#and an impeccable black suit

[ackermans-freedom-inc]

*taps microphone*

Any-anyone wanna talk about mob boss Erwin with me?

[lordcoolington]

this cool-guy looking biker dude named ryansmithson192 (fake username but something along those lines) accidentally followed my insta and then unfollowed me within 12 seconds. but i saw. why were you staring at me, ryan? looking at my art? is it your guilty pleasure, ryan? you’ll find yourself back at my profile eventually. they always do.

[pucksandpower]

Pequeña

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Fernando Alonso x Webber!Reader

Summary: a brutal breakup leads you right into the arms of one of your father's oldest friends (or in which being sooooo normal about Fernando Alonso runs in the Webber family)

Warnings: 18+ content, age gap, taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable state, breeding, and pregnancy

You sit hunched on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest as tears stream down your face. Your mobile vibrates again and you swipe away another message from your now ex-boyfriend without reading it. How could he do this to you? You thought what you had was real.

Your thoughts drift to home, to your family thousands of miles away in Australia. You long for your dad’s comforting embrace and your mum’s reassuring words. But they’re so far away. You feel painfully alone in this strange English city where you’ve come to attend university.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re dialing a familiar number. It rings three times before a warm voice picks up. “Hola pequeña! What’s wrong?”

“N-Nando ...” You sniffle, trying and failing to keep your voice from cracking. “He … he cheated on me.”

There’s a pause before Fernando responds, his Spanish lilt taking on a protective edge. “That little hijo de puta. I’ll kill him myself.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No, don’t do that. I … I just miss home. Miss my family.”

“Say no more, pequeña. You’re coming to stay with me for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you all alone like this.”

You hesitate, wiping at your tears. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose ...”

“Impose?” Fernando laughs. “My favorite girl? Never. I’m sending a car to get you right now.”

“No, no, I can drive myself-”

“You’ll do no such thing in this state,” he chides. “Driver’s on his way. Go pack a bag.”

You open your mouth to protest again but think better of it. Fernando can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Nando. Really.”

“De nada, pequeña. I’ve got the guest room all ready for you. We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

His soothing Spanish accent is already making you feel infinitely better. You know Fernando has been close with your family for years, has watched you grow up into the young woman you are today. He’s always treated you like his own daughter.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it. Spending time with Fernando is guaranteed to lift your spirits. “Your place in Silverstone, right?”

“That’s the one. Get packing and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you very soon.”

You hang up and immediately start throwing clothes and essentials into an overnight bag with a renewed sense of hope. Fernando always knows just what to do to make you feel better.

Two hours later, you’re being ushered into the backseat of a sleek black sedan by a courteous driver in a pressed suit. He takes your bag and stows it in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel.

“Miss Webber? I’ll be taking you to Mr. Alonso’s residence now.”

You nod, suddenly exhausted from all the crying. The driver seems to sense your melancholy because he doesn’t try to make small talk.

The English countryside whips by in a blur of green fields and quaint villages. Before you know it, the sedan is pulling up to an impressive brick estate surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens.

The driver lets you out and leads you up to the front door, which swings open before you can knock. Fernando stands there in a soft white sweater and dark-washed jeans, arms open wide.

“Pequeña!” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he pulls you into a fierce hug. “Welcome, welcome.”

You breathe in his comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus as he rubs soothing circles on your back. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs.

He ushers you inside and you can’t help but gape at the tasteful, modern interior decor. It’s bright and airy, with huge windows offering views of the impeccable gardens beyond.

“This place is incredible, Nando,” you say, trailing behind him as he leads you through the spacious living room towards what appears to be the kitchen.

“You like?” He grins over his shoulder. “I had it remodeled not too long ago. Here, have a seat.” He pulls out a barstool at the huge kitchen island.

You take a seat, settling your elbows on the cool granite surface as Fernando busies himself at the stove. “So,” he says without turning around. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Don’t leave out a single detalle.”

You sigh, resting your chin in your hands as Fernando starts pulling ingredients from the fridge. “Well, it started a few weeks ago. ..”

You recount all the little things that, in hindsight, were red flags: the constant emailing and texting, the unusually long nights “studying” at the library, the bizarre excuses. Fernando listens intently, occasionally tossing in a sympathetic “maldito idiota” or an indignant shake of his head.

Finally, you get to the part where you finally confronted your now ex about his shady behavior … only to have him confess that he’d been cheating on you for months with some underclassman sociology major.

By the time you’ve finished, your voice is thick from holding back a fresh wave of tears. Fernando sets down the knife he was using to chop vegetables and comes around the island to pull you into another hug.

“Oh, pequeña,” he murmurs into your hair. “Lo siento mucho. You didn’t deserve any of that, you hear me?”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Fernando rubs your back again before pulling away, hands on your shoulders so he can look you square in the eyes.

“Listen. That boy?” A feisty glint enters his warm hazel eyes. “He’s a fool, a complete and total imbecile for hurting someone as incredible as you. You’re so brave, so strong, so full of life ...” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And any man should consider himself the luckiest in the world to have you in his life, you understand?”

You manage a watery smile and nod again. Leave it to Fernando to know exactly what to say to begin mending your broken heart.

“Good.” He straightens up, clapping his hands together decisively. “Now dry those tears, pequeña. I’m making my famous seafood paella for dinner tonight and I’ll need my best assistant chef!”

You let out a surprised laugh, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Nonsense!” Fernando waves a dismissive hand as he returns to the cutting board. “Everyone can learn with a little guidance from Chef Nano, no?”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur of cheerful chopping, stirring, and laughing as Fernando walks you through the steps, nudging you gently whenever you veer off course. It’s impossible to stay weighed down by your sadness when he’s cracking jokes in that irreverent way of his and peppering you with silly kitchen nicknames.

By the time you’ve portioned out the fragrant saffron rice studded with shrimp, mussels, and clams into bowls, you’re doubled over in a fit of giggles from Fernando’s dramatic retelling of his past Formula 1 antics.

“... And then this crazy Australian madman comes barreling into the pit and just starts laying into me!” He throws his hands up, eyes dancing with mirth. “If Charlie hadn’t stepped in, I think your old man really might’ve killed me that day!”

You shake your head, still laughing as you take your first bite of the paella. It’s absolute perfection, the flavors melding together in an incredible symphony on your tongue. “My dad really went after you?”

“Oh yeah,” Fernando chuckles, digging into his own bowl. “We were like two crazed animals back then whenever we were on the track together. Couldn’t stand each other.”

There’s a lull as you both focus on eating for a few minutes. When you’re pleasantly full and satiated, you sit back with a contented sigh.

“Nando, that was hands down the best paella I’ve ever had.”

“You flatter me too much.” He waves a hand, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Just wait until tomorrow, when Chef Nano teaches you how to make the perfect tortilla Española, eh?”

The idea of getting to spend more time with Nando and being cooked for brings a genuine, untroubled smile to your face for the first time in days. This is just what you needed to start healing from your recent heartbreak.

***

As you help Fernando clear the dishes, a comfortable silence settles between you. He pours you both generous glasses of his favorite Spanish rioja and you retire to the plush living room sofas.

Fernando settles into the overstuffed armchair across from you, stretching out his lean legs as he takes a sip of wine. “So, pequeña ...” He fixes you with that warm, piercing gaze. “What is it you really want? In a man, I mean.”

You pause, considering his question as you swirl the ruby liquid in your glass. “I … I’m not sure I know anymore, to be honest. I thought I had it all figured out with ...” You trail off, unable to even say your ex’s name without a pang of hurt lancing through you.

Fernando reaches over to pat your knee comfortingly. “Hey, no more tears, okay? That pendejo is in the past. I’m asking what your ideal partner would be like going forward. What do you want, need, deserve from a man?”

You take a fortifying sip of the bold, peppery wine before responding. “I think … more than anything, I just want to feel cherished. Valued. Like I’m the most important person in his world.”

Fernando’s expression softens. “Oh, pequeña. You have such a big, beautiful heart. Of course that’s what you want — to be adored and treated like the incredible woman you are.”

You duck your head, warmth blooming in your cheeks at his praise. “I don’t know, Nando. Maybe I’m just being naive or asking for too much ...”

“Claro que no!” He leans forward, pinning you with an intense look. “You’re allowed to want those things, pequeña. You’re allowed to be selfish when it comes to your heart and what you need to be truly, deeply happy.”

His words resonate somewhere deep within you and you find yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right. I am allowed to want someone who makes me their whole world and never takes me for granted, aren’t I?”

“Exactamente.” Fernando reaches over to grasp your hands, his calloused fingers engulfing yours. “And let me tell you — any man who doesn’t give you that is un verdadero idiota. You deserve to be cherished, worshipped, put up on a pedestal every single day.”

His dark eyes burn with conviction, lips pressed into a serious line. You find yourself unable to look away, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his words and manner.

“You deserve everything, pequeña,” he continues in a low, gravelly tone. “A man who makes you his whole priority, who loves you with every fiber of his being. Someone who will lay the world at your feet.”

Fernando reaches up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheekbone reverently. The calloused pad of it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Someone who looks at you and can scarcely breathe for how lucky, how blessed they are to have you in their life ...”

His face is so close to yours now, his warm breath caressing your lips. You’re completely transfixed, body thrumming with barely restrained tension and … anticipation?

Fernando’s next words are barely more than a hoarse rumble. “I will cherish you, pequeña. Always. Allow me to show you how a real man adores the woman he loves.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent and tasting of wine and desire. You gasp into the kiss, frozen for a split second before melting against him, kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands slide up to tangle in the soft strands at the nape of his neck as he angles his head, deepening the heated exchange.

Fernando groans low in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. His large, nimble hands come up to frame your face, holding you in place as he takes his time thoroughly exploring your mouth, nibbling at your lips, stroking his talented tongue against yours in a way that has you whimpering into him.

He pulls away slightly and you chase his lips with a soft keen of protest. Fernando chuckles darkly, nosing along your jaw.

“Patience, pequeña,” he rumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “As sweet as that gorgeous mouth is, there are so many other parts of you I’ve been longing to taste ...”

A full-body shudder wracks you at his words, at the sheer need and promise lacing his tone. Part of you is stunned by how quickly the atmosphere between you has shifted, how easily you fell into his passionate embrace.

But a much larger part — the part that has admired and idolized this man since you were knee-high — is utterly intoxicated. Delirious with the knowledge that the love you’ve secretly harbored for Fernando for years is, impossibly, reciprocated.

His mouth is trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of your throat and you tilt your head back with a wanton moan, reveling in the rasp of his day-old stubble against your sensitized skin.

“N-Nando ...” You try to put a protesting note in your voice, but it comes out a pleading whine instead. “Are you sure about this? I’m … I’m just a kid to you.”

He rears back to pin you with a look so full of naked want it makes you squirm. “You stopped being a kid a long time ago, pequeña,” he growls. “I’ve been watching you grow into this gorgeous, fiery woman and it’s taken everything in me not to take you into my arms like this until now.”

His hands roam down to palm your waist, fingers flexing possessively against the dip of your sides. You’re breathless, dizzy, wondering if you’ve stumbled into some incredible, wildly realistic dream.

Because surely this — with your longtime crush, the older man you’ve harbored forbidden fantasies about pulling you flush against his strong frame and lavishing kisses up the side of your neck — cannot be real. Can it?

“It’s real, pequeña. So, so real,” Fernando croons, as if reading your mind. He frames your face again, searing you with another passionate kiss that steals your breath and chases away any remaining doubts. “Feel how real it is,” he murmurs, guiding your hands down to the firm evidence of his arousal straining against the soft denim.

You whimper into his mouth, tentatively palming the thick bulge. Fernando hisses in a sharp breath through his teeth and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to yours. His eyes are tightly shut, long lashes fanning across sunkissed skin.

“F-fuck, pequeña,” he chokes out in a ragged voice. “Been dreaming of those little hands on me for years.”

Something inside you shifts at his confession, like a dam of long repressed want and need cracking open. You suddenly feel bolder, empowered by the effect you’re having on this man — this god among men who you’ve put on a pedestal for so long.

Maintaining heated eye contact, you slowly drag your hand up the length of his erection in one firm stroke that has Fernando’s hips jerking up as he curses vehemently in Spanish.

“Like this?” You rasp, a blatant challenge in your tone as you repeat the motion.

Fernando’s eyes flash hungrily and then he’s surging forward again, capturing your lips in another punishing kiss that leaves you lightheaded and alight with lust.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growls when he releases your mouth with a final nip at your lower lip. “Now it’s my turn to cherish you ...”

With that, he loops an arm behind your knees and rises in one smooth, powerful motion, hoisting you up into a secure bridal carry. You yelp in surprise, hands flying up to cling to his broad shoulders.

“Nando! What are you, mmph-”

Your protest is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours in another heated kiss. Fernando maneuvers you easily as he starts carrying you towards the staircase, hiking your dainty linen dress up around your thighs.

“I’m making good on my promise, pequeña,” he murmurs hotly against your swollen lips. “Bedroom. Now. Going to lay you out and cherish every sweet inch of that gorgeous body, just like you deserve.”

Unbidden, a soft whine slips from your throat at his heated words. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there as a fresh wave of arousal floods through you, hot and insistent.

Fernando chuckles darkly, adjusting his grip on you as he starts up the stairs. “That’s it, let me hear how much you want this too.”

You open your mouth to respond but only a needy whine escapes as Fernando hitches you higher in his arms, the movement causing delicious friction against your core.

“I want, ngh-” Your words dissolve into another needy noise as Fernando nips at the juncture of your neck and shoulder in reprimand.

“Use your words, pequeña,” he rumbles against your tingling skin. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before he’s kicking open a door and striding into what must be the bedroom, depositing you gently onto the plush center of an enormous bed. Fernando looms over you, chest heaving as he rakes his heated gaze over your prone form in a way that makes you shudder.

“Nando, I … I want you,” you finally manage, fighting past your shyness to meet his burning stare. “Want you to cherish me, cherish every part of me, like you promised.”

Fernando’s eyes darken further at your words and he slowly, purposefully begins lifting his sweater, never looking away from you.

“Good girl,” he praises in that deep, gruff tone that has your thighs pressing together instinctively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He shrugs off the soft knit, revealing a toned, hair-dusted chest and abdominal muscles carved from years of intense athletic training. You can’t help but drink in the display of his powerful body as he reaches for the buckle of his belt.

Fernando doesn’t miss your frank appraisal, a cocky smirk tugging at his full lips. “Like what you see, pequeña?”

You bite your lip and give a small, shameless nod. His grin widens and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, Fernando’s belt is undone and sliding free of its loops. You watch, rapt, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.

“Then no more teasing,” he promises in a low, heated rasp. “Tonight you’ll have as much of me as you can handle.”

With that, Fernando pushes his trousers and underwear down over his hips in one go, springing free in all his thick, flushed glory. Your eyes widen and you suck in a sharp breath at the sheer size of him, mouth going dry with naked want.

Fernando steps forward until he’s standing at the edge of the mattress, gloriously nude and incredibly aroused. He crouches down, bringing himself eye-level with your flushed face as he reaches out to gently take your hands in his calloused grip.

“Are you sure, pequeña?” He searches your gaze intently. “Because once I claim you, mark you as mine in every way … there’s no going back. I won’t ever let you go.”

His raw confession hangs in the heated air between you. You meet Fernando’s fiery gaze without faltering, threading your fingers through his in silent acceptance. His eyes blaze and then he’s surging up over you, capturing your mouth in another searing, all-consuming kiss as he slowly, reverently hikes your dress up and divests you of your last remaining garments.

You wind your arms around his thick neck, holding him close as Fernando settles between your splayed thighs with a low, guttural groan. He rears back just enough to pin you with another scorching look, stealing your breath.

“You’re mine now, pequeña,” he vows roughly, guiding his thick length to your slick entrance. “And I’m going to spend all night cherishing this sweet body, just like you deserve ...”

Fernando braces himself above you with one powerful forearm, using his free hand to grip your thigh and hitch your leg higher around his lean hips. You keen softly as the new angle allows him to sink even deeper, filling you up so deliciously.

He drops his forehead to yours, dark eyes locked on your parted lips as he starts rocking into you with slow, measured strokes. Each deliberate grind of his pelvis against yours has you whimpering, nails raking down the flexing planes of his back.

“That’s it, pequeña,” Fernando croons, punctuating his words with a sharp roll of his hips that has you crying out. “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You try to muffle your sounds against his broad shoulder, but Fernando isn’t having it. He slides the hand not braced on the mattress up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head so your mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.

“No, no … I want to hear every gorgeous, needy little noise,” he rumbles, lips brushing yours with each scorching word. “Want to hear you begging for more of my cock, stretching you so perfectly ...”

A desperate whine slips free at his filthy words, your walls fluttering around his rigid length in defiant response. Fernando rewards you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his talented tongue teasing against yours as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

You moan brokenly into his mouth, legs locking around his narrow waist as Fernando sets a rhythm of steady, pounding strokes. Each slick glide has you building higher and higher, pleasure bordering on overwhelming. It’s so much after so much time without, yet somehow not enough.

You tear your lips from his with a ragged gasp, throwing your head back against the pillows. “M-More, Nando! Please … ah!”

Fernando grunts in approval at your needy plea, hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper. “As you wish, pequeña ...”

He sits up further on his knees, using the new leverage to drive into you with increased force and intensity. The lewd noises of your joining fill the air — skin slapping against skin, your cries of pleasure mingling with Fernando’s low groans of exertion.

Part of you feels like you should be embarrassed by the wanton sounds spilling from your lips. But a much bigger part is just reveling in the indescribable feeling of being taken apart so thoroughly by this incredible man’s skilled body.

Fernando hooks an arm under one of your knees, nearly bending you in half as he leans down to mouth hot, openmouthed kisses from your collarbone up the slender column of your throat. You keen wildly, fingers spasming against the rippling muscles of his back.

“Do you want it harder, pequeña?” He growls the filthy words against the racing pulse point under your jaw. “Want Papi to fuck you just like the needy little girl you are?”

A choked whimper is all you can manage in response, rendered incoherent by his merciless onslaught against that sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside you.

Fernando’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk against the side of your neck and then he’s driving into you with renewed vigor, hips pistoning in short, brutally powerful snaps that quickly have you keening. Your nails leave stinging welts in their wake as they drag down Fernando’s glistening shoulders and back, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he grits out through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by a nasty grind of his hips that has you crying out. “Such a good girl for Papi, con esas caderas tan estrechas ...”

His dirty Spanish murmurs nearly do you in, shooting white-hot sparks of pleasure-pain arcing across your nerve endings. You swear your vision nearly whites out entirely when his calloused fingers find your swollen bud, stroking firmly in tight, rapid circles that have you keening.

That familiar, coiling tension is rapidly becoming too much to bear. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching, building and building with each punishing thrust into your greedy little hole and stroke against that hypersensitive bundle of nerves.

“Nando, Nando,” you pant, clutching desperately at his flexing biceps as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “I’m gonna, ah, fuck, I can’t-”

Fernando’s response is a series of harsh Spanish curses that would make a sailor blush. His mouth crashes against yours in a searing, messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he fucks you right through your release.

Wave after relentless wave of excruciating ecstasy crashes over you. You tremble and wail into Fernando’s mouth, pulled taut as a bowstring as he milks every last exquisite pulse from you with those sharp, unforgiving snaps of his hips.

Just when you think the pleasure searing along every nerve ending will break you into pieces, Fernando’s rhythm falters. He rears back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl that sends a fresh shock of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Going to fill you up now, pequeña,” he grits out in a gravelly tone laced with strain. “Make you nice and, ah mierda, messy with Papi’s cum ...”

The sheer filth of his words, combined with his furious tempo draws animalistic whimpers from deep in your chest. You lock your ankles at the small of his back, taking him deeper as he starts to lose control.

“Please, Nando!” You beg shamelessly, reaching up to dig your fingers into the straining chords of muscle in his back and shoulders. “Please cum inside me, wanna be yours, wanna-”

Fernando cuts off your fervent cries with a harsh growl and then he’s slamming home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills molten heat deep in your convulsing channel with a stream of strained Spanish curses.

You shudder and cry out at the incredible sensation of being filled so completely, holding him flush to you while he pulses and throbs. Fernando captures your lips in another searing kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with the shallow rolls of his hips as he spends himself.

Just when you think the incredible intensity of his release will never end, the shrill trill of a ringtone shatters the sweaty, panting silence of the bedroom.

Fernando goes rigid above you, finally breaking the fevered kiss with a curse that shoots straight to your over-sensitized core.

“Fucking hell, now?”

His tone is one of pure annoyance as his darkly tousled head whips towards the nightstand where his mobile is ringing incessantly. One large hand flexes against the sheets beside your head, ready to simply ignore the call.

Until, that is, he sees the caller ID and his entire demeanor shifts from one of irritation to something more sheepish. He immediately sits up on his haunches, the movement tugging at your overstuffed, abused entrance in the most delicious way and drawing a helpless whimper from you.

Fernando fixes you with a heated look, plush lower lip caught between his teeth as he drinks in your disheveled, satisfied state sprawled wantonly across his rumpled sheets. Only then does he make a sudden, aborted movement to grab the still-ringing phone, gaze flickering down to where you’re obscenely joined.

“Don’t you dare pull out,” you pant in warning, clenching down hard around him as he shifts to reach for the mobile. Fernando groans explosively at the vice-like grip, arm falling back to brace himself against the mattress.

“Insatiable,” he accuses with a dark chuckle. He somehow manages to snag the still-trilling phone without dislodging himself and you shamelessly squeeze down even tighter in petty retaliation. Fernando tosses you a smoldering glare that makes heat lick along your nerve endings before he finally answers.

“Hola?” His deep voice is rougher than usual, gravelly from the thoroughly ravished state you’ve put him in.

“Fernando! Mate, it’s me.” Your father’s crisp Aussie tone immediately filters through the speaker and you inadvertently clench down again in panic.

