#I just wonder if I should put the taglist on the masterlist for the series 🧐

[sanatomis]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩 ── 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄!

a child is bound to feel neglected when they discover no one bothered to show up for their science fair, especially when all their peers have someone to dote on them. it seems fushiguro megumi is no exception.

content. female!reader with she/her pronouns, feminine nicknames (princess), established relationship with satoru, slight angst with a happy ending.

notes. nobody was there when i presented my end of the year research-project as a 14 year old, so megumi (age 7), baby, i'm gonna make sure there's someone there for you.

࣪taglist. | series masterlist.

Megumi never really cared about science fairs. To him, they’re just a regular afternoon at school that he’ll have to sit through until he’s finally allowed to go home. He may think of them as unnecessary—as he does not believe in a good reason for parents to come to the school and marvel at their child’s (very much mediocre) creation—but he has never had a strong opinion towards them. They were just. . .there. 

He didn’t pay them much mind, and that exact indifference turned out to be the motive behind the very serious crime of putting a flyer in the bin. 

“Look what I found!” 

There’s a sense of annoyance that bubbles up in his stomach when Satoru puts the invitation to the science fair in front of him. Megumi’s brows furrow, and he purses his lips—leave it to him to find something he doesn’t want to have found. 

“Hm?” You hum, and lean over to look. One of Satoru’s fingers taps impatiently on the flyer, as if it’s saying ‘look, I caught him hiding something!’. Megumi briefly contemplates biting the digit clean off. “Science fair. . .Is this yours, Megumi?”

While reading, you put the bowl of rice back down onto the dinner table, and Tsumiki gingerly grabs it upon return. You mouth the words as you do so, and the boy nearly gags when he watches Satoru’s lovesick gaze at your little quip. It’s so disgustingly sappy, he nearly forgets you asked him a question. Nearly, as it had induced just enough anxiety into him to make him remember. 

“Mhm,” he mumbles, and pokes a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. 

You stop reading at his confirmation. There’s a sad look in your eye, it forms quickly and is instantly directed at him. Megumi doesn’t like it. Especially since he’s most likely the cause of it. “Why didn’t you tell us?” You ask, and he finds himself at a loss of words. 

Why didn’t he tell you? In all honesty, it just didn’t occur to him to do so. He has never cared about science fairs, nor has he had people who attended them for him. Most times, they are for parents only—so try as she might, Tsumiki was never allowed inside. Megumi eventually stopped bringing them up. He felt a little sorry for all the failed attempts his sister (very lovingly) made. But now. . .well, yes, why didn’t he tell you? 

He doesn’t know the answer to that. 

“Didn’t think of it,” he says eventually, because he knows you’ve been trying to get him to talk more; verbalising his feelings, is what you called it. 

You frown at his answer, and it makes him wonder if he said the wrong thing. A quick glance between you and the man at your side is shared. Megumi thinks that can’t be good. 

“It says it’s for tomorrow evening,” you tell Satoru, and push the flyer over back to his side of the table. “Are you free, then?”

Satoru pauses. He’s not free, Megumi knows he isn’t. Not because Satoru told him so, but because he listened to the phone call he had a few hours ago. It’s bad manners, he knows—he can hear you in his head, and he shouldn’t have done it. But, Satoru talks so loudly, he should simply quiet down if he doesn’t want others to hear. 

“I sure am,” he says then, and Megumi tries to hide the surprise on his face. He’s lying. Liar. Liar. Liar. It’s all that goes through the boy’s head, but he doesn’t say it out loud. 

He does wonder why Satoru lied, but he quickly gets his answer when he sees the happy smile that breaks out on your lips. “That’s great!” You say, and place one of your hands on his. Seemingly delighted, you look at Megumi. “We’ll be there.” 

“It’s nothing special,” Megumi says. His voice is clear this time, as opposed to his previous mumbling. Once again, he hears you in his head. You’re allowed to make noise. “You really don’t have to.” 

“Nonsense,” Satoru chimes. 

You continue his sentence. “We’ll be there.” 

We’ll be there. 

We’ll be there. 

We’ll be there. 

. . .So, where are you? 

Megumi isn’t too proud to admit that he’s currently desperately looking for the blabbermouth you call your boyfriend. It’s not because he’d rather have him here than you, but his white hair makes for a stark contrast among the crowd. It’s so very easy to find, and yet it’s nowhere to be found. He’s not here, and that, by extension, means you probably aren’t here, either. The realisation hits him harder than he thought it would have. 

For some reason, there’s a deep sadness. He thinks it’s a little silly. Nobody has ever shown up before, and he was fine with that. Being alone isn’t new to him. None of the situation he’s currently in is surprising, and yet Megumi has to fight off the tears welling up in his eyes. Why is he feeling this way? This hasn’t happened before. 

Megumi doesn’t care about science fairs. But, if that were true, then why do all the children and their parents suddenly make the room feel smaller? He swallows. All his classmates are darting around the room, chattering and motioning towards their projects while their parents gawk in feigned awe. As they always did. Except now, he feels something akin to resentment boil from within. His hand balls up into a fist. 

There isn’t a good enough reason for him to feel so disappointed. The position he finds himself in isn’t unfamiliar, and he knows Satoru was initially called-in for a mission somewhere in Ginza. Something came up, that’s all there is to it. Megumi knew better than to get his hopes up, or so he thought. How pitiful.After all this time, he still hasn’t learned.

And suddenly, he’s four years old again, and crawling into the crumpled bed sheets of his father’s ever-so-empty bed. He’s holding onto the fabric as if it’ll slip through his fingers, and stifling his quiet sobs with the pillow that doesn’t carry the same comforting scent any longer. It hasn’t for months now. Megumi keeps hoping that one day, it will. Tsumiki peeks into the room, and he pretends not to notice. He’s four years old, and has no parents, and absolutely no idea why his father left without him. 

Why was he forgotten? 

There is a lump forming in his throat. Its imminent appearance lulled him out of the faded memory, and into the present—the present, where he is, once again, forgotten about. Perhaps that is simply the tale of Megumi Fushiguro. 

“Mom, look! I added the glitter to it just as you said,” a girl speaks from the booth next to him. “What do you think? It’s pretty, right? Do you think it’s pretty?”

Her mother laughs, and pets her head once the girl starts tugging on her arm. “Mhm, it’s beautiful, darling. I’m very proud of you.”

Megumi doesn’t necessarily want to cry. Though, when his eyes water momentarily, there’s very little he can do about it; he feels even more powerless when his bottom lip starts trembling. He once read that blinking rapidly will make one’s tears disappear like snow before the sun, except that article mustn’t have taken the feeling of heartbreak into consideration. It doesn’t matter how much Megumi blinks, the first tear falls down his cheek a few seconds later. 

“Huh? What’s this? You really need to work on your handwriting, Megumi, your name is barely rea. . .” 

A part of him is convinced that the universe has it out for him. There is no other reason for the constant waves of misfortune that strike him. Sniffling, he looks up at the man in front of him—and the worst thought he has ever had surfaces. He is so very happy to see Satoru Gojo. 

Satoru’s eyes widen in shock upon seeing the water staining the boy’s cheeks, but even then Megumi can’t find it within himself to feel embarrassed. Not at this moment. With teary eyes, he blinks up at the tall man that snatched him up from the street like he was some discarded piece of free furniture.

“Where’s. . .” he croaks out, but gets interrupted rather quickly. 

“She’s talking to your teacher,” Satoru says softly. It’s a new tone of voice, one Megumi vaguely remembers as the one he normally reserved for you. This is making him uncomfortable—even a blind person would see that, but Satoru still tries. “Hey, it’s alright, buddy. She’s here.” 

The pat on his head nearly feels awkward. . .No, it does feel awkward. Satoru is petting him as if he were gently pressing a buzzer. It’s not even remotely close to the soft caresses you use when soothing him back to sleep, but it still brings him some strange sense of comfort. Megumi doesn’t swat his hand away. 

“There, there,” Satoru mumbles, and crouches down to his height. It’s a little silly to see such a man all folded up, his legs too long to look normal. “There was an accident a little further down the road. It took us a little longer to get here.”

Megumi lets out a shaky sigh. The petting stops shortly after. It’s quiet for a little while after—even if the room is filled with adults and children alike. Satoru looks at him, and he briefly wonders how you’re able to withstand looking into his eyes for as long as you do sometimes; Megumi thinks the blues will blind him soon. He gulps. For as annoying he might be when speaking, it turns out that Satoru Gojo is much more unnerving when he’s silent—silent, and looking right at you. 

Adorned with white lashes, Satoru’s baby blues pick Megumi apart at the seam. The boy has the brief idea to ask what he is thinking, but then decides against it. 

“Are you okay?”

The sound of his voice startles him. He hadn’t expected him to speak any time soon. 

“Megumi,” he calls out. “Are you okay?”

Is he okay? Megumi doesn’t know for sure. There are a lot of emotions he went through these past twenty minutes, and he isn’t entirely convinced that his brain was able to process them all. But for now—for now, he at least feels okay. 

Megumi nods. It’s all he does, not confident in his ability to verbalise his thoughts at the moment. He sniffs again. He’s okay, things are okay. 

“Good, that’s good,” Satoru mumbles, and his eyes dart towards the right side of the room; towards the door. He clears his throat, and one of his fingers carefully makes its way towards Megumi’s cheek. “That’s good. She’s here now, see?”

Megumi visibly perks up, and, while still a little shaken, starts searching for you. As soon as he lifts his head up, there’s a soft brush against his skin. He wavers for a moment, confusion on his face once he realises Satoru brushed some stray tears away. The two look at each other once again. Why did he. . .

“Oh, there you are, lovie,” you say, relief apparent in your voice. It never takes you long to embrace Megumi—you once said he’d be stuck in your arms forever if you had your way. The boy moulds into you, and his anxiety dissipates as soon as your perfume hits his nose; the scent comforting him. “I’m so sorry, there was an accident, and all roads were blocked, and. . .God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting for so long.” 

You cup his cheeks in his hands, and Megumi suddenly feels under scrutiny. It’s as if you’re searching for any inkling that your late arrival had caused him unease. It clicks, then, why Satoru did what he did. He’s a buffoon most of the time, but it seems there are some working cells left in his brain—when it concerns you, of course. Megumi is very thankful for him now. Though, he will deny ever feeling so. 

“Alright, princess, let him breathe,” Satoru says, the usual light lilt to his voice has made a return. There’s a small smile on his face as he watches you fuss over him. “Don’t you want to show us your project, Megumi?”

The mention of his project catches your attention. “Oh! Yes, will you show us, Gumi?” 

One might think you’re speaking about some grand architecture design rather than a small, barely functioning science project. That is, if they took the look in your eyes as anything to go by. The boy glances between you and Satoru. Megumi then decides that, yes, he would like to show it to you—he always has wanted to show them. 

You weren’t his parents, but you were at his side. And when Megumi looks at the near-giddy excitement showing up on Satoru’s face, and the unconditional support on yours. . .he thinks that may just be enough. 

He nods, and finds his words again. 

“I—I will, yes. Follow me, please.”

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

taglist [based off the last fic in the series, let me know if it’s no longer wanted]: @torusdoll @sad-darksoul

[muniimyg]

4.5: say it 》 series m.list

note: some feelings, some banter,, some smut at the beginning of the 3rd scene <3 have fun,, enj !!! do we like yuna and tae? vibes on... the jealousy? lmk what u guys think !!!mwah <3 updating sooon

taglist request: send a request with the title of this fic “c2u” // DO NOT comment here or on the masterlist . it gets confusing and i prefer answering and tagging through asks !!!

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @taetaecatboy @pb-n-juju @miss-rainy-days @firesighgirl @whoa-jo @vantxx95 @pamzn @kakixaku @casspirit0705 @tae165 @prdshobi @sopebubbles @leefics @ggukkieland @bebebutbetter @yoongimentita7 @boraength @era-genius @4ksj @vampcharxter @miss-jupiter @floweryjeons @taegijns @jeonqkooks-main

fic taglist: @mint--yoongs @ellesalazar @bloopkook

//

Soccer was something Jungkook was known for on campus.

It never occurred to you just how well-known he was until now… Yet, it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Jungkook had quit the team out of boredom and curiosity only to be begged back in as if he’s their ace.

Okay, fine. 

… He probably is the ace. 

Jungkook comes off as too perfect. It’s quite irritating, actually. He has decent grades, a fun friend group, and a well-balanced lifestyle. You can’t help but hate that being a part of his routine for the past few weeks has you in this emotional state: needy. 

You’ve never felt this way before. 

Before the arrangement between you and Jungkook was made, you two barely saw each other. His life consisted of school, soccer, and friends. You only ran into him at parties or friendgroup outings. Having one class with him every other semester has to be the closest you two have ever been. 

You’ve never missed anyone before and although there’s an underlying warm feeling—your feelings of frustration and annoyance have never been stronger. His absence may have gotten your heart to grow fonder of him—but your anger and resistance to him continue to linger. 

It’s almost like a haunting feeling. 

As much as you want to carry on with your day and act like you aren’t waiting for his clingy text messages; you can’t help but itch and wonder what he’s doing and who he’s with. Though his text messages yesterday provided you with some sort of comfort and assurance, you can’t help but feel uneasy about all of this. 

About him. 

“Earth to ____?” Yuna waves her hands in front of your face. Snapping out of your thoughts, you offer her a warm smile. “Geez, you’re so out of it these days… Are you feeling sick?”

You shake your head. 

For a moment there, you were so lost in thought you forgot where you were. For a brief moment, you look out the window and notice the gloomy clouds before turning back to your space. The library is fuller than usual and Yuna is sitting in front of you with her laptop and notebook. She’s been talking for the past 20 minutes about… 

Something. 

You can’t recall.

Maybe you should start listening to her more… You’re truly the worst friend ever. 

“You look worried… Do you have an exam you didn’t study for or something?” Again, you shake your head in response. Yuna hums as she taps her fingers on her chin. Thinking to herself, she creates a solution. 

“Do you wanna come with me and see Taehyung?” 

You raise an eyebrow at her. “Why would I want to see Taehyung?”

She shrugs, putting her hands up in defeat. “…. Was just suggesting.”

Leaning towards her, you cheekily ask; “fess up. Do you have feelings for him?”

A gasp escapes her lips as she covers her mouth with her hands. Yuna furrows her eyebrows together and looks at you in panic. “Is the ____ interested in my love life? For the first time in forever? When did you get a nose job? You’re so nosy!”

You cover your nose and glare at her. 

“Shut up! Jungkook just mentioned that—”

“Jungkook, huh?” Yuna switches her hand placement immediately. She leans forward to you, putting her elbows on the table, and rests her chin on the palm of her hands. “What’s up with you two? I must’ve been wasted as hell that night at karaoke because if what I saw was true… Boy, do you owe me a girls night…”

Gulping, you keep your chin high. “What do you mean? What did you see that night?”

“He’s into you.”

“Jungkook is into everyone—”

“Yeah, right!” Yuna disagrees passionately, earning a few hushes from other students nearby. In a whispering tone, she continues. “Jungkook barely pays attention to the guys—his own friends! He does what he wants, shows up when he wants, eats what he wants and maintains his slutty figure, and parties when and with who he wants—I think… He wants you. He kept giving you fuck me eyes all night… And you! Don’t act all innocent. I saw you sulking like a little bitch! Which.. Is new? I’ve never seen you clingy before… Not with any of your exes... Not even with me."

You roll your eyes at her. Though her words rang true, you refuse to yield. If Yuna, the densest human in the world, can figure you out... You're fucked.

“You’re right.”

Yuna’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“You were sooo wasted that night.”

After a few hours of studying, you and Yuna pack your things up. She practically begs you to come with her as she meets up with Taehyung. In all honesty, it didn’t take much convincing. For some reason, you say yes with the tiniest bit of hope that Jungkook would be with him. 

Although, you don’t ask.

Hurrying out of the library, Yuna instantly spots Taehyung. With a toothy smile, he waves and picks up his pace. He greets Yuna with a pat on her head and you by nudging your arm. 

“Where’s Jungkook?” 

Shrugging, you look around as if you could spot Jungkook. Shyly, you answer, “thought he was with you.”

“He came home late yesterday…” Taehyung says as if it mattered for you to know. “I assumed he was with you.”

In response, you shake your head at him. “Nope. I haven’t seen him in a while… Last time was when we got coffee—”

You wince at the memory. 

“You okay?” Yuna’s face falls concerned. Taehyung looks at you rather confused. She hits his arm and confides in him. “See what I mean? She’s been like this all day.”

Taehyung tightens his lips as he gives your odd behaviour some thought. “Maybe she’s sleep-deprived. Are you sleepy, ___? You look a little tired.”

“Maybe the break-up is finally hitting her. Do you miss him, ___? Is that it?” Yuna suggests rather passionately. “You know, I miss him! He was a good boyfriend and you seemed happy—”

You huff, feeling defeated. “I’m just tired. I guess I’m more tired than I realize. I think I should just head home… I’ll catch up with you guys next time.” 

Yuna shoves Taehyung away and pulls you in a hug. She sways you two side to side and cries; “my poor baby, ____! Feel better, okay?”

Laughing, you ask Taehyung to help you peel your best friend off of you. When Yuna lets go and gives you space, her eyes suddenly squint as if she has just seen something unpeculiar. Then, she rubs her eyes to be sure.

“Is that Jungkook?”

You turn your head and feel your heart clench.

It feels conflicted. 

Yes, that was Jungkook.

… But with whom? 

Before you can escape or avoid eye contact with him, Taehyung has already waved them over. Jungkook nods, acknowledging you all. He crosses the street and you turn around, keeping your head low. You do this because for some reason you feel all shy… Like you didn’t just have sex with him a week ago—in front of a mirror. 

“Whose that?” Yuna asks, disregarding the fact that the two were practically a three feet away.

“Who knows,” Taehyung scoffs. “Secret girlfriend? Sneaky link? Who knows with that kid.”

Yuna gasps. “No way! I thought he was into ___—”

“Hey,” Jungkook greets brightly. Taehyung and Yuna greet him with the same energy. He offers a big smile as he stands beside you and pinches your waist. You itch away and avoid eye contact. From the corner of his eye, he catches your behaviour and feels confused.

In a low tone, only loud enough for you to hear; he mutters, “Don’t ignore me. That’s fucking annoying.”

You don’t move. Still, you ignore his seductive words.

He tilts his head at you but figures you’re just in a mood. Shifting his focus, Jungkook breaks the ice. “Where you guys going?”

“I just met up with them like a few minutes ago,” Taehyung explains. “We were gonna grab dinner but I think—”

“Hi, I’m Yuna!” your best friend interrupts Taehyung. She stretches her hand out for the girl to shake. She takes Yuna’s hand and shakes it. “This is Taehyung and my best friend ___!” 

You raise your head and offer a short-lived smile. A simple, “hi,” is all you manage to choke out. 

Mina has short brown hair and pretty eyes. She’s a little shorter than you and has Jungkook’s towel hanging on her arm.

You feel sick.

“Nice to meet you guys! I’m Mina, Jungkook’s friend…” she pauses and lets out a shy laugh. “Actually, I’m more of his fan than I am his friend.”

Like a groupie? Ew.

Jungkook joins her and laughs. “She usually sits around with her friends on bleachers and watches our practices. We’ve been catching up since I got back in with the team. We were going to get dinner too.” 

Taehyung and Yuna nod, taking in the information. “Well, do you want to join us?” Yuna suggests. “___ isn’t feeling well so she was going to go home. It’d be nice to have better company! ___’s been so out of it today—”

You shush her. 

“You okay?” Jungkook brings his attention to you. 

It feels like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach. When did Jungkook’s gaze ever feel this… weird? It’s difficult to describe but it’s like you’re nervous or something. All you can really do is nod in response. 

“I’m okay,” you assure him. 

“You sure?” he presses, taking a step closer to you.  

He’s much closer to you this time and your body betrays you by staying still. You don’t move. You don’t even flinch. If anything, you take a deep breath and inhale his scent. It’s comforting after all the days you’ve spent away from him. From the corner of your eye, you can see Yuna begin to get excited to be witnessing this moment. When you can sense that she’s about to explode in best friend behaviour, you make your move. 

“Can I talk to you?” you blurt. “Please? It’s about that thing…”

Jungkook blinks. 

“Sure,” he doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll catch up with you guys later. Text me the address. I’ll just drive ___ home so we can talk.”

You're thankful he says this. You're thankful he goes along with your request without question. For a second there, you weren't sure if he was on your side.

Rather, you worried if he liked you enough to choose you regardless of the mix-signals and thus far constipated interaction.

Mina offers a warm smile in return, but you can’t help but notice the disappointment in her eyes as Jungkook takes your tote bag off of your shoulder and carries it. He assures Mina that he’s leaving her in great hands and that he’ll be there no later than 30 minutes. 

“I parked my car that way,” Jungkook points towards the end of the street. “Let’s go?”

“Yeah,” you almost stutter. “I’ll see you guys next time. Nice to meet you, Mina.” 

“You too! Feel better,” she says sincerely. “See you in a bit, Jungkook?”

“See you in a bit,” he promises. Mina takes his word for it.

Jungkook bids his last goodbye before grabbing your wrist and practically dragging you to leave. As he does so, you watch Mina, Taehyung, and Yuna wave you two goodbye. Even a few feet apart, you can practically hear Yuna begin her gossip session. 

“See? He’s so into her!”

Unlike last time, there was no issue. 

Oh, it was up. 

Jungkook hisses at your touch. 

As you take his cock out, you run your thumb across the tip. You pump him, feeling his velvety skin follow the way you move your wrist. He’s thick—practically two hands on deck kind of thick. In fact, he looks even bigger in your hands. Maybe it’s the LED lights in his car or the fact that he hasn’t cum since your last meet-up—but he was bigger than usual today. If anything, it made you drool. 

Dipping your head low, you stick your tongue out and move his cock with your hands. You slap it against your needy tongue before closing your mouth and sucking on it. 

Bobbing your head, Jungkook can’t resist. He grabs a fistful of your hair and begins to push your head up and down. He holds your head close, making sure his dick touched the back of your throat. You gag and he takes that as a sign to let go. Pulling away, you take a quick breath in before puckering your lips at him. 

He shifts from his laid-back position and leans forward. Jungkook wraps his hand around your neck and brushes his thumb against your puffy lips. 

“You know how I like it,” he utters. “Missed this fucking mouth. Begging for kisses?” 

With hopeful eyes, you nod. 

“Anything my girl wants,” Jungkook leans in and kisses you slowly. He pulls away after just three kisses. “... My girl gets.”

“Kiss me lots,” you whine. 

Jungkook’s stomach turns. If it could do flips, that’s what it does. He would be an idiot not to know why you were acting this way… Yet, he still wanted to have fun. 

“Make me cum and I’ll kiss you all you want.” 

With that, you get back to it. 

You spit on his dick as you pump him at a slow pace. His hands travel to your shirt, pulling at the neckline to see your cleavage. You let go of him to lift your arms. Without hesitation, Jungkook helps remove your shirt and admires your breasts in a plain black bra. 

Suddenly, you shift your position. The passenger seat is extremely uncomfortable considering you’re giving him head… But this part must be the hardest part. You lean your body towards him more, prioritizing your breasts. Somehow, you manage to bend a certain way and slip his dick in between your tits. 

“Holy shit—” Jungkook cries as he begins to lose it. 

You bite your lip, trying your best to make this work. You hold your breasts closer together as he begins to pump himself. Every time Jungkook lifts his hips to dig himself deeper in, you can’t help but like the way the head pops up.

It’s almost cute. 

The position doesn’t last very long. You begin to cramp and Jungkook misses your mouth. So, you switch back to giving him a blow job. Then, that doesn’t last very long because Jungkook can’t do it anymore—he can’t hold it in. His breath hitches as you suck his dick. He throws his head back and hisses your name. 

“___,” he cries, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Then, he cums. 

He spills himself into your mouth and you swallow. As he empties himself, you take it upon yourself to lick his dick clean. Today, his cum tasted sweeter than usual. You wonder if his diet changed or if you just haven’t tasted him in a while.

Jungkook stares in amazement as you finish him off. He can’t help but let his mind spin as his body tingles from the sensation you caused. When you finish, you straighten yourself out and he hands you your shirt. Putting it on, you sit yourself back properly in the passenger seat and sigh in relief. Jungkook tucks himself back in.

“Good talk,” you joke, attempting to lighten the mood. 

Oddly enough, you feel awkward. What were you supposed to do now? After you two got into his car, it didn’t take much time before you threw yourself at him. Happily, he received your kisses and took it upon himself to drive towards his place. Parked outside his home, the coast was clear. You gave him head and now you feel stuck. 

Jungkook notices the panic in your eyes and reaches his hand out. He places them on your upper thigh, causing you to look at him. 

“What’s up with you?” Jungkook can’t help but ask. “You miss me too much?”

You scoff, “as if.”

He laughs, moving closer to you. Jungkook rubs your thighs innocently and squeezes it. It’s comforting for some reason… You like the way he touches you. 

“Spit it out, pookie.”

You shrug. “Nothing. Just wanted to give you head. You can take me home now.”

“Ha!” Jungkook taunts you. He then removes his hand from your thigh and reaches for his phone on the dashboard. Looking at the time, his eyes widen. 

“Shit!”

“What?”

“It’s been an hour? Mina called me like five times. I’m late—no, I missed it.”

Giving him head didn’t take an entire hour.. No, it was the flirting and the clingy talk that took majority of the time. Convincing him to let you give him head? That wasn’t even a conversation that needed to be done. It was always yes for you. So, you took your time.

Flirting.

Kissing.

And giving him a sloppy blowjob that completed the 1 hour mark of stalling.

Your lips curve into a small smile. Looking away, you feel a sense of relief. You aren’t proud of yourself but… This was something you could live with. As you stay silent, you think of what you could possibly say in this situation without coming off suspicious. 

But, your silence lasts a second too long.

“Wild guess but… Did you give me head so I’d miss the dinner?” Jungkook theorizes. 

You turn to him, eyebrows knitted together and your head slightly tilted to look confused. “Are you blaming me for missing the dinner?”

“Are you gaslighting me?”

You’re tongue-tied. For the first time in forever, you have no come back. Your brain can’t think of any words. Slowly and then all at once, you felt like a stupid idiot sitting in his car. Had you gone too far? You’ve never seen yourself act upon jealousy like this… You have no excuse. You have no explanation. You don’t feel like yourself. 

“Mina’s pretty. Is she your type?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer your question. Partly because he didn’t want to entertain whatever you had stirring up in your mind and partly because he didn’t want to feed tour ego.

“___? What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighs, not knowing whether he finds this irritating or cute. Why would you sabotage something so meaningless? Dinner with friends? It’s not like you weren’t invited either… His thoughts lead him to one question: “I think you’re acting jealous. Are you jealous?”

Unsure of what to do, you decide to give up. “Are you going to be mad at me if I admit that I am?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is this you admitting that you are?”

You reply in silence. 

“___?”

“Give me a fucking minute, okay? I’m trying to figure out if I should lie or not,” you groan. Taking a moment, you look into his eyes. “Am I supposed to lie, Jungkook?”

Now, he feels choked. “Maybe.”

You blink at him. 

Before you can stop yourself from the words that have been spiraling through your head all day—you confess softly; “I’m jealous.”

His head begins to spin. Is this what post-orgasm depression is? The pit of his stomach feels weird… 

Taking a deep breath, you shift your body to face him as best as you can. Fidgeting with your fingers, you push yourself to admit the ugly truth: “I don’t think I can lie about it… Jungkook, I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing you with other girls and I’m annoyed you have a little fan club. So, yeah. I sucked your dick so you’d miss your little date. I’m sorry, it was selfish of me… So, go catch up with her if you want…. I was out of place. I don’t care anymore—”

“Yes you do,” he cuts you off. 

You gulp, noticing the way his eyes have lit up. 

“Say it,” Jungkook insists. “Say it and I won’t go.”

With shifty eyes, you ask, “really?”

In all honesty, he wasn’t looking for a specific word or phrase. He just wanted you to say it. Say something. Make this fuck session mean something.

Jungkook breathes, “I’m all yours if you want me to be.”

“Yikes…” 

He shoots you a glare. You’ve ruined the moment. 

Jungkook reaches over and unlocks your door. “Fine. I gotta get going. You can walk home from here, right? Mina won’t mind me being a little late—”

You hit his chest with an annoyed look on your face. 

He smirks, “say it.”

