always keeps his promise, you wake up to having him on your side.

❧Not that big of pda guy, but his hand never leaves yours throughout the day, always accepts the little pecks you give him too.

❧ Bishop who is a very secure man, does not get jealous when some guy approaches you.

❧ But he will put his most intimidating face with a tight grip on your waist when a man is too much. “She said she’s not interested, I doubt you need something else.”

❧Bishop who sits on your very girly tidy bed while you give him a shopping haul of all the things you bought with his money of course.

❧Bishop who’s gotten used to taking all your pictures, like all your pictures. Your phone, his phone, digital camera, Polaroid camera. He’s accepted he can’t say no when you want a picture in a photo booth, you will get it.

❧Bishop who never starts a fight. It just doesn’t feel right. He will however get passive aggressive but he knows better, he’ll never actually win a fight in your eyes. And he’s secretly fine with that.

❧Bishop who just knows you from head to toe.

❧ He’s studied all your mannerisms, your different types of laughs. Knows when you’re having tough days so he does his best to make you feel better.

❧ He knows the types of movies you enjoy watching and finds little things to bring you because it reminds him to you. Will do anything to keep you entertained.

❧Bishop who just knows you’re the woman of his dreams, no doubt that you’re the one he wants to spend eternity with. :’)

.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