Fernando’s lips peel back in a mild wince before smoothing back into that trademark smug grin of his. He drops his free hand to splay possessively over your lower abdomen, thumb rubbing idle circles into the soft, oversensitized skin there as he regards you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Mark!” He greets your father with forced nonchalance, even as the pads of his calloused fingers dip dangerously close to where you’re still intimately joined. “What can I do for you?”

There’s a pregnant pause during which you can practically picture the slight frown creasing your dad’s brow at Fernando’s strange tone. “Er, sorry to bother you, Nando. I was just ringing to see if my daughter made it to you alright?”

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as Fernando’s lips quirk up in a devilish smirk. Instead of answering right away, he drags the tip of one finger agonizingly slowly through your damp curls in a wordless warning.

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, you obediently stop clenching your internal muscles, allowing Fernando to sink that few extra incredible inches back inside you with a roll of his hips. His eyes burn with smug satisfaction when you keen softly at the feeling of being so deliciously full.

“She arrived safe and sound,” Fernando finally replies, voice gone low and rough in a way that has your thighs trying to clench instinctively. He holds you open by digging the heel of his palm against your mound, lips twitching when you whimper. “I’m taking very … very good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

Another pause from your father’s end, this one even longer. You can picture the perplexed furrow in his brow deepening as he tries to figure out the strange undercurrent in Fernando’s tone.

“Right … well, good then. I just wanted to check in and make sure she got there okay after that whole mess with her asshole of an ex.”

You shudder at the memory, hips shifting restlessly against Fernando’s calloused palm in a plea for friction, pressure, anything. He simply watches you squirm with darkly glittering eyes, lazily rubbing his thumb in soothing little circles just below your navel.

“Trust me,” Fernando finally rumbles, voice gone low and graveled in a way that sends a shiver of desire arcing down your spine. “Your little girl is being very well looked after, in every way.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the blatant innuendo lacing his words. Fernando’s smirk widens, like he enjoys seeing you so flustered, before he continues in a tone of exaggerated innocence. “She’s been … quite the handful, really, but I don’t mind.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shoot him a betrayed look, clenching reflexively around the thick length still sheathed snugly inside you. Fernando arches one artfully sculpted brow as if in challenge, using his free hand to firmly grip one of your thighs and wrench your legs obscenely further apart in clear retaliation.

You muffle a whimper into the sheets as the new position allows him to grind deeper, that delicious friction quickly unraveling your will to stay quiet. You can already feel the coil of need building rapidly once more with each shallow roll of Fernando’s hips.

“What was that?” Your dad’s mildly bewildered voice suddenly crackles over the line, jarring you back to the reality of the situation.

Cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and mortification, you blindly grasp for one of the pillows to muffle the series of pitiful noises now spilling past your lips as Fernando ups the intensity of his thrusts.

He leans in closer until the two of you are practically nose-to-nose, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip when you instinctively tighten around him like a velvet vise. Fernando’s eyes roll back briefly before fixing back on you, dark and fathomless as the depths of the Mediterranean.

“Nothing to worry about over here,” he pants through gritted teeth, one hand leaving its bruising grip on your thigh to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a searing, filthy kiss designed to swallow any incriminating sounds. “Like I said. Just … taking very good care of your little girl.”

There’s one final confused little hum from your father before the line clicks off with a hollow beep. Fernando instantly drops the phone and slants his mouth hungrily over yours once more, all thoughts of the call instantly forgotten as he resumes fucking up into you with renewed vigor.

“My little girl, aren’t you pequeña?” He grates against your lips, punctuating each word with a scorching grind of his hips that has sparks bursting behind your eyelids. “Going to be a good girl and cum all over Papi’s cock again, sí?”

You can only nod wildly in agreement, nails raking down his broad back as that incredible tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Fernando swallows your cries with his wicked, talented mouth, until finally you go rigid in his arms, back arched as your release rockets through you like a shockwave.

This time Fernando doesn’t even attempt to stifle your hoarse, animalistic keening, merely rearing back to watch in fascination as your complexion colors and your eyes roll back. He growls your name like a prayer, hips snapping erratically as he uses your convulsive flutters to chase his own high. Fernando’s chiseled features contort in pleasure, teeth sinking into his own lip hard enough to draw blood when you bear down with the vise-like strength of your release.

“F-Fuck … gonna … gonna fill you up again,” he grits out, thick cock jerking deep inside your molten depths. “Make you … gonna ah … make you mine forever this time, pequeña ...”

The gravelly promise in his tone somehow penetrates the sweaty, lust-hazed cocoon surrounding you. Your eyes fly open just in time to witness Fernando’s own clenched shut, jaw dropped in a growl as he buries himself to the hilt with one final, bruising grind of his pelvis.

You cry out at the incredible sensation of his release flooding your already stuffed channel with scorching ropes of thick seed. Fernando lets out a shuddering moan of pure gratification, hips working in short, shallow thrusts to pump every last pulse of his sticky essence into your greedy little womb.

When the last tremor of his climax has wrung through him, he drops bonelessly on top of you in a sweaty, panting tangle of sated limbs. You whimper quietly at the delicious feeling of his weight pinning you to the mattress, his softening length still lodged snugly inside as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

Fernando nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing lazy, opened-mouthed kisses to your slick, overheated skin. His talented fingers trace abstract patterns up and down your sides, touch reverent as his gravelly voice rumbles against you.

“Going to get you nice and full, pequeña. Fill you up again and again until my baby takes ...”

A violent shudder wracks through you at the filthy promise in his words. Fernando chuckles darkly, gathering you closer against his sweat-slicked chest as his hand drifts down to cup your lower abdomen with tender possessiveness.

“That’s it, let it sink in,” he croons, fingertips rubbing in gentle circles. “My seed taking root deep inside this sweet little womb, putting a baby in your belly ...”

He punctuates the words with a firm press of his palm that has you gasping, walls fluttering greedily around the thick shaft still impaling you. Fernando makes a noise of deep approval low in his throat.

“Going to keep you just like this,” he vows in a tone that brooks no argument, hot and heavy against the sensitive shell of your ear. “Barefoot and pregnant in my bed, that gorgeous body swollen and glowing with my hijo ...”

You whimper at the image his words conjure up — your belly rounded and stretched taut with Fernando’s child, heavy breasts leaking as you cradle his son or daughter. Fernando husks out a laugh at your reaction, nosing along the line of your jaw until you meet his heated gaze.

“You like that idea, don’t you pequeña?” His eyes glitter with a mixture of desire and predatory satisfaction. “Being tied to me forever, in the most permanent way possible?”

You can only nod dumbly, suddenly rendered mute by the depths of your own yearning. Of course you want that — to carry this incredible man’s legacy inside you for all the world to see. To belong to him, completely.

Fernando rumbles his approval against your swollen lips, cupping the back of your head to angle your mouth for a tender, lingering kiss. When he finally breaks away, you try to chase his mouth with a breathless whimper of protest.

“Shh, patience, pequeña,” he murmurs indulgently, thumb stroking over your slick lower lip. His eyes are dancing with dark promise. “You’ll have plenty of time to take your fill of me in the coming months while I breed you over ...”

He kisses the words into the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the rapid flutter of your pulse point.

“... and over ...” Fernando rolls you onto your back in one smoothly powerful motion, settling his weight over you as he lips trail a blazing path down your abdomen.

“... and over again.” His tongue dips briefly into your navel before he nuzzles lower, nose nudging through your damp curls until his warm breath ghosts over your overstimulated sex. You suck in a ragged gasp, thighs trembling with anticipation as Fernando glances up at you from under those ridiculously long lashes.

“Until it finally takes,” he finishes with a wicked grin before ducking down to swipe one firm lick through your folds. You nearly black out from the electric shock of pleasure-pain, broken cries echoing through the bedroom as Fernando sets to work thoroughly mapping every intimate inch of you with that devilishly skilled mouth and tongue.

True to his filthy promise, Fernando keeps you until the first rosy hints of dawn are just beginning to lighten the horizon outside, thoroughly ravishing your helpless body over and over again until you’re boneless and incoherent with satiation.

It’s only when the first few birds have begun to chirp their morning songs that he finally relents, blanketing you with his solid weight one last time. Fernando’s lips are kiss-swollen as they trail up the line of your throat to find yours in one more long, thorough kiss that leaves you totally plundered.

“Sleep now, pequeña,” he rumbles against your parted mouth, gathering you close as his hand drifts down to splay possessively over the slight tautness of your lower abdomen. “Let my release take nice and deep inside you ...”

You slip into unconsciousness to the sensation of Fernando’s calloused fingertips rubbing soothing circles over your skin and the imprinted promise of his low, sleep-roughened vows.

“I’m going to put a baby in you, pequeña. Going to breed you so full of my children until you’re round and glowing with them … that’s a promise.”

***

Six Months Later

Fernando can’t keep the swell of pride and possessiveness from blooming in his chest as he guides you through the paddock with a supportive hand on the small of your back. His dark gaze keeps flickering down to admire the swell of your belly peeking out beneath the flowing summer dress you’ve chosen for today.

He feels like a conquering king surveying his latest prize as you waddle adorably at his side, the golden sunlight caressing your features and lending a rosy flush to your glowing complexion. Fernando has never seen a more beautiful, ethereal sight than you in this moment — rounded with his child, your body transformed by the life blossoming within.

His hand subconsciously moves to cup the subtle curve of your belly as you pause to allow a team member to pass. Fernando feels a fresh surge of scorching desire and smug satisfaction race through his veins when you instinctively cover his hand with yours, cradling his palm against the taut swell.

“Easy there, pequeña,” he rumbles with a wolfish grin, leaning in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. “We’re in public, remember? Wouldn’t want to give these pendejos an eyeful of how insaciable my little girl has become since getting knocked up ...”

A delightful shiver visibly ripples through you at his words, those gorgeous eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments before fixed back on him blown wide and dark with rekindled want. Fernando lets out a low chuckle of approval, arm winding around your waist to pull you flush against his side.

Just then, a familiar figure comes striding around the corner, brows low and thunderous as they zero in on the embrace Fernando has you locked in. Mark Webber falters mid-step as he takes in the rather obvious changes to your body, chin dropping in a comical picture of dumbstruck shock.

Fernando can’t resist angling the two of you forward just enough to emphasize the prominent curve of your belly straining against the flowy fabric of your summer dress. He watches your father’s expression morph from surprise, to confusion, then slowly … realization as the pieces begin to click into place.

Within seconds, Mark’s eyes have narrowed to slits of rage, mouth curling back in a snarl of anger as he picks up his pace and stalks towards the pair of you. Fernando’s own smug expression slips, features settling into a hard mask as he angles his body slightly in front of yours on instinct.

“You motherfucking piece of shit-” Your father snarls, face taking on an alarming reddish hue as he rears back and swings at Fernando.

Fernando manages to sidestep the worst of the blow at the last second, feeling only a glancing impact against his left cheekbone before Mark closes in again with balled fists raised. Behind him, you let out a strangled cry of dismay, reaching out helplessly to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Dad, no! Fernando, please-”

But Fernando is already sinking into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and weight evenly distributed. He blocks another wild swing from Mark with ease, allowing the Australian’s momentum to carry him past so Fernando can land a swift, open-handed punch against the side of his head.

The sharp retaliatory crack has Mark stumbling sideways, snarling like an enraged animal. For one brief, wildly intense moment, the two former rivals simply square off — sizing one another up like they’ve done a hundred times before on various circuits when they were both still competing.

From anyone else, Fernando might have been able to laugh off this overreaction, shrug it aside as the misguided anger of a hotblooded father learning his young daughter is now expecting. But this is Mark Webber — a man who has proven himself as fiery and formidable an opponent as they come.

Fernando won’t admit it aloud, but a tiny thrill of excitement races through him at the prospect of a proper throwdown with his old nemesis turned friend. He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder, assessing if he needs to move you further away before the situation escalates.

You surprise him by shaking your head adamantly, those beautiful eyes blazing with protective fury of your own as you plant yourself squarely in between the two men.

“Fernando, don’t hurt him,” you plead, gaze flickering between him and the bristling Aussie now clambering back to his feet. “He’s just-”

“Being a bloody psychopathic bastard,” Mark spits, wiping a hand across his rapidly swelling lip. His hateful glare lands accusingly on the prominent swell of your middle. “Fucking hell , Nando. She’s just a kid-”

Fernando feels his own temper ratcheting up several notches at the venom and dismissal lacing the other man’s tone. He takes an aggressive step forward, forcing you back behind the shield of his powerful frame.

“Don’t talk about her like she isn’t here to defend herself,” Fernando growls, unconcerned that they’re rapidly drawing an audience from the swarm of crew personnel surrounding them.

He arches a challenging brow at your father’s scathing glower. “What’s wrong? Upset that while you were off galivanting around the globe, I was putting a baby in your daughter’s belly?”

Mark lets out an outraged roar, lurching forward to throw another wild haymaker that Fernando easily ducks under. You cry out in distress, hands coming up to grip at Fernando’s biceps from behind as you try to bodily pull him away from the furious Australian’s reach.

“Both of you, stop!” Your shrill voice cuts through the tense alleyway, causing both men to pause for a split-second and glance towards you. “Nando, don’t provoke him! And you-” You aim an accusatory finger at your seething father. “Lay one more hand on Fernando and I swear to god-”

Whatever heated threat you were preparing goes unvoiced as a sudden aura of pain visibly ripples across your features, brow furrowing and lips parting on a pained gasp. Your hands instinctively fly down to cradle your belly, entire body locking up with tension.

Fernando’s heart leaps into his throat as he recognizes the clear signs of distress from months spent doting upon your every subtle twinge and discomfort. Immediately, his previous temper fades into a dull, distant roar easily overshadowed by the all-consuming need to ensure your well-being.

“Pequeña?” He’s at your side in an instant, gripping your upper arms to steady you as a light sheen of perspiration blooms on your brow. “Breathe through it, mi amor … just breathe, okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” you manage in a tight voice. “Just a twinge. The excitement is probably too mu-ahh!”

You gasp again, nails digging punishingly into Fernando’s forearms as your knees threaten to buckle. All hints of masculine posturing flee his mind as Fernando smoothly sweeps you up into a secure bridal carry, heedless of the soft whimpers of discomfort now trickling past your parted lips.

He locks eyes with a stunned Mark over your bent crown, gaze impassive and steady. “You heard her. The excitement is too much. We’re leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, Fernando swivels on his heel and marches back the way you’d originally come with you cradled protectively against his chest. He keeps his strides measured and unhurried, but still manages to put a fair amount of distance between the pair of you and your father’s petulant anger in a matter of moments.

Once you’ve rounded a quiet corner alcove, Fernando gently lowers you to a relatively secluded stack of equipment crates, bracing your lower back and guiding you into a seated position.

“Wait here,” he murmurs against your hairline, dropping a fleeting kiss to the rapidly dampening strands stuck to your brow. Fernando’s fingers ghost down to cradle your belly once more, silently assessing for any areas of increased tension. “I’ll be back in just a moment with some water and a physio, alright?”

You nod weakly, squirming to rest back against the cool metal behind you as another pained grimace flits across your features. Fernando feels his heart clench at the wretched, lost expression clouding your eyes.

Cupping your cheek, he tilts your chin up until you meet his heated gaze. “Don’t look so afraid, pequeña. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Fernando leans in until his nose brushes against yours, allowing the familiar closeness and the scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne to soothe you. “Our little one is just reminding us who’s boss, that’s all. But Papi’s here … I’ll take care of both of you, sí?”

You manage a weak smile at that, some of the tension bleeding from your delicate features as you nod against his palm. Fernando presses one more lingering kiss to your brow before reluctantly pulling away.

“I’ll be right back, mi vida. Just breathe deeply for me in the meantime.”

With one final reassuring caress to your belly, Fernando turns on his heel and strides back out into the bustling paddock area. His jaw is set in a tense line, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he mentally catalogs which team staff he needs to track down.

Rounding a corner, Fernando very nearly barrels straight into the rigid form of your father standing there with arms crossed, clearly waiting to waylay him. The Aussie’s expression is thunderous, eyes blazing with hurt and undisguised fury.

“So that’s it then?” Mark bites out in a tone of barely restrained aggression. “You’ve gone and knocked up my little girl. My own daughter, Nando ...”

Fernando holds up a dismissive hand, in no mood to allow your father’s misplaced anger to provoke another confrontation — not when you’re so clearly in distress. “Don’t start with me again.” His tone is low, brooking no argument. “Your daughter is safe and being well looked after, that’s all that matters right now.”

With that, he moves to sidestep around Mark, only to find his path blocked by the other man’s broad chest as he steps directly into Fernando’s space. The former World Champion narrows his eyes warningly, feeling his temper ratcheting back up in the face of such insolence.

“Look, you arrogant Spanish prick,” Mark growls, lips peeling back in a menacing sneer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

Fernando abruptly cuts him off with a harsh bark of humorless laughter, dark eyes glittering dangerously. “A game?” He shakes his head slowly, expression one of vaguely disbelieving contempt. “You really think that’s all this is to me? Getting one up on you by deflowering your little girl and leaving her pregnant, alone, and disgraced?”

The other man flinches almost imperceptibly at the crass words, clearly thrown by Fernando’s frank disdain. The Spaniard presses on relentlessly. “Any man who would treat a situation like this so flippantly doesn’t deserve to consider themselves a real man at all — let alone a father.”

Mark’s face has turned an alarming shade of puce, whether from shame or sheer unchecked rage Fernando neither knows nor cares. He simply crowds further into the Australian’s space, heedless of how their chests nearly brush with each harsh exhalation.

“Make no mistake, I love that woman and the child she carries more than life itself,” Fernando states with conviction, cadence low and gravelly. “If you’re asking whether I intend to be there for them both as a partner, as a father … my answer is simple.”

He pauses just long enough to allow the weight of his next words to truly sink in.

“For as long as your daughter and my children will have me, you couldn’t pry me away from their sides with a fucking crowbar.”

Fernando holds your father’s seething gaze for one final beat, satisfaction lancing through him at seeing the other man seemingly robbed of his righteous anger. With a curt nod, he finally moves to brush past the speechless Australian without another word —intent on fetching the physio like he had originally set out to do.

Because in the end, Mark Webber’s approval means less than nothing to Fernando. All that matters is rushing back to your side and ensuring your safety and comfort. You and the new life blossoming within you are his entire world now.

As if to reaffirm the point, you suddenly appear around the corner, one hand braced protectively under the swell of your abdomen.

“Nando,” you breathe in a tremulous voice, blindly reaching for him. “The little one misses you ...”

Fernando instantly abandons all thoughts of confronting Mark, or retrieving a physio, or anything else as he rushes to gather you up in his arms once more. He cradles you tenderly to his chest as your fingers twist almost convulsively in the fabric of his Hugo Boss shirt, dark eyes wide and pleading.

Fernando glances down at you cradled protectively in his arms, heart clenching at the distressed furrow of your brow and shallow, panting breaths.

Readjusting his grip, he dips his head to murmur a string of soothing Spanish endearments against your sweat-dampened hairline as he carries you through the winding labyrinth of the paddock. His strides are measured but purposeful, not rushing — he needs to get you somewhere quiet and comfortable to recover from the ordeal.

Finally, Fernando spots a secluded alcove tucked away behind a cluster of tires. He quickly guides you over and gently lowers you onto an emptied workbench, cocooning you against his broad chest.

“There, there, pequeña,” he croons, lips brushing your brow. “Just breathe nice and deep for Papi, just like we practiced ...”

You nod weakly, fingers reflexively flexing against the solid planes of Fernando’s abdomen as you struggle to pull in deep gulps of air. He deftly tugs the neckline of your summer dress aside to expose more of your flushed skin, using the hem to dab away the perspiration beading on your chest and throat.

“That’s it, mi vida,” he praises in that dark, soothing timbre. “Just like that, easy does it ...”

Slowly, the tension bleeds from your features as the worst of the discomfort subsides. Fernando doesn’t dare loosen his supportive embrace, nor does he tear his increasingly heated gaze away from your parted lips as each measured exhale puffs across his skin.

“Better now?” He murmurs, thumb tracing the delicate arch of your cheekbone reverently. A rosy blush stains your complexion when you nod meekly, lashes fanning across those glorious cheekbones.

“Good girl,” Fernando rumbles, helpless not to drink in the gorgeous picture you make — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lingering stardust. He grips your jaw in a firm caress, tilting your chin up until your gazes lock.

“Because I must admit,” he husks softly, gaze darkening to molten whiskey. “Seeing you like this, with my child safe inside you … has me feeling quite possessive, pequeña.”

You shudder visibly at his words, tongue darting out to wet those plump lips in a blatant show of want. Fernando doesn’t miss the subtle gesture, allowing his gaze to dip briefly to track the slick path your tongue carves before fixing back on your rapidly dilating pupils.

“Would you like that, hmm?” He lowers his voice to a sensual rumble, skimming his thumb across your lower lip in a wordless command for access. “Having Papi show you just how adored, how cherished you and our little one inside you truly are?”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat as you readily accept the gentle press of Fernando’s calloused digit between your parted lips. Your eyes flutter shut on a trembling exhale as he slowly begins to glide the thick pad of his thumb across that heavenly softness, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with his nail.

“That’s it, pequeña,” he growls, a tad hoarse as desire visibly burns behind those long lashes. “Suckle for me, let me take care of you both nice and proper ...”

Fernando rocks forward ever so slightly, allowing the swollen curve of your belly to brush against his solid abs with each tiny shuddering breath you drag in through your nose. He keeps up the lazy, hypnotic strokes of his thumb until you’re completely transfixed — hips shifting restlessly against his thighs and soft, muffled mewls escaping past the seal of your swollen lips.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough to rasp straight through you and ignite every raw nerve ending. “So sweet and responsive for Papi … going to reward that gorgeous little mouth in just a moment, I promise.”

You whine wantonly around his thumb in response, eyes fluttering back open to reveal pupils blown wide with naked yearning. Fernando chuckles indulgently, thumb tracing the delicate bow of your lower lip one final time before retreating fully.

“So eager,” he tuts without any real admonishment. Leaning in close, he angles his head to brush kiss-swollen lips against the outer shell of your ear. “Don’t fret, pequeña. I’ll take such good care of both of you right here, right now ...”