“Jungkook,” you begin. “Don’t make me feel this way, okay? The second you continue this vibe, I’m going to expect more from you and that’s not what we—”

“Then expect more,” Jungkook scoffs. “It’s simple, ____. If you’re jealous, tell me. If you like me, tell me. If you hate this and want out—give me at least two weeks’ notice so I can emotionally prepare.” 

A part of your heart feels like it’s being tugged. Was he always this good with words? For some reason, you find it humorous. “You bring up confessing a lot… Are you trying to tell me something, pookie?”

“Please,” Jungkook laughs. “I’m not here to play stupid games and win stupid prizes. I’m not confessing until I have you absolutely in love with me… Pookie, this jealousy thing? It’s just the start. Just a little longer and you’ll be standing outside my window in the pouring rain, begging for me.”

In response, you make a puking face at him. “Shut up. The minute you get jealous, I’ll make you eat your words.”

He leans in and puckers his lips. “Why waste your time getting me to eat my own words when I can eat something else?” 

You cup his face and squish his lips together. Pressing your lips against his, you pull away quickly with a cheeky smile. “Keep entertaining your little fan club and you’ll be eating nothing.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “It’s not my fault they watch while we practice—”

“Jungkook.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

He does just that.

Jungkook buckles your seatbelt and then his. Turning on the engine, he pulls out of his driveway and begins to drive you home. It’s a short 15 minute ride, but it’s filled with your rambling and constant shuffling of songs in his playlist.

As he stays silent, half-assed listening to you; he soaks in your presence and can’t find a single fibre in his body to be mad at you. He knows that what you did tonight was unacceptable. You had caused Mina to look like she got stood up and jeopardized a perfectly peaceful night by earning him a place on Taehyung’s hot seat of questions later tonight… But it’s okay.

With the smile on your face and the way you hesitate to reach for his hand as he drives; he can’t but help to feel like it’s worth it. Your hand will take his without a second thought one day. One day, you’ll be a part of the little fan club you hate so much. One day, it’ll work out because it has to.

If he never goes through these exact moments with you, maybe he wouldn’t have known his feelings for you… But, he does and it’s so clear to him.

Jungkook will wait for you.

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You were doing up the buttons on your flannel when you heard Daryl grumbling behind you. 

“I hate rubbers.”

You chuckled, putting your hands on the nape of your neck and pushing outward to coax your hair out of the shirt. The man had done as you asked all those weeks ago, returning to the next meetup with condoms in hand. You had left it up to him to dispose of them afterward, earning an amusing curl of his lip. 

“So,” you began, plopping down on the ground, “guess what.”

Daryl zipped up his own pack and shrugged it over his shoulders, raising a brow at you with his usual expression of indifference. “We gon’ start cuddlin’ after too?”

“Shut up. It’s not just every day conversation, asshole. I’m late.”

“Ya got a curfew now?” He scoffed, snatching his crossbow up off the ground to slide the strap over his right shoulder. 

“No, idiot. I mean, my period is late.”

“How ya even keep up with tha’ now?” He was still standing, fingers of his left hand tapping nervously against his hip while he chewed on the skin of his right thumb. Uncomfortable again. 

“I always kept a little date book in my bag before things went to shit. Just started marking off days when we came up here. Hoping this would all end and life could go back to…well, being life.” You picked up a twig and started breaking small sections off, not really wanting to look at him. “I’m 6 days late, which is pretty odd for me.”

“I don’ need the details. D’ya need a test or somethin’?”

“I will if it doesn’t come soon, yeah.” You tossed the stick down and got to your feet, dusting off your hands on your thighs. “Probably should do it next week if it’s still not happening.”

The man was a ball of anxiety, fidgeting and shifting his weight from foot to foot. You watched him warily, waiting for him to bolt and that would be that. If you were pregnant, you’d be in it alone.

“I’ll make a run n’ see if I can find one.” He finally said after a few minutes of unnerving silence, shouldering his string of squirrels. You blinked at him, eyes as big as saucers. “Wha’? Said we’d deal with it n’ I meant it.”

“I’ll go with you then.” 

“Nah, I got it. Jus’ bring it next week.” He sniffed, looking down at his boots as he kicked at the ground. “Ain’t no reason fer ya ta go out in that mess.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re being protective.”

He scoffed, scrunching his nose in a way you could almost say was adorable. “Jus’ don’ need ya trippin’ me up.”

Pursing your lips, you crossed your arms over your chest, deciding whether or not to argue with him. It was something that involved the both of you. You’d feel horrible if something happened to him while he was trying to take care of it alone. And you’d never know. He’d just never show up again, leaving you to wonder if he had simply bailed or—

“I’m going too.”

“No, ya ain’t.” He snapped while you picked up your rifle and the three rabbits you’d bagged. You started walking, leaving him trailing behind you with his stomping feet and flared nostrils. “Ya ain’t goin’!”

“You gonna stop me?” You asked, not missing a step. You heard him pause before his boots moved faster to catch back up with you. “I’m a big girl, Dixon. I can handle myself.” 

“Fine. Whatever.”

You only encountered two geeks at the base of the mountain. Daryl took out one with a bolt between the eyes while you handled the other with your hunting knife. His scowl was thoroughly in place by the time you were cleaning the dark blood from the blade with the bottom of your shirt. He didn’t say a word but he didn’t have to. You knew it was because you had to get close to the corpse to kill it. You couldn’t risk firing your gun when so many others could close by. 

The two of you were crouched in the bushes, the pharmacy across the street in the little town in clear view. Three geeks shuffled aimlessly in different directions, making it difficult to find a way straight through. 

“Maybe one of us could distract them?” You suggested. “I could go out over there, make some noise and draw them off while you go inside.” You looked over to find him staring at you like you’d sprouted a second head. “What?”

“Yer the one tha’ knows whatcha need in there. I’ll handle the geeks.”

You really couldn’t argue with that. There were so many different tests for pregnancy, ovulation, and other things, Daryl would probably bring out the entire shelf and still not have what you needed. With a nod, you watched him make his way down the ditch, staying low. His eyes met yours briefly and, with a jerky nod, he left the cover of the foliage and whistled, waving his arms. 

You waited for an opening, nearly leaping out before two more corpses stumbled from the alley next to the pharmacy. “Fuck.” Daryl was going to be sorely outnumbered. Something in your gut twisted, the strong urge to stay and help the redneck, ensure he was safe, before you entered the pharmacy. He’d have your head if you dared. With another curse, you left your hiding place and dashed across the street, your steps that of a hunter— swift and silent. 

The pharmacy was blessedly clear, a few geeks sprawled out between aisles, clean holes in their skulls. Daryl had been there before. “So, this is where you got the condoms. You reckless son of a bitch.” You smirked, the knowledge that fucking you was enough fun to have him scurrying down the mountain for the means to continue. 

You grabbed two of each kind of test, deeming labels and specifications unnecessary when Daryl was outside fighting the undead to keep them off your back. The boxes were quickly shoved into your bag, and you were creeping back toward the door. Just as your hand touched the glass, a geek stumbled by. You quickly ducked and moved to the side, peeking around the magazine stand to ensure it had passed before you pushed the door open. 

There were at least 7 of them on the far end of the street, walking toward nothing you could see. Where was Daryl? You barely lifted a foot to step off the curb when an arm snaked around your waist and a hand clamped down over your mouth. 

“S’me. S’jus’ me.” Daryl whispered against your ear. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you forced his hand away from your face and spun around to give him a shove. 

“You scared the shit out of me!” You whisper-yelled. 

“Got whatcha need?” He was already ushering you toward the trees across the street. You gave a sharp nod and ducked into the bushes, finally releasing a breath when you could look back and no longer see any trace of the town. 

“Well, that was fun.” 

Daryl snorted beside you, adjusting the strap of his crossbow on his shoulder. Once your heart rate slowed, you were able to settle back into your appreciation for the forest. So far, the turn had been unable to strip that away from you. The wildlife continued to flourish, seeing no difference between the dead and the living. Plants would grow. Flowers would bloom. Seasons would change. 

In some ways, life would go on. 

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You turned to find Daryl facing away from you. With a quick look around, you realized how long the two of you had really been walking. It was time to part ways. “Oh. Right. Heading back now?” 

“Nah. Gon’ see if I can bag a deer. So, ‘nother day or two.” He was gnawing at his thumb again. 

“Right. Well. Three days, midday?” He nodded his agreement, those blue eyes of his flitting to your pack and back to you. You smiled through a strange feeling, pushing it down as he started to walk away. “See you then.”

“See ya.”

“Hey, daddy.” You smiled, finding your father sitting by the small fire when you parted the last bit of foliage to enter the camp. 

“Peanut, you’re back late. I was gettin’ worried!” He shifted in his wheelchair to sit straighter, smile wide and arms open. You leaned in for his offered hug, holding up the rabbits when you separated. 

“Got some meat for tomorrow.” You smiled for only a moment before looking around for the rest of your family. “Did they seriously leave you out here alone?”

“I’m fine, darlin’. Told ‘em to go on to bed and that I’d rather wait up for you.”

You gave him a pointed look, laying the rabbits aside to prep later. “Well, I’m here now. You should get some sleep.” 

“It’s early yet. Tell me how it was out there.”

You sat down in one of the fold-out chairs, toeing at the rocks surrounding the small fire. “It’s quiet. It’s always quiet.”

“You see any of ‘em?” He asked, a hint of concern in his tone. You shook your head. “I worry about you going out all alone.”

“I can handle myself, daddy.”

“I know you can, peanut. I just…wish you didn’t have to. It’s a parent’s job to worry about their kids, you know.” He smiled and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

“You’re gonna give yourself gray hair with all the worrying. Oh shit, I think I see some from all the way over here!” You laughed with him for a while longer before the fire burned out and the camp was dark. 

You bolted upright in your sleeping bag, still groggy and not really remembering why it was you were awake in the first place. Rubbing your eyes, you sat there for a moment before deeming it time to get the day started. The sun was barely up but your uncles were already stirring if the sounds outside the tent were anything to go by. Your aunt had taken watch several hours earlier so she’d probably be sleeping now. 

Scratching at your scalp with a yawn, you glanced over at your open pack, the top corner of a box peeking out from beneath your jacket. You sighed, knowing you would need to take the test. You still hadn’t bled and you’d be meeting Daryl the next day. You groaned and grabbed your clothes, slipping on everything haphazardly while your uncles banged and clanged on everything they possibly could outside. Shrugging on your jacket, you unzipped the tent. 

“Jesus, some of us are still half asleep! Uncle James, could you put on some coffee for daddy before—”

Just as you began to crawl from your tent, a geek came barging in, teeth clicking and rotting fingers grabbing. You screamed and scrambled backwards, kicking at the corpse while your hand searched blindly for your knife. Another clumsily shoved its way inside, pinning one of your legs and leaving you just far enough from your weapon that your fingertips brushed the handle. 

Somewhere outside, your father was screaming. 

Chapter 3

[kasagia]

❄️️Warm my heart pt. 1❄️️

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/ The Darkling x fem! heartrender! reader Summary: December. Everyone in the Little and Grand Palaces is excited about the upcoming holidays. Only the Black General seems rather... depressed. Like every year when these holidays are coming closer. Maybe this year, since you've been promoted to his second-in-command, you can make the general's holidays a little more enjoyable? And you're not doing it because you're in love with him and you want to see him finally careless happy... not even a little bit. Nonsense from me: A spontaneous Christmas mini-series. We'll see how it develops... I hope you will like it 🩵🖤 P.S. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I don't know if there's any equivalent to our Christmas… let's just say there is and I'll try to find out to be sure😅 Word Count: 3k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 2 ~•♤♤♤•~

"Oh saints, I'm freezing here." Fedyor complains as he walks next to you through the snowdrifts.

"Don't be such a grump." you say, adjusting your black fur coat that protects your neck from the cold wind. You look at the sky. The clouds were swirling above you, and the snow was still falling. In moments like these, you kind of wish you were Inferni.

"Grumpy? We had been walking around, searching for this stag, the whole day. I start to doubt if that tracker can find it."

"That tracker had seen it." Mal's voice is coming behind you. You turn to see him helping Alina walk through the snow. "It had to go somewhere to await the snowstorm."

"We should do the same." you tremble as you hear General's right behind you. You feel his warm body and beating heart before he stands next to you. "It's getting worse with each hour. We should go back to camp." he says, looking at Ivan.

"Yes, sir." Ivan who came with him nods to him and looks at the rest.

All of you are following him. You see Zoya and the general talking to him about something in the front. Mal and Alina whisper something quietly to each other. The tracker looks distrustfully at the three Grishas in front of him. You decide to stay with Fedyor a little after them.

"Lovers' quarrel?" you ask him as you see him trying to stay as far away from Ivan as he can. He also has not looked at him even once since you all got together after hours of searching Morozova's stag.

"You can say that. I want to go on holiday with my family and take him with me. He refused... well, it's putting it mildly."

"He needs time. I'm sure he will gladly come with you to meet your cousins and siblings." you defend him.

You know very well that Ivan wasn't necessarily eager to leave the Little Palace. He rarely saw his family. Like you, he didn't have many... people in his family who accepted him as Grisha. Fedyor was lucky to have someone to write letters to and visit during the holidays. Ivan was also more conservative; he did not engage in closer relationships with people, except for his fiancé.

Just like someone else you know...—you think, staring at the back of the general's head.

Snowflakes fall on his black kefta, making it even harder for you to take your eyes off him. You stopped counting the number of times you just wanted to go up to him, run your hand through his hair, hug him while simultaneously hiding in his black kefta, or kiss those temptingly soft lips that gave orders to thousands of soldiers.

The beating of his heart has become wonderful music for you to work with since you somehow became his second-in-command and started to spend more time with him in the war room.

It also worsened your crush on him… but it was a sacrifice you could bear for the sake of Ravek and Grishas.

"I hope so. I haven't seen them for a year. I wanted to finally introduce Ivan to them. Especially after our engagement." he sighs sadly, staring blankly at the footprints in front of you. You look at him sympathetically. As you notice snowflakes gathering on his shoulder, you think of an idea to make him laugh and maybe feel a little better.

You stand for a moment and bend down to your shoe, pretending to try to tie it. Fedyor stops and waits for you, his eyes patrolling the area and the forest surrounding you. You weren't that far from the capital, but some of Drüskelle's unit could always show up. You take advantage of his moment of inattention, form a snowball, and throw it at him.

You laugh quietly as the snowball hits his back. Fedyor gives you a surprised look before smirking and accepting the challenge. You silently throw snowballs at each other from behind, trying to stay silent enough so that no one notices what you two are doing.

At one point, you dodge a snowball thrown by Fedyor, causing it to hit Alina. The Sun Summoner turns towards you and lets out a small huff of laughter as he sees the two of you covered in snow. He nudges Mal with his elbow, and soon the four of you are left far behind the others, throwing snowballs at each other.

You laugh as you form teams against each other. You and Fedyor do quite well against them... at least until, instead of throwing a snowball at Mal's face, you manage to hit General Kirigan, who seems to have noticed your absence and come back to find you.

You all freeze, watching the snow fall from his face onto the kefta. Beside him, Zoya tries her best not to burst out laughing. Ivan, on the other hand, gives the four of you an irritated, disbelieving look.

"Ten minutes… we can't let you out of our sight for ten minutes," Kirigan says, wiping his face with a handkerchief and brushing away the remaining snow from his face.

"Our apologies, General." Fedyor says, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his face straight.

"Whose genius idea was it?" he asks, hiding his handkerchief and brushing off the excess snow from his black coat. To no avail, judging by the snow still falling on you. But that didn't change the fact that he was as intimidating as he was in any setting.

You see Alina take a breath to take the blame, but you cut her off before she could. "My, sir. I wanted to lighten the mood. I apologise; it won't happen again. We won't delay our return."

Your remorseful look and tone of voice make him relax. His stern gaze softens, and you can practically hear Fedyor teasing you about it.

"Just don't get left behind." he says and turns on his heel, leading you all again back to the camp.

Zoya stares at you, surprised at how smoothly you managed to pull off something like insulting the general of the Second Army by throwing a snowball at his face. However, she quickly comes back to her senses and tries to catch up with the general to talk to him about something. Ivan, on the other hand, just shakes his head and wordlessly follows the Black General like his shadow.

"Seriously? If it were me, he'd tear me apart just by looking at me," Mal grumbles to himself.

"Don't worry so much. He would do it to anyone. He has a soft spot only for Y/N. Well, and maybe Alina, since she is one-of-a-kind." Fedyor says quietly and pats him on the back. Alina snickers and takes Mal's arm as they both follow the trail of the three Grishas. You roll your eyes at your dear friend's words.

"Stop it. It's ridiculous. Don't even insinuate something like that. With Zoya and Alina in the picture, I mean nothing more to him than a soldier, his second-in-command. At best, a friend."

"Sure. The beating of his heart every time you look at him is an obvious clue that this is the case. Besides, you've seen yourslef. You are the only one who can hit him with a snowball and stay safe and sound. He didn't even raise his voice at you. The two of you are so damn obvious and so damn stubborn that even if you ended up in bed together, you both would consider it an accident."

"Oh, shut up." he laughs, hitting me on the arm with his.

"What? Why do you think he made you stop your training as a healer and decide for you to be a heartrender instead of making you a main healer? You would have stuck in an infirmary far away from him. That way, he sees you often, plus you have black embroidery on your kefta." he says and winks suggestively. You huff in amusement, shaking your head.

"You are ridiculous. We work together. That's all. There's nothing more between us. At best, it's camaraderie. Besides, he can have anyone."

"But he wants you. Do you think he gives flowers to everyone on Women's Day? Or does he buy birthday gifts? Does he even remember about someone's birthday?" you blush, you feel your cheeks turn the bloody color of your kefta and it's not because of the cold.

"I remember him wishing Ivan a happy birthday." you mutter under your breath.

"Because he was standing next to us when I gave this idiot a gift." he says, obviously still angry at his fiancé.

"Give it up. Him and I—it's not going to happen. He's a womanizer. Zoya is not his first mistress. And I am definitely not his type or league."

"Well, now that you've brought it up... little birdie told me that he cut off all non-Army relations with her. And guess when? When you became his second-in-command. And guess who he pushes away, despite the fact that she's desperately trying to get back into his bed?"

"It does not matter. He probably has his eyes on Alina and wants to make a good impression."

Fedyor groans in annoyance at your response. Before you know it, you're back at camp, with no trace of the rest of your companions. The man next to you sighs in frustration and runs a hand through his hair.

"If you keep fighting it for so long and denying it, which makes no sense by the way, then yes. He'll find someone else. Take the opportunity before you regret it. Christmas is coming! Maybe some miracle will happen that will make you both see that you have to end together, because only saints can make the two of you see things together, you stubborn donkeys." he says and leaves you alone, going saints know where.

You sigh, walking back to your tent. However, before you strip off the layers of clothes that protect you from heat loss, you notice that you have no firewood. You go back to the forest and collect twigs and small logs of wood that you can use to light a fire at night.

You go back to camp, dragging a small wood sled behind you. You think about Fedyor's words and whether they might actually turn out to be true. You blush as you remember the countless late nights spent in the war room talking to the general about plans, reports, new recruits, or just drinking his kvass with him and talking about anything and everything. It's true, you were close... but would you be willing to jump in and risk everything—your entire career and the life you created in the Little Palace—to try to be more to him than just one of his soldiers? Especially when he could have had a Sun Summoner?

Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice familiar, dark shadows starting to swirl behind you. You scream in shock, both from the feeling of someone suddenly pulling you into his chest and from the fact that the skin on your neck and face meets the icy snow.

General Kirigan's laughter, the familiar scent of his cologne, and the warmth emanating from him calm you enough to realise that you are not in the arms of anyone dangerous. Well... if a shadow summoner could be considered such. But the coolness of the snow he rubs into your face and neck effectively shakes you from thoughts of him as you try to fight back.

He chuckles and holds you tighter with one hand as you kick and struggle in his arms.

“A good soldier knows when to surrender, Y/N.” he whispers into your ear, clearly amused. His silky tone of voice was as mischievous as it was slightly defiant and dangerous. "Shouldn't you have enough honour to obediently endure the punishment of your general?"

"Punishment? What for?" you ask as you manage to wipe the snow off your face enough to keep it from sticking in your mouth as you speak.

"Do you think I would let your little stunt get away with it? I wonder if you can still throw so accurately with snow in your kefta…" he says, slowly scooping up more snow and guiding his hand with it under your coat.

"NO!" you scream, amused and scared at the same time.

You use your powers to stun him for a moment and pull yourself out of his arms. You don't get very far, though. His shadows chase after you, and he keeps you tightly against his chest again. You struggle with him so much that you both fall screaming into a large snowdrift.

You land on top of him, blushing furiously as you realise this. The snow around you cools you a little, and you start to feel the cold seep into your bones despite everything.

"Armistice?" you ask him, your hand full of snow ready to attack.

He chuckles, amused, which only makes your smile widen. You had rarely seen him so… carefree. Especially now that he was so focused on finding Morozova's stag.

"For now. I will still look for my revenge." you whine, dissatisfied.

"It was only one snowball, Aleksander. I wasn't even aiming at you!" you protest. You squeak, surprised, as he switches, so now he is on top of you. A dangerous smile played on his face as he looked at you with a mischievous spark in his dark eyes.

"You think so?" he asks with a cheeky smirk, the hand holding the snow coming dangerously close to the buttoms of your kefta under your coat.

"All right, you won! Please don't. I'm freezing."

He frowns when he hears that you are cold. He lets go of the snow and wipes his hand on his coat before touching your cheek. He sighs, feeling how cold you are. He stands up first and helps you up, still watching you carefully.

"Let's go back to the camp. I wouldn't want my second-in-command to get sick because she decided to play in the snow" he says, and you blush slightly.

He only makes you redder by taking your hands in his and breathing warm air on them. You see the nostalgia in his eyes, and you can't help but ask him a question.

"What is it?"

"It's just... it's been so long since I did it. The last person I threw snowballs with was my sister. It feels like... centuries ago." he whispers thoughtfully, not letting go of your hands.

Unconsciously, he starts drawing patterns on your hands with his thumbs. You see him going back to his memories. How his eyes darken with sadness, even hurt. You don't know what must have happened to make him so depressed, but you feel the inner need to fight off all his worries just to see his smile again—the gleam of joy in those dark, hypnotising eyes.

"Well… maybe you can do it again? After all, the holidays are coming. You'll definitely want to visit her. Or she you." you say, choosing your words carefully. He didn't talk much about his family. Even his name was a big secret. And from your information, as long as it was good, you were the only one who knew it.

"It's a little more complicated." he says it gruffly and pulls away from you. You curse yourself in your mind, not even knowing what you did wrong. "Neither of us sees anything... special about it."

"You don't have a family meeting? Never?"

"We're not close. I don't remember when was the last time we got together. Not to mention something as insignificant and trivial as all this exchange of gifts, celebrations and prayers to the saints." he replies, pulling your sled of wood as you both walk back to camp.

You can tell by the tone of his voice that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so you change the subject and ask about the next steps in his plan to capture the deer, and he perks up a little more.

Little does General Kirigan know that you're half-listening to him, thinking about something entirely else. The distant look in his dark eyes when he talks about his family—that hidden longing for something he pretends not to want—tells you one thing.

You will make sure he feels different this year. You will do everything to replace his clearly unpleasant memories with harshness from his loved ones, memories he doesn't want to share with something better.

"We'll discuss the details in my tent tonight. I hope you don't get sick. We don't have time for any delays. We have to finally catch that damn stag by the end of the year at the latest. Although our only tracker who saw it will keep hanging around the Summoner Sun instead of tracking, I don't see it well." he says, and anyone else would find his words harsh and irritated, but you've long since learned that his eyes are the true reflection of his feelings and emotions.

The one thing he couldn't control. He gives you the rope of the sled, and before he leaves you, he ties his scarf around your neck, mumbling something about how you don't know how to pack the most necessary things for the mission.

You go back to your tent and light a fire. After a while, a fabricator comes in and hands you black leather gloves without saying a word. He's gone before he can see you smiling and blushing, realising WHO told him to make them for you.

You shake your head, trying to get past Fedyor's teasing words from the hours ago. It's just a friendly gesture. Nothing more.

But this is the moment when you make your final decision.

You will see the general again, as happy and carefree as he was a few moments ago. So relaxed and calm as he deserves to be, at least in this time of year...

Even if, along the way, your stupid heart had to completely and hopelessly fail for a man you could never have.

Thank you! 🩵🖤🩵🖤

~•♤♤♤•~ Part 2 ~•♤♤♤•~

[hauntedwitch04]

can you please do a plus size reader insecure with dean winchester?

Perfect

Dean Winchester x plus size!Reader 

Words: about 2.1k words 

Warning: saddy sadness, and some allusion to sexy times since we are talking about Dean so they are obviously there.

Author’s note: Hi love! Thank you so much for your request. I felt really inspired by your idea and I hope you like how it came out!

p.s. I got very caught up in the topic, since it is something I feel very close to. Ever since I was a little girl, I was never a very skinny kid, and on more than one occasion I was teased by my classmates when I was in middle school, so I let myself go and put a little bit of me in the one-shot.

Always remember that it is normal to have good days and bad days, but the important thing is not to let the bad days have it. Keep fighting until the end, because losing a battle does not matter, what is important is to win the war. Everyone is perfect and beautiful in their own way, and your body does not define the person you are.

In case you need someone to talk to, I am always here, don't be afraid to seek help because often having someone close by to remind you that the volume of that evil voice we hear inside can be lowered or eliminated is important.

Requests are open I Ask

My masterlist

Join the Taglist

Buy me a coffee - Patreon submission

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

You look at that slice of cake for the umpteenth time, and you can't help but hear that voice in your head again, evil, whispering all your lifelong insecurities.

Dean has been talking to a girl at the counter for a few minutes, and you can't help but notice how thin she is compared to you, how beautiful she is by the standards society imposes today, standards you have never respected.

You were never a very skinny girl, in fact from a very young age you had your curves, but that never appeared to be a problem until that obnoxious part of your life where children grow up and become teenagers, and that makes them bad there.

For the first time you realized at the age of eleven that your physique was different from the other girls near you, and for the first time you felt different, and that feeling you know deep down never went away.

You tried a thousand diets, and just as many exercises to lose weight, but it almost seemed as if your body didn't want to, so you learned to live with your body. In the beginning it was not easy, you had to face many battles, some you won and some you lost, but somehow your bitter enemy, the figure that is reflected in the mirror every morning, watching you live, judging all the actions you do, is always with you and you cannot get rid of it.

When you first met Dean you were sure that he would not give you a second glance, and that in the event nothing more than a simple friendship would arise as much as you were attracted to the attractive hunter, but against all expectations, only after a few months of knowing you he asked you out and confessed that he was madly in love with you, and that he could no longer live a second of his life. It had been such a strange moment: he was going on and on about all the romantic movies, books, and TV series he had seen himself during that time to find the perfect way to tell you everything he felt and that he finally did it in the bathroom of a movie theater after you had been attacked by a demon while watching a movie; on the contrary, you had remained silent the whole time, wondering how such a handsome, kind, funny, caring, and any other positive adjective in the human vocabulary, man could feel anything for you.

You had realized you were stuck, when waking up from that transe state you had seen him looking at you frightened, and you couldn't help but ask him, with tears in your eyes, "Why me, you could have anyone you want? Why should you only want me, you deserve better." You say sobbing, trying to hold back the tears, not wanting to show him the inner struggle you were fighting all the time with the same voice that is bringing you down today. He had taken your chin in one of his strong hands, made you lift your face and looked straight into your eyes. In those big green eyes you felt as if you could see a meadow in which you could run free of all thought, free to be whoever you wanted to be, and that is what Dean is to you after all, a safe haven in which to seek comfort.

"I want you, and you alone. And already that is a selfish thought, because love, if anyone does not deserve the other it is me, because you are perfect and I am everything but perfect, and I know you deserve so much better, and yet I am selfish and I cannot help but love you and want you to be mine and only mine." Said the man in front of you before kissing you. Immediately you melted like ice cream in the sun in his arms, and you returned the kiss with all the passion and eagerness you were willing to let him know that his feelings were reciprocated. His warm, fleshy lips on yours moved to the rhythm of a dance that only you seemed to know. After a few minutes we parted, needing to breathe again, but both of you had two silly smiles on your faces, of two people stupidly in love with each other, unable to hide it from the world for a second longer. "I have Jane Austen and her Mr. Darcy to thank next time I see her in heaven. Or was it in hell?" Whispered Dean chucklingly before resting his forehead on yours.

