#Metal Forces Magazine

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

HER MAJESTY THE METAL GODDESS OF THE '80s.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on American heavy metal guitarist/vocalist Lita Ford, photographed in colored leather for "Metal Forces" magazine in 1983. 📸: Geoffrey Thomas.

METAL FORCES: "So, what did you do when THE RUNAWAYS finally called it a day?"

LITA FORD: "I put together a band and tried to learn to sing, because I never really sang when I was with THE RUNAWAYS. I rehearsed every night with my band till I got a voice. It took me two years to develop some sort of a voice decent enough to the point where record labels would listen to me. When you try to get a deal in the United States the first thing they listen to is your voice, and so if you don’t have a good voice you obviously don’t get a record deal."

Source: www.metalforcesmagazine.com/site/feature-lita-ford-mf2.

Lita Ford

1983

[metal-sludge]

JAMES HETFIELD and KIRK HAMMETT of METALLICA (1983 - present) | METAL FORCES, December 1984.

[bluelockmaniac]

prisonguard!jjkmen X prisoner!reader ★ slight suggestiveness + gn!reader

prisonguard!satoru who shamelessly makes out with you, unbothered by the agape mouths of the prisoners in the surrounding cells. he shoots them a menacing glare, silently threatening them to keep their tongues locked in their mouths if they know what's best for them. he then gently pulls your curious (and slightly aroused) face closer to his, until your cheeks pressed against the cold metal of the iron bars. despite the barrier, he was able to capture your sweet lips fervently, slightly nibbling on the soft, addictive flesh.

prisonguard!nanami who openly delivers the warmest meals and the comfiest clothes directly to your cell, ignoring the envious gazes of covetous prisoners who were painfully aware of the privileges you had, that they lacked. the other guards held him in high regard due to his intimidating reputation, so when they caught him hauling a thick mattress, coupled with a fluffy pillow and blanket, slung effortlessly over his broad shoulder just for you, they immediately casted you in a new light— surely you were wronged, right?

prisonguard!sukuna who plays a dangerous game, sneaking into your cell late at night in a vulgarly obtrusive manner, as if he held no interest in the possibility of rousing all the vile convicts from their deep slumber. he settles himself homely on the edge of the wooden plank you called your ‘bed’, and while you couldn’t see his face properly due to the dimmed lighting, you can practically feel the smirk forming on his lips as he pulls you onto his lap, whispering temptations laced with a certain bittersweetness, promising that he’ll get you out of here one day—but not yet. he still wants to use you.

prisonguard!toji who couldn't care less about concealing his painfully obvious favoritism towards you. while he cruelly forces the inmates to do all the labour, having them sweep the dirty floors of the institution, scrub the filthy metal toilets of each cell, and handle the reeking laundry, you were innocently seated on his spread lap, in his office. you giggle softly as he plants kisses with blatant intentions on your hair, trailing down to your nape, all while you flip through the brand-new magazine he had bought exclusively for you.

prisonguard!choso whose careful footsteps echo down the walkway early in the morning, drawing closer to your cell as he does every single day. he enters quietly, a smile spreading across his face when he sees you waiting for him on the edge of your dented bed, wide awake, with the scalpel he had gifted you resting lightly in your grip. you quickly stand and move to the cement wall where dates, names, and vulgarity were carved. sighing happily, you feel him standing behind you, his chest pressing against your back. he gently guides your hand with the scalpel to the wall, slowly chipping away at the concrete to write a number. three. you glance back at him with a smirk, which he responds with a ticklish pinch on the plush of your waist. three more days till he gets you the fuck out of here.

prisonguard!suguru who flashes you one of his notorious smiles, your eyes immediately drawn to the prison guard’s uniform hanging from his arm, then to the scarlet-tinted baton he held carelessly in his other hand. your lips curl upwards into a grin of delight, laughing as you fathom the fact that he actually followed through on his promise. you quickly loop your arms around his neck, kissing him softly, before taking the slightly oversized uniform and dressing up while no one, prisoner or guard, was watching. after you were finished, he walked confidently down the hallway with you by his side. no guard bothered to question the unfamiliar face beside him. he didn’t even have to use the excuse of patrol duty. ultimately, he was able to successfully orchestrate your escape. but not to worry, he has you safely and comfortably hidden in his apartment after a search for you was later launched that day.

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[adieutristana]

painkiller; jinx x fem!reader

kinda nervous to post this one idk if it’s too nasty oops

characters included; jinx

summary; it’s that time of the month, and cramps have you down for the count. jinx is all too eager to help.

tags/warnings; dom!jinx, sub!reader, period sex, tribbing, dirty talk, NASTY, porn with plot (kinda)

men and minors dni.

fizz... BOOM!

another experiment blowing up in jinx's face, figuratively and literally. the girl huffs in light frustration as she lifts her goggles to rest atop her head, using her elbow to wipe gunpowder off her face. another failed experiment.

she's used to it by now, though- these things never go smoothly. it's a process of trial and error rather than one smooth testing sequence, one she's come to embrace. all the girl can do new is pick up the pieces of the last experiment, identify and fix her errors, and try again.

but the sound of you groaning behind her is making it increasingly hard to focus.

you're curled up on your side on jinx's cot, your knees tugged tight to your chest. you've been like this for the past hour or so, softly rocking yourself while you make little grunts in pain. you're on your period- and while your periods usually give you discomfort, this is the worst it's been in a while. bad enough that you didn't go to any of your classes today, and that's something you never do.

you'd already taken pain medicine, already tried a warm compress... nothing is helping. just you and your cramps, and you have to tough it out.

your girlfriend then turns around in her chair with a short huff. her brows are furrowed, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

"alright, what's all this fussing about?" she asks, clearly a bit impatient.

"i just.. ah," you grumble, trying to uncurl yourself just a bit. but as soon as you do another cramp hits, and you're forced to retreat back into your own embrace. "it's that time of the month. second day."

jinx's expression drops, and her eyes widen just a bit. second day- that's rough.

"oh," she purses her lips. "why didn't ya tell me? i could've been helping you out."

"you're busy. i didn't wanna distract you..."

jinx quickly scrambles to her feet, crouching beside her workbench to begin shuffling through drawers. it's a bit comical how she doesn't keep track of where things are in her own space, but she digs through regardless. first drawer is just a bunch of stray blueprints and paint cans, second is... toys, third is assorted magazines and books, and fourth is where she keeps first-aid supplies. supplies you'd given her after seeing her patch up her leg with a stapler.

"a-ha! got it!"

she scampers over to you, crouching beside you as she unwraps a heat pad and begins pushing up your shirt. you just sigh at the sight, though, and shake your head.

"i already tried a hot water bottle, babe."

"yeah, well that's a water bottle. this is a heating pad. maybe it'll be different."

she sticks the pad to your lower stomach, applying a bit of pressure (earning a few giggles from you) before she tugs your shirt back down. the girl steps back, placing her hands on her hips in that confident way she always does.

"ta-da! it should start working in..." she glances at the back of the box again. "fifteen minutes! then you'll feel all better. no more pesky cramps."

she gives your arm one last firm pat before standing up and making her way back to the workbench. it's seconds before you can hear a blowtorch and metal clinking, sounds you've become all too familiar with. laid on your back now, you can only close your eyes while you wait for the heat pad to start working- that is, if it does work. you've tried everything you can at this point, but it still feels like you're being ripped from the inside out. your stomach hurts, your lower back hurts, you've been feeling nauseous on and off the entire day. thankfully, it's off right now.

waiting is the hard part, but as you feel the heat spread over your lower stomach, it does work. not to the extent you'd like, but you'll take anything at this point. the pain eases over the next few minutes while the sounds of jinx working fade into the background. you're a bit more mobile now, able to sit up (although with a slouch still)- but you can watch jinx, you could put something on the tv if you wanted to.

for now, though, you'll just stay laid on your side with the heat pad working its magic. the girl in front of you wheels herself around swiftly, tweaking blueprints and humming to herself while she works on.. something. she'd told you she was trying to concentrate the hex crystal's energy into other mediums, but nothing was successful yet. though knowing jinx and how smart she is, how resourceful, it's a matter of time before she figures something out.

she then swivels her chair around, facing you with wide eyes before she wheels herself over to you. the girl stops right in front of her cot, placing a hand over the pad on your stomach.

"feeling better?" she hums.

"for the most part," you murmur, giving her a weak smile. "it still hurts a little, but i expected that."

but jinx's face just twists a bit, and she wrinkles her nose in discontentment. "mm... that's no good. the pain should be gone, like- totally gone."

"babe, really, i don't expect this thing to work miracles."

"but toooots, i don't like seeing you hurting!" she nearly whines, and leans forward over her knees in thought. her face twists again, a look you've come to recognize. she's trying to figure something out, ever the problem-solver.

one thing you've come to recognize, and love about jinx is that she's fiercely protective. she can't stand the thought of anyone or anything hurting you, even if it's your own uterus once a month. she cares, she only wants the best for you, she only wants to see you happy. you rocking yourself in her cot to ease the cramps that are wracking your body? no good.

then you hear her gasp, and snap her fingers.

"i got it!"

she then climbs on the cot with you, swinging a leg over to straddle your lower half. jinx is wearing a wide, toothy grin, as if she's just cracked the code.

"i know what'll help your little... dilemma," she chuckles, her fingernails trailing down your stomach towards the waistband of your shorts. her tone is smooth, calculated- the kind that comes right before trouble. the coldness of the metal finger sends a shiver down your spine, but she stops just short of the elastic to look back up at you. "if you'll let me."

but it sends your mind reeling. she can't seriously be suggesting that, can she?

"baby, i'm on my period," you stress.

"yeah, i know that. and?"

"and, it's my second day, and there's a lot of blood, and i," you huff, crossing your arms over your chest with a light frown. you'd be lying if you said that this wasn't enticing. you can feel your heartbeat quickening and the hairs on your arms stand on end, but you can't. it's too messy, probably too risky. "i feel gross..."

but jinx just scoffs, rolling her rosy eyes as if it's nothing to her.

"okay, so we'll put down some towels. no big deal." she pokes your side playfully. "you're anything but gross, toots. come onnn, it'll make you feel good! they say orgasms make cramps better. like... an organic painkiller."

you're still not fully sold, though, and jinx just sighs in mild exasperation. you want this, you do. but it'll be messy, things could go wrong, you feel the furthest thing from sexy right now. she leans down, pressing a gentle kiss against the pulse point of your neck, eliciting a gasp from you.

"baby, i wanna do this," she murmurs, plump lips brushing the skin of your neck. "i'll make you feel real good, promise."

and damn it, she's convincing. she's offering.

"...okay," you whisper, swallowing as you glance down at jinx. "but we put those towels down."

her lips curve into a wide grin, and she just nods, giving a mock-salute while she crawls off you. "you got it!"

she's back in a matter of seconds with a few already paint-stained towels, gesturing for you to lift your hips- which you do, so she can place them down. she's then crawling over you again, one arm on either side of your head while she gazes down. like a predator about to pounce on their prey, she's smiling at you like she's about to devour you. saying she wants to is an understatement.

you don't have more than a split second to think before she surges down, and her lips crash into yours- already heated and quick, her lips moving against yours with fervor. you gasp, trying to match her eager pace, but your efforts seem futile. even with the lingering aches, you're learning rather quickly that jinx doesn't plan on being gentle tonight.

dark lips trail over your jawline, peppering down the expanse of your neck while she feels you already beginning to squirm. as if jinx's ego needs to get any bigger, her gapped teeth nip at your skin a few times, her hands beginning to run up and down your sides. gripping you, digging into the fat on your hips for just a moment before she takes the edge of the heat pad.

"you won't need this," she murmurs against your neck, before slowly pulling it off. the removal stings, adhesive gripping your skin, but it's over in a matter of seconds.

not wasting any time, she resumes kissing down your soft skin. trailing to your collarbones, then right over your heart- fingers toying with the hemline of your top while she continues exploring you with her lips alone. it's intense, it's fast, but throughout all of the rough passion you can tell how much jinx cares. she slowly slips the fabric over your head with you eagerly lifting your arms to assist her.

her bangs brushing over your ribs tickle a bit, but you can only softly gasp while she continues her descent. down your sternum, reaching one of her hands towards your bare breast to pinch your nipple- your back arching the slightest bit into her touch.

"yeah? feel good?" she chuckles, rolling the bud between her thumb and forefinger.

"mhm," you nod, a low whine rumbling in the back of your throat.

"mm... good. you know i love these pretty tits."

she lets out a satisfied hum, giving your nipple one last hard pinch before she drags her tongue down the valley between your breasts.

it's electric, the feeling of her warm tongue on your skin. her skin is cold, but her presence is so warm, so inviting. you wish you could stay wrapped in her embrace forever. that you'd never have to give up jinx's touch, no matter how calloused her fingers may be or how gruff her words.

she leaves one final kiss on your lower stomach, right over your uterus- as if to kiss the soreness away, before hooking her cold fingers into the waistband of your shorts to hastily pull them down. they're discarded quickly, as are your panties. you're already leaking a bit over the towels, but that's what they're there for, aren't they?

"so pretty... you're shakin' already. i haven't even touched ya, trinket!"

"i- i can't help it," you breathe out, but jinx just chuckles.

the anticipation builds, and builds, but to your surprise, jinx leans back to sit on her knees and begin undressing herself. her cropped top is the first to go, revealing those perky tits you love so much. your throat goes dry at the sight, but she quickly unbuckles her belt and slips off her pants, leaving her in just a pair of black panties as she crawls back over you.

she then giggles to herself, before slowly removing the final garment, leaving her bare. she's enjoying this, observing your confused expression. and then- she slots herself between your legs, and your eyes widen.

"jinx, you're-"

but she cuts you off with a soft 'shh' as she scoots another inkling close to you, cores not quite touching yet.

"just let me do my thing, baby," she drawls, a lazy smile on her face.

"but you'll get all messy," you argue. it's a weak protest and you know it, but you don't want to cause more trouble than necessary.

"you're adorable," she huffs, rolling her eyes. "all worried about making a mess. that's half the fun, toots!"

and then her heat presses to yours, and you gasp. she starts moving-slowly, tentatively, as if to test the waters. your hands hastily find the dip of her waist, gripping on for stability while she grinds against yours. you feel a brush of your clits, then another- and with your heightened hormones, it sends you spiraling.

"baby, i- haah.."

"yeeeeeah," she drawls out, looking down between both of your legs. it's downright vulgar, how your needy pussies are pressed right against each other, grinding and sliding together with wet squelches as blood distributes between the two of you. "you hear that? how wet you are? she's tellin' me how bad she wants this- mmph.."

your hips move in tandem with hers. the more you go on, the less you're able to hold back, it's everything you didn't know you needed.

the pace becomes more and more frenzied with each passing moment, jinx grabbing at your tits, fingernails digging into your asscheeks, licking stripes up your neck while your hands move to her peach of an ass to push her further against you. your head falls back if only for a second, lewd moans and whines escaping you. you can feel it- there's a filthy mess between the two of you, spread across both of your inner thighs and a bit of jinx's lower stomach. but neither of you can be bothered to care.

she's panting, lips parted while your eyes nearly glaze over with the feeling. the sweat alone is causing your mascara to run, but it only serves to make the girl more desperate. seeing you so utterly wrecked, it does something to her.

"gonna fuck you real good- ngh, make ya forget allll about those cramps," she breathes out, nails leaving little 'c' shapes in the flesh of your hips. "don't stop, don't you fucking dare stop!"

"gods, please," you whimper, your head falling forward onto her shoulder.

your soaking cunt ruts against hers with the urgency of a needy mutt, chasing ecstasy like your life depends on it. your comfort does, at least. a broken medley of 'pleasepleaseplease's leave you, although you're too far gone at this point to tell exactly what you're begging for. for her to keep going? for your release? and you just hear high-pitched whines right in your ear, breathy and shrill. the rasp of your girlfriend's voice never fails to make you squirm.

"please, it's so good, so good-"

"i know, baby, fuck-" she grunts, another sharp brush of your clits making her hips stutter. her gapped teeth sink into her lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood. "uuhh, you feel so fucking good! shit, baby! you've- ah, got no idea how good this pussy is!"

you're near the edge, the contracting in your lower stomach replaced by a familiar coiling. the towels below you are a painting of crimson, your bodies both covered in a thin sheen of sweat while your needy pussies meet again and again. the knot gets tighter and tighter with each movement, threatening to break at any second-

"uungh, jinx, i'm gonna- gonna!"

she then lunges forward to crash her lips against yours, immediately shoving her hot tongue past your lips like she wants to consume you. it's a whirlwind of teeth and tongue, clashing together like a thunderstorm while your tongue swirls with hers, explores her mouth, lips moving with a speed you can't track down- drool dripping down your chin. and still, the movements don't stop.

you can tell she's close too, by the way her toned abs clench with each grind. but she's trying to get you there first, ever dedicated to helping you.

you pull back with a high cry of her name, feeling the thread finally snap- and your vision goes white for a second. it's as if the rest of the world is completely gone, reduced only to you and the girl pressed against your body.

"jinx- aaah! shit, shit! cumming, cumming-"

and you feel her follow right after, her breath trembling and hips stuttering as she feels her orgasm wash over her.

"gah, fuuuuck! that's it- that's, ohh!"

your synchronized moans sound like something out of a dirty movie, low and needy and pathetic, but so fucking delicious. her bangs stuck to her forehead, spittle dripping down your chin, blood and cum mixed between your cunts and inner thighs- and it's perfect.

a moment of silence follows, both of you panting out. neither of you move, just letting the moment linger. the mess between you ever-present. your mind is too hazy to make out exactly what just happened, flushed and sweaty- but the cramps are gone. completely gone.

"...feel better?" jinx breathes out, voice gravelly.

"yeah," you nod, slowly. "a lot better."

[ghostyuri]

you’ve seen the butcher

hey guys whats up

pairing…post-rescue!shauna shipman x fem!reader

in which…you make a new life for yourself after being rescued, but that doesn’t stop your ex from finding you.

before you read…18+. nsfw. smut!!!! shauna shipman being shauna shipman. did i mention gay sex. everything is morally grey. wc 3.8k.

no one came to visit you. not friends, not family, just an occasional deer and fox that leave their friendly marks on the dirt surrounding your home, always near the blooming june flowers. 

though, you couldn’t say they were the ones who left a beat-up cardboard box on your porch.

you had yet to touch it, because that had meant bringing it inside, opening it, and seeing whatever the fuck it was. 

and nothing about an anonymous delivery with no return address, at your cabin in the middle of the damn woods, screams good news. 

especially when you’ve done your best to remain off the grid, and away from everyone that once knew you. those girls most importantly. what happened out there, stayed out there; that’s what she told you. 

the words that left shauna shipman’s mouth after you were rambling in your hospital bed that you do like her—like like her—your heartbroken self trying to keep what you two had before they found you.

the long romantic nights in your shared hut, whether that meant physical or simply holding her after she was comfortable enough to cry to you. 

that wasn’t often, shauna feared vulnerability. 

you guess that’s why she couldn’t face her feelings for you when there was a such thing as being in the public eye. why she kept whatever she still felt for you, a secret.

you, her secret. 

drunken sleepovers that made her feel alive again. locking you in the bedroom of some rando’s party. parking at the beach at night when it was just you and her and the water and the moon.

that didn’t last. she had jeff, and you had no one, just the weight of feeling like a burden. 

you had moved away quietly just a year ago. not a word was said to anyone because they would just try to talk you out of it. thinking it was some fucked up response to your trauma, moving to a remote location, your only neighbors being the trees and passing animals. 

maybe it was, or maybe it was just a cheap buy and a desperate urge to get away from everything. 

although, that didn’t mean you could truly leave the past, in the past. 

you get up from your dining chair, no longer able to occupy yourself with the latest flashy magazine you picked up in town, forcing yourself to walk to your front door. 

you open it, and the wind chimes hung on your porch greet you, the metal echoing while the sun sets over the cabin. the package is still sitting at the top of the steps, taunting you.

before you step outside, your eyes scan the area, from the tall vibrant green trees around your home, to whoever could be stalking behind them. there’s no one and nothing, so you push the screen door, the warm breeze hugging you when you walk over and grab the box, not wasting time to get back inside.

you bring it to the table, using a dull knife to cut through the messy tape, a scowl on your face at the idea of something gross being inside. 

luckily, it’s not.

it’s a vhs tape, no note, no other random object in the box, just that alone. eerie, and oddly intriguing. you slowly walk to the room over, kneeling before the boxed tv that’s currently on a broadcast of an old game show. the laughter from the speakers cuts off when you switch the channel, inserting the tape into the player beside you.

you should be more hesitant, more worried, but you were now way too fucking curious. the screen is static at first, then plain darkness with muffled voices. 

that goes on for nearly a minute before the camera is seemingly tossed on a mattress, facing a wall.

shauna’s wall, her bedroom, and her voice in the background. then, she emerges in the frame, laying back on her bed with her elbows propping her up. 

she wears a toothy grin and eyes something off-camera like she’s looking at meat. then you hear yourself.

“why would you fucking invite him?”

you sound pissed, and shauna seems to take enjoyment in it, still smiling like an asshole. typical. 

“jeff literally passes out before the family guy theme song ends, chill.”

you turn the volume up, the approaching night causing the temperature to drop and the breeze to pick up, the wind chimes growing louder outside your windows. 

“yeah, okay,” you laugh dryly, “i should’ve just gone out with natalie instead of this bullshit.”

“you still can, you know? i mean you’re fucking dressed for it.”

the smile had dropped from shauna’s face the moment you mentioned the other yellowjacket, her dark eyes seemingly scanning your figure still away from the camera, while the angered words spewed from her pink lips. 

it goes silent. almost like the camera had broken, and didn’t pick up any audio.

you shift uncomfortably, noticing the way her pixelated face softens and she frowns with a pout. the switch; what she pulled in every argument that got you to shut up when you locked eyes with her doe ones. you predict the next words that leave her lips.

“i’m sorry, okay? c’mere…”

she was always sorry. always for a different reason, and you never once questioned her if she ever truly was; you liked to believe so. you feel pity for yourself, watching you emerge into frame, in that fucking dress she had gifted you.

it was a mint green with tiny white flowers—one that seemed familiar as if you’d seen it in her closet. though, shauna had never worn it. 

you stood before her, and shauna dramatically pouted, her palm on the back of your thigh, pulling you into her lap and slipping beneath the material of the dress.

shauna wanted you to see this. to see her hands traveling on the sacred parts of your body and her mouth on your neck; eyes locking momentarily with the camera lenses. you hate her. she’s not here, and you haven’t seen her in so fucking long, but you swear you hate her. 

you hit stop on the vhs player, the television screen now blue and reflecting off of your flustered face. 

you didn’t need to watch it to remember it. that sleepover took place once your therapy started working and your family stopped coddling you so damn much. things had gone back to a somewhat normal and you thought one night with shauna would be fine. good, even.

you hadn’t known that making out with her until jeff showed up with a pizza, would lead to an argument that would cause you both to stop talking to each other. 

you’d bring up her worst habits; like cheating when you could just fucking be together, and she’d say the meanest shit to you to get a reaction, and remove the burning spotlight from herself. 

how could she ever date someone as pathetic as you? as boring? you didn’t answer her when she asked that.

she had ended it her hot headed rant with ‘you aren’t special.’

the words that were drilled into your head until the weeks passed and you left her, and that town, behind.

and out of everyone, shauna fucking shipman was the first to find you.

it hits you at once, she came here and you didn’t even notice. 

the goosebumps rise on your skin, the metal of the wind chimes clinging with a force. your head turns immediately, eyes peering into the darkness that's outside your windows. 

you’re not as pathetic as she thinks. 

you get up, walking with hurried steps to your dimly lit room, though you don’t need the warm lamp beside your bed to see beneath it. you know exactly where it is, the shotgun you purchased not even a week of living out here. surely not the safest spot but easy access.

you bend down and grab it, not yet adjusting the safety as you follow your footsteps back to where the tv is still blue, turning and heading towards the door. you turn the porch light on, and exit the home, keeping the weapon pointed while you study your surroundings. 

you think you should shout something; especially when a branch snaps to the left of your porch, but you remain mute. you even take a few steps forward, and down the stairs, holding a hardened face and scanning the forest with the gun. 

a minute passes, and then two, and nothing greets you. not a scared deer or a protective mother bear or a terrorizing shauna shipman. 

the nerves in your system don’t settle, and you nervously turn back around and rush into your small home; where the television screen is no longer blue, and playing the fucking homemade movie.

you don’t let the scene play out, briefly catching a glimpse of her mouth attacking your neck before you unplug the television completely, leaving the screen foggy and dark, with the shadow of two figures reflecting in it.

“that’s lame—you were just getting to the good part.”

you hear her before you see her. part of you doesn’t even want to turn around and face her, to acknowledge shauna is here and not in your nightmares and dreams. you don’t lower your gun, if anything you keep it lined with her chest when you do force yourself to look at her.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“i missed you?” shauna says so casually, as if the tension in the cabin was one-sided, or nonexistent completely. she doesn’t even care that you’re pointing a weapon at her—she knows you wouldn’t use it—and she moves away from the door, taking a seat on the couch. legs spread and eyes locked on you.

shauna doesn’t look much different from the last day you saw her; maybe with less makeup and longer hair. she ditched her light clothes for a dark long sleeve and pants similar in shade, and heavy boots rather than the flats jeff likes seeing her wear. she notices the steady trail of your eyes, leaning back in the cushion.

“you don’t think it’s like…stockholm-y to be out here?” 

“i like it.”

her mouth opens, then shuts, a hummed laugh.

“yeah,” she mumbles, “i bet you do.”

you bite your tongue, and there’s a beat of silence.

“must be nice,” shauna speaks quietly, daring to remove her eyes from you to inspect your home, fingertips trailing the arm of the couch, “to just…leave.”

“didn’t really feel welcomed back at home,” you mutter, and it’s not rocket science to figure out you’re talking about her, not the occasional judgmental eyes or unwanted sympathy you received at the mall. 

she ignores the passive aggressive comment, narrowing her gaze, “you left me behind…so fucking easy for you, too.”

shauna earns a short chuckle from yourself; because you couldn’t help but find it hilarious that she’s somehow the victim here. the narrative that she’s your precious lover that you left in the dust with a smile—when you cried to yourself the first damn night you were miles away.

“that what you came out here for?” you ask, lowering your gun until it points to the scratched-up wood floor, “to throw a pity party?”

“i deserve it after what you did to me,” shauna mutters, making your jaw slightly drop at the sheer audacity shipman had. you couldn’t say you were the best girlfriend, but holy fuck.

sure, you’d blame the shit that happened out there, solely on her, like you weren’t stood firmly by her side when she insisted on staying in the woods. and yeah, she’d beg to see you because you were the only one that understood her, and you’d ignore her calls and keep your door locked when she showed up unexpectedly.

but, shauna was worse. that’s what you tell yourself.

you shake your head, and point your finger, “i did you a favor by fuckin’ leaving—a-and you have him.” 

“i never wanted him and you out of everyone know that.”

shauna gets up now, and her height doesn’t play a factor in how she seems to tower you. that’s just her when she got like this; pissed. 

“i needed you,” her voice raises, stepping around the coffee table before her, but not yet closer to you. she’s being smart about this—catching her emotions bleed through her tone and gulping, blinking fast. 

she pays no mind to the pain ripping through her chest, resisting the urge to scream how fucking badly losing you had hurt, and how selfish you are for not caring. you expect the switch, and her demeanor does indeed shift, but it’s not the kind eyes and light voice. 

she slowly walks over, a hint of a grin on her face, watching you dare to raise the shotgun at her. you can only shuffle in place nervously when she’s right in front of you, pressing herself into the barrel. 

“think you can do it?” she teases, testing you despite knowing the outcome.

“i just want you to leave, shauna—and not fucking come back,” you tell her, voice wavering and your stare trailing to the center of her chest, where your gun rests. you don’t even sound convincing to yourself.

“think you want a little more than that.”

her hand finds the top of the gun, gripping it at once, observing the way your pretty lips frown while the weapon sways. she truly did miss this. 

how not only was it the fear that coursed through you, it was excitement. a quick widening of your eyes as they begin to mirror her darkened ones, letting her take full control of the gun now. 

it’s why you connected with shauna shipman in the first place. you’re not that different.

the shotgun is now pointed at you, her head tilting to your kitchen. she demands, “walk.”

you obey. with soft steps, your feet carry you to the room over, barely making it in the archway before you felt the cool metal pressing into your backside, into the thin material of your lavender nightgown.

she pushes you to the small brown dining table in the middle of the room, though the weapon was more so encouragement than force. you bend over the surface without her having to ask, your face tilted sideways on the wood grain.

shauna is already high on euphoria at how easily you let go of any personal fucking ‘morals’ you claim to have, giving yourself up for her the way people do to their beloved gods. as if you never even parted ways. if only. she thinks she’d have somehow gotten you pregnant by now, had she continued to have access to you. 

you’re just so beautiful, she thinks, putting the gun beside your head, gently stroking the side of your temple with her thumb. she only sees you in photos now, or envisions the common scowl on your face mid argument. but you like this, waiting for her, yearning for her; fucking angelic.

shauna roughly pushes your nightgown up, pulling down your underwear, nearly drooling at the sight. the plus side about you being out here, meant you were alone—no one to feel you in the ways she pictures before bed. 