Fernando drops a lingering series of kisses along the line of your jaw, letting his lush mouth trail lower and lower with each heated murmur.

“Will remind you exactly who you belong to … who made you … who put this child in your belly ...”

His final words are an exhale ghosting out across your thundering pulse. Fernando immediately latches on with his teeth, nipping and sucking a series of stinging, possessive marks into your sensitized flesh that has you arching against him with a strangled cry of pure bliss.

Out here, cloaked in the shadow of the paddock where anyone could stumble across the two of you — your father included — and discover just how thoroughly Fernando has claimed you. The taboo thrill of it all is utterly intoxicating.

As your trembling fingers find purchase in his clothes, dragging him nearer with insistence, Fernando feels that familiar molten lick of possessive pride unfurl deep in his core. You are his now, fully and completely — mind, body, and soon … family.

Just the way it was always meant to be.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Official Business

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

a/n: I caved in and listened to the depraved gremlins in my mind. I hope you enjoy this official intro, you're welcome.

also, thank the gods for Rue (@peachysunrize) for creating the hottest gif of all time.

themes/warnings: language, barely-there smut, infidelity, unequal power dynamic, gross misuse of a fancy desk, getting involved with a politician (also gross)

main masterlist

Update! - upcoming series

President Aemond demands the company of his favourite reporter, whom he has been eyeing for quite some time.

You try to walk with your head held high, but your clammy hands and racing heartbeat betray your nerves.

“President Aemond wishes for you to grace his suite,” was all they said. They, being two imposing bodyguards in impeccably tailored black suits, occasionally touching their earpieces as if confirming orders.

“What does he want?” you asked, your voice coming out weak and tentative. More importantly, why you?

They only shrugged, impassive. Whether they didn’t know or didn’t care, it wouldn’t matter anyway. The President always gets what he wants.

You’d only spoken to President Aemond in your capacity as a reporter, part of the small circle allowed to amplify his words to the public. The first time was at the annual Westerosi Gala, where he arrived with First Lady Floris Baratheon on his arm. Your colleagues whispered incessantly about how the uncut footage showed his gaze barely straying from you, even with his stunning aristocratic wife beside him.

Your supervisor even had the footage edited. “You don’t need the media vultures swarming you,” he reasoned, trying to sound reassuring.

Now, after covering yet another event in Highgarden, it seems you’ve been summoned for an exclusive interview in the President’s suite. You hope that’s all it is.

After all, you can’t be another victim of President Aemond’s wandering eye. Socialites like Alys Rivers and Lara Lannister had been publicly shredded after being exposed as his mistresses.

You never understood his affairs. They seemed so juvenile, reckless even for the youngest President ever elected. Barely thirty and in the highest position imaginable. And yet, what truly baffled you was why Floris stayed.

“Ma’am, the Presidential Suite,” one of the guards states as he opens a set of ornate ivory doors for you. “The President is waiting inside.”

Your feet move automatically, sparing you from blurting something that would inevitably fall on deaf ears. But as you cross the threshold, you turn and ask, “Will you be waiting to escort me back to – ”

The doors shut behind you. Of course.

The suite is grand – no expense was spared for the President. A perfect blend of classic Valyrian architecture, all white marble and gold accents. It’s more impressive than you could have imagined, having marvelled at the Highgarden Hotel from the outside for years.

“Come,” you hear a voice command, smooth and authoritative, from the room to the left of the main parlour. 

You head in that direction, mentally steeling yourself. Just get this over with.

There he is, leaning casually against a wide desk, dressed sharply in a tailored blue suit and crimson tie. The moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows catches the scar across his left eye, the glint of his prosthetic eye giving him an almost sinister allure. The kind that draws people in despite themselves.

Maybe it wasn’t immaturity driving his affairs. Maybe he was just too beautiful to resist. You roll your eyes at the stupid thought, surprised with yourself.

“Something amusing?” His voice is tinged with laughter.

Gods, you just rolled your eyes in front of the President.

“N-no,” you stammer, immediately flustered. “I’m sorry, Mister President. It’s just... I thought of something funny. Not about you! I mean, I’m sure you can be funny, but - ”

“Relax, angel,” he chuckles, raising a hand to stop your rambling. The term “angel” lingers in the air, branding itself into your mind.

You quickly introduce yourself, fumbling through your full government name like a nervous schoolgirl.

“We’ve met before,” he reminds you, smirking. “Am I that forgettable?”

“No, I know we have,” you nod quickly, “just not in such a… private setting.”

The corner of his mouth quirks at your choice of words, and his gaze sweeps over you with an intensity that sends heat rushing through your body. He hums softly, and the sound settles uncomfortably low in your stomach. Gods, get it together.

“I was told you wanted to see me, Mister President?”

“Aemond,” he corrects. 

You nod, offering your nickname in return, but he only smiles, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you, but I think I’ll stick with ‘angel.’”

Weird, considering how this is your first proper conversation with him, you think, but nod regardless.

He gestures to the plush chairs in front of the desk. “Sit, please.”

You comply, smoothing your dress nervously. Thankfully, it’s modest enough – a safe choice that flows just above your knees.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice polite but edged with something else. Part of you wishes he’d just get to the point, but another part – one you’d rather not acknowledge – wants to stay, to drink in the sight of him. Aemond Targaryen, the most powerful man in Westeros, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“I’m doing well,” you reply, your smile faltering under his heavy gaze.

He hums again, eyes dipping to your lips. That same maddening hum that sets your nerves alight.

“You must be wondering why I asked for you tonight,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “I wanted us to get better acquainted. You’ve caught my attention, angel. I find you… intriguing.”

“But you don’t know me,” you counter quickly, heart racing.

“I know more than you think,” he says, eyes narrowing playfully. “You studied at the Casterly Rock Institute for Journalism. Top of your class, until your grades dropped in your final year because you were taking care of your ailing aunt. That says more about you than any degree.”

He continues, “You’re an only child. Estranged from your parents, especially your mother, after she remarried. You’ve moved city to city since, keeping your distance. Avoiding attachments, especially romantic ones.”

You freeze, his words hitting too close to home. There’s an amused lilt to his voice at the end, and you desperately want to respond with a defensive retort, but you hold your tongue. You like your job after all. He’s the President. One call and he could have you right back in the unemployment pool.

“Am I correct?” His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

You manage a small nod. Damn him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask quietly, stunned. You wonder if there are hidden cue cards somewhere in the room, informing him of the details of your relatively uneventful life. There is no way he actually made the effort to memorise all these details about you. But then again, he is the Commander-in-Chief of the country. He must have trained himself to know everything about everyone. You’re not special – just another face in his immediate vicinity. 

“I make it my business to know people,” he replies smoothly. “Especially those who interest me.”

He reaches out to take your hand, pulling you gently to stand before him as he perches on the edge of his desk. The proximity is intoxicating. “And you, angel, have caught my eye. You’re the object of my desire. Can you say the same of me?”

His words leave you breathless, the floor slipping from under you. You’re no better than the others, drawn into his orbit. “I’d be an idiot not to find you attractive, Aemond.”

He smirks. “I adore the way you say my name.”

“There’s nothing special about the way I say it.”

“There is,” he insists, his voice low and rough as his hand moves to smooth a stray hair from your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, angel.” His expletive takes you aback, so unbecoming of someone of his status. 

“I’m not a fool,” you shoot back, forcing yourself to remain steady. “I’ve heard about your... doings.”

“My doings?” He raises an eyebrow, amused.

“You’re married obviously,” you say bluntly. “And you’ve had affairs. Women like Alys Rivers, Lara Lannister…”

He doesn’t flinch. “I’ve had lovers, yes, but my marriage is... loveless. Floris and I, we’ve always been an arrangement for political convenience.”

“That doesn’t justify anything.”

He steps closer, his eyes darkening. “I’m trapped. I can’t leave her. It would destroy my reputation. But she has her own lovers too.”

“And so you feel entitled to have yours?”

He breathes deeply, gaze unwavering. “Not just anyone. I want you, angel. Only you.”

You feel yourself dangerously close to giving in, especially when his gaze drops to your lips and he shamelessly licks his own. Desperate to stay composed, you ask, “Am I just another lover to add to your collection? I may be a lowly journalist compared to you, Mister President, but I have a reputation to protect too.”

“I know this, angel,” he whispers, his voice softer now, yet drawing closer with every word. “I’ll protect you.”

“Did you protect Alys? Or Lara? Or the others?” you challenge, though your voice falters.

“They orchestrated their own downfall,” he says coolly, his expression unreadable. “They used me for power. That was out of my hands.”

Oh. His words momentarily rattle your resolve, but you shake your head, trying to pull yourself out of the spell he’s weaving over you. “No, this is wrong,” you murmur, the words weak on your tongue. But his warm breath fans your face, luring you into the same madness he claims to feel.

“Is this wrong?” he whispers, his lips grazing yours – featherlike, teasing, barely there. Then, as if something shifts within him, he kisses you again, harder this time, his mouth pressing hungrily against yours. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, sending a rush of heat through your body as you teeter on the edge of reason.

You cave, for a few seconds, letting your lips dance with his own in a battle for dominance. You elicit a growl out of him, and he picks you up and swaps your bodies so that you are perched atop his desk. 

“Gods,” he purrs, against the heat of your neck. “Sweeter than I imagined. You’re a fucking angel.” His gaze is arresting as his hands slide from your ankles to the hem of your dress, lifting it higher and higher until your moist panties are exposed to the cool air. 

You collect yourself as if hit by a dizzying wave of whiplash, pushing him away with a sharp shove. “Stop – wait, Mister Pres – Aemond…”

He stumbles, lips swollen and slick, his good eye darkened, pupil blown wide. “Right, sorry…” His breath comes heavy as he averts his gaze, and you smooth your dress down, feeling the weight of the moment between you. He straightens, his posture stiffening as if suddenly remembering who he is. “I didn’t mean to push you, angel.”

“You didn’t –”

“It was wrong of me to –”

“Aemond,” you cut in softly, your hand slipping between you to squeeze his in reassurance. “It’s okay. I wanted it too.”

A genuine smile blooms on his lips, innocent and sweet, but it fades just as quickly at your next words. “But this can’t happen again. We can’t happen.”

"Why not?" His voice is low, measured, but there’s an edge to it. "Why can’t we? You say you wanted it too."

“We both know why,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. You turn to leave, but hesitate just long enough to say, “Goodbye, Mister President.”

“Angel,” he calls softly, and it’s the only word he offers.

As you step out of his suite, the door closing behind you with a quiet finality, a thought begins to take root, unsettling in its persistence – he never actually said goodbye.

And deep down, you know this isn’t over. Something stirs in your chest, an uneasy certainty - while this is the first of these kinds of encounters, it won’t be the last. 

Taglists (refer here to be added)

vhagar - @gwaynehightowerswhore @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee @decaffeinatedparadisepost @iloveallmyboys @inesdiary96

Targaryen - @angel6776 @different-tale-student @binchissimo @teasweeter @raging-panda @rhaenys-nyra @gelacat0413 @simplymurdock @yariany02 @barnes70stark @stupid---person @lonan-hane @thescooponsof @donalesaa @rosey1981 @misssanzthings @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wabi-sabi1090 @girl-lost-not-found

Some notes in the margins...

Knowing me, this will inevitably turn into more than just a oneshot. Do bookmark this or my masterlist to keep updated! Or you may join the taglist using the link above ~

[captainfern]

Reader and ghost fake dating for a mission with a twist.It’s a masquerade ball so Ghost wears a fancy little mask instead of his usual skull. Reader gets worked up seeing him in a tux with his hair and part of his face out so they ditch their mics and abandon the mission to go fuck in a bathroom. Just a thought… 🤭🤭

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Master of Puppets

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

[“Master of Puppets” by Metallica]

[18+]

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• summary - you and ghost getting all dressed up for a ball ends in you and ghost fucking in the bathroom lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 3.6k • warnings - fem!reader, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, handjobs idk, ghost is a little possessive of his sergeant, strong language

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ok you requested this while my requests were closed and usually i just delete them BUT you're lucky i'm horny for this idea

i'm imagining him in a peaky blinders style three-piece suit and i'm going insane why do i do this to myself

You weren't a stranger to the "fake dating" type of mission. You had done it with Gaz just a few months prior to infiltrate enemy operations at a charity event in Dubai.

So, when that exact type of mission came around again, you were prepared for what it would take.

"Playing boyfriend-girlfriend again, Garrick?" You quipped at Gaz a few minutes before Price's usual briefing.

He smiled, but shook his head. "Not me, sarge."

You made a face of confusion, before Gaz threw his thumb over his shoulder, pointing directly at Ghost. Ghost raised his head from the files he had been reading.

"Seriously?" You gaped, surprised.

Ghost shook his head slowly, muttering out a sarcastic comment, "Dial down the excitement, sergeant."

Now, you stood in the bathroom of your hotel room, smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress, admiring yourself. It was an absolutely stunning dress that clung to you in all the right ways. Designer label, too, leaving you wondering how the hell Price got his hands on it. Probably Laswell.

There was a light knock on your door before it opened, and you walked into the bedroom so you could slip your heels on. Soap and Price entered, dressed impeccably in suits. You stood at the foot of the bed as they walked in, and you admired them with a big smile.

"You two look very handsome." You said.

"Thank you," Price said, adjusting his tie. "You look absolutely radiant, sarge."

You laughed, sitting on the edge of the bed so you could fasten your heels to your feet, as well as strap your handgun to the strap around your upper thigh.

Soap gaped at you, eyes raking down the entirety of your body while you exposed a leg, tightening the holster around it.

"You're smokin', lass," he said, shock edging his words. "Ghost won't be able to focus."

You rolled your eyes, sliding your gun into place before standing up, settling your dress over top of it, trying your best to make the imprint not obvious.

The three of you left the hotel ten minutes later. A black SUV with tinted windows waited outside, and Soap opened the door for you. Price grabbed hold of your arm before you slid inside, leaning close to your ear.

"Remember, you and Ghost are there to get intel. You don't engage with any of the targets, understood? Soap and I will be nearby if you run into any trouble."

"Understood." You nodded, before clambering into the black SUV. Soap mouthed good luck to you before he turned away, just as Ghost walked slowly down the steps, Gaz a few metres behind.

Your eyes widened. He looked fucking good.

A black three piece suit, complete with the waistcoat and everything. He wasn't wearing gloves, exposing large, strong hands with prominent veins and silver rings around his fingers. What shocked you the most, however, was the silver mask covering most of the top half of his face. It shined in the light of the hotel entrance. As he neared the car, you could see his lips, his jawline, his chin, scars littering the flesh.

You pressed your thighs together.

Price said something to Ghost, and then Soap did as well. Finally, Ghost looked into the car where you waited patiently, and you watched as his lips parted in what could be best described as a small gasp.

"Sergeant..." He trailed off, taking in your dress, your face, your body, you.

"Lieutenant," you nodded at him. "You look nice. Very dapper."

He grunted deeply, sliding into the seat next to you. His body radiated heat that you could feel. He smelt good, too. You bit your lip as his strong thigh pressed against yours.

With a final few good lucks from the boys, the car was pulling away from the hotel and heading for the venue. You and Ghost didn't exchange much conversation, but as you looked out the window, you felt the heat of his gaze on you. You turned your head, catching his bright eyes following the curves of your dress.

You ignored the flip in your stomach at the weight of desire in his eyes. "Like what you see?" You joked, and his eyes snapped up to look at you.

He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but you, before he fished something out of his jacket pocket. He held it out to you, still not quite meeting your eyes. It was a silver mask, much like his, but a bit smaller, with finer details carved around the edges. It was really pretty.

"It's a masquerade ball, so I figured you'd need this." Ghost grumbled, retracting his hands straight away as you took the mask from him.

"Matching?" You smiled.

"I figured... I mean— it was Soap's idea, so if you don't want... you don't, you know—"

"I love it, sir, I do," you said softly, and he sighed deeply through his nose. You then angled your body away from him, pressing the mask to your face with the ribbons dangling either side. "Do you mind tying it for me?"

Ghost said nothing, but took hold of the two ribbons and brought them to the back of your head. He carefully tied a bow, keeping your mask secure against your face. You could feel the soft rhythm of his breathing against your back, and the warmth of his bare hands near the base of your neck.

"Done?" You asked, looking at yourself in the windows reflection.

Ghost swallowed thickly, ignoring something stirring deep within the pit of his stomach. "Yeah."

•º•

You felt somewhat confident walking into the event with Ghost on your arm. All eyes turned towards the handsomely dressed man, clearly well-built beneath the suit and obviously attractive beneath the silver mask. He captured this attention like a natural, which you couldn't come to grips with. He was so calm, collected. You felt as though you were going to burst into tears at any moment.

But you didn't. You wouldn't. Not with the way Ghost circled an arm around your lower back, a hand pressed hot above your arse. Not with the way he kept you pressed to your side, his towering frame shielding you from at least one line of prying eyes.

But, you felt eyes on you too. Eyes on the pretty girl next to the man with the silver mask. They admired you from close and afar, watching the way your dress dipped around your body, and the way your silver mask glittered under the light of the crystal chandeliers.

"Alright, sarge?" Ghost whispered, thumb rubbing circles on your lower back.

"Yep," you squeaked out, the movement of his hand making your body grow hot. "You good?"

"Mhm." He hummed, already surveying the room.

—Okay, you two. Try and get as much information out of these rich-listers as you can—, Price's voice filtered in through your earpiece. —I would say don't draw attention to yourselves, but it seems it's a bit late for that. You're probably the youngest, most attractive pair in that room tonight—.

"Aw, cap, you flatter us." You joked, snagging two flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress.

—Just don't get distracted—. Price grumbled, before his voice was gone from your ear.

You held a glass of champagne out for Ghost, who just stared at it. You were already raising yours to your lips, drinking the bubbling liquid in small sips. Finally, he took it from you, but didn't drink.

"Shouldn't be drinking on the job." He said gruffly as you finished your drink, placing the empty glass on a nearby table.

"Says who?" You question, taking the second flute from him since he obviously wasn't going to drink it.

"Says me."

"Pfft, you're not the boss of me." You quipped, downing the second glass of champagne. It was mostly to steel your nerves— which were on fire with anxiety.

He rolled his eyes. "I am the boss of you."

"Oh yeah."

•º•

An hour or so went by and you found yourself sat at the bar. It was a pretty place, decked out in gold and glittering crystal lights. You'd spent the past hour gathering as much information about your rich-list targets as you could, with said information being filtered back through your ear-piece, directly back to Gaz in the hotel room.

Ghost had vanished to investigate further, leaving you alone at the bar, a small glass of water in your hand. You'd thrown back a few flutes of champagne and you realised that water was probably your best bet for the rest of the night.

"What's a pretty lady like you sitting here without company?" Came a voice behind you, and you rolled your eyes.

What a cringe line. Embarrassing.

You plastered a polite smile across your face as a man took the barstool beside you, a simple black mask over his features.

"My company's just gone outside for a smoke." You lied naturally, smile not breaking.

"And he's left you all alone?"

"Mhm, but I'm perfectly fine being by myself," you said. "But it was nice to meet you." You finished with the hopes that he'd take the fucking hint and leave.

He didn't take the hint.

"Well, at least let me by you a drink." He offered.

You shook your head. "I'm fine, thank you."

He took that surprisingly well, but his stare was lingering and uncomfortable as it travelled down the length of your body. You felt goosebumps ripple across your exposed flesh, a grimace threatening to overtake your practised smile.

"You look stunning, by the way," he said. "Absolutely beautiful. Are you sure I can't buy you a drink?"

You sighed. "The drinks are free and, no thank you."

"Are you sure—?"

You felt Ghost's presence before he even spoke.

You felt the looming warmth press to your back, the tower of mass that overshadowed your frame. You couldn't help but lean back a bit, his chest and upper abdomen pressing firmly along your spine. Then, a built arm draped over your shoulders, wrapping just above your tits and pulling you closer against him.

"Can I help you?" Ghost asked, voice even, accent thick.

The man had to crane his head to look up at Ghost. "Just keeping the pretty lady company."

Ghost grunted. "I suggest you move on. Keep someone else company, why don't you."

The man swallowed nervously. "I didn't—"

"Go." Ghost ordered simply, and the man was scurrying away before you could even blink.

You looked up at Ghost, top of your head leaning against his chest. "Thanks." You muttered, waiting for him to let go of you.

He didn't. His hand and arm held you closer, his eyes dragging down your face and your body. His other hand came to rest on your jaw, his thumb trailing along the bone. Then it swiped upwards, along your cheek before pressing to your lips, smearing the shimmering gloss.

You were frozen.

"Ghost—?"

"You're the prettiest woman in this fucking room, you know that?" He muttered lowly, thumb skirting along the seam of your lips.

You didn't answer, just stared up at him. His rings were cold against the side of your face.

The moment was thick with tension, and heat pooled in your belly. You felt his chest rise and fall, a bit quicker than it did in the car ride to the event. His pupils were blown, too, between the slots in the mask, and he ran the point of his tongue across his bottom lip.

—Aww, how romantic—, Soap's voice burst in your ear, and both you and Ghost jolted.

"Fucking hell, Johnny," Ghost cursed, grip on your face tighter. "I'm turning this fucking mic off. I'm sick of hearing your voice."

Soap laughed. —You wouldn't dare—

Ghost switched his ear-piece off, before closing his fingers around yours too. He switched it off, and Soap's voice died in your ear.

You gasped. "Ghost—"

He hauled you off of the seat while you were mid-sentence, planting you on your feet with your chest now pressed to his.

"Follow me." He growled.

You could feel his cock hardening in his suit trousers.

•º•

Ghost locked the door of the bathroom behind you, before he was slamming you against it, hiking your legs around his waist. His mouth smashed to yours, and you gasped, barely having enough time to respond before his tongue was surging inwards.

The kiss choked you, full of emotion. Ghost's large frame towering over you, caging you to the door. One of his hands gripped your thigh, keeping your body pinned between his and the door. His other hand gripped the underside of your jaw, angling your face so he could press deeper into the kiss.