"Winchester, we would have a demon to exorcise in the other room." You reminded him, laughing at his earlier statement, before punching him lightly in the chest. "And don't ever make fun of Jane Austen again, I love her books and I won't let you do that." You continued, pretending to give him a dirty look.

"Why do you think I read them?" He replied, winking at you before leaving the room to go deal with the demon, whom you had almost forgotten about.

A voice suddenly brings you back to reality. You look up from the pie in front of you and see Sam's worried eyes trying to decipher your thoughts, which, like a hurricane, are flowing fast in your eyes, too fast to be understood.

"Hey, are you okay?" The smallest Winchester asks you, with a tugged smile, as if you had forgotten how to smile and he wanted to help you learn it again. You then try to smile back at him and nod, not having the heart to tell him that today the battle in the mirror between you and your reflection was won by the mirror, and that as of this morning you feel like crap emotionally, because you feel like crap about your own body.

"I'm just tired, and I'm not very hungry. I think I'll give it to Dean, after all, he's always happy to have a little extra cake." You say trying to be convincing. In fact, it's been about five days since you've really been able to put anything under your teeth, after seeing a girl flirting with Dean in a bar in the town of your last case. Dean had immediately declined the girl's attentions, saying that he was committed to you and loved you, but a self-defense mechanism had sort of been triggered in your brain, telling you that if you didn't want to lose the only person you'd ever really loved in the world, you had to lose weight, and so you started not eating, obviously in secret from Dean.

The lack of food in your stomach has also brought you immense fatigue, in fact you don't even realize that you have left the diner and are now in the car from how foggy your brain is. As soon as you sit in Baby's seat, sleep takes over your body, so much so that you don't even feel Dean pick you up and carry you inside to your motel room. You awaken hours later on the bed you and Dean have been sharing since you arrived in this town, but neither he nor Sam can be seen.

Slowly you get up and drag yourself into the bathroom. You turn on the light and immediately a figure is revealed to you in the mirror. You don't even look like yourself anymore, your skin is white and emaciated, so much so that it looks like that of a ghost; the black circles under your eyes are more pronounced than usual, and an immense sadness shines through your eyes, yet you can't help but be happy to see that your face looks slightly slimmer than it did a couple of days ago. Bitter tears run down your face knowing that being happy about that thing is not right, and that what you are doing is not good for your health, yet you cannot stop that little voice in your head from speaking.

Suddenly you hear the bathroom door open and see before you the frightened and confused face of your boyfriend, who looks at you shocked, seeing the tears on your face. Quickly he approaches you, asking if you are hurt and taking your face in his hands. You try hard to pull away from him, but you are not strong enough. You don't want him to feel your impefect body, he doesn't deserve it, yet he continues to hold you in his arms, while a hand gently strokes your back, trying to calm you down.

"Love, what's going on? Why are you crying? What can I do to help you?" Dean whispers to you, in turn with tears ready to run down his cheeks not knowing how he can take away the pain you are feeling so intensely.

"I'm sorry Dean, I'm really sorry. I've tried, but I can't." You sob, against his shoulder, stopping fighting him and letting yourself go into his embrace.

"What did you try to do love?" The elder Winchester asks with a veil of fear.

"I tried to be a better girlfriend, I tried to lose weight, but I can't. The voice is right, I don't deserve you, I never deserved you. I don't know how you can really love someone like me." You continue crying, falling to your knees, accompanied by his strong arms, as he follows you, also kneeling on the floor. Your figures seem to merge in this embrace, as you tell him of all your insecurities, of the evil voice that dwells within you and hinders your every hope for happiness, and how these days you have preferred to starve yourself in order to be a girl worthy of being seen at Dean Winchester's side. He listens to you in silence, as tears furrow his face and fall silently on your hair, since he has his chin resting on top of your head, while you hide your face in his chest seeking the comfort of his heartbeat and his scent as you open your soul to him on the motel floor of a godforsaken town.

When you're done, you can't help but breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your heart lighten, and uncertainly you look into Dean's eyes and see his sadness, and immediately feel guilty knowing that you are the cause of that feeling. In a moment as if he is reading your mind, however, he immediately stops you and reassures you.

"Love, first of all, the next time you hear this voice or these feelings inside you, don't hesitate and come to me right away, because I love you and I don't want to see you suffer like this and you know that I am always there for you, no matter what, even if you just have to ask me why the color blue is blue at three o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, I am always there for you, I am your love slave." Says the hunter, kissing the last tears streaming down my face. "And secondly, you don't have to change in any possible universe, because you in each of them are perfect as you are. There is not one thing about you that I don't love madly: your hair, your eyes, your intelligence, your laugh, your body-oh God don't get me started on how your body drives me crazy, because believe me I could start a new religion just to worship you as the goddess you are. Every day I have to hold myself back from kissing every inch of your body, from screaming to the world that you are mine, that the best woman in the world is in love with me, and I still don't understand how that is possible. There is not one thing you do that is not perfect in my eyes, and even now I still think that never on earth and in heaven has there been a more perfect being than you, so please don't ever again believe what your brain tells you and believe me." He continues, as he looks into your eyes. You have never felt so loved in your life. The only thing you want to do is thank him, but no words come out of your mouth, so you kiss him, showing him how you feel about him. Slowly Dean gets up, taking you in his arms, not breaking the kiss. Only when you reach the front of the bed and he drops you on it, your lips part and he says a few words.

"I would say it's time to prove that I wasn't joking when I said I would found a religion just to worship your body."

And boy was he not joking.

[endless-summer-soldier]

dr. feelgood - chapter two

pairing: Surgeon!Bucky x SurgicalIntern!Reader

summary: Y/N has a one night stand with a handsome stranger the night before starting her new job as a surgical intern. Little does she know, the handsome stranger also happens to be her new boss

a/n: the response to this fic has been so unexpected and it's honestly amazing! thank you all so much for reading. a lot of this series is based on grey’s anatomy but I’m putting my own spin on it! all the positive feedback is motivating me to write more often so I’m going to try to post new chapters on a somewhat weekly schedule.  

warnings: must be 18+, drinking, some surgery descriptions, smut, self-pleasure, praise kink, very minor character death, unprotected sex, rough sex

Word count: 1.5k

series playlist: here

taglist: @sebsgirl71479 @ozwriterchick @notmeddy @drewsuncrustables @lokidokieokie @hextech-bros @nats-whore @m4nulup1n @arcanebabe @tanyaspartak (message me to be added!)

series masterlist

I had to drag myself out of bed the next morning. I was dreading going to the hospital. Mainly because I was nervous to see the hot doctor I’d accidentally slept with. I didn’t know what to say to him. I wasn’t sure if we should talk about it or just pretend like it never happened. And he was so damn coy it was difficult to tell what he was thinking.

Once we were changed into scrubs, we met with Palmer to go through rounds. As we visited each patient, our knowledge was tested on their diagnoses and treatment plans. Palmer would assign an intern to each of the cases to assist with patient treatment and potential surgeries. Once rounds were finished, I was the last intern left and I eyed Palmer inquisitively.

“Y/L/N, you will be working with Dr. Barnes today.”

I felt nervous butterflies in my stomach, “Oh, I just thought I’d be working with one of these patients,” I said, trying to get out of it.

“Nope, Barnes specifically requested you. He’s down in the pit.”

“Got it,” I replied. I trudged to the elevator that would take me down to the ER, wondering how I was going to handle this.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, nurses were scrambling, prepping beds and trauma rooms. 

“There’s my intern!” I heard from across the way. “Good morning Y/L/N,” he said, calling me by my last name. While this was common in the medical field, it felt oddly chummy coming from him. 

“Hi Dr. Barnes. What do we have today?” I faked a smile.

“Collision in a bicycle race, multiple injuries, a few pretty serious. The ambulance is on the way. Put on one of those gowns and follow me.” I took a yellow disposable gown and donned it over my scrubs, along with a set of surgical gloves. Then I followed Bucky to the back entrance of the ER where the ambulances would arrive.

The two of us stood there for a moment in silence, listening for the wail of sirens that were sure to arrive any minute. There was a chill in the air which gave me shivers and ultimately put me on edge. I wasn’t good with uncomfortable silence, but I bit my tongue, determined not to give in first.

I lost that imaginary contest.

“Why did you lie to me?” I asked, turning toward him.

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“You told me your name was Bucky.”

“My name is Bucky. It’s what all my friends call me. It’s a nickname from when I was growing up.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone here called you Bucky.”

He sighed, “James is more professional so it's what I use at work. Think about it, who would want a surgeon named Bucky operating on them.”

I considered his point for a moment and realized I believed him. Before I could retort he added, “You weren’t exactly honest with me. You never said you were a doctor.”

I immediately became defensive, “I was just looking for a hookup, not someone to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Oh that was very clear when you hit on me.”

My jaw dropped, “The way I remember it, you hit on me.”

“Mmm…you’re probably right. I do have a thing for gorgeous women drinking tequila by themselves.”

I ran my tongue across my teeth in an attempt to fight the smile that was attempting to spread across my face.

“Okay, you know what, I’m pretending like that night never happened. We are starting fresh today. I am your intern and that’s it. No more flirting with me.”

“Whatever you say, Y/L/N,” he said, flashing me that irresistible smile. I shifted my attention away from his handsome face as the sound of sirens came into earshot.

The gurneys flowed in with injuries ranging from concussions to flesh wounds. I quickly made a move for one of the cases that I guessed to be surgical. The patient was an attractive male in his early thirties. He had three bicycle spokes poking out of his abdomen but was speaking perfectly normally.

“What happened here?” I asked him, inspecting the wounds.

“Just another day in the life,” he replied.

I chuckled, “You make it a habit of ending up in the ER?”

“It’s the best way to meet hot doctors,” he flirted. I stopped my inspection to stare at him, finding myself oddly charmed.

“What’s your name?” I said, pulling out a clipboard to fill out some paperwork.

“Quentin Beck.”

“Well Quentin Beck, I’m going to remove these spokes and stitch up your abdomen. Then I recommend we send you to CT just to ensure there isn’t any additional damage.”

“Ooh I don’t know about that. I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Leaving so soon?” I joked.

“Can’t miss the big afterparty. I’ll see you there right?”

“You wish,” I applied a numbing agent to his wounds before carefully removing the spokes. I pulled off his shirt and started working on his sutures. Quentin kept trying to talk and I continued to shush him, focusing on tending to his wounds.

“You really should go to CT,” I said as I finished stitching him up and admired my work.

“No can do darling. My presence is expected elsewhere.”

I shook my head in disapproval, “Well I’m going to need you to sign a form that says you’re leaving against medical advice.”

“I will sign anything you ask me to.” I handed him a clipboard and showed him where to sign. He scribbled his signature, handed the clipboard back to me and stood up to leave the room. Then he doubled back and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me towards him, and kissed me, taking me completely by surprise.

When he pulled away he said, “That was for good luck.” Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving for the hospital.

At that moment, I looked through the blinds and saw Bucky standing there, having witnessed the entire exchange. He had a surprised yet smug expression on his face

“Did you just make out with a patient?” he asked, leaning on the door jamb.

I had no words for what had just happened. “He just…kissed me…” I eventually managed.

“So that’s your type, huh?”

“I don’t have a type.”

“No? You don’t like world class doctors with irresistible charm?”

“Are you jealous?” I teased.

“Maybe I am,” he added with a smile. “But I could really use your help with a patient.” 

“Of course,” I followed him out of the room and tried to shift my focus back to work. One of the patients was having difficulty breathing and needed to be intubated.

“Have you done this before?” he asked me.

“Not on a real patient,” I replied.

He smiled, “We’re going to change that.” He instructed me to get in position towards the patient's head. He handed me the necessary equipment and talked me through it. I felt my nerves increasing, not sure if I was ready to do this. 

He seemed to pick up on this because then he said, “Hey, don’t panic. You can do this. I’ll be right here if you need help.” I nodded and took a deep breath, focusing on what he instructed. I had to make sure I inserted the tube into the trachea and not the esophagus. I angled the device to where Bucky had described and carefully fed the tube downwards. I looked toward him for confirmation I had done it correctly.

“Now place your hand on his chest and see if air is filling the lungs.” I did as he instructed and felt the gentle inflation of the patient’s chest.

“Yeah, I think I can feel it.” He placed his hand next to mine, overlapping ever so slightly to confirm the intubation had been successful.

He nodded and smiled at me, “Yeah you got it. Great job Dr. Y/L/N.” I couldn’t hide the smile spreading across my face and the rush that was hitting me. This was the feeling I’d been chasing for the past few years. This was why I wanted to become a surgeon.

I watched as Bucky continued his examination to determine what the patient needed. He appeared to have a few external injuries but nothing that major.

“His abdomen is swollen, so he might have some internal injuries. Y/L/N, can you take him down to CT.”

“Absolutely,” I replied. And just like that Bucky was gone, off to the next patient. I wheeled down the John Doe we just intubated to get his scans.

Once the CT was complete, I held up his scans to study them. There was severe internal bleeding in the abdomen that would likely require surgery. I paged Bucky, knowing he would need to make the ultimate call.

It didn’t take him long to answer the page. I had the scans displayed against the backlights and was studying them. He walked into the room and said, “What do you see?”

“Internal bleeding.”

“It looks like it’s coming from the kidneys. We need to get in there, stat. Book an OR.”

“Got it,” I replied, leaving the room to complete my task.

“Oh and Y/L/N? Great work today. I’ll see you in the OR.”

“I’m scrubbing in?” I asked, astounded.

He nodded with his signature smile, “You’re scrubbing in.”

next chapter

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight

Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Din Djarin

Rating: E

Chapter warnings/tags: SMUT, first time, piv, fingering, bit of dirty talk & praise kink, loving sex, helmetless!din (in the dark), snuggling, gratuitous use of "baby" as a pet name

Chapter length: 5.2k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info | Full Masterlist

notes: enjoy :D also just a quick note that i'm so grateful for all of you wanting to be on the taglist, but i'll only add you if you have your age in your bio/if i know you're over 18!

been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night (now i’m wide awake); and now i see daylight, i only see daylight

“He says there’s a rogue Pyke cell causing trouble in the town,” Din tells you as the door to your suite closes. The kid is curled up in his arm, already half asleep. “Should be a simple mission. He didn’t ask for my help, but I wanted to offer it.” 

You smile, heart warming at his words. He is always so quick to help his friends. Never hesitates. It’s one of your favourite parts about him. 

“Do you mind?” He asks. “I can stay, if you’d feel more comfortable.”

You shake your head. “It’s alright. I’ll be safe here.” 

He nods his agreement, then tells you he’s going to put the kid to bed. Before he does, you sneak a quick kiss to Grogu’s forehead, then watch with a smile as Din turns and takes him into his little room. 

As you head into the bedroom, removing the hair pins that have kept your hair back all evening, your stomach does a little flip as you remember Din’s promise from earlier. That he’d help you relax.

He could’ve meant any number of things. But his tone of voice made it pretty clear just which thing he meant. 

Alongside the excited anticipation comes some nerves, though. The only time you’ve really been intimate was very different to what this could be. There wasn’t a bed, for starters. A million questions are rushing through your mind at once as you perch on the edge of the bed, staring ahead at nothing, listening to the soft sounds of him getting the kid comfortable in the other room.

Is he going to want to take your shirt off? To see you? Are you going to be able to see him, his outline, or will he ask you to keep your eyes closed? How far is he going to want to take things? 

How far do you want to take things? 

Well, at least you know one of the answers: As far as he’ll let me. 

“Hey,” his voice comes through the quiet. He’s walking through the bedroom door, closing it softly behind him. Then, after watching you for a second, he twists the lock on it. 

Oh, kriff.

“Is that okay?” He asks when your eyes dart down to the door handle, to the lock he just clicked shut. 

You nod, enthusiastic. The light in here is dim and warm, orange lamps on each wall lighting up the space. He’s glowing amber and dark silver all at once. Just standing here, watching you, his fingers flexing at his sides. You wonder what’s going on in that beautiful mind of his. What he’s planning on doing next. 

You get so caught up in the beautiful mystery of him that you barely notice him stepping closer.

“Cyar’ika,” he says quietly. You watch as he crouches down in front of you, reaches out his hands and runs them up the outsides of your thighs. A soft sigh escapes your lips, your eyelids fluttering closed. 

“Din,” you breathe out. 

“What do you want?” 

And, kriff. If you answered that in all honesty, in all detail, you’d never stop listing the ways that you want him to touch you.

“Just you,” you whisper, and cup his helmet between your hands. “Please.” 

He nods in response. His hands come away from your legs, only disappointing for a second because you soon realise that he’s taking his gloves off, placing each one on the floor beside him. Then he touches you again, this time running his bare palms all the way up from your knees to your thighs, around the sides of your hips, landing eventually on your waist, holding you tight. 

You’re already crumbling under his touch. Subconsciously, your thighs clench together as you feel the first thrum of arousal shoot through your centre. 

His fingers are on your face, then, just one of his hands gently cupping your cheek. His bare skin is so warm, soft, not familiar enough for your liking. You wish you could feel him like this always; wish you could run your hands over every inch of him. 

“Din,” you find yourself saying, gripping tight to his shoulders. 

He slides his fingers back into your hair. Shit, it feels so good. “I want to turn the lights off,” he says unexpectedly.

You nod quickly, knowing that means he’s probably going to take his helmet off, let you touch his face—

His hand leaves your skin and instead finds the light switch on the wall, sending the room into darkness just a second later. A tiny beam of light shines under the door from the living room, and you can just about see his outline, your eyes getting used to the new dark.

Then, he takes his helmet off. 

And—the rest of his armour. 

Oh, fuck. 

Your hands are on him as soon as you hear the last of the beskar being removed, and you run your palms all over his flight suit, down the softness of his chest, up over his shoulders, his arms, his neck. Then they find his hair, maybe the best place to be, and you dig your nails into his scalp in your eagerness. 

He bites back a moan, his nose so close to yours that they brush together. “Cyar’ika,” he says, “you don’t know what you do to me.” 

You do know. You know, because he does the same to you.

“I want—” He cuts himself off. Like he’s not sure if he should say it. 

You lean in, kiss him. Hot and fast and urgent. “Tell me what you want,” you whisper into his mouth, “Please, Din. Whatever you want, you can have it.” 

He’s panting for air as he pulls away, pressing your bare foreheads together. There are loose curls falling in his face, a combination of your hair and his. “Just,” he says, “give me a second.” And he pulls away. 

You feel cold, all of a sudden, the lack of his body right in front of you the only thing you can feel. You see the vague outline of his silhouette backing up towards the wall, and then he stops.

“Are you alright?” You ask. 

He chuckles. It’s so fucking gorgeous outside of his helmet. “Don’t worry,” he tells you, “I’ll be back. Just—” 

A zip.

Multiple zippers, pulling, undoing. 

Then, the sound of heavy fabric falling to the floor.

Oh, fuck. 

“Din…” you breathe, your mouth suddenly dry. You can barely see the shape of his shadow, only the side of him that faces the light. It’s less than you could see of him back on the ship that night. 

And yet you know, you feel, that he’s bare before you.

He crouches down in front of you again, reaching for your waist. He doesn’t even have to search for you in the dark. 

“Can I…?” You ask, hands hovering uncertainly in the space between you.

He dips his head close to you, but misses your lips, instead diving right into your neck. One of his hands gently pushes your hair away, and then he’s kissing your neck, open-mouthed and wet. “Touch me,” he whispers against your pulse point. “Please. If you want to.”

You’ve waited so long for this. 

His bare skin. Right here. Just for you. 

The fact that he even had to specify If you want to is almost enough to make you laugh. But first thing’s first: 

You touch his face. Run your fingertips through his beard, back into his hair, scratching at his scalp. Then your hands move down to the back of his neck, and you’re used to meeting resistance there, the fabric of his cowl stopping you from going any further. 

But, fuck, he’s naked.

“Oh, kriff,” slips from your mouth and comes out closer to a sob than anything else. Your hands slide down the bare stretch of his back, feeling hair and scars and his muscles shifting as he continues to mouth at your neck, his hands gripping tightly to your waist. “Fuck, Din, it’s you…” 

“It’s me, Mesh’la,” he breathes, gently nosing at the neckline of your shirt so he can kiss the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. He sucks, pulls your flesh into his mouth. 

You gasp at the sensation, but your hands don’t slow in their path. His skin is so warm—hot—beneath your palms as they run over his back, down his ribs, catching on the bacta patch that still sits over his knife wound. It’s as you move to touch his stomach that you realise your hands are only a part of this. It’s your mouth that wants to feel him next. 

“Din,” you whisper, “please, on the bed, I need to…” 

“What do you need?” He settles his nose on your cheekbone, his moustache brushing right up against the corner of your mouth. His breath is so hot. So sweet. So familiar.

Before answering him, you can’t help it; you turn your head, catching his lips in a kiss that can only be described as desperate. Your hands find their way back to his face, their favourite place to be when he’s kissing you like this. He’s gripping your shirt in his fists and his tongue pushes against yours, slides, gives and takes just right. 

You tug at him, urging him closer, onto the bed. “Want to kiss you,” you say. 

“You already are,” he points out with a smirk. 

“Want to kiss you everywhere,” you pull harder on him, and he gets the message, breaking away from your lips for long enough to stand up and climb onto the bed. You follow him, but you can’t see him, and you accidentally kneel on his thigh. “Sorry,” you whisper.

He chuckles. “It’s alright,” then his hands are on you, gently pulling you close. 

“Do you have night vision, or something?” You ask as he guides you to settle on his lap. You can feel, now, that he’s leaning back against the headboard, his body stretched out on the bed beneath you.

“I just always know where you are,” he tells you. 

You snort a laugh. Your knees settle on either side of his hips, and you take the luxury of sliding your hands, slowly, up from his navel, through his chest hair, to his shoulders. 

“Kriff,” he curses softly, tugging you in even closer. You’re almost pressed chest-to-chest, and his hands are holding so firm at your hips that your shirt has rucked up a little.

You realise, then, that you’re still devastatingly clothed. 

“Wait, let me…” you start to unbuckle your trousers, then pause, ask, “Do you mind if I…?” 

“Whatever you want,” he says. 

You take off your pants, and then your panties, because right now the only thing you can think about is wanting his hands on you again like they were before. For him to touch you, feel you, to let him go places no one else ever has…

You hesitate at your shirt. 

It’s dark. He can’t see you. He wouldn’t be able to see your scars even if you did take your shirt off.

But his hands. He’ll feel them. Feel you. Every curve and line you were taught to hate, every scar they gave you to make it worse.

You can’t.

“Hey,” his soft voice, “it’s alright. You don’t have to.” 

You glance at him like you’ll be able to see his expression. Instead, all you can see is the outline of one side of his face. 

It’s enough. 

You let go of the hem of your shirt, settling in his lap, getting yourself comfortable again. His hands find your waist once more but they don’t linger, instead spreading flat against your back, separating so that one slides up towards the back of your neck, the other pressing as low as he can get on your spine. He’s cradling you, wrapping you in his arms. 

The need to kiss him comes back. 

You start at his lips, but soon trail the familiar path down to his neck. You meet no resistance from his armour though, and you can keep going, so you do. His clavicle, his shoulders, his arms, lifting them up one by one so you can press kisses all down his bicep, his elbow, his forearm. Then to his chest, nuzzling your nose in the hair there, letting your mouth open around his nipples and feeling your stomach buzz with arousal at the noise he makes. You feel it in his chest, the vibration against your face, in your mouth. 

He’s so real here, so hot and soft and perfect, all muscles and curves and soft edges amongst the sharp ones. You can feel scars on his skin, just small ones here and there. Your mouth pays special attention to each one, peppering feather-light kisses to every inch of them. 

All the while, his hand sits in your hair, gently massaging at your scalp. It feels so good, so fucking good, the gentle tug he gives every now and again just making it better. 

“Cyar’ika,” he says when your lips find their way back up to his neck, sucking a mark to the other side this time. 

“Mm?” You murmur. 

“Can I touch you?” 

You lift your head, your mouth leaving a wet spot on the underside of his jaw. “Please,” you whisper against his lips.

Then, his hands are everywhere and nowhere all at once. (He could cover every inch of your skin with his and it still wouldn’t be enough.)

He slides his palms down your arms, then over your stomach, circling around to your hips and down to your ass. He grabs it, one cheek in each bare hand, and squeezes.

“Kriff,” you breathe out, holding both of his bare shoulders tightly. “Din, please…” 

He brings his mouth to your ear, panting hot and beautifully into it. Without another word, one of his hands returns to your front, this time dipping between your legs, carting softly through the hair over your cunt before finding your clit, lifting the hood and pressing gently. 

You all but fall into him, every muscle in your body somehow relaxing and tensing all at once. Your grip on his shoulders tightens for a second before one of your hands slides up into his hair, taking a firm grip of it in your fist.

“Gods, you feel so good,” he whispers into the shell of your ear as his fingertip rubs gentle—too gentle—circles around your clit. “So hot and wet already for me, Cyar’ika…” 

“Only for you,” you promise him, dipping your head into his neck. Not to kiss, just to rest your forehead there, to feel his pulse beating beneath your nose. 

He slides his fingers down to your entrance, gathers some wetness before gliding them back up through your folds, feeling every inch of you, teasing, not quite getting back to your clit. You can’t help it; you grind down against his hand, trying to find some kind of friction, wanting him on you and inside of you so badly that it has you throbbing with every fast heartbeat. 

He presses his cheek to your hair, his spare hand still grabbing at your ass, sending shocks of pleasure to your pussy with every squeeze. It only spurs on the pulsing of your entrance, wanting him so badly. 

“Din,” you say, voice husky and broken, “please…baby, please, need you inside me…” 

“Fuck,” he curses, sliding his fingers down to your entrance. “Love it when you call me that.” 

“Baby?”

“Kriff, yes.”

A breathy smile finds its way to your lips. You lift your head, place your mouth right over the shell of his ear. Then, finding the best sultry voice you can muster, you say, “Baby.” 

His moan is enough to kill you, right here on the spot. You wouldn’t need to know if heaven exists or not; you’re already there. 

Especially when he slides his fingers inside you, two at once, the perfect amount of stretch through your dripping wetness. Your walls clench around him, pulling him in, desperate to feel friction. 

“Oh, baby,” you breathe, feeling his muscles flexing beneath your hands at the name, “Baby, that’s so good.” 

He tilts his head, mouthing at your face, wherever he can get to. He finds his way back to your lips eventually and starts to kiss you slowly, in time with the slow push and pull of his fingers inside you. The heel of his palm brushes against your clit every time his fingers are as deep as they’ll go, and it feels so good, but it’s not enough—

You grind down against him, finding more friction. He lets you, going with your movements, allowing you to find pleasure in every move that you can. You’re gasping, your mouth all but watering into his. 

He tilts his hand a little so he can use his thumb on your clit, rubbing in earnest circles, matching the increasing pace of his fingers’ thrusts. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” you curse, pulling away from his lips to press your forehead into his. You wonder if he can see your eyes gazing into his. You can’t see his, but knowing they’re there, looking at you—always looking at you—is enough. 

“Yeah?” He asks. “Just want you to feel good, Cyar’ika.” 

You nod encouragingly. “I’d feel even better with you inside me,” you find the courage to whisper.

“I am…” he stops himself, realising what you mean. Beneath you, you feel his still-clothed cock harden, jumping at the invitation. “Oh,” he breathes, his hand stilling between your legs. “Are you sure?” 

You pull back just enough that you’d be able to look into his eyes if it wasn’t pitch black. “If you want to,” you tell him, stroking a hand down his lovely, lovely face. 

“Gods, I want to,” he says, and you giggle breathily, leaning in to kiss him. “You have no idea how much I want to.” 

Reluctantly, but knowing it’s for the greater good, you climb off his lap. He follows you, curling around you as you lie down on your back, feeling him flip over so he’s hovering on top of you. As soon as you’re comfortable, he’s diving in, capturing your lips in a gorgeous kiss. Your hands find their way to the back of his neck, grasping his hair, then one slides down his bare back because it can, because you’re not about to waste any moment that you can get your hands on his skin.

He shuffles to get his underwear off, and when he’s back on top of you, you feel his cock bobbing against your thigh. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, “fuck, baby.” You reach down and take hold of him, wrapping his length in your fist. It somehow feels hotter in your hand than it did before; maybe it’s that his body heat is surrounding you in every other way, hovering above you like a safety blanket, something so familiar and brand new all at once—

He moans, leaning down to suck at your collar bone as you gently tug his cock, enjoying feeling the pulse of his heartbeat, the veins over his length, the bead of liquid pooling at the tip. 

“Please,” he begs into your neck, “can I?”