“you know,” she begins, holding back a laugh at the way you huff to yourself, already so damn eager for her, “i told you i missed you…you didn’t say shit back.” 

you don’t respond, nearly twitching the moment her fingers find their way between your thighs, trailing up the skin, and to the most sensitive part.

you sigh, two fingers rubbing precisely in a circular motion with ease; your underwear had grown damp moments ago. another thing so easy for shauna. 

“and that’s weird—because…” she leans over you, her hips pressing against your own while her weight is on your back.

her fingers suddenly leave your clit, swiping against your pussy, and she holds her hand up, just inches from your face. she’s forcing you to watch it glisten. 

she tries to humiliate you, snickering, “seems like you do.”

shauna doesn’t expect you to grab her wrist, pull her closer, and wrap your lips around her fingertips, pushing your head down upon them. she gulps, a raspy ‘fuck,’ muttered near your ear—before she suddenly bites it, and reconnects her hand to your cunt.

you gasp when she wastes no more time, entering two fingers still coated with your spit inside of you, moving them as if she’s trying to remember what you felt like. you’re squeezing her, groaning her name, and shauna can confirm this is what heaven is. 

not fucking pure white clouds and a golden gate like jeff’s parents insist to her—it’s your warmth. in every way that had meant. 

she slowly pulls out, both of you exhaling, before she starts to pump them into you.

her wrist is angled in the most perfect way, that her index finger is prodding at that soft and special spot inside you; the lonely cabin filled with the lewd sounds of her fucking you and ragged breaths. 

your heavy eyelids are focused on the gun in front of your face, shauna’s hand still on it while her other one is roughly working below your waist. you have to stretch your arms over to the edge of the table, attempting to stop sliding with each thrust—not from her fingers, but rather her pelvis pushing into your ass. 

“say it,” she breathes, “tell me you missed me.”

again, you ignore her, only paying attention to the way she was fucking you with no mercy.

her hand frees from the weapon to the base of your neck; a delicate hold with a careful squeeze.

you groan, “i did—i did, shauna.”

she smiles with cocky satisfaction, before occupying her lips on the backside of your shoulder, sinking her teeth into you in sync with her fingers.

you’re clenching around her now; shauna moaning into your flesh at the sensation, slowing down her movements to really feel you. 

you’re so close, you weakly try to hump her hand, to increase the speed she’s suddenly lacking. shauna laughs at you this time because you’re too intoxicated on her to care. 

“missed you real fuckin’ bad.”

the words leave your mouth like a hushed sin, raw and honest, and probably something you’ll regret once you come down from this high. shauna is fucking thriving. 

“should’ve come sooner,” she says, picking up her pace, earning the most heavenly cry from you when she pushes her fingers deep and presses hard. “you just looked so peaceful out here…all alone.”

your blurry vision, somewhat steadies, back onto the gun, replaying what she had just told you again in your head. but it’s too late, your mind goes fuzzy and your legs go limp, whimpering her name when she brings you to that sweet edge. 

“c’mon,” she whispers from behind you, “fucking give it to me.”

you feel her fingers slide out of you, focusing once again on your clit, rubbing harsh and sloppy circles that make you see stars. shauna could never forget your body, or how to treat it, it’s her favorite place.

her hips continue to grind into you, teeth nipping at the back of your neck, tickling a sweet spot while you tremble head to toe.

“ssshauna.”

it comes out a very bleak warning, shauna humming but not letting up between your legs. you swear the table she has you bent over will have your nail marks in it, scratching down the surface, shutting your eyes while her hand tightly clutches your throat. 

she pulls you up—you can hardly even stand—her grip from nearly choking you is keeping you from collapsing. you’re leaning your weight on her body, still trapped between her and the table, the woman now silent as she brought you to another orgasm.

and it happens fast…for the both of you. shauna couldn’t help it, you felt too perfect squirming against her, and you use her name like your only prayer—she missed this way too damn much.

she has to taste you. she earned it, after all.

with a long trailed stroke on your pussy, she brings her fingers to her salivating mouth, sucking on them and not wasting a single drop of you. her eyes shut in bliss, wishing this could last forever. 

then, she snuggles her head into the crook of your neck, an innocent kiss compared to what she had just done.

for a few minutes, the cabin is still, and shauna holds you while you both come down from your high. that is, until you slip from her arms, tugging your underwear back up and fixing your nightgown. her fixated stare doesn’t leave you, and you turn around to meet it.

“…you knew i was here.”

shauna blinks at you, walking away, opening one of the cabinets in the kitchen. she grabs a glass cup, conveniently knowing where they were located, and fills it at the sink.

“i mean, i’m here, aren’t i?”

you bite your tongue, your eyes not leaving hers while she gulps the water down. the faulty wiring in the old cabin makes itself known, the lights flickering once more, a heavy gust of the night breeze flowing through the windows. 

“shau—” “how about i run you a bath? with those bubbles you like, hm?”

you don’t get the chance to reply, subtly flinching when she hits the glass on the counter to set it down. with a soft smile, she walks toward you, halting her steps to kiss the apple of your cheek. you start to turn your head, and she grips your chin, tilting your jaw to her.

you’re upset, she knows this, you get stubborn.

deep down, you won’t admit why, but shauna doesn’t need a verbal confirmation from you. she hears you, crying out her name in the darkness of your bedroom, windows open like it was a fucking beckoning.

keeping old polaroids of you together on your nightstand to hold when you needed her. because no matter how many times you scream and shout that you hate shauna shipman—you love her so much more—so deeply and there’s simply no way you could ever stop.

you know what she’s capable of, the sick shit that happened in those woods that she fucking loved. you’ve seen her at her worst and her cruelest and you don’t care.

you’re upset shauna hadn’t made her presence known sooner.

you close your eyes when shauna kisses you, your fists balling around the fabric of her black shirt. it’s not rushed, not at all messy, shauna’s mouth is practically eating yours with a slow hungry passion.

it transports you to the past, and for a moment, there is no bad. not even the kind that you accepted and tolerated and took depraved amusement in. it’s just two people that love each other for who they are, no matter what.

the world unpauses when her tongue stops moving with yours.

shauna pulls away, and continues to the bathroom, walking down the hall and glancing back at you, waiting for you to follow. 

and you do, without hesistation.

[zuhaism]

⊹ ｡˚ 𓂃 ♡ BITTERSWEET FEELINGS ?!

[ navigation ]

pairing : jock!reader x meangirl!jimin

synopsis : you swore on your homies life jimins car wasnt there when you reversed. now you have to face the consequences of being jimins slave for the whole summer

a/n : IM BACK GUYS I FINISHED HIGHSCHOOL WOWOWOWOWOWO. i have a sophia fic cooking up in the oven pls give me motivation to write

the sun rays burns down on the pavement. casting shimmering heat waves off the rows of parked cars infront of the supermarket. the air smells like asphalt and faintly of gasoline. tension in the air so thick it might as well be solid and yet. none of it compares to the suffocating weight in your chest as you stare, in horror, at the very expensive, very sleek, very ruined black car in front of you.

you really didn’t mean to do it.

you swear on your mom’s life you didn’t.

but the horrifying crunch of metal against metal still rings in your ears. vibrating through your bones like the aftershock of an earthquake. your hands are frozen on the wheel, white-knuckled, and your breath catches somewhere between your ribs as you take in the undeniable dent you just gifted this beautiful, angry looking machine.

“oh. oh no. oh my god. i did not just—” you breathe out. stomach twisting in sheer horror. this wasn’t supposed to happen. you were supposed to run a quick errand. buy groceries for your mom. go home and continue your harry potter marathon. not this.

“stupid,” you mutter, smacking your forehead with the heel of your palm. “stupid, stupid, stupid—”

before you can even process your next move, the driver’s door swings open with a force that makes you flinch.

yu. fucking. jimin.

the richest kid in school. the kind of rich that makes people whisper behind her back, half in awe, half in resentment.

her dad owns the most luxurious country club in town. which of course, makes her the best golfer in school. not because she loves it, but because she was practically raised on the green. probably holding a club before she could even walk. she walks through the halls like she owns them (and maybe she does).

her head high, expression unreadable, never wasting words on people she doesn’t deem worth her time. she only keeps a tight circle. four friends. untouchable. (though one of them is your partner in chemistry , minjeong whose company you enjoy alot and you dont understand how a soft girl like her is best friends with jimin).

she gets whatever she wants. people trip over themselves to be on her good side. and when they're not? well. she makes them regret it. and right now, judging by the absolute murder in her eyes, you are very much not on her good side.

your brain short-circuits, all logical thought thrown straight out the window. your vision tunnels, your stomach flips, and before you can even register what’s happening, your head tips forward, smacking against the steering wheel.

the horn blares, loud and jarring, slicing through the summer air like a knife.

you jolt upright immediately, blinking fast, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. the world is still spinning, and yet one thing remains painfully clear. you are so, so screwed.

jimin stands there, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on her head, dark hair gleaming in the sunlight like something out of a goddamn magazine. the breeze tousles a few loose strands around her face. but her eyes dark, and burning with barely restrained fury stay locked on the damage, as if she’s willing the dent to disappear through sheer force of her eyes. her top tightly hugs her frame that almost made you pass out again

she exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. the strands slip through her fingers effortlessly, like silk, and it almost distracts you from the murder written all over her expression. almost.

“you have got to be fucking kidding me,” she seethes. voice low. deadly.

her posture is stiff, shoulders squared, one perfectly manicured hand resting on her hip. the subtle shift of her weight onto one leg makes her stance look effortless, like she owns the entire parking lot and by extension, your life.

you, on the other hand, are still frozen in your car like a complete idiot.

“get. out.”

you scramble to obey. nearly getting tangled in your seatbelt in your rush. your sneakers scrape against the pavement as you finally step out. the heat hitting you full force, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of how dry your mouth is.

“okay, okay, before you, um, say anything…, i just wanna say that i deeply regret my actions and—”

“regret?” she scoffs. taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “you wrecked my car, hotshot. i don’t care about your regret. i care about my bumper.”

your nose scrunches. “hotshot?”

jimin tilts her head, mock innocence dripping with venom. “oh, is that not what they call you?”

your jaw clenches. face heating even more than it already was under the sun. “that’s uncalled for.”

“so was your car slamming into mine,” she deadpans.

“technically,” you start, trying desperately to ease the tension, “it’s my bumper that—”

“do not finish that sentence unless you want to die in this parking lot.”

you snap your mouth shut. “right. totally fair.”

jimin pinches the bridge of her nose. her patience clearly wearing thin. the sharp inhale she takes in through her nose is slow, measured, like she’s actively resisting the urge to strangle you.

“do you even have insurance?”

your stomach sinks. “…define insurance?”

the laugh that escapes her is dry, humorless, and a little terrifying. “oh, this is gonna be fun.”

you shift awkwardly on your feet. the asphalt radiating heat through the soles of your shoes. sweat drips down the back of your neck, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, because somehow, looking nervous in front of her feels even worse than actually being nervous.

“sooo… how much are we talkin’?” you try, forcing out a bright, if not completely panicked chuckle. “like, damage-wise? i-i can pay you back. eventually. probably.”

“no. no probably.”

her voice is steel, and when you look up, her arms are crossed again, her nails tapping against her elbow. she’s still looking at you like you just ran over her childhood pet, and it’s making your stomach churn.

“you will pay me back,” she continues, voice calm, controlled. and then, a smirk, slow and wicked, curls onto her lips. “or else.”

your pulse stutters. “or else… what?”

she leans in, just slightly, and suddenly, she’s everywhere. her scent, something expensive and infuriatingly pleasant, wrapping around you like a trap. your breath catches. it’s distracting, the way she moves, the effortless confidence. the quiet kind of power that makes your stomach twist.

“or else you’ll regret ever stepping behind a wheel, sweetheart.”

your mouth goes dry.

jimin is close, too close, and the sun catches on the sharp angles of her face, highlighting the slight arch of her brow, the press of her lips, the way her eyes are practically daring you to push your luck. your fingers twitch at your sides, and you swallow. you don’t know whether to be terrified or intrigued. maybe both.

“give me your number,” the warmth of her breath ghosts over your skin, and your brain short-circuits for a second. her perfume is something delicate yet undeniably expensive, the kind that lingers, the kind that’ll stick to your clothes if you stand here any longer.

you fumble with your phone, fingers clumsy, pulse hammering against your ribs. she watches, amused, and somehow, that makes it worse.

“i’ll text you all the details so get ready for one hell of a summer”

last night, at exactly midnight, an unknown number texted you. right of the bat you knew it was her. she texted you a demented and threatening text you’ve come to expect from her.

“tmrw 9am sharp at the country club. dress accordingly. don’t be late or i’ll make sure you regret ever stepping foot on a basketball court again.”

she knew exactly what she was doing, sending that text just late enough to ruin a good night’s sleep. you woke up dreading the day ahead, and now, you’re actually living it. the frustration settles in again like a second wave, thick and inescapable. you hate the stupid country club. hate the stupid sun burning the back of your neck. hate the stupid heavy golf bag on your shoulder. and jimin

…okay, maybe hate is a strong word.

but considering how smug she looks right now. immaculate as ever in a crisp white polo that fits her perfectly, tucked into an infuriatingly short skirt that only accentuates her toned legs. and goddamn those thighs– you think she deserves at least a little bit of it.

the way the country club aesthetic should be obnoxious but somehow works flawlessly on her only adds to your growing irritation. the neatly pressed uniform, the poised stance, the effortless air of privilege. even the faintest scent of something expensive. probably a perfume that costs more than your debt clings to her like an afterthought.

it's annoying.

she doesn’t even have to try.

jimin shifts her weight slightly, rolling her shoulders back as she adjusts her golf glove with slow, deliberate movements. she does everything with an infuriating sense of ease, like she knows she’s being watched and thrives on it. her fingers flex slightly before she pulls the glove snug, and when she finally turns to look at you, there’s a flicker of something in her gaze—amusement, condescension, curiosity. all neatly wrapped in a bow of insufferable confidence.

"this is actual, real-life torture," you grumble, adjusting the strap of the golf bag for what feels like the hundredth time as you follow her across the pristine green. the weight digs into your shoulder, pressing into already-sore muscles, and you know tomorrow will be hell. "can’t you just, i don’t know, get one of the employees to do this?"

jimin doesn’t even spare you a glance as she steps onto the tee box, stretching her arms above her head in a slow, languid motion. the movement elongates her frame, revealing a glimpse of her toned stomach, muscles flexing subtly under smooth skin. your throat goes dry, warmth creeping up your neck as you try, really try, not to react. you snap your gaze toward the horizon, willing yourself to think of anything else, but the image lingers stubbornly.

jimin, of course, is fully aware. she drops her arms with an easy grace, a knowing look flickering in her eyes before she turns away, the corner of her lips curving just slightly. not quite a smirk, but something close, something taunting. she rolls her wrists, settling into position like nothing happened, like she didn’t just momentarily wreck your focus with a stretch. "the employees," she says smoothly, rolling her wrist as she grips the club, "are not in debt to me for crashing into my car."

you groan, adjusting the heavy golf bag filled with clubs on your shoulder. easing the discomfort "you are never gonna let that go, are you?"

"not until you pay me back. and at the rate you’re going, that might take a while, hotshot." her voice is as sweet as honey but edged with superiority, like she’s savoring every second of your misery.

you clench your jaw. hotshot. again.

"you have to stop calling me that," you mutter, setting the bag down next to the tee box with more force than necessary, the weight making your arms ache.

except jimin isn’t looking at the bag. she’s watching you, the way your muscles shift as you move, the barely concealed strain in your shoulders. there’s something almost delighted in her gaze, like she’s found a new source of entertainment.

"oh? why? does it bother you?" she asks, plucking a driver from the bag with an ease that only irritates you further. the way her toned arms flex with the motion doesn't help either. she knows exactly what she’s doing, and judging by the quirk of her lips, she’s enjoying every second of your discomfort.

you narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. "it’s inaccurate."

she hums, lining up her shot, an infuriating smirk ghosting over her lips. "hmm. i disagree. you think you’re hot shit on the court, don’t you?"

her stance shifts slightly, feet planting firmly into the grass as she squares her shoulders. the way she moves is calculated. each adjustment precise, deliberate. you watch as her fingers curl around the grip, her knuckles flexing slightly as she angles her wrists just so. the air around her feels different in moments like this, a sharp contrast to the casual arrogance she usually wears like a second skin.

before you can respond, she swings. smooth. effortless. perfect.

the club slices through the air with a quiet whisper, and the ball soars down the course, landing dead center on the fairway. jimin straightens, tilting her head as she finally turns to look at you, self-satisfaction radiating from every inch of her.

"well?" she asks, the challenge clear in her voice.

you blink. what was the question again?

you clear your throat, forcing your expression into something unimpressed. "eh. i’ve seen better."

jimin steps closer, and you swear there’s something different in her movements now. something looser, almost playful. she twirls the club in her hands, letting it dig into the ground after catching it again. she rests on one leg as the other twists over another and leaned onto the club. "oh? who?"

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

she smirks. "thought so."

your cheeks heat for some stupid reason, and you quickly turn to grab the golf bag. except you miscalculate the weight, and the sudden shift nearly sends you stumbling forward. you barely catch yourself, muscles straining as you regain control, arms flexing instinctively.

jimin doesn’t say anything.

which is weird. because jimin always has something snarky to say.

when you glance up, you catch her staring. her gaze flickers, just for a second, down to your arms. subtle, almost unnoticeable, but you see it. the faintest parting of her lips, the quick inhale. a hesitation she probably isn’t even aware of.

you blink.

she blinks.

and just like that, her usual sharp expression returns, like she wasn’t just caught red-handed checking you out.

"keep up, caddy," she says coolly, turning on her heel. walking ahead of you

but her voice isn’t as sharp as before. slightly wavering and breathless.

you squint at her.

that was definitely something.

you hoist the golf bag onto your shoulder with a frustrated sigh, muttering under your breath as you follow after her. "this is gonna be the worst summer of my life."

she doesn’t turn around, but you swear you see the tiniest smirk.

the day only got worse from there. as if lugging around a golf bag that felt like it was stuffed with bricks wasn’t enough, you quickly learned that being jimin’s caddy also meant serving as her personal errand runner. every time she hit a ball off-course. which, to your growing dismay, was more often than you expected. she’d wave you off with a casual, “go fetch.”

and so, you trudged through endless patches of rough, waded through ankle-deep ponds, and even had to dig through bushes that seemed personally offended by your presence. at one point, you nearly lost your footing in a muddy ditch, and when you glanced back at jimin for some semblance of pity, she was too busy taking pictures. of you.

she was documenting your suffering.

"you’re actually evil," you huffed, you grumble, wiping a streak of dirt from your cheek with the back of your hand.

jimin forces her expression into something neutral, trying not to squeal at how adorable you look with a streak of dirt near where you just rubbed. ignoring the way her pulse has picked up.

"oh, come on, hotshot. i’m giving you a real athlete’s workout,” her voice comes out smoother than she expects, she can feel a slight waver in her voice. adjusting her visor with a smile that was entirely too pleased seeing you all dirty. she watches you bend down again, muscles flexing under that stupidly tight shirt. the sun clings to your skin, highlighting every sharp dip and defined ridge of your back as you drag another golf ball out of the mud.

before she can think twice she snaps another photo and sends it away into the groupchat. Her camera roll is basically just a collection of you suffering. her fingers hesitate before sending another one. she observed the recent picture; dirt smeared across your sharp jaw, shirt sticking to your back, the messy, tousled way your bangs fall over your forehead.

you look–

she presses her lips together, hard trying to shoo away the tingling feeling in her lower stomach. she swallows, shifting as you shake the ball off, sending tiny droplets flying, some landing on your shirt. the fabric clings a little more, stretched over the plane of your shoulders, and jimin lets out a slow, measured exhale through her nose. gaining her composure. her phone vibrates.

minjeong : omfg is she into women

aeri : BRO THAT BACKK

ningning : jimin why are you not on your knees begging for it

she rolled her eyes at her friends reactions towards the recent picture she sent with a caption of “asshole looking for the money she owes me”

but she isn’t fooling anyone. least of all herself. because when you push yourself up again, wiping sweat off your face with the hem of your shirt, exposing the faintest hint of your stomach, jimin’s stomach flips. she squeezes her thighs together. she needs to get a grip.

“you done gawking?”

her head snaps up. your brows are raised, a smirk playing at your lips as you watch her, amusement flickering in your eyes.

fuck.

"please," she scoffs, shoving her sunglasses back onto her face to hide her cheeks turning red. "don't flatter yourself."

she turns on her heel before she can do something humiliating. like actually drop to her knees.

jimin tells herself she’s just enjoying the entertainment. that’s all this is. watching you struggle under the weight of the golf bag, huffing as you haul clubs around like you’re in a survival challenge, is simply amusing.

but then there’s the way your shoulders flex when you readjust the strap. the way your forearms tighten when you lift a particularly heavy bag. the way your back muscles ripples under your shirt whenever you bend down to grab a stray golf ball.

it keeps the bad thoughts coming

she rolls her wrist, pretending to focus on lining up her next shot, but her mind is elsewhere. on the way you pushed your sleeves up earlier, the way your fingers curled around the soaked golf ball when you pulled it out of the pond. on the way you muttered under your breath, exasperated but still doing what she asked.

she clicks her tongue, shaking off the thought. Ridiculous. still, when you lift the bag onto your shoulder again, jaw set in stubborn determination, she feels something stupid and fluttery in her stomach.

“you better not be slacking back there, hotshot,” she calls out, voice steady, even if she feels anything but.

when you glare at her, eyes full of irritation, she almost forgets to breathe. you mutter something under your breath, probably another complaint about how unfair this whole arrangement is, and jimin should let it slide. she really should. but instead, she glances over just in time to catch the way you roll your shoulders back, shaking out the soreness like you’re on the court, like you’re about to sprint past defenders and sink a perfect shot. it’s so effortless—so natural—that for a second, she isn’t thinking about your debt or your grumbling or how much fun it is to make you suffer.

for a second, she’s just watching you move. her fingers tighten around her club.

“you’re really struggling, huh?” she teases, forcing her tone to stay light, even as something deep in her chest feels a little less steady. “should’ve hit the weight room instead of all that dribbling.”

you scoff, swinging the bag off your shoulder with one smooth motion. “please. you’d collapse if you had to carry this thing for five minutes.”and jimin should roll her eyes. should brush off the remark like she always does. but then you flex your hands, fingers stretching before tightening into a brief fist, veins barely visible against your skin.

her stomach does something weird.

she exhales sharply through her nose, turns away, and focuses very hard on adjusting her glove.

“whatever helps you sleep at night, hotshot.”

when she hears you groan behind her, she smiles to herself. but she doesn’t look back.

doesn’t trust herself to.

as you got ready for bed you read the text sent by the same unknown number from yesterday night. “7:30 sharp at the docks. eat bfr coming. im not feeding you. bring swim wear and a change of clothes.” you groaned loudly trying not to think about what she’ll be doing next.

“no fucking way.”

the words slip past your lips before you can stop them, eyes locked onto the massive yacht bobbing lazily on the crystal-clear water. sunlight bounces off the pristine white exterior, almost blinding, the sheer size of the vessel making your stomach twist with unease.

jimin stands a few feet ahead, completely at ease, like she was born to be here. her sunglasses are perched on top of her head, holding back strands of dark hair that catch in the wind. but that’s not what’s throwing you off.

it’s what she’s wearing.

the bikini is black, tiny, the kind that barely counts as clothing under the oversized white button up. the top ties behind her neck, accentuating the curve of her collarbones, the smooth lines of her shoulders. the bottoms sit high on her hips, the strings digging just enough into her skin to make something tighten low in your stomach.

the button up hanging loose off one shoulder, dipping low enough to tease the shape of her waist. it should make it less distracting, but it does the exact opposite. every time she moves, the material shifts, threatening to slip just enough to reveal more.

the teasing skin peaking from her button up that barely covers anything made something tighten in your lower stomach. you clenched your stomach muscle trying to regain grip of reality.

she finally glances back at you, raising a single brow like you’re being dramatic. “what?”

you blink, dragging your gaze up to her face like you hadn’t just been staring. “this is insane.” you gesture vaguely at the boat, trying to focus. “this is … this is some billionaire level shit. why am i here?”

her lips curl into a smirk, effortless and sharp. "because im not manning the sails this time, and luckily, you’re in debt to me."

before you can shoot back a very creative insult, a new voice cuts in, light, teasing, but with an unmistakable authority. "jimin, don’t be mean to your friend."

you turn just in time to see a woman stepping onto the dock, effortlessly elegant in a white sundress, dark hair twisted into a perfect bun. she moves like she belongs in a high end magazine, every step deliberate, eyes sharp as they take you in. and she looks exactly like how you’d imagine jimin looks like in 30 years.

"she's not my friend, mother," jimin corrects smoothly, adjusting her sunglasses. "she's my employee." smirking smugly as her mother grimaces at her oldest daughter. you shoot her a glare. "wow. charming as ever."

jimin’s mother merely smiles, amused. by how you handled her moody daughter. "well, employee or not, she's a guest today. come on, everyone's waiting on the boat."

you have no choice but to follow, your arm brushing against jimin’s as you step onto the yacht. the contact is brief, barely anything, but it makes your skin prickle, your senses hyper-aware of her proximity.

jimin isn't sure why she thought today would be easy.

it should be. she should be enjoying herself sailing with her family, soaking up the sun, watching you struggle to keep up. enjoying the sounds of your misery.

but instead, she’s distracted.

you’re sitting on the edge of the boat, legs stretched out, the ocean breeze playing with your hair. jimin watches, unable to help herself.

it’s not the muscles that have her staring, the muscles that she could vividly see from your white blouse that clings to your back, not really. it’s the way you move. the way your fingers work at the sleeves of your t-shirt, rolling them up with an absentminded ease, knotting the fabric at your elbows like it’s second nature. the way the sun clings to your skin, highlighting the gentle slopes of your arms, the curve of your shoulders. she doesn’t fail to notice the way your forearm muscles tightens as you fix your sleeve.

when you reach up to wipe at your forehead, a loose strand of hair falls into your face. you don’t notice at first, too busy squinting at something in the distance. then, with the smallest furrow of your brows, you shake your head just enough to make it shift, the motion unintentional, frustratingly endearing. and slightly domestic.

jimin’s chest tightens.

you’re adorable. ridiculously cute— no. stop it no shes not. she’s an asshole. she’s a stupid prick that crashed into your car.

and then you laugh quietly, mostly to yourself, like you just remembered something funny. the sound is soft, barely carried by the wind, but jimin feels it like a physical thing, like it reaches out and tugs at something deep inside her.

jimin looks away immediately, but it doesn’t help. because even when she’s not looking at you, she can still hear you—your quiet laughter, the soft hum you make under your breath as you stretch out your arms, the way you mutter something to yourself like you’re having a conversation in your own head.

she scowls. you’re so... you. completely unaware of the way you pull people in, make them want to lean closer, watch a little longer. it’s infuriating.

her fingers tighten around the railing. get a grip, jimin. but it’s hard when you keep doing things like scrunching your nose in concentration, tilting your head like a confused puppy at the sails above, or biting your lip in thought. completely unaware that someone is watching you, studying you.

and maybe that’s what’s getting to her the most.

it’s not the muscles, not the way you look, not even the way you carry yourself. it’s the way you exist, so utterly and completely in your own world. so unguarded. jimin doesn’t do unguarded. she doesn’t do soft, doesn’t do the kind of feelings that make your stomach twist and your throat feel tight. she does casual. she teases and flirts and doesn’t get attached.

she clears her throat, flexing her fingers before curling them into fists. she needs to do something—anything—to snap herself out of it.

“you’re gawking,” a voice beside her says, amused.

jimin stiffens. “am not.”

hanni, leaning lazily against the railing, tilts her head with the smuggest expression. “right. because you totally weren’t just staring like you forgot how to blink.” jimin scoffs, shoving her sunglasses onto her face with too much force. “you’re delusional.”

“and you’re in denial.”

jimin ignores her, choosing to focus on the water instead. the waves are steady, predictable, easy to think about. not like what she’s feeling in her chest. when she sees you dangling your feet from the yacht.

but hanni isn’t done.

“you know,” she hums, rocking onto the balls of her feet, “if you keep looking at her like that, someone might get the wrong idea.”

jimin doesn’t turn. “there is no idea to get.” she says firmly.

hanni grins. “sure. whatever you say, unnie.”

you shouldn't be enjoying this. well technically the hard labour hasn’t started yet. so you’re trying to enjoy the open water and much needed fresh air before jimin makes you her slave again. it feels nice.