The material of the silver masks you were both wearing bumped together with each desperate movement of your mouths. You were able to respond now; winding your arms around his shoulders, delving one hand into his hair, pulling his face closer to yours. Ghost groaned into the kiss as you tugged at the roots of his hair, and he pulled away to look down at you.

"Such a tease," he muttered, before dragging his lips across your jaw and down your neck. "Wearing this pretty dress, too."

His lips found the strap on your shoulder, teeth skimming the material before he was kissing along your collarbone. You angled your face upwards so he could suck along the soft expanse of your throat. He still gripped your jaw firmly as he did so, and he moved your head himself when he wanted to nip at the sensitive skin below your ear.

"Fucking stunning," he said, breathless, before he was stepping back to get a better look at you. You squirmed under his gaze, drawing your thighs together as your core gained a heartbeat. You whined, and he chuckled lowly, dropping your leg off of his waist. "So pretty."

"Simon..." You pleaded, his real name slipping past your lips before you could stop yourself. Your body was simmering hot with arousal, your core aching just by the way Ghost was looking at you.

Not to mention how fucking good he looked in that suit.

Clearly, you were having much the same effect on him.

He huffed deeply, unbuttoning his trousers, his hard cock imprinted through the material. You swallowed as you watched his trousers drop slightly as he pulled his cock out of his boxers, eyes raking up and down your body. And you weren't even showing anything yet.

"Acting like a Victorian man," you couldn't help but joke. "Seeing a sliver of shoulder and a bit of ankle's got you worked up?"

You laughed lightly, seeing Ghost roll his eyes behind the mask. He grunted, the closest thing to a verbal reply, as he gripped his cock and moved closer to you. Your breath hitched as he closed the gap, kissing you hard.

His cock pressed to your abdomen, warm and hard through the expensive material of your dress. You whined softly against Ghost's tongue, moving a hand to enclose around his length also.

Ghost choked on a low moan, pulling out of the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. The both of you staying like that, eyes directed down between your bodies as you gripped his cock, hand right beside his own.

You used the beads of pre-cum pearling at his slit to ease your movements, fisting a hand up and down, making Ghost grumble deep in his chest. Foreheads still pressed together, you both watched as you jerked him off. His hand remained tight at the base, unmoving despite your best efforts to encourage him.

The bathroom was filled with his soft noises; noises that ignited the fire in your belly further, your core throbbing, soaking your underwear. You hummed softly at him, some kind of a whine, as you pumped him faster, feeling him twitch in your hand.

He groaned and grunted softly, his breaths deep and laboured. His cock twitched with each of your movements, drops of pre rolling in a steady pattern along a vein. You collected them in the grooves of your palm, your movements sliding, sending soft, wet clicking sounds into the bathroom as well.

It felt like Ghost was entranced with the way he was looking at your hand moving along his cock. So when he felt his orgasm creeping up the back of his spine, he internally cursed.

He grabbed your wrist and pried your hand from his cock with a hiss, screwing his eyes closed as the feeling of release seeping away. He'd just edged himself, and he didn't even fucking mean too.

"Fuck, gotta be inside you," he muttered, kissing your forehead as he changed positions. "Not gonna last like this."

He hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around him. You helped him wriggle the material of your dress around your waist, and he hummed in satisfaction. You braced one hand around his broad shoulders, the other on the door at your side for stability.

"Fucking hell..." Ghost ran a finger up your slit over your underwear. The material was damp with your arousal, and the feeling of his finger made you squirm in his hold.

"Simon, please—"

"Absolutely soaked..." He wasn't really listening to you. He was too busy playing with the material of your underwear, rubbing up your folds and feeling the way your arousal soaked through.

You quickly moved your hand from the door and fisted a handful of his hair, urging his head to look up. He grunted, gritting his teeth as he finally looked you dead in the eye while you tugged at his hair.

"Simon." You said, commanding as much of his attention as you could.

He licked his lips. "Hm?"

"Fuck me."

"Christ," he whispered, the hand stroking you through your underwear hooking beneath the material. He simply pulled it to the side, exposing your wet cunt. His pupils dilated. "Fucking Christ."

"Don't bring Christ into this." You joked again, and Ghost grunted deeply in response, giving you no warning before he was easing his cock into you.

You spluttered around a moan as his cock filled you abruptly, your hands moving to grip Ghost's shoulders tightly. Your head fell forward, resting against his chest, and you moaned loudly.

His cock nudged that spot inside you that had your cunt fluttering around him, making him groan. He grit his teeth to restrict most of the noises, but he couldn't help himself. Not with the way your cunt was squeezing his cock, all wet and warm and tight.

"Come on, sergeant, come on," Ghost whispered, moving his hips back and slamming into you again. He began to build pace and rhythm with each one of his thrusts. "Let me hear those pretty noises. Come on."

You moaned again, high and breathy as the head of his cock punched the air out of your fucking lungs. He fucked you against the door, the wet sounds of your arousal spurring his movements further.

"Simon, gotta be quiet. Someone m-might hear— ah, fuck—" You bit down on your bottom lip to stifle the moans being torn from your throat by the way Ghost was fucking you.

"Let them hear," he whispered in your ear. "Let them hear how good I make you feel, eh? Let them hear how good you are at taking my cock."

Your head fell backwards against the wooden door, eyes rolling as a string of whimpers were pulled from your lips. Ghost rutted into you, grunting softly as he did, listening to the sounds from your mouth and your cunt. He held your hips, keeping you pinned to the door and unable to move so he could slam deeper and deeper inside you.

You arousal was pooling around his cock with each thrust, now dripping down the insides of your thighs. You could faintly feel your underwear in the crease of your thigh, pushed haphazardly out of the way to make room for Ghost. But you didn't care— you were too focused on the huge fucking cock that was inside you right now.

You couldn't help the whines and soft moans that left your mouth. Your body was burning up, stomach drawing tight as your impending orgasm grew more intense with each rut of Ghost's cock.

"Simon..." You moaned, and Ghost had to compose himself so he didn't come right then and there. You sounded so good, so fucking pretty moaning his name like that.

"Yeah, baby? Feel's good?" He murmured against your skin as he kissed along your jaw. "You wanna come?"

You nodded, fingernails scratching down his shoulders. You whimpered desperately, legs quivering in his hold.

"Let go, pretty girl. Come 'round my cock... that's it."

You came with a loud moan of his name, and he slammed his mouth to yours to swallow it whole. Your cunt spasmed around his cock as he fucked you roughly through your orgasm, heat blooming across your skin. He pulled his face away from yours, lips brushing as he panted, chasing his own high.

"F-fuck," he whispered, releasing inside you, followed by a carnal groan into the curve of your neck. He filled you, hot and thick, and the sensations of it flooding your womb made you close your eyes. He didn't pull out for a while. He just held you to the door, breathing deeply. "Alright, sergeant?"

"Yeah... fine..." You breathed. "We should, um, probably get back to the mission."

"Give me a minute." He groaned, still deep inside you, making you laugh.

•º•

When you did finally leave the bathroom, you made yourself look as presentable as you could before you left a couple of minutes after Ghost. You shoved your ear-piece back into your ear and turned it on. Immediately, you were greeted by Soap's voice.

—Good bathroom break, sarge?—

"Shut up, Soap."

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lazy writing sorry i'm tired lol

[its-avalon-08]

it all fell down (ln4)

part1

multipart story! next

✦ pairing - lando norris x female reader

summary : lando norris and y/n were friends for 20 years, fell in love and dated for five. until it all fell down. they left each others lives abruptly and never spoke again, until they met again in the most unexpected way. can they find their way back or will certain scars never heal?

The bustling streets of Monaco were as busy as ever, a stark contrast to the calm that Y/N felt inside. The rhythmic tapping of her heels on the marble floor echoed through the sleek office building. She had always loved the city, but now it represented something more than just beautiful scenery; it was her sanctuary, her fresh start.

"Morning, Y/N," greeted Claire, her assistant, as she handed Y/N her daily latte.

"Morning, Claire. Any updates for today's schedule?" Y/N asked, taking a sip of the coffee, savoring the familiarity of the taste.

"Just the usual. The meeting with the investors is at 10 AM, and you have a lunch appointment with Mr. Dupont at 1 PM," Claire replied, handing over a neatly organized file.

"Perfect. Let's make sure everything is set for the presentation," Y/N said, her voice steady and professional.

As the CEO of her own thriving marketing firm, Y/N had built a reputation for herself. She was known for her sharp mind, impeccable work ethic, and the ability to turn even the most mundane products into must-haves. Her company, InspireVision, had taken the European market by storm, landing high-profile clients and creating groundbreaking campaigns.

But behind the polished exterior and the confident demeanor lay a heart that had been shattered two years ago. The memories of Lando were locked away in a corner of her mind she seldom visited. The laughter they shared, the dreams they built together, the love that once felt unbreakable—all of it was a distant echo now. They had both moved on, or so she told herself.

sneak peek into lando's life

The sound of engines roaring filled the air as Lando Norris stepped out of his sleek, black McLaren. The circuit was alive with energy, mechanics bustling around, and the smell of burning rubber in the air. For Lando, this was home.

"Hey, Lando! Ready for practice?" called out Carlos Sainz, his teammate and close friend.

"Always, mate," Lando replied with a grin, adjusting his racing suit. "Let's show them what we've got."

The past two years had seen Lando rise to new heights in his racing career. He had secured multiple podium finishes and even a race wins. The world saw him as a fierce competitor, a young talent with a bright future. But beneath the helmet and the bravado, there was a part of him that still ached.

"Hey, Lando, I was thinking about grabbing dinner at that new place by the marina. You in?" Carlos asked as they headed towards the garage.

"Sure, sounds good. Need to unwind a bit," Lando replied, though his mind was only half on the conversation.

Racing was his escape, his way of pushing away the thoughts of what could have been. The nights were the hardest, when the adrenaline faded and the silence crept in. It was then that memories of Y/N surfaced—her smile, her touch, the way she used to laugh at his jokes. They had shared twenty years of friendship and five years of love, only to part ways abruptly. They had never spoken again, both too proud and too hurt to reach out.

back to y/n

Y/N's day was a whirlwind of meetings and phone calls. By the time she sat down for lunch with Mr. Dupont, she was mentally exhausted but maintained her poised demeanor.

"It's impressive what you've done with InspireVision, Y/N," Mr. Dupont said, raising his glass in a toast.

"Thank you, Mr. Dupont. It’s been a journey, but I have a great team behind me," Y/N replied, clinking her glass with his.

As they discussed potential collaborations, her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at it briefly—an update on the Monaco Grand Prix. She quickly dismissed it, burying any thoughts of the racing world and its connection to her past.

and here is lando again

The practice session went well, and Lando felt a familiar rush of excitement. After a quick debrief with his team, he headed out with Carlos for dinner.

As they walked along the marina, the city's lights reflecting off the water, Lando felt a rare moment of peace.

"You ever think about what's next, beyond racing?" Carlos asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Sometimes. It's hard to imagine life without it, though," Lando admitted.

"Yeah, I get that. But there's more to life than just racing, you know?" Carlos said, giving Lando a knowing look.

Lando nodded, understanding the unspoken words. There was more to life, but it was a life he had once envisioned with Y/N. Now, it was a blank canvas, waiting for new memories to be painted on it.

The two former lovers, now strangers to each other's lives, were both thriving in their own worlds. They had built walls around their hearts, focusing on their careers and new dreams. Yet, the echoes of their shared past lingered in the background, a silent reminder of the love that once was. Neither spoke of the other, living as though the other didn't exist. But fate had a way of bringing people back together, sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

taglist ---> @misspygmypie @kol67-t @sltwins @f1fantasys

comment to get added to taglist

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗢𝗥

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Y/N and Matt are in a complicated relationship, where Matt is still stuck in the past with his ex. In an angsty pathway, Y/N suffers when she realizes that Matt will never love her as she wants.

WARNING: Crying, panic attack, comparison, ANGST.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

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Y/N adjusted her stunning dress in front of the mirror. The bright red silk fabric hugged her curves in a way she knew would make heads turn that night. Her hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, meticulously styled by her curling iron, and her makeup highlighted her features impeccably.

There was a palpable excitement in the air, an expectation of Matt's reaction; she always expected to receive showers of praise from her boy, just as she did for him. The party they were about to go to - a fancy one that celebrated the launch of the new Space Camp line - would be the perfect opportunity to show everyone, and especially him, how hard she worked to be perfect.

The low sound of the bedroom door's handle turning sounded through the silence, Matt's figure appearing through the wooden frame, and all Y/N could feel as she watched him through the mirror's reflection was her racing heart. He looked stunning in his black suit, the crooked tie relaxing the seriousness of his attire.

She waited for the compliment, for the spark in his eyes that would confirm that all the effort had been worth it.

"You look beautiful, Y/N." Blue eyes traveled over her body for some seconds, but before she could absorb the joy of that moment, he finished. "Did you know that Amanda has a dress similar to yours?"

Y/N felt her stomach tighten painfully as her heart felt like it was being broken by a hammer three times its size. Amanda. Always Amanda. Matt's ex-girlfriend was a constant shadow between them, a specter that Y/N could never completely dispel.

She forced a smile, swallowing the anguish rising in her throat.

"Oh, really?" Was all she could say, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands shaking slightly at the side of her hips.

Later that day, the party continued with Y/N ​​by Matt's side, but her mind was far away. Every time someone praised her, she remembered Matt's comment. Even surrounded by people and with Matt by her side, she felt incredibly alone.

Her thoughts revolved around a single question: Why couldn't he see her for who she was instead of always comparing her to Amanda?

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A few weeks later, a new day brought a new blow. Matt was in his shared room with Y/N, sitting in his gaming chair with his upper body resting on the wooden surface, his hands on his Macbook, busy answering emails sent to the triplets' mail.

Y/N entered quietly, carrying two glasses full of fresh watermelon juice, knowing that Matt would definitely be thirsty and hungry after hours of sitting there. But as she got closer, she saw his computer screen. The messaging app was open, and the open window wasn't just any texts — it was old conversations between Matt and Amanda.

He read them with a melancholic smile, his eyes shining with a longing that Y/N knew all too well.

"Matt..." Her voice came out in an involuntary whisper, the broken tone sounding louder than it was expected.

The boy startled, closing the laptop quickly.

"Babe, hey, you scared me!" The boy turned around suddenly, clearing his throat and laughing awkwardly, trying to look casual. "I was just... clearing out some old stuff."

Y/N just nodded, the pain growing inside her chest.

"It's fine. Here, I made this for you." She raised her hand that held the fullest glass, smiling brokenly and keeping her eyes open, taking note on how Matt didn't notice the tears shining in her orbs or pretended not to.

She knew he was lying. She knew he was stuck in the past, that Amanda still dominated his thoughts and his heart. But once again, she chose to ignore it, to stifle her own suffering out of love for him.

Because losing Matt was a fear that outweighed any pain she might feel.

Right?

Right! Until things reached an unbearable point.

Y/N had an appointment at the beauty salon, something she did to feel a little more in control, a little more beautiful in a reality where she always felt insufficient. Matt said he couldn't accompany her, claiming he had videos to film with his brothers. She understood, or at least she tried.

It was Saturday, they didn't film on Saturday.

Sitting in the salon chair, while her nails were being done and her hair was treated, Y/N took out her phone to pass the time, holding the device awkwardly for fear of smudging her sparkling nail polish.

Scrolling through Instagram while her ears caught some conversations around the salon, her heart almost flew out of its place and up her mouth when she saw a photo that one of the celebrity gossip pages had just posted.

Matt was in a coffee shop with Amanda.

His smile was radiant, a kind of joy Y/N hadn't seen on his face in a long time. He looked so… complete, so genuinely happy.

Y/N felt the world come crashing down around her. Tears burned her eyes, but she held them back, looking around at all the other radiant women before turning her attention back to the news, clutching her cell between her left fingers, a low "sorry" scaping her lips when her right hand trembled against the manicurist ones.

She didn't give a shit that they were talking in a cafe, she didn't mind if they wanted to be friends again - even though she had destroyed Matt, and Y/N was the one to put him together again -, it was something else that bothered her.

Matt had lied to her. He said he was going to film. What the fuck was he doing out with Amanda?

But the truth was right there, raw and painful: Matt would never be fully hers. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she sacrificed, he would always be stuck in the past in the love he had for Amanda. He would always go back to her.

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing a smile as the manicurist applied red nail polish to her nails on her left hand. The color perfectly matched the feelings she felt at that moment; dark.

Every move by the salon professionals seemed like a desperate attempt to beautify her for someone who would never see her true beauty. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop her mind from going back to that image of Matt smiling with Amanda. It was a smile she could never get out of him.

"You look amazing, Y/N!" Cintia, the girl's hairdresser for years now, praised excitedly, straightening the last strands of hair just finished and turning the chair so that Y/N could see herself in the mirror. "Matt will love it."

Y/N looked at her reflection, but all she saw was an improved version of herself that, despite all her effort, would never be enough for Matt. She would always be just a shadow, a pale substitute.

"Thank you..." The girl tried to say, but her voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

The room around her seemed like a golden prison, full of mirrors that only reflected her internal pain. Every compliment, every word of encouragement, sounded hollow, meaningless, because the person whose opinion mattered most was, at that very moment, laughing and smiling with another woman; the woman he truly loved.

When Y/N finally left the salon, she felt exhausted, as if she had run an emotional marathon. She walked slowly to her home, opting not to call an Uber.

Her hands fished her phone out of her half-open purse, and, with trembling fingers decorated in red, she sent a text to Diana, her best friend.

"Diana, are you home? Can I sleep there tonight?"

As she waited for the answer, her mind wandered through a whirlwind of thoughts. The pain was constant but mixed with a new resolve.

She needed to get out of there. She needed space to breathe, to think.

"Of course, babes!"

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Getting home was an automatic process. The house she shared with the triplets seemed colder and more hostile than ever.

Y/N walked past the living room where Chris and Nick were sprawled awkwardly on the gray couch playing video games, their excited laughter, and screams a cruel contrast to the pain she felt.

"Y/N!" Nick smiled brightly when he saw his best friend out of the corner of his eye. "Want to play a round with us?"

"No thanks, Nick. I'm tired." She murmured, smiling wide and fake - even though he wasn't looking at her directly -, trying to appear normal.

She walked slowly down the path between the living room and kitchen, each step a reminder of what she was about to do.

Her hands worked automatically on the door, entering her shared room with Matt, closing it behind her, the sound of the lock clicking echoing like a period in her mind. She looked around, taking in the details that made the space a home - the photos on the wall, the personal items, the memories. But now, it all felt empty.

She grabbed a suitcase stored at the back of their shared closet and began filling it with her necessities. The simple act of opening the suitcase caused a wave of despair to hit her.

Every piece of clothing and every object that her hands roughly touched and threw blindly into the suitcase was a small stab in her heart. The tears finally started to stream down her face, and she didn't try to stop them. Reality was imposing itself in a cruel way.

Her movements became slower and slower, while her thoughts became more chaotic.

"I'll never be enough for him."

"I'll never be her."

"He'll never love me the way I love him."

"I'm destroying myself for someone who cares little about me."

"What did I do wrong?"

These thoughts repeated like a cruel mantra in her mind. She felt her breathing quicken. Her lungs seemed unable to take in enough air. The room, which had always been a refuge, now felt like an oppressive cell. Panic began to set in. Her chest felt tight, her hands shook, and the air seemed to escape.

The tears flowed like hot, relentless waterfalls. The suitcase was open in front of her, half full, but it seemed like an insurmountable abyss. Y/N tried to take a deep breath, but each attempt only resulted in more despair.

The sobs came strong and uncontrollable. The girl stopped in front of the bed, standing, after throwing the last piece taken by her hands, bending her upper body over the suitcase, gripping the edge of the thick fabric with such strength that it made her fingers take on a whitish color, fully throwing her weight on her arms as if they were a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

"Why am I not good enough?"

"What is wrong with me?"

"Why can’t he love me?"

She felt completely alone, drowning in her own pain. The panic attack took over, stealing any trace of control she still had.

The walls of the room seemed to close in on Y/N, the contours of the furniture becoming indistinct and threatening as her breathing became increasingly rapid and shallow. Her heart hammered in her chest with an almost painful force, each beat ringing in her ears like deafening thunder. The air felt thick, sticky, and impossible to inhale properly.

"Am I really that hard to be loved?"

"I wish I was her."

"He was never mine, right?"

Her hands shook uncontrollably, her fingers tingling over her suitcase as a feeling of numbness spread through her arms. Sweat dripped down her forehead, leaving her feeling sticky and uncomfortable, while the cold began to spread throughout her body, generating incessant chills.

Her vision blurred, the edges of the room distorting into restless shadows that danced and pulsed, transforming the room into a place strangely familiar and frighteningly alien at the same time. Each sound seemed amplified and distant, the ones of laughter and the clicks of long and simple kisses played in memories in her head like a record player at its highest volume, creating a surreal echo that only intensified the feeling of isolation and despair.

Exhausted, Y/N let herself sink to the floor, her sobs echoing in the empty room, an expression of the pain and loneliness that she felt suffocating herself relentlessly. Her legs folded in front of her body, the front of her thighs sticking firmly against her stomach as her arms served as a shield for her head, her hands involuntarily going up to her own hair, gripping the strands tightly, trying to ground herself.

Meanwhile, Nick ran towards her and Matt's room with quick, excited steps. He had just finished the last round of his video game with Chris and was looking forward to seeing the outcome of Y/N's salon day, hoping it would make her happier after noticing the inconsistency in her voice when she got home.

His closed fist lightly knocked on the door before opening it, the smile on his face instantly disappearing as his eyes met the scene before him.

Y/N was on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, her hands now grabbing her arms in a desperate hug. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes wide and fixed on a distant, indistinct point. Her breathing was ragged, labored, as if she were trying to pull air through a narrow, clogged straw. The sound of her panting was interspersed with heavy sobs, creating a symphony of anguish that made Nick's heart tighten in his chest.