You don’t even have to think about it. You were ready to say Yes before he even asked. “Yes. Please, fuck, Din, fuck me.” 

His breath stutters. He takes a second to gather himself, then gently pushes your hand off of his cock, instead taking it in his own hand and pushing his hips down into yours. He slides the head through your folds, and the slick sound that fills the room is enough to send shocks of pleasure all the way through you before he’s even really touched you where you need him to.

“Are you ready?” He asks, so gentle, so caring, his forehead pressed into yours. His skin is sticky with sweat, his hair falling in your face.

You hold the back of his neck, and nod. 

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

All that time you’ve spent fantasising about it, watching him sit in that damn pilot’s chair with his thighs spread wide, admiring the width of his shoulders, even feeling his cock in your hand like before—

You could never have imagined it as good as this.

He’s thick, spreading you open so deliciously, filling you up like nothing ever has. 

“Oh, fuck, baby,” you whimper into his ear, clinging to the back of his head like it’s a lifeline, never wanting to let him go, “Fuck, your dick feels so good inside me…” 

He moans, his face pressed against your neck. (He likes it there. You can only guess the amount of marks he’s left on you tonight alone.) “You feel so fucking good,” he breathes out like a prayer onto your skin. “Fuck, sweetheart. Can I—can I fuck you?” 

“There is literally nothing I want more.” 

A soft chuckle vibrates against your throat. 

Then he moves. Slowly, at first, holding himself up with his elbows on either side of you. The push and pull of him, so hot and big and wet and lovely—your walls clench around him and you feel it, feel the fluttering against his cock. He’s inside and all around you and you’ve never felt anything like this, not the sensation between your legs, on your neck, in your very soul—

He’s fucking you slowly; carefully, even. Like he’s holding back. You know how strong he is, and although having him inside you is better than any of your wildest fantasies, you need more. 

“Din,” you whisper, sliding a hand down his back, feeling his muscles flexing with each soft thrust. “Fuck me. You can go harder, faster, whatever you want,” you promise him. 

“Are you…” 

“Yes. Fuck, baby, fuck me as hard as you want, I can take it…” 

The moan he lets out is positively sinful, and he lifts his head to kiss you, his mouth open wide against yours, tongues sliding together in a second. You let him kiss you, will always let him kiss you. 

Then he starts to thrust faster. His pace increases slowly, steadily. He brings down one of his hands and presses it against your clit, rubbing in circles at the same pace as his cock inside you, getting harder and faster and harder and faster—

“Baby,” you gasp as the force of each of his pushes starts to move you up and down the bed. You feel your tits bouncing beneath your shirt, the fabric creating beautiful friction on your nipples. “Oh, baby, harder, please…” 

As if he’s more than happy to oblige, he does exactly as you ask. He’s fucking you hard now—probably not as hard as he could; you can still feel him holding back a little, but still—and he bottoms out at the top end of each thrust, hitting against your cervix almost hard enough for it to hurt. 

It’s fucking delicious. He’s kissing you like his life depends on it, breathing into your lungs. His finger works hard and fast over your clit. He’s so coordinated, everything is working together, sending sparks of pleasure through every single inch of you, from your mouth to your clit to your fucking toes and back. 

“Wanted you for so long,” he says into your mouth, “Kriff, I can’t believe you’re letting me…”

You cart your fingers through his hair, nails scraping his scalp and down his back.

“Kriff,” you curse as he pulls away to press his forehead into yours. He’s panting, sweat beading on the back of his neck. “Fuck, Din, baby, that’s so fucking good—”

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers like a promise, “Mesh’la, gonna make me come…” 

“Come for me,” you ask him. 

“You first,” he says, earnest, “Please. Need to feel you come around my cock, I—you feel so good, so good around me, Cyar’ika, you’re—” his words are cut off by a fucking whimper coming from his throat.

Fuck. It’s enough to have pleasure coiling tighter in your belly, rising closer to your orgasm. He’s fucking you into the mattress, your body bouncing up and down on his cock without you even needing to try, and you let your hands hold onto his biceps, feeling them tensing with every move he makes into you.

“That’s it, Mesh’la, you take it so good…”

“Fuck, Din, that’s so—your cock, you’re so—” there are no words, it’s building in your core, the press of his finger against your clit getting harder and faster and harder—“Baby, I’m gonna—!”

You do. 

Pleasure explodes inside you like a tightly-coiled spring finally snapping. You fuck yourself onto him, your hand finding its way to your clit, rubbing yourself alongside his finger, trying to draw out the pleasure as long as possible. It sparks under your skin, a wave of white-hot glory spreading across every inch of you. You feel your walls pulsing around him, fluttering, begging him to come. “Baby, that—holy shit,” still, no words come to you that could possibly convey it. Instead, feeling his thrusts getting more and more erratic, “Can you—can you come inside me?” 

“I’ve—got the implant, I—” he’s holding back, his voice choked and strained—“Can I?” 

The aftershocks are still pulsing through you, one of your favourite parts of the come-down. “Fuck, baby, please.” 

Oh, fuck.

He spills inside of you, so hot and fast and too much to stay inside when he’s fucking you like this, all fast and hard and out of control—

It pushes out around his cock, coating the bed beneath you, a mix of both of your pleasure. 

He’s kissing your neck again, open-mouthed and gorgeous. His thrusts slow gradually, and you feel his orgasm not just in his cock but in his shoulders, his back, the hitching of his breath against your skin. 

“Cyar’ika,” he pants, nosing against the shell of your ear. “Sweetheart, that was…you’re…” 

It’s nice that he can’t finish any of his sentences, either. 

Breathy, you laugh in his ear. Your hands hold each side of his face, just so grateful that you can touch him, feel his bare skin and heat all around you. 

“I never thought I’d—I want to—”

You shush him softly, pressing a long kiss to his temple. “This is perfect,” you settle on, because it’s all you can say, and it sums everything up.

He nods, earnest. Lifts his head, presses your foreheads together. Carefully, he removes his fingers from your clit—your pussy pulses at the lack of contact, immediately wanting him back—and instead brushes them down your cheek, leaving a light trail of wetness in their wake. You close your eyes into his touch, tilt your head to kiss his fingertips.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what?” He’s still inside you. You don’t want him to ever not be. 

You find your words catching in your throat around a lump of tears that has seemingly appeared from nowhere. Because he’s here. He’s taken everything off for you. Not just his armour, his clothes, his helmet. But his walls. His facade of hardness, impenetrable beskar around the things that he feels. He’s shown himself to you, not literally, but in every other way he can. 

And you’ll never be able to thank him enough for that. 

“You’re really good at fucking me,” you say instead, and he laughs at that, all breath and husky voice. 

He kisses you, soft and chaste. “I’m gonna pull out,” he warns, soft. “Is that okay?” 

It has to happen at some point. But what if this is the only time this happens? What if everything goes wrong; what if he changes his mind?

You hold him tight, lift your leg up to wrap around his hips. “Don’t let this be the last time,” you whisper. Plead. 

You can feel the frown that creases his brow, pressed against your forehead. “I promise,” he says. “I’ll always want you like this, Cyar’ika.” 

Only a small part of you could believe such a beautiful, nightmare-defying promise. But you lean into that part of you, and nod. 

Keeping his face right above yours, he pulls out, slow and careful. It doesn’t hurt, but it might as well, because the loss of him inside you leaves you feeling cold, open, vulnerable. 

You can’t help the whimper that comes past your lips.

“You okay?” He asks immediately. “Did I hurt you?” 

“No,” you shake your head, but there are tears in your eyes, and you can’t let him go. Your hands grip the back of his neck, knuckles probably turning white, because the idea of him leaving you alone in this bed forever suddenly seems like the most likely outcome, even though you know he never would. “No, I just…” 

He strokes your face again. His soft, wet cock brushes against your thigh. 

“Just,” you stammer, “hold me. Please?” 

He kisses you. “Can I clean us up first?” He requests softly. “Just don’t want you to get cold. Then I’ll hold you all night, I promise.” 

Knowing that he means it, you nod, and release your iron grip on him. 

It’s freezing cold, suddenly, when he removes himself from above you. You curl in on yourself, feeling so raw, cold wetness sticking between your thighs. 

But he’s back in a moment, carrying a few warm, wet wash cloths and a towel. “I’m here,” he says softly, finding his way back to the bed. He kneels between your legs—you feel the mattress dip—and places a gentle hand on your ankle. “Can I?”

You nod. Your muscles relax as you feel him slowly wipe at your thighs, your centre, where your wetness and his release are drying onto your skin. He cleans you thoroughly, using his hands to feel the job he’s done, making sure he’s got it all. Then he moves to clean himself, and soon the wash cloths are on the floor, and he’s gently shuffling you out of the way to put a towel under you on the bed. 

He lies you back on it, then crawls up the bed, his bare skin against yours again. You breathe out in relief, hold onto him. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. “Roll over?” 

You do. His arms are around you in a second, your back pressed flush against his bare chest. A sigh comes from your throat as every single muscle relaxes. He’s here. He’s naked. He’s giving you parts of himself that he’s never given to anyone else.

What did I do to deserve this?

“Rest, Cyar’ika,” he breathes into your ear, all hot breath and soft lips and bareness. 

You grasp his hand, pulling it up to cradle against your chest. Your lips find his knuckles, kiss each one. You want to tell him how perfect this is, how much you adore him, how you never dreamed of being fucked that good. 

But sleep is coming for you fast. And, to be honest, you’re a little scared of telling him all that. Because you’ve never said those things before.

Words aren’t needed, though. 

You drift off in his arms.

notes: hope you enjoyed! thank you as always for your wonderful comments and thoughts on the last chapter. all interactions are appreciated, but reblogs are so helpful and comments fuel my need for validation. next chapter is going to be a long one, so be ready for that!

ps. life is about to get BUSY (even more than it already has been) and i'm not very well to top it all off but i will try my best to get the next chapter out on time❤️

taglist:

@toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @kiruoris @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @whenpugzfly @elsasshole @moony-toasts @julesjewelss36 @jbcalway @mxlsmith @indec1sive

@lordhavemurthy @booktvmoviefangirl @brokenghostgirl1 @competitivedust @lostinsideourminds @gloryekaterina @ellesvoid @uncle-eggy @astronymity @leithatnight @domaniquessidehoe @dancealongthelightofday @loveslide @peqchsoup @jaguarthecat @starrynightsforever 

@hier--soir

[thebiggerbear]

Only Ever Holding Onto You Masterlist

Summary: When Beau Arlen called and asked you to join him at the Lewis & Clark County Sheriff's Department, you knew you should have turned him down. Sure, he made a great case for your relocation, but it was the sound of his voice that had you putting in for an immediate transfer. After all, he was worried and needed you; how could you say no? Yet, the more time you spend in Big Sky Country, the more you wonder if you should have stayed in Houston.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Female!Reader; Beau Arlen x Female!DeputySheriff!Reader

Story Warnings: Mentions of animal cruelty; mentions of murder; language (will add more as I go)

AO3 Tags: friends to lovers; they can be idiots; angst

A/N: Let me just say up front, I have never worked in law enforcement so I tried to piece together things I’ve seen and heard in true crime documentaries and podcasts alongside with movies/tv and books. I apologize for any inconsistencies, incorrect information, exaggerations, or complete fallacies.

Tl;dr: I made shit up.

A huge thank you to my beta Em for her services and for making me the beautiful graphic above!

You can also read on AO3

Please let me know if you'd like me to tag you for this series. Feedback and reblogs are much appreciated. 😊

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (coming soon)

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Series tags: @deans-spinster-witch; @globetrotter28; @roseblue373; @hobby27

Beau Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @birdiellie; @illicithallways; @muhahaha303

[magicshopaholic]

A Day in the Life

Summary: Namjoon and Kaya deal with the aftermath of their break-up. Dilara makes an uneasy realisation about her own relationship.

Pairing: Taehyung x OC, Namjoon x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

Word count: 9.8 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, making out, sex, oral sex, jealousy

A/N: Here is the next installment of unedited fic series. Takes place a couple of months after Moving On.

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @margopinkerton, @faearchives, @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)

Listen to: "meet me in amsterdam" by RINI

taehyung masterlist | namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

It is sunny and hot; Yoongi can almost hear his skin sizzle. 

“Put this on before you get sunburnt,” he says to Jimin, tossing him a bottle of sunscreen as he arrives at the spot where the rest of the group is. Jimin catches it and examines the label while providing an opinion of the brand that Yoongi elects to ignore. Jungkook responds instead and they proceed to bicker half-heartedly, while Taehyung lies on a deck chair next to them, jumping in only to contribute singular comments that add fuel to the fire.

Yoongi takes a seat next to them and takes off his t-shirt, glad for the shade under the umbrella. Ibiza is as warm as they say - but it’s also as busy as they say. He turns to check on Namjoon, who had been a few steps behind him, now crouched by the end of the steps that lead from their hotel to the private beach and peering interestedly at something in the sand.

He squints but before he can get a clearer picture of what it is, he feels a tap on his shoulder to see Jungkook returning the sunscreen to him. Yoongi squeezes a bit more onto his palm and turns to Seokjin on his other side.

“Hyung? Sunscreen?”

Seokjin, lying on his own chair with a pair of Raybans on his face and a streak of white sunscreen along the bridge of his nose, sighs without turning. “What’s the point, Yoongi?” he asks wryly. “We’re all just going to die one day anyway.”

Yoongi stares at him. “What?”

“Sunscreen isn’t the answer. It’s opportunity. Serendipity. It’s…” He takes a deep breath and exhales, still not turning, “... destiny.”

For a moment, Yoongi wonders if he’s being pranked, but then Jimin and Jungkook snort at Seokjin’s response and he decides he doesn’t want to know. 

“Oi, Namjoon,” he says to the leader, who joins them then. “Sunscreen,” he states, tossing the bottle to Namjoon, who fumbles it and drops it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, sheepishly picking it up and shaking it before squeezing a dollop onto his palm. “Where’s… four, five, six - where’s Dilara?”

“Went to buy some drinks,” supplies Taehyung, golden-brown in a pair of red swimming trunks, sitting up gracefully and shaking out his shaggy black hair. “She should be back by now, though.” 

Yoongi turns to Namjoon. “Spoken to Hobi yet?”

Namjoon nods, taking a seat under the second umbrella and rubbing the lotion along his arms. “He landed a little while ago. I asked him to meet Bang PD if he could, since he’s in Seoul anyway. Some investors at the building this week,” he adds, answering Yoongi’s raise of the eyebrows.

“He’s missing out on a beach weekend, though,” says Jimin earnestly. He turns to face the expanse of the brilliant blue ocean and the vast white sand of their private beach. “He would love this,” he adds forlornly.

“He’ll be here later this week. We can make the trip back up here if we have the time,” offers Namjoon, before taking off his tank top.

“Ooooh!” 

The three other boys jeer at his naked torso and Yoongi joins in as well, glad to see Namjoon’s abashed smile, the dimple popping faintly on his left cheek. Next to him, even Seokjin cracks a smile.

“Shut up,” he replies dismissively, looking a bit ruffled but the dimple stays on his cheek. “Why aren’t you guys in the water?”

“Waiting for Dilara,” mutters Taehyung, reaching for his phone.

“There she is!” Jungkook exclaims, and they turn to see where he’s pointing at. Across the private beach, near the edge of where the general public is lounging on the sand, Yoongi spots Dilara, in a red bikini top and light blue denim shorts, carrying a plastic bag and wading through the sand.

Jungkook waves to her but she doesn’t notice; as they watch, she gets stopped by a tall, tan man in swimming trunks. A brief exchange of words occurs, full of smiles and animated gestures from him and a few seconds later, three more men join him and they stand together, keeping her in the middle. 

“A very different looking fanbase than ours, I have to say,” observes Namjoon, as the first one hands his phone to a stranger and they all pose for a picture. 

“You don’t think they’ll follow her here and see us, do you?” Jungkook asks, sounding slightly anxious.

Yoongi chuckles, agreeing with Namjoon. “I think we’re okay. They don’t look like anyone who’s going to recognise us,” he adds, glancing at Taehyung. He can only see a sliver of the younger member’s face as he watches his girlfriend, his body very still. 

Dilara’s hands are occupied with the bag and a peace sign she makes while the guys stand around her, arms around each other and grinning into the camera. Yoongi can’t be sure because she’s wearing sunglasses, but it seems as though she’s looking over in their direction. A couple of snaps later, Dilara waves to the fans and continues in her initial direction.

“Okay, I have cokes and lemonades,” she begins when she reaches them, tossing a yellow can so it lands neatly next to Seokjin on the towel, “beers,” she adds, handing one to Namjoon and Yoongi each, “and diet coke,” she finishes, handing one each to Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung, the latter of whom pauses for a fraction of a second before he takes it.

“Coke?” Jimin wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly behind his Dior sunglasses. “Toss me a beer, woman,” he says, switching to English.

Without missing a beat, Dilara chucks a cold can at his lap which he catches right as it lands on his crotch; she gives him a wide smile when he winces and mutters a tight “Thanks”. She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and clicks open her own can of beer. 

“Cheers, everyone,” she says, and all of them respond with garbled Cheers, clinking cans here and there. She takes a sip of her beer and nudges Taehyung’s knee. “Hey,” she says lightly.

A moment passes before he replies. “Hey,” he murmurs, scooting slightly so she can sit next to him and accepting a peck on the cheek.

“Your fans follow you here?” Jimin asks teasingly.

“Doubt it,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just mid-season excitement. We’re in the western Europe - it’s the heartland of F1. Oh, and by the way - huge number of crabs all along the border,” she warns them, shuddering. “Popping out of the sand with zero warning.”

Yoongi turns to Namjoon. “Is that what you were doing back there?” he asks, pointing towards the steps to the hotel.

“Maybe,” he answers sheepishly. “They were really cute,” he adds, sounding slightly defensive.

“You’re possibly the only person on earth who thinks that, Namjoon,” says Seokjin from behind them.

Namjoon considers this, then shrugs. “They’re an acquired taste. Kaya hated them, too. Always found them creepy.”

There’s a pause where a few of them exchange looks, all of them surely thinking the same thing. Yoongi can’t remember the last time Namjoon brought up Kaya in casual conversation, but he can only presume it’s progress.

Fortunately, Dilara speaks before it gets fishy. “I agree. I think it’s the way they scuttle?”

The conversation continues under the shade of the umbrellas, the drinks feeling nice and cold. Yoongi is glad for the weekend break; it’s rare during tour and despite the fact that the coming week is going to be packed with events and appearances until the weekend concert (and race), it’s nice to have a couple of days of rest.

“Namjoon hyung, do you think the company will let me fly Sooah out to Japan for the encore concert?” Jimin asks after a while. 

“I think so. We can ask the travel team,” he assures him. “You may have to fill out a form and everything, but it should be okay. Do you need tickets, too, or will she join us backstage?”

“She prefers watching it from the audience,” replies Jimin, pouting slightly. “Says it’s a better experience.”

“Oh, I agree,” pipes up Dilara, with Taehyung’s arm loose around her shoulders. “Can I get a ticket, too, for the next one?”

“Wait, you don’t like being backstage?” Jungkook asks, sounding flabbergasted. 

“Of course I like it, but it’s not the same,” she argues, while a hint of a smile flickers on Taehyung’s face. “The energy outside is something else. Especially during your love you so bad moments,” she adds, winking and Jungkook. “Hearing the screams backstage isn’t quite the same, JK.”

Jungkook’s ears go a brilliant shade of red while Jimin guffaws. Taehyung nudges her. “Come into the water with me?”

“Yeah, sure.” She nods and they both stand up, Taehyung taking off his sunglasses and setting his drink on the plastic table between the chairs. Dilara nonchalantly drops her shorts, revealing plain red bikini bottoms; Yoongi looks away out of respect and notices Namjoon do the same, while Jungkook begins fidgeting with something on the edge of his chair. Taehyung and Dilara step out into the sun and begin walking towards the ocean, holding hands, while her long hair curls down her back. 

“They look happy.” 

Yoongi turns to see Seokjin sitting up finally and reaching for his drink. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

He shrugs noncommittally but doesn’t answer. Yoongi glances at the happy couple again, now jogging towards the water, Taehyung’s hands on her waist and faint laughter carrying over to them as they splash into the shallow waves.

“The water looks amazing,” remarks Jungkook, his eyes on the waves. “Jimin, come on.”

“My beer isn’t -”

But Jungkook steers him to stand up and Jimin tries to down as much of his beer as he can. “Jesus, slow down,” says Namjoon, frowning.

“You should join, too, hyung,” says Jimin, sputtering slightly. “Show off that body,” he teases, poking his shoulder before he and Jungkook race towards the water where Taehyung and Dilara are already drenched, splashing water at each other and laughing.

“I need to work after this.” Namjoon muses, almost to himself. “Can’t spend too long here.”

Seokjin clicks his tongue, now back on his back. “Give yourself a break, Namjoon. The company isn’t going to come crashing down if you take an hour off.”

“But -”

“Everything isn’t your responsibility,” he interrupts. Namjoon sighs but says nothing, turning to Yoongi instead.

“Coming?”

“In a bit.” Yoongi gives him a wave as he stands up and begins walking towards the water. His shoulders look wider in the sun, despite the weight he’s clearly lost lately. The others are midway through a game of chicken, with Dilara and Jimin on Taehyung and Jungkook’s shoulders respectively. Yoongi smiles involuntarily as he watches them; it’s nice to see them letting loose, especially Namjoon.

He leans back and reaches for his phone, snapping a picture of all five of them in the water, candid and happy. He turns to Seokjin.

“You’re not going, hyung?”

Seokjin doesn’t answer for a moment. “I’ll go if you go.���

Yoongi considers this, then grins. “I’ll wait you out, old man. You know you can’t resist the water,” he quips, laughing when Seokjin chuckles. 

“Someone’s got to watch our stuff,” he reasons, gesturing to their phones and discarded clothes.

“Good thing we’ve got security.” Yoongi cocks his head towards the two casually dressed bodyguards lounging a little ways away, sipping on a pearly white drink each. “Come on, take a break, hyung. You deserve it.”

Seokjin is silent for a bit, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Looks like a lot of splashing,” he mutters, before sighing.

Yoongi gives him a sympathetic look. He’s not sure, but there’s only one thing lately that’s capable of ruining his mood this much. “For the kids,” he urges gently, glancing at the ocean again.

“Fine.” Seokjin exhales in annoyance and places his can on the table before standing up. 

“That’s it,” says Yoongi encouragingly, standing up as well. The sun is hot and the water looks magnificent. “For the kids,” he repeats.

Seokjin huffs as they step out from under the umbrellas and pad their way down the sand. “Sometimes I hate the kids,” he mutters, squinting in the sun.

“I know. Me, too.”

—

Dilara makes her way up the steps to the poolside, the ends of her hair dripping water down her side. The villa booked for them is away from the main hotel, as private as possible, for which she’s more than glad. There’s the private beach and the private pool and she and Taehyung were always guaranteed a private room.

She glances at her phone, still not seeing the email she’s been waiting for since yesterday. Clicking her tongue softly, she walks around the side of the house to see Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook sitting on two deck chairs, huddled around something. Drenched hair and drops of water still on their shoulders; they’ve just finished a swim. Resisting the urge to bite down on Taehyung’s shoulder to surprise him, she veers instead for the member closest to her with his back to her.

“What’s up, guys?” she says loudly, suddenly placing her hands on Jungkook’s shoulders and leaning over him to see them peering into someone’s phone. 

Taehyung and Jimin start, but Jungkook jumps. “Mweoya!” he gasps, clutching his chest. “Don’t - don’t do that,” he stutters, his face flushing.

Dilara immediately raises her hands. “Whoa. Sorry.” She frowns as he nods jerkily. “So… what are you guys doing?” she asks again, this time in a normal volume, sitting next to Jimin.

All three of them exchange looks before Taehyung shrugs. “Come on, we can tell her.”

She raises her eyebrows as Jungkook, who’s holding the phone, brings it closer to her. “I found this on Twitter,” he confesses in a low voice and plays a video. It’s barely ten seconds long; it takes Dilara about half the video to realise who the subject is.

“Is - is that Kaya?” she exclaims, wincing when they all shush her in unison. “Sorry - but… what is that? Is that her at uni? Getting mobbed?”

“It’s not that many people,” points out Jimin, but even he sounds doubtful. “And they’re not, like… crowding her. They’re just…”

“Following her,” finishes Dilara. “So her identity is kind of confirmed, then,” she murmurs, already feeling bad for Kaya. She can see Jimin’s point: it’s not that bad. It’s about five or six people turning as she passes by them, dressed casually with a coffee in her hand, and calling out her name in different tones of surprise and excitement. Kaya turns and faces the camera only for a moment, but it’s unmistakably her. 

“Good thing Namjoon hyung doesn’t go on Twitter,” says Taehyung, nibbling on a fingernail.

Dilara’s head snaps up. “Wait… you’re not going to keep this from him.” When none of them answer, she tilts her head, shoulders falling. “Guys. You can’t be serious.”

“But he’s been in such a good mood these days,” reasons Jungkook, eyes wide. “Okay, not good, but better. I don’t want to…”

“Yeah, I get that, but this is important. And he’ll find out anyway,” she points out. “Come on, you can’t not tell Namjoon.”

“Tell me what?” 

In the most fortuitous of moments, all four of them turn to see Namjoon approaching them, in fresh clothes and wet silvery hair. He looks only mildly suspicious at seeing them huddled together, almost as if expecting to catch them in some act of mischief.

“Um…” 

The three boys look at each other, and then at Dilara. She gives them a look, knowing that regardless of Namjoon’s mood, he has a right to know. He should know.

Jungkook sighs and hands the phone to Namjoon. “We found this today.”

Dilara almost regrets her decision when she sees Namjoon’s face fall a bit more with each passing second. Next to her, Jimin scowls. “Knew we shouldn’t have told her,” he mutters softly, wincing when she slaps his shoulder lightly.

“This…” Namjoon clears his throat. “This was today?”

“Probably,” answers Jungkook slowly.

“So not too long ago,” finishes Taehyung, biting his lip. “Sorry, hyung.”

Namjoon seems to snap out of it and hands the phone back to Jungkook. “Thanks. For letting me know.” Without waiting for a response, he heads back into the house.

“Think he’ll talk to her?” Taehyung asks after a while, once they’ve finished another swim and are going into the kitchen.

“I think he already is,” replies Dilara, cocking her head towards the garden where Namjoon is sitting at a small wicker table, phone on the table and ear pods in his ear as he runs his hands over his face.

Namjoon exhales as the phone rings, his heart beating rapidly in a mixture of fear and anticipation. The video was short - too short. It told him nothing - nothing about who the people were, why it was suddenly a frenzy, whether she was officially recognised now, and how she is taking it. Does she hate him? Is she even angrier with him than she had been two months ago? Or is she finally coming around to understand why he did what he did?

Except… why isn’t it working? It’s the part that’s nagging at him uncomfortably, small but sharp in his brain: why is it still happening? Why hasn’t the world left her alone, even after he has?

“Hello?”

His heart jolts; she sounds wary. “Hey,” he says softly. God, he’s missed her voice. Recorded videos on his phone don’t do it justice.

There’s a pause. “Hey.” 

He needs to speak, but it’s too hard. Defeat, anger and longing - it’s an unholy mess.

“I’m, uh… I saw the video.”

“What video?”

Namoon frowns. “The… video on Twitter. Outside your college? You, a bunch of strangers calling out your name? Mobbing you on your way to class?” he adds, running a hand through his hair and remembering the feeling of beng crowded at airports.

“Oh. That. Wait, there’s a video?” She sounds more exasperated than anything. 

“Yeah. Didn’t show a whole lot, though.”

Kaya sighs; she’s probably in her cabin in the college, or she’s hopefully returned to her apartment. A moment later, the thought of that comforts him less.

“Well. Nothing really happened. I wasn’t mobbed,” she clarifies, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Are you okay?” The words tumble out of his mouth without warning because this, more than anything, is what he needs to know.

“Yeah,” she answers softly. “Nothing happened,” she repeats. “I told them I had to get to class and they left me alone. I don’t know what you’re imagining, but it’s nothing like that.”

The picture in his mind of her frightened face, of her getting pulled, harassed and crowded in her personal space comes to an immediate pause. 

“I’m glad.” He bites his lip, feeling his throat hurt as a lump forms slowly. He doesn’t want the conversation to end and since she hasn’t hung up yet, he can only presume she doesn’t either. “How are you?”

“Namjoon,” she whispers, “what are you doing?”

“I’m just asking you how you are,” he says quickly. “Is that so bad?”