"you seem to be having fun," jimin remarks, stepping up beside you. breaking the silence. here we go you thought. after ignoring her little sisters’ teasing. or, talk, you didn’t hear what they talked about but jimin looked pretty riled up after what hanni said. she’s decided to interrupt your peace and make your day worse.

you shrug, stretching your arms above your head with a dramatic sigh. "what can i say? i thrive in any environment." you said as you placed both arms beside letting it fall lazily. leaning on it. you blink your eyes open, glancing at her. her sunglasses are perched high on her nose, shielding her gaze, but you can still feel her looking. observing you.

her lips twitch, as if amused. "you nearly died on the green yesterday."

"yeah, well." you shift arms as you drawl out, shooting her a lopsided grin. "i'm an adaptable person."

there’s a beat of silence, but not the peaceful kind. it’s charged, stretching between you like a live wire. jimin’s head tilts ever so slightly, her gaze sweeping over you in a way that’s too slow, too deliberate. it makes your skin prickle, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

"apparently."

something about the way she says it makes your pulse jump. you shift under her scrutiny, suddenly too warm.her sunglasses may hide her eyes, but the smirk curling at the corner of her lips betrays her. it’s not just amused. it’s knowing, like she’s already several steps ahead of you in whatever game she’s playing. you shift, suddenly aware of how warm your skin feels. not from the sun, but from her unwavering attention.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you ask, voice coming out less steady than you wanted.

jimin doesn’t answer right away. instead, she steps in, just enough that the scent of her expensive perfume. fresh and citrusy, but with a sharp undertone wraps around you. she leans in, just slightly, just enough to test the space between you.

"like what?" she asks, voice lilting, teasing.

your voice stuck in your throat. you swallow.

"like you’re plotting my demise." you reply, forcing yourself to hold your ground.

her smirk deepens. she reaches up, adjusting her sunglasses with two fingers, and you catch a glimpse of her eyes beneath them. dark, glinting with something unreadable. "maybe i am."

the way she says it, low and smooth, sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine. you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your heartbeat picks up. "so much for enjoying the breeze."

jimin hums, dragging a slow gaze down the length of you before flicking it back up, lazy and considering. she taps a finger against her chin, as if in deep thought, before her lips curl into something far too smug.

"since you're so adaptable," she says, gesturing toward the rigging with an air of faux innocence, "you can help with the sails."

you groan, trudging over. she watches you come closer, arms crossed, lips curling ever so slightly.

she is not looking at your arms again.

she’s not.

the moment jimin smirked at you and told you to help with the sails, you should’ve known you were about to be thrown into another situation where you had no idea what you were doing. you squint at the ropes in your hands, then at the towering mast, then at the intricate mess of rigging all around. why are there so many ropes?

"you look confused," jimin says, standing just a little too close behind you.

"i am confused," you reply. "this is, like, rich people knowledge. i don’t know how to do any of this."

she huffs out a laugh. it almost sounds melodic in your ears. "rich people knowledge?"

"yes." you tug experimentally at one of the ropes, watching it pull at something above. "why do you even know how to do this? you’re not a pirate."

"my father made me learn when i was younger," she says. "he said that if we were going to own a yacht, we should at least know how to use it properly."

you snort. "wow. tragic backstory."

"just shut up and let me teach you," she mutters, stepping in closer.

you open your mouth to protest, but then her hands find yours.

your brain short-circuits.

her touch is soft– unexpectedly so. but firm, her fingers pressing lightly against yours, guiding them over the rope with practiced ease. her skin is cool against your own, which feels too warm all of a sudden, heat blooming along your knuckles, creeping up your arms. you swear its the burning sun right above you.

she leans in slightly, voice lower now that she’s right beside you. "you need to loop it like this. if you tie it too loose, the sail won’t hold. too tight, and you’ll mess up the balance."

you nod, but it’s a lie. you barely register what she’s saying.

because she’s close. close enough that her shoulder brushes against yours, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of her perfume mixed with the salt of the ocean. the warmth of her breath ghosts over your skin as she exhales, sending a shiver trailing down your spine.

your fingers twitch under hers. "right. got it," you manage, though your voice is slightly higher than usual. jimin chuckles low, quiet, right near your ear. your stomach flips. she’s enjoying this. you can tell. and judging by the smug curve of her lips when you glance at her, she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

you fumble with the ropes when she moves away as the wind picks up and before you know it, the rope slips through your fingers like water. the sail jerks violently in response, the sudden shift sending a sharp ripple through the boat.

"Shit-" you let out.

jimin moves fast, instinct kicking in as she reaches for the rigging to correct your mistake. but in the process, she miscalculates and her foot catches against yours that made her stumble.

and then, so do you.

your back slams against the side of the boat, the wooden railing pressing into your spine as you suck in a sharp breath. the impact sends a jolt through your body, momentarily stunning you, but your instincts take over before you can think. one hand grabs onto the railing for support, while the other finds jimin’s waist, fingers tightening reflexively around the fabric of her shirt where you can subtly feel her curves.

she stumbles into you fully, her body pressing flush against yours.

your heart stutters.

at the same time, jimin’s arm slings over your shoulder in a desperate attempt to steady herself, the warmth of her palm seeping through your long sleeves swim suit where she grips your biceps. her other hand is splayed against your arm, fingers digging in just enough for you to feel the faint press of her nails.

and suddenly, you’re close.

too close. you could feel the curves of her body against you. and how small she is in yor arms.

her body is warm, the scent of salt and sunscreen clinging to her skin. you can feel the way she breathes, chest rising and falling against yours. every small shift sends a spark of awareness shooting down your spine, your pulse hammering in your ears as the realization sinks in.

jimin is practically in your arms and she isn’t moving. neither are you.

her sunglasses slip down her nose from the movement, revealing her eyes for the first time today. deep brown, glinting under the sun, flickering with something you can’t quite read.

your breath catches in your throat. she looks so beautiful.

the ocean breeze swirls around you, but all you can feel is the heat radiating from her skin. your fingers twitch at her waist, hyper-aware of the way the fabric of her shirt feels beneath your palm, the slight give of her small body against yours. and the way you could subtly feel some of her skin against your swim wear.

jimin’s grip on your shoulder tightens, her jaw clenched, lips parted like she’s trying to find the right words. but none come. you dont know whats going through her mind but you knew for sure she isn’t moving when you saw how her eyes flickered to your lips. somehow it made your heart flutter.

you could feel her leaning into you slightly.

and then—

"are you two gonna kiss or what?"

the words cut through the moment like a gunshot.

you jerk back, nearly losing your footing, barely managing to catch yourself before you go overboard. while jimin’s reaction is immediate. her head whips around so fast her visor nearly flies off, her expression shifting from surprise to outright murderous in the blink of an eye.

"seriously?" she snaps.

hanni, standing a few feet away, leans against the railing with the smuggest grin you’ve ever seen. jimin groans, yanking herself out of your grasp, face scrunched in exasperation. you, on the other hand, are still stuck processing what just happened, trying to ignore the way your pulse is hammering in your ears. and how you miss the closeness between you two.

after jimin left you to man the sails alone while she went to cool off, you actually got pretty good at it. her dad even threw in some pointers, guiding you through the ropes. literally. by now, you had a decent handle on things, adjusting the sails without fumbling, reading the wind like it was second nature. the boat had drifted far from shore, the coastline long gone, replaced by nothing but open water stretching endlessly in every direction.

"you can slow down here, y/n," jimin’s dad called from behind you as you pulled at the ropes, adjusting the sails to ease the boat to a gentler pace. you heard him shift, standing to get a better look at the sea. "your friend’s a natural, jimin. almost better than you!" his voice carried a teasing lilt.

you glanced toward where jimin sat, catching the way her expression twisted in surprise, then in pure irritation. she scoffed, rolling her eyes before mumbling something you couldn’t quite catch under her breath.

you smirked, triumphant, meeting her gaze.

she narrowed her eyes. then, she raised her hand and flipped you off. unhinged woman. your smirk faltered. rude.

but before you could retaliate, jimin moved. without hesitation, she stood, reaching for the buttons of her white shirt. and then she pulled it off.

your brain short-circuited.

the world around you dimmed, the sound of the ocean fading into white noise as your eyes locked onto the sight in front of you. jimin, standing tall against the backdrop of the sea, the late afternoon sun catching on her skin, making her glow.

she wore a dark bikini underneath, the contrast against her pale sun-kissed skin. her collarbones, sharp and delicate, dipped into smooth shoulders. her toned stomach tensed slightly as she tossed her shirt aside, the movement effortless, like she’d done this a thousand times before.

you were gawking.

full-on, shamelessly gawking.

your brain screamed at you to stop staring, trying to maintain your pride. but your body refused to cooperate. your grip on the ropes slackened slightly, fingers numb as your heart threw itself against your ribs.

jimin caught the look on your face and smirked.

"what?" she teased, tilting her head slightly, the picture of nonchalance. "you act like you’ve never seen someone undress before."

you opened your mouth.whether to respond or gasp for air, you weren’t sure. but nothing came out.

jimin grinned, pleased with herself, before turning toward the edge of the boat. with one quick motion, she dove into the water, leaving you standing there, still reeling, heat creeping up your neck.

you blinked.

then, as if snapping out of a trance, you stumble forward, rushing to the railing. “i—i have!” the words rush out too fast, tripping over themselves, your voice cracking at the end. you cringe.

jimin flicked her hair back as water drips from her lashes. she treads the water effortlessly, blinking up at you with an infuriatingly amused expression. “oh?” her tone is light, teasing, but there’s something smug underneath it, something that makes your stomach twist. “sure doesn’t sound like it.”

your grip on the railing tightens, knuckles paling. “what—i—" you struggle to form a coherent thought, already feeling your face burning. “i have! plenty of times! so many times!”

her giggles spills into the air, bright and carefree, and it does something to you makes your heart stutter, your skin prickle with warmth. she tilts her head back, still treading water, the sun catching in her damp hair. “right, sure. totally convincing.”

you scowl, shifting on your feet, jaw tightening. “it’s true! i’ve seen—” you pause, realizing too late that you have absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence without sounding even more embarrassing. “—a lot. like, more than you. probably.”

jimin raises a brow, cocking her head. “oh? who?”

your stomach twists into a knot, your brain sending red flags. screaming at you to abort mission immediately. you clear your throat, straightening up, forcing a casual shrug. “no,” you say, too quickly. “that’s private information.”

jimin watches you for a beat, her lips twitching like she’s holding back another laugh. then she smirks, shaking her head. “uh-huh. totally not a virgin.”

“i’m not!” you blurt, leaning forward slightly, the desperation in your voice betraying you.

her grin only widens, eyes twinkling with mischief as she sways in the water. “whatever helps you sleep at night, captain.”

you groan, dropping your head against the railing in defeat as she swims off, still laughing, while you try to cooldown after the embarrassing encounter.

“y/n! jump in!” you heard hanni yell from behind you. as you lift your head up you saw her lining up to jump in. she jumped in with a big splash. droplets sprayed onto the deck. jimin’s mom called out “hanni be careful!”

your gaze shifts slightly, catching sight of jimin a few feet away, floating on her back with her eyes closed, her dark hair fanning out around her like ink in the water. her skin glistens under the sun, droplets clinging to her collarbones, trailing down the curve of her neck. you sighed, your body got hot after the embarrassing encounter and also seeing jimin swim. you needed to cool down. you exhale sharply, shaking yourself out of it. if you stay up here any longer, you’ll combust.

you roll your shoulders back, determined to regain at least a fraction of your dignity, and then you jumped. the moment you hit the water, a sharp chill runs through you, sending a jolt up your spine. it’s refreshing, the kind of coolness that makes your skin tingle, but it’s a relief from the heat that had been burning through you moments ago.

you resurface with a gasp, shaking water from your face, and when you blink the droplets away, the first thing you see is jimin.

she’s closer now. much closer.

your breath catches as she treads the water effortlessly, dark strands of wet hair clinging to her cheeks. the sun reflects off the droplets on her skin, making them glisten like tiny diamonds. she studies you, her gaze flickering over your face with a glint of something unreadable.

“not bad,” she hums, tilting her head slightly.

you scoff, trying to ignore the way your skin prickles under her gaze. “i’d say the same for you, but you practically belly-flopped.”

jimin rolls her eyes, a smirk playing at her lips. you turn to swim away, but just as you do water hit your back. splash. you freeze. the feeling of cold water hits your back, sending a shiver up your spine.you turn back around slowly, and there she is half-smirking, half-feigning innocence, fingers still dripping from where she flicked water at you.

“did you just—?”

before you can finish your sentence, another splash comes at you, bigger this time, sending water cascading over your face. you sputter, wiping at your eyes, and jimin bursts out laughing, the sound rich and full, like wind chimes in the summer breeze.

thats it.

with no hesitation, you lunge forward, sweeping your hand through the water to send a wave right at her. she squeals, ducking just a second too late, and now it’s her turn to be dripping wet.

before you can react, she lunges toward you, fingers skimming along your arm as she tries to dunk you under. practically drowning you. instinctively, you grab her waist, attempting to shove her away, but the water betrays you both. it makes everything weightless, the waves crashing between your bodies pulling both of your boddies together. bodies tangling and shifting without control.

somehow, amongst the struggle, her arms end up draped over your shoulders, and your hands—god, your hands—find purchase at her waist again, fingers pressing into the bare skin beneath the hem of her swimsuit.

for a moment, neither of you move.

you can feel her breath against your face, warm despite the cool water surrounding you. the soft rhythm of her chest rising and falling against yours. the way her fingers tighten, just slightly, curling over the nape of your neck.

her eyes flicker up to meet yours deep brown, like melted chocolate, like something you could get lost in if you weren’t careful. they shift lower for a split second, down to your lips, before darting back up again.

your heart slams against your ribs. it looks like shes about to kiss you. a little voice in your head hoping she would and you swear the world tilts. or maybe it’s just the waves.

jimin blinks once, twice, her lashes damp and heavy with water, before her expression shifts. something playful flickers back into her eyes, her lips twitching.

and then, she shoves you under.

you barely have time to yelp before water fills your ears, muffling the sound of her laughter. when you break the surface again, gasping for air, she’s already swimming away, shooting you a look over her shoulder that’s equal parts smug and daring.

“too slow,” she calls out.

you push your wet hair back, panting, watching her retreating figure with something caught between disbelief and something else entirely. something warmer.

you remember the way her fingers curled at the nape of your neck. the way her breath fanned against your lips. the way, for a split second, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

you shake your head, forcing a scoff, trying to ignore the way your pulse is still erratic. this is jimin. jimin. the same girl who flipped you off an hour ago, who smirked as she stripped off her shirt just to get a reaction out of you.

nothing about this is different. you assure yourself. and yet, as you watch her swim away, her laughter still echoing in your ears, you can’t shake the feeling that something bloom in your chest.

[melanchoire]

UNLOCKED DOOR, LOCKED HEART ──── yu jimin.

── ( 🩷 ) years after being falsely accused of perversion, you walk in on your unclothed girlfriend, forcing you to confront your ingrained anxieties and rewrite a narrative defined by shame and misunderstanding.

pairing. soft dom!girlfriend!karina x sub!loser!fem reader

warning(s). cunnilingus, nipple play, praise titsucking.

word count. 3,4k

author's note. the request for this fic is right here.

the scent of jasmine and something vaguely expensive clung to the air as you stood outside karina’s apartment building. you pressed the buzzer, the metallic chime echoing in the sterile lobby. “hey, babe! door’s unlocked, come on up!” you take a deep breath, smoothing down the front of your shirt. this is it. you’re going to karina’s apartment, again. it’s been six months since you two started dating, and your heart still does a little flutter every time you see her name on your phone.

you push open the heavy glass door of the building and step into the opulent lobby. everything about karina’s life is opulent. her clothes, her car, this building… it’s a far cry from the cramped apartment you share with two roommates. you’ve never felt particularly envious of her wealth, but it does occasionally highlight the differences between you. you, the quiet, reserved girl with a past you’d rather forget, and her, the radiant, effortlessly charming social butterfly who seems to glide through life without a care.

the elevator ride is short, but your palms are already starting to sweat. the polished chrome reflected your anxious face back at you, the faint fluorescent light highlighting the shadows under your eyes. you always felt like an imposter in karina’s world, a world of sleek modern architecture, designer clothes, and effortless confidence. you, on the other hand, felt like a faded photograph, a relic from a past you desperately wanted to forget.

you step out onto the plushly carpeted hallway and find karina’s door ajar, just as she said. taking another deep breath, you push it open further and step inside.

“karina?” you call out hesitantly, your voice barely a whisper.

no answer. you close the door behind you and step further into the apartment. it’s even more breathtaking inside than you remember. floor–to–ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, and the furniture looks like it belongs in a magazine.

that’s when you see her.

karina was standing in the living room, a goddess sculpted from steam and silk. her skin, flushed from the shower, glowed under the soft light. water droplets clung to the ends of her dark hair, cascading down her shoulders. and she was completely, breathtakingly naked.

your breath catches in your throat. time seems to warp and distort. you feel a jolt of panic, a cold wave washing over you that threatens to pull you under. she hasn’t seen you yet, still reaching for a fluffy white towel on the armchair.

she turned, a wide smile gracing her lips. “hey! i just hopped out of the shower.” she reached for a plush towel lying on the arm of the sofa, casually wrapping it around herself, but the image was already seared into your mind.

but you’re not smiling. you’re not even breathing properly. your breath hitched. the world seemed to tilt on its axis. a familiar panic surged through you, cold and clammy. your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the room. this wasn’t supposed to happen. you weren’t supposed to see this.

the memories slammed into you like a tidal wave. the whispers, the snickers, the pointed fingers in the hallways of your high school. the accusations thrown at you like stones, the constant feeling of being watched, judged, and found wanting. “lesbo.” they’d hissed, “pervert.” you’d become a pariah overnight, defined by a sexuality you hadn’t even fully understood yet. every glance felt like an accusation, every touch a potential violation.

you had become meticulously careful, hyper–aware of your surroundings, of your own body, of the invisible boundaries you felt compelled to erect. you avoided the women’s locker room like the plague. you walked with your head down, trying to disappear into the background. you flinched at casual touches.

and now, here you were, confronted with something so raw, so intimate, that it shattered the fragile peace you had painstakingly constructed.

karina’s smile faltered as she saw the look on your face. her brow furrowed with concern. “hey, are you okay? you look… pale.” she took a step towards you, her voice soft and gentle.

every nerve ending in your body is screaming at you to run, to disappear. you stumble backward slightly, your hand instinctively reaching for the doorknob. “i… i should go," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper.

you can’t speak. your throat is constricted, your lungs refusing to cooperate. you shake your head weakly, trying to communicate the unexplainable knot of anxiety that has taken root in your chest. shame burns in your cheeks. you’re supposed to be her girlfriend, not a frightened child.

karina closes the distance between you, her eyes filled with genuine worry. she reaches out and takes your hands, her touch warm and grounding. you flinch slightly, but she doesn’t let go.

“hey, look at me.” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “it’s okay. it’s just me. you’re safe here."

her words, simple as they are, cut through the fog in your mind. you open your eyes and focus on her face, on the genuine concern etched in her features. she’s not judging you, not laughing, not disgusted. she’s just… worried.

“i… i…”you stammer, struggling to find the words. “i’m sorry. i just… i panicked."

karina squeezes your hands. “it’s okay, baby. you don’t have to explain. just breathe with me."

she demonstrates, taking a deep, slow breath and holding it for a moment before releasing it. slowly, laboriously, you start to breathe again. the panic begins to recede, replaced by a heavy wave of exhaustion. you lean into karina’s touch, drawing strength from her presence.

karina’s expression softened, becoming even more tender. she understood. somehow, she understood. “hey, it’s okay," she soothed, reaching for your hand. her fingers were warm and reassuring against your cold skin. "it’s okay. come here.”

she led you to the sofa, gently guiding you to sit down. she knelt in front of you, her eyes filled with compassion. “what’s wrong? talk to me.”

finally, you manage to find your voice. “i… i have some bad experiences…” it comes out barely audible.

karina waits patiently, not pushing you to elaborate.

you take another deep breath and begin to tell her. you tell her about high school, about the casual cruelty and the constant fear of being exposed. you tell her about the rumors and the whispers, the feeling of being ostracized and vilified for something you couldn’t control–something you didn’t even fully understand then. you tell her about the locker room incident, the false accusations, the feeling of being branded as a pervert. you tell her about the years of hypervigilance, the constant anxiety that still lingers in the back of your mind.

as you speak, karina listens intently, her eyes never leaving your face. there’s no judgment in her gaze, only compassion and understanding. when you finally finish, breathless and emotionally drained, she pulls you into a warm embrace.

karina listened patiently, her gaze never wavering. when you were finished, she reached out and brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “oh, honey.” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “i had no idea. i’m so sorry you went through that. you didn’t deserve any of that."

you looked down, ashamed. “i should have told you.” you mumbled. “i didn’t want you to think… think i was like that.”

karina cupped your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her eyes. “hey.” she said firmly. “look at me. i don’t think that. i’d never think that. i know you. i know you’re kind and gentle and wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

her words were like a balm to your wounded spirit. you felt a tiny spark of hope flicker within you. maybe, just maybe, you could learn to trust again. maybe, with karina, you could finally let go of the fear that had haunted you for so long.

“you know you can always tell me anything, right?” she says softly. “i’m here for you, always. and i’d never, ever judge you.”

you nod, tears streaming down your face. “i know.” you whisper. “it’s just… hard."

“i understand.” she says, wiping away your tears with her thumbs. “but you don’t have to go through it alone anymore. i’m here to help you carry that weight."

she leaned in and kissed you, a soft, tentative pressure against your lips. it was a chaste kiss, a promise of something more. you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment.

her lips parted slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. your instincts screamed at you to pull away, to run back to the safety of your own world. but something held you back. the warmth of her touch, the sincerity in her eyes, the unwavering belief she had in you.

you tentatively kissed her back, your movements clumsy and unsure. you had karina really kissed anyone before, not like this. karina seemed to sense your hesitation and took the lead, guiding you with gentle hands.

her tongue traced the curve of your lips, sending a shiver down your spine. you opened your mouth slightly, allowing her to deepen the kiss. the world around you faded away, replaced by the sensation of her soft lips on yours, the warmth of her breath against your skin.

your hands, still trembling, reached up and tentatively touched her face. her skin was soft and smooth beneath your fingertips. she moaned softly against your lips, and you felt a surge of heat course through your body.

you didn’t know what you were doing. you were completely lost, adrift in a sea of new sensations. but you knew that you wanted this. you wanted her.

karina broke the kiss, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “easy there.” she teased, her voice breathy. “we have all the time in the world.”

she took your hands in hers and placed them on her waist. “like this.” she murmured, her voice husky. “feel my body. let yourself enjoy it.”

your hands trembled as you explored the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. you felt her shiver beneath your touch, and a thrill of power coursed through you.

“don’t worry, baby, i’ll teach you everything you need to know. by the time i’m done with you, you’ll be a pro at making girls scream in ecstasy.”

she crooked a finger at you, beckoning you closer. “come here, sweetheart. let me show you how to touch me…”

as you approached, karina took your hand and guided it to her breast, encouraging you to squeeze the soft flesh. her nipple pebbled under your palm, the rosy bud begging for attention.

“start by worshipping my tits.” she instructed breathily. “use both hands, don’t be shy. get acquainted with every inch of them.”

not knowing what to do really, you slowly take her breasts in your hands, feeling the weight of them on your palms. “they’re… uhm, nice.”

karina let out a soft moan as your hesitant hands cupped and squeezed her breasts, your touch sending pleasant shivers through her. she covered your hands with her own, guiding you to knead and caress the ample mounds with more confidence. she reached up and showed you how to circle her stiff nipples with your thumbs, applying a teasing pressure. another breathy moan escaped her lips as you clumsily mimicked her actions.

“mmmh yes, just like that, baby. you’re a natural.” she encouraged breathlessly, her back arching slightly to push her chest further into your touch. “don’t be shy. grab them tighter, pinch and pull at my nipples. i want to feel that cute mouth of yours all over them too.”

she released your hands and leaned back, watching you intently through half–lidded eyes darkened with lust. your fingers found her nipples, rolling and tugging at the stiff peaks. karina gasped and bit her plump lower lip, looking utterly debauched.

“that’t it, baby. now, lean down and put your mouth on them. cover my nipple with your lips and suck, use your tongue to swirl around it.” karina tangled her fingers in your hair, pushing your face further into her cleavage as she arched her back, pressing more of her soft flesh into your mouth. her breath came in short, eager gasps as she felt your inexperienced but enthusiastic exploration of her body.

karina gasped and arched her back slightly as your warm mouth enveloped her sensitive nipple, your tongue beginning to swirl and flick around the hardened nub. she tangled her fingers in your hair, guiding your head as you suckled and lapped at her breast. “oh fuck yes—, just like that.” she purred, pushing your head more insistently against her chest. “suck on my tits, baby. put that pretty mouth of yours to work.”

as you tentatively suckled and licked at her nipple, karina squirmed beneath you, her arousal growing. she held your head in place, encouraging you to lavish attention on her breasts.

“you’re a quick learner.” she praised breathlessly. “keep going, baby. use more of your tongue, flick it against the tip. make me feel good.” she pushed your head down, encouraging you to take more of her breast into your mouth. her other hand came up to grope and knead the neglected mound, pinching and rolling the nipple between her fingers.

karina’s thighs began to tremble slightly, a dampness building between them as your inexperienced but eager ministrations stoked the fires of her arousal. she could feel her pussy throbbing, aching to be touched and filled.

she released your hair and tapped your chin, urging you to lift your head and look at her. “do you want to learn how to make a girl feel good?”

she sat up and spread her legs wider, revealing her glistening folds. the scent of her arousal was stronger now, filling your nostrils and making your head spin with desire.

“come closer, baby. get on your knees.” karina commanded, her voice low and breathy. she used two fingers to spread herself open, exposing her pink, pulsing hole. “start by kissing up my thigh, nice and slow. get me nice and worked up.”

her eyes locked with yours, burning with lust and hunger. she licked her lips, beckoning you closer with a crooked finger. “then find my clit with that clever tongue of yours. suck and lick it just like you did my nipples. i want to feel that hot mouth all over my pussy.”

karina leaned back on her elbows, her chest heaving with anticipation. her eyes never left yours as she waited for you to obey her command and begin your sensual journey up her thigh.

karina shuddered as your soft lips trailed kisses along her inner thigh, your mouth leaving a path of tingling heat in its wake. she let out breathy little moans and sighs, her fingers curling in your hair as you worked your way steadily upward.

“oh fuck, baby.” she whimpered, squirming slightly. “your mouth feels so good. don’t stop, baby. keep going until you reach the top.”

as you drew closer to her glistening center, the musky scent of her arousal intensified, filling your senses and making your head swim with desire. your heart raced as you caught sight of her swollen, slick folds, just begging to be tasted.

karina spread her legs even wider, giving you full access to her most intimate area. she used two fingers to spread herself open, revealing her pink, pulsing hole and the stiff little bud at the apex.

“go on, sweetheart.” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “find my clit with that hot little mouth of yours. suck on it, lick circles around it. make me feel good."

her chest heaved with anticipation, her full breasts rising and falling rapidly. she gazed down at you with hooded, lust–filled eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. the air between your face and her dripping sex was charged with electric tension, the promise of pleasure hanging heavy.

karina let out a sharp gasp as your tongue made contact with her sensitive flesh, her hips bucking slightly at the sudden jolt of pleasure. she tangled her fingers tighter in your hair, holding you firmly in place as she grinded your face against her dripping sex.

“fuck yes—!" she cried out, her head falling back against the couch cushions. “just like that, baby. suck on my clit. put that wicked little tongue to work.”

spurred on by her encouragement, you focused your attention on the stiff little bud, circling it with the tip of your tongue before suckling gently. you swirl your tongue around the stiff bud, flicking and teasing it mercilessly. karina’s thighs trembled and clenched around your head, her arousal coating your chin and dripping down your neck. you could feel her pulse racing beneath the slick skin as you lapped and suckled greedily.

“your tongue feels incredible.” karina panted, her hips undulating in time with the strokes of your tongue. “don’t stop, sweetheart. lick up all my juices. i want to feel that hot mouth all over my pussy.”

you delved your tongue deep into her fluttering channel, fucking her with the slick muscle as you continued to suckle her clit. karina’s moans grew louder and more desperate, her grip on your hair tightening painfully. the obscene sound of your slurping and sucking filled the room, mingling with her wanton cries.

“yes, yes, yes! oh fuck, i’m gonna come!” she nearly screamed, her body tensing and quaking. “make me come on that pretty face. don’t stop!”

karina’s body went rigid, her back arching sharply off the couch as her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave. she threw her head back and let out a guttural, primal scream of ecstasy, her inner walls clenching and fluttering wildly around your plunging tongue.

“oh shit, yes! i’m coming so hard!” she wailed, her juices flooding your mouth and dripping down your chin. her fingers pulled harshly at your hair, holding you in place as she ground her spasming sex against your face, riding out the intense waves of her orgasm.

you continued to lap and suckle at her sensitive flesh, prolonging her pleasure as her honey gushed into your mouth. the taste of her essence was intoxicating, sweet and tangy, addictive in its uniqueness. you couldn’t get enough, greedily swallowing every drop as it coated your tongue.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, karina collapsed back onto the couch, her chest heaving and glistening with a sheen of sweat. she went limp beneath you, her thighs falling open and her legs dangling over the edge of the couch. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, a blissed out smile on her kiss–swollen lips.