"Y/N!" Nick called, his voice thick with panic. But to Y/N, his words were like distant whispers, drowned out by the deafening noise of her own frantically beating heart.

Her mind was in a whirlwind of chaotic, disorganized thoughts, each competing for attention and increasing the feeling of panic. She felt trapped in an endless cycle of terror, unable to escape the downward spiral that consumed her.

The feeling of suffocation was overwhelming, as if an invisible weight was pressing down on her chest, making every desperate attempt to breathe difficult. The seconds seemed to stretch into a torturous eternity, each second carrying a new wave of fear and despair.

Nick ran up to her, the panic on his face intensifying by the second. He knelt beside Y/N, trying to find a way to reach her, to bring her back from that abyss of despair. His hands shook as he gently pulled her close, enveloping her in a tight, protective hug.

"I’m here, Y/N, I’m here." He repeated, his voice choked with emotion, praying to whatever was watching them to make her listen to him. But she didn't seem to be able to do it, lost in her own spiral of panic.

Nick closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to stay calm. He knew he needed to be strong for her, and he needed to find a way to calm her.

"Y/N, look at me, please." He pleaded, voice softer, trying to break the invisible barrier that kept her trapped in her own fear. The brunette held her face with his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Breathe with me, okay? Breathe slowly."

He began to breathe deeply, exaggerating his movements so she could follow. He breathed in slowly and deeply through his nose, holding it for a moment before slowly exhaling through his mouth. He felt Y/N tremble in his arms, but he kept pace, trying to convey calmness through each breath.

"That's it, keep going, you can do it." Nick encouraged, feeling a small change in her breathing. Her panting began to synchronize with his, although it was still irregular. He continued to whisper words of comfort, repeating that he was there, that she wasn't alone.

Slowly, very slowly, he felt the stiffness in her body begin to ease. Y/N's breathing became a little steadier, although she was still shaking. Nick kept the hug tight, feeling her heart beat against his own chest. He knew she was still scared, still trapped in her mind, but she was starting to come back.

"You're safe, Y/N. I'm here." Nick said once again, his voice firm and reassuring. He didn't let go of her face, maintaining eye contact, grounding her to reality. "Let's get through this together, okay?"

Finally, after several minutes that felt like hours, Y/N began to breathe in a more controlled manner. Her sobs subsided, and her eyes, once wide with terror, began to focus on Nick's. Her blurred vision cleared a little, the walls of the room seeming less threatening.

Nick sighed in relief, still holding her tightly, feeling the tension gradually ease in her muscles.

His own heart was still beating fast, but now, for a different reason. He looked around, trying to understand the situation better, when his blue orbs stopped on the open suitcase above the bed. The sight of the packed suitcase made his heart sink. Confusion and fear settled in his chest. What was happening? Why was she packing her things? The thought of Y/N leaving caused him his own panic, an intense worry that he tried to suppress, deciding that the questions could wait.

With a conscious effort, he looked away from the suitcase and focused on the immediate task of taking care of Y/N. He stood up slowly, maintaining eye contact to ensure she didn't feel abandoned for even a moment. The boy grabbed the pink bottle of water from the bedside table on her side of the bed and quickly returned, sitting next to her on the cold floor again. The hard ground beneath him was a sharp contrast to the softness of concern he felt for Y/N.

"Here, drink some water." He asked softly, handing Y/N the bottle.

The fragile girl took the bottle with hands that were still shaking but managed to open the cap and take a few small sips, each one firmer than the last. Nick watched her every move, his mind still spinning around the suitcase. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unasked questions. He waited patiently, without pressing, standing by her side like a pillar of support.

After long seconds of silence, Y/N took a deep breath, her gaze shifting from the bottle to the suitcase on the bed. She knew she needed to explain. Nick deserved to know what was going on, especially after helping her get through that panic attack. She straightened up a little, trying to find the strength to speak.

"Nick..." She began, her voice still trembling. "I... I'm packing because I need to get out of here for a while. I can't stay here any longer, the way things are between me and..." Her voice trailed off into the air before she could mention the name of the boy she loved most in the world.

Nick felt a lump form in his throat, but he remained calm, waiting for her to continue. Y/N took another sip of water before continuing, her words coming out in a halting, painful stream.

"I saw Matt with Amanda today, you know? They were together, and he looked so happy… happier than I've ever seen him with me." Her voice cracked again, but she took a deep breath and continued. "It made me realize that no matter how much I love him, he will never love me the same way. And I can't keep destroying myself like this. So, I'm going to spend the night at Diana's house. I need some time to think, to calm down. Get away from here. Get away from him. And maybe make him miss me... Or finally notice that I'm not what he wants." The last part came out in a broken whisper, her gaze lowering to her crossed legs.

Nick felt a wave of relief upon hearing that she wasn't leaving his life forever, but the worry and sadness over her situation still weighed heavily on him. He wanted to say something, anything to ease her pain, but the words seemed inadequate. Instead, he just nodded, offering silent support.

"And please, Nick, don't tell Matt anything yet." Y/N asked, her eyes pleading. "I need a little time to understand what I'm going to do. He really hurt me, but I can't act on impulse."

Nick held her hand firmly, offering her an expression of understanding and support.

"Of course, Y/N. I won't tell him. I promise." He murmured sincerely. "You can have all the time you need. And I'm here for you, no matter what. I love my little brother, but I won't defend him when he's in the wrong end. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are, Y/N. Someone who loves you completely, without shadows of the past."

They sat there for a few more minutes, sharing that moment of stillness and understanding. The cold of the ground seemed less intense with each other's comforting presence.

Eventually, Y/N stood up, with Nick helping her place her suitcase on the floor. She took one last look at the room she had shared with Matt, pain visible in her eyes but also a growing determination. She knew she needed to step away to heal, to find her own strength again.

"Let's go." Nick's voice woke her from her reverie, his hands picking up her suitcase and walking it to the door. "I'll uber you to Diana's house."

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Matt returned home with a beaming smile on his face, his heart still racing with the joy of the friendly encounter he had had. He had spent the afternoon with Amanda, talking and laughing like old times, and the feeling of familiarity and happiness was undeniable.

The boy climbed the stairs of the house with quick steps, eager to see Y/N and share his good mood with her. He wanted to hold her close on their bed, bury his nose in the curve of her neck, and smell her soft and natural perfume as he told her about his day.

But when he opened the bedroom door, a strange feeling of tension in the air made him stop. The environment felt different, as if something had changed, but he couldn't identify what it was. He entered the space, leaving the door open behind him, turning his body and letting his eyes roam the four walls, trying to find what was wrong. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance: the bed was made, his clothes were in the same place, the books were on the shelf, and the computer was on the computer desk. But there was an absence he still couldn't understand.

It was when he opened the closet that reality began to form in his mind. Y/N's side was almost empty. Where her dresses, skirts, and t-shirts once hung, now there were just a few lonely hangers. The empty space where her suitcase sat now felt like a black hole, sucking in all the light and joy he had felt moments before.

Matt felt his heart stop for a second, a feeling of panic starting to take over his chest.

"Y/N? Hey, baby? Are you cleaning out the closet by any chance?" Matt's broken voice sounded through the room in an echo, seeming to escape out the door and travel the entire floor of the house, his blue eyes still fixed on the empty hangers as his mind created the expectation of hearing the sweet, melodious voice back.

But nothing came.

Nick appeared silently in the doorway, watching his younger brother with a serious expression. Matt was so absorbed in his desperate search for answers that he didn't notice Nick's presence until he heard his voice.

"She left."

Matt turned abruptly, his wide, confused eyes meeting Nick's. The older triplet's expression was one of deep sadness, mixed with calm determination. Matt felt a wave of despair rise up inside him, like an overwhelming tide ready to swallow him.

"What do you mean 'she left'?" Matt asked, his voice trembling accompanied by an expression of terror. "Where- Where did she go?"

Nick sighed, taking a step forward, eyes shining with suppressed anger.

"That doesn't matter now. What matters is that you need to decide what you really want, Matt. She saw you with Amanda today, you know?"

Matt felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. He looked around the room again, this time with a clear understanding of what was missing. Y/N, the constant, loving presence in his life, was gone.

"I don't understand..." Matt muttered almost to himself. "I thought we were fine."

"Only you saw this. Seeing you with Amanda was the last straw for her. She loves you, she really does, but she can't keep living like this, Matt, not when she knows that you still have feelings for your ex." Nick scoffed, a disgusted tone echoing with his words, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in suppressed anger. "And you can't continue like this, dividing your attention between Y/N and Amanda. This is destroying Y/N, and you don't even realize it."

"But I... I was just trying to be friends with Amanda again. I don't have feelings for her anymore." Matt spluttered, confusion and guilt beginning to mix in his chest.

"Then why do you keep seeing her?" Nick countered, with no softness in his words. "Y/N loves you, Matt. She loves you so much that she is destroying herself because you don't treat her like you should. She needs you, and you're here, acting like nothing's wrong. And if you continue like this, you will permanently lose the only girl who has truly stuck by your side through thick and thin."

Matt felt a lump tighten in his throat. He tried to speak, but words failed him. The image of Y/N, the woman he loved, suffering in silence because of her insensitivity, was unbearable.

He felt foolish and insensitive. How had he not realized how much Y/N ​​was suffering? All he wanted was to be able to hug her now, tell her that he loved her, and that she was the only person that mattered. But at that moment, he realized how late those words could be.

"I didn't cheat on her, Nick. I really was with Amanda, but I didn't… I didn't do anything wrong." Matt's voice sounded choked, tears beginning to well up in his eyes as anxiety rose through his body like rafters.

"You think you didn't, Matt. But sometimes, it's not about what you do but about how you make the other person feel. And honestly? Giving priority to your ex, the girl who broke you and made you suffer for days on end, over Y/N, who you say you love oh so much, is low blow. Right now, Y/N needs space to breathe to understand her own feelings. And you need to truly analyze what you did and recant with her when she is ready."

Matt walked with shaky steps towards the double bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress, burying his face in his hands. The weight of guilt and regret was crushing. All he could think about was how he wanted to turn back in time, do things differently, show Y/N that she was the center of his world. Never have lunch with Amanda.

"I need to talk to her." Matt tightened his fingers around the brown strands of her hair, sniffling. "I need to tell her that I'm sorry, that I love her. I really do, Nick."

"I know. But give her a little time, Matt. Forcing a conversation now might make things worse. Let her process everything, and then you can try talking to her." Nick advised, watching him closely before he turned, walking towards the door. "And next time, treat her like the wonderful woman she is, not like a replacement."

Matt nodded slowly, begrudgingly, knowing his brother was right, the despair turning into a silent, constant pain. The room around him, which had once been a haven of love and shared memories, now seemed like an empty, desolate space. The mattress beneath his body, where both of their bodies lay together just the day before, now felt like an icy surface, sending horrible shivers through his body.

His mind betrayed him by making him remember the moments when he had treated Y/N with indifference and neglect, moments that he now saw with painful clarity. Each memory was like a stab to the heart, revealing the depth of his callousness. Y/N's smiles that he had taken for granted, the nights she waited up for him while he lost himself in thoughts of the past, the comparisons...

He could now see the small changes in her expression, the way her eyes sparkled less, how her smile became rarer with each passing day. She was withdrawing, and he was blindly contributing to that withdrawal.

Sitting there, now alone in the room, Matt felt the weight of his own guilt and regret. He realized that he had never made Y/N feel like the most important woman in her life. Instead, he had relegated her to the background, allowing the shadows of his former relationship to contaminate the present. Y/N's love and dedication towards him contrasted painfully with his own indifference.

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[forlix]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 !・h.h.

— you’re just trying to do your job; your client has other ideas.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.3k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・very suggestive so mdni, reader implied to be shorter than hyunjin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, flirting, humor, big fwb vibes

𝐚/𝐧・this took me less than half an hour to write i am actually the biggest sucker for this trope. also, we hit another milestone recently!! i appreciate all of you immensely; look forward to more ♡

[!]・hi hey hello as of one month later a full-length fic based on this au has been posted!! here it is; you can read the two in any order. ok bye much love

“Five ‘til!” A crew member calls into a walkie-talkie, and you’re so surprised by this information that you stumble right over him, your heel ungracefully ramming into the poor man’s toes. 

You apologize hurriedly, bowing yourself out of the awkward situation—and then you check your watch. 7:55 P.M. A quiet "shit" leaves your lips as it dawns on you that you'd completely lost track of time.

Briefly, you contemplate your predicament, drumming the palette of makeup you’re holding in your right hand against the palm of your left: do I have to? Is it really necessary? But you know your answer even as you’re asking yourself the questions. You’re damn meticulous—sometimes to a fault, but always to your own satisfaction.

You had a vision, and you’re going to see it through.

With impeccable timing, your coworker appears out of nowhere, and you fasten a hand around her arm. “Hey, where are the members again?”

“Stage left.” Then she registers your question in full, and snaps her eyes to your face; stylists were supposed to have finished up with their respective members nearly an hour ago. “Hang on, are you out of your mind—”

“I won’t be a minute!” You call, scurrying away.

“You won’t be employed!” She returns, but you’ve already disappeared into the curtains’ dense shadows.

You jog a short distance, turn a few corners, and finally spot the eight members clad in outfits of varying amounts of silver and black, every inch of them so sparkly that they’re reflective, even with how little light reaches this part of the stage.

You’re looking for one man in particular, though, and you single him out right away: long, black locks falling into his eyes as he adjusts his microphone, broad shoulders and tall frame flattered perfectly by an obsidian suit, looking like he fell off a Paris Fashion Week runway and into a wormhole that teleported him to Osaka.

All your doing, by the way.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” You shout, and he (along with several of the other members) whips around at the sound. And Hyunjin furrows a perfect brow when his stylist materializes before him, four minutes to curtain up, wielding a palette of makeup like it’s a baseball bat.

“Are you out of your mind?” He calls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You lift a pointer finger into the air and curl it twice. “Come here. Hurry."

Hyunjin gives the others an apologetic glance before hurrying over, and you are met with a blast of Byredo Blanche when he arrives in front of you, the expression on his face equal parts amused and confused.

“Down,” you say, flicking open the eyeshadow palette with one hand.

And then Hyunjin understands. A loud, uninhibited laugh leaves his lips, a sound you’ve become so accustomed to by now that you’re completely oblivious to the fact that only you bring it out of him.

“You really are something,” he says, spreading his feet apart until he’s brought himself to your eye level.

With that, you get to work, one hand gathering some eyeshadow on the pads of your fingers, the other moving to hold his shoulder. Brushes are luxuries you can’t afford right now.

“Close your eyes,” you direct, your voice softer now that your face is only inches away from his, and Hyunjin heeds your words obediently. You begin to dab the crimson powder against the curve of his lids, careful to avoid messing up the rest of his eye makeup. His lashes flutter involuntarily at your gentle touch.

“A shadow to match the lip,” you murmur absently. “I pictured it and knew it had to happen."

Hyunjin makes a sound of approval, and then there is that smirk on his face, the one you’ve learned only means trouble. “You’ve been thinking about my face the whole night, then?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about whether vegetables can feel pain,” you deadpan. “Yes, I've been thinking about your face. It’s my job.”

“Is that all?”

“Sure is.” You blow gently on his finished eye and move on to the other. “Now save your voice for the stage.”

He obliges, but that dreadful, self-assured expression remains on his face, and you're immeasurably grateful that he can’t see the blush that you’re well aware paints your cheeks.

“Done,” you say a minute later, straightening with a confident flourish. And you think you could squeal when Hyunjin opens his eyes, and you see that the exact effect you’d hoped for has been realized: a splash of maroon that is both subtle and seductive, sleek and suave; that not only accentuates the shape of his eyes but pulls attention to his lips, which are dyed a similar hue. Damn, you’re good at your job.

“I don’t have a mirror,” you say, looking around. “I can use my phone if you want to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I trust you.”

You grin at this. “Good. Because you look sexy as hell."

Upon hearing your words, he straightens to his full height. You don’t think much of this at first, too busy re-examining the masterpiece you’ve created on his eyelids, but in the blink of an eye you’re suddenly aware that Hyunjin is standing conspicuously and intentionally close to you. You instinctively move away, but you’re too late; he’s already guiding your back to the wall behind you, his body enclosing yours against the smooth surface.

You send a panicked look over Hyunjin’s shoulder, only to realize that the two of you are completely out of anyone’s line of vision. That doesn’t stop the sharp hiss that leaves your lips: “Hyunjin, are you cr—”

But then there is a familiar gust of breath against your skin, a thumb over your cheekbone.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when you get like this; all bossy and concentrated, an ambitious glint in your eyes, an air of confidence in your gait. He always thinks it’s ironic that your job is to make him look good when all he’s ever done is admire your beauty, so effortless and profuse that it feels timeless, like freshly bloomed forget-me-nots.

He knows he shouldn’t—but that makes him want to more.

When your lips meet, they move together with an ease and familiarity that reveal how many times you’ve done this before. He brings a hand to the small of your back, and you tangle your stained fingers in his luscious hair, the delicious pressure of his mouth upon yours rendering your reluctance (and the eyeshadow palette, which clatters noisily to the floor) momentarily forgotten.

As the kiss deepens, the bridges of your noses slide together; your every sense becomes overwhelmed by the slippery plush of his full lips and the warm caress of his large hands; you drink in the rosy musk of his cologne like your cells need it to live as opposed to oxygen. The tip of Hyunjin’s tongue teases the seam of your lips, as if requesting access, and you grant it to him with a light moan that is both blissful and thoroughly exasperated. When he hears the gorgeous sound, he has half a mind to scoop you up and leave the venue then and there.

Then, a voice bellows from not too far away: “One minute, everyone! Places, places!”

You’re so startled that you not only break away from him but jump a meter into the air, giving Hyunjin’s bicep a hearty slap on your way down. But he is entirely unbothered, dipping his head to press a trail of light kisses along your jaw instead.

“You’ll be watching the performance, yes?” He murmurs against the sensitive skin.

“Of course, what else—”

“—don’t take your eyes off me.”

And the words throw your heart against your ribs like uncooked French fries in a vat of oil.

He is just about to walk away when you realize how decidedly disheveled you’ve left him, and you yank him back to you with a fresh wave of panic. You wipe at his smudged lipstick with the cuffs of your sleeves; nitpick his hair until every strand is back in its proper place. Only when you’ve gotten rid of all the incriminating evidence do you permit him to leave.

“Thank you very much,” he says, bending into a gracious bow, the perfect image of professionalism. The facade is given away only by the upturned corner of his still-flushed lips.

“Break a leg,” you return drily.

The last thing you hear is that stupid, bright laugh before Hyunjin rejoins his members, and they step into the strobe lights together.

Even when the concert begins and the stadium is drowned in fanatical screams, the heartbeat in your ears remains the loudest sound of all—and you bury your burning face in your hands.

Hwang Hyunjin will be the death of you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[rahuratna]

Suited up

More fatherly goodness from the gentleman sorcerer, Nanami Kento. This time, featuring Ino!

Ino was excited. Not in the usual sense, when he had a mission with Nanami lined up. Today was different. Today would be the day he nailed that sweet, sweet grade one sorcerer recommendation from his mentor, the sorcerer he admired the most.

Ino had been watching, you see. He couldn't do without his own signature ski mask, as that was completely necessary for the functioning of his unique cursed technique. There were other things he had taken note of, however, that might be worth a change.

For starters, the suit. No matter where the mission, whether in the sparkling heart of Tokyo or in the depths of the most squalid sewer, Nanami would always appear in his impeccable and tasteful suit. Tailored to perfection, sitting perfectly at the wrist and ankles, comfort and flexibility reserved at no expense to the clean, fitted outline on the powerful frame they enclosed, Nanami's suits were a thing of beauty.

Then, the handkerchief. Nanami never went without. There was always a clean square of linen, folded in a perfect square, in one of his pockets. Nanami had used his handkerchief to help Ino mop blood off his face once, and, although the cloth had been ruined, Ino knew that the threadcount on that little square made it more valuable than the entirety of his baggy shirt and trousers.

Of course, there were the shoes. Nanami's sturdy leather brogues, hand sewn and always polished to high shine, saw a lot of wear. Of course they would, considering the speed and power of the sorcerer who wore them. But no matter how soiled and worn they were by the end of the mission, the care invested in their restoration was evident. Nanami would show up the next day with his shoes back in such good condition you could see your reflection in them.

Then, there was the way he wore his tie, the way he combed his hair, the coveted wristwatch. But there would be time enough to speculate on those things later. For now, Ino would be satisfied to see Nanami's reaction to his own get up.

The mission was straightforward. They had been assigned to clear out an old warehouse on the docks near the harbour. A curse infestation had been reported in the area, probably triggered by the recent wage protests the dock workers had engaged in due to cutbacks. Of course, Ino's affinity for crowd control would come in handy, and so, he had been dispatched with Nanami as a two-man team.

As he stood on the sidewalk not far from his apartment, Ino shifted from one foot to the other, still growing accustomed to the outfit he had on. As a grade two sorcerer, he earned a fair salary. He'd saved up for a month or two to splurge out on these clothes.

He had invested in a good tailor and had a dark grey suit made to fit. He wore a black polo shirt beneath and the best leather belt he could find. His socks were polyester, but comfortable enough and wouldn't slip or bunch inside his new black leather shoes. Ino had neatly combed and parted his hair, using a high hold pomade that gave a shine he wasn't sure he liked. It would prevent his hair from going haywire when he had to use his ski mask, though. And he had a handkerchief, of course. Bought cheaply in a pack of five because he'd been in a rush, but who would be looking that closely, anyway?

A dark sedan pulled up to the kerb where he waited and Ino felt a clench of nervous anticipation in his stomach. Would Nanami approve of his new look? Had he gone overboard? Did he look like some kind of copycat freakshow now? Steeling himself, Ino opened the rear door and slid inside, sending a tense greeting to the experienced sorcerer who sat beside him.

Nanami greeted him back and then stopped short. Sweating slightly, Ino kept his gaze straight ahead as Nanami's eyes travelled from his perfectly combed hair down to his new shoes. Ino coughed slightly and fidgeted with his belt.