She takes a deep breath and it sounds like she’s about to argue, but then she simply sighs again. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m…” He can’t lie. He’s been doing it constantly, putting on a smile, performing his heart out, joking on television. But he can’t lie to her. I’m a fucking mess, and I love you.

Kaya waits, and it’s clear she’s picked up on the pause. “You looked thin the last time I saw you.”

He remembers the last time. “It’s tour,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah. Okay.” There’s a shuffling sound at her end, like she’s standing up. “I have to go. I have a meeting and I have to drop off a draft to Adam’s office before that.”

She says it absently, and it seems to take her a few moments to register the dead silence on the line. Namjoon says nothing; there’s the white hot anger in his stomach he’s tried to ignore that’s returning, and the last thing he wants is to say something he might regret.

“Namjoon -”

“Okay,” he says tightly. “Bye, Kaya.” He hangs up before either of them can say anything else. 

—

“So…  he hung up?”

“Why is that so shocking?”

Dilara rolls onto her stomach and frowns, flipping her hair to the side so her phone is against her ear. “I don’t know. He’s the one who called you. Because he was worried?”

“Isn’t he always?” Kaya says wryly. “But this time, he actually had nothing to be worried about.”

. “Are you sure? I’m not going to overreact; you can tell me the truth.”

“I am, though. I saw the video - it looks worse than it was,” she explains. “I don’t think he believes me, though. I don’t think he wants to, because then all of this will have been for nothing.”

Dilara hums sympathetically, somewhat glad that despite her break-up with Namjoon, Kaya hasn’t stopped speaking with her out of association. She turns to glance at the bathroom, the sliding door of which is wide open, with only a blurry glass door blocking her view of her boyfriend showering inside. She bites her lip, shamelessly admiring his slender naked figure as he runs his hands through his wet hair.

“... in any case. I thought he’d be moving on by now.”

She winces, realising she’s missed part of Kaya’s sentence. “Um… well, he’s definitely not moving on. Honestly, he just seems really sad.”

“I know he is,” says Kaya, to Dilara’s surprise. “He was trying to act so calm and collected when he came to my apartment with his stupid goodbye, but…” She sighs, a mixture of frustration and sadness. “I saw that concert clip you sent me.”

“The Rome one?”

Kaya confirms it. The clip in question had been Dilara’s attempt at making Kaya feel better, except now she has no idea if it’s had the opposite impact. It was a short one, of Namjoon on stage during a concert, breaking down unexpectedly. He’d done it in the most Namjoon way possible, with silent tears slipping out of his eyes, a stoic posture and forced smile, until one by one, all the boys had hugged him, starting with Jungkook. 

The comments, of course, attributed it to anything and everything, from missing his parents to appreciating his Italian fans to his impending military service. But Dilara, who had actually been backstage at that concert, knew which pictures he’d been scrolling through earlier that day, of which Roman holiday and with whom.

She hasn’t mentioned any of this to Kaya, but something tells her she may have guessed anyway.

“Yeah, well. I think part of him is mad at me, too.”

“What does he have to be mad about?”

“I don’t do well with break–ups,” she mutters. “I say things and I get defensive. Sometimes I have a rebound problem.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I just don’t know what to say anymore, when he calls me like this. I mean, I know he’s sad,” she says emphatically. “I can hear it in his voice, but -” She scoffs and she sounds sad, too, and helpless. “What do I do about it? He’s doing it to himself, you know?”

“Yeah…” Dilara hears the water stop in the bathroom. “If it helps, I think he’s channelling a lot of it into music and stuff. Like a true artist,” she adds wryly. “He performed an unreleased song at last night’s concert and the audience went nuts. I mean, it was a really good song,” she admits.

“Yeah? What’s it called?” she asks, sounding only mildly interested.

“He didn’t say. I don’t think it has a title, but the internet is calling it Aphrodite based on the lyrics. You know someone is in deep when they’ve gone down the Greek mythology route,” she remarks.

Kaya sighs but doesn’t respond, changing the subject instead. “Can we talk about something else? How was Montreal?”

“Shit race,” answers Dilara, rolling her eyes. “I know wet races are a hoot to watch or whatever, but the track in Montreal becomes like fucking ice. I have to make up for my P7 in Barcelona and Silverstone next month, that’s all,” she mutters, turning back on her back and adjusting her red bikini top, feeling her mood sour.

Kaya seems to realise this, for she quickly responds. “It looked like you had fun at Ricciardo’s birthday party this week, though. The pictures are all over Instagram.”

Dilara chuckles. “Yeah, it was fun. Honestly, it’s a good thing he always celebrates it in Ibiza so I was already in Spain this weekend. And Lexie and Chris and Fred were invited, too, so all in all it was quite fun.”

“Oh, are those the people in this picture? The one you posted yesterday?” Kaya asks, and it’s clear she’s pulled up the picture on her phone. 

“Yeah. You should meet them when you’re in London in July.”

“Sure. Which one is Chris?”

“Chris Park? The one that’s not the blond German,” she quips.

“Ha ha,” replies Kaya sarcastically, before pausing. “He’s cute.” She scoffs when Dilara makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “Oh, come on, you have to be blind to not admit he’s hot.”

“Objectively speaking, I accept that he’s good looking in an obvious way,” she admits.

“Yeah, obvious hotness is the worst.”

Dilara laughs. “Fair enough. He’s not really my type, though. My type is more… classic,” she says, smirking as Taehyung exits the bathroom in nothing but a towel around his waist. “High cheekbones, artsy,” she lists, maintaining eye contact with him and nodding when he silently points at himself questioningly.

“Types can be fluid,” argues Kaya, but Dilara barely hears her. Stopping at her feet, Taehyung places a knee on the bed and crawls up towards her. 

Biting her lip in excitement, she starts to interrupt Kaya but Taehyung, face smooth and more handsome than ever, gives her a small shake of the head, indicating to her to continue her call.

“Oh - uh… what do you mean?” Dilara asks into the phone, peering at him as he presses a soft kiss to her bare sternum and moves lower before tugging at the strings of her red bikini bottom so the knots open with ease. Nudging her legs apart, he pushes her knees up and kisses the skin just above her slit.

“Fuck,” she mutters, realising a moment later that she’s still on the phone. “I mean… fuck, yeah. You’re right. Of course.”

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That weird interruption. Is there a low signal where you are?”

“No. Or probably.” Dilara swallows, only half-aware of what she’s saying, the rest of her mind preoccupied with Taehyung’s head between her legs, his tongue finding its way along her wetness, down to her clit. “I’m just - oh - just… agreeing with you.” Her toes curl on the sheets as shivers start forming from her feet up her legs.

“Yeah? About what?”

“About the - about… what we were talking about. About Chris, and the - oh, God!” She squeezes her eyes shut as Taehyung sucks suddenly at her clit, without warning.

Kaya gasps. “Oh, my God. Is - is Taehyung with you?”

Dilara is starting to unravel. “I - in a sense,” she admits, snaking her other hand down to run it through his thick hair and lifting her hips up slightly. 

“Oh, God!” she exclaims, sounding horrified. “You know what? Call me when you’re… done,” she says quickly, before hanging up.

Dilara nods absently, eyes fluttering shut and letting the phone fall from her hand as Taehyung devours her, one hand firm around her thigh and the other coming up to slide into her folds, brushing over her clit while his tongue stays inside her. She’s in danger of being overstimulated but it’s so sweet, so electric that the sharp sensation only flows through the rest of her body.

“Yes, yes, right there…” 

The orgasm is right there, within reach. A few more seconds of relentless tongue action while she cries out for him not to stop and it crashes over her like a wave of the ocean, her back arched and head thrown back on the pillow as he licks her through it, not letting her go even for a moment until she stutters his name.

“Come - come here,” she murmurs, head spinning and stars in her eyes as he emerges, hair dry but the bottom of his face slick with her juices. Wiping his mouth conspicuously on the back of his hand, he towers over her, eyes dark as he watches her catch her breath.

She raises her arms and he lowers himself to kiss her. The aftershocks of her orgasm are still fading away; she lets him pull her close, loving the feel of his naked body against hers, knowing for certain now that he’d seen her earlier today when she’d clicked a picture with that group of fans. Those many men, that much exposed skin and the close proximity in which they’d all surrounded her - it was just enough for a reaction.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling away but staying close. He props his head up on his palm and smiles down at her, a little satisfied.

“Hey,” she says, her breathing slowly returning back to normal. “I think you just rocked my world.”

Taehyung’s smile gets wider but he visibly tries to suppress it, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “My pleasure. Must be because I’m your type, no?”

It takes Dilara a moment to realise what he’s referring to. “Oh. That.” She chuckles. “Totally my type,” she agrees.

“And what’s that?”

“My type? I dunno. Sexy. Romantic. Smart but not arrogant. Just a little pretentious,” she adds, grinning when he rolls his eyes. “Able to take control when he’s a little jealous,” she adds in a murmur, running a finger down his chest and reaching up to brush her lips against his. “Knowing every inch of my body better than anyone,” she finishes, kissing him again.

He kisses her back, slow and affectionate, and rolls on top of her. “So Chris isn’t your type?”

“God, no.” Dilara wrinkles her nose and Taehyung rolls off her, resuming his position on his side. “Kaya saw his picture on my Instagram and said she thought he was hot. I told her she could see for herself when she comes to London next month.”

“Chris? Wait, you told Kaya about him?” Taehyung frowns.

“Yeah… why?”

“Because he may not be your type, but he seems pretty close to Kaya’s type,” he points out.

“What?” Dilara squints. “No way.”

“Really? Tall, buff, straight hair? Korean?” He raises his eyebrows. “That doesn’t remind you of anyone we know?”

Dilara rolls her eyes. “That’s a little reductive. She can’t just go out and find another Kim Namjoon on the street, you know?”

“He doesn’t have to be Namjoon, he just has to look like him.” Shaking his head, Taehyung pulls up the picture on his phone. “You really don’t see the resemblance?”

“No. Just - okay, maybe the body structure. And the hair,” she admits uneasily. “And the voice, kind of. Okay, but that’s crazy. She’s not going to just suddenly be attracted to someone that looks like her ex to get over her break-up.” But her voice trails off slightly at the end and she looks up at Taehyung hopefully. “Right?”

Taehyung purses his lips. “Namjoon is going to kill you,” he states.

“If you let him, then we’ve got bigger problems than Kaya’s dating life,” she snaps. “Besides, you might be overthinking this, okay? They’ve never even met. All she did was see a picture and compliment him. As someone who’s on fifty thousand lockscreens at this moment, you should know that.”

Taehyung gives her an unimpressed look as her phone pings. She reaches over to see a message from Kaya.

Kaya [14:12]

Hey, whenever you’re free, can you send me your friend Chris’s number if he’s okay with it? Thanks.

Dilara stares at the screen as Taehyung reads the message out loud from over her head. “Fuck,” she mutters, dropping her head into her hands. “Namjoon is going to kill me.”

Taehyung, his lips pressed against her shoulder from where he’s peering into her phone, nods and pats her arm. “I won’t let him. I promise.”

She turns around to face him. “Really? Because I may just have driven his ex-girlfriend into the arms of - oh, my God, Lexie is going to kill me, too.” She groans and covers her face, ignoring Taehyung’s low chuckle as he pulls her to him.

“Don’t overthink,” he instructs her kindly. “Come on, go take a shower. Yoongi hyung wants us to go pick up stuff for dinner - he texted me a whole list but I got the car keys, too. I’ll take you out on a nice drive.” He slaps her backside affectionately.

Dilara sighs and sits up, swinging her legs over the bed and heading for the bathroom, untying and dropping her red bikini top on the way. Once she’s out, sand washed away and hair smelling nice, she walks back into the bedroom to see Taehyung in the exact same position she left him in, comfortably naked on his back and scrolling through his phone.

“Babe, can you charge my phone?” she asks him as she rummages through her suitcase for clothes. “I’m waiting on an email.”

“The same one?” Taehyung purses his lips sympathetically when she nods, reaching over to plug her phone into the bedside charger. “Didn’t they say they’d get back by now?”

“They said yesterday,” she complains, “although I’m hoping it’s a timezone thing and it’ll come today.” Pulling on a tank top over cotton shorts, she turns towards the mirror, finger-combing her wet curls. “Ugh, forget it,” she mutters. “They’re just going to curl by themselves anyway.”

“You look beautiful,” he says from behind her. “Always do.” He returns her smile in the mirror. “Do you want to go out now? It might help get your mind off this.”

“Yeah, it might. It’s not a big deal either way,” she adds, shrugging. “I mean, would it be good if I got it? Sure. But it’s not like it’s - wait, I think that’s it,” she breaks off quickly, spotting the notification on her phone as it lights up. She hurries across the room to the bedside table and unplugs her phone, swiping up on the screen.

“Okay…” Dilara opens it and scans through the initial text, while Taehyung sits up and pulls on his boxers, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. “Yes!” she yells in excitement. “I got it!”

“You did?”

“Yes! Calvin Klein fall campaign, in the fucking flesh,” she exclaims, her heart hammering in excitement. “Congratulations on becoming a part of the Calvin Klein family, blah blah blah… oh, here it is - the fall/winter campaign which will be launched in the month of September, celebrating a milestone of the brand… joining global ambassadors including Justin Bieber, Hailey Bieber - holy shit - Kendall Jenner, Jungkook of BTS -“ They exchange a knowing look, “Bella Hadid…” She trails off as she scans the rest of the list, something in her heart coming to a standstill.

“Lara?”

Dilara locks her phone and tucks it into her back pocket. “Nothing. It’s great.” She turns away before she can start to dissect Taehyung’s expression, the understanding settling in of the one detail neither of them had mentioned out loud since her conversation with Calvin Klein had begun.

“I’m really happy for you,” he says from behind her, voice soft and - she doesn’t want to dwell on it - slightly guilty. At that moment, there’s a knock on the door and Dilara immediately opens it to see Jungkook of BTS.

“Hey,” he says, looking a bit surprised. “Sorry to, er… interrupt. Yoongi hyung wants to marinate the meat before dinner and Namjoon hyung asked if we could also pick up some wine…” He raises his eyebrows, eyes wide. “I don’t want to go alone so do one of you want to come along?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” answers Dilara, bustling around to find a pair of slippers and grabbing her bag.

“What about Jimin?” Taehyung asks, pulling on a tank top.

“Yoongi gave him a giant watermelon to cut,” snickers Jungkook. “I thought about helping him but it’s more fun this way.”

“Sounds like he needs your help more than I do,” says Dilara, glancing at Taehyung. “I can go pick up the dinner stuff. Where are the keys?”

“Um, in my shorts. But -“

Dilara picks up his tan shorts from the pile of clothes next to the bed and shakes them out to catch the set of car keys that fall out. “Text me Yoongi’s list?” she asks. “Let me know if any of you want anything else. We’ll be back in a bit.” 

Without waiting for him to nod, she exits the bedroom, shutting the door and leaving with Jungkook.

—

An hour or so later, Dilara slips into the tiny study, a glass of white wine in her hand. Namjoon glances away from his laptop and gives her a small smile, waving her inside.

“I heard you’re in the mood for wine?” she says, placing the glass next to his laptop.

“Wow, thanks.” He takes a whiff of it and nods. “I don’t know if I should be drinking while I’m working, though,” he adds, looking uneasy.

“You’re on vacation. You can have a drink. Come on, just one,” she persuades him, sliding the glass slowly towards him.

Namjoon gives her a look. “You’re a terrible influence,” he informs her, picking up the glass. “Cheers,” he says, and clinks his glass with the can of beer she’s holding. He takes a sip of the wine and sighs. “Fuck, that’s good. Are the mojito mixes in the fridge?”

Dilara pauses. “We didn’t buy mojito mixers. Shit, I knew we were forgetting something. But I can go out and get some, no problem,” she says quickly, nodding.

“Oh, hey, no. Don’t be silly,” says Namjoon, shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal. I can go out myself. Don’t worry about it.”

She nods slowly, hesitating. “Um… you okay?”

Her tone seems to indicate exactly what she’s talking about. Namjoon lowers his gaze before nodding. “Fine. I think. Just worried,” he murmurs after a moment.

Dilara stares inside her can, seeing nothing but dark. “If it makes you feel any better, I really think it wasn’t a big deal. The video made it seem a lot worse than it was.”

He bites his lip. “Yeah. That’s what she said, too.”

She nods, not really knowing what else to say. She considers leaving but then Namjoon speaks again.

“Do you talk to her?”

“M-hm.”

Namjoon’s shoulders relax a bit. “How is she?”

Dilara shrugs. “About the same as you, I think.” When all he does is scoff softly and look away, she abandons her plan to leave him alone. “Can I just ask…” She waits until he looks back up at her, giving her permission, “... is it worth it? Leaving, for her sake?”

To her surprise, Namjoon doesn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know yet,” he admits. “She’s been hurt before. And there’s a reason idols don’t talk about dating. Ever. It used to be out of obligation but now… it just makes more sense to keep that part of your life private. We don’t do it for fun; we do it because it’s just better that way. I can’t let her get hurt again,” he says quietly, lowering his head.

“But she didn’t get hurt,” points out Dilara. “They didn’t do anything to her.”

He looks like he’s about to argue but then thinks the better of it. “It’s not a chance I want to take.”

As much as she thinks he’s trying to convince himself more than her regarding his break-up, a different part of his spiel occurs to Dilara. Absently, she reaches for the white-gold ring around her neck, the metal warm from the sun outside. 

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” she ventures carefully, “but I just hope you don’t regret it. Either of you.”

“You think I might?”

I think you are. But Dilara knows she would never say that out loud to Namjoon. “I think… that when Taehyung and I broke up, the most difficult part of it was going back to normal.”

He tilts his head. “How long did it take?”

“Not long at all. That was what was difficult about it. We lived in different countries, had completely different circles, so going back to normal… it took a surprisingly short amount of time,” she says, observing the point dawning on him. “Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t happy, but… honestly, if it weren’t for the Red Bull and BTS partnership and living with him and having him in my space every single day for two months, begging me to take him back… I don’t know if we’d be together right now.”

“No offence, but I think you and Taehyung are a little more dramatic than most,” he points out.

She shrugs sheepishly. “Fair enough. If you recall, I did date an arsehole mechanic just to get back at Tae.”

The silence that follows is still. Dilara suddenly remembers Kaya asking for Chris’s number and her heart jolts in anxiety, but then she puts that out of her mind; there is no way Namjoon can possibly know about that. 

“You know what,” she says after a moment, more to break the silence than anything, “I’m going to go get those mojito mixes right now, so we can put them in the fridge.”

“Wait, you don’t have to do that,” he starts to say, but she shakes her head and walks backwards out of the room.

“It’s no problem. Really. I like driving,” she adds, holding up the keys and smiling. “It’s my fault we forgot them, anyway. I was distracting Jungkook with a really bad impression of Batman. But it’s okay, I got it.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s really hot outside.”

“Good thing the car and the store are air conditioned.” She steps out the door and peeks in one last time. “No mistake is so bad that it can’t be fixed.”

—

Taehyung enters the open kitchen, hands in his pockets, to see Dilara, Jungkook and Yoongi putting away groceries. Yoongi is holding up a packet of meat and muttering something to Jungkook in Korean, while Dilara is pouring out glasses of something light pink.

She notices him first. “Hey,” she says, holding his gaze for a moment before looking away.

“Hey,” he  murmurs, not paying attention to the other two. He’s about to stand beside her but thinks better of it, opting to stand opposite her instead with the counter between them. “You were gone for a while.”

“I had to run back and get mojito mixers. Forgot them the first time.” She finishes pouring a glass and slides it in front of him. “We got pink lemonade,” she says, sucking a bit off her thumb and turning around to place the carton back in the fridge.

Taehyung leans forward on the counter and observes her in silence, knowing he can’t say anything to her while Yoongi and Jungkook are here. 

As if on cue, Jungkook seems to notice him just then. “Hyung! Did Dilara tell you the good news? About Calvin Klein?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer immediately; he notices Dilara stiffen momentarily but continuing to move things around in the fridge. “Yep, I was there when she got the email,” he says. “It’s fantastic.”

He doesn’t think Jungkook would’ve put two and two together, and neither does he think Dilara would’ve even mentioned the elephant in the room that had existed since she’d first told Taehyung about Calvin Klein considering her.

“Jungkook,” says Yoongi after a moment. “Come help me with something.”

“What?”

“Just come.” Tugging him by the t-shirt, he leads Jungkook out of the kitchen.

Left alone, Taehyung keeps watching his girlfriend. As though feeling his eyes on her, she closes the fridge and turns around.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you I was going out again.”

“It’s okay,” he says softly. He takes a sip of the lemonade and almost gags; it’s almost sickly sweet. Looking up to see her raising her eyebrows, he clears his throat. “It’s nice. Syrupy.”

She frowns, seeming partly amused. “I, uh… I talked to Namjoon,” she says.

“Really?” Taehyung is surprised; he didn’t think Dilara was the type to confront Namjoon about his personal life. Much as she admired him, he was sure the leader also intimidated her a little.

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to but he seemed really down and, I don’t know…” She shrugs, going back to unpack the two remaining brown bags of groceries. “You know, I was going through a break-up last year, too,” she says innocently, “and he gave me a lot of advice about how to deal with my ex-boyfriend at the time.”

“Interesting,” says Taehyung seriously, moving around the counter to help her with the groceries. “Tell me more.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye to see half a smile creep up on her face.

“No way,” she says instead. “That was a private conversation, and it’s going to stay that way.”

“What?” he exclaims in mock-outrage. “No, you know what? Whatever he said, it seems like it worked for me. Or… this mysterious… sexy, romantic ex of yours that’s your type apparently,” he quips, his stomach flipping when she rolls her eyes but smiles anyway.

“I don’t know if I agree with him,” she says after a moment. “She told me he broke up with her because he thought she wasn’t safe with him. And he said that that’s why celebrities - specifically, idols -,” she points out, “- don’t talk about their relationships and flat-out lie to the press when asked. But how is that even a relationship then? If you’re just hiding your partner and not willing to actually deal with all that crap?”

“I wouldn’t lie.” Taehyung says it in a matter-of-fact way, watching as she stops a few feet away from him. 

“What do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t hide you,” he clarifies. She’s giving him a look he’s seen before, one he knows always appears when he says something she calls “declarations”. Her eyes go soft and a hint of a smile flickers across her cheeks, as if to say that even though she knows it can’t be true, she wishes it would. He simultaneously loves it and becomes a bit self-conscious over it.

“Aren’t we hiding right now?”

“We’re keeping our personal life private,” he corrects her. “That’s not the same thing. I wouldn’t hide you.”

“Huh. You really wouldn’t?” she asks, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

He shakes his head, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her hips. “Never,” he murmurs, kissing her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist. He rests her forehead on her shoulder; the fact that she hasn’t shrugged him off or moved away is a good sign, but she isn’t quite leaning back into him either.

Did Dilara tell you the good news? Taehyung wonders if Jungkook thinks that he and Dilara would be actually working together, if any of the ambassadors or celebrities in the shoot would be. He doesn’t care about any of them, but he can’t imagine taking away from Dilara’s excitement about getting the campaign. Squeezing her waist tighter, he pulls her close.

“Prove it.”

He raises his head slightly. “Come again?”

“Prove it,” she repeats, turning around in his arms and stepping away slightly so she’s leaning back against the counter.

“You want to go public?” he asks sceptically. “Are you sure?”

“Well… not public,” she amends, “but maybe your fans should know, right?”

“Your fans don’t know about me,” he points out.

“No, but they know I’m not single.” Dilara tilts her head, a glint of a challenge in her eyes. “No pressure… but you did bring it up.” She reaches up and kisses him on the cheek before patting his shoulder and leaving, giving him a wave before disappearing around the corner.

—

It’s almost dinner time when Namjoon wakes up from in front of the laptop where he’d dozed off while working.

“Damn it,” he mutters, checking the time. He trudges straight into the bathroom and into the shower, the cool water helping him wake up at this unusual hour. He’s looking forward to dinner; he feels weak and low on energy and despite being on tour, he intends to eat well tonight.

He doesn’t check his phone again, not until he’s dressed and downstairs where everyone else is gathering and helping themselves to drinks. He gratefully accepts a mojito from a smiling Dilara and clinks his glass with hers.

“Where’s Taehyung?”

“He’s doing a live upstairs,” she answers. “Something about switching with Hoseok while he’s in Seoul.”

Namjoon nods, noting the change in schedule no one thought to tell him about. If Taehyung is online today, then Hoseok would have to do a live at least once before the next concert, meaning he and Yoongi could take a break for at least another week or two…

“Holy shit!”

Everyone turns to where Jimin is staring into his phone, mouth open and half-laughing. “What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“Taehyung just -” Apparently unable to finish his sentence, he shakes his head and passes the phone to Seokjin next to him, laughing in disbelief. He points to something and Seokjin raises his eyebrows.

“Idiot,” he mutters, passing the phone over to Yoongi and Jungkook. Namjoon walks over with a frown and peers into the phone over their shoulders, apparently immediately seeing whatever it is - and looking straight up at Dilara, the frown deepening.

“What is it?” she asks doubtfully, for she’d presumed it was something to do with their work. “Is everything okay?”

Namjoon bites his lip and opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then shakes his head. “You tell me,” he mutters, reaching over to hand her the phone.

A bit hesitant, Dilara takes it and immediately scans the screen. It’s a tweet with a video embedded; it’s Taehyung on a live - this live, wearing the same open-collared white linen shirt he’d been wearing half an hour ago - staring into the camera and speaking softly in Korean, looking more handsome than ever. There’s a SZA song playing in the background and a moment later, he turns up the volume and slides his chair back, bopping his head slightly to the music and running his hands through his thick hair.

He looks magnificent; it takes Dilara a moment to remember that his good looks can’t be the reason the rest of the guys displayed such a reaction. She frowns as he gives a faint smile to the camera, gaze boring into the lens, and leans to the side to pick up something from the ground, giving a clear view of one half of their room including - Dilara squints - a pain red bikini top on the bed.

“What did you do?” 

Namjoon’s deep voice of exasperation jerks her out of her train of thought, which is just beginning to make sense of this. She looks up to see Taehyung jogging down the steps in the same white linen shirt and matching shorts, his hands casually in his pockets.

“What?” He looks around, frowning slightly at everyone’s gaze on him. “What’s happening?”

“No way you didn’t know.” Jimin shakes his head, looking terribly amused, and gestures for Dilara to give him the phone. She does silently, her eyes not leaving Taehyung’s face.

He watches the video expressionlessly, only raising his eyebrows at the very end. He hands the phone back to Dilara, catching her eye for a moment.

“You are going to be in so much trouble,” says Jimin, looking borderline thrilled at the prospect of it.

“It’s about time,” remarks Yoongi dryly, refilling his glass with wine. “Taehyung hasn’t caused a scandal in a while.”

“When have I ever caused a scandal?”

“No one’s going to get in trouble,” says Namjoon loudly, cutting through the chatter. “But… yeah, the company’s not going to approve of it.”

“Huh.” Taehyung bites his lip and nods. “Well, nothing we can do about it now, I guess.”

“We can get the video taken down,” suggests Jungkook. “It’s on Weverse, right?”

“Won’t everyone have taken screenshots and recordings by now, though?” Dilara asks, continuing to look at Taehyung.

“Yeah, probably,” sighs Namjoon, scrolling through his own phone.

“Top ten most irresponsible moments,” pipes up Seokjin, shaking his head exaggeratedly.

“Yeah, Taehyung, this was a careless move,” adds Jimin instantly, jumping on the train.

“You should be thankful Dilara didn’t show up anywhere in the video,” Namjoon tells him. At that, everyone turns to look at her, as though waiting for her reaction.

“Oh, uh - yeah, it’s - it’s so irresponsible,” she states, biting her lip to keep from smiling when Taehyung turns to her, eyebrows raised, hands on his hips. “But… I don’t really mind.”

Taehyung nods with narrowed eyes, still giving no indication as to the turn of events that led to this. Everyone else seems to be vaguely disappointed with her reaction; she supposes they were expecting some sort of dramatic fight.

Everyone drifts off after that, once it’s clear that the matter is more or less closed. There’s some chatter in different languages, largely debating between pre-gaming and going out, or staying in and watching a movie. Dilara finds she doesn’t really care; she stays out of the conversation, silently accepting a casual kiss on the head from Taehyung as he saunters away to the living room with the others.

“Mojito?” Namjoon offers her. “I tried my best,” he adds apologetically when she takes a sip and winces.

“No, it’s just really strong,” she sputters, eyes watering a bit. “Is this how strong you take it?”