“oh my god.” she panted, her voice ragged and hoarse. “that was… fuck, that was incredible. you’re a natural at eating pussy.”

she reached down and stroked your cheek with a trembling hand, smearing some of her juices across your skin. her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as she gazed at you with a mixture of awe and lust.

“did i do it right? was it good?”

karina grinned wickedly as you came up for air, her eyes sparkling with mischief and satisfaction. she wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you into a searing kiss, her tongue plundering your mouth and tasting herself on your lips.

“good? baby, you were fucking incredible.” she purred against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. “I haven’t come that hard in a long time.”

she rolled you both over so that you were lying on top of her, your breasts pressing against hers. karina’s hands roamed your back, squeezing and caressing your curves as she held you close.

“i knew you were a keeper from the moment i first saw you.” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “such a sexy little thing, with your pretty face and hot body. i’m so glad i made a move on you.”

her hands slid down to grope your ass, kneading the firm globes and pulling your hips flush against hers. you could feel the heat of her skin, still flushed and tingling from her intense orgasm. karina’s eyes flashed with renewed lust as she gazed up at you, a devilish grin on her face.

“you know, we’re just getting started, sweetheart.” she said with a wicked chuckle. “i’ve got so much more in store for you. tonight is going to be a long, pleasurable experience. i’m going to take away your fear of being around girls."

[ramonathinks]

RAISE THE STAKES.

being a therapist was hard enough without the leader of an infamous group becoming your patient or to answer your questions, sylus has a few requests.

(18+, no minors! no blank accounts!) inappropriate relationships, patient!slyus, therapist!reader, munch slyus, oral and female masturbation, slight pussy inspection, dirty talk. exhibitionism, dry humping, word count: 3k... short and sweet

tagging: @xmiisuki @sunasbon @sugugasm <3

There was something clinical and plain about your office — though technically you were a type of doctor — the decor screamed hospital more than a comfortable place to tell your deepest darkest secrets. Faint pale blue walls with littered old stickers from the previous child therapist and even the stench of crayons … not to mention the floor tiles, squared with an iced blue paint that made the room both childish and clinical. Something fitting for a child hospital or even a former child psych ward.

That was the reason you decided for this particular appointment you’d switch rooms to somewhere more adult and that hopefully your boss would let you stay there. The pristine polished marble floors and white walls, two empty lush chairs and a small brown wooden table with magazines with two waters sitting on top. This was your dream room and one you felt you deserved. You were the most decorated person on your floor — top of your class in your undergrad and graduate class, internships at major places, yet you settled for here. Settled. It was smack dabbed in the middle of a city that needed you most. A dangerous city… but somewhere you felt like you could actually make a difference. 

Sitting in the chair towards the window you awaited for Sylus Qin – a name that sent more than enough shivers up your spine but who’s name spiked your curiosity, especially seeing it written for a first appointment directly with you. 

He walked in, his presence loud and alarming from the moment he stepped into the door, looking at you before he sat down in the seat closest to the door. You inhaled, the deep smell of metallic and what you must’ve guessed was gunpowder filled your nostrils. “You’re late,” You told him with a small smile. “And for your first appointment nevertheless.” Your tone is light and playful, you only hoped that he understood that. 

He arches a white brow and slouches back on the couch, it was obviously too small for his broad body and long legs but he still stretched them so they were nearing yours. “A meeting held me up.” He waited for some form of reaction before he looked away from you, probably now disappointed when your face remained blank.

You cleared your throat, “I’m quite sure that you didn’t come here on your own volition, so why are you here? I know that you of all people couldn’t have been forced.” You crossed your legs, watching his eyes glance at them.

“Two nuisances…” He grumbles, his face scrunched into a deadly scowl but his crimson eyes remain gentle as he looks at you. “It seems that I’ve been even more aggressive as of late.” He shrugs his shoulders as if he disagrees with the diagnosis. 

“Well… what made them come to that conclusion?” You watched him open his mouth to answer before he paused, thinking something. It takes a while before he speaks again and when he does he shocks you.

“What do I get if I answer any of your silly little questions…?” There’s a huskiness to his voice, a rough edge as he speaks. His eyes are trained on you, following you as your body sways a bit. 

You quirk a brow, “You want a reward for being…compliant?” You straighten your posture, looking at him with slightly wide eyes, it was the first time someone asked for something so ridiculous. “You tell me what you want—” You start before he interrupts you.

“Your panties.” Curt. Simple. Straightforward. You blinked, staring at this man and questioning how you managed to get yourself in this position. 

 Was the money worth it? That was the question roaming around your head as you just stared at him. How could he ask you such a thing with a serious face expression. “My panties? That would tempt you to answer the questions truthfully?” The skirt you were wearing felt a thousand times shorter and the room felt too warm for you to ignore the wetness you felt between your —

Your eyes twitched. A conversation alone, brief… and your panties were drenched, sticky to your folds. It would do wonders for your career to have gotten the man himself… the big leader of a malicious group to be less violence. So you sigh, “You want them now—”

“As an act of good faith,” He says smoothly. “Let’s put all our cards out on the table…How about you at least take them off so I know you’re being truthful to me.” 

You sucked your teeth, debating with yourself on if you really should do this or not. Your career is on the line regardless of each decision. You could just deny him, tell him off and force him out of your office. But your body seemed to be screaming at you to just do it. You hadn’t had sex nor a true orgasm in more than a year… possibly two and yet with him sitting in front of you, you felt as if you were close.

Your mouth no longer produces saliva and your throat dry as you slide them down your legs; you held them and watched a smirk take over his face. You couldn’t believe yourself honestly, this wasn’t something you’d ever expect yourself to do. While you weren’t exactly a good girl, you had standards… you couldn’t believe you were being so trashy. Yet the excitement in your body spilled out of your center and with his eyes glued there while you removed your underwear, your body shook.

“Already the air smells so better in here.” He chuckles and you feel embarrassment cloud your mind. “To answer your question from before… Apparently they believe I’m in a foul mood since I’ve been less tolerant on certain things that in the past, I was more passive on. They’ve expressed to me that with the rough ways I’ve been handling business has grown rather…impulsive.”

“Do you agree with that?” You recross your legs. “I’ve always heard that you were impulsive and honestly, I never heard anyone say you were passive… Do you think you’ve ever been passive? Do you think you can paint me a picture of yourself?”

He reaches out his hand and for a moment you’re confused before you realize he’s asking for his reward. Handing him the panties, you see him sniff them and it makes your insides quiver. This man… he was too much for you. 

“I see myself as…” He thinks, his eyebrows furrowed, he taps his foot on the ground. “I often find myself bored and find myself indulging in self destructive behavior... taking on more than I can and getting myself injured.” He scoffs. “I guess this particular time they're talking about is when I knew I was being set up but still decided to go alone without informing them - Luke and Kieran, I mean.”

“So they care about you?” You ask, mentally taking notes of every word and ever ounce of movement and even taking account of his voice and tone.

“Sure.” His voice has a slight tremble to it. “We’ve been together for longer than I can remember being without them…” Then he’s closed off again, acting as if he revealed too much to you. His crimson eyes trace up your legs again, he bites his lips.

You recrossed your legs. “Anyway…” You cough. “Is there a thrill in putting yourself in these situations? Or is there a need to demonstrate that your reputation is correct… to stop or limit people from defying you?” You are met with silence and a sinister glint in Sylus’ eyes. “Sylus? Do you need me to repeat the question?”

“I answered some for your panties. For this next question, you’ll have to do something else for me to answer it… unless you want a lie…or more silence.” His roaming eyes told you all that you needed to know, this request would be more.

A scowl on your face, “My panties weren’t enough?” You’re close to rolling your eyes at him, you want to hate him but it’s something in those eyes that keeps you from it. After this you knew that you’d decline any other visits from him, you might as well entertain him— no, you want to slap yourself for even thinking that thought. 

“I wanna see you cum, pet that pretty pussy and put a show on for me.” He says and you gasp, full blown as you stare at him. “C’mon kitten, don’t be so coy.” His eyes darkened but still his tone remained playful; slick gathered at your thighs and it’s almost as if he scented it with how quick his eyes snapped to your skirt.

“Sylus, the panties were already inappropriate enough. I can lose my license—” You stammer, your voice small and timid as you speak. This man… would be the death of you.

“I won’t let that happen.” 

You swallow, staring hard in his eyes. Looking in his eyes made you want to bend to his every whim and to continue. Your thighs spread a bit because honestly, you wanted this. “Fine.” You relinquished every ounce of self respect you had for yourself and spread your legs completely apart. A slap of cool air brushes against your bare skin, your shutter but spread your folds. You rub at your clit, staring in those addicting eyes. 

He drinks in the sight of you — dripping and oozing out spilling to the chair, he straightens himself, his eyes now locked between your thighs. Your clit is hard and throbbing knowing that his eyes are on your most delicate parts. You circle your entrance, collecting the slick that sits there before you dip it inside – teasing both you and him. You feel the warmth of yourself as you stroke your finger in and out of your walls, sloppy noises echoing around the room. Your thighs tremble and breathing heavy, he briefly glances at your face and back to the dripping sight below.  Your face scrunched up in a sense of pure ecstasy, you pop your finger out of your cunt and you put a finger in your mouth before rubbing your clit again, your thighs bucking and your hips humping upwards. 

His feet tap against the floor watching another finger join the one already knuckle deep inside of you, his fingers twitch looking at how wet and creamy your fingers are pumping in and out. “There’s a thrill… and excitement that comes with doing dangerous things…” His voice trails off, your mouth agape spilling little moans. “It feels good… it’s never a sense of pride, it’s more of a –” Using your other hand, you rub fast at your clit at the same time your fingers thrust inside deeper, hitting another spot that makes a bit of cream drip under you. “It’s more of a simple pleasure, just something to take the edge off of life. It’s a high… c’mon kitten, you’re killing me there. Need to see your face when you cum.” 

Your stomach sucks in at the words and you whine, leaking with a deep orgasm and deep breathing. “Ohhhhh!” Cream continues to spill out, you milk yourself more – curling your fingers before you pull them out with a drawn out moan. “Oh, mmm…” You feel so tired, your eyes dropping and a fuzzy brain when you turn your attention back on him. 

“What’s your next request for answering this last question?” You huff, your face flushed and your body trembling. You still tried to cover yourself but he just laughed, full and heartily. 

“I want you to sit on my face.” He’s hard, tapping his foot against the floor again still looking at your creamy pussy. “That’s all.”

“What?” But it shouldn’t surprise you anymore, no matter how much you fought on his demands… you knew you’d give in and you knew how badly you wanted him.

“I want you to sit on my face.” He said again, nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But… why? Are you trying to make me lose my job? Or are you just insane and don’t care about my livelihood or my dignity?” But really, it didn’t matter, with all you did now… your license was already revoked. 

“Would you rather be a good girl and sit on my lap? Grind yourself on my cock?” It was an enticing offer and you had to mentally stop yourself from taking it up. “Just keep being an obedient little girl like you have been and come sit on my face.” He’s pulling himself from the chair to lie on the floor with a bright smile on his lips. He waited, both of you already knew that you were going to come. 

“First... put your fingers in my mouth.” It makes you jump when he says that but you swallow your nerves and pride, reaching over and letting his tongue work its way through your fingers, his tongue slimy wet and sticky all at once. He groans out at the taste. “Sit.” He says simply. You’d never did this before, your legs trembled just standing above his head and even more when you bent down. 

You hovered over him, a string of your slick dripping over his face before he moved his head to capture it between his tongue with a groan; swirling his tongue in a circular motion as he took in the taste. “So wet…tastes so good.” His voice deep and inviting; sticking his tongue inside then flicks his tongue against your clit and wraps his mouth around it — sucking it before he releases it with a plop sound.  “Sit.” He told you, rubbing his hands across your ass, spreading it so that your pussy would wink at him with a small gushy sound. He firmly sits completely on his face so that his face is covered with you. 

His tongue feels like a thousand tongues when you drip over his face, grinding your hips and circling them. Your knees digging into the floor when you slide forward and back against him.“Sy–lus!” The pad of his tongue licks up your slit, moving to your folds and up to suckle on your throbbing clit. You tug his hair and he buries his face impossibly more into your pussy. Grinding and shaking his face into you before gripping your hips to make you really grind against his mouth.

You squeal with every moment as he uses his tongue to curl deep inside of you – your legs shaking and he slurps. Your toes curl inside of your stuffy shoes and though you can’t see his face because of the skirt you wear, you can feel the devilish smirk against your flesh.

He pulls you up, holds you. A string of his salvia and your slick and cream mixed together on his lips. “Never did ask that question, sweetie.”

“Oh, fuck you Sylus.” He’s sitting you back down, your thighs squeezing his head. His mouth latched to your clit and doing deep sucks with his fingers pressed deep in your thighs. Opening his mouth wider to truly capture all of what he can of your cunt — there’s a deep hunger in every lick he gives, his tongue dragging down from your clit to your slit and back up again. He laps at your folds with nothing else but groans and soft moans that leave both of your mouths.

His tongue swirls on your clit before small soft kisses that make you flinch. Cream and slick trickling down your thighs, your hips continue to hump him — it was as if his face belonged there, his tongue glued to your core and eating up everything you had to offer. Lifting you again, he says, “Want to feel that pretty pussy soaking me… you’d like that won’t you?” He grins, showing all his teeth. You’re quick to nod your head, tears in your eyes… this man was turning you into his plaything and you could care less… there was a thrill to this.

He doesn’t take off his pants much to your disappointment but he helps you to sit on his lap, his lust filled scarlet eyes filled with nothing but desire as he rolls his hips against yours. A small gasp leaves your mouth, your bare cunt soaking his pants and his cock deliciously digging into your core. You wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him thrust up against your throbbing center. 

Throwing your head back – you rock your hips back and forth against his clothed cock – feeling him press himself harder into you, rubbing himself against your core with deep throaty groans of pleasure leaving his mouth. You try to match his movements, hips bouncing up and down against him with needy whines leaving your lips. You both hiss when his cockhead brushes up against your clit – he rubs himself back and forth repeatedly, slowly while you move faster – chasing that high and in that moment you knew of the pleasure and the high that Sylus mentioned earlier because your body was reveling in it. 

Your stomach swoops at the sticky sounds that come from your pussy and the soft noises he makes. Even with soundproof office spaces, you wouldn’t be surprised if someone heard you both. Lazy grinding becomes thrusting again before downright dirty gyrating of both of you against each other – so close, you were almost there yet again. Pathetic sinful whimpers falling out of your mouth, he presses openmouthed kisses up and down your neck, nibbling on your clavicle. Your back arches, tears falling from your eyes, your pussy sliding against him and his hips stuttering. But he stops, standing you both up. 

“W–why’d you stop?” You’re gasping for air on trembling legs, he holds you close. Small sniffles leaving your mouth, desperate to feel him.

“I believe our time is up, sweetie. Maybe another visit will help unpack more.” He chuckles, walking towards the door. “I’ll return these on my next visit.”

[blissfulflw]

Hii!! So um 🥺, im not sure how to write a request but um here's mine 👉👈

Loser Fem Reader x Popular Cool Girl Karina

So the plot goes like, Reader and Karina go to the same school and of course Karina is popular at their school and Reader knows it but she doesn't have like the cliche crush on her but she just knows. So one day they were both late and Reader rides their bike and tried to speed up but she didn't check around her corner and was suddenly hit by someone's car. Reader tries to get up fast, embarrassed by the fact that they got hit, someone gets out of the car to check on her, and asks Reader if they're okay, Reader recognizes the voice and realizes that it was actually Karina, so she gets more embarrassed and just brushes off the fact that she got hit by a car and just rides away ignoring the pain. Of course Karina was bewildered by this and just stares at Reader's back as she bikes away. Soon after, still in pain Reader tries to attend school, acting normal like usual, but then Karina recognizes her stuff like that and they talk eventually, like Karina now recognizes that Reader goes to their school and stuff like that.

So yeh thats the whole intro, as for the whole plot you can think of it lol, I just thought it would be a funny story like most introverts would act like they're ok as if they didn't get hit with a 100kg force lol.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐵𝑖𝑐𝑦𝑐𝑙𝑒 𝐶𝑟𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠

Pairing- Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem reader

Genre- Fluff

Word count- 6887

Mornings are supposed to be quiet. That’s your thing. The soft click of your bike chain, the chill air brushing your cheeks, earbuds in and the world tuned out. You like your little routines—the ones that keep you out of the way. You’re not trying to be late. You’re not trying to be seen.

But the universe had other plans today.

Your phone never buzzed with its usual alarm. Maybe it died overnight. Maybe the software glitched. Maybe fate just woke up with a sick sense of humor. Either way, you woke up forty minutes later than you should have, heart already hammering before your feet hit the ground.

The panic didn’t settle—it bloomed. You barely had time to wash your face. Forget breakfast. You threw on the first hoodie you saw, a faded one from some band no one remembers, and forced your arms through the sleeves of your ragged backpack. One shoelace was still untied as you slammed your front door and grabbed your bike from the porch like your life depended on it.

The wind felt sharper than usual as you sped down the street, legs burning with every pedal. You could already picture the tardy slip, the teacher’s passive-aggressive sigh. More than that, you hated the thought of walking into a classroom last, everyone looking up to see which loser couldn’t manage to get to school on time.

You leaned into the curves of the street like a practiced rider—sharp, fast, automatic. You were almost there. One more turn and you’d be in sight of the side lot. You didn’t slow down. You didn’t think.

You didn’t look.

That was your mistake.

The honk came too late. Tires screeched against asphalt. Your front tire clipped something hard and metallic, and your body pitched forward in a messy blur of panic and gravity.

The landing hurt. A lot. Not broken-bone hurt, but definitely I’m-going-to-feel-this-tomorrow hurt. Your elbow grated against pavement. Your knee twisted weird. The breath rushed out of you in a harsh exhale as you hit the ground and skidded a few inches before stopping.

You groaned softly, already burning with embarrassment before you could even assess the damage. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, hoping—praying—no one saw that.

“Are you okay?” a voice called, slightly breathless.

You froze.

You knew that voice.

A car door slammed shut behind you. Shoes crunched over gravel. You turned your head, wincing at the motion, just in time to see her.

Jimin.

Of all people.

The girl walking toward you looked like a magazine cover come to life, even in a simple school uniform. Her blazer was perfectly fitted, her long dark hair falling over one shoulder like it had been styled that way on purpose. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but her skin still had that unfair, flawless glow that made you want to disappear.

You knew who she was, obviously. Everyone did. She was that girl—the one you hear laughing from down the hallway, the one whose Instagram account somehow had more followers than the school’s official page. She was friends with everyone, enemies with no one, and untouchable in the kind of way that didn’t seem real.

And now she was standing over you. Worried. Looking directly at you.

Her brows furrowed as she took in your torn jeans, your bleeding elbow, the blood already soaking through your sleeve.

“You’re bleeding,” she said softly, crouching beside you.

You sat up straighter on reflex. “I’m—uh—I’m fine.”

You reached for your bike, but the handlebar had twisted completely sideways and the chain had popped off. Still, you tugged it upright like that would undo what just happened.

Jimin tilted her head. “You sure? You kinda hit the hood pretty hard.”

Her car was sleek, black, and parked just a few feet behind you. It gleamed in the morning sun, not a dent on it. Of course it didn’t. If anything, your bike looked worse than her bumper.

“It’s fine,” you said again, this time more insistent, your voice rising with panic. “I wasn’t paying attention. Totally my fault. Sorry about—your car.”

Jimin blinked at that. “My car’s fine, but—seriously, you don’t have to—”

You didn’t wait for her to finish. Your face was already flushed with heat, your arm pulsing, and the longer she looked at you, the harder it was to breathe.

You shoved the bike forward, forced the pedal into place, and ignored the sting shooting through your knee as you pushed off. “Sorry—g-gotta go. I’m late.”

“Wait—!”

But you were already pedaling away, crooked and shaky, sweat beading at your hairline as you tried not to cry. Not from pain. Not even from fear.

Just sheer, mortifying embarrassment.

_____

Your knee throbbed with every step as you limped your way through the school gates, trying to make your movements look casual. You weren’t limping. Nope. Definitely not. Just walking with a little… attitude. A swagger, maybe. Definitely not a result of being sideswiped by a luxury car driven by Yu freaking Jimin.

You could still hear her voice echoing in your head.

“You’re bleeding.”

You rolled your eyes at yourself as you shuffled past the front office. She probably said that to people all the time. It wasn’t like it meant anything. She was just being polite. Or concerned for legal reasons. You might’ve dented her bumper with your body.

God, could this day get any worse?

You slid into homeroom just as the bell rang, dropping into your seat with a wince as your knee made contact with the edge of your desk. You hissed under your breath, pulling your hoodie sleeve over the bloodstained cuff. No one noticed. Not that you expected them to.

Being invisible was a kind of superpower. You’d trained for it. Eyes down. Words mumbled. Walk fast. No sudden movements. It worked like a charm. Until now.

Because someone did notice.

And that someone was now standing just inside the classroom door.

Yu Jimin.

Your heart sank. Not again.

She scanned the room like she was looking for someone. And when her eyes landed on you, you could actually feel it. Like a pin dropping directly onto your skin.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just tilted her head the tiniest bit, like she was still trying to figure you out. You quickly looked down at your desk, pretending to be intensely fascinated by the geometry textbook you hadn’t opened all semester.

Jimin moved to her seat a few rows ahead, her friends already buzzing around her like satellites. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she wasn’t laughing like usual. And—worse—she glanced back at you. Twice.

You were doomed.

_____

You made it through two more classes before you had to go to the nurse’s office. You told yourself it was for the bandages, not the fact that your leg was screaming every time you moved. The nurse barely glanced at you before handing over antiseptic wipes and some gauze. She didn’t ask what happened. You didn’t offer.

When you stepped back into the hallway, you weren’t expecting anyone to be there.

But of course, Jimin was.

She was leaning against the opposite wall like she’d been waiting. When she spotted you, her arms crossed and one brow lifted.

“You,” she said simply.

You froze mid-step. “Me…?”

“You ran away this morning.”

You gave her a flat look. “I didn’t run. I biked. Poorly.”

A corner of her mouth twitched, and you hated how perfect her smirk was. “And now you’re limping. So… not that poorly.”

You glanced around, hoping no one else was witnessing this interaction. “Did you follow me?”

“No,” she said, tilting her head. “You just looked like someone who’d hide in the nurse’s office.”

“Ouch.”

“I meant it in a nice way.”

“You hit me with your car.”

“That was your fault,” she said easily, but not unkindly. “You didn’t check the intersection.”

“You didn’t stop at the stop sign.”

“I did! You just came out of nowhere like a street goblin on a rusty bike.”

You blinked. “Did you just call me a goblin?”

“I said it affectionately.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or die. Probably both. Maybe at the same time.

There was a pause. And then Jimin’s expression softened.

“Hey,” she said, a little quieter. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

Your throat tightened a little. She said it like she meant it. Like she actually cared. You didn’t know what to do with that.

You nodded quickly. “I’m fine. Just a few scrapes.”

“Your elbow’s still bleeding.”

You looked down. So it was.

“Damn it.”

“Come on,” she said, reaching forward before you could stop her. She gently tugged your hoodie sleeve back to look at the wound, frowning when she saw the half-dried blood. “That’s not gonna heal right like that.”

You pulled your arm back on instinct. “It’s fine. I don’t need a—”

“I have a first aid kit in my locker.”

Of course she did. Queen of preparedness.

Before you could protest, she turned and started walking, tossing a casual “Follow me” over her shoulder.

And, somehow, you did.

Her locker was near the science wing, lined with pink stickers and Polaroids of her and her friends. She punched in the combo without looking, then pulled the door open to reveal an immaculate interior: mini mirror, gum, emergency deodorant, mascara, and—yep—first aid kit.

“You run a small hospital in there?” you muttered as she rummaged.

Jimin pulled out the kit and handed you a fresh antiseptic wipe. “Can’t always trust the nurse’s office. The Band-Aids in there expired in, like, 2012.”

You bit back a smile and wiped your elbow, wincing as the sting hit.

Jimin watched you. “You don’t go here much, do you?”

You frowned. “I’ve been here for two years.”

“I mean… like, go here. You keep to yourself.”

You shrugged, not answering.

“I notice things,” she added after a second.

You raised an eyebrow. “Like street goblins?”

That made her laugh. It was warm and real, not the showy kind she used with her crowd.

“Okay, I deserve that.”

“Why are you even talking to me?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. Your voice was quieter now, the edges a little raw. It wasn’t meant to sound bitter—but maybe it did.

Jimin blinked, surprised. “Because I hit you with my car?”

“That was this morning.”

“So?”

“So you don’t usually talk to people like me.”

She tilted her head, like she was genuinely confused. “What do you mean, people like you?”

You looked away. “Forget it.”

“No,” she said. “Say it.”

“People you don’t notice.”

There was a pause. Jimin leaned back against the lockers, studying you.

“Well,” she said finally, “I noticed you now.”

And for some reason, that made your chest ache a little.

_____

You didn’t expect anything to come of it.

People like Jimin existed in a different orbit. She brushed against the edge of your world today because of a car accident. That didn’t mean she’d stay.

And yet—

You caught her looking at you again in third period.

Not a subtle glance, not an accidental flicker of her gaze. A real, sustained look. She was sitting across the room, one row over and three seats down, next to her usual group. She didn’t laugh when someone showed her something on their phone. She didn’t flip her hair or roll her eyes dramatically the way she always did. She just watched you.

You did your best not to shrink into your hoodie.

When lunch came around, you made your usual exit before the bell. That way you could get to your usual spot in the back corner of the library, where the only noise was the occasional printer malfunction and the rustle of gum wrappers. You didn’t eat in the cafeteria. You’d made that mistake once last year and got bumped so hard into a tray of spaghetti you’d sworn off the lunchroom for good.

But as you reached the double doors to the library, a voice called out behind you.

“Hey!”

You flinched before you turned.

Yu Jimin.

Again.

She jogged up, her bag swinging against her hip. “Where are you going?”

You blinked. “Library.”

“To eat?”

You lifted your sandwich from your hoodie pocket like a badge of honor. “Yeah.”

She frowned. “Why don’t you eat in the cafeteria?”

“Because it’s loud. And crowded. And smells like someone microwaved fish.”

She laughed. “That’s… true.”

“Anyway,” you said, hitching your backpack higher, “you’ve got your table, right? The big round one by the vending machines. With the beautiful people.”

“You know where I sit?”

You gave her a flat look. “Everyone knows where you sit.”

She looked oddly pleased by that. Not in a smug way—just like she hadn’t realized it mattered. “Come sit with me today.”

You stared. “What?”

She gestured casually. “Come on. Just today. I’ll even protect you from any rogue spaghetti.”

Your stomach did a somersault. “Why?”

“Because you’re funny,” she said. “And you got hit by a car. That earns you at least one free lunch.”

You hesitated. Your instincts screamed at you to run. Hide. Retreat to safety.

But then Jimin tilted her head, smiling just a little. It wasn’t her usual confident smirk. It was softer. Curious.

And against your better judgment, you said, “Okay.”

The cafeteria didn’t implode when you walked in with Jimin.

But it felt like it might.

Heads turned. Conversations paused. You saw more than one person lean over to whisper something. You kept your eyes locked on the back of Jimin’s head as she led you through the maze of tables like she didn’t notice any of it.

You sat beside her.

Her friends were already there. Minjeong, Yizhou, and two others whose names you only vaguely remembered. You braced for them to laugh or ask what you were doing there. But surprisingly, they didn’t.

Minjeong gave you a small nod. “You’re the bike girl, right?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Jimin cut in, voice cheerful. “Her name’s Y/N. And I hit her with my car this morning.”

“Ohhh,” Yizhou said, leaning in with interest. “You’re the one.”

“I didn’t press charges,” you said dryly, and the table laughed.

You blinked. You hadn’t meant to be funny.

“You’re okay though?” Minjeong asked, more seriously. “That was kind of dramatic.”

“I’ve had worse,” you muttered. “But yeah. I’m fine.”

“You should’ve seen her,” Jimin said, smiling now as she peeled an orange. “She bounced up like it was nothing. Just dusted herself off and rode away like some kind of anime protagonist.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” Jimin insisted. “Very mysterious. Very main character energy.”

You tried not to turn red. You failed.

The lunch period passed in a strange blur. You didn’t talk much. You didn’t have to. Just being there, with them—part of the conversation instead of outside it—was enough.

And every time you thought maybe you’d said something stupid, you’d glance up and catch Jimin looking at you again.

Not like she was amused.

Not like you were some novelty.

Like she was trying to understand you.

_____

After lunch, things felt… tilted.

You’d expected things to go back to normal. That was always the way with people like Jimin—they touched your life like a meteor streaking across the sky. Bright, fast, unforgettable. But ultimately gone.

Except she wasn’t gone.