"So ... any ideas on how we should tackle the warehouse?"

Nanami regarded him in silence for a moment, before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and tapping his fingers on his knee, as he sometimes did when he was thinking deeply about something.

"We'll approach as we usually do. I'll go in and guage the strength of the spirits before making a tactical retreat. We perform a second sweep, with you flanking me. Then we use your targeted attacks to hone in on any remaining curses that may be concealing themselves."

"Got it."

There was a short spell of silence.

"That's a fine suit you have on."

"You think so?"

Ino released a breath he had been holding, elation swelling in his chest.

"It is." Nanami paused. "Having said that, there are a few pointers I'd like to give you, as you've chosen to dress in this manner today."

"You will?"

Ino could barely contain his excitement now. Nanami nodded and folded his arms.

"Yes. For starters, have you worn those shoes before today?"

"Uh, no. Didn't want them to ... you know. Get all dusty and stuff before the mission."

"Place your feet against the seat in front of you right now and bend your toes."

"Huh?"

"Like this."

Nanami demonstrated, and Ino followed suit, slower due to his confusion.

"Leather always needs to be broken in. I've been wearing these shoes for close to a year now. And I alternate between pairs, so that I minimize wear and tear and allow the leather to rest, especially if I've been out in wet weather. If you go in as you are, the new leather will not have had time to take on the shape of your feet. You'll be in some discomfort a few hours in."

"For real?"

Balancing in his seat, the younger sorcerer hurriedly began to rock his feet back and forth against the seat in front of him, wondering how he couldn't have noticed how stiff the leather was. He could thank his lucky stars that Nanami had forewarned him.

"There's more, Ino."

"There is?"

"That pomade you have on your hair ... it's going to form stiff peaks as you perspire inside the ski mask. Next time, opt for a softer styling wax."

"Ohhh, damn. I didn't know that."

Nanami now reached across and ran his fingers along the hem of Ino's jacket, then grabbed one of his sleeves and tugged.

"Oh dang, what is it?"

"I'd also advise you to lose the jacket when you go into combat. I ask my tailor to perform a specific type of stitching that allows for more freedom of movement. You're going to need to remove the jacket if you want to move freely and effectively."

Ino's bubble of excitement was rapidly deflating. He'd wanted so badly to impress Nanami today, but all he'd succeeded in doing was showing off his inexperience and making himself look like some kind of desperate wannabe. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, giving Nanami his signature bright smile and thumbs up. He hoped that he had somehow concealed how embarrassed he was feeling.

"Thanks Nanami. I promise I won't let you down today!"

By the end of the day, Ino was feeling a lot less chipper. Scratch that, he was feeling downright miserable.

The mission had started off promisingly. They'd found the warehouse infested with cursed spirits, some of them rather powerful. After drawing the bulk of the spirits out into the open, Nanami had retreated as planned, so that Ino could use his Reiki to shield himself from attacks and move swiftly between the raging curses.

This was where Ino's problems had started.

Due to the huge amount of cursed energy he burned through, and the highly physical nature of his technique, Ino perspired a lot in combat. His baggy clothing normally allowed ample air circulation around his body, letting him cool down faster, but the polo shirt and the thicker material of his new trousers did no such thing. 

As sweat poured down to sting his eyes, Ino was hyper aware of how the soaking material clung uncomfortably to his chest and back, how his legs felt like they were encased in a damp, restricting vice.

The leather shoes had started out comfortable enough thanks to the stretching Nanami had had him perform, but even they lost elasticity over time. Sore red ridges had been rubbed into his ankles and the area around his toes felt as if it had been chafed raw.

To add insult to injury, a vat of putrid fluid, that had been lying stagnant for God knew how long, had been upended all over Ino by one of the cursed spirits, ruining any chance he'd had of salvaging some dignity and completely ruining his outfit. Somehow, Nanami had dodged the spray of fluid and darted towards the offending spirit, ending it with a deadly, but elegant stroke of his blade. 

Ino had given it his all, of course. He'd fought with every ounce of determination he possessed, and they'd eventually decimated the spirits that infested the warehouse. At great cost to his body and dignity, of course. His muscles were screaming because of the unnatural strain he'd put them through, and his shoulder throbbed where a spirit had grabbed him and damn near dislocated it.

By the time they left the warehouse, Nanami was striding along at his usual pace, suit spotless, collar open, cufflinks gleaming, hair stylishly dishevelled, while something that looked like a veritable swamp monster hobbled along at his side, emitting feeble groans now and then.

"Ino."

"Y - Yeah?"

"Take off those shoes now."

"But - "

"Do as I say."

The shoes came off with a very distinct and soggy noise. Undaunted, Nanami reached for them and scooped them up so that they hung from the fingers of one hand. He then went down on one knee, facing away from Ino.

"Get on."

" ... what?"

"Climb on. Your can't make it all the way to the car in this condition."

"But - but I'm filthy, Nanami! I'll get this smelly shit all over your clothes!"

"Don't worry about that. The dry cleaners I frequent are excellent and ... accustomed to my requests by now."

With a great deal of reluctance, the young sorcerer climbed onto his senior's back, head flopping forward in sudden exhaustion when Nanami lifted him in piggy-back fashion. They made their way back to where the car awaited them.

"Nanami?"

"Yes?"

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How do you manage to look like ... you know. Like you can do anything you put your mind to. And why in a suit, of all things?"

The strong shoulders beneath Ino's chin jerked in a small huff of amusement.

"I'm not sure what you mean, but I suppose experience is the best teacher. I've been on my fair share of missions. I know what to expect and plan accordingly. As to why I wear a suit, well ... "

His voice trailed off, but Ino remained silent, aware that if he stayed like this he might probably hear something that would give him greater insight into the man he admired above all others.

"Hmm. I suppose, it was something I learned when I worked as a salaryman. In society, the clothes you wear define who you are. They speak to others of your personality, your preferences, the way you want to be perceived and your standing in a certain social setting. I chose my clothes so that I would blend in. I wanted ... an ordinary life. A life that would let me pursue ordinary goals and let me retire in comfort."

"But you came back. Back to being a sorcerer, I mean."

"It wasn't that I missed this life. It wasn't that I wanted to be a sorcerer either. But my talent for working efficiently, and working hard, was best put to good use in a manner where I could help others."

"But you still kept the suit?"

"Indeed. The suit reminds me of who I am, at heart. I've never wanted more than a regular life. I never will want more. If I have to exorcise spirits looking like I used to as a salaryman, then so be it. Let the spirits experience my effort, my work ethic, my real and very ordinary self."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of Nanami's footsteps on the damp paving stones that led to the car park. Ino gave a weak chuckle.

"Ordinary? You know, I think I can get behind that."

"You can?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty much a regular guy too. But you know, Nanami ... "

The younger man's voice trailed off, and for a moment, Nanami thought he had drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Then Ino spoke again.

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit. There's a reason I wanna be like you, more than other sorcerers. If being a run-of-the-mill guy means always choosing to put other people first, if it means choosing to do what you feel is right, and if it means ... that when you're gone, someday in the future, people will always remember the things you taught them and miss you like hell, then you wouldn't call yourself that ordinary, would you?"

Nanami was quiet for a long time after that.

Ino had never felt greater relief than when he was able to shower at Jujutsu Tech later that night, sling on a clean tracksuit and receive some treatment from Ieiri for his bruised and twisted shoulder. Feeling far more human, he made his way down to the foyer, wondering what he could have for a late-night snack.

To his surprise, Nanami was waiting for him.

"You're still here? I thought you'd have left already."

Namami held up a small bag.

"You left your jacket behind in the car."

"Ah." Ino scratched the back of his head. "Thanks. But I don't think I'll be wearing that again."

"Understandable. But, if you like, I can take you to my tailor to make some ... additions to your regular work clothes. You can still look your best, even while comfortable, you know."

Ino brightened considerably at this.

"Oh? I never thought of that."

"And I suppose you're hungry after the mission. We can go and get fried chicken and beer."

Whooping slightly, the younger sorcerer loped happily out the front doors, before stopping and glancing back at Nanami sheepishly.

"Uh, I'm kinda broke right now after splashing out on that suit ... "

"I'm paying."

"Now we're talking!"

[simpxxstan]

Nobody Else (part 1)

pairing: chaebol!wonwoo x chaebol!fem.reader

genre: enemies with benefits to lovers, smut (minors do not interact please), mild angst

summary: the girl who was proud about making her own destiny, the boy she swore to never interact with. sometimes it takes a lifetime to know someone, even yourself. because who would've seen any of this coming?

chapter word count: 13k

warnings: honestly, way too much smut. cockwarming, oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving), usage of sex toys, orgasm denial, gagging, overstimulation, dom-sub dynamics, public sex (i don't even know if it's feasible, please suspend your beliefs about reality while reading aah), unprotected sex (please do not do this irl), breast play, spanking, use of spit during sex, usage of petnames (darling, babe, sweetheart for female), usage of word slut (for female), usage of sir and daddy (for male), sir kink, daddy kink, office sex, use of profanities, lots of bickering. let me know if i missed something out!

a/n: and we're back. (or are we?) honestly, i write when i get the time. and i don't know when i'll get my schedule to clear up again </3 hopefully within a few months my life will be back on track.

hope you enjoy this!!! posting this in two parts because it's way too long otherwise. do leave your thoughts, i swear reading them makes me so happy. open to hearing criticism too so pls my inbox is right there for you to rant. have a nice day!

You’ve known Jeon Wonwoo since the age of eleven, but you’d never thought you’d end up like this. Being in the same social circles as you and your family, the young Jeon heir had never really been your friend. However, that did not mean you didn’t meet him. In fact, you met him quite often. He went to the same school as you, he was always there at the parties you went to, and everyone around you kept talking about him. No matter what the season or the age, everyone was infatuated with Jeon Wonwoo. 

Objectively speaking, no. 

Subjectively speaking, not at all. 

You could never understand why one would find a man with no beauties to his personality, nothing to his merit except a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and those never-changing black clothes, attractive. Apart from that, he never exchanged a friendly conversation with you. Never a moment of warmth. And you reciprocated the feeling absolutely. You had no desire to seek his favour. He simply never left the periphery of your life, and it annoyed you. But not enough to bother you. You’d grown used to the sight of the tall boy, who never spoke to anyone except his tight-knit group of absolute losers. And he should have remained in your periphery, never in your focus. You wanted nothing to do with the cold, arrogant nerd. 

So naturally, you’d never, in your wildest imaginations, thought that you’d be here, sucking his dick off under his desk while he engaged himself in a meeting on his desktop. You had been in that position for hours, your mouth lolling over the wetness surrounding his penis, both from your saliva and the slow trickle of his pre-cum. While he has switched from meeting to meeting, both with corporates in Korea and internationally, his suit impeccable and the glasses sitting neatly on his nose, you’d cockwarmed him. That would’ve still been fine, had you not enjoyed it so thoroughly that it had become a routine for you both over the months. 

After a solid two hours (and a few more minutes), he’d allowed himself to push back the chair a bit, pull his pants down further, spread his legs wide enough to meet the annoying temptation that had been bugging him for so long, and thread his hands into your hair, indicating you to step out of the haze you’d fallen into and get on with the job. And oh boy, you’d obeyed. At this point, it was a reflex for you. Feeling the way his hands caved your jaws and neck, you leaned into his touch, all while keeping your eyes on the little twitches he made on his face. Perhaps it was his need to be dominant, or perhaps it was just his arrogance, but he never slipped during sex. Even when you were giving him the most mind-blowing blowjob, like right now, using techniques you’d picked up over time, slipping your tongue under his cock to feel his veins throb around your tongue, gently nipping the foreskin to make the red tip burn harder, and taking him into your throat completely without a moment of a gag reflex. He’d never show you how much he liked it, never praised you, never revealed that he wanted it as much as you did. 

It was all a part of the act, you knew that. 

It was designed to make you more eager to perform well, more eager to earn his praise, more eager to put your all into this. 

Jeon Wonwoo, with his signature cold stares and the arrogant tilt of his smirk, would break you every time, and you’d come back for it, again and again, addicted mindlessly, like a drug. 

Eventually, his cum would flow down your throat, and you’d feel his body relax against yours, as he let you lay your head on his thighs for a few moments to recuperate. 

But never enough. 

“Up, sweetheart. I thought you had a party to attend.”

He helps you stand up, smirking at the pool of your cum on the floor where you’d been sitting, with the bullet vibrator parked deep into your pussy, which had given you endless orgasms and sent you into heaven, all while you’d felt the weight of Wonwoo’s warmth on your tongue. 

His words bring you back to reality, as you limp towards the washroom to clean yourself, slowly breaking your daze. “I do. When are you going to change?”

“I don’t want to. I’ll look good even if I don’t doll up.” With a snicker he goes back to his desktop, and you roll your eyes at the implication of his words.

“I still don’t understand why you’d ask them to deliver the dress here.”

“It is pretty late. Imagine if I’d have to go back home, change, and then leave for the venue. Too much hassle. I would have to leave an hour back. Your place is much closer to the venue.”

“And so you chose to make my bedroom your vanity room?

From Wonwoo’s vantage point in the study, he has a direct view into the master bedroom, where you’re settling yourself into a fresh pair of lingerie and the jumpsuit, which had been designed exclusively for you, for this occasion. The jumpsuit was perfect, made to look professional and yet classy, just as the event demanded, and in midnight blue, your favourite shade. You smiled while wearing it, your secretary had truly learnt your style well and ordered the perfect outfit for you. 

“I’ll be out in ten.” You can feel his eyes on your figure, even from the distance.

You’re too engrossed in fixing the zip on your back to notice Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his eyes fixated on you. 

“Do you need help?”

You give him a look. There’s that semi-permanent smirk lingering on his face, he knows he’s pushing your buttons. Outside of sex, you would never ask for help. In fact, you wouldn’t ask Wonwoo for anything. What could he do for you that you couldn’t do yourself? 

He doesn’t say anything else, he quietly steps in and takes grip of the zip. After pulling it up, he doesn’t say a word, carefully watching you wear your scanty makeup. It could be a little creepy, but you surprisingly don’t mind. Or perhaps you just don’t care. 

“Ah fuck. I forgot to bring the lip gloss.”

“But you just wore lipstick?”

“No,” you turn around and outside of Wonwoo’s periphery. Slipping your feet into your heels and putting on the earrings that had also been sent by your secretary, you told him, “The lip-plumping one. It makes my lips look nice. Well, nicer. They’re already quite pretty, as I’ve been told.” You hear Wonwoo scoff behind you, and you turn around to face him. 

“Well, how do I look?”

His hands are in his pockets, his shirt buttons are halfway opened and his hair is messy, but he still looks better than you do after all this effort. 

“They’ll love you.”

You smile. That’s more than enough feedback from Jeon Wonwoo. He doesn’t have to praise you outside sex if he can’t do it while fucking.

“They always do.”

_

And they do. The photographers, the journalists, the social elites, the ministers, their wives, their mistresses, the chaebols, their heirs, and their bastards. Everyone loves you. How could they not? You’re perfect in every way possible. At twenty six, you’re at the height of your life- young, charming and intelligent, everybody wants you. Ever since you took your father’s already prospering business to new heights four years ago, straight out of grad school, by introducing Korea to the world of AI like they’d never seen before. The industry had not just been disrupted by your introduction of AI to the field of healthcare and diagnosis, but also awed by the sheer magnanimity of your creations. You hadn’t spent years perfecting your ideas in vain. 

Everyone wants a little bit of your time, a little word with you, slipping in a plea and a pickup line in the same tone, and you love the attention they throw at you. Honestly, this is where you were born to be. The spotlight is where you deserve to belong. 

But eventually, the crowd dissipates, leaving you walking towards the bar looking for a martini, arm looped into the arm of your sister. “Y/N-ah, I tell you, let’s go to Jeju this weekend! The weather is perfect now- not too hot, not too cold. The forecast also recommends visiting now!” She tugs at your arm playfully, and you smile fondly. She knows your answer, but she never stops trying. “And what about your husband?” “I need a break from him, please. He’s getting on my nerves!” “Darling, it’s your hormones.” She slaps your wrist. “No! Stop saying that. Kyungmin says the exact same thing, in the exact same tone! It’s so annoying. Stop ganging up against me! Anyway it’s not my fault I’m pregnant. The least he can do is take care of me. If he can’t take care of me now, how is he going to be trained to become a father? Huh? How will he take care of our daught-” “You don’t even know that.” “I do. I have a feeling.” “You can just say you want a girl, you know. There’s nothing called ‘a feeling’.” “Damn it. Just because you have a trash sixth sense doesn’t mean you can dismiss mine, my intuition never goes wrong!” 

And you’ve reached the bar, and the bartender serves you your drinks- just a virgin mojito for your sister though. “The canapes are great.” “Hmm… But I’m craving oranges! That’s why we should go to Jeju, yah!” “Unnie, you’ve gotta stop. Don’t excite yourself more than you need to. Do you want orange juice?” “No, eww. Not this artificial flavour.” “If you really want to go to Jeju, take Kyungmin Oppa and go. Don’t ask for me- I’ll never be able to keep up with your tantrums.” “Hmm. That is true. Now that you mention him, I suddenly miss him. For all my complaints, I still love him though-” You giggle at the sudden sappy tone of your sister, tuning out parts of her endless chatter, while your eyes search for someone in the crowds. 

Jeon Wonwoo stands out, so he’s easy to find. 

He’s wearing the same suit he’d worn earlier, not changed like he had told you. He looks tired and yet, good. Before you realise it, he’s looking back at you, and walking towards where the two of you are standing. 

“Oh! Wonwoo-yah! How have you been?” Your sister asks, ever friendly. She’s the only one in the family who doesn’t show that the Jeon and Y/L/N families are rivals in business and hence, avoid speaking to each other. That norm wasn’t broken by you. To be fair, even the nights you spent together had very little conversation. No orgasm-induced dopamine could break through the wall of your egos to encourage you to be friendly with each other. Hell, outside of the bedroom, Wonwoo isn’t even attractive enough to catch your eye. 

“Hmm, I’m good, Noona. I see your baby is growing fast. How many weeks left?” His tone is courteous, formal, and sweet. Makes you want to laugh at how different he sounds from the usual voice you hear him speak in. 

“About eleven weeks to go. This trimester has been killing me, I swear. I’ve told Kyungmin I don’t want any more kids. Ever. I don’t think I can go through this again, and I haven’t even gotten to the pain of delivery yet. I don’t even know if I can go back to skating after this.”

You scoff. “As if. First get over your never-ending honeymoon period. Then talk about not having any more kids.”

“I support Y/N here. The company will need an heir, and I don’t see anyone else providing any.” 

You sigh. There he goes. You roll your eyes at him, “An heir doesn’t have to be through blood relation. Merit exists. But then how can I explain this to someone whose existence is owed to nepotism.” 

“Rich of you to say so.”

You take a step closer to Wonwoo, too riled up by the calm way he’s speaking. “I’ve built my world from the ground. From level zero. I haven’t just sat on a throne that was presented to me.” 

“Forever the brat, huh? Running your mouth even in public, begging me to shut it?” You notice that Wonwoo has also come closer to you, and you can smell the cologne off him. He’s a solid four inches taller than you, even when you’re wearing heels. But you stare right back into his eyes, yours angry and his cold and superior, as usual. You wonder for the n-th time if his blood even runs warm. You’re tempted to retort back, disgusted by the below-the-belt remark, going off-topic, but your sister’s gently pulling your arm, reminding you that you’re in public. “Back off. Don’t make a scene, guys. Let’s not ruin the evening?” She puts on her best smile to calm you down, and you step away, seething in vain. Wonwoo’s smirk never leaves his face as you two bow and walk away. The way he’s looking at you reminds you of other memories. 

You suddenly wonder if your sister had heard the comment or not. Considering her though, probably not. Thank god it was her and not someone else. 

_

The rest of the party flows seamlessly. You’re spiralling slightly in your head though- overthinking can’t be avoided. The way Wonwoo was successful in riling you up has shocked you, to say the least. There have been a thousand such instances, but you don’t remember losing your temper to this extent in any of the situations. But somehow, Wonwoo talking about you not being interested to have children vexed you so much? It just didn’t add up. 

It’s the first time you’re doubting your current situation. You’d been absolutely convinced that settlement between the two of you was more to your benefit than his. It wasn’t like you had a dearth of men wanting to fuck you. It was quite the opposite. But a few scandals and rumours had taught you that keeping your private life discreet was the optimal choice. Especially if you were a woman and people simply assumed you’d sucked someone’s dick to get ahead in life. 

But the arrangement with Wonwoo was so perfect. He wanted discretion, so did you. He didn’t want to get involved with a random hookup who could get pregnant, you didn’t want a random hookup to get you pregnant. He wanted someone to match his wavelength, and you needed a vent for your stress. Now that you consider the drastic improvement in your energy and efforts, in retrospection, becoming Jeon Wonwoo’s submissive had been the best decision of your life. 

_

It had begun quite suddenly. At your sister’s engagement party. Everyone was delighted with the new couple, especially you. Your sister had never shown any desire to join the company, satisfied with following her passion of ice skating. And now she was getting married to her boyfriend of five years, the love of her life, and everyone was left fondly jealous of the pure happiness on her face, even you.

Perhaps it was because of this jealousy that you’d decided to flirt with Wonwoo at the after-party. Against your better judgement, you’d drifted towards him by the end of the night, until your knees were touching on the barstools, and he was leaning back looking over your figure again and again. I was wondering which spot would be ideal for me to bite first- your collarbones, your cleavage, your thighs or your belly button, he would tell you later. God knows why you’d suddenly decided to find him attractive after fifteen years of knowing each other, but that was it. You’d ended up in a hotel bed that night, fucked until tears ran down your cheeks, begging him to go harder and faster whenever he slowed down to look at the mascara dripping down your face, leaving hickeys all over the soft skin of your breasts, not letting you rest of a second of the night, going at it till dawn. 

“Wonwoo… I can’t…” you’d begged, your words muffled through your panties stuffed into your own mouth, the overstimulation hitting you hard as you squirmed against his tongue fucking his cum back into your pussy. “You can, sweetheart, give me another one… hmm? Do you want to be a good girl?” 