“Sometimes,” he answers simply, but offers no more on the subject. “Are you okay? With this?”

From his partly curious tone, she takes it “this” is referring to Taehyung’s possibly accidental-on-purpose mishap with the live and the red bikini top.

“Yeah, I guess,” she answers, pouring some more mixer into her glass and stirring it. “Not like we got caught snogging or something. It’s pretty circumstantial. Do you really think he’ll get in trouble with the company?”

“Not trouble, really. Like you said, it’s circumstantial. Doesn’t prove anything.”

Dilara chooses to ignore that. “That’s good.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But you never know. Things can escalate.”

Dilara glances at him as he picks out the mint leaf from his drink. It suddenly occurs to her that this may be hitting a little close to home.

“It’s… precarious,” she admits after a moment. “But it doesn’t really change anything. Not with us, I mean.” 

Namjoon nods, eyes still on his drink. “Well,” he says at last, “that’s good for you, I guess.” He meets her eyes briefly before giving her a small nod and starting to move away.

“Kaya,” blurts out Dilara, watching as he slowly turns around, “is getting published. An excerpt from her thesis - I forgot what it was called -”

“Behavioural Economics in Decision-making,” says Namjoon, nodding and smiling. His dimple appears out of nowhere and catches Dilara by surprise. “That’s amazing. Tell her… tell her congratulations from me, the next time you talk to her?”

He’s actually asking, Dilara realises. She’s about to agree, but at the last second, she looks up at him knowingly. “I’m not telling her anything,” she says, somewhat regretting it when Namjoon nods in acceptance. “You can. You should. She’s happy about it. She and her friends went out to celebrate and everything.”

“Yeah? She tell you that?”

“Not everything,” she admits. “I saw it on Instagram. Which means it’s probably a big deal.”

“Point taken.” Namjoon raises his free hand as Dilara waves at him before walking back into the living room to join the others. He swallows, not sure why the lump is appearing in his throat again. She’s happy about it, apparently. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he wants.

He should congratulate her. Slipping out of the kitchen, he heads to the room he’s sharing with Yoongi and shuts the door behind him, scrolling through his contacts. A notification appears on the top of his screen and he clicks it out of habit. Ignoring the actual subject of the message, he navigates to Kaya’s Instagram, second in his Search results.

Namjoon finds the pictures immediately; it’s the latest album she’s uploaded, consisting of three pictures of a group of people at a nicely-lit restaurant. He absently leans against the desk, missing her so immensely that he feels like his heart could crumble.

Kaya looks beautiful - and tired. But a happy tired, as though she’s worked for months burning the midnight oil and finally given herself a night off. He scans the rest of the people in the first picture; mostly peers from her program, some of whom he’s met before. He swipes right to see a solo picture of her with her glasses on and shifting her hair, followed by a third picture with the entire group around the table, all holding their drinks up towards the camera.

It’s obviously taken by someone else, perhaps a waiter or a passerby. Kaya is a couple of chairs away from the centre, in between her friend Alex - and Adam.

For a moment, his brain doesn’t know how to react. She’s sitting next to him, and smiling - but there are six other people at the table, too. Her thesis advisor went to her celebration dinner. Her thesis advisor that hit on her, slept with her and sees her every day, went to her celebration dinner.

Namjoon bites his lip, feeling his mind about to turn a corner it shouldn’t, for it wouldn’t help anyone. But it’s too close by, just within reach. With the minor buzz of the two mojitos he’s had, his intrusive thoughts take over. He swallows and grits his teeth, regretting it instantly - but it’s too late, for he can see it now: Kaya, Kaya with him, naked and glorious, eyes closed, kissing him, being pleasured by him - 

His bedroom door opens loudly, making a couple of people in the living room jerk in surprise.

“Jungkook,” he says gruffly, “you’re carrying your old phone with you?”

“Uh, yeah,” answers Jungkook, standing up slowly. “You need it?”

When Namjoon nods wordlessly, Jungkook gets to his feet and jogs to his room to retrieve his old Samsung, the one he’d brought on tour before buying a new one in London, Namjoon following him.

As Jungkook leads him to his room, he peers surreptitiously into his leader’s room, frowning slightly when he sees his phone on the ground by the wall in three pieces, the screen shattered.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[zairene]

SYNOPSIS: y/n is invited by the new york times magazine to introduce herself to the world of fame. it seems that audiences around the globe have been buzzing to know the scoop behind this new model that’s made a brilliant entrance into the industry.

WARNINGS: none!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: alr working on chapter one 🙇🏾‍♀️

WORD COUNT: 628

SERIES MASTERLIST + TAGLIST FORM

“YOU READY TO START, Y/N?” THE LADY HAD previously introduced herself as amelia. recently, you had gotten an email from her company giving you an offer to talk about your life story for millions. at first, you were hesitant about the idea. you had been able to maintain a private yet mysterious persona, not much was known about you but the wikipedia page that was made that’s easily accessible to anybody. you didn’t bother to try to get it taken down since the information on it was accurate and nothing too personal about your life.

nobody knew about your family life, whether or not you had siblings, or your relationship status even, and you never confirmed or denied rumors unless you had to because false things being spread about you was inevitable, and you honestly couldn’t care less. you only let the public know things you wanted them to know. although, this invasion of privacy would be good for your career, said your manager. it would let your supporters know who you are and learn they can somehow relate to you.

“yeah, i’m ready!” you said, trying to keep a smile that was so obviously forced on your face. you tried to be genuine because she wasn’t a rude woman. she was quite nice, maybe you’d invite her out for a drink or two sometime.

beforehand she gave you a brief rundown of how this was gonna go. she records your conversation, and they take everything you said and put it in a magazine. you agreed and before you knew it amelia pressed the recording button in front of you.

“so, y/n, let’s start simple, yeah? do you have any hobbies? things you like to do in your spare time?”

“well, yes. i like to sing sometimes and i’ve always been painting since i was a little girl. i’m more of a traditional painter, but i wouldn’t mind trying things out digitally.”

she shook her head and wrote some notes down, before looking back up to you with a smirk.

“singing? well, is there a possibility that you could pursue a career in singing?”

you chuckled. “maybe, but i don’t wanna set expectations too high right now. so i’ll let everyone decipher that on their own.”

“alright alright. well, it’s not a secret that your looks have caught the eyes of others. and it leaves a lot of people wondering if you would ever date a fan?”

your eyebrows furrowed. “i honestly don’t know. that’s the problem with being… famous, i guess? you never really know anyone’s true intentions with you. they could lie and say they don’t know me from anywhere but they have. and they are only trying to get with me because they see how that can be a benefit for themselves and not because they like me, for me. so, i’m not saying i wouldn’t, but i just don’t prefer it.”

she shakes her head, her lips pressing against one another. “that’s understandable. there are cruel people out there. but, on a more positive note, there’s been a buzz in the media. it’s being said that someone, i won’t name, might give you a run for your money, y/n.”

“oh, seriously?”

“seriously. he’s known for his modeling internationally. you may be running the united states, but currently he’s running the world. how do you feel about that?”

you thought for a second. running the world? now how the hell can anyone possibly do that? and how haven’t you heard of him? “well, um, i’m not sure, especially since you didn’t give me the name.” you laughed, and she followed. “but, this isn’t his territory, it’s mine. so why should i be worried? you said it yourself. i’m running the united states… right?”

🏷️ EXPOSURE TAGLIST :: @sapphicshav @goldenglow149 @pnkweb @fadingpalacebonkpsychic @laylasbunbunny @plutoruins @intheewrld @idklol237 @whats-humanity-lol @nyfwyeonjun @vaebae99 @blackunecorn @tojisrightnut @fiannee @aboutkiyoomi @4kh

-> if you weren’t able to be tagged, please let me know if you changed your url or just wanna be removed. thank you!

[gyu-effect]

sucker (for you) || j.ww (teaser)

PAIRING || Wonwoo x Female Reader

GENRES ||  Best Friends To Lovers AU, College AU, Humour, Fluff

SUMMARY || First year in college was always known to be stressful with all the assignments to complete, parties to enjoy and lectures to attend. But for you, it was a whole different type of stress: the conflicting (and growing) feelings of affection towards your best friend. Falling for him isn’t an option, but neither is avoiding him. So what do you do when you are down bad for the one and only Jeon Wonwoo?

Or, in which, one drunk party sends you hurtling down a rollercoaster of love for your best friend.

SERIES MASTERLIST || teen, age

A/N || If you want to be added in the taglist, send me an ask!

“You are going to burn holes into his face.” 

Kwon Soonyoung hissed into your ears, causing you to glare at him. He raised his eyebrows, as though challenging you and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m not staring at him, I’m just…worried.” 

“Worried he’s going to end up sleeping with her?”

“Shut up, Kwon.” You muttered, eyes back onto your best friend, whom you were sure was going to regret every single action the next day. If he remembered, that is. True, the last few weeks had been extremely stressful for him, but to see the reserved Jeon Wonwoo you knew become drunk and act this wild was something new even to you, despite being his best friend for more than ten years. 

To the eyes that barely knew him, Wonwoo would come as a tsundere male lead, quiet and perfect in every way. A man who had control of all his movement, and thus also every single girl’s heart. Undoubtedly, he was very handsome. But you knew that the man you called your best friend was far behind the romantic hot heartthrob everyone painted him to be. In fact, he probably had a certificate in the loser department. He was nowhere close to perfection and was too laid back in life. What time should have been spent in getting a social life (you were sure he would have been an alpha male if he had just put in a little more effort) was instead used in levelling up in games. 

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. He had been on the dance floor for the past two hours which was definitely not a Wonwoo like characteristic. Right now he was aggressively moving his shoulders while awkwardly jerking his head. You were a hundred percent sure if this had been any other normal situation, he would have been very much flustered and embarrassed. But the high level of intoxication in his blood must have made him lose all his senses. As you watched Wonwoo pull out another fancy move (much to the delight of the crowd of girls surrounding him), a completely unrelated question popped into your head. Where had he even learnt those moves from?

“He asked Chan to teach him a few steps, but I guess Chan thought he wasn’t serious.” Soonyoung replied. You let out a small ‘I see’, embarrassed that you had accidentally said your thoughts out loud. When had he asked Chan to teach him? Was there any particular reason? And why hadn’t he told you about this before?

“It is quite shocking. I always thought Wonwoo was the guy who always kept to himself and his comic books.” Soonyoung said. To his friends and you it was definitely a new thing, but clearly the crowd didn’t think so judging from the squeals erupting around him.

“Did he say why did he suddenly want to learn how to dance?” You asked this time. The boy next to you shrugged, nonchalantly chugging down another drink from the red plastic cups. You grimaced, wondering how people even liked drinking. You personally hated parties and loud music but you didn’t mind if it meant hanging out with your friends. But no one mentioned that today’s party would involve even other people. Still, you managed to keep your sanity throughout the party just trying to enjoy yourself with your friends.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I highly doubt that he wanted to learn to dance on the dance floor. Hey, maybe he was trying to impress you?” Soonyoung grinned at you wickedly.

“Excuse me?” You choked on the chip you had just begun eating. 

“Everyone can see the uwu heart eyes you two give each other.”

“And this wrong insight into things is exactly why everyone supports the anti horanghae agenda instead.”

Soonyoung pouted at you and you let out a laugh, your irritation melting away at his cute reaction. You patted his back before adding, “Don’t worry. I’m for the horanghae agenda. It’s absolutely priceless to see the disgust on Minghao and Jihoon’s faces. I will always support you in your endeavour just to provoke them.”

“Y/N! I thought you were my friend!” 

You laughed once more before turning your attention back to the dance floor. For a second you panicked when you couldn’t find Wonwoo. He was already an awkward man in front of girls (a point girls often misunderstood thinking he was avoiding them because he was a frat boy who didn’t flirt unless absolutely necessary), and you doubted if he would like a drunk mistake to be the reason he stopped showing his face to the college.  

Relief flooded you when you finally found him at the corner of the room with some random girl you knew by face (you weren’t that good with interacting but that was beside the point here). But that relief turned back into panic as you watched the girl unzip his leather jacket and discard it, hands moving for his shirt. 

“And that is my cue to leave.” You nodded to Soonyoung who seemed to be enjoying this moment. Now you weren’t the type to meddle into your best friend’s love life but if the said best friend was a shy anime-lover boy with no alcohol control and was about to drunk make out with someone he had just met, you were going to be the supportive friend you were and save the little dignity he might have left after this night. 

Picking his jacket up from the floor, you accidentally rammed into the couple, causing both of them to stumble in daze.

“Ah, Wonwoo! I was looking for you! Come one, we need to leave, you have a mini test tomorrow, remember?”

Wonwoo blinked at you in confusion, and you just smiled at the girl before pulling him out of the crowded place. You ignored her screaming about tomorrow being a Sunday and focused on getting the two of you safely out of a room filled with drunk people. It was hard pulling a drunk man who kept stumbling on his own leg but you finally made it out of the stuffy place without losing each other.

When the cool night air finally hit the two of you, you let go of his hand and let out a sigh. 

“Thanks.” He muttered beside you, though you were not exactly sure what he was thanking you for, since you were sure he was having a blast back at the party. You glanced at him and tsked, annoyed by his choice of clothing. He was just wearing a sleeveless shirt and skinny jeans, clearly shivering in the cold night air. His hair was slightly messed up and his glasses were hanging at his nose tip.

“You shouldn’t have taken this off.” You said handing him back his jacket. He just draped it around his shoulders before giving you a lopsided drunk smile.

You wondered what all the girls would say when the drunk Wonwoo they had envisioned was nothing like the real drunk Wonwoo you knew. True, he did sensibly drink all the time, but today he seemed to have let go and judging by his flushed face, you were glad you got him out of the party before he committed a stupid mistake.

You began walking towards your dorm when Wonwoo called you.

“Y/N.” 

Turning back at him, you looked at him questioningly, asking him to continue. 

“Come here for a second.” But before you could walk to him, he himself stumbled towards you, looking eager to tell whatever was in his mind. 

You frowned and gently pushed his glasses up so that he didn’t strain himself to see through them. 

All of a sudden, Wonwoo grabbed your hand to pull you in closer, filling the few centimetres you had in between each other. Your eyes widened in shock when you felt his lips brush against yours. He immediately pressed his lips on your lips, your eyes fluttering close at the sudden feeling of warmth.

A million different thoughts were running through your head but they all seemed to be drowned out by an exploding feeling in your heart. You inhaled his scent; a mixture of alcohol and the comforting smell that always lingered around him; and felt the world stop for a second.

© 𝐆𝐘𝐔-𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑  

[ali-r3n]

Baby Munson

Dad!Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader

Eddie and Y/N tell their friends about their little bundle of joy

Pure Fluff, Talk of sore boobs

The Munsons’ Series Masterlist

Y/N meticulously cleaned every surface of the small home to work off the nervous energy she had inside of her.

“Sweetheart?” Eddie asked. “Maybe you should - JESUS H. CHRIST!” His eyes widened and he ran over when she climbed up on the counter to dust the top of the cabinet.

He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up to place her back on her feet.

“Eddie!”

“Are you out of your mind? You could’ve fallen and gotten hurt!”

“It’s fine. I do it all of the time.”

All the color drained from Eddie’s face and his right eye twitched. “What?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Eddie.”

“Not that big of a -” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sweetheart, you are going to be the reason my hair goes gray at 25.” He grabbed both of her hands and held them together. “I know you are a strong, independent woman and being pregnant does not change that. Now, taking that into consideration for me, my peace of mind, and my luscious locks, will you please not climb on the furniture until after you give birth?” 

She nodded. “Anything for your luscious locks.” 

He released a deep exhale. “Thank you, Sweetheart.” 

He cupped her face as he leaned in to press a kiss to her lips. Just as Steve burst through the door with a brown paper bag in the crook of his arm. Robin and Nancy close behind.

“Eddie, my man. I got your favorite beer!” Steve greeted. 

The couple pulled away as their friends froze in the doorway. 

“Were we interrupting something?” Nancy asked. 

“Kinda,” Eddie answered as Y/N said, “No.” 

She walked over to give them a hug and had to hold back a wince when pressure was put on her tender breasts. Only to break when Robin gave her a tight squeeze.

She pulled away with furrowed brows. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. Just a little sore.”

“Oh.” Robin leaned in. “That time of the month, got it!”

“What’s going on?” Steve asked who had walked to the kitchen to start removing food from the paper bag.

Nothing, Dingus!” Robin replied and gave Y/N a wink. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Y/N smiled and hoped she didn’t give anything away…yet. She wanted to wait for the others to share the news.

The small house was filled with their found family. Everyone was sitting around the living room, chatting and digging into the food that Steve had brought. 

Y/N gave Eddie’s thigh a squeeze and nodded when he looked over at her. He stood up and cleared his throat to get their guest’s attention. 

“First off, thank you all for coming. You are probably wondering why we invited all of you here today.” 

“The pleasure of our company,” Steve responded. 

“To announce a new D&D campaign,” Dustin added. 

“No. We do have an announcement, though.” Y/N wrapped an arm around Eddie’s waist and leaned into his side as he draped his leather clad one over her shoulders. He looked down at her with a lovestruck expression on his face. “Y/N and I…are expecting.” 

“You’re having a baby!”

“Congratulations!” 

“That’s why your boobs were sore!” 

Flustered, Y/N hid her face in her boyfriend's chest.

Steve walked up and gave the young parents a hug. "You two ever need a babysitter, I got plenty of experience."

Eddie gave him a pat on the back. "Just leave the nail bat at home. Harrington."

"What is babysit?" El asked.

Max leaned in and whispered the answer into her ear.

"Oh." She turned to look up at Y/N and Eddie. "I'd like to babysit as well."

Y/N smiled and nodded.

Her eyes welled with tears at all of the love that filled their home. Baby Munson wasn’t born yet and already was the luckiest little baby in the world.

~~~~~~~~

The Munson's Taglist:

@eddiemunsons-girl @ches-86 @minaxcarter @shenevertricks1831 @persephone13 @spencestyles @jessevans @vivienatreides  @stormseyes @politephantommenace @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @yearwalker96

@manda-panda-monium @mordechaisworld

~~~~~~~~

Eddie Munson Taglist:

@seros-bitch @eddiemunsons-girl @m-i-1-0 @lunar-flwr @winchester-angel @angelbbygrl @madnessismylover @cherrybean1116 @edwardjamesmunson @3ternalreal1ty

@meaganjm @sweetpeapod @eddiemunsonsfavbitch @fangirling-4-ever @zzokks @mattymurdocksbitch @fillechatoyante @luvbug4728 @doll-in-the-walls @ches-86 @shenevertricks1831 @urlocalhippie2029 @celestair @ruinedbythehobbit @purple-storm