She walked with you halfway to your next class. No big deal. She said she was “just heading that way.” But she didn’t even turn down the hallway when you parted—just waited at the corner and watched you disappear into the crowd.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the day. Your body ached in slow waves—especially your knee—but that wasn’t what made your skin feel too tight. It was her.

Yu Jimin.

You didn’t have a crush on her. You were sure of that.

Right?

It wasn’t like one of those stories where the nerdy girl falls for the popular girl and everything goes spiraling. You weren’t imagining holding hands in the rain or carving her name into your desk. You were just…

Noticing.

The way she looked at you like she was listening with her whole body.

The way she made you feel like maybe you weren’t invisible after all.

You hated that it mattered.

When the final bell rang, you moved through the hallway like a ghost. Familiar. Invisible. Safe.

At least until you reached the bike rack.

Your poor ride was still half-broken, its front wheel warped, the chain slacked off and hanging like a busted necklace. You sighed and crouched beside it, trying to fix it before anyone could walk by and see.

“Need a ride?”

You jumped.

Jimin was standing there again, like she’d spawned out of thin air. Her bag slung over one shoulder, a casual breeze ruffling her hair like she was in a music video. She gestured toward her car, parked illegally beside the curb with zero shame.

“I’m good,” you said quickly, tugging at the chain. “Thanks.”

“You’re not good. Your bike’s crying.”

“It’s just—bent. A little.”

“I can drop you off.”

You stood up and wiped your hands on your hoodie. “Why are you doing this?”

Jimin blinked. “Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to me. Offering rides. Sitting with me at lunch like we’re friends.”

“Maybe we are.”

You snorted. “No offense, but I don’t think you need another friend.”

“Maybe I need you.”

The words hung there, heavier than they should’ve been. You searched her face, waiting for the joke. The punchline.

But she wasn’t smiling.

“I didn’t mean that in a weird way,” she added, softer now. “I just meant… you’re different. People around me usually want something. Attention. Clout. A seat at the table. You didn’t even want me to help after I hit you.”

You looked away. “Yeah, well. I don’t really like attention.”

“I noticed.”

She hesitated. “But I want to give it to you anyway.”

Your heart stuttered. You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you climbed into her passenger seat like a coward.

_____

The inside of her car smelled faintly like cherry gum and vanilla. The seats were leather. The air conditioner whispered cool air against your skin as she pulled out of the parking lot like she’d done it a thousand times—with one hand on the wheel and sunglasses she didn’t even need.

“You always drive like you’re in a K-drama?” you asked, trying not to fidget with your sleeves.

Jimin grinned. “Only when I’ve got a mysterious runaway on board.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please stop calling me that.”

She didn’t answer. Just hummed something tuneless under her breath and drove.

You gave her your address reluctantly. It felt weird, letting someone like her into your world. You half-expected her to comment on your neighborhood when you got close. Not because it was bad, but because it was normal. Uneventful. A little rundown in spots. A lot like you.

But she didn’t say a word.

She parked in front of your house and turned off the engine, not moving right away.

You glanced at her. “What, you wanna come in and see my extensive collection of socially-awkward trauma?”

She snorted. “Only if you’ve got snacks.”

You cracked a smile despite yourself. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for not suing me.”

She met your eyes, and for a moment, it felt like you weren’t just someone she hit with a car. You were someone she saw.

You unbuckled your seatbelt. “So… see you tomorrow?”

“If you don’t dodge me again.”

“No promises.”

As you stepped out of the car and started toward your front door, you could feel her watching. Not in a creepy way. Just… lingering. Like she didn’t want the moment to end.

You didn’t look back.

But you smiled the whole way inside.

_____

You woke up sore.

Not the good kind of sore that came from working out or some accidental burst of physical activity. The dull, thudding kind. The kind that settled in your joints and made getting out of bed feel like a bad idea.

Your knee hated you.

Your elbow looked like someone had taken sandpaper to it. And your pride—well, that was still quietly bleeding out somewhere behind your ribcage.

You stared at the ceiling, letting the early morning light leak in around your curtains.

And then your phone buzzed.

A message.

From a number you didn’t recognize.

[Unknown Number]: Morning. Don’t bike today.

[Unknown Number]: Seriously. I mean it. I’ll be outside in 15.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You already knew who it was. No name needed.

[You]: How did you get my number

[Unknown Number]: I’m Yu Jimin. I have people.

[Unknown Number]: Also Ningning stole it from the attendance sheet

[Unknown Number]: But mostly I have people.

You blinked, rereading it three times.

[You]: This is weird

[Yu Jimin]: So is getting hit by a car and refusing a ride

[Yu Jimin]: 10 minutes now. Don’t make me get out of the car again.

You stared at the screen.

And then slowly sat up, bones groaning in protest.

_____

Ten minutes later, you stepped outside.

The air was crisp. Clean. The kind of morning that made everything feel a little too real. The sunlight wasn’t quite warm yet, and your hoodie was zipped to your chin.

Her car was parked at the curb.

And she was leaning against the hood like she was posing for a magazine cover.

Sunglasses. Hoodie. Coffee cup balanced in one hand. Looking devastatingly casual.

You walked up, tugging your sleeves down over your fingers.

“You weren’t kidding.”

“I never kid about transportation.”

You eyed her. “You do realize I have functioning legs?”

She smirked. “Barely.”

You opened the passenger door and slid in. It still smelled like vanilla and something floral you couldn’t quite place. She climbed in after you, started the engine with one hand.

For a few minutes, you drove in silence.

Then Jimin glanced over. “You always listen to nothing in the morning?”

You blinked. “What?”

“No music. No podcast. Just vibes and existential dread?”

You laughed, startled. “I guess I never thought about it.”

“Well, today’s different,” she said, tapping her phone. “You’re in my car. That means you get the Jimin Morning Mix™.”

She hit play.

A soft beat filled the car—some Korean indie track you didn’t recognize. Gentle vocals. Dreamy synths. It was… weirdly nice. It didn’t match what you thought she’d listen to. You expected hyper-pop or something loud. This was… quiet. Introspective.

“Didn’t think this was your vibe,” you said.

Jimin shrugged. “People assume a lot about me.”

You watched her for a second. Her hands on the wheel. Her mouth pressed into a line that didn’t quite smile. Her voice had a weight behind it, just for a second.

You looked back at the road.

“Yeah,” you said. “I get that.”

At school, she parked illegally again like she had diplomatic immunity. You followed her in, trying to keep your hood up, but of course, people noticed.

The whispers started almost immediately.

“She’s with Jimin again—”

“Didn’t she get hit by her car or something?”

“Are they… friends?”

You did your best to shrink into your hoodie.

Jimin noticed. Of course she did.

“Ignore them,” she said, holding the front door open for you. “They’ll find something else to talk about tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I’ll make them.”

You turned your head slightly. “You’re scaring me, Yu Jimin.”

“I’m charming.”

“You’re something.”

She laughed.

 That morning, you found her waiting outside your classroom when the bell rang.

You blinked. “Do you not have class?”

“I do,” she said. “But I figured we could walk together. You limped less today, by the way.”

“Thanks. I healed overnight. Like a Pokémon.”

She grinned and fell into step beside you.

It was subtle, the way people looked at you differently now. Some of it was curiosity. Some of it felt more like envy. But the weirdest part?

You weren’t invisible anymore.

And it was because of her.

And the strangest part?

You didn’t hate it.

_____

The final bell rang, but today, it didn’t mean the usual rush to pack up and scatter. Instead, you found yourself standing by the front doors with Jimin, watching the stream of students spill out into the afternoon sun.

“Wanna grab something?” she asked, voice easy but with that unmistakable glint of challenge you’d come to recognize. “There’s a new convenience store that opened a few blocks from here. They’ve got weird snacks and those fancy iced coffees you like.”

You blinked. “How do you know I like iced coffee?”

She smirked. “I have my sources. And I’ve been paying attention.”

You hesitated for a split second, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? Could be worse than sitting in the library alone.”

Jimin grinned and led the way out, her steps confident and relaxed. You followed, trying not to think about the strange flutter in your chest every time she looked back at you with that half-smile.

_____

The convenience store smelled like cold air and plastic wrappers. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating the rows of snacks and drinks like they were treasures waiting to be discovered.

Jimin wandered over to the iced coffee section and picked up a couple of drinks, handing one to you without a word.

You took it, fingers brushing hers just briefly, and looked around. “So… this is your favorite hangout?”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “No. But it’s the kind of place where I can be… normal. No cameras, no expectations. Just me and a bunch of junk food.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as someone who just hangs out in convenience stores.”

“Yeah?” She took a sip of her coffee, eyes on you now. “Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

You cocked your head. “Okay, mystery girl, spill.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, she looked less like the untouchable queen of school and more like someone you could actually talk to.

“My family’s… complicated. I guess I learned early how to put on a show. But that doesn’t mean I always want to be the center of it.”

You nodded, surprised by how much you wanted to keep listening.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “I just want to sit in a place like this, drink a bad iced coffee, and not have to be anyone’s idea of perfect.”

You took a long sip of your own drink, feeling like you were seeing her for the first time.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said after a beat. “I don’t usually do this stuff with people like you.”

You blinked. “People like me?”

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. “You know. Not part of the usual crowd. You’re… different. Not trying to impress or compete.”

You felt your cheeks heat up but managed a smile. “Maybe I’m different in a good way.”

“Definitely,” she said, smiling back.

As you walked back toward school, side by side, you realized something:

This—whatever this was—wasn’t about popularity or status anymore.

It was about two people starting to understand each other.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

_____

The days after that convenience store trip passed in a strange sort of blur. School felt different — not because classes changed, or the workload eased, but because Jimin’s presence shifted the gravity of your usual orbit. Somehow, the walls you built around yourself felt less necessary. Like maybe someone finally saw the real you, and wasn’t running away.

That afternoon, you found yourself sitting on the cracked pavement behind the school, your backpack carelessly tossed aside. Jimin was next to you, chewing on a straw from a soda she’d swiped from the vending machine, legs stretched out in front of her like she owned the world. Or maybe just this corner of it.

Neither of you said much. You didn’t need to.

The silence wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was easy, like the pause between notes in a song — the part that lets everything else breathe.

You glanced at her sideways. “Why do you always hang out back here?”

She shrugged, eyes fixed on the sky. “Because no one usually comes here. It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

You nodded, understanding that more than you wanted to admit.

“You ever feel like you’re playing a part all the time?” she asked suddenly.

Your heart skipped. “All the time.”

She looked over, and for the first time, you caught a flicker of vulnerability beneath her cool exterior.

“I’m supposed to be perfect. The best. The most popular. But sometimes, I just want to be me — whoever that is.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. “Maybe you’re more ‘you’ than you think.”

She smiled, soft and real. “Maybe.”

For a moment, it felt like the world shrunk down to just the two of you, sharing secrets in the quiet afternoon light.

Then she nudged your shoulder gently. “You know, if you ever want to get away from the chaos — even for a little bit — you can come find me.”

You met her gaze, feeling the weight of her words. They weren’t just an offer. They were a promise.

And somehow, you knew you’d take her up on it.

That evening, your thoughts kept drifting back to Jimin — her easy smile, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the room, the soft way she’d touched your shoulder. It was confusing and new, and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

The next morning, you woke to your phone buzzing. It was her.

Jimin: Hey. You up? I’m outside.

Your heart sped up, a strange mix of excitement and nerves curling in your stomach. You threw on your hoodie and jeans, grabbed your bag, and stepped outside.

Her car was waiting at the curb, just like yesterday.

“You’re persistent,” you teased as you slid into the passenger seat.

She grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

The morning air was crisp, and the car smelled like vanilla and cherry gum — the scent somehow comforting now.

As she drove, she reached over and lightly brushed your hand.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Her fingers lingered for a moment before pulling back, but the spark between your skin stayed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all week,” she admitted, eyes on the road.

You laughed softly, heart pounding. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” she said, turning to look at you with that half-smile that made your knees weak. “I’m glad I finally did.”

For the first time, you let yourself lean a little closer.

Maybe this was the start of something neither of you saw coming.

You weren’t sure when it changed.

When a late ride to school became something like ritual. When the silence between you and Jimin turned warm. When your body started remembering the brush of her fingers before your mind could catch up.

But it had.

And now, sitting beside her in the car again — parked at the edge of a quiet overlook just outside town — it felt like you were both pretending it hadn’t.

She hadn’t said anything outright. Neither had you. But the tension lived in the space between your knees, barely a few inches apart. It hummed in the way she kept stealing glances at you and looked away a moment too late.

You were sipping from the iced coffee she’d bought you (again), staring out the windshield at the empty horizon, when she said it.

Quiet. Like she was afraid it might scare you off.

“Do you think we would’ve ended up here if I hadn’t hit you with my car?”

You blinked, lips parted around the straw. “Wow. Way to romance me, Jimin.”

She laughed, pressing her head back against the seat, her hand curled in her lap. “I’m serious.”

You glanced over. Her expression had softened. There was something behind it — like she was trying to say more than her words would allow.

“I think…” you started slowly, “…you would’ve still caught my attention eventually. You’re kind of impossible to ignore.”

She looked over. “Even when you weren’t into me?”

“I never said that.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

You didn’t look at her, not fully. You just stared down at the condensation on your cup and said, “I didn’t have a crush on you. That part was true. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious. Or aware.”

“So what changed?”

You swallowed.

“You started seeing me,” you said. “Like… actually seeing me. Not just someone at school. Not just ‘that girl who bikes in too fast and eats lunch alone.’ You looked. And you didn’t look away.”

Jimin was quiet for a long beat. The kind of silence that made your heart race because you didn’t know what would come next.

Then: “I don’t usually get to look at people like this.”

You turned, finally, eyes meeting hers. “Like what?”

“Like it matters.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it hit you in the chest like a punch — all soft edges and raw honesty.

“I’ve had people obsess over me, sure. Crushes. Fans, even. But it’s always from a distance. They’re chasing something that isn’t real.”

“And me?”

“You never chased,” she said. “You just… stayed.”

The words hung there between you, heavy with something unnamed.

She turned toward you fully now, one leg bent on the seat, her elbow resting near yours. “It’s terrifying,” she said softly. “How easy it is to talk to you. How quiet the world feels when I’m near you.”

Your heart stuttered.

“You’re not what I expected,” she continued. “You don’t try to impress me. You don’t shrink away either. You’re just you. And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until I found it.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your mouth was dry, and your chest felt tight in a way that wasn’t unpleasant — just unfamiliar.

“You make me feel… less alone,” you admitted. “Like I don’t have to apologize for being quiet. Or awkward. Or not perfect.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re not awkward.”

You laughed under your breath. “You hit me with a car and I apologized.”

She grinned. “Okay, yeah. That was awkward.”

You looked at her again.

Closer this time.

Her hand was still near yours, fingers barely brushing. She didn’t pull away. You didn’t either.

“I think I’m starting to get a crush,” you said suddenly.

It came out fast. Unfiltered. Real.

She blinked, then smiled — slow and small and dangerous in its sweetness.

“Yeah?” she murmured.

“Yeah.”

You didn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

But something passed between you — electric and impossible to take back. A silent agreement.

Something was happening.

Something fragile. Something real.

And this time, neither of you looked away.

You didn’t want to go home.

Not yet.

The sky was bleeding into that pale watercolor haze between late afternoon and dusk, and the car was still warm with sunlight trapped in the windows. The kind of warmth that makes you drowsy, that makes the silence feel alive instead of empty.

Jimin hadn’t moved since you last spoke — still watching you, her body turned toward yours, her elbow brushing the center console, her eyes soft in a way that made your chest ache.

You were the one who broke the silence, voice low. “Can we just… sit for a little while?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We can sit.”

No hesitation.

No teasing.

Just her voice, quiet and steady.

You shifted, tucking your legs under you on the seat, facing her completely now. The iced coffee in your hand had long since gone lukewarm, but you held onto it like it anchored you to something. Something real.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on your face — not in the way most people looked at you, as if they were trying to figure you out or pick you apart. She looked like she was learning. Memorizing.

You tried to hold still under that kind of attention. It wasn’t easy.

“You know,” she said softly, “I thought I knew everything about this school. All the faces. All the stories.”

You tilted your head. “And?”

“And then you came crashing into me. Literally. And suddenly I realized I didn’t know a damn thing.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest,” she said. “It’s different with you.”

“Different how?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “With you… I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to talk just to fill silence. I don’t have to be ‘Jimin’ with the capital J.”

She paused.

“With you, I can be just Jimin.”

That made something inside you ache — the kind of ache you didn’t have a name for. The kind that only happened when someone peeled back a part of themselves and handed it to you, open and fragile.

And you wanted to hold it carefully. Gently.

“I like just Jimin,” you said quietly. “A lot, actually.”

She let out a breath that sounded like relief. Her smile wobbled slightly at the corners.

Then she reached out — slowly, like giving you a chance to pull away — and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

Her fingertips brushed your skin. Your breath hitched.

“Y/N,” she said, your name soft like it wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but the first time it meant something.

“Yeah?”

“If I did something impulsive right now, would you hate me for it?”

You swallowed, pulse thudding loud in your ears.

“That depends,” you said. “How impulsive are we talking?”

She hesitated, her hand still hovering by your cheek. Her thumb brushed the corner of your jaw, feather-light.

And then she whispered, “I kind of want to kiss you.”

Your whole body went still.

Then warm.

Then weightless.

You didn’t answer with words.

You leaned forward just a little — enough.

That was all she needed.

Her lips brushed yours, soft and careful. A question, not a demand. You answered it by kissing her back — just as soft, just as careful.

When you pulled apart, neither of you said anything for a long moment.

The air inside the car felt different. Heavy with new meaning.

Jimin let her forehead rest lightly against yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you biked away from me with half your body bleeding,” she murmured.

You laughed — really laughed — and she did too, and it felt like something cracked open between you. Something easy. Something terrifying. Something true.

“You’re the worst,” you said into her shoulder.

“I know,” she replied. “But I’m your worst now, right?”

You didn’t answer.

You just nodded into her hoodie and stayed there.

And she didn’t move.

_____

The next Monday morning, you walked into school not as “the girl who eats lunch alone,” or “the one who got hit by a car,” but as someone different.

Not because of the stares. Not because of the whispers.

But because Jimin was waiting for you at the front steps.

She leaned against the railing like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t the most talked-about person in the building. Like she wasn’t wearing your hoodie — the navy blue one you’d left in her car two nights ago.

You slowed as you approached, heart thudding behind your ribs.

Jimin looked up. Smiled. That same soft, quiet smile she only ever gave you now.

“Morning,” she said.

“Hey,” you replied.

She tilted her head. “You sleep okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Not really.” She stretched her arms overhead, hoodie sleeves hanging past her hands. “Kept thinking about you.”

It was so casual. So effortless.

Like she’d been waiting to say that since the second you left her car.

You looked down at the sidewalk, trying not to grin like an idiot. “You’re really not subtle, huh?”

“Not with you,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice dipped, quieter now. “I don’t want to be.”

The hallway behind her buzzed with early morning chaos — lockers slamming, friends shouting across the stairs, the shrill echo of the bell. But none of it mattered.

Not when she was standing this close. Not when her hand brushed yours again — this time not a question, but a claim.

“I don’t care what people say,” she said, voice low. “I want to do this for real.”

You looked up at her, heart hammering.

“This?”

She nodded, her fingers gently curling around yours. “Us. I’m not good at slow. Or quiet. But I’ll try, if that’s what you need.”

You squeezed her hand.

“I don’t need perfect,” you said. “I just need you.”

And it was enough.

It was more than enough.

Because the girl everyone thought had everything had found someone who saw her — not the shine, not the surface, but the soul underneath.

And you — the quiet, awkward girl who never asked for much — had been seen too.

Truly seen.

For who you were. For everything you were still becoming.

And this time, neither of you ran away.

[dahlibae]

END OF TIME.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

(dark!wanda maximoff x fem!reader)

warning(s) — oneshot: smut, mommy kink, spanking, forced orgasm, cunnilingus, strap on sex, dubious content, it’s implied that wanda kidnapped reader but it could just be an abusive relationship. (18+)

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The world you lived in was nothing more than a sick, twisted game—an endless cycle of pain and loneliness. No parents to guide you, no friends to lean on, no lovers to heal the gaping void in your chest. You were utterly alone, a pawn in a cruel universe that seemed to relish your suffering.

Until you met her.

Wanda.

She was a glimmer of light in your shadowed world, the kind of woman you’d never dared to believe could exist. Wanda was everything—an angel amidst the darkness, a storm of warmth and strength. She saw you when no one else did, pulled you from the depths when you’d nearly drowned. She cared for you with such a tenderness that was foreign, almost unreal, teaching you lessons that reshaped the jagged edges of your soul. She reminded you what it meant to feel human. Her laugh could soften even the sharpest corners of your broken heart, and her touch… god her touch was like that of a soothing balm, a cure for wounds you thought would never heal.

And she loved you.

Genuinely, fiercely, as though you were worthy of it. For the first time in your life, you believed in something greater than the endless cruelty of the world.

She made you feel alive.

She made you feel whole.

But perfection often comes with a price.

And in a world this twisted, nothing good ever lasts forever.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The clock above the kitchen door never stopped ticking. Even as the sun set and the moon rose, even as the light faded into dark, even as the warm air blistered cold.

It never stopped.

Perched on the sofa, you stared at the offending piece of metal, its steady ticking filling the silence like a relentless reminder of time slipping away. Each second felt heavier than the last, your gaze locked on its rhythmic movement until, finally, another sound broke through. The front door creaked open and shut with a familiar thud.

In walked Wanda. Her hair, now a dark shade of walnut, framed her face as she bustled into the room with an energy that seemed almost misplaced. She wore a beaming smile, the kind that used to light up your world—once.

She quickly moved over to you, intending to place a kiss upon your head, but she froze mid-step, her attention stolen by the sight of the room. The space gleamed under the soft light, every surface shining with a meticulousness that could only come from hours of dedicated effort. You had spent the entire day cleaning until not a speck of dust remained, transforming the already tidy space into something worthy of a magazine cover. Not that it had ever been messy—Wanda would sooner face the end of the world than tolerate clutter in her home.

In the six months you had been locked away here, you had never seen it untidy.

Still, you had somehow managed to elevate it, making even her discerning eye take notice. The scent of her signature lavender lingered faintly in the air, a testament to the freshly wiped counters and perfectly polished furniture. Wanda’s lips curved into a soft smile as she turned her gaze back to you, a glimmer of gratitude and warmth dancing in her eyes.

"You’ve outdone yourself.” She murmured, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "I didn’t think it was possible for this place to look even better." She moved closer, leaning down at last to press a tender kiss to your forehead, her touch lingering as she whispered, "thank you, baby."

You only answered with a quiet hum and a small smile of your own.

That smile returned to her face once more, slow and sharp, like the curve of a blade. You saw the devious plans ignite in her eyes, glinting with a wicked satisfaction that made your stomach churn. Everything was a game to her—a cruel, mind-bending game with rules only she knew, rules she could rewrite at will. Every move you made, every word you uttered, was just another piece she could twist to fit her narrative.

All you’d done was clean the house. A half-hearted, mediocre effort at best, born more from a desire to fill the empty hours than any real care for the place. It wasn’t much—a swipe of the rag here, a broom lazily dragged there. But somehow, she’d seized on it, weaving it into one of her elaborate fantasies. To her, this simple act was proof. Proof that you were finally breaking, that you were starting to accept your fate, that the fight had drained out of you and you were settling into this twisted new reality.

You wanted to scream at her, to shatter that smug certainty etched into her face.

But you knew better.

Here, in this place, every outburst was just more ammunition for her games. Instead, you clenched your fingers together and swallowed the lump rising in your throat, forcing yourself to meet her gaze without flinching. Because deep down, you knew the truth: she thrived on subduing your rebellion as much as your compliance. Whether you resisted or surrendered, you were still playing her game.

And the thought of that terrified you more than anything else.

The dread ate away at your chest.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You were on all fours: sweaty, panting, naked—of course— as your legs trembled to hold your weight up. Your arms had given up along time ago. Her hips snapped into the flesh of your ass, as her strap drove deep into your pussy. Wanda liked to hurt you. Liked to spank your ass red as she fucked you dumb. Your ass twitched with the anticipation of the first slap. And as Wanda’s hand connected over and over again, you became more and more tense, attempting to lessen the impact of the slaps.

Let it be known, the humiliation was the point; it always is with her. And worse than that, you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve came. All of them forced. All of them just as good as the last. She was relentless, and yet, she called it a reward— “for being such a good girl for Mommy while she was at work.”

You chose to ignore the pulse in your clit as she called herself Mommy.

Wanda’s increased moans as well as her rough pace told you she was close to finishing. You’d just hope this time she’d be done for real. There was only so much you could take before tears began to fall. However, her hips faltered before coming to a complete stop. Her pants filled the air before she pulled out of you, liquids soaking the bed below as she discarded the strap.

“Come here, baby." She grabbed, and you rolled to lay flat on your back.

Oh.

Her strong thighs crawled to wrap around your head as she threaded fingers through your curls. “I want to see how useful that little pink tongue of yours is, hm?”

Wanda had always tasted good. No matter how sadistic and cruel she could be, you could never not enjoy eating her out. The sounds she’d make, the way her hips roll into you; the tension increasing as she holding herself back from fucking your face, the gentle fingers scraping against your scalp.

She looked as ethereal as she tasted.

“That’s it, baby. Oh, you’re so good for me. So good for Mommy.” She rushed out, unable to contain the little whines clawing from her throat. Her hips picked up the pace, and you held out your tongue out for her to ride, pink flesh solid against her sensitivity, and she rocked against your face until she spilled all over your lips.

Immediately she fell off you, and drew you into her arms.

She’d always needed to hold you after sex.

Such a different affection than as to how she was treating you before.

“You know I love you right?” She whispered, and that same dread from earlier would crawl right back in, the heavy weight settled on your chest.

You knew she didn’t care if you believed her or not.

She just wanted you to say it back.

You turned further into her embrace, face nuzzled into her breasts, as your legs tangled with hers.

“I love you too Mommy.”

[bluesunss]

Moonbird T.O.P (Choi Seunghyun) x F!Reader

Big Bang april challenge - April 4th

summary: bumping into an ex at the most unexpected place...

warnings: nothing much really, tiny bit of angst and emotional cheating innuendos (but no actual cheating and NOT between the main characters - read to understand), sensitive reader

a/n: if I say I got carried away it would be an euphemism. this is quite long, literally a full fanfic on its own. a whole subplot has been created for it! I hope it will be enjoyable :) tysm @wcnderlnds and @ldydeath for the fun challenge!

p.s.: the Adrienette slow dance music perfectly fits the vibe

The hum of the passenger-filled airplane was the only sound reaching you. And yet, people continued to board the massive metallic vessel, speaking loudly as they hoisted their luggage into the overhead compartments. You could hear the rustling of jackets as strangers bumped into each other, the children asking how long the journey would take or whether they could eat.

You were already seated, and it was no accident. The moment boarding was announced, you had leaped to be the first in line, the first to present your passport, your documents, your ticket. In fact, the flight was scheduled to depart at four in the afternoon, but you had arrived at the airport at seven in the morning.

But that, too, was no coincidence. You were terrified of planes. Heights. An irrational, all-consuming fear that sometimes forced you to endure three-day train journeys just to avoid a simple flight. Even though your budding career as a seamstress required you to travel, it was well known that you never took planes, and the rare events to which you were invited were usually within Korea, around Seoul.

It wasn’t a bad arrangement, you thought. No, it was your fear that dictated your choices. Not just any fear, not the kind that makes you close your eyes for a moment. No, yours was the kind that made you tremble, cry, curl into yourself.

But this time, you had no choice. One of your closest childhood friends was getting married this weekend in Paris. And unless some magical form of transportation could bridge the gap between Seoul and Paris, you were left with no other option. You had considered declining. Hesitated for hours.

But in the end, you had no choice but to accept. Because your favorite fashion designer, DIANE, lived near the wedding venue and you were told she might attend. Because it was one of your dearest friends. Because you hadn’t seen him in over ten years, and you missed him terribly. Because at thirty-four, your life was just beginning, and it was a chaotic whirlwind of fabric, needles, phone calls, restless women, and fashion magazines. Of screens, austerity, discipline. A thrilling life, yes, but an exhausting one.

Head buried in your hands, you took a deep breath, trying to steady the irrational pounding of your heart. Your chest ached, tightening around your lungs, forcing you to breathe only through your mouth, in uneven, ragged gasps. You rubbed your clammy hands together, then wiped them on your jeans - only to repeat the motion as fresh sweat immediately replaced the last.

The plane was scheduled to take off in about ten minutes. Since your friend Dong-hyun and his fiancée had decided to gift flight tickets to all their guests, you had insisted on flying economy class despite their attempts to offer you a better seat. Dong-hyun eventually gave in, albeit reluctantly. His fiancée scolded him; she genuinely wanted you to be comfortable. You pulled the light shawl over your shoulders and breathed in its scent.

Lost in thought, you decided to calm yourself by opening a book from your carry-on. Time passed at that steady rhythm until you felt a shift, a faint tremor. Your fingers clenched around the book. The words dissolved into broken syllables.