And you had let loose. Given yourself up to him, to make or break you, as he wanted, and then put you together one by one as the sun rose up in the sky as you’d drifted to sleep. The next afternoon, you’d woken up feeling like a new person, and decided it was the best night of your life. The man in question was nowhere to be seen, but you didn’t care. The bliss ran too deep. 

Sadly, not deep enough. The overthinking kicked in a few hours later, and you cussed yourself for becoming so easy for an undeserving man like Wonwoo. Just because he’d made you cum and given you a good time didn’t mean you’d go against your rational thoughts. In a way, he was no better than your best dildo. Except you liked your dildo. You simply did not like Jeon Wonwoo. The arrogant brat had been the type of man you’d avoided all of your life. You hadn’t seen him work hard in school, and now that he had inherited his father’s company, you didn’t see him work any harder either. Sure, Jeon Estates was doing better than ever, but that was only because the economy was booming and the housing market was doing well. He had done nothing extra. Unlike you, who had built your world yourself. You’d never taken your father’s prosperity as complacency, and strived to make a name for yourself. And now people knew of Y/L/N Corporation as synonymous to both your father’s name and your name. 

And you had, like a silly stupid girl, gone and slept with this very man. 

And you had liked it. 

That was the worst bit. An accidental hookup would have been fine. But no, you wanted to sleep with him every night, if it meant he’d treat you to the same feast you’d blissed out on last night. There was a certain happiness in giving up to him, letting go of the constant worries that burdened you down, and allowing him to take control, but god knows how you ended up trusting him so much in bed.

Anyway, you reconciled with yourself, it’s just a one-time thing. It’s not like it’s going to happen again. 

You were wrong. Jeon Wonwoo had picked you up that evening and taken you directly to his house. 

“What did you want to talk about that you couldn’t do in your car?”

“The chauffeur was there.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Jeon. You can just say that you regret last night, cause honestly, same. Don’t want to dwell on it.” You were in a rush to leave, because you didn’t want to think about the memories in this same house the night ago. 

“Are you sure?”

His question had taken you aback, as he watched you with his hawk eyes, licking his lips.

“Y/N, I … couldn’t tell you in my car that I didn’t regret it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

You’re speechless, waiting for him to continue, as he took another step forward. 

“Wonwoo, I… you know this is a bad idea.”

“I do,” he chuckles darkly. “You look like a bad idea, as I’ve known for years now. But when I see you wearing that hideous turtleneck to hide the hickeys and that tiny skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, I keep remembering the way you submitted to me last night. For all your big talk and your attitude, you obey pretty easily, huh?”

You stand up, indignant. “Wonwoo, you can’t use that against me. Listen I know we’re not friends-”

“Be my submissive. I want, no fuck, I need you. You’re perfect.” He’s standing an inch away from you, bending his neck gently to look into your eyes. His mask slips for a second. A million emotions flit through your brain, and you’re deliriously begging for your intelligence to kick in, but there’s something about the subtly layered desperation in Wonwoo’s voice that makes you curious. 

“What are your terms?”

_

You look at Wonwoo across the dining table. He looks as put-together as ever, not a hair out of place, as he converses with the middle aged-men sitting next to him while eating dinner. He quickly notes your glance and looks back, and you turn your eyes away before he catches the blush along your cheeks. 

No, there’s nothing wrong with the arrangement. It works perfectly in your favour. As long as nobody knows. 

_

You’re wrapping up a meeting with the board members of the company, when you get a call on your phone. It’s Wonwoo. Excusing yourself from the meeting, you pick up the call while walking back to your office.

“Hello?”

“Are you going to the Paris Conclave?”

The invitation for the event had arrived just that evening, the first time they were inviting your company. It had made you gush with excitement, happy that you’d been able to take your company to this prestigious conclave. Moreover, this would be the first time you’d be visiting Paris, one of the few dream destinations of your life. Due to a packed professional schedule, you had hardly been able to travel for the past few years, and the thought of going to Paris made you naturally happy.

“Yes, of course. Getting fomo? I can get a croissant back home for you.”

“I can get my own. See you there.”

He cuts the call. 

What was that? He’s going to the conclave as well? That’s impossible. Jeon Estates had never been invited before this-

“Jisung-ah.” You call for your secretary, who appears at your side quickly. “Has the Jeon Estates been invited to the conclave?” 

“Ma’am, I- why, yes. I hadn’t checked the list for their name.” His voice drops as he speaks, mirroring the disappointment rising in you too. So, it wasn’t only you who had been invited for the first time. 

Fucking Jeon Wonwoo. Even had to call you to rub it in, the nerve. 

“Well, we’ll just have to outshine them there. I’m sure we shall. Please organise a meeting with the team leaders and managers today so that we can get the presentations perfected.”

Your secretary bows to you and leaves you alone in your office. 

_

Paris comes sooner than you had thought, and you’re bursting with excitement. Nervousness too, a little bit. But your confidence isn’t so easy to rattle. You’ve picked out your choicest outfits for the trip, hellbent on making it memorable. You’ve even kept a few days extra in hand to allow you free time to travel the city. 

You had asked your sister if she’d wanted to come along, but she had said that her doctor hadn’t deemed it safe for her to travel by airplane now. “I’m so jealous! But there’s nothing to be done.” “Go with your husband and your baby afterwards.” You’d kissed her forehead when bidding the final goodbyes before leaving for Paris.

There was just one little worry worming through your brain. Not even a worry, just an irk. Jeon Wonwoo would also be there. You’d have to compete again for the spotlight. As if the jerk deserved to be there. 

“Ma’am, do you want to go through your speech once more?” Jisung asked you from the seat next to you. You smiled, the younger man was definitely nervous by the look on his face. “Why, are you scared I’ll forget? You know I take vitamins every day to strengthen my memory.” “I do, but-” “Don’t worry. Don’t let anxiety deter you from forming the memories of the fun times you’ll be enjoying there!”

Fun. 

As if. Jisung knew well enough that you rarely had time for fun, and consequently, neither did he. He saw you overwork yourself every day, staying at the office till late, obsessed with perfection, ensuring no loose ends were visible. Even if you tried your best to send him home when his work time ended, he wanted to stay back out of compassion for you. He was truly the best secretary you could’ve asked for. He was godsent- he’d learnt your habits and your thinking process within days, and soon he produced documents and answers before you asked for them, pre-empting your thoughts. After working with you for three years, he was good enough to be your clone- that’s why you sent him to many events and meetings as your representative if you couldn’t make it. You knew he’d handle it as well as you would, and report all the key details to you at the end of the day. 

“Yes, Ma’am. I hope it all passes well. We’ve all worked hard.”

“And hard work always pays off, you know that Jisung-ah. Now, sleep quickly so that we’re not tired due to jet lag once we land there.”

_

They’ve assigned Wonwoo a seat next to you at the conference table. As if seeing his face here wasn’t bad enough. 

“Will you never leave me alone?” 

He scoffs, “Me? You’ve been at my tail since you were a kid.”

“Oh shut up. Inside school, outside school, at parties, at funerals, at my graduation, at my sister’s wedding, you’re always fucking there. And now you’re here, to steal the spotlight. Not that you can anyway. Don’t try too hard Jeon, you’ll just look pathetic.”

“It’s funny how vain you are. You think I have any desire to steal your spotlight? Go ahead, be the talk of the party, by all means.”

“And I will! I don’t need your permission for it.”

“Hmm-”

The rest of his words get tuned out as the convenor of the conference begins their speech. You turn your eyes towards them, but you can feel Wonwoo’s eyes burning on you. 

“What did you say?” You whisper to him. 

“Never mind. Do you want to go out tonight?”

“Go out?” You turn your head towards him, leaning in, incredulous. 

“For dinner.” 

You almost burst out laughing. “And pray, why would I go with you?”

He scrunches his nose and pushes up his glasses. “You’re going to miss out on seeing the Eiffel Tower?”

“No. In fact, I have plans on going today myself. But you didn’t tell me why I’d-”

“Come with me.” He turns his face away from you, his expression cold and unreadable. 

“Hell nah. We don’t know each other, okay? Just because we’re both newcomers here does not mean we have to maintain solidarity or any of that shit.”

“You’ll regret it, sweetie.”

“I regret nothing.”

“We’ll see.”

_

“Jisung-ah! You were scared for nothing. That presentation was flawless.”

“Yes Ma’am. I know our team always works hard, but the nerves never stop,” the young man looks much fresher after the conference wraps up for the day, his tie undone slightly. You can easily understand how his mood changes reflect in his facial expressions and attitude after the long hours you spend with each other on a daily basis. 

“Are you still up for going to the Eiffel Tower tonight? I’m planning on skipping the post-conference dinner. But if you want to stay, I won’t force you to come with me.” 

“No Ma’am, I was thinking…” he hesitates, but you raise your eyebrows to urge him to continue. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to visit the Eiffel Tower again, so I do want to go with you … but after that I’d like to go to one of the clubs in the nightlife zones? I’ve heard from friends that the Paris nightlife is crazy.”

“Ooh!” You pat him on the back, “Yes please Jisung, finally you’ve started to act your age. Go, be young and wild, I’ll cheer for you!”

“You won’t come along?”

“Oh no. I’m way too old for that. Plus I never was into the club scene. And for real, you should go out and enjoy without me sometimes. People will start thinking I’m your girlfriend.”

Jisung opens his mouth to say something, but ends up just smiling shyly. “Okay Ma’am. Then should we leave for the Eiffel at 7 pm?”

“Yes. Pick me up from my suite then.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

_

“Sorry Ma’am, the Eiffel Tower has been booked out for the evening. It’s been a really sudden booking, and we’re sorry for the inconvenience, but it’s just been booked out completely by a private party and no external visitors are allowed.”

You’re wearing your best white silk Gucci dress, the one you spent your entire salary on as soon as it was released at last year’s Fashion week, and a stunning Cartier necklace, ready to spend the best evening of your life atop the Eiffel Tower, savouring life at its finest… but no. Some jerk just had to book it for this evening. 

You slide up to the lady at the front desk, whose bored expression does nothing to calm your nerves down. Jisung has tried his level best to convince her, but it’s failed. So you try the one thing you know always works. 

“Ruth-” you see her name from her name tag pinned on her chest. “I can outbid the private party.” 

“I’m sorry Ma’am, I didn’t get you.”

You laugh, a careful measured laugh, to hide your irritation at having to say it again. “I said, I can pay you more than whatever the private party’s booked it at. I just want ten minutes. Isn’t it a win-win situation for all of us? Ten minutes for me, and your private client can enjoy it for the rest of the night.”

Ruth smiles, pitifully. Wretched woman, she’s clearly not affected by your offer. This is what seeing too many rich people in a day does to a person, it immunes them to bribe, you think. Well, it’s her loss. 

“I’m sorry Ma’am, but we really cannot accept your offer. It’s against our rules-” 

“Let me speak to your manager, Ruth. Trust me, when they hear my name, they’ll let me in,” you smile again, attempting to remain amicable instead of bursting out into the wildest Korean slang.

Ruth smiles again, “You are, currently, speaking to the Manager here, Ma’am. We simply cannot allow any external visitors tonight. Can we book a slot for you tomorrow? If you’d like to visit again, in the morning or later.”

Jisung tries to interject, but he sounds resigned. He seems intimidated by Ruth, and frankly speaking, you get it. He’s just twenty four and spends over thirteen hours in a day with you, so he’s not used to snarky women. Well, apart from you, and you’re never snarky to him.

“Ruth, my dear. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m here at the Paris Conclave.” You say your name solemnly, expecting it to have the same effect it has in Korea, but alas, the woman remains untouched as ever. “I’m dreadfully sorry Ma’am- wait, did you say Y/N Y/L/N?” Your smile becomes wider. Oh so it does have the intended effect. “So you finally will let me in, huh? You do know who I am.” 

Suddenly Ruth’s demeanour changes and she’s smiling pleasantly. “Oh Ma’am, the private client has specially informed us to allow you in. Only you.” “I’m sorry, what? Why would they suddenly ask for me-” “Mr. Jeon told us that you would be here. I’m so sorry for the miscommunication, Ms. Y/L/N-”

“Mr. Jeon?!” You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you bitch. Aloud you say, “Mr. Wonwoo Jeon?” “Yes Ma’am. He’s booked the entire place for the evening. He has been waiting for you too,” Ruth smiles graciously, doing nothing to relieve your confusion. “There has been a mistake. I don’t think he meant me. We’ll leave now-” “Ma’am, I’m sure there’s no confusion now. Mr. Jeon asked us to bring you up as soon as you arrived. We’re sorry to keep you standing here on your date night.” “Date night? This is ridiculous. Wonwoo and I are not-” Jisung whispers into your ears right at moment, noticing your bloodshot wide eyes, “Ma’am, I think there’s no point fighting with them on this,” he says in Korean. “This lady seems adamant, and you shouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to visit the Eiffel Tower when it’s lit up so prettily. Even if it is with Mr. Jeon,” you wince at his suggestion, and he smiles apologetically. He’s right, you realise. 

“Okay, but Jisung comes with me.”

“I’m sorry Ma’am.” Oh I’ve had enough of your sorries. “No one except you are to be allowed up.” 

“Wow. First you say no external visitors. Now suddenly I’m allowed and Jisung is not-”

“Ms. Y/L/N, these are simply instructions from my client.” 

Jisung bites his lip and says, “Well I guess it’s not written in my fate then. Ma’am, don’t miss out on my account. Please enjoy. I’ll just go downtown and waste the night away. I’ll see you tomorrow then? Please make sure to eat dinner!” You’re seconds away from whining and pulling another tantrum, but Jisung whispers fighting to you in his soft indulgent tone that he uses on you whenever you’re being a brat and he needs to take care of you. And then he’s gone, and you have no option but to face Ruth. That bloody woman. “Welcome to the Eiffel Tower, Ma’am. Please accompany me as we take you to the top.”

_

At the top, Jeon Wonwoo stands with a glass of champagne in his left hand and his mobile phone in his right. 

“If you’re going to work on your phone and not enjoy the view, why the fuck did you book this place out?”

You walk towards the man standing in the open air viewing area, and he smiles at you. The annoyingly handsome smile, where his eyes crinkle up, and his perfectly white teeth are revealed in a rare display. 

“You came. I knew you’d come.”

“How so?” A server appears from nowhere and offers you champagne too, which you accept. You’ll soon switch to whisky though, to calm your nerves down. 

“You’re easily predictable. You act like any other average tourist, although you pretend to be such a princess.” 

“Everyone comes to visit Eiffel Tower on their first day in Paris, Wonwoo, there’s nothing weird about this-”

“Exactly. Average. Me? I personally prefer to see it from the window of my hotel, so that I can see it in its glory without experiencing this slight dizziness and bling of the night view.”

“You’re stupid. That’s why you have such stupid preferences. This night view? Priceless.” 

“Let me inform you, darling, it cost me a hell lot to book this. So not priceless.”

You laugh, looking at Wonwoo, who’s leaning against the railing facing you, and then back at the gorgeous night view. The Champs Elysees looks glorious with the lights. You can sense Wonwoo leaning in closer. His cologne and perfume mix to create a dark, musky smell that’s new. You’ve never smelled this on him before. “Why did you book it? That’s what I've been asking since forever.” 

“I want to fuck you against this railing.” 

You choke on the champagne, before catching your breath and turning back to face him. 

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.” He maintains eye contact, but in that cold, nonchalant way of his, like he didn’t just propose the most scandalous thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Aren’t there cameras?”

“Will pay for them to be turned off.”

“That’s probably illegal.”

“I don’t care. I’ll pay enough. Plus, I’ve already located the blind spots.”

You take a deep breath. As ashamed as you are to admit this, it does turn you on. A lot. If Wonwoo would touch you under your dress, he’d find evidence of the same. Sex like this- in public, definitely the most outrageous thing you’ve done. But Wonwoo suggesting it? The fact that he booked this place out on a probability that you’d come and a hope that you’d agree to it? The more you think about it, the hotter your body feels. You can feel your nipples straining against your dress in the cold air, and your face turning red with imagination. 

“If you don’t want it, we can just eat dinner and leave.” Wonwoo’s eyes have become impossibly  gentler but also darker, like he’s seconds away from losing his control. His sight betrays his words as he keeps looking at your lips. Thank god I applied the lip plumper tonight, you think. But then his eyes go to your breasts, like the pervert he is, and he smirks at the sight of the two nubs pressing hard against the soft silk. 

You shake your head.

“Say it.”

“I want it too.”

“Atta girl,” his smirk widens, before he leans in to capture your lips. It’s a rough kiss, nothing romantic like one would expect atop the Eiffel Tower, but it sets the right mood for the night. You realise that all servers have disappeared, and you’re perfectly alone, as his lips move down towards your neck, leaving beautiful hickeys along the way. “It was torture and heaven waiting for you. Knowing you’d come, but fearing you wouldn’t.” His hands take away your champagne glasses and place them on a table nearby, before bending you backwards on the railing, making your head zoom more with pleasure. What if I fall off? What if someone catches us like this? What if he takes a picture of me like this in front of the view, with my tits out and my lipstick ruined?

“No bra, huh? You’re so sexy in this dress, I want to fuck you in it. You mind that?” You’re panting as he keeps kissing you in between his words, tongue dominating yours right away. It’s like a switch flipped inside you. Just minutes ago, you were so against sharing the Eiffel Tower view with Wonwoo, and now you’re letting him fuck you here. It drives you crazy.

“Wonwoo just- I don’t care, I need you now.” He bites all over your shoulder, slipping down the straps to grope your breasts in the rough-handed manner you like, sure to leave bruises with the way he kneads them while leaving open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone.

“Just because we’re out in the open doesn’t mean you forget your bedroom manners.” He bites down on your nipple, surely missing his favourite clamps back home, and you squirm in his iron grip. 

“Sir please!” 

“That’s better, sweetheart. But what do you want?”

“C-Co-” he alternates his bites with little kitten licks, looking up at you. “Articulation, baby. Speak up.” “Want your cock, in my m- mouth, Sir!” He pulls away from you, leaving the cold air to tease your bruised nipples, and laughs. Fucking laughs, but it turns you on again. “If you insist.”

He takes off his belt and ties your hands behind your back, and then pushes your shoulder down and you fall to your knees, and he stands back, tall. “Oh, what a pretty sight,” he sighs, taking in the night sky view, and then looks down at you, but makes no move to open his pants. You assume you’ll have to take care of it yourself, so you attempt to open the zipper with your teeth. It’s not particularly difficult, but in the process you get some drool over Wonwoo’s cock over his pants. “Tch. Dirty girl, drooling everywhere,” he wipes away the drool from the edge of your lips, before you slot your mouth against his erection, now free from his underwear and pants which have slid down his legs. It’s not as hard as it gets during sex, but that’s what you’re here for. Nothing but a slut for him to use. Your ankles burn against your heels in this position, but it’s okay. You’re losing your mind as you swallow his sheath inch-by-inch, until you feel his skin against your nose, and you stay like that for a second, easing out your gag reflex. But before you can move, Wonwoo thrusts deep into your throat, eyes not leaving yours. It makes you roll your eyes, the pleasure of the surprise way more than the pain, and makes you crave for more. He slowly wraps his hands around your head, a strong broad support for you to rest in, and continues to ram his dick inside your mouth. Your body becomes limp as you slowly surrender to his actions, your mind blank, except a crazy wanton desire to please him and make him cum. You’re too sex-crazed right now to reason out why only Wonwoo elicits this reaction from you. 

But then his dick gets rock hard, and right when its weight becomes the best and warmest around your throat, wet with saliva and pre-cum, he pulls out. You can’t frame words instantly, but you whine. “Ah, Wo- I- pl- co- please…” He laughs cockily at your state, and you blush with shame at the way you’re acting. “Get up,” he walks away from you, leaving you to your own devices to stand up in those heels. 

It strikes you yet again, just how open this all is. Anyone can walk in. The security guard may be jerking off watching this on the security cameras, and you won’t lie, it’s hot as fuck. The thought of Wonwoo and your activities being porn for someone else- oh fuck. 

Wonwoo sits on a couch meant for visitors on the balcony. “Come baby,” he beckons, and you sit on his lap. His cock is still hard, leaking pre-cum, and you’re tempted to lick it off, but you won’t make a move until he tells you to. You can’t disobey him now- if he spanks you in punishment, you won’t be able to walk to the conference tomorrow.

“Spit on it.” And you do. Wonwoo likes your spit, for some reason, and you wordlessly obey. Then he pulls out something from his pocket, and you realise- “No Sir! Please, not the paddle today!” It’s a folded paddle, the pocket-friendly one you can buy at cheap sex stores. “I need to walk tomorrow, I can’t if you spank me-” “But you’ve been so naughty. Begging for my cock in a public place like the little slut you are. Not accepting my invitation to come up here and making me wait for so long. Turning my offer for dinner down at the conference this morning,” You try to protest, but he simply inserts his thumb into your mouth, and you instinctively start sucking on it. “Now be pretty, and let Sir show you your place.” While you’re still distractedly sucking the thumb, you don’t even realise when he’s lifted the back of your dress and the paddle hits the ass flesh exposed by your thong. “Count.” “One,” you whimper out, not wanting his thumb to slip out of your mouth. The spanks continue, alternating on ass. He can alternate between asses and keep the same pressure just by one hand, the other holding up your dress, his hands big enough to cover your entire ass cheek. The spanks burn more after the moment’s relief due to the cold air, and by the time you reach twenty, your knees have given up, and you’re drooling on Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

“Don’t make a mess. Sit up straight.” As you do so, he asks you, putting away the paddle and tucking your hair behind your ears. “Have you learnt how to behave? Or do you need another reminder?” You fervently shake your head, but he whispers in his insanely sexy tone, “Words.” It makes you shiver, and you respond, “Yes Sir. I’ll not misbehave, Sir.” He smirks, and leans back. “Now ride me like you mean your words, darling.” 