@sarai-ibn-la-ahad @livslifeonline @strangerthingsstories5255 @becca-alexa @aactuaaltraash @wren-2-d

~~~~~~~~

Stranger Things Taglist:

@valeriiecameron @maruushkka @rainbows-dreams @april-foolish

Stranger Things (Billy excluded) Taglist;

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Jar

☀️Part of The Grumpy x Sunshine Series☀️

"I could do this all day."

"Jar!" Sam shouts, sitting beside you as you watch Steve and Peter in the middle of a training session.

"What?" Steve squawks, stepping off the training mat. "No! That's like the third time this week!"

"Well, maybe you should think about the things you say," Sam retorts.

"Jar?" Peter questions, looking to you and Sam.

"Hero jar," you explain.

"For when someone does something heroic?"

"For when we start acting like hero stereotypes, Steve," Sam pointedly remarks, gesturing to the jar in the corner of the training room. Steve grumbles something under his breath, before pulling out his wallet and trudging over to the jar, "That includes catchphrases!"

"Just for saying catchphrases?" Peter asks.

"No." You shake your head, wondering how you could explain the jar to Peter, "It's like...Like when Sam starts talking about Redwing like he's a real person. Or when James complains about Redwing. When Nat does that pose in the middle of a mission."

"Or when Mr. Stark makes a sarcastic joke when he's getting beat up?" Peter guesses.

"Exactly!"

"So what's your thing?" Peter wonders, turning to you.

"Me? Pfft.. I don't do anything like that," you scoff, dismissively waving your hand.

"Oh, please," Sam humorously snorts. "You're just as bad as everyone else."

You indignantly huff, crossing your arms, "I am not!"

"You absolutely are!" Sam turns to Peter, "Her thing is when she tries to make friends with the bad guys. Or when she goes on and on about seeing the humanity in everyone-"

"Or when she wears obscenely bright clothes on missions," Steve adds. "Do you know how hard it is to camouflage yellow?"

"Or when-"

"Alright, alright, Peter gets it!" you interject.

"Wait, so why do I never have to put money in the jar?" Peter asks the room.

Steve claps a hand on Peter's shoulder, "Oh, you do, but Tony usually does it for you."

"Sam didn't think it was fair, but Tony puts in 100's for you and we're saving it for a vacation," you explain.

"And with how often Steve has to put money in the jar, we should be there any day now," Sam teases.

Grumpy Sunshine Series Grumpy Sunshine Drabbles AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez@ludicbouquetfromearth@matchat3a@famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff@valoraxx@blue786sworld@buckyandgeraltsupremacy@geminigengar@ansaturn@ecolle@lexhalstead3@ybflkmj@mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112@thegirlnextdoorssister@toomanyfanficsbruh@moonlightreader649@breathtaking-cynthia@mirikusashes@beans-and-toast@niyahcoca@katiechikin@elxvrr@antiheroxsblog@infamouslyclumsy@krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic

[illfoandillfie]

A Different Kind of Eduation: R Is For Role Play (Chapter 12)

ADKoE MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Series Summary: After being broken up with for not being kinky enough, Reader seeks out her professor to give her some private tutoring so she can win her boyfriend back.

Chapter Summary: Reader steps out of her comfort zone. Roger steps into the past. 

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, dom/sub dynamics, dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, dialogue heavy, degradation (slut/whore/etc), role play, PIV sex, a littlespanking, restrained wrists

Words: 8,007

A/N: I really make you wait for these don’t i lmao. Originally this chapter had more stuff meant to be in it but while writing it I realised it would end up ridiculously long and tbh I would rather give you 2 short chapters than 1 long one. I can’t make any promises about when the next chapter will be up but it should also be on the shorter side so hopefully that makes it a bit easier to write. 

As always *** indicates the smut scene.

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming@queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave@scorpiogemini

@80s-roger @libsterslobsters @okilover02 @cjand10 @dealorgirl32 @youngpastafanmug @onceuponadetectivedemigod @zeida @demo-wise@yuillfandomqueen @tie-ur-mother-down @rogermyreligion​ 

(idk how many of you are still interested in this fic so if you want your name taken off let me know, or if anyone wants to be added i can also do that)

Once again you found yourself outside Roger’s house, stomach in knots with nerves. Though not the usual nerves. You’d checked the curriculum before you left the house that morning, wanting to be prepared, and the one word that he’d used to describe that week’s lesson had been rolling over in your mind ever since. Roleplay. Somehow the idea of roleplay was more terrifying than all the bondage and spanking in the world could ever be. The arts had never been your forte, and the idea of acting and improvising and playing a character made you feel apprehensive and sweaty. But, you trusted Roger to not force you to do something you really hated the idea of, and so you let yourself in through the front door, as had become the usual custom. You were still providing drinks to accompany the dinners Roger made and, as soon as he saw you, he directed you to grab out a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard. You did so, trying to put your worries about the upcoming topic aside and just enjoy a nice meal with him. Briefly, you wondered if Roger could sense your uneasiness, his gaze settling on you like he was trying to read your thoughts, but then his eyes shifted back to the stove as he asked how your day had been and you gladly accepted the distraction.  

It wasn’t until you were settled at the desk in his study that you felt nervous again. “Okay. Tell me what’s going on, Y/N.” Roger said calmly. You cringed a little that he’d picked up on your discomfort so easily but tried to keep your voice steady as you asked, “Are we looking at roleplay today?” “Yeah, that’s correct. You don’t like the idea?” “I’m doing a biology masters Roger, I’m not an actor. I don’t really want to pretend to get pulled over by a hot cop or whatever.” Roger chucked, “Fair enough. But I’d have thought this would be one you were looking forward to since it’s going to lead up into CNC and all of that.” “It is?” “Mmhmm. I mean, Consensual Non-Consent is just acting out a non-consensual experience. It’s a little more hardcore than the roleplay we’ll start off with, but it is related.”   “Well, when you put it like that...” “A theory lesson can’t hurt, right?” “Depends. The last couple of theory lessons you’ve had me trying prac stuff. What exactly are we going to look at?” “Well, I was going to start off with something easy. We can talk about why people roleplay and go over some of the basic scenarios – the stereotypical stuff like cops and robbers or uh, teacher and student,” he looked mildly uncomfortable but moved passed it quickly, “nurse and patient, that sort of thing. And then we can get into some of the more niche things like petplay and ageplay and then in a couple of weeks, if you’re ready, we can get into CNC and free use and the more intense types of roleplay.” You hummed in thought, “That sounds okay. I am still a little nervous about the more practical side though.” “And what exactly is causing those nerves?” You shrugged, “I already said, I’m not an actor.” “Neither am I. What’s really the reason?” For a half a second you considered arguing that he did have a background in performing for crowds, just with music instead of drama, and so he shouldn’t be allowed to make light of your nerves. But in the end you decided that being stubborn about it would just make him push harder, “I don’t want to look stupid. And I can’t imagine not looking stupid while saying that ive been a naughty girl or whatever you’re going to want me to say.” You could feel your cheeks heat as you spoke and looked down to avoid Roger’s eye.   Roger hummed in thought, “Well, that’s fair enough. No one likes feeling or looking stupid. But, counter point, you don’t have to say anything as cliché as that if you don’t want to. And even if you do say something cliché, I promise it will not feel as stupid in the moment as it would if you said it now.” “Yeah I suppose so, but still.” “Anyway, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s just focus on going over what roleplay is and how people use it in sexual situations. Okay?” You nodded your agreement, hoping that knowing more would help you feel less self-conscious.  

“Right, well, let’s talk about humans for a moment. We’re a creative species. We’ve been telling stories since before writing was invented, it’s in our nature to imagine, to fantasise. So, of course, it’s only natural that those ideas can become sexual. Imagining something allows people to explore desires in a way that’s safe for them, especially if it’s a desire they wouldn’t normally admit to out loud. Its why romance novels are written. Its why people seek out pornography of specific fetishes. So roleplay is a way for people take those imagined situations to the next level, making it more real by actively participating in it. There are a few different forms that roleplay can take. At the most simple it could be wearing a costume associated with a particular role, like a nurse, or with a particular character, like Princess Leia’s slave outfit.” “You’re such a dork.” “That outfit is hot. And it was just an example.” He paused to make sure you weren’t about to interrupt again, “It may just be that wearing the clothes of someone else is enough to satisfy the fantasy, but often there will be a bit more to it. A scenario. You take on those characters and act out a scene. The nurse gives a patient a physical examination, Princess Leia is held captive and tries to bargain for her freedom. There’s some sort of a story involved that the participants act out. And then finally, as an extension of that, there are the taboo roleplays. Things like pet play and age play and CNC. Taboos make people curious, and it’s very natural to think about taboo situations or acts. Roleplaying something taboo gives people a safe way to explore it. And it doesn’t even have to be particularly sexual. Sometimes it’s not about that, it’s just about being someone else, about the feelings you get or the connection with your partner in that unusual situation.” “That makes sense I guess.” “One interesting thing to note is that a lot of the “standard” roleplay scenarios are based in power dynamics,” Roger dropped his hands from where he’d made quotation marks, “a cop has power over whoever they arrested, a nurse has power over a patient, a doctor has power over a nurse. Maid’s serve, kings and queens command, the list goes on. So, why do you think that is?” “Because...Because it’s an easy place to start if you’re interested in dom/sub dynamics?" “That's absolutely part of it. It’s a great way to dabble with kink, to test the waters so to speak. But I think there’s another bigger reason that people, even very vanilla people, might be interested in roleplay. Power dynamics are so prevalent throughout our society. Everyone has a boss; everyone has had an experience with an authority figure. And it is human nature to take something mundane and create a story where it’s more fantastical, more interesting, maybe even less scary. Or, to create a story that switches the power.” “Huh. That’s a really interesting way of thinking about it." “Of course, sometimes getting into a roleplay is how people discover kinks or fetishes and they can be steppingstones to other power based BDSM practices. But I think for most people, roleplay is just something fun that lets them explore something different in an accessible and safe environment. I will admit I did consider starting you off with some roleplay stuff when I was working out the curriculum. I thought that dressing up as someone else might help you feel more comfortable exploring new areas.” “What made you decide to start elsewhere?” Roger shrugged, “I knew that CNC and those areas we’re building to would tie into roleplay and I didn’t want to get too close to them too quickly. And I didn’t want you to feel like you had to be someone else to enjoy any of it." “I think you made the right call.”

Roger smiled for a moment and then seemed to remember he was teaching a lesson, “Okay, Y/N, I want to posit a theory and I want to know what you think about it.” “Okay,” you said a little taken aback but intrigued all the same.   “I suggest that we’ve already experimented with roleplay.” For a moment all you could do was stare in confusion, “But we haven’t.” “What makes you so sure?” “Because we haven’t been playing pretend or dressing up as anything. What we’ve been doing is real.” Roger looked supremely pleased as if you’d fallen into a trap he’d set. “What if I said that roleplay isn’t playing pretend.” “That's literally what you just said it was. Costumes, pretending to be something you’re not.” “Well, okay yes, a lot of the time roleplay can be about that. And that’s why you can walk into any sex shop and find naughty nurse costumes or sexy school uniforms or, fuck, even a sexy Santa outfit. But that’s just a side effect of roleplay being a way to feel like something you're not. I could still pretend to be Santa with all the double entendres about presents and chimneys even without a set of suspenders and red knickers.” You giggled at the image he’d conjured but Roger mostly ignored you. “The costume just helps the suspension of disbelief.” “Okay, sure,” you said, still smiling at the thought of Roger dressed in holiday themed lingerie, “I don’t understand where you’re going with it though.” “Okay well, let’s look at these basic scenarios we’ve been discussing. They take something mundane or even a bit scary – medical check-ups, having a meeting with an authority figure – and turn them into something fun and sexy. And in the process the people involved can explore things that turn them on but that they might feel wary about doing in a non-roleplay situation. Things like being told what to do, or something a little further like handcuffs or punishment spankings. It allows people a chance to try being more dominant or more submissive or even more hyper-sexual than they let themself be in real life. Thus, it’s a way for them to achieve a different headspace or to feel something they wouldn’t ordinarily let themself feel. And isn’t that just what we’ve been doing too?" “No,” you knew you didn’t sound very certain, but you didn’t want to accept he’d been right too quickly. “Okay, let’s look at an example. Take Daisy and Jo and their slave/master dynamic. In real life, by law, you cannot legally own another person. They can call each other the right names, they can agree on who gets to make which decisions, they can put their names down on a slave registry, they could even get Daisy a barcode tattoo if they wanted to go that far. And yet, Daisy is still her own person, Jo doesn’t really own her. Daisy has a job, she has hobbies, she has a life outside of their relationship, and she has her own thoughts in her head, her own autonomy. And you heard how when that autonomy was taken from her in a previous relationship, it stopped being a kinky dynamic and turned into actual abuse. Daisy and Jo play around with things that make them feel psychologically as if one really is the other’s slave but, in reality, she’s not. So, in that case, roleplay is no less real than other parts of BDSM. Roleplay is just the closest approximation we can get to it being real before it crosses into abusive, illegal or dangerous territory.” “That’s a pretty extreme example though,” you counted, feeling as if you were in Roger’s regular classroom discussing the results of an experiment, “What about a stock standard bondage scene?” “I think it still fits. What a lot of people get out of a dom/sub dynamic is feeling control or lack-there-of, right? And isn’t the bondage just a vehicle for making the submissive person feel as if they have no autonomy or to feel as if they can’t escape? Or for making the dominant feel like they have total control over someone else?” “I suppose so,” “Obviously in a safe, sane, and consensual scene that can’t ever really be the case. The sub always has the right to stop things, to say no. There might even be a physical way for them to get out of the bondage if they need to. The ropes just make it feel less like they have the option to get out. Ergo, it’s a form of roleplay. And we can’t ignore spanking. That for most people spanking is intrinsically tied to discipline. That a lot of the ways spanking is portrayed or thought of, both inside and outside the kink community, is related to punishment. That probably the most common spanking scene imaginable is a schoolgirl being punished by her teacher. Dressing up in a short skirt and long socks and a white blouse and promising you’ll do anything for a better grade.” You swallowed thickly, very aware that you were sitting in front of your professor. Roger seemed almost as flustered as you felt as he paused. He plucked his glasses from his nose and began to clean them on his shirt hem, his voice a little quieter when he spoke again, “And you don’t even have to get that specific with it. Just the idea of spanking as punishment within a sexual scenario can be construed as roleplay. Chances are the person being spanked didn’t really do anything bad enough to warrant a physical beating.” He put his glasses back on and the tension from moments before disappeared, “And yet everyone involved pretends they did because they enjoy the act of spanking or being spanked and because it makes them feel secure in the dynamic they’ve built. The dom is in charge, the sub obeys, there are consequences for stepping out of those boundaries. They perform their roles, and it makes them feel good and sexually satisfied and bonds them.” “Fine, okay, maybe you’re right then. But if this was your attempt to make me feel less nervous about doing a roleplay scene in prac, it’s not worked. There is still a difference between the two...even if it’s not as clear as I thought it was.” “No, you’re right, I do think there is a distinction. But I don’t think that distinction is based on one being more real than the other. And really, it’s up to the individual to figure out where that distinction lies for them. But I also think that if we consider them essentially the same thing, or at least closer related than one initially presumes, it can help you remember one very important fact.” “Which is what?” “BDSM is a conscious choice. And to me, knowing it’s a choice offers so much more safety and security than considering it “real” does. Whether I’m acting as the dom or the sub, it's a reminder that everyone involved has actively chosen to be there and if that desire to be there changes, everyone has the option to say as much. Which ultimately makes things more enjoyable.” You’d already known that Roger cared about your safety and how much you enjoyed yourself, but you couldn’t help but be touched by his obvious enthusiasm for the topic and his sincere way of expressing it. It was something you hadn’t been able to properly appreciate when you first started your lessons, but the more time you spent with Roger, the more he voiced his thoughts on sex and BDSM relationships, the more you found yourself admiring him. It made you feel like you’d definitely picked the right person to learn from.  

“We have two options now. Number 1, we can keep going with theory and look at some more specific areas of roleplay, maybe more taboo stuff like pet play and age play. Give you a sense of where roleplay can lead and how different dynamics like that work. Or, number 2, we can discuss some options for a possible prac scene and, if we can settle on something we both like the sound of, maybe we could try it out. I’m going to leave it up to you though. Whatever you're comfortable with. Although I will say, I would feel better about exploring CNC with you the coming weeks if we’d played with a simpler roleplay before then.” “So I have to roleplay then.” “It doesn’t have to be anything big and it doesn’t have to be tonight. But, yes, I would like it if we did.” “Did you have any scenarios in mind for us to do in prac?” “Nothing picked out but I can offer some suggestions you might like.” “Okay, hit me.” Roger hummed in thought, “I mean, basically anything can be a roleplay scenario. 1950s housewife and her husband, royalty and their servant, strangers meeting at a bar, a couple engaging in an adulterous relationship. Even fictional characters are possible. Are you into superheroes? I could be uhhh, I don’t know, Batman? Save you from some danger and you’re so gratefully horny about it.” You snorted, “Maybe something else.” “Do you want to go with something vastly different from our actual lives or something that’s a bit more familiar?” “Umm, maybe something more familiar would be easier to do without feeling like a complete wanker.” “In that case,” he made a clicking sound with his tongue as he considered your options, “you could be the babysitter I hired to look after my kids. Orrrr, I could be a repairman fixing something for you.” You didn’t hate the sound of either of them but also weren’t totally sure you wanted to do either and made an uncertain noise in response.   “I suppose if you wanted we could do a teacher/student thing.” You shook your head, “That’s too much like real life, I think it’d make me feel weird.” “Okay, good,” Roger sounded relieved, “In that case...maybe something with a similar dynamic but less baggage... a boss and employee? You could be asking for a raise or something like that.” You shook your head again, though more out of amusement than disinterest. “There is always a doctor or nurse thing, we both know biology after all. Or, well okay, this one might be a bit weird but hear me out.” “Okay,” “I could be a rockstar and you could be my groupie.” “Oh,” “Is that a good oh or a bad oh?” “Neither I just wasn’t expecting it. But I kind of like it I think.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. I think I could be your groupie.” “Hanging off my every word,” Roger said suggestively, gesturing between you as if to say just like you are right now. “Willing to do whatever it takes to keep my attention.” “Something like that, yeah.” you laughed, “It seems doable.” “Alright, that’s settled then. So what sort of kinks would you want to include?” “Umm the usual stuff I guess, a little bit of degradation, maybe some spanking.” “Bondage?” “I don’t think I feel like that today. Not anything like ropes or cuffs, but I think I’d be okay with you physically holding my wrists or something.” Roger hummed in thought, “That all sounds very reasonable. Any thoughts to positions?” “Umm, not really. I’d be up for most things I think.” “I think I have some ideas then. Are you ready to get started now?” You were a little torn, the part of you that enjoyed having sex with Roger more than ready to go but the part of you that was apprehensive about acting was more in control, “Maybe a little more theory first. And maybe another drink.” “Okay,” Roger gave you a reassuring smile, “I’ll grab us a top up and then we can talk a bit about where we’re going with roleplay.”

When Roger handed you the glass of wine it was hard not to gulp it down in an effort to quell your anxiety.   “You know if you get too drunk we won’t be able to do any prac and we’ll have to come back to it another night. And I’d have to insist on full sobriety that time.” You narrowed your eyes at Roger and took a smaller sip before putting the glass down, “So what else have you got to teach me about roleplay?” “We might as well start talking about the more taboo forms. I mentioned age play before but I don’t get the sense Dylan is particularly interested in it, so I wasn’t intending on going into detail. All you really need to know is that it’s a form of roleplay that involves someone acting a different age than they are, typically younger.” You’d never seen Dylan look at anything like that before and he’d never mentioned it so you felt confident saying, “Yeah, I don’t think Dylan would be into that.��   “Okay, good to know. The other one I mentioned was, of course, CNC. But I don’t want to start on that until we can dedicate a whole lesson to it because it’s complicated and I want to make sure we cover everything. Which leaves just one other example I gave, pet play. How much do you know about it?” “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t really understand it.” “At its most basic, pet play is a kink in which one or more participants role play as an animal.” You dutifully noted down the definition, the familiar act putting you more at ease.   “Technically it comes under a wider umbrella of animal play, but I think pet play would be the more familiar term to most. There are those that engage in animal play as foxes or wolves or even mythical creatures like unicorns and dragons. But pet play as a specific subsection of animal play revolves around acting as more common animals like dogs and cats and horses.” “So, if it’s taboo and about animals, is it like roleplaying bestiality?” “No. Typically engaging in pet play is, like a lot of role play in general, more about exploring different behaviours and desires, than actually being an animal. Someone who explores pet play as a puppy might be attracted to it because it gives them a space to be playful and bouncy and loose. Or it might be because they really like the dynamics involved in being trained to do something. Whereas a someone roleplaying as a kitten might be interested less in the training and more in physical affection while still being able to play and scratch and bite.” “Uh huh,” you weren’t totally sure you understood it, but it did make pretending to be a groupie sound less daunting. “The other thing with pet play is it’s not always about sex. It’s a fun way to show and receive affection – being petted or groomed, curling up on their partner’s lap, playing silly games, just being looked after.” “That does sound kind of nice.” Roger smiled, “Yeah, it can be. But we can get more into that another time. For now, let’s just stick to human role play.” Roger frowned at his phrasing for a second and you couldn’t help but snort and roll your eyes.   “There’ll be none of that when you’re my groupie,” he playfully scolded, giving you a little wink, “Are you ready?” You took a nervous breath, “as I’ll ever be I think.” Roger gave you an affectionate look, "Give me a couple minutes to get a few things ready and then meet me in my music room.”  

*****

As soon as Roger left you reached for your glass again, downing the wine quickly. You poured yourself another half glass and drank as you thought. Groupies. You understood the basic premise and you could see the appeal in sleeping with band members, in an abstract sense. But you weren’t sure how much of what you knew was even close to accurate. You were mostly going off depictions you’d seen in fiction. Roger definitely knew more about it than you did, even if his band had only lasted a short while. So what would he be expecting you to say? How would he expect you to act? It made your stomach twist uncomfortably and you put the glass of wine down. You didn’t feel much like a groupie. Glancing down at your outfit you thought you probably didn’t look much like a groupie either. But maybe you could fix that, at least a little. Roger had mentioned costumes and outfits as a way to help feel more comfortable in a role play scene so, grabbing your bag, you ducked into the nearest bathroom. There wasn’t a lot you could do with your clothes but thankfully you’d taken to wearing skirts whenever you had lessons. The one you’d chosen fell just above your knees, but you were able to fold the waistband over itself a couple of times to shorten it. The shirt was a little harder to alter since it wasn’t a button up. You experimented a bit with tying it up at the hem but didn’t really like the effect so instead settled for just taking your bra off underneath it. The material was thin enough that Roger would probably be able to see your nipples and that definitely sounded like something a groupie would do. You touched up your makeup and applied some lip gloss you found at the bottom of your bag, and then as a finishing touch you shook your hair out to make it seem a little messier. Looking at your reflection you decided that at least you'd been able to do something to alter your appearance. That was when you heard the drumbeat, Roger’s signal that he was ready for you.  

He didn’t seem to be playing any specific song, at least not one you were familiar with, but the beat did make you feel a little more at ease as you headed toward the music room. Something about the background noise made it a little easier to believe your roles. And seeing Roger made it easier still. The door was ajar as you approached it, but you knocked all the same, pushing it open nervously. You noticed the flannel shirt immediately. It must have been one he’d had for a few years because it seemed worn and faded and a little tight around his upper arms. It was completely unbuttoned, his bare chest visible, and you were immediately reminded of the band photo that had been so popular on the university meme pages.   Roger grinned when he saw you, not even attempting to hide the up and down look he gave you as he twirled his drumstick between his fingers.   The movement immediately caught your eye, and you couldn’t help but be turned on, even though you still felt a little silly standing in his doorway.   “Can I help you?” Roger asked when you didn’t say anything. “Oh, um,” you could feel your cheeks warming as you tried to think what to say, “I just wanted to tell you I loved the show.” You cringed a little at what you’d come up with, feeling it was a little cliche, but it must have been alright because Roger responded with a lazy smile.   “Glad to hear it love. How’d you get backstage though?” You heart stopped for a moment as you internally panicked. Why had you spent so long on your appearance without spending a single moment preparing a backstory or anything useful to say.   “Don’t over think it, you’re doing great,” Roger said, dropping the cocky rockstar act and nodding in encouragement. And then, as quick as it had gone, the rockstar was back as Roger relaxed into his seat again, spinning his sticks absentmindedly. “How’d you sneak in?” “No one stopped me,” you shrugged, unable to come up with anything better on the spot. “Well it’s a good thing. I love talking to fans.” His voice dripped with innuendo, and you found yourself swallowing hard in response.   "I was hoping you’d want to...talk. I’m such a big fan.” Roger beckoned you towards him, “Close the door, love, I’d hate for our chat to be interrupted.” Your stomach did another flip, although a much pleasanter one, as you stepped further into the room. It helped that Roger seemed so at ease playing his role. You could easily imagine him playing for a crowd, flushed and sweaty as he banged out a beat. Even now with shorter hair and more of a dad bod, if he announced tomorrow that he was quitting teaching to go back on tour you would have no trouble believing him. He just looked right behind his drums. Not to mention hot as hell.   “Do you want to touch it?”   “Touch what?” you blurted, worried you’d missed something while you’d been distracted by the thought of a sweaty Roger pounding away at his drums. “My kit of course,” he laughed, grabbing your hand and bringing it to one of the cymbals, “You seemed pretty enamoured with it.” “Oh, yeah, it’s um bigger up close than I was expecting.” The cymbal felt cool under your hand but you had to assume that was partly from how warm you felt, embarrassed both at the cheesy line you’d just said and that he’d caught you daydreaming.   “Not the first to tell me that,” he replied with a wink and an easy suggestiveness that made you feel somehow even more warm. “I could show you how to use it.” “I’d love that,” you gushed, not entirely pretending. The drums did seem like fun.

You let Roger lead you around to his side of the kit, his hands settling nicely on your hips as he guided you to sit on his lap. The whole situation made you feel giggly and for a moment you forgot it was role play, wondering at when you’d got so bold as to hit on a rockstar but glad that it seemed to be working. And it definitely seemed to be working if the semi pressing into your backside was anything to go off. You suspected you were not the only one who’d felt the need to get rid of underwear. Roger’s breath hitched softly as you wriggled against him and he quickly guided his leg between yours, putting you on his thigh rather than his lap. You didn’t mind so much though, especially when he shifted, and his thigh pressed up into your cunt. Roger’s hands meanwhile were also moving, rising up your sides, the light trail of his touch making you shiver and your stomach clench with anticipation as he neared your breasts. You nearly groaned in disappointment when he pulled them away too soon and heard Roger chuckle in your ear as he reached for you hands instead. He pressed the drumsticks against your palms and then wrapped his hands over yours, guiding your movements to bang out a simple beat. The drumming was fun but it was hard to focus when his hands felt so warm and large against yours, and his breath tickled the side of your neck.   “You’re a natural,” You grinned, feeling quite pleased with yourself, until you gasped when Roger pressed his foot down on the kick drum pedal and you bounced on his thigh unexpectedly.   “Too fast for ya?” he asked cockily. You turned your head to try to see him better, “No, I’m a quick learner.” “Well show me what you’ve got then.” His hands moved down to your hips again, pulling you snuggly against his chest. It was enough of a distraction that he had to prompt you again, leaving you flustered as you hurried to comply.   “Harder than that, love,” He said when you produced a much quieter sound than he had, “Really pound it.” He emphasised the word with another stamp of his foot. Your second attempt was better but apparently not quite to Roger’s standards because he grabbed your chin to make you look at him again.   “Do you need me to show you how?” Words completely failed you so you just nodded, your stomach in knots with anticipation, practically able to feel the wet patch growing against his thigh.   Roger’s gaze flicked down to your lips as you both held the moment for a second longer, and then he was surging forward eagerly. His hand moved to your neck as he claimed you, his other still at your waist though his grip had tightened to keep you in place.   The drumsticks clattered to the ground and you couldn’t help the little moan that slipped out into his mouth, finally having an outlet for all the tension that had been building since you entered the room. The sound just made Roger smile, his lips quirking cockily against yours as his hands began to roam, down your thighs, pushing your skirt higher, toying with your undies.   “Don’t need these,” his tone making it clear you should have left them in your bag with your bra, as he pulled them down your thighs.   You raised yourself a little to help him, feeling as if you had to make up for wearing them in the first place. Roger seemed pleased with your initiative, or at least pleased that he could easily access your pussy, his fingers slipping between your lips. “So wet already,” he half moaned, two fingertips toying with your entrance.   You gasped again as he worked both digits into you, pausing a moment when he was around the first knuckle so you could adjust. But he didn’t wait long before he drew them back a little and then pushed them in deeper, and then again, clearly impatient to get you ready enough to take his cock. You were growing impatient too, your head still spinning from his kiss and from how good just his hand felt between your legs. “Rog please,” you whined, trying to sink down on his fingers, though the position made it difficult, “‘m ready.” “Yeah? Ready for my cock, huh love?”   You nodded and groaned, desperate to convince him as he continued fingering you.   Roger just chuckled, “Of course you are. It’s the whole reason you came here, isn’t it. To be fucked by a rockstar.” You nodded quickly, ready to agree to just about anything he said.   “That’s what I thought,” he almost growled as he drew his zipper down and freed his cock. His hands came back to you then and you let him guide you to stand, shifting around so that when he pulled you back down, you were aligned with his cock rather than his thigh.   You moaned as his tip breached you, his cock stretching you much more than his fingers had. But it was a very good stretch and one you were more or less used to by now. You didn’t even mind that he didn’t give you time to adjust, just kept pulling you onto his lap, making you take his whole shaft much quicker than he usually would.  

When you were finally seated fully, legs between Rogers’, your skirt rucked up under his palms, and your pussy stretched around the base of his shaft, both of you moaned almost in unison.   “Fuck, love,” he groaned against your ear, “taking me so well.” The praise made you squirm, and Roger moaned again as you tightened momentarily around him.   “Jesus. Whores like you are my favourite part of this job.” He managed to get out through his heavy breaths. You whimpered, continuing to wriggle in place, Roger’s hands still grasping you making it unclear whether or not you were allowed to move.   “You don’t need to tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had, I know I am.” Roger chuckled, the cocky rockstar act back in full force, “So why don’t you show me how grateful for my cock you are and ride me.” You didn’t need to be told twice, placing your palms against his legs to help steady yourself as you began moving as best you could. You never let too much of him escape your heat, raising up just enough and then dropping your arse back into his lap. As you found a good rhythm, his hands began to wander, squeezing your breasts through your shirt at first, though he quickly pushed the material up until your chest was exposed and he was free to grope you as much as he wanted.   “That’s right, fuck yourself just like that,” he growled, “feel amazing on my cock, love.” The praise only made you moan more, especially since he said it like you were lucky to be pleasuring him at all. But you knew that, despite the attitude, he really meant what he said. He was breathing hard against your neck, making you shiver as he let out little moans each time you sank down on his shaft. And then there was the drum. Roger’s foot was still on the pedal and whenever you tightened around him enough or moved at just the right angle, he'd jolt like he wanted to spear up into you and a sudden stuttered bang would sound. You chased the sound of the drum almost as much as the sound of his moans, both making it seem like he was losing control, like you were cracking through his arrogant attitude.  