“…his hand… rai… catch… and… c…”

The rolling motion began. Like a car, you murmured. Like. A. Car. Breathe. Stay calm. It’s going to be okay. A. Car. A train. It’s going to be okay.

At first, it was fine. The first ten minutes. The wheels retracting. The screech against the tarmac. And then it began. Your nails dug into the armrests. You squeezed your eyes shut, tried to control your breathing, counted the clouds, but nothing worked.

Beside you, a child sat with headphones on, absorbed in a book, while his mother dozed off, cradling a newborn. You couldn’t ask them for help. Across the aisle, a man was fast asleep.

The shaking started.

The plane sped up. Faster. Faster still. Faster, faster, faster - it was about to lift off, about to take flight. The seatbelt sign wasn’t even on yet, but you were braced, your heart pounding wildly.

And then, turbulence.

Your hand shot out and latched onto someone’s arm as they passed by, gripping their forearm with all your strength. Trembling, lips pressed into a thin line, you refused to let go. And then-

A voice instructed passengers to fasten their seatbelts.

You looked up.

The person looked down.

And you both froze.

He was wearing a mask. A cap.

But those eyes. Those strands of hair falling over his gaze.

Him.

Choi Seunghyun.

“Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

Right there. In front of you. Your first love. The first person in your life. The one with whom you had built a future. Who had pushed you to enroll in fashion school. Whom you had encouraged to try rapping. Whose first lyrics you helped write. Who you graduated high school with.

Of course.

The one celebrating his birthday - Dong-hyun - had been your best friend back then. The nights spent playing board games after school. The words, the music. The way they used to tease you two, knowing you were in love but that neither of you dared to make the first move.

The time they abandoned you at the fair, forcing you two together.

The moment his lips met yours on the Ferris wheel.

The day he confessed, cheeks flushed, in the heart of your seventeen-year-old selves.

Oh.

If there was one thing Seunghyun knew, it was how terrified you were of heights. In the Ferris wheel, before he kissed you, you had cried and clung to his shirt. In the end, it had been purely instinctive. You had found him looking at you, soothing you, and it had simply happened. Your heart had pounded for an entirely different reason, and the world had fallen silent.

And the wheel had reached the bottom. Calmly. Without turbulence.

Seunghyun’s arm did not move. Another thing about him was his ability to make decisions quickly.

“Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. I repeat, please-”

“Unfasten your seatbelt,” he ordered. You were too stunned to react. With a swift movement, you clicked open your belt. A flight attendant was striding toward you, but Seunghyun remained unfazed. He waited - waited for the command to reach your brain, for your fingers to press the metallic clasp, for his hand to calmly take yours and enclose it within his.

Gently guiding you, he led you all the way to the empty seats. The flight attendant approached, but then, suddenly, Seunghyun lowered his mask, and she blushed before turning away.

He took one of the vacant seats and sat down, then helped you sit before fastening your seatbelt. Without a word, he placed a hand on the side of your head, tilted it onto his shoulder, close to his heart, and let his fingers hover against your cheek for a moment before lowering his hand to your shoulder, keeping you pressed against him.

Not a single word. Only the rhythm of his heartbeat, the reassuring scent of clean linen and his cologne - unchanged - the warmth of his fingers on your shoulder, and the silence that said everything.

You no longer felt anything. You were at peace. The plane accelerated. The wheels screeched against the ground, and then your heart lurched as it took off, as the world tilted slightly and the landscape blurred past.

But Seunghyun held you close. He pressed your shoulder in that rhythmic way he had with his fingers, one after the other, like playing a piano, creating a cadence that regulated your breathing. He always did that when you panicked - whether over an overwhelming workload or when you came home crying after a failed deal. Seunghyun was calm and understanding.

Perhaps that was why you drifted apart. After high school, he spent two years at SNU studying history, but he never managed to love the university or academic life. Eventually, he dropped out, and gradually, you both ended up investing in a talent he had kept buried deep within him but had always cherished - singing, rapping, the world of stardom. Little by little, a career took shape.

You had been there, watching from the sidelines, as he traded textbooks for lyrics and study halls for underground stages. He started rapping again, reconnecting with an old friend, Kwon Ji-yong, and from there, everything snowballed. YG Entertainment. Big Bang. Stadiums and screaming fans. His name became something else - T.O.P - and the world claimed him.

You had hardly ever met the other members. You were too busy. You, whom he had encouraged to enroll in a fashion school, faced rejection after rejection.

He had always been there for you. All this time. His rhythmic tapping, his presence - him, simply. Always putting you before his career. Always. One call at any hour? He would be at your doorstep, canceling a concert for tens of thousands of people.

But you were the one who distanced yourself first. You were too much for him. Too much of everything, too much of his world, too much of his refuge, too much of his problem.

And then, you were finally accepted by an underrated Korean designer. She saw herself as a pioneer, advocating for pattern mixing - pairing a plaid shirt with a polka-dot skirt.

You were not an innovator, more conventional, but she guided you beyond the conformity of everyday life. Seunghyun always saw you as a little bird - his nickname for you was Dalsae. Moon bird.

But you had taken flight. Your first fashion show was a shock. She provoked, she attacked. Seunghyun warned you, saying you were going against your nature, but you thought he wanted to keep you from flying. You lashed out at him. You provoked him constantly, throwing barbed words, yet he remained as calm as ever.

But each time, he withdrew a little more.

A crack formed. And when the designer helped you spread your wings, she clipped them. She stole your sketches and created a new collection that shook the fashion world. A deafening silence.

However, Seunghyun was no longer there. He had pulled away - afraid for you, but also of you. You were always so quick to anger.

The cracks deepened. Mistakes were made on both sides: he withdrew when you truly needed him, and you let him go when he needed a sign to stay.

And so, your worlds crumbled. Even when you came back, proposed new designs, received countless calls, even when Nova was suddenly dragged to court for intellectual theft, and your sketches were finally unveiled to the world.

Even when your world rebuilt itself. He was no longer there.

Physically, yes, you still lived together. But the mistakes of your youth had turned you into wandering souls. Strangers.

The separation was silent. Slowly, things disappeared - first a toothbrush, then a jacket, then his underwear. Then the shelves emptied, the closets, the separate nights.

And then, one morning, he told you he would be staying over at a friend’s place for the night. And you knew he would not return.

He left you the furniture, the car, the apartment. But he took your heart. You didn’t cry in the first few weeks. You were too busy, still unaware.

Then, one Friday night, you came home, laughing, happy because you had been invited to your first event, and you wanted him to come. You had called his name, placed a cake you had bought on the dining table, and suddenly realized.

He was gone. The apartment was empty.

And only then did you cry, mourning the loss of the person dearest to you.

Seven years later, he was here. Holding you as he used to, just as calm. You stayed in his arms for long minutes. You even dozed off against his chest as his fingers stroked your hair.

Hours later, you woke with just an hour and a half left in the flight, realizing that throughout the twelve-hour journey, not once had you trembled. And against you, he breathed, deeply asleep, his hand still holding you - just as he had seventeen years earlier, in that Ferris wheel.

With a small movement, you lifted his arm, gently placed it back against his body, then slipped away to retrieve your bag and belongings. As you returned, you wondered why you were coming back to your ex’s side, but you chose not to think about it too much and let yourself sink into the seat beside him.

You pulled out your book, and even when the plane landed, the mere presence of the man with his steady breathing and familiar scent was enough to calm you.

You arrived at Paris Charles de Gaulle airport around four in the morning. Your body was stiff as you unloaded your luggage and belongings, and by the time you were through, it was nearly five, with the sun rising. Seunghyun and you had exchanged no words, but he remained close, his hand hovering over the small of your back, guiding you everywhere. He retrieved your suitcase, your handbag - a birthday gift from him as a couple - and you swore you saw his eyes soften behind his mask. You spoke little, in brief syllables - “All good?” “And you?” “Yes.” “No.” “Careful.” “Go first.”

The French air smelled sharper, a little less artificial than Korea’s. The airport was vast, filled with unfamiliar voices and sounds you didn’t understand.

“L'embarquement pour l'avion vers Riyad partira avec un retard de quinze minutes. Les portes de l'embarquement pour Genève sont fermées. À cause des travaux-”

Seunghyun was pulling his suitcase and carrying your backpack. After all the security checks (where you were forced to throw away a perfume bottle because you had apparently forgotten how to read numbers), you finally reached the airport exit together. You were the one to break the real silence.

“Are you going to Dong-hyun and Soo-yeon’s wedding?”

He had lowered his mask - in Paris, he was less recognized - and you took the opportunity to observe him under his cap, his dark brown hair always falling messily over his eyes, the way you used to love brushing it back. His deep eyes, which used to light up when you kissed him and he pulled you into his arms. His thin, rosy lips. He hadn’t changed, though a few lines creased his forehead when he raised his eyebrows or around his eyes. But that was only because you knew his face by heart. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed.

You removed your shawl and shook your head, letting your hair fall over your shoulders. You thought his gaze lingered on you, but when you looked up, he was reading the screens.

You walked side by side, silent, save for the rolling of your suitcases on the parquet floor and the shrill voices of parents calling after their children.

“I received the invitation a month ago.”

Seunghyun rarely answered with a simple yes or no. He always took a step around his response, as if he already knew what you were about to say.

"Me too. I'm surprised he's doing it in Paris, even though Soo-yeon is French."

He still wasn’t looking at you. "Dong-hyun dreamed of Montparnasse."

Memories resurfaced. Dong-hyun didn’t care about the Eiffel Tower or the Louvre. He was obsessed with that tower - who knows why.

"His architectural project model was a replica of the tower, remember?"

Seunghyun’s lips curled slightly, and you thought you heard a quiet laugh escape him. "He was such an idiot, too. Who builds a famous tower? Did he think that just because it was in Korea, he could pretend he had invented it?"

You laughed too, your eyes glimmering. "He said great minds think alike. I haven’t seen him in a while."

"Ten years. Just before…"

Before you parted ways. A heavy silence fell again. You gripped your suitcase, your knuckles turning white.

"We’re here."

You lifted your head. It was the exit. Seunghyun lingered for a moment, his gaze resting on your face, which seemed so distant to him that his heart clenched.

"Do you have a taxi?"

You nodded. Soo-yeon and you had video-called because her fiancé had told her you two would get along perfectly, and she had adored you - both you and your designs. Her mother was French, and Soo-yeon had assured you that your fashion would revolutionize Paris. She had even sent a friend to pick you up directly.

And there he was. You recognized him from the picture - dark brown hair, green eyes, leather jacket.

He recognized you too. He walked up to you, pulled you into a hug, and kissed both your cheeks loudly. Then, he grabbed your suitcase, speaking in a choppy mix of French and English.

"Yoo, Soo-yeon told me so much sur toi. Askip you’re a designer. TROP excited to see that."

He walked with a swagger and smelled of cigarettes and leaves. You glanced up at Seunghyun as the man, in a hurry, dragged your luggage while monologuing.

Your cheeks were red, your eyes still damp. You grabbed your backpack from Seunghyun’s hand and gave him a quick wave.

"See you later."

He didn’t answer. His eyes flicked from you to the man, then to the signs and the ticking time. He hadn’t lost his composure, but you could have sworn you saw him falter.

☽

The hotel was a grand Haussmannian building in the sixth arrondissement. In the lobby, men carried your suitcases upstairs, the so-called friend, Benoît, kissed your cheeks again before leaving, and you found yourself lost in a foreign whirlwind.

Your belongings were brought up, you followed the elevator to the seventh floor, walked down the hallway, and a mustached man in red opened the door for you, handing you a key card.

Only then did you let yourself collapse onto the velvet bed. The wedding was in two days, and you felt yourself sink into sleep.

☽

Night fell, and you woke abruptly to a deep, thunderous rumble. Jolting out of bed, you searched for the source before realizing the window was ajar. You still hadn’t changed. Moving toward the small balcony, you stepped outside. In the distance, a construction site pressed forward, a massive yellow crane screeching as it moved. How did the workers dare to climb it? To you, it was the ultimate display of courage.

The night was deep, the sky a dark blue, starless. Far away, the Eiffel Tower pierced a lone cloud. It had not yet begun to sparkle. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of flowers placed along the railing and something warm. And just then, you felt a new world unfolding before you. It would be okay. Everything would be okay.

You smiled at the sky, stretching your hand outward as if to touch the Eiffel Tower from afar.

"Careful!"

The voice came from your left. You turned your head sharply, gripping the railing for balance - and then you saw him.

Seunghyun had the room next to yours. The moment he saw you, his fist clenched, and without another word, he stepped back into his room.

Your heart pounded violently. You turned back inside, shut the terrace doors, and stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light. Quickly, you washed your body with the hotel’s Marseille soap, dried your hair in the modern bathroom, then changed to go for a walk.

Dressing wasn’t a simple task for you; designing clothes meant you played by your own rules. Your main principle lay in color - its chaotic harmony. That was why you were Korea’s ever-changing bird. And Seunghyun’s moonbird. His Dalsae.

But tonight, you wanted to exist quietly. Without colors.

So you slipped into one of your work sweaters and a pair of trousers - elegant and pressed, but loose enough to let you dissolve into your thoughts. You laced up your sneakers, unlocked the door, and left your belongings neatly stacked in the corner of the room.

The hallway was lined with red carpet, the walls gilded leather molded into a series of convex shapes. It was an attempt at blending Renaissance France with Versailles and Louis Le Vau’s influence while preserving the Haussmannian essence that came later in the early nineteenth century.

The mix was somewhat grotesque - clumsy in the way only forced luxury can be. Instinctively, your fingers reached for your ear, searching for a pencil as if to sketch out a better design, when a shadow moved behind you.

Seunghyun approached, carrying his scent like an unmistakable aura. He tilted his head.

"The hotel’s style is strange."

It wasn’t a question. He had figured it out. He always did. You threw your head back, grinning at him upside down.

"Yep. I want to redesign the whole building."

He smiled softly, and the two of you continued walking through the hall.

What was he doing here?

"Paris is dangerous at night," he replied, as if he had read your thoughts. "These are the nice neighborhoods, but every corner has a story. Don’t go out alone."

You nodded thoughtfully. His gaze swept over your ‘normal’ outfit, your barely-there makeup, the damp curls that had slipped from your low ponytail.

You walked in silence for a moment, reached the elevator, and waited patiently. You swung your foot slightly forward, feigning indifference.

The elevator arrived. You stepped inside, and then-

The silence of the corridor suddenly expanded into something immense. Overwhelming.

The seven floors that had taken only minutes before now stretched into endless hours.

You didn’t dare lift your head to meet his gaze. He said nothing, but you knew his head was lowered too. And that he had pulled the hood of his black sweatshirt - your favorite - over his hair.

"So… how are you?"

His voice sent a shiver down your spine. Between these four walls, it felt so distant yet so close, vibrating through you.

"I’m fine. But…"

Finally daring to look at him, you tried to catch his eyes as they darted away.

"And you? Are you… okay?"

His fingers tugged at the drawstrings of his hoodie. He wasn’t looking at you.

"Hyun?"

At the sound of his name, he reacted. His face lifted, revealing something shaken, fractured - all the emotions bottled up in those endless silences, in that dull absence.

"I…"

Ting!

The door opened. He composed himself, adjusted his posture, and let you step out before following suit. The hotel lobby had filled slightly with couples and murmuring voices, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. Every golden table was occupied. People spoke loudly, many in English. A blend of musk and old upholstery floated around you, and you mentally added it to the list of comforting scents.

Seunghyun stepped ahead as the grand doors swung open, and the two of you stepped into the fresh, dark night. A shiver ran through you, and you followed him. You walked in silence for a while, taking in the crisp scent of pine and sharp autumn leaves, until the quiet grew heavier.

So much to say, and no way to say it.

“How are GDragon and the others?”

Truthfully, GD was the only name you had remembered - because you loved dragons and the intricate scale patterns you often incorporated into your designs, and because you'd met Jiyong a few times.

Seunghyun exhaled softly. “They’re fine.”

You reached a winding street. Hundreds of cars crisscrossed in every direction, and well-dressed pedestrians crowded the sidewalks. For the first time in your life, you felt underdressed. The Eiffel Tower loomed closer.

“Not really,” he finally admitted, exhaling. “There have been… problems. A few scandals. It’s been rough.”

A gust of cold air made you shudder. He noticed but said nothing at first. “We’ve had problems. I don’t know if things will ever get better.”

Big Bang? Problems? You had been so consumed by your own world that you had ignored his. To this day, the wound of your breakup was still raw. Because neither of you had ever really spoken the words. And perhaps because of that, you still felt as if you were together. As if every man you had dated since was, in some unspoken way, a betrayal. You were still bound to Seunghyun.

The silence was unbearable.

The nights spent laughing like lunatics on the couch over some ridiculous comedy. The hours wasted on absurd video games he’d bought from obscure stores, games that made no sense. The virus he downloaded that turned your screen blue for months. The ridiculous nicknames. That time you both dyed your hair red and botched it so badly that your scorched ends turned into wild, lion-like manes for weeks. The rule 'No laughing at the other' that none of you respected, holding your stomaches with laughter. The kisses.

You missed him. More than that - you were dying without him.

“Seunghyun?”

He tilted his head slightly, listening. He had always been calm, but never this silent.

“Why did we break up?”

The question lingered in the air. It cut through the tension, shattering it into a thousand sharper pieces. Your breath caught in your throat. Too late to take it back now.

Glancing at him, you noticed the slight tremor in his lower lip.

“We never really broke up,” he said.

It was true. Exactly what you had feared all along.

“But you were afraid,” he added. “Terrified.”

Afraid? You barely had time to ask before he continued.

“When that woman - the designer, the one they called Super-”

“Nova.”

“Yes. Supernova. When she took you in, she made you scared of everything. You lost yourself after that. Your ambition, your sketches, your dreams.”

The sky was cloudless. Seunghyun’s steps beside you were light, steady, grounding.

“And me. You were so afraid of ruining everything that you did everything to push me away. You fear your own emotions.”

You only realized you were crying when the cold air brushed against your damp cheeks. Two quiet tears slipped down your face and disappeared into the pavement.

“Did you ever want to end it all?” you asked. The question that had burned on your tongue for years. Had he ever wanted to leave?

He did not answer immediately.

A street vendor tried to slip miniature Eiffel Towers into your pockets, but Seunghyun stopped him with a single, polite nod, freezing the man in place. The warm scent of crepes drifted through the air. Seunghyun followed your gaze and stopped at the stand. You protested, but he bought two - one with sugar, one with chocolate - and handed you the last one without expecting anything in return.

That was who he was. A giver. Even his happiness, at the cost of his own.

“Never,” he finally answered.

He shook his head as you bit into the buttery warmth, the sweet-salty contrast overwhelming your senses. Another warmth spread within you.

“You know Nova was sued?” you said.

He smirked. “Serves her right. She was unbearable.”

“Hey, not entirely. After meeting her, I’d come home with rolls of fabric and sew you the most stylish ties.”

He chuckled, the sound so familiar it sent a shiver of happiness through you.

“Stylish? I had to attend auditions wearing shirts with tiny penguins and monkeys on the cuffs.”

You nearly choked on your bite of crepe.

“You okay?” he asked.

Yeah. You were okay.

“You wore them! Every single one!”

You burst out laughing, picturing him rapping in his ridiculous shirts. And despite himself, despite everything, laughter finally took hold of him too.

“Yes. Every single one.”

Wiping his eyes, he turned to you.

“Because you made them.”

Your laughter faded into quiet warmth. You looked up at him, eyes bright, lips curved in a soft smile. You held his gaze for long, lingering seconds.

How you had missed him. All this time. All these years.

He studied you in return. Your eyes remained locked until he finally looked away and took another bite of his crepe. You resumed walking.

“Seunghyun?”

“Hm?” You swallowed.

“How did they find out Nova stole my sketches?”

The man beside you swallowed hard. You had often wondered who had leaked the signed designs you had hidden away, the ones that vanished right after his departure.

“The truth always comes out,” he said. But he avoided your gaze.

He had been your guardian angel all these years.

Your heart pounded again. The Eiffel Tower was just ahead now, glowing golden, its lights forming a mosaic against the night sky. Crowds of people laughed, danced, filmed, kissed. You climbed the steps, drawing closer to the iron lattice, watching it shimmer, your eyes full of stars.

Laughing, you turned to Seunghyun. “Take a picture of me.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You held out your phone, but he pulled out his own.

“The camera’s better,” he said.

He hadn’t changed his phone in years. The image froze in time - your eternal smile, your rosy cheeks.

You bounced back to him, beaming. “Amazing! Your turn!”

He shook his head, resisting. But you tugged at his sleeve, and before he could protest, you handed his phone to a woman with a stroller while her husband scolded two rowdy children. She smiled warmly and gestured for you to pose.

Seunghyun left a few inches of space between your shoulders.

“Closer!” the woman instructed in English. “Yeah! Perfect!”

You had moved closer. "Cheeese." She took the picture.

"Your arm! Come on, your girl is so beautiful!" She smiled at you.

Seunghyun swallowed hard. The woman made a sweeping gesture with her arm, prompting him to wrap his own around your neck.

"Bring her closer! Don’t you love the girl?"

So you nestled into his embrace. You let your hands linger on his chest, your head resting against his heart, and he tightened his grip on your shoulder, relaxing just slightly.

"Perfect!" the woman cried. "Excellent. A kiss, maybe?"

Seeing the horror on your faces, she laughed and handed you the phone back.

"So cute! Me and my husband?"

You took her picture, and she left, waving warmly.

"Can I see the photos?" you asked.

Seunghyun handed you his phone, and you scrolled through them. Then, instinctively, you tapped the small arrow in the rectangle to send them to yourself.

Dalsae.

Your breath caught. You were still here.

You hadn’t changed.

With trembling fingers, you hit send. Then you handed him back the phone, your lips quivering. His fingers brushed against yours. His eyes never left you. He picked up his phone. You extended your hand.

The Eiffel Tower sparkled. Darkness had suddenly fallen. Deep, luminous, fireworks bursting in the sky.

There. It was only him, and only you. Your eyes fell to his lips. His gaze traced your face, your mouth. Your body gravitated toward his. Your hands landed on his chest, his on your hips.

You were mere centimeters apart. It was cold. You were burning.

You lifted onto your toes. He tilted his head. His hair skimmed your cheeks, your forehead. Your nose brushed against his. Your lips-

"Ow!"

A girl behind you stumbled. You jumped, and Seunghyun abruptly pulled away.

"Sorry! I'm sorry, I-"

You reached for him again, but he withdrew feverishly.

"No, we can’t!" he insisted.

"But why?!" you snapped, feeling the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes. "Do you not love me? Do you not love me anymore?"

He shook his head, as if he couldn’t understand what you were saying, as if it were nonsense.

"Stop, please. We need to go back. You need to rest for the wedding."

"Seunghyun! You say I run from my feelings, but you’re the one running from yours! What is it?!"

His eyes were locked on you, but he wasn’t really seeing you. He had shut down. He was pulling away. You were sinking, nearly screaming.

"I can’t!"

"BUT WHY?!"

His mouth opened. You saw it coming. You felt it.

"I have someone! There!"

Your heart plummeted in your chest. In an instant, it collapsed. The world turned black, then blue, then gray, then orange. Then black again. So very black.

"Fine," you whispered.

"Listen, I-"

"No, it’s fine. Good luck."

You stepped back, watching him, and nearly missed the step behind you. It should have made you laugh, but instead, you broke, and you exploded into a thousand tears, fleeing into the streets toward the hotel.

Seunghyun reached out, but it was useless. Just like you and the Eiffel Tower from the balcony.

If he stepped too far, he would fall.

☽

The next morning arrived like a flash of lightning. You had no idea how your clothes ended up on your body, how you slipped into your quiet morning attire and made your way to the first hall, long before the festivities, starting tomorrow evening.

You were suprised to find the bride to be. Soo-yeon sat downstairs in the hall, at one of the gilded cafeteria tables, sipping tea in a delicate pink dress and chatting with five teenage girls. The moment she saw you, she turned, dropped her cup, and ran toward you.

"OH, darling! I’ve so dreamed of meeting you!"

She pulled away after pressing two loud kisses to your cheeks, leaving two bright pink lip marks on your face. Her strong perfume - lavender, mandarin, and bergamot - made your eyes sting. Her long hair was dyed pink all the way to the roots, concealing its true color, and despite her distinctly Korean features, her brown eyes seemed to shimmer a little blue.

"You’re gorgeous!"

She took your arm, humming, and sat you down on the sofa near the table, calling the waiter.

"Garçon!"

A man arrived, took your order - hot chocolate - and left. She spoke a lot, a mix of korean, english and french, quickly, but never stuttered or hesitated. Her posture was impeccable.

"Listen, I have a brilliant idea. How long does it take you to create a dress?" she asked.

You shook your head, a little overwhelmed. Then, thoughtful, you counted on your fingers. Sketch. Choose fabrics. Shopping. Cutting. Tracing. Dampening the fabric to give it texture, if the design required it. Crinkling. Ironing. Sewing. Assembling. Fitting. Adjusting. Re-sewing.

"Ah, a lot. Almost fifteen hours if I take a full day without eating, without breaks, and if the client patiently waits while I test everything on them."

Soo-yeon smiled, her glittery pink eyeshadow shimmering. She was too impatient.

"Well! Listen," she motioned for you to come closer, leaning slightly in, resting a manicured hand on your forearm. "If I give you an ideal world. A workshop. And even small employees. Could you make that work?"

You stared, confused, waiting for her to keep going as she examined your face with a small smile. When you did not respond, she continued.

"Make my dress for tomorrow."

You stared at her, dumbfounded. But she did not give you time to think.

"If you make it, just know that one of the best fashion designers in Paris will drop by my party. DIANE."

It was as if the breath had been knocked from your lungs. DIANE was your idol. You admired her as much as you feared her and her judgment.

"Of course, I have a dress, just in case. But this idea came to me just this morning at four AM, while I couldn’t sleep and was painting my nails. I want something new, I want to be the most original bride in Paris."

Your heart pounded. The other girls watched you with smiles. They were young. She gestured toward them.

"These are friends’ daughters who were looking for a job opportunity. They’ll be at your service - I’ll pay them, and I’ll pay for the dress. You get to impress DIANE. And I have a dress no one possesses in Paris by the future fashion sensation."

In around forty hours. It was nearly seven AM. The opportunity was incredible. Then an idea struck you. With five assistants, you could also create bridesmaids’ dresses.

You often got a bit too ahead of yourself, and that you would only realise in a few hours.

"How many bridesmaids do you have?" you finally asked.

If she was surprised, she didn’t show it.

"Well, I have many friends, but only three very close ones. Léa, Camille, and Mi-rae. And I’ve chosen you as well, of course."

Four dresses.

"The wedding is Saturday at eight PM?" you asked, jumping from your seat, nearly knocking over the hot chocolate that had just arrived.

She grinned brightly.

"Sharp, darling."

☽

Forty hours. Forty hours. Forty hours.

Soo-yeon lent you a friend’s workshop. It had everything you needed, from sewing machines to spools of thread. She had given you a magazine featuring different fabrics and had circled her favorites.

The five girls spoke English; only one of them understood and spoke Korean. She translated quickly for her friends and became your right hand.

“Okay, Ju-bin, tell them to fetch me the white tin fabric and the crystal flowers here.”

"Faut chercher les fleurs de cristal et le tissu blanc les filles!"

You pointed to the magazine. The girls, thrilled, dashed off. They returned swiftly. You stacked the fabrics, let them dry during the process, rushed all over the workshop, pricked your fingers seven times. Then, you started working on the bridesmaids’ dresses in raspberry red fabric, asking for off-white diamonds. One of the girls went to buy cream-colored heels, another returned with tights, Soo-yeon had left her number, and everything was going well.

Then, suddenly, in your exhaustion, you lifted the bride's dress and saw that you had made a mistake. One single stitch was sticking out too much. From afar, it was invisible, but with the bride in front of everyone, it would be immediately noticeable, and for DIANE, it was ruined.

The dress slipped from your hands, and you exploded. It was two o'clock. The day was almost over, and tomorrow you needed to get the bridesmaid's dresses done. You could never continue.

The girls, who had returned, surrounded you and tried to help, but you cried bitterly in your helplessness. It reminded you of the night with Nova when she said "See you tomorrow," and the next day, your sketches were her new collection. And that... Seunghyun had been there to comfort you. All night. Even though you were strangers. You knew the relationship was hanging by a thread, and you were tipping over to the wrong side.

“Are you okay?!" The workshop door opened with a gust of wind that carried the familiar musk scent, and there he was, standing in his large felt jacket, his chest rising with short, labored breaths. "I got a call from Dong-hyun and an insane idea from his wife - his fiancée - Dalsae?”

Seunghyun stared at your helpless and crumbled figure.

“What’s going on?”

The girls stepped aside. Ju-bin widened her eyes in surprise.

“T.O.P.?”

He flashed her a small smile, always polite.

“Ah, yes,” he replied. “Can we talk after?”

She nodded, stunned. In French, she said something to her friends, and you heard “Star” and “Korea,” and they left the room to get some fresh air. Ju-bin told you they were just going to have a juice across the street and would return as soon as you messaged them.

It was just you and Seunghyun now. Again. He crouched between the fabrics, took your face in his hands, and with eyes filled with concern, he whispered, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Are you okay? Dong-hyun told me that Soo-yeon is a bit impulsive and that he was worried about the task she gave you, but she refused to disclose it. He managed to convince her by saying it was because... because I’m your boyfriend and that you needed me.”

You stopped crying, sniffled.

“Is that true? You came for me?”

He released your face and pulled you into his arms.

“I’m always here for you.”

Then he pulled away again, grabbing your shoulders.

“So? What’s going on?”

You briefly explained Soo-yeon’s crazy plan and how you also wanted to make dresses for the four bridesmaids.

“Ahh,” he exhaled. “You’re always so energetic. Is there a reason you jumped in so quickly?”

So so understanding. Never blaming you. Always trying to understand you. Through your blurred eyes, you mumbled something.

“Hm? I didn’t hear.”

“Because I never succeed at anything. My sketches were stolen, I fail at everything. And you... you’re always succeeding at everything. I’m ashamed.”

His eyes lit up, and he squeezed your palm without responding.

He was smiling. He had forgotten the night before, and even if what he was doing didn’t seem the most acceptable with a girlfriend, you didn’t care right now. You needed him, you needed your friend first.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

He pulled you to your feet.

“We’re going to make these dresses. You’re going to crush it, okay, Dalsae?”

You nodded timidly. He went to fetch the girls from the café, and you started again. It was approaching two-thirty, and you worked harder, sewing, the girls sewing, not a sound except Seunghyun’s intermittent whistling. Ju-bin stuck close to his heels while maintaining a respectful distance, but she was so excited she worked twice as fast. They cut, followed all your orders, and Seunghyun had a blast with the fabrics and their assembly.

You were happy. Excited, you loved sewing, and felt like an actual seamstress with her workers.

You didn't know how it happened. At one point, you were sewing, and the other, you were sprawled out on the floor laying between the crumpled clothes, snoring, Seunghyun's arm around your shoulder. The girls dozed off on their work tables, seeing you resting, and you only woke up when from the workshop's transparent window rays of sunshine filtered and you heard birds singing. You rose, shook Seunghyun who mumbled in his sleep as he rubbed his eyes.

"Come back," he whined, trying to grab your waist and drag you down.

You resisted, face burning. The girls were sleeping and you did not need them just yet, you let them dream a bit longer. It was approximately five AM.

Naturally, you went back to sewing. You chose simple designs, even though the end result seemed intricate, it was patterns you were used to doing, and it only needed some stitches to put everything together. Your fingers moved quickly, you added the tiny pearls, the bridesmaid's dresses were easy, as the fabric had already a design on itself.

The girls woke up, everyone went back to work quickly, and Seunghyun tried to help as much as he could. At one point, he gave instructions to the girls and grabbed you as you were complaining, dragging you out of the shop. He bought you a juice and a pastry and forced you to eat.

"Thank you," you finally said.

He only smiled. Your heart fluttered. This. Just this smile. You could do with it for the rest of your life.

You went back to the workshop, drew some adjustments, sewed for a few more hours. You were not aware it was humanly possible to sew five full dresses in forty hours, no matter how easy the design was. But within all this exhaustion, you recognised passion. You were happy and felt satisfied.

Thank you Seunghyun for forcing you to enroll in fashion school.

You added some pearls, cut some pieces, sewed the zipper.

Around six-forty, you shouted.

“STOP. DROP EVERYTHING.”

Eyes wide, they dropped everything onto the disordered work tables.

“STOP. We need to try on the dress. We need Soo-yeon. We can’t continue without the exact measurements.”

Seunghyun scratched the back of his head, ran to get your phone, and Ju-bin handed him the paper with Soo-yeon’s number. He dialed.

The phone rang four times. Five. Six.

“The number you’ve dialed is not reachable. Please leave a message after the beep.”

“Shit! Call back.”

You waited nervously, fingers tapping on your worktable, legs crossed on your rolling chair as you rocked back and forth. Seunghyun complied immediately and dialed again. Same result.

“Dong-hyun?”

You bit your nail, but Seunghyun had moved closer to you and held your hand in his free palm, shaking his head, the phone pressed to his ear. It rang.

“Yes?”

A small voice. Frowning, he nodded. The call lasted mere seconds.

“Ah. Shit. Okay, thanks. Yeah, see you.”

He hung up. He looked at you, biting his lower lip, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

“Soo-yeon is missing. He doesn’t know where she is and suspects she won’t return until the wedding. She’s unreachable.”

Oh no, no, no!

The ultimate failure for a designer is to create a perfect outfit that doesn’t fit the body. Because a garment is just fabric if it isn’t worn. DIANE would notice the slightest slip! The bridesmaids’ dresses had a belt that made them one-size-fits-all, the fabric would wear differently on each one but would fit perfectly on all. But the bride!

“We’re screwed!”

You put your head in your hands, on the verge of breaking down. Seunghyun crouched down, one hand on your shoulder, tapping to calm you.

“We can still...”

“I know.”

One of the girls stepped forward, Valentine, you think, speaking in English.

“Miss Soo-yeon is a bit like you.”

You removed your hands and wiped your tears.

“Like me?”

She nodded. Ju-bin agreed, the other girls stood up too.

“Yes! Almost the same body!”

You lowered your head, looked at your arms, legs, and hips. It was true. She was a few centimeters taller, but your bodies were similar.

“You mean I...”

“Yes! Try on the dress!”

The girls flittered around you. Seunghyun had stood up, arms crossed, but he gave you a half-smile of encouragement. He was the only one that mattered. With his mouth, he silently said "do it."

So, you nodded.

You pulled the girls into the next room, full of mirrors, needles in their mouths. Then you undressed, looked at your reflection in the mirror. Yes, it should work. The girls helped you bend over and thread the needle, it slipped, falling to the floor, caressing your shoulders and curves.

They zipped you up, adjusted the buttons, the bust, and finally, you dared to turn toward the mirror. Without realizing, the elastic in your hair had slipped. The strands cascaded down your shoulders. You called one of the girls.

“Hey Val, pull it over there!”

Valentine pulled, you bit a needle and slipped it to tighten toward your shoulder, did the same at the waist, and finally observed the result. It could work. Should.

“Can I come in?” Seunghyun asked.

“One second!”

You placed the veil on the top of your head, letting it fall over your face, then turned around. The latch clicked. The girls giggled as they slipped into the adjacent room.

Seunghyun froze.

The dress was simple - time constraint - the fabric was the main focus, reminiscent of the skin of a wet swan. Pleated, it flowed into a mermaid tail before breaking into an opening and a pool of white silk. Tiny jewels adorned the bodice, and the dress had no sleeves. Your face was veiled. The bride was supposed to wear gloves too, that you hadn't time to retrieve yet.

He buried his face in his hands.

"Don’t do this to me," he pleaded. His voice trembled, feverish, low. He pressed his back against the door, not daring to look at you again. You moved toward him, avoiding the needles poking your ribs, pushing his hands away as you cradled his face.

"Hyun? What is it?"

He didn’t resist your fingers, his body limp as his arms dropped to your sides. His face burned as he pointed a finger at the veil but didn’t dare touch you.

"If the dress doesn't please DIANE, horses can fly," he murmured.

You chuckled. So close to him, your body pressed against the door, surrendering to his embrace, melting into his arms.

"Oh yeah? And do you like it?" you whispered back, lips mere centimeters from his, separated only by the white fabric.

He nodded silently. Then, delicately, he tilted his head. Your noses brushed, his eyes fixed on your lips, which he caressed with his thumb beneath the forbidden fabric. Tilting his finger to lift it, he whispered,

"That guy from the airport, your French boyfriend, is he okay with us doing this?"

You didn’t fully hear him, leaning in closer, muttering something before realising,

"What guy, what boyfriend? I-"

"HEY! I’m SORRY!"

The door flung open. Soo-yeon was looking for you, the girls emerged from their hiding place, and the workshop filled. Seunghyun watched you, his heart unsteady. Then, he stepped back, his face flushed.

"We’ll meet at the wedding," he declared.

You heard nothing but the frantic beating of your heart.

☽

Soo-yeon was at the hairdresser’s and returned, bouncing with excitement, with the other bridesmaids. You took off the dress, and the young girls helped them get dressed. The bridesmaids twirled in their raspberry pleated dresses, giving the effect of a rose. You made the final adjustments before being dismissed to prepare, receiving two more loud and rosy kisses from Soo-yeon. She was over the moon.

You ran to the hotel, the dress tucked under your arm. You had forty minutes to shower, do your makeup, and get ready, you wanted to be perfect too.

Then, on your bed, you found a paper and a velvet box. Frowning, you plopped onto the mattress and grabbed it, examining the wine-red box that felt soft in your palm.

Heart pounding, you slowly opening it.

Inside was a shell pearl brooch. Mouth agape with surprise, you delicately took it out. It was heavy, you could feel it in your hand. It was real, it matched perfectly with the bridesmaids' dresses' pearls that you had sewed earlier.

You gently placed the brooch back in its compartment, and, fingers shaking, grabbed the small note, eyes scanning over the familiar handwriting.

"Dalsae, the bravest birds are those who fly at night. You carry within you all the rays of the Moon."

If you didn't have a wedding to attend, you might have collapsed right there and here and grinned like a teenager with a crush all night.

☽

Down in the lobby, you found Benoit. He greeted you with open arms, kissed you again. You were tired of kisses that evening.

"Woah, splendid!" he declared. "Very pretty and-"

A shadow made him stop mid-sentence.

"Wooo, airport guy!"

You turned. Your breath hitched. Seunghyun was wearing a black suit, black tie over a white shirt, his hair tousled elegantly. His dimple still left an adorable mark on his cheek, you wanted to bite him.

But he frowned. "We need to go. We can’t be late."

"Yes, I’ll take her!"

Benoit started pulling you, but Seunghyun grabbed your arm.

"No, I’m taking her with me."

Benoit let go of you and gave a surprised glance from him to you, then from you to him. "Well, I don’t know what’s going on, but I have a girlfriend to meet. She's waiting in my car."

"A girlfriend?"

Seunghyun’s eyes suddenly seemed less hard. He even smiled, a smile that stretched from one ear to the other.

"Oh really? Can you drop us off with you?"

What's with the sudden change?

"Ouais, if you want. We’ll have to squeeze," he shrugged. "Come on, let’s go!"

You shot Seunghyun a glare at his rudeness, but he grinned at you, unfazed. You pinched his arm once you were sitting on the cracked leather of Benoit’s car, all crowded together shoulder to shoulder while Benoit cranked up some French rock, singing loudly with his girlfriend.

"Well, what?" he asked.

"Well, nothing?"

You made a face, and he grabbed your wrist as you tried to pinch him again. The two lovebirds ignored you, making out at every red light.

"Well, yes. You’re as red as a tomato."

He smirked. But where did this sudden ease and shyness come from? What a brat! The Seunghyun of your youth was back, teasing and mischievous.

"Eyes on the road," he scolded. "You’re distracting me."

You tapped his shoulder gently, and he laughed. Then, you let yourself melt into your seat as you approached the Arc de Triomphe, where the ceremony would begin. Dong-hyun would have preferred Montparnasse, but you had learned, at your own expense, the impulsiveness of his fiancée.

"The brooch suits you so well," Seunghyun suddenly murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You shivered, brushed it away with a finger on your lips, but he smiled. "Dalsae."

He was there. Just him and you.

☽

The ceremony began with fireworks. Literally. Soo-yeon wasn’t necessarily rich, but she was a spender. “The last white dress we wear won’t have pockets,” she said, laughing.

In fact, she laughed a lot. All evening.

When Dong-hyun took her hand, he greeted Seunghyun and you, casting you an apologetic glance. He loved you two as a couple, after all, he was one of the reasons it ever worked out.

Later at night, you handed each of the of the teenagers a barrette, sewn at the very end, as a thank you, which they loved.

The bridesmaids were glowing. Passersby whistled, jumped, sang along with you, throwing confetti, and then the group walked toward the Eiffel Tower, where the next part would take place.

Throughout it all, Seunghyun stayed near you, silent. He had given Ju-bin an autograph and even one of his keychains, and she was overflowing with joy.

Soo-yeon was stunning. The most beautiful, a graceful swan with her hair styled in a pink bun. People couldn’t stop praising the dresses. Then, as you neared the Eiffel Tower, you suddenly felt your pulse quicken.

“Hyun…”

He turned to you.

“Hm?”

“The wedding… we’re doing it underneath, aren’t we?”

He looked up. Stared into the your pupils that pulsed with fear.

“Oh.”

Your eyes burned. You felt the tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “Down there, right?” You pointed under the Eiffel tower. You were hoping that he wouldn't tell you you had to go up.

He took your hand. “Do you remember the Ferris wheel?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“Yeah… but…”

The first guests boarded the elevator - Dong-hyun, his wife, and then the rest of the guests gradually. There were some famous faces, but DIANE was still nowhere to be seen.

Seunghyun took your hand, briefly stepped away from the crowd, and you found yourselves in a secluded, dim alley. A stray cat ran away.

“Do you remember what I told you?”

You nodded.

“The bravest birds are the ones who fly at night. And you…” He kissed the edge of your fingers. “You are my moon bird. You can do anything”

Feverish, you shook your head, your hair suddenly cold against your shoulders, tears falling.

“Stop that! When you do this, I feel like we could try again!” you cried.

He let go of you for a moment, surprised. “But I-”

“No! Stop!”

You pushed him away and ran out of the alley. “You are bad! How dare you do that to your girlfriend?!”

You exited the alley, and he chased after you, grabbing your wrist, but you pulled away.

“Let go of me! You can’t do this to me! All these years I…”

Unconsciously, you followed him. He walked backward, and you entered the elevator without realising. Your shoulder hit the glass, and the doors closed, but you were alone, and your ears were ringing. You released all your anger.

“I can’t take it anymore!” you cried again. “I never wanted to leave you! Damn it, I loved you so much…”

He said nothing, just watched you with a calm face, slightly tilted as if to better listen, thoughtful.

“All those years away from you, it was torture,” you sobbed. “Every night, I thought you were there. That you’d come back. That it wasn’t really over.”

You wiped your eyes with your wrist.

“We never really left each other, did we?”

Your teary eyes lifted to meet his. He bit his lower lip, looked at you with all the words stuck in his throat. Taking one step toward you, he gazed at you in a way that made your heart flutter like it never had before. Under his eyelashes, his eyes shone like a constellation.

He lifted a hand, caressing your face with his index. And he leaned in, stopping just before your lips touched.

“There was never anyone else but you.”

You dropped your handbag to the floor and wrapped your arms in one swift movement around his neck. Finally.

You were so dizzy. The distance was infinite.

No more distance. Only the truth. You crashed your lips together. Seven years without feeling that escape.

He tightened his grip around your waist, his hand moving over your hips, the back of your head, your hair, just like on that Ferris wheel and that very first kiss of an intoxicating first love.

He didn’t pull away, breathless, until you felt the cool air on your bare shoulders and the sound of a door opening.

You had reached the top.

Seunghyun was there.

And you felt relaxed.

Seunghyun's lips stretched into a proud grin as he squeezed your hand. You blushed furiously. That was his plan all along?

The terrace was cold. Seunghyun removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, then kissed your hair. Hand in hand, you walked toward your group of friends. You recognized a few old classmates, chatted, and avoided looking near the barriers, but you felt content. Benoit chuckled when he found out Seunghyun had thought you were his girlfriend.

“No thanks, I like mine too much.”

He kissed her passionately. The terrace was decorated with white petals and arches. Benoit went on stage, and a troupe arrived, setting up a piano, and light music filled the air.

A slow song.

Seunghyun extended his hand. He invited you to dance.

His arm wrapped around your waist, your hands around his neck, trembling, you were eighteen again and the boy whose hand you dreamed of holding made you swirl in your room.

You melted into his arms, and together, you began to move to the intoxicating rhythm of the instruments. The air became pleasant. Seunghyun smelled good. The house. Your life, your youth, growing up. You wanted a life with this man.

He let you rest against his chest where his heart beat. Years ago, when, even though you two were official, you came home to red balloons and him in a suit holding a bouquet of red roses for your two-years anniversary. Your parents were smiling proudly, they loved him like a son. You had run to him, hurling yourself into his arms while your heart was threatening to break through your chest.

And when he invited you to your first dance in the living room, interlacing your fingers, whispering in your ear how beautiful you were. How familiar he smelled.

How you had told yourself that this was home.

Home was here. It had always been.

You pulled away slightly, watched him, chin resting on his chest. He looked down too, smiling softly, before leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

You could do with that, this as your home for the rest of your life.

The music stopped, you still hadn't time to separate, when a hand tapped your shoulder.

Looking behind you, fingers still in Seunghyun's hand, you saw a woman with a slicked bun.

"I was told you created... these pieces?"

The woman pointed with her long, manicured fingers at the dresses, all of them your creations. Soo-yeon watched you from afar, giving you a friendly wave and a wink. You blushed.

"I... Yes?"

The woman smiled slyly.

"It’s awful."

You froze, and Seunghyun shot her a dark look, starting to pull you away, but a small laugh, reminiscent of a cat's purr, cut through the air.

"Awful that we didn’t meet sooner!"

Your eyes widened.

"I am DIANE."

She was there, her face stern yet not too wrinkled, eyes like a lynx’s, lips tight. She extended a hand toward you.

"I’m looking for apprentices. Here, in Paris."

Seunghyun’s hand never left yours, tightening around it, encouraging you to listen.

"I’ve been told you’re quick and efficient, but I don’t take that on faith. I’m offering you a trial period. We’ll cover twenty percent of your rent and give you a salary. If it works out, I’ll keep you for a year, and after we’ve created a collection together, you’ll fly on your own."

Was it a dream? Seunghyun's fingers squeezed yours. Oh.

"Can I... think about it?"

DIANE wrinkled her nose but gave a small sigh, extending her hand.

"Fine. I’ll give you my number."

You took your phone from your small bag, opened the phone app. She sighed when you took too long, but finally, she entered her digits and handed it to you, making it ring. Then, she smirked confidently.

"See you soon."

As soon as she walked away, Seunghyun twirled you in the air. But when he let you go, you bit your lower lip.

"What’s wrong? You should be jumping for joy!"

You burst into tears again, wrapping yourself in his arms.

"I don’t want to leave! I want to be with you! But I also want to try!"

He remained thoughtful for a moment, then took your hand and played with each of your fingers for a while before letting your hand fall. "We had problems," he repeated. "With the group. Big Bang."

You tilted your head. "And?"

His gaze darkened. "It’s probably the end."

You held him tight, worried. "Really? And so what?" you asked, your voice trembling against his chest.

He pulled back slightly to see your face, placed a quick kiss on your forehead. "We can try. A year."

You took a moment to understand. A what? A year of-

"You mean-"

He nodded. "I need a long vacation, time to rebuild myself before rapping again. And you need this opportunity. So, maybe..."

You let go of everything you were holding, crashed your lips to his, pulled back feverishly, then kissed him again.

"Yes!" You exclaimed. "A thousand times yes! I’m so happy, I..."

You looked at him tenderly, and he too leaned in. The world felt gentle.

"I love you," you whispered. "I love you so so so so much, Seunghyun. I’ve always loved you."

He smiled and kissed you again.

"Me too. I love you," he caught your hand, palm to the sky, and closed each fingers one by one, starting with the thumb, "a little", then your index finger, "a lot", then your middle finger, "passionately", then your ring finger, "madly". Then your pinky.

You pouted. "Hey, the last one is 'not at all'!"

He laughed, kissed you. "No, the last one, it’s both of us, forever. Madly, passionately."

The moon shone high.

"Because you are my Moonbird. A fragment of happiness."

His lips found yours again.

"Forever."

You smiled.

Yeah. This was home. You could do with that.

if you read until there hiii ily! please lmk what you think <3 I hope you have enjoyed it! (it's very much a rom-com atp😭)

also my divider doesn't exist rendered. pain

tag list: @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @sevendaysummer @gdinthehouseee @eru-vande @bluesunss @emmiesoverthemoon @petersasteria @currentloser @makeitworse @berfgrimm @sherxoo @aizshallnotbefound @keiraryan

[metal-sludge]

METALLICA (1981 - present) | METAL FORCES, September 1991.

[crystalbeetle888]

Second Chances

Dog-Hybrid 141 x Autistic-coded Reader

Your world is turned upside down, when a stalker forces you to adopt a support-hybrid, leading you to meeting his friends and possibly biting off more than you can chew.

Word Count: 1400

Warnings- mention of minor stalker/stalking, nothing violent just creepy, course language, reader has anxiety and depression,

Master list

The pungent smell of chlorine is the first thing you notice when entering HRF or Hybrid Rehabilitation Facility. The distant sound of animal-like yowling sets you on edge as you approach the front desk. An older woman sits behind the counter, casually reading a magazine. She looks you up and down "Name?" her voice drawls. You give her your name and she stands with a sigh "Follow me".

She leads you through a long white hall lined with various doors. Distressed sounds of yapping and whining resonates from each of the rooms. Passing through the hall and into another, metal cell doors line the walls. "These are the ones you can pick from" she says before sitting in a chair by the door. You awkwardly stare down the hall for a moment, not entirely comfortable with the situation. The strange silence doesn't help ease your nerves either.

After years of CBT to treat your anxiety and depression you had finally given in to your therapists advice and decided to get a support-hybrid. Despite your dislike for the whole system surrounding hybrids, you needed one now. Due to an unforeseen, minor, stalker situation, that has triggered you deeply enough to affect your ability to be independent.

The way it works, is instead of putting hybrids in jail with the rest of the predominantly human population, they place them in rehabilitation facilities where they can then be reintegrating into society on parole, or be legally adopted by a human guardian, if they're especially difficult. However, most hybrids never make it out on their own and are left completely at the mercy of whoever adopts them. And because most well-intentioned humans aren't equipped to deal with destructive hybrids, lots of them go their entire lives in these facilities after making one stupid mistake.

The entire thing was fucking wrong, and you wish you could just slap the hell out of the asshole who set that system up. But here’s you are instead, about to adopt someone you only hope will tolerate you and possibly, best case scenario, help your mental health.

You briskly walk past each cell, making awkward eye contact with them as you briefly read their patient notes.

A 19 year old, female, bengal-cat-hybrid, arrested for theft and minor drug offences. Sounds like more than you can handle.

A 30 year old, male, angora-rabbit-hybrid, fined for property damage and arson. Not really suitable for your rental situation.

Lastly, a 34 year old, male, kangal-dog-hybrid, dishonourably discharged for causing bodily harm and inflicting emotional distress.

You snort, ‘Institutionalised for causing emotional distress, really?’ You think to yourself.

You look up to find the man watching you with critical eyes “Something funny?” He asks, his thick English accent cuts through the silence. “Discharged for causing emotional distress?” You raise your brow at him.

He huffs, and hangs his head “They had to charge me for double or I wouldn’t end up here” he explains.

“Jesus that’s fucked” you blurt out.

Guilt eats away at you, your stomach twisting with anxiety “Look.. I’m not exactly comfortable with this situation, but I’m looking for someone to do security and support work”,

“Security?”,

You rub your hands together anxiously, “I have a minor stalker situation, he isn’t violent, just creepy. But it’s affecting my mental health and ability to be independent”.

He hums in thought. “I’m not gonna make you come with me if you don't want to, but you are my best candidate" you smile at him nervously.

He seems to think for a moment before turning back to you and rising to his feet "Well if I'm the best there is, then we ought to find a way to make this work aye?" he gives you a wide, tight lipped smile. Kinda like a quokka.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in, "Thank you.. um?" "John. John Price" he offers you his hand through the bars. You shake it stiffly, noticing how his large hand envelops yours and his claws prick your skin. You laugh nervously at him before turning to the nurse "I think I've made my choice".

John stands behind you as you finish filling out the paperwork at the front desk, his towering figure is something you'd have to learn to get used to.

“This is your temporary license until your card comes in mail. You need to have this on you at all times while in public with him. And he, needs to wear this at all times in public" the lady slides over the paper license and a lanyard with his I.D and your contact information. "If he is found guilty of any more charges from here on out, you will be the one fined for it, or he will be sent right back here for further rehabilitation. Do you understand these terms?" she says in a bored voice. You clear your throat awkwardly "Yes".

"Great, have a good day then" she dismisses you, picking up her magazine again. You pocket the license and grab the I.D before turning to your new housemate. "Ready to go?" you ask him. "As I'll ever be" he responds. The two walk towards the exit together, "Great let’s get out of here, this place is fucking creepy" you say in a hushed voice, causing him to chuckle.

The drive back to your house was filled with light conversation, mostly you telling him about yourself and him nodding along. Finally, you pull up into the driveway “Here we are” you say getting out. The house was a blue two story home, with a small rose garden in the front and a cozy yard round the back. Hopping up the front steps your keys jangle as you let yourself in. “Welcome to your new home, for now” you say, closing the door behind him, “I’m just renting for now until I get this whole inheritance thing sorted”.

“I’m sorry for your loss” he say, placing his bag down by the stairs. You wave him off “Oh don’t be. I never really knew my mother, I was adopted so..” you explain.

Waking down the hall you enter the kitchen and living space, the smell of chicken soup permeates through the air. You lift the lid of the slow-cooker, steam bellowing out. The soup bubbles violently, as you go to grab the pre-made rice noodle from the fridge. Turning around, John stands in the doorway, peaking around the corner, staring at the soup. “You hungry?” You ask, as you strain the noodles into the sink before pouring them into the cooker. “Very” he replies shortly. You chuckle at his response. “It’s pretty hot, but it’s ready now” you say, pulling out two bowls from the draw and handing him one.

You serve the both of you dinner, before settling down on the couch in front of the T.V “You wanna watch some Alone? I’m on season 6” you turn to him. John turns back to you, mouth on the edge of the bowl as he shovels in the soup “hmm?”. You snort at him “Never mind, I’ll just put it on”.

With full bellies, the two of you watch T.V until late in the night. You let out a long yawn “You ready for bed yet John?” You ask, turning to him. He grunts a yes, his eyes droopy as he stares back at you tiredly.

Turning the telly off, you lead him upstairs “This is my room if you need me. Yours is just down there. It’s already set up and I’ve left some clothes for you in the closet. This is your bathroom so feel free to have a shower. Uhhh.. yeah good night” you smile at him awkwardly before turning to enter your room.

“Hay” he calls out, causing you to turn in the doorway. “hmm?” You look at him surprised.

“Thank you.. for all of this” he says sincerely. He stares into your eyes, and possibly your soul, with great vulnerability. Your chest swells with a feeling you’re not quite familiar with, your body twitching with energy. You nod at him and smile as normal as you can, with your body wanting to move around. “Good night John” is the only thing you can think to say.

He nods at you, eyes shining with gratitude. You close the door slowly, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

After getting ready for bed, you are finally able to crawl under the covers and settle in for the night. In the next room over you hear John having a long shower before returning to his room. A sense of security and peace washes over you as you finally drift off to sleep.

Part. 2

A/N: My story was inspired by one of @princepotionsss COD Au’s.

If you enjoyed mine, you’ll definitely enjoy theirs ❤️

[cl0udy3]

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

ellie williams x f1 obsessed!reader fluff ; bonus smut at the end wc: 5206 a/n: yall already know i needed to write for new favorite wife i love her

When you were younger, before you were trusted to carry a gun on patrol, Tommy would let you tag along with him. It was mostly for fun—an excuse to get you out of Jackson for a while, to stretch your legs, to let you see a little more of the world without throwing you straight into danger.

He never really expected you to be much help. You were too small to fight off and expected, too inexperienced to make real calls. So, instead of treating it like work, Tommy let you wander.

“Go on,” he’d say with a lazy wave of his hand whenever you entered an abandoned town. “Ain’t nothin’ much for you to do ‘sides keeping me company.”

That’s how it all started.

You weren’t looking for anything in particular that day- just nosing around an old strip mall, poking at whatever had been left behind. The storefronts were mostly empty, their shelves looted long ago, but one tiny shop had remained surprisingly untouched. A bookstore.

You stepped inside, the scent of old paper and dust thick in the air. Most of the good stuff had probably been taken already, but as you traced your fingers along the forgotten spines, something caught your eye.

A magazine.

At first, it didn’t seem all that special. Just a glossy cover with a bright red car on the front, sleek and low to the ground. The only thing you really noticed was the emblem—a small black horse rearing up on its hind legs against a yellow shield.

Scuderia Ferrari: F1 2013

You hadn’t cared much about cars back then. Hell, you had barely even thought about them. They were just hunks of metal rotting on the side of the road, things people used to drive before the world went to shit. But there was something about this magazine that made you pause. 

Maybe it was the color. That striking, unmistakable Ferrari red. 

Or maybe it was just curiosity.

Either way, you slipped it into your backpack, figuring it’d give you something to read when you got bored.

That night, back in Jackson, you finally cracked open the magazine. 