But Roger wasn’t going to make it too easy for you. Whether because he was intent on finishing his lesson or he was just so lost in how fucking hot the groupie roleplay was, you couldn’t tell. It added up to the same thing though. He pulled your arms behind your back and gathered your wrists together in one hand.   You whined and halted your movements but Roger tutted at you condescendingly.   “Is my cock too much for you? Maybe one of the other girls could handle me better.” You shook your head, “No, I just-” “Shhh love, I don’t care. Just ride me.” You whimpered but that seemed to amuse Roger more than anything.   “Already admitted you came here for my cock and believe me, love, you’re not the only one. So do what I say or I’ll find another slut who’s willing to do whatever I want.” The thought of him kicking you out before either of you finished was nearly as distressing as the thought of him replacing you with someone else. You quickly began moving again, trying to get back into a good rhythm. It was harder to ride him without the leverage your arms had given, relying on your leg muscles alone as you raised and lowered yourself. But the struggle just made it all the hotter. And Roger must have agreed because he groaned again, even though you couldn’t manage to move as much as before.   “Such a hot cunt,” he moaned, “don’t stop.” You whined as you felt his grip on your wrists tighten but didn’t dare stop riding him even though the effort was making you pant and your thighs were beginning to burn.   Roger’s breath hitched as you next sank down, “M-might have to keep y-ou around all t-tour.” He grunted. The thought made you moan and you found yourself hoping he meant it, hoping you could accompany him on the bus and share his hotel rooms. As if reading your thoughts Roger grunted, “Fuck you when-whenever I want. Y-ou’d like th-at.” It wasn’t a question but you answered anyway, a breathy, “yes,” falling from you as you desperately tried to keep fucking down on Roger’s cock.   Thankfully your unexpected response had an effect on Roger. He let your wrists go suddenly, growling as he manhandled you off his lap. Pushing you to stand, you felt yourself bent forward over the drum kit as Roger took over fucking you.   You braced yourself as much as you could, the drums rattling a little as you leaned on them. Mostly you were just glad your legs were getting a break, and thankful that your cunt was being stuffed at a faster pace. All you could do was moan at how good it felt, and brokenly plead with Roger not to stop. It was perhaps the loudest you’d ever been with anyone, not just Roger, but it wasn’t a conscious decision. They were not the sounds expected from a science major who was in the middle of a sexual awakening with her professor. They were the sounds of an eager groupie. Unashamed and unapologetic.  

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” As if to prove that he was in charge, Roger paused, holding your hips so tight you couldn’t even squirm on the cock filling you, "Fucking cockwhore, aren’t you love?” You whined but nodded. Roger just chuckled and then picked up where he’d left, one hand moving up your back to hold in you in place as he railed into you, one hand slipping down to rub your clit sloppily.   The tension in your stomach nearly had you sobbing, so close to orgasm, and without worrying about how you sounded, you began begging Roger to make you cum. It nearly pulled him from the scene. He’d hoped you’d get into it, lose your inhibitions and enjoy playing pretend, but he’d not expected to hear anything so wanton from you. He miraculously kept the rhythm of his thrusts, but momentarily lost his voice, managing only a moan at your desperation and then a croaky, “You gonna cum?” It wasn’t nearly as commanding or demanding as he’d been moments before, but he cleared his throat and said it again as a statement rather than a question.   You were too far gone to notice the slip, nodding in answer to both. Roger’s lapse passed and he lay a spank against your arse, “Words, whore.” “Y-yes, yes, ‘m gonna cum. Fuck, please.”   He spanked you again, chuckling at your pussy’s response, before moving back to your clit, his fingers more deliberate this time. “Go o-n then love,” his breathing was heavier, strained from the effort of fucking you as well as his own approaching climax, “Cum on m-y cock and I-I’ll give it to you e-every night – of the tour.” It didn’t take much more than that and the pleasure crashed into you, Your legs trembling as Roger kept fucking you.   He was swearing at how tight you felt, managing to get out half formed thoughts about how desperate for his cum you were and how jealous the rest of the band would be that you’d gone to him. To an observer it would have been unintelligible gibberish. So, it was probably good that you barely registered it, much more concerned with how it felt as Roger came too, his hips pressing against you, his cock pushed as deep as he could get it, filling you with his warm cum.  

*****

You came back to yourself, still bent over the drum kit, still full of Roger’s cock, his heavy breaths hot on your skin as he gently stroked your arm. The embarrassment came quickly after that, your skin burning as you cringed at everything you remembered saying. Roger pressed his lips to the back of your neck, “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?” You nodded, half wishing he’d stay put just so you could avoid looking at him for a bit longer.   But he didn’t. He hissed a little as he eased himself from between your legs, apologising when you reacted similarly, and then turned you around, cupping your face in both palms as he kissed you properly, on the lips.   You tried to push your embarrassment aside and enjoy the kiss but it was hard to do when you kept thinking about how ridiculous you must have sounded. In fact, you were so caught up in your head that you didn’t even notice the sound of Roger’s fly being done up or him gently pulling your underwear back up your legs. “Thanks,” you mumbled when you realised, his palms warms where he smoothed the fabric now on your hips, grateful that he’d thought of it before cum started dripping out of you. “Guess I should clean up.” Roger caught you around the waste and shook his head, retaking his seat as he guided you onto his lap again. Only this time you were facing him so he could kiss you more.  

By the time he pulled away you were feeling marginally better, telling yourself if you’d been too much of an embarrassment, he wouldn’t want to make out so soon.   “See, wasn’t that fun?” he asked, his knuckle brushing against your jaw. You made an evasive gesture, “I guess so, yeah.” “C’mon, you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it when you got so into it.” “I really wasn’t expecting that. I must have sounded like an idiot.” “What? No.” Roger seemed perplexed by your statement, “Try insanely sexy.” “Really?” “Absolutely Y/N. You were perfect. I knew it was going to be fun the moment I saw you’d altered your outfit. Because that meant you were going to give it a proper try.” You smiled shyly, “It was fun.” “There we go, yeah it was!” “I assume it’s not always like that though.” “No,” he shook his head, “I mean, it depends. Sometimes you can be fully emersed in the scenario like tonight, and sometimes you know you’re both just saying lines. But that doesn’t make it less hot. Would you want to experiment more with role play?” You thought about it for a moment, “I guess I’d be open to it.” Knowing Roger, you were sure he’d ask for more details so hastened to add, “I am a little curious about how pet play works now.” Roger seemed surprised, “I was meaning like trying other scenarios – the nurse thing maybe, or... but yeah, if you want to know more about pet play I think I can teach it.” “Oh, I- fuck,” you buried your face in Roger’s neck, feeling likely to die from embarrassment if you opened your mouth again. But Roger just chuckled, rubbing your back softly, “It’s good that you told me, Y/N. I want to know what you’re curious about.” “I guess so,” you said managing to lift your head high enough for Roger to press his lips to your temple, “I'm just curious how it works because it sounds a bit weird. Especially after tonight, cause like, I imagine it’d be harder to feel fully immersed in the scenario when you’re pretending to be an animal. It’s so different from pretending to be a groupie.” “I love that you’re curious. I’ll have the kids from Thursday night until Sunday but, if you want to, we could do this again tomorrow or Wednesday to fit in a bonus lesson about pet play. Would that work?” You nodded, managing to meet his eye briefly but looking down again as you said, “Wednesday would work. And maybe, if I don’t want to try pet play we can do the nurse thing instead.” “That’s a great plan,” Roger smiled, gently tilting your head up so he could kiss you again.   You melted into him, almost disappointed when he stopped. It might have just been a projection of your own feelings but you got the sense that Roger didn’t quite want to stop either.   All the same, he did, his hands lingering. “I should let you go and clean up.” “Yeah,” you nodded, “I should probably be going soon.” It was at least another thirty seconds before his hands left you and you stood up.

[ptergwen]

can’t get close | ch. one

☛ series taglist ♪ series playlist ✎ series masterlist

w/c: 5,542

warnings: explicit language, smoking, drug use, references to sexual activity, adult content throughout

summary: peter parker agrees to tutor you in physics for one reason and one reason only; you’re paying him. but, it quickly becomes about more than the money.

a/n: i’ve had this in the drafts for a long ass time and i’m so stoked i finally get to share it with y’all omg i hope you enjoy this series as much as i do bc i can’t wait for you to see what’s next! also a reminder that all characters are of age and you should only proceed if you’re 18+! feedback is appreciated, much love to you <3

“fuck.”

you’re looking over the physics test your teacher just handed back, trying to make sense of her many markings. each page is covered in streaks of red pen from top to bottom. psychics isn’t your strongest subject by any means, but you didn’t think it was this weak. your heart nearly falls out of your chest when you read your grade.

you failed.

by one point.

screw physics, and screw ms. warren, too.

“shit,” you curse, slamming the test down on your desk. harry looks back at you. “something the matter, y/l/n? what’s got your panties in a twist?” he wonders with that stupid smirk of his. “not you, that’s for sure,” you retort. “ooh, feisty today, are we?” he observes.

harry turns around in his seat to face you properly. he leans his elbows on your desk, the smirk still evident on his features. you glare at your test score written in big, red numbers.

it’s almost as if it’s taunting you.

“seriously, you good?” harry checks. “you could always talk to me, y/l/n,” he nudges your foot with his own. “i failed, harry. i fucking failed the test,” you mutter. “what? lemme see,” harry demands.

you wordlessly push your test towards him. he picks it up and examines it, frowning at the paper in his hands. you press your lips together.

“just a point off, huh? it could be worse. shit was hard, man,” harry comforts you, giving you your test. you put it face-down this time. “yeah? what’d you get?” you challenge. “that’s between me and warren,” he taps your nose with his index finger. “so what i’m hearing is, you passed,” you conclude. “barely, but i didn’t want you to feel bad,” he admits. “nothing could make me feel worse than the fatass F on my paper,” you deadpan.

your gaze lands on peter parker up at ms. warren’s desk, watching their exchange.

“excellent work, peter. i was very impressed,” ms. warren compliments. she even smiles at him, something she never does. “thank you, that means a lot,” peter smiles back, retrieving his test from her. “most students get stumped on the constructed response. not you, though,” she goes on.

peter is the by far brightest student at midtown. you know it, he knows it, everybody knows it. he doesn’t have to try for it, either. he’s one of those people who’s naturally smart, shit just comes to him. you swear the kid’s brain must be wired different or something.

you think it’s pretty damn cool how genius peter is. you’ve got to wonder what it’s like being such a science whizz. you don’t have enough brain cells for it, though. you’re killing them all off, fucking around and getting high.

it’s whatever. you’re more of an english kind of gal, anyway.

“nerd alert!” harry calls to peter, hands cupped over his mouth to project his voice. peter’s brows furrow as he searches for the source of it. “dude, leave him,” you smack at his chest.

the bell rings, signaling the end of the period. your classmates hurry out of their seats and file towards the door. ms. warren reminds everyone of an upcoming homework assignment on the way out. you flip her off behind her back, to which harry snickers at.

“lunchtime,” you wiggle your eyebrows. “let’s go smoke.”

“jeez, y/n. what did you get right?” liz murmurs, flipping through your physics test. “not much, as you can see,” you answer. you take a long drag from your cigarette before passing it off to harry. “hey, it’s no big deal. there’s always the next one,” harry tries.

you’re seated at your usual picnic table outside. you sit up on the tabletop with harry and liz on the bench facing you. harry inhales smoke from the cigarette and puffs it out in your face. you waft the smoke back towards him with a giggle, liz sighing at both of your childish behavior.

harry osborn and liz allan are your very best friends in the whole world. they’re your ride or dies. peter may be well known around midtown, but he’s not the only one. you three have got quite the reputations yourselves. just, for different attributes.

you’re the best fuck, got the best stash. harry is your dealer. liz has the brains, so she gets you and harry out of the trouble you get yourselves into. she’s not afraid to let loose from time to time, though. the three of you make the perfect trio.

“y/n, you’ve gotta get your grades up,” liz warns. “warren’s tough. she won’t think twice about failing you, and i mean for the year,” she sets your test down in your lap. “too bad i can’t fuck her for an A,” you say, snatching your cigarette back from harry.

harry flicks your knee over your jeans. you kick your foot at him in retaliation. he dodges you.

“i’m serious. i had her last year, remember?” liz asks, sipping her iced cofeee. “yeah, yeah. lucky you, you already took physics,” you speak with the cigarette between your teeth. “exactly, so i know what she’s like,” liz finishes. you exhale smoke and a chuckle along with it. “you wanna help me out then, lizzie?” you question.

“you mean, like, tutor you?” liz wonders, her features holding amusement. “why not? you’re smart, you know the curriculum. let’s do it,” you propose. “i’d love to, but i can’t. i’m really busy with decathlon, and yearbook, and…” she smiles apologetically. “say no more, madam president. i understand,” you assure her.

you jam your cigarette into the wooden table to put it out, tapping the ashes onto your physics test. you peer around the courtyard at the other tables. peter parker happens to be at one of them. he’s laughing about something with his friends, prompting your lips to pull up in a grin.

“you should ask parker to tutor you,” harry suggests. “are you out of your mind? he would never,” you scoff. “are you out of yours? he’s a pro at physics, and i’ve seen you checking him out,” he pokes your knee, hard.

you wave him off, although you don’t deny it.

“oh my god, you totally should!” liz chimes in. “i coach peter for decathlon, he’s awesome. i’m sure he’d be happy to do it,” she vouches for him. “you think so?” you narrow your eyes at her. “of course. he’s a sweetheart,” liz laughs out. “c’mon, ask him,” harry encourages. “right now?” you peek over at peter.

he’s munching on a carrot stick, listening intently as one of his friends rambles.

“not like he has much else going on,” harry states, stealing liz’s coffee and chugging what’s left of it.

you are in desperate need of a tutor. there’s no way you’re repeating physics. once is more than enough, so you’ll take all the help you can get to pass the godforsaken class. it’s your senior year. if you fail, you risk not graduating. besides, peter is an expert, and he seems chill. if anyone can help you, it’s him.

it’s worth a shot.

“sure, what the hell?” you decide, swinging your legs off the table. “attagirl! that’s the spirit!” harry cheers. “remind him there’s acadec practice after school. he hasn’t been showing for some reason,” liz requests. “peter parker cutting classes? i gotta give him more credit,” you joke.

you stand up on the bench before hopping down into the grass. you then make your way over to peter’s table. as you’re approaching him, you shake out your oversized t-shirt to rid it of the smell of smoke. you plaster on your sweetest smile and stride up to peter and his friends, going to the head of the table. the three of them are caught up in their conversation.

“what’s up, parker?” you speak up. peter’s head whips in your direction. “leeds, watson,” you nod at his friends, ned and mj. mj nods back. “y/l/n,” ned greets, trying to play cool. “to what do we owe the pleasure?” mj asks. peter merely stares up at you. “can i sit?” you ask him. “uh, yeah. go ahead,” he mumbles.

you take the empty spot on the bench next to peter. his eyes practically pop out of his head.

peter is shocked you’re talking to him. he can’t recall you two ever even speaking before now. there’s also the fact that you’re you, and he’s him. it’s not like you run in the same circles.

what’s your deal?

“you’re probably wondering what i’m doing here,” you read peter’s mind. “what if i told you i knew a way you could make a dollar or two?” you start. he perks up, interest piqued. “keep talking,” he replies, nibbling on another carrot. “tutoring. have you ever considered it?” you grin, proud of your idea.

“tutoring for what?” mj questions. “and who?” ned piggybacks. you lock eyes with peter. “me, for physics,” you reveal. peter is dumbfounded, and his face doesn’t hide it. “seriously?” he almost chokes on his carrot. “that hard to believe, huh?” you chuckle. “i mean, no offense, but…” he looks to ned and mj. “you’re not exactly the tutoring type,” mj grimaces.

“listen,” you sigh, glancing between the three of them. “it wasn’t my first choice either, but i’m failing, and that’s not an option,” you explain. “i really don’t wanna retake this shit. i won’t make it through another year… not alive, at least.”

your voice quiets towards the end of your sentence. you pick at your manicured nails, gaze drifting to the ground. peter’s lips twitch into a sympathetic frown.

this must be heavy on your mind. he’d hate to see you struggling when he knows he could help, or anyone for that matter. plus, you offered to pay. he could really use the money.

“why peter, though? why do you want him to tutor you?” mj inquires. “yeah, why peter?” ned gawks. “liz wasn’t available,” you honestly answer. ned and mj share a look. “no, but seriously. he’s the smartest guy in our class. hell, he’s the smartest guy at this school,” you flash peter a smile. peter finds himself returning it. “who better than him?“ you rationalize. “fair enough,” he decides.

“is that a yes? you’ll do it?” you ask. “i’ll do it,” peter confirms. you grab him by his shoulder, face lighting up. “perfect! when do we start?” you wonder. “how’s today after school, if you’re free?” he responds, laughing softly at your enthusiasm. “i am, but you’re not. decathlon practice,” you click your tongue.

“how did you…” peter trails off. “liz,” ned and mj reply in unison. you beam at them. “okay. um, after practice? we could meet up?” peter lets his eyes flit to yours. “text me your addy. looking forward to working with you, parker,” you conclude, getting up from the bench. “you too, y/l/n. see you later,” he shoots you another smile.

you wave to ned and mj before jogging back over to your table. ned claps peter on the back, who’s looking at you over his shoulder.

if he only knew what he was in for.

“nice work, everyone! don’t forget to review the topics we discussed for next practice,” liz dismisses the decathlon team.

the team stands from the table, each saying their goodbyes to one another. peter and ned pack up their things.

“i can’t believe y/n y/l/n is coming over to your apartment,” ned raves. “neither can i,” peter murmurs, shoving books in his backpack. “seriously, peter! this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! what are you gonna wear?” ned asks. “uh, this?” peter gestures to his science pun t-shirt and khakis. “dude,” ned groans.

“i mean, does it matter? i’m only tutoring her, ned,” peter reminds him. “peter, you don’t just tutor a girl like y/n,” ned refutes. peter zips his backpack, looking blankly at him. “we’re gonna study, and i’m gonna get paid. that’s all,” he brushes him off. “that’s why i’m doing it, you know. for the money,” he slips a backpack strap onto his shoulder.

“really? that’s the only reason?” ned presses. “and, because i feel bad for her. nobody should have to retake physics. it’s the spawn of satan,” peter justifies. the two of them begin to make their way out of the auditorium. “true. well, good luck. let me know how it goes,” ned pats his friend on the shoulder. “alright. thanks, man,” peter replies before ned leaves the auditorium.

“peter!” liz shouts out. “come here a sec!”

peter clutches onto his backpack strap, head tilted to the side. he walks back over to the table, where liz is tidying the space. she pauses to rip a piece of paper from her notebook. she scribbles something down on it, then hands it to him.

“y/n’s number,” liz says. “right, thanks,” peter nods, tucking the paper into his pocket. “good job today, by the way. we missed you. don’t work y/n too hard,” she winks. “missed you guys too, and i won’t,” peter chuckles, exiting the auditorium at last.

once peter is settled in at home, he retrieves your number from his pocket. he puts it into his phone, lips pursed curiously. without thinking too much of it, peter types out his address and hits send. you reply all but a second later.

peter jumps when his phone buzzes, not expecting you to answer so fast. he cracks a small smile as he reads your message.

be there soon! brace yourself parker :)

peter gathers his physics materials while you head over to his apartment. he then decides to neaten up the messy space in anticipation of your arrival. you’re his company, he supposes. besides, his aunt may will surely appreciate him cleaning up after himself for a change. she’s always saying the place is a pigsty.

he’s pushing a cereal box into the kitchen cabinets when you knock at his door. he quickly closes the cabinets and scrambles to get the door, but not without stopping to check his reflection in the toaster. he meticulously combs back his hair with his fingers before he realizes what he’s doing.

ned must have gotten in his head.

peter rolls his eyes at himself and fixes his hair the way he had it. he pads over to the door, turning the knob to reveal you on the other side. you sport a wide grin, a textbook hugged to your chest. he’s pleasantly surprised that you came prepared.

“let’s get to work, shall we?” you prompt. “we shall. come on in,” peter invites you.

you wander inside, your perfume filling the air as you pass by. peter shuts the door and meets you at his kitchen table, where you’ve already seated yourself. you get comfortable in your chair, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other. you open up your textbook. peter sits across from you and does the same.

“so, what’s on the agenda?” you question. “i figured we could start at the beginning, go back to the basics,” peter responds. “we’ll take it slow, okay?” he looks over at you. “mm, not my specialty,” you remark. peter’s eyes widen at your innuendo. “kidding. whatever you think, parker. we’re in your territory now,” you say.

“okay, cool. turn to page-“ peter cuts himself off when you plop into the seat next to him. “i’d rather look on with you, if that’s alright. i’m a visual learner,” you explain. “sure, whatever works for you,” he assures you, flipping to the first chapter.

you move in so you can see better. your shoulder squishes against peter’s, the sweet scent of your perfume smelling stronger from how close you are. your lips part, then curve into a smile. peter gets distracted by your gaze, subconsciously inching even closer to you. you nod for him to start. he snaps out of his daze and shifts to face forward.

what the hell was that?

pull it together, peter. pull it together.

“chapter one, introduction to dynamics,” peter reads aloud. you follow along with your finger on the paper. “dynamics is the study of bodies in motion. dynamics is concerned with describing motion and explaining its causes,” he begins, glancing at you. “you okay with that?” he checks. “yeah, so far so good,” you affirm. “awesome. the general field of dynamics consists of two major areas,” he continues.

“should i be taking notes or something? i, uh, don’t wanna get lost,” you confess. peter looks up from the textbook, his kind eyes meeting yours. “is that how you usually study?” he asks. “on the rare occasion i do, yeah. i take notes as i go,” you reply. “i’m not sure how well it works, though. it’s sometimes too much to understand at once,” you shrug, chewing your lower lip.

“maybe we could try a different approach,” peter speaks quietly. “how about we read through the chapter first, then go back and write down what you think is important after?” he grins. you smile back, lip still between your teeth. “that sounds good. i like that,” you agree. “great, let’s go on. stop me anytime you want me to explain something, okay?” he offers. “mhm, thanks,” you hum.

“the general field of dynamics consists of two major areas: kinematics and kinetics…”

you and peter take your time working through the first chapter of your physics textbook. he’s impressed by your positive attitude and drive to learn more, taking an active interest in everything he covers. you’re grateful for peter’s patience with you and how willing he is to answer all your questions in as many ways as you need him to. you have a lot of them.

the session goes way better than either of you were expecting. although you’ve nowhere near mastered physics yet, you’re at least putting in an effort.

“this is a good place to stop for today, but we’re making progress,” peter eventually decides. you face palm into the textbook. “thank god. there’s only so much physics i can take,” you grumble. “you and me both,” he concurs, venturing into the kitchen. “snack?” he asks you. “yes, please,” you do a thumbs up.

“how was decathlon practice?” you make conversation while peter searches his fridge. “i’ll spare you the details. i think i’ve bored you enough for one day,” peter chuckles. “i asked, didn’t i?” you reiterate. you sit back up in your chair. “uh, it was good. we just ran some drills, talked about nationals,” he elaborates, now rummaging through the cabinets.

“ah, liz told me you guys might go back this year. you’re the reigning champs,” you recall. “that’s us,” peter echoes. when he opens the cabinet, the cereal he put away earlier falls out. “you like fruit loops?” he questions, holding up the box. “dude, i fucking love them. gimme,” you command.

peter pours you each a bowl of cereal and brings them back over to the table. you dig in, earning lighthearted laughter from him.

“when’s our next session?” you ask between a mouthful of fruit loops. “i thought we could meet, like, once a week or so. so, next week?” peter answers. you drop your spoon. “that’s it?” you inquire. “you wanna meet more than that?” peter copies your incredulous tone. you give him a look, a dead-serious look. “if you think it’ll help you, sure,” he says before downing the last of his cereal.

peter carries your empty bowls to the sink to wash them out. you push in your chair, fumbling around in your jeans for your wallet.

“well, i’ve gotta run. me and harry have some… business to attend to,” you speak over the running water. “we’ll discuss more tomorrow. thank you, parker. for the tutoring and the fruit loops,” you send him another smile. “you’re welcome. glad i could be of service,” he replies, and means it. “money’s on the table. see ya!” you inform him before rushing out the door.

did that really just happen?

peter dries off his hands with a kitchen towel and goes back over to collect the money. he sorts through it, blinking wildly. you left him a couple of twenty dollar bills. they smell of sugary vanilla, your signature scent.

“this is definitely more than a dollar or two,” peter remarks, pocketing the twenties.

that really just happened.

“alright, y/l/n. what’s it gonna be?” harry questions.

he’s multitasking, rolling a blunt while he deals to you. you’re sprawled across his bed on your stomach, feet up and kicking behind you. you’d come straight to his place after leaving peter’s. you need to restock your supplies, so it was time to hit him up.

“an ounce of your finest,” you respond. harry licks and pinches the rolling paper to shape it. “weed?” he asks. “yeah. i’m not into hard stuff,” you quirk a stern brow. “and what a shame that is, y/l/n. you have no idea what you’re missing,” harry sighs, setting down the freshly formed blunt. “i’d like to keep it that way,” you mumble.

“an ounce of my finest, coming right up,” harry announces. he tosses you a small, sealed baggie, which you catch. “pleasure doing business with you, osborn,” you let out a raspy laugh. “can i get some E, too?” you wonder. “lemme see if i have any. i was almost out, last time i checked,” harry rubs his chin.

you often wonder where harry gets this shit from. his father is a big businessman with connections all over the city, so you assume it’s something to do with that. the osborn name, that is.

“what do you need ecstasy for, anyway?” harry questions. “always like to have some, just in case. it’s fun to fuck on,” you clarify, arching your back to stretch it out. “trust me, i know,” he wiggles his eyebrows. he opens up a drawer he uses to hide his stash, fishing around for the ecstasy. “who’re you fucking nowadays?” he pries. “who am i not fucking?” you counter.

his hand emerges with another baggie, this one with two pills resembling smiley faces inside.

“come and get it,” harry prompts you. you lunge forward and reach for the bag, but he pulls it away. “that’s gonna cost extra, since i’m running low,” he smiles wickedly. “whatever it is, i’ll pay it,” you concede.

harry holds out his hand for you to place your wallet in it. you give it to him, sitting up on your knees. he gathers all the cash you have and counts the bills out. he inspects the pile with his tongue out in concentration.

“you’re short,” harry tells you.

you pat your pockets to feel around for any loose money. much to your dismay, there isn’t any.

“aw, shit. i gave the rest of my cash to parker,” you remember. “spot me?” you grin hopefully. “i’ll take this for now, and you can pay me the rest some other time,” harry compromises, putting the pile down on top of his dresser. “deal,” you seize the bag of ecstasy out of his hand.

“speaking of parker, how’d your study sesh go?” harry wonders. he grabs a lighter and the blunt he just rolled. “really good, actually. he’s an awesome tutor. plus, he’s literally the nicest guy ever,” you respond. “is he now?” harry asks, lighting up his blunt. “yup. he even made me fruit loops,” you add. “wow, fruit loops. i dunno what more you could ask for,” harry quips.

“lay off him, would you? it was cute,” you defend. harry inhales a generous amount of smoke from his blunt. “careful, y/l/n,” he warns, exhaling the smoke. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you have a crush,” he taunts. you tsk at him. “me? a crush? never,” you proclaim, snatching the blunt from harry.

harry looks you up and down inquisitively, then retrieves more paper to roll himself another blunt.

“she wants to meet again already? dude, she likes you,” ned nudges peter’s arm.

peter is filling ned and mj in on how your tutoring session went the next day at school. the three of them walk side by side in the hallway as they chat.

“or she’s just trying to pass physics, like she said,” mj corrects. “or both,” ned levels with her. peter shakes his head, eyeing ned. “no, mj’s right. y/n worked really hard last night. she wants to do well, is all,” he says. “of course i’m right. i’m always right,” mj declares. neither peter nor ned dare to disagree with her. “i have my theories, you guys have yours,” ned murmurs.

“uh huh. anyway, i should get to class. later, dorks,” mj dismisses herself from her friends. “bye, em,” peter replies.

ned pulls peter off to the side once mj is gone. he grips at either of peter’s arms, staring into his eyes with intensity. peter looks around the hall to make sure no one else notices their odd encounter.

“the signs are right there in front of you, peter. y/n wants you!” ned says. “i bet she’d totally hook up with you if you asked her,” he convinces. peter’s mouth falls open. “ned! have some class!” he whisper yells. “relax, dude. it’s what she does,” ned justifies. “and it’s none of our business. c’mon, we’re gonna be late,” peter chastises him.

peter isn’t proud of it, but he thinks more about what ned said after their conversation. you were sort of touchy with him yesterday. he’s not oblivious to the way you look at him, either. and, hey, it’s no secret you get around. not that that gives peter a right to your body or anything. it’s just something to consider.

realistically, you’re probably only being friendly. you act like that with pretty much everyone. peter doubts he’s even your type. you’re more likely to go for someone in your own league, someone more like harry osborn. for all peter knows, you already have.

when it’s time for physics, peter slips into his usual seat at the front and center of the room. he unpacks his things and waits for ms. warren to start the class. you and harry rush in as the bell is ringing, giggling about something amongst yourselves. peter’s eyes follow you to the back of the room, where the two of you sit. you give peter a wave and a small smile. he waves back, then turns to face the board.

“good afternoon, everyone. how are we all doing?” ms. warren greets. the class mumbles their responses. “glad to hear it. today, we’ll be peer reviewing your unit test i handed back yesterday,” she paces around the room. “as long as you work diligently, you may choose your own partners.”

you and harry fist bump each other. peter sinks down in his seat.

he dreads partner work in physics. none of his friends are in his class, so he always ends up alone. it’s humiliating.

“any discrepancies, come see me. i’ll be right up here. get to work, class,” ms. warren instructs.

there’s a chorus of chairs screeching and kids chattering as everyone splits into pairs. peter remains seated, his cheeks tinting pink. he gets out his test and looks through it absentmindedly, gaze going from the test to the clock. he’s ready for physics to be over. ms. warren strides over to his desk, a knowing look on her face.

“trouble finding a partner?” ms. warren questions. “i don’t mind working alone,” peter assures her. the deep shade of pink coating his cheeks says otherwise. “unfortunately for you, peter, this is peer review,” she laughs lightly. “we’re missing a few students today, so we’re an odd number. why don’t you join another group?” she asks.

“oh. um, i’m not sure anybody would wanna…” peter starts to make an excuse. “hey, parker!” you summon him. he turns to face you. “we’re looking for a third,” you say suggestively, harry smirking. peter glances back at ms. warren for approval. “your choice,” she comments before walking over to her desk.

peter weighs his options. he could either stay up here and die of embarrassment, or join you and harry. he decides to go with the latter.

he grabs his things and makes his way over to the two of you. you drag over an empty desk for him, grinning up at him. he instantly feels more at ease as he takes the seat, until harry speaks up.

“what’d you get on the test, parker? i’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” harry offers. “uh, i don’t think we’re actually supposed to share our grades-“ peter is interrupted by harry taking his test off his desk. “okay, sure,” he says instead. harry hums to himself at peter’s almost perfect score. “not bad, not bad,” he understates. “thanks,” peter nods. “you said it, y/l/n. parker here is brilliant,” harry concludes.

“you think i’m brilliant?” peter gives you a shy smile. “c’mon, parker. you are brilliant,” you push his shoulder playfully. “you two can compare grades later. let’s get to it, gentlemen,” you boss. “yes, ma’am,” harry salutes you, handing peter his test. “where did you guys wanna start?” peter wonders.

“from the top. i’d already fucked up on question one,” you show peter your test. there’s a big red X on the first question. “me, too,” harry sighs. “no worries, it was a hard one,” peter tells you both. “can i see your test again?” he asks you. you give it to him, brows raised. “for multiple choice, i recommend using process of elimination,” he begins. “good strategy,” harry acknowledges.

“let’s read through the choices. are there any you know right off the bat are wrong?” peter questions you. “uh, hold on,” you mumble.

you push the eraser of your pencil against your lips, reading the question to yourself. peter’s eyes can’t help but to trail down to your lips. you pout your bottom one out and turn the test towards you. peter sucks in a breath. your arm rests on his desk, head ever so slightly leaned against his.

“what about A?” you catch his attention. peter’s eyes move back up to yours. “huh?” he splutters. “choice A. that’s wrong, right?” you repeat. “right, yeah,” he laughs awkwardly. “so it’s wrong?“ you squint. “this is getting confusing. let me just,” peter chuckles again, crossing out A on your test. “there, process of elimination. you wanna do the rest?” he wonders.

“could i try, or is three a crowd?” harry buts in. “chill, harry. don’t act like you give a fuck about this stuff,” you tease, leaning further into peter. more color paints his cheeks just as they were paling. “you didn’t either ‘til yesterday,” harry reminds you. “yeah, well, a certain someone showed me i could,” you nudge peter’s arm.

a toothy grin creeps onto peter’s face.

“how about y/n finishes up question one, and harry, you take the next one,” peter suggests. “alrighty, then. i’ll get started,” harry agrees, picking up his pencil and beginning question two.

peter waits while the two of you redo the questions. you stay close to his side as you solve yours, using process of elimination to choose what you believe to be the correct answer. you elbow him gently once you’re finished.

“could you check this?” you ask peter. “sure, one sec,” he says, sliding your paper over to himself. you search for his eyes as they roam your paper. “how’d i do?” you bite into your lower lip. “um, you didn’t get it,” peter tells you. “seriously? shit, man. i’m a lost cause... i’m no good at this,” you complain.

“hey, don’t say that. you’re trying. that matters more than anything else,” peter reassures you. “you’ve got a long way to go, but you’ll get there. i’m here to help you,” he smiles. “thanks. i know i’m kinda slow at this shit, so thank you for being patient,” you reply. “thanks for being so understanding, too,” you place one of your hands atop his.

“you don’t have to thank me. i am your tutor, after all,” peter breathes out a laugh. “not right now, you’re not. you’re off the clock,” you point out. “i’m also your friend,” he toys with your fingers. “i mean, if you want me to be,” he hastily adds. “i do, yeah. friends it is,” you grin at him.

even though you’ve only known peter about a day, you could feel a fast friendship blooming. he’s not like harry or liz. he’s a teacher’s pet, he’s constantly tripping over his words. but, he’s also sweeter to you than anyone else is, guys especially. although, it’s not like the bar is set very high. the point is, you like that peter treats you differently than the other students at midtown do. it’s refreshing.

you don’t mind expanding your circle for him one bit.

“aye yo, parker,” harry taps peter on the shoulder. “this look right to you?”

he flashes peter his answer sheet, snorting. rather than doing question two like he was supposed to, he colored the empty bubbles in the shape of a dick. peter sports a pained expression. you give him a pat on the back.

“welcome to my world.”

tags: @sunshinehollandd @babyspiders @harbingerofheartbreak @moonsock @holland-styles @lowkey-holland​ @bi-lmg07 @rafeyybabyy @aayaissaa @explosiveholland @crybaby-culture @euphoricholland @jallerentrags​ @belovedholland @nocturnalms @mostdefinitelyhasissues @mayal0pez @hopeless-romantic-baby @cutetomholland @daddytasha @yeetedandoboi @curlyfriesthings @mclafm05 @minimarkive @hollandsangel @peterficrecs​ @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @peterparkeeh0le @walkintheprk @sleepingdancer @lilostif16 @cubedtriangle @sillykankam