It started off simple. You skimmed through the pages, mostly looking at the pictures. The cars were gorgeous—not like the rusted-out trucks you were used to seeing on patrol, but smooth, refined machines built for speed. They look fast. Even standing still, they had an energy to them, like they were barely contained, ready to burst forward at any second.

And then, somewhere along the way, the words started to hook you.

You read about aerodynamics, about how every inch of the car was designed to cut through the air like a knife. About the front and rear wings, how they created downforce to keep the car pinned to the track at ridiculous speeds. About the tires—soft, medium, hard compounds—how they degraded over time, forcing teams to make strategic pit stops.

You learned about the drivers—Fernando Alonso and Felipe Massa, the two men piloting the Ferrari that season. About how Alonso was a two-time world champion, a relentless competitor always looking for an edge. About Massa, the loyal number two, still carrying scars of his 209 crash in Hungary.

You learned about the rivalries—Ferrari versus Red Bull, Alonso versus Vettel. You read about the DRS zones, the ERS systems, the KERS boost that gaze drivers an extra surge of power down the straights.

And suddenly, you weren’t just reading.

You were obsessing.

Something in you clicked.

You flipped through the pages again, this time paying attention to every little detail. You read into the margins, absorbing everything—engine specifications, weight distribution, tire degradation rates. You memorized track layouts, imagined what it must have felt like to take a corner at 200 miles per hour, the g-forces pressing down on your body.

It was like unlocking a part of yourself you never even knew existed. 

And from that moment on, you weren’t just interested. You were hooked.

---

When Ellie first arrived in Jackson, she wasn’t expecting much.

Sure, Joel had told her it was safe, that she’d have food, a bed, a place to belong—but she wasn’t convinced. The world had taught her not to trust in good things.

Then she met you.

And suddenly, she had a lot to process.

The first time she saw you, you were sitting on a fence, kicking your feet idly against the wood, nose buried deep in a magazine. You weren’t on patrol, weren’t doing chores—just sitting there, completely lost in whatever you were reading.

Tommy was the one who introduced you.

“This here’s Ellie,” he said, nodding toward the girl beside him. “Figured you two oughta meet.”

You looked up, eyes flicking over Ellie for maybe half a second before immediately returning to your magazine.

“Hey,” you said absently.

Ellie blinked. Okay, cool. Guess I don’t exist.

Tommy gave you a look. “Could at least pretend to be friendly, kid.”

That made you glance up again, finally really looking at Ellie. And for the first time, she saw it.

The spark of excitement. The kind of energy that meant you were about to go off about something.

Ellie had no idea what she was in for.

“Oh, you’re new here, huh?” you asked, suddenly snapping your magazine shut. “Do you know anything about Formula 1?”

Ellie hesitated. “....Like. The number?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “No, no, no—Formula 1. The sport. The fastest racing series in the world. The absolute pinnacle of motorsport. The only thing keeping me sane in this hellscape.”

Ellie blinked. “Oh. Uh. No.”

Big mistake.

Huge.

Before she could even register what was happening, you launched into a full-on rant, your entire body coming alive with energy.

“Okay, okay, so listen—back before everything went to shit, people used to race cars. Not like, dumb little street races, but actual, high-tech, scientifically engineered machines designed to go insanely fast. I’m talking like—200 miles per hour, insane.”

Ellie barely had time to nod before you continued.

“They had these things called DRS zones, which basically let them open a flap in the rear wing to reduce drag and go even faster. And pit stops—oh my god, Ellie, you would not believe how fast those things were. Like, two seconds. They’d change all four tires in less time than it takes for me to process my own emotions.

Ellie stared.

Tommy sighed. “And now you’ve done it.”

But you were unstoppable.

“There were teams—Ferrari, Mercedes, Red Bull–and drivers, absolute legends, Ellie. Micheal Schumacher? Genuine. Sebastian Vettel? DOMINANT. And don’t even get me started on Fernando Alonso, that man was driving the wheels off his car even when it was absolute piece of shit—”

Ellie had never seen anyone talk so fast.

Or with so much passion.

She had no clue what the hell you were going on about, but you were practically vibrating with energy, and for some reason, she didn’t want you to stop.

Maybe it was because she had never seen anyone talk about something they loved like this before. Maybe it was because you weren’t treating her like some broken survivor, just another kid who had seen too much too soon.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was because Ellie Williams was already, unknowingly, screwed.

After that, you and Ellie became friends.

And by “friends,” that meant Ellie spent approximately 90% of her time listening to you ramble about F1.

At first, she just humored you. But then it became a daily thing. And then it became… kinda cute?

Not that she’d ever admit it.

She’d be helping Maria stack supplies, and you’d come running up like: 

“Ellie, you are NOT gonna believe what I just found—”

“Lemme guess. Another car magazine?”

“YES! But this one has a breakdown of the entire 2013 Red BUll aerodynamics package—Ellie, they literally perfected the blown diffuser, and don’t even get me started ont he rear suspension geometry—”

And Ellie?

Ellie just… sat there.

And listened.

And watched you, really watched you—how your face lit up, how your hands moved when you explained something technical, how your eyes practically glowed whenever you talked about your favorite cars.

---

The more you read about F1, the more you wanted to talk about it. 

It wasn’t enough to just memorize the track layouts or understand the difference between turbo-hydrated and naturally aspirated engines. You wanted to hear about it—to know what it was really like when the world still had race weekends, packed grandstands, and the deafening roar of a V8 engine at full throttle.

And there were only two people in Jackson old enough to have really experienced it.

Joel and Tommy.

The first time you brought it up, it was casual—just an offhand question while you sat on Tommy’s porch, flipping through a fading 2013 race program. He had been cleaning one of his rifles, but at the mention of F1, he paused, a slow smirk creeping onto his face.

“Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” he mused, setting the gun down.

You perked up. “Wait—you know about it?”

Tommy chuckled. “Hell yeah, I do. Used to watch it with Joel back before the world went to hell. Wasn’t, y’know, obsessed like you are, but I knew enough.”

Your heart pounded. “Did you ever go to a race?”

Tommy grinned, leaning back in his chair. “You actually. Austin.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor. “You went to COTA?!”

Tommy barked out a laugh. “Shit, kid, relax before you pass out. Yeah, me and Joel went. Must’ve been… what, 2012? Maybe 2013? First time the U.S. had a real Grand Prix in years. We figured—what the hell, might as well see what all the fuss was about.”

You leaned in, eyes wide. “What was it like?”

Tommy sighed, his expression softening. “Man… it was somethin’ else. Big ass crowd, people everywhere, all decked out in their team colors. Whole place smelled like barbecue and gasoline. And the sound—” He whistled, shaking his head. “---that first time those engines fired up? Felt it right in my fuckin’ chest. Loudest damn thing I ever heard.”

You could barely contain yourself. “Who won? Do you remember?” “Some German kid. Vettel, I think?”

You gasped. “Sebastian Vettel! Oh my god, Tommy, you saw him win?! That was the year he took his fourth championship!”

Tommy chuckled at your excitement. “Yeah, yeah, I remember now. Red Bull car, purple thing with the big ol’ charging bull on the side. He ran away with it—nobody could catch him.”

You grinned like a maniac. “Did you see Alonso?”

Tommy thought for a moment. “Yeah, he was there. Ferrari, right? I remember their fans goin’ crazy every time one of those red cars passed by. Never seen a fanbase like that—felt like a damn cult.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s the Tifosi for you.”

At that moment, Joel stepped in, his boots thudding on the old tile floor. He glanced between you and Tommy, raising an eyebrow. “What’s all the excitement about?”

Tommy smirked. “Kid’s askin’ about F1.”

Joel let out a short chuckle, settling onto the porch railing. “Ah, hell. That takes me back.”

You turned to him eagerly. “You also watched?”

Joel shrugged. “Here and there. Tommy was more into it than I was.”

Tommy scoffed. “Bullshit. You were yellin’ at the TV just as much as me.”

Joel smirked but didn’t deny it.

“You should’ve heard it, kid,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Nothin’ like it. That sound—felt like the whole damn air was vibratin’.”

Joel, surprisingly, looked a little wistful. “Back then, they still had the V8s. Those things screamed down the straights.”

You exhaled through your nose. “I would kill to hear a real F1 car.”

Tommy grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Y’know, kid, if the world hadn’t gone to shit, I bet you’d be one of those engineers in the pit lane, tellin’ the drivers how to shave a tenth off their lap times.”

Joel nodded. “Or one of those commentators who never shuts up about tire strategy.”

You gasped, putting a hand over your heart. “Excuse you, Joel, tire strategy is very important.”

A small silence settled in. Joel sipped his coffee, Tommy went back to cleaning his rifle, and you had moved to the living room to sit on something more comfortable.

You were still flipping through the magazine when you felt a presence behind you. You glanced up to see Ellie standing there, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together like she was trying to solve some impossible equation.

“So… you seriously just read about cars all day?” she asked, tilting her head.

You rolled your eyes, shutting the magazine with a dramatic thud. “Not just cars. F1. There’s a difference.”

“Right. A very important difference.” Ellie nodded like she totally understood, but the slight smirk on her lips gave her away.

You ignored it, flipping the magazine open again. “This isn’t just some random sport, Ellie. It’s like—like the most technical, high-speed, absolutely insane thing humans have ever come up with. The engineering is insane. The speed. The strategy. The—”

“Yeah, okay, I got it,” Ellie interrupted, laughing under her breath. But she didn’t leave. She just stood there, watching as you traced your fingers over a grainy old photo of a bright red Ferrari.

“D’you actually like this stuff, or are you just hoarding magazines for the hell of it?” she teased.

You turned to her, completely serious. “Ellie. I would trade a kidney to drive one of these.”

Ellie snorted. “Yeah? I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need a transplant.”

A few days later, you and Ellie were out on patrol together, the snowy trees of Jackson blurring past as your horses trotted along the trail.

You were, as usual, talking about cars.

“...and it’s crazy because in the 2013 season, Red Bull had that blown diffuser setup, which basically meant—”

Ellie cut you off with a lazy grin. “Okay, okay, hold on. If you had to put me in one of these fancy F1 cars, you think I’d be any good?”

You scoffed. “Ellie, you ride your horse like an old man with a bad hip.”

Ellie gasped in mock offense. “Wow. Rude.”

You grinned. “You’d probably stall the car five times before even leaving the pit lane.”

Ellie shot you a look. Then, with an air of forced nonchalance, she muttered, “Yeah? Well, maybe you should, y’know… teach me sometime.”

Silence.

You blinked. Did… Ellie just flirt with you?

Ellie immediately cleared her throat, shifting in her saddle like she suddenly wanted to throw herself off the horse. “I—I mean, not that you have to, just, uh—”

You squinted at her. “Are you okay?”

Ellie groaned. “Never mind. Forget it.”

There was a long pause. 

Then, Ellie tried again. 

“You know,” she started, clearly forcing the words out, “If, uh, if you really think I’d be bad at driving, maybe you should, uhm… hold my hands on the wheel or something. While I learn.”

Your brows furrowed.”Ellie… you do realize we don’t have an F1 car, right?”

Ellie’s entire soul left her body.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

You just kept looking at her, confused. “You’d need a simulator first, honestly. There’ no way you could handle the G-forces right away—”

Ellie sighed loudly. “Yeah, okay, got it. I suck.”

Somewhere, back in Jackson, Dina probably felt a disturbance in the force.

Later that day, Ellie tried again.

You were sitting on the front steps of your house when Ellie approached, hands shoved in her pockets. She rocked back on her heels.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat, “I was thinking about, uh, aerodynamics.”

You looked up. “Oh?”

Ellie nodded. “Yeah. And like… if you had a really fast card. And, uh, you wanted to go faster. You’d want to, um…” She scratched the back of her neck. “Get rid of some drag, right?”

You smiled. “Exactly! Less drag, more speed.”

Ellie pointed at you. “Right! Right. So… you should totally, um… drag me to dinner sometime.”

Silence.

Ellie blinked. “Wait. That made no sense.”

You blinked.

Ellie immediately turned and left. “Forget I said anything.”

---

You were lounging on the couch in Tommy’s place, flipping through the same battered F1 magazine for the hundredth time. You’d heard the door open and stay open, followed by the sound of snow boots. You thought it was Tommy, until something landed in your lap with a soft thud.

You blinked down at it—another magazine, just as worn, the edges curling with age. The cover was barely legible, but your eyes caught the unmistakable silhouette of a Formula 1 car.

“Figured you’d want that,” Ellie muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. She wasn’t even looking at you, just rocking on her heels like she hadn’t just gifted you the best thing ever.

Your heart did something weird.

“Where the hell did you find this?” you breathed, already flipping through the pages with greedy fingers.

“Patrol,” Ellie said simply. “Saw it in some old shop and, y’know… figured you’d like it or whatever.”

“Ellie.” You turned to her, dead serious. “If the world hadn’t ended, I would marry you on the spot.”

Ellie choked. “Uh—what?”

“Nothing.” You smirked, holding the magazine to your chest like it was the most valuable thing in the world. “Just saying, you keep bringing me stuff like this, and I might start thinking you’re in love with me or something.”

Ellie scoffed, cheeks a little pink. “Shut up.”

Jesse, who had been watching from across the room, let out a low whistle. “Damn, Ellie, you really out here romancing her with scraps of old paper, huh?”

“Dude, shut up,” Ellie groaned, chucking a pillow at him. But even as she rolled her eyes, she didn’t deny it.

---

Ellie’s pathetic attempts at flirting had gone on for weeks. Dina had witnessed all of them. So had Jesse. And quite frankly, both of them were done.

So, naturally, an intervention was in order.

It started at the Tipsy Bison one evening. You, Ellie, Dina, and Jesse were at your usual table, the dim glow of lanterns flickering against the old wooden walls.

You were, as usual, rambling about F1.

“Listen, the reason Senna was so damn good in the rain was because of his throttle control. You can literally see it in onboard footage—he’d feathering the pedal like an artist—”

Ellie was watching you with that look again. That soft, fascinated look that Dina had had enough of.

Dina dramatically set down her drink. “Okay. I can’t do this anymore.”

You pause mid-ramble. “Huh?”

Jesse leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “She means you two.”

Ellie stiffened. “What about us?”

Dina gestured wildly between you. “This. This thing you guys have been doing. Ellie, you flirt like a drunk deer on ice, and you—” she turned to you, exasperated. “You’re so obsessed with F1 that you can’t see that your biggest fangirl is literally sitting right next to you.”

Ellie choked on her drink. “I—what—no, I—”

Jesse sighed. “Look, we’ve seen it for months. Ellie brings you random car magazines like she’d a goddamn raccoon hoarding trash. She pretends to care about tire strategies just to impress you. And you—” he pointed at you—”literally melt on the floor every time she talks, but you just keep info-dumping instead of making a move.”

You stared at him. “First of all, rude.”

Ellie, looking like she wanted to sink into the floor, muttered. “Second of all, not true.”

Dina rolled her eyes. “Oh, really?” Then, Ellie, what was that absolute disaster of a line you used last week?”

Jesse smirked. “Ohhh, yeah. The ‘drag me to dinner’ one?”

Ellie groaned, shoving her face into her hands. “Kill me.”

You, blinking in realization, turned to Ellie. “Wait, that was flirting?”

Ellie lifted her head, incredulous. “Yes?!”

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Dina groaned, throwing her hands up dramatically.

Jesse nodded, arms crossed. “Yeah. This has been, what, months of you two making heart eyes at each other? I’m over it.”

“What—?” Ellie sputtered, looking between them like they had just accused her of murder. “I don’t—I mean, I—shut up.”

You furrowed your brows. “Wait, what’s happening?”

“This.” Dina shoved Ellie forward—hard.

Ellie barely caught herself before crashing into you, hands instinctively gripping your arms to steady herself. Your breath hitched at the sudden closeness, her face inches from yours.

“Uh—shit, okay—hi,” Ellie stammered, her hands twitching where they held you.

Your brain short-circuited. “Hi?”

Jesse sighed. “Oh my God.”

Ellie, still very much trapped in your space, licked her lips nervously. “So, uh. This is—this is dumb, but, like, I—I think I—” She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut for a second. “Fuck it.”

And then, before you could even process what was happening, she kissed you.

It wasn’t smooth or practiced—it was Ellie, which meant it was a little clumsy, a little desperate, but it was her, and your heart basically exploded.

When she finally pulled back, looking ridiculously embarrassed, she cleared her throat. “So. Uh. Yeah.”

“Wow,” you breathed, still kind of stunned. “That was… terrible.”

Ellie’s face burned. “What?!”

“I mean, not the kiss,” you laughed, resting a hand on her chest to calm her down. “Just—God, you really suck at this.”

Ellie groaned, burying her face in your shoulder. “I know.”

Dina grinned. “And yet, somehow, it worked.”

Jesse patted Ellie’s back. “Proud of you, dude.”

Ellie groaned louder.

---

Ellie was getting worse.

Before, she'd get you little "gifts" and try to be subtle about it. Magazines she claimed she just “found lying around,” posters she swore she “didn’t even mean to grab,” and the occasional keychain or sticker she totally didn’t spend twenty minutes digging through an abandoned gas station for.

But now?

Now that you were dating? She had no shame.

The first time you really noticed was when she returned from patrol one evening, a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Okay,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Close your eyes.”

You, sitting on the couch, raised a brow. “Ellie, what—”

“Just do it.”

With a suspicious look, you obeyed. You felt her shove something into your hands—something leathery, rough—before whispering, “Okay. Open.”

You blinked your eyes open and looked down. 

It was a jacket. A Ferrari jacket.

Black, with red and yellow accents, the Scuderia Ferrari logo stitched on the chest. It was faded, a little worn, but the moment you recognized it, your heart stopped.

You gasped. “Ellie.”

She shoved her hands in her pockets, rocking back on her heels. “Cool, right?”

You ran your fingers over the embroidered prancing horse. “Where the fuck did you find this?”

Ellie grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Abandoned mall, buried under some old merch. Thought of you and, y’know, risked my life for it or whatever.”

You look up at her, wide-eyed. “Ellie.”

“What?” she asked, smirking.

“You’re so in love with me.”

Ellie groaned, immediately regretting all her life choices. “Shut up.”

You just smiled, slipping the jacket on. It was a little big, but warm. Cozy. Perfect. You tugged the sleeves over your hands, already knowing you’d never take it off.

Ellie eyes you, chewing her lip. “Oh? You into this, Williams?”

Ellie’s face burned. “Don’t do this.”

You got even closer. “I bet if I called you my little pit crew, you’d—”

Ellie grabbed your face and kissed you, effectively shutting you up.

Yeah. 

You were definitely keeping the jacket.

BONUS

The garage was quiet except for the occasional drip of water from a rusted pipe and the clinking of your tools. The old truck in front of you was a mess, but you were determined to fix it up, even if it meant spending hours crouched over the engine, fingers covered in grease. It was comforting, getting lost in something that actually made sense—gears, pistons, combustion, all of it had a function, a reason. Unlike the world outside.

You were just about to start pulling apart the carburetor when you heard the door creak open. You didn’t think much of it, assuming it was Tommy coming to check in.

“Uhh… hey.”

Ellie.

“Fuck!” Your head slammed into the hood of the car, sending a sharp jolt through your skull. You hissed, stumbling back, only to feel hands steady you from behind.

“Shit, you good?” Ellie winced, holding back a laugh.

You rubbed your forehead, turning to glare at her. “Jesus, Ellie—announce yourself next time! You can’t just sneak up on people working under a car!”

She smirked, rocking back on her heels. “Damn. Didn’t realize F1 mechanics were so jumpy.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the engine. “What do you want?”

Ellie leaned against the side of the car, watching you with that stupid little half-smile. “Just curious,” she drawled. “What’re you working on?”

“Trying to fix the starter motor,” you muttered, still focused on your hands. “If I can get this thing running, I might actually be able to—”

You sucked in a sharp breath as Ellie suddenly pressed up behind you, warm and solid. One hand casually braced against the hood above your head, the other slipping along the workbench beside you.

“Starter motor, huh?” Her voice was lower now, close to your ear. “That’s the thing that, uh… makes the car go?”

Your fingers fumbled. “Y-Yeah. It, uh—it converts electrical energy into mechanical motion—”

“Huh.” Ellie’s fingers trailed along your waist, featherlight. “And what’s this part?”

You swallowed hard. “The, uh—the alternator.”

“Mmm. And what does that do?”

She was teasing you. You knew it. But she wasn’t stopping—her hand slowly slipped lower, resting just above your hip, her fingers barely gripping the waistband of your jeans.

Your brain scrambled to function. “It, uh… it keeps the battery charged—”

Ellie hummed. “Damn, look at you. So smart.” Her fingers dipped just slightly under the fabric. “Keep going.”

You gripped the edge of the hood, knuckles white. “Ellie—”

“No, no, keep talking, babe,” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I like hearing you explain shit.”

“Ellie,” you tried again, voice tight. “I—this isn’t—”

“This isn’t what?” she murmured, lips grazing your jaw as her fingers played with the hem of your jeans. “Not helping?”

“Not helping,” you breathed, grip tightening on the car.

Ellie chuckled, her free hand coming up to your waist, toying with the fabric of your shirt. “Aw, c’mon. Thought you loved talking about this stuff.”

You shuddered as her fingers brushed against bare skin. “I do—”

“Then keep going.” She shifted just slightly, pressing herself against your back. You could feel the warmth of her, the steady rise and fall of her breathing. “Tell me what this part does.”

You looked down, barely registering the piece of the engine she was pointing at. Your brain was static.

“Ellie—”

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Her hand dipped lower, fingers ghosting over the waistband of your underwear. “I’m waiting.”

Your breath hitched, hands flexing uselessly at your sides. “I—I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” She kissed the side of your neck, smirking against your skin as she felt you tense up. “Think?”

You whined, barely nodding.

“Shame.” Her hand finally slipped into your jeans, fingers pressing just where you needed her. You gasped, head dropping forward as your knees nearly gave out.

“Ellie—fuck—”

“Language,” she teased, her pace agonizingly slow. “That how they talk in the pit lanes?”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t actively fighting for your life. “I—please—”

“Mmm, that’s not an answer,” she murmured, pressing a little firmer. “Try again.”

You let out the most humiliating noise of your life. Ellie loved it.

“God,” she breathed, her own voice a little uneven now. “You’re so easy—”

“Ellie—”

She finally gave in, sliding two fingers in, pumping them in and out slowly. The only thing you could do was clutch onto the hood of the car for dear life as she worked you open.

“That’s it, baby,” she muttered, kissing along your shoulder. “Hold on for me.”

You were gone.

Ellie kept going, kept pushing you closer, whispering filth into your ear.

"Bet you wish I let you off easy, huh?" she murmured, her fingers only speeding up  as your thighs shook against her. "But you just had to be a little know-it-all—had to show off. Look at you now."

You whined, gripping the car so hard your knuckles turned white.

"C’mon," she teased, lips grazing your ear. "Tell me about the—fuck, listen to those little noises—tell me about the transmission again."

You tried—you really tried—but all that came out was a wrecked, gasping moan. Ellie laughed, breath hot against your neck.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Her free hand snaked up under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach. "Y’know," she muttered, her pace quickening, "I was gonna stop if you couldn’t keep talking, but—fuck—you sound so pretty like this."

Your entire body shuddered.

"So desperate. So fucking dumb for me, huh?"

You whimpered, nodding frantically.

"God, you love this," she breathed, grinding against you now. "Love when I make it so fucking hard for you to think. You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna let me hear how bad you need me?"

You nodded frantically, gasping as Ellie’s fingers curled just right inside you, the heel of her palm pressing down in a way that had your stomach tensing, twisting.

"Words," she murmured, teasing, taunting, as if she wasn’t completely ruining you.

You tried—God, you tried—but all that came out was a wrecked whimper, your mouth falling open on a sound you’d never made before.

Ellie groaned, her lips brushing your ear. "Fuck, you sound so pretty."

She was everywhere—one hand gripping your waist, holding you up as your legs threatened to give out, the other working relentlessly between your thighs. The car’s hood dug into your palms, keeping you upright as she drove you closer and closer, pushing you right to the edge.

"C’mon, baby," she murmured, kissing along your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. "Let go for me. Wanna feel you come on my fingers."

That did it—her voice, her touch, the pressure, the heat. Your body tensed, a sharp, choked sound escaping your lips as everything inside you snapped.

You came hard, your thighs clamping around her hand, your breath stuttering as white-hot pleasure surged through you. Ellie didn’t stop—she worked you through it, grinding against you, whispering the filthiest praise into your ear.

"That’s it, baby—fuck, that’s it—look at you, so perfect—so fucking good for me—"

Your head dropped back against her shoulder, breath coming in shaky gasps as she slowed her movements, coaxing every last bit of pleasure out of you until you were nothing but a trembling mess in her arms.

For a moment, the only sound in the garage was your ragged breathing, the distant creak of the wooden beams above, the hum of a world that didn’t matter anymore—because all you could feel was her.

Ellie pressed a soft kiss to your temple, her hands finally stilling against your spent body. Then, with the smuggest fucking voice you’d ever heard, she murmured—

"So… about that alternator?"

You slapped her arm.

also i tried being aesthetic with that lil header some people do but i think i failed miserably

[silverzoomies]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

link to chapter 2: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you.  You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …��kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...”  His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight. 

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

[drak3n]

TATTOO ARTIST/PIERCER!CHOSO

CONTENT WARNINGS: unestablished relationship, smut, public sex, mentions of body modifications, cunnilingus, implied blowjob at the end, choso has a prince albert-, tongue- and a vertical eyebrow piercing

sena’s note: i know there’s a lot of tattoo artist choso already but i folded — anywaysss up next is my man gojo 🖤

MINI-SERIES MASTERLIST

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who was very well-known for his talent despite being so young; who was always pretty gifted with his hands and used peoples’ skin like a canvas, gracing it with the prettiest designs, simple and small, or detailed and large

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who shared a studio with a few fellow tattoo artists and piercers, but had a goal of having his own studio someday

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who had just finished a 5h back piece on his last client and walked towards the front desk to retrieve his cigarettes and take a break, just for his hooded, brown eyes to set on you

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who saw you standing next to your friend and encouraging her to hand in her data sheet for her tattoo, and who watched as your friend was immediately guided into one of the rooms by a tattoo artist, just to leave you all by yourself

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who came back from smoking minutes later to see you sitting on one of the leather seats, flipping through pages of the shop’s magazine that showed many different designs of tattoos, and also piercings

“you want to get anything done?”

nearly flinching at the cold voice sounding a couple of feet away from you, your eyes met choso’s, who was leaning against the wall, revealing fully tattooed forearms through his loose-fitted t-shirt. he looked very… unique, to say the least.

“oh, no, i’m just waiting for a friend,” you smiled kindly, “she’s getting tattooed right now. think it’ll take some time.” you felt guilty that you stared at the man like he was some kind of alien. his features were just really captivating, the plethora of tattoos peeking out from his short sleeves and from the collar leaving little to the imagination that they continued even beneath that shirt.

his eyebrow tattoo shone under the light, but when he opened his mouth, your jaw nearly dropped at the sight of a tongue piercing.

you suddenly remembered what they said about guys with tongue piercings, and felt deeply ashamed about getting such thoughts about a hot stranger.

“come,” he invited you towards the room he usually worked in, “you’ll get bored here. you’ll get a piercing on the house.” he didn’t know why he offered that. maybe, just maybe it was because he didn’t want the other piercers and tattoo artists to charm you first.

at the end of the day, you left the studio with your freshly tattooed friend and a pierced nose.

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who hoped you’d walk in again, and whose shoulders nearly slumped in disappointment upon seeing your friend coming in by herself a few days later to get her tattoo checked, without your company

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who — totally on accident — saw that the studio had been tagged in multiple stories on instagram, one of which being yours, a spontaneous picture taken of your side profile that showcased the gem he had pierced into your cute nose

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who absolutely didn’t follow you after that, just to see mere minutes later that you did, and before he could stop himself, he followed you back

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who really wasn’t the best texter, which left you wondering if you should even try and talk to him at all; whose eyes went wide in surprise when you waltzed into the studio to get your thigh tattooed weeks later

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who showed you that same day how it felt to get eaten out by someone with a tongue piercing

“c—choso… fuck— what if someone—”

your hand clamped in front of your mouth to stifle a moan threatening to force itself out when the ball of metal on choso’s wet muscle bumped against your bundle of nerves. you were seated on the couch he’d previously tatted on, both of your bare legs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted on your delicious pussy.

“let them,” he spoke gruffly into your cunt as his tattooed hands dug into the underside of your thighs. he didn’t hide the smirk displaying on his lips at the way you drooled from the sensation of his piercing coolly gliding against your wet pussy lips.

“c’mon. use your words. i’ll let you cum if you do.”

“pleasepleaseplease let me cum… please choso.”

“cute. you want to feel what the piercing on my dick feels like?”

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who totally did make you beg on his thick dick adorned with a shiny prince albert piercing, and who couldn’t even be mad at you when you flashed him a tongue piercing you had gotten at another studio to surprise and make him see stars just like he’d done for you