You don’t need another command. You sit down on his dick quickly, ready to take the burn without any prep, because you’re already leaking down your thighs. He grips your hips with one hand, steadying you, and cards his other hand through your hair. As you begin bouncing down on him, he shudders and releases low grunts, but nothing breaks his composure. He never once whispers Good Girl, as you cum once, but you still keep riding him to ensure he reaches his climax. Somewhere after your orgasm, he starts thrusting up from below to meet your efforts, and it brings him closer to his orgasm as he scrunches his nose and closes his eyes. When he does spurt inside you, he whispers softly enough that you almost miss it, “Fucking gorgeous.” 

That’s enough praise for the night, you think to yourself, as you fall limply against his chest, nearly passed out from the strain, his cock still spasming inside of you. He soothes your hair, and you fall asleep.

_

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Please wake up! We’re running late. Ma’am? Ms. Y/L/N?” You open your eyes blearily to see Jisung shaking you lightly. Slowly you come to your senses, and you can hear his voice louder, and see the desperation in his face clearly. 

Fuck. 

What have you done?

“How late am I?” 

“Not too bad, Ma’am,” Jisung scrunches his nose as he looks at the clock on your bedside table. “We have twenty minutes to go.” 

“Fuck!” You scramble out of bed, not even bothering to check if you’re clothed, and make your way to the washroom. There’s a pain growing in your head, and it’s only when you see yourself in the mirror that you realise that you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts. What even happened last night? The last thing you remember, as you try to recollect while quickly brushing your teeth, washing your hair and hopping into the shower all at the same time, is that you had passed out on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Then the world had gone blank. Fucked into oblivion, truly. He must have brought you into your room. Oh fucking hell, he owed you at least that much.

By the time you wrapped your bathing suit around you and walked back into your bedroom, Jisung was gone, but your outfit and shoes were laid out on the bed and there was a note, I’ll pack some breakfast for you, Ma’am. Please come down directly to the conference hall. Thank god for Jisung, that was one prayer you said everyday. He’d been partying too last night, hadn’t he? And yet, he had responsibly made it on time and woken you up as well. You were getting too irresponsible, too lax. Your discipline was gone and you mentally bashed yourself for it. All because of that stupid Wonwoo.

After that, it doesn’t take much time for you to get dressed. Jisung must’ve noticed the hickeys on your neck, and brought you a jacket with lapels and a collar high enough to hide most of the marks. You quickly tied a scarf around your neck, making it look fashionable by adding colour to the otherwise beige monotone outfit, and praised yourself mentally for looking this good even without makeup. Dabbing on some lip balm in the elevator, you quickly reached the conference hall, finding yourself a minute late. Again, thank god for Jisung, the boy had reserved your seat, made excuses on your behalf and kept a croissant and coffee ready at your seat, so that everyone greeted you with kind smiles. 

Except Wonwoo, who had that unreadable expression again. 

Must be pathetic, living like him. What worth was a face like that if it couldn’t express anything?

_

Four days later, you land in Incheon amidst the wildest of storms the country has faced in the year. You won’t admit it, but you’re glad you travelled in your private jet, where you can close all windows down and wrap yourself up in a blanket burrito to drown out all signs of the storm. You wish storms didn’t exist, and you wish no one would have to see you in this weak state. Not Wonwoo for sure. 

After that first day in Paris, the two of you had barely interacted. Primarily, you were too ashamed to speak to him. How could you smile and talk normally to someone after getting railed by them on the Eiffel Tower, especially when that same someone was annoying as fuck in reality? Sure, eye contact had been made several times, over dinners, over the conference tables, when you’d been on the stage presenting, and when running into each other in the corridor. But words? You possibly couldn’t. It’d be too much for the fragile self-respect you’d been holding on to. 

You really want to avoid him once you’re back in Seoul as well. The workload seems to have tripled in the few days you were away, with endless tiny emergencies and approvals pending to be resolved. You’re again thankful for Jisung, but there’s only so much the poor boy can do. You make it a point to send him home soon after his scheduled timing every day, but you can’t say the same for yourself. 

It’s the fifth night of you eating ramen from a cup noodles pack and sipping on apple juice from a 1 litre tetra pack, that you finally give up on the abstention. It’s a hard decision, but somehow, your overworked brain and sleep-deprived body leads you to one craving, and one craving only. 

Thirty minutes later, Jeon Wonwoo arrives at your office. He’s been to your office only rarely, as you both prefer to meet up outside professional areas, but in the darkness of the empty office, he can easily recognise your brightly-lit room. He’s dressed in formals too, as if he’s just got off work himself, and you think he may be in the same boat as you. But definitely not as much as you- you’re a perfectionist who looks over everything yourself, Wonwoo doesn’t even come close for sure. 

“It’s one of those nights, huh?”

He gently opens the door and walks in. Everything about him seems to be delicate today: perhaps it’s because his shirt is damp from the rain he’s surely walked in, his hair is wet and falling over his eyes, and his tie is gone. His jacket is soon gone too, dropped off on the couch, and he takes off his shoes. They’re leaving slightly muddy footprints, and you wonder if Wonwoo even drove and came or just ran like a peasant. 

“How’s work treating you?”

“Stop wolfing down that ramen, it’s not healthy. Not as bad as you, as I see. I finished up hours ago,” his eyes don’t meet yours, and you know it’s a lie. It’s one of the signs of lying, as you’ve picked up over the years. Wonwoo rarely breaks eye contact while speaking, always honest, and his lie is really odd to you right now. Why would he lie to you about this?

“I was wondering, if…” you stand up from your desk, taking in the figure of the man sitting on your couch now, manspreading and head leaning back. He’s tired, why did he lie about getting off early?

“Come here, princess.” 

That’s all it takes, and you sit on his lap and wait for his lips to meet yours. He indulges you in your wish, and immediately the tension in your body eases out. Along with the stress of work, you’d been even more worried that he’d bring up your last night together, and you’d get too ashamed to remain turned on. But he doesn’t, and you’re glad. You let your lips be bitten by him, but then he soothes over the burns with his tongue. He tastes like candy, and you tell him the same. 

“Hmm, low sugar.” 

Then he picks you up and gently walks over to your desk, holding you in the same bridal pose without even a muscle flinching. With one hand, he clears the laptop sitting atop your desk to the coffee table, and swipes the rest of the clutter on the floor. It would’ve made you angry otherwise, but you’re already entering subzone with the way he’s handling you. Lips still locked on yours, holding you in that pose with just one hand as you hold on to his shoulders for dear life, it’s a crazy show of strength and you’re getting incredibly turned on by it. You let yourself go, giving it up to this person, who seems to be so reliable, so strong, so manly. 

As he lays you down on the desk, he takes off your trousers and underwear in one go, and sits down on the chair you usually sit on. 

“You’re so wet, so dirty. Did you touch yourself after texting me to come over?” Your pussy is at his eye level, and you’re looking down at him, his eyes menacing and beautiful at the same time. His question makes you squirm, as you reply, “Of course not.” Then there’s a slap across your cunt, and you whine. “Manners?” “Of course not, Sir.” “Liar,” he smirks, and dives headfirst into your cunt. 

It’s a treat he rarely gives you. Only when he’s very happy with you- like after you’ve taken thirty spanks, or you’ve eaten dinner with him while having a vibrator stuffed up your cunt, or you’ve let him wash you in the shower (for some reason, Wonwoo likes that a lot. He ties you up to these poles he’s attached in his bathroom, and plays with your body by applying as much oil and soap he wants, making sure not to touch your pussy for hours, denying every release to you even as it builds up just from the oversensitivity of having your nipples and ass played with). 

You wonder why he’s so happy. 

But you can’t care enough, now that his tongue is working so hard against your clit. The sensation makes you lose all rational thought, as you lean back against the desk, mind empty, and just moaning his name. You remember the first few times he’d fucked you with your mouth gagged, but then he’d told you he likes your sounds way too much, so you’d stopped controlling them too. He gets what he wants. After all, only he can fuck you so well. 

“Wonwoo, please-” He moves his head up, licking his lips which are glistening with your slick. “How do you address me baby?” “S-sorry! Sir, please I-” “Hmm?” He leans back in, humming against your clit. His tongue now moves to your hole, nose brushing against your clit. “Can I come? Like this? May I? Please?” When he moves away again for breath, he removes his hands from your thighs, and you see the red marks he’s left there just by how tight he was gripping them. It’s a wild sight, and your climax hits you right then, coming before he could answer. “So impatient, coming all over my face even when I’ve told you not to come without my permission.” But even his scolding sounds gentle tonight, softly chiding rather than his usual harsh coldness. In your post-orgasm clarity, you wonder again what’s gotten into him. 

He licks away your cum, and it makes you burn with overstimulation. “Uhhhhh, please-please Sir!” “Stay still.” His hands are back at your thighs, spreading them apart, and he seems hellbent on getting another orgasm from you. Your screams are louder this time, and you’re growing even more desperate to get something bigger to fill you up. You wrap your hands in his hair, and tug unconsciously while he keeps licking at your pussy. His entire face is hazy with your slick, thank god he’d taken off his glasses earlier, but he doesn’t care. He keeps diving in. 

“Sir, please, I’m going- uhhhh,” he pulls away instantly and smacks your cunt hard. “No coming until I allow you to. Let Sir have his treat.” “Please Sir I’ll be so good, I promise, I- please let me, just this once.” Another smack, and you’re screaming. Thank heavens the office is empty. 

“Do you not understand my words? Should I retrain you?”

“No! I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise.” 

“Hmm, you better be,” and this time he doesn’t just lick your pussy, but also starts entering two fingers alongside his tongue, hitting your g-spot almost instantly. You’re whining yet again, losing your breath, but everytime you’re about to come, he pulls away. You can’t figure out how he realises, but soon two hours pass by, and you’re still being edged. Your legs are shaking, and you can’t think straight. You just want more of his fingers, you want his cock, inside your mouth, your cunt, hell, you just want to orgasm once. 

“Girl, stop moving. You’re so filthy, dripping like this. What would your boytoy think if he saw you like this? Should I call him to clean this mess on your desk?” He’s curling his finger inside you, and it’s really hard forming words when you’re seeing stars like this. 

“Sir, I-” “What’s his name? Jieun?” “Ji- Jisung. Aaah, please-” “Look at you begging. So pathetic. No wonder your secretary is so pathetic. He really likes you, you know?” Your eyes go wide, trying to register his words. “Why- why are you- how do you–” “Hush. I want to know, is he jerking off to you now? Thinking of how slutty you looked in those grey trousers, how perfect your ass looked? Bet you show off in front of him on purpose.” You’re squirming harder, not wanting to think about Jisung right now. “But- but daddy, I on- only want you!”

He laughs, then he leans in to whisper into your ear, “Daddy? That’s a first. Say it again.” 

“Daddy, please! I only want your cock.” 

“Really? So demanding, like a wife. But you’re just a slut. You’d do this to Jisung as well, won’t you?” “No! I swear- please. Daddy, just, it’s just you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I swear!” You nod feverishly, the sensation building up inside you again.

“Okay baby girl. Come for me. Come for daddy. Then I’ll take you home and fuck you good. This desk is too small.” You don’t need to be told twice. You gush all over his hands and some of your come ends up on your desk and his pants too, but he only chuckles. Licking off the come on his hands, he smiles. “You taste like sugar, sweetheart.”

_

The sheets you wake up in smell overwhelmingly like Wonwoo. The man is nowhere to be seen, but the blankets next to you are shuffled and the pillow has a dent, and you remember being caved by his warmth at night when the storm had hit Seoul again and you’d woken up for a second before falling asleep to the steady rise and fall of the chest wrapped around you. 

You wake up slowly, adjusting your eyes to the sunlight. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in Wonwoo’s bedroom, but this is the first time you’ve slept over. Usually you leave, no matter how late it is. But it feels good. It feels oddly intimate. 

Your legs burn when you walk, but you try to look for your clothes. 

Your shirt is ripped again. 

You strut out of the room after wearing your panties and bra, which is barely holding on to one hook remaining, and find the man standing in the open kitchen, wearing a tank top and sweatpants. He’s drinking coffee, and a book is in his hands. 

“Wonwoo, you’ve torn my clothes again. How am I supposed to go home like this?”

He turns to face you, smiling and fixing his glasses, and standing up. He looks so good in the warmth of the sunlight falling on his golden skin. “You’re up.”

“Do you think I can keep buying new clothes?”

“Yes. Now, calm down. Do you-”

“Wonwoo!” 

“For god’s sake, I can’t take your shit this early in the morning. You want to fight, please do. Not now. It’s too early. You just always find something up your ass and have to pick on me for nothing, huh?”

His smile has faded, and the warmth in your body seeps away. About time, though. You don’t want to start feeling safe in Wonwoo’s private space. It’s too intimate- waking up in his bed, seeing him walk around in sweatpants, drinking coffee he’s making for you. It’s too much.

“This has to stop, Wonwoo.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll not rip your shirts. Take my card and buy something-”

“This arrangement has to stop.”

He turns away from the coffee machine for a second, and stares at you. You walk towards him, and he looks even better up close. His tank top shows off his arms, and they look soft yet really firm. You want to touch-

“Why? Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not-”

“Do you want to date someone? You can, you know. I don’t care-”

“Wonwoo-”

“Did I hurt you? Was I too much last night?” he steps closer to you, furrowing his eyebrows in evident confusion, and you suddenly can’t breathe. His expression is very much readable and it only reads as one emotion- concern.

“Wonwoo, please.” You take a step back, hugging yourself with your arms. 

“Does it hurt? I am sorry if it does-” 

“It’s not your fault. It’s a me thing, I swear.”

His eyes become clouded by even more confusion, and you quietly walk away and sit down on the kitchen counter. 

“This is becoming too much for me. I- I got into this arrangement thinking that it would be a good way to vent stress. But it’s toxic now- I can’t think of any other way to deal with stress except this. Don’t you notice how our meetings have become more frequent now, especially initiated from my end? In the last three months, I’ve initiated sex fifteen times, and you’ve only six times. You see? This has become my only solution now.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t look at you, but he keeps wincing at your words as if he’s being hit physically. Then he responds, when you’re done, “That does sound like  a you problem, like why-” 

You slide off the counter with a huff, muttering Fucking jerk under your breath, but he catches your wrist before you can walk further away. 

“Don’t touch me if you’re going to react like that. I fucking knew it, why did I even talk to you? I can just walk away, I didn’t even need to expose my weaknesses to you.” 

He yanks you closer using your wrist. “This isn’t a war, Y/N. I don’t get off on knowing about your weaknesses, for fuck’s sake. Can you stop being paranoid?”

You sigh. You know you’re always paranoid around him- funny, because he’s seen you in more compromising positions than anyone else. If he wanted to blackmail you, or hurt you, by hitting your weaknesses, he would, you realise. Is that why you’ve learnt to feel so safe around him? 

“I’m sorry I reacted like that, Y/N. Talk to me, let’s work this out together. Let’s set up a system to slow our meetings down if you like?” 

You bite your lip, and look up at him. “How?” 

“Umm, how about you start to find other sources for it? Like hanging out with friends? Developing hobbies?” 

You huff again, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Wonwoo, if I had other sources, would I not use them?” 

“Darl-”

“Don’t call me that! We’re not having sex right now.”

“Y/N. Take your time to find other sources, then. If I’m your only means of relieving stress, it is extremely toxic. You’ll become dependent on me, and-” his pupils shake, looking away from you, “you’ll find it tough to date and all. Been there. Done that. That’s why I can tell you this.”

You’re about to reply something, when your phone rings out in a shrill tone. Surprisingly, Wonwoo’s phone rings out at the same time too. 

You jog into the bedroom to find your phone and pick it up. It’s your sister. 

“Y/N-ie! You’re not at home?”

“No. Why? Are you coming over?” 

“No, I just made Kyungmin drive us to your place to see your place is empty. Where are you?”

“Never mind where I am. Why did you come over?” 

“Mum and Dad want us to have lunch with the Jeons,” you can hear her giggle. But you’re stunned. “With the Jeons? Now? Today? For what joy? Are we buying their company?” She giggles again, leaving you more frustrated. “You’ll find out. I’ll send you an address then, come over directly!” And she promptly ends the call, leaving you blank and confused. Your phone pings- there’s the address of a restaurant, and a message asking you to be there within an hour. You realise only now how late you’ve woken up, and you’re glad it’s a Sunday.

“Why am I eating lunch with your parents?” Wonwoo walks into the bedroom, that confused look on his face again. “I could literally ask you the same damn thing. What’s going on?” “Does it look like I’ve got a single clue, babe?” He smirks at your cluelessness, and walks into his ensuite bathroom, leaving you speechless. Did he just call me babe? You wonder, but then your mind flits back to the issue at hand. 

“Wonwoo!” You scream at him from outside the bathroom. You’re sure he can hear you, so you don’t wait for a reply. “Yah! What am I supposed to wear? You’ve torn my clothes, you fucker!” Your stress levels are rising again. You’re going to have to go back home to wear something appropriate. You realise that you haven’t even brought your car. You’ll have to ask Wonwoo to drive you back. But fuck, what if your sister is still at your place?  Then she’ll see you both coming together, and undoubtedly she’ll prod and poke you. Then you won’t be able to have the upper hand at lunch when Wonwoo signs his company over to you. But there’s no other option as well. Well, there is- you can always stop at a boutique or a shop to buy something and wear it on the go. But that’d mean you’d have to go out in this hideously ripped blouse of yours. Oh!

“Wonwoo! You dumbass! I hate you! What have you done now? Why are we going for this lunch? For god’s sake.”

“Stop screaming, woman.” The door suddenly opens, and a half-naked Wonwoo steps out, engulfed in the steam from what was definitely a very hot shower. You have to stop yourself from moaning out at the sight. It reminds you of the three times you’ve showered together, and you can’t help but think back to the vivid memories of those sessions. 

“How can I stop screaming? I don’t even know what’s going on. You knew about this, didn’t you? Why are you so calm?” Wonwoo takes another step towards you, and he runs his hands along your arms. You shiver under his touch, realising you’re still wearing just your underwear. “Calm down. This isn’t a big deal, you’ve dealt with more serious issues. It’s just lunch.” “But it’s lunch with your family. I don’t even know why.” He presses a hand along your cheek, and you’re feeling even more conscious and nervous. Why? This is really unusual, because Wonwoo is right. You’ve been in worse emergencies. Why is this getting on your nerves? Probably because your periods are due this week. These are just your hormones. 

“Just enjoy the food. You’re anyway good at ignoring me in public places, and you can do the same to my family too.” 

You bite your lip, and shake your head. “I need fresh clothes.” 

“Yeah okay. Get into the shower and clean yourself up. I’ll ask my secretary to send something over.” “What? How-” “I think she’s the same dimensions as you.” “Oh.” You step away from him, swallowing whatever words you had to say. “I’ll go into the shower then.”

_

Thirty-five minutes and a very nice warm shower later, you’re standing in the bedroom and there’s a very pretty black dress on the bed. There’s also a new pair of lingerie next to it, complete with red roses sewn into black lace. Wow, that’s what Wonwoo asked his secretary to buy, huh. He definitely knows her dimensions very well. And the clothes fit, almost perfectly as if tailor-made. The dress is of unknown brand but the feel of the satin on your skin feels nice enough for you to forget about its origin. 

“Done?” Wonwoo steps into the room. “Jeez, can you knock? Scared me.” You’re applying Wonwoo’s sunscreen (frankly shocked to see him owning it, but then, his skin is pretty nice). You’ve also applied the same perfume as his, and combed your hair in a million different ways, to make up for the lack of make-up or your usual products. 

“Knock when I’ve seen you naked in this very room a hundred times? No thanks. Let’s go, we’re late.” 

“Hmm,” you slip your feet into your shoes and pick up your bag. “I’m ready.” So is Wonwoo, you notice, who’s dressed in a grey sweater and jeans. The softness of his clothes contrast the sharpness of his features, and it… looks nice. 

It takes you two twenty minutes to reach the restaurant, the ride passed in silence as you catch up on work mails from your phone. 

“I’ll go first, and you come ten minutes later, okay?” “Yeah. And Y/N, don’t tell them you were with me, okay?” “Of course not. I’m not a dumb nut like you.” And you shut the door of the car with unnecessary force as you walk out of the car. You swear you can hear Wonwoo curse behind you, but you give no fucks. 

“Oh! Y/N-ie! Welcome!” You walk straight into the arms of your mother, who’s dressed in a gaudy dress that does not suit her figure. “Eomma! How many times have I asked you not to wear these dresses?” “Oh shush! I bought this last weekend. Don’t tell me it looks bad, I’m in a good mood now.” You grimace and walk towards the table where your sister, her husband, and your father are waiting for you, smiling from ear to ear. Mr and Mrs Jeon, and Wonwoo’s younger brother are sitting on the other side of the table, also smiling from ear to ear. The excessive smiles are disturbing you, you’ve positively never seen Mrs. Jeon smile that wide.

“Oh, you look so good! Did you lose weight, Y/N-ie?” Mrs Jeon beckons you to sit next to her, and she takes your hand in hers. You force a smile on your face, still clueless about what’s going on. You can only hope they start talking about it when Wonwoo comes. 

Speaking of the devil, he does come way earlier than you asked him too. You’re suddenly nervous, as the families start smiling again. “Aigoo, our handsome boy is here. Sit here, sit here.” Your sister welcomes him and he sits wedged between her and his mother.

“Eomma, what’s going on?” he asks.

“Aah, straight to the point. Forget about that, tell us, did you both come together?” You spill out the drink from your mouth, almost choking. “Us? Together? Hahaha. No, of course not! Why would you think that Mrs Jeon? Hahaha.” “Hmm…” your sister exchanges looks with your mother and Mrs Jeon, before finally giving you that stupidly bright smile again. “Is there something you both want to tell us? We’ll give you a chance before-” Wonwoo interrupts, “Appa, what’s this nonsense? Just tell us without this suspense.”

Mr Jeon, who’d quietly been busy on his phone for so long, looks up and stares a little blankly. His wife nudges him, and then he seems to remember. “Oh, so, Wonwoo. You know you both can tell us what you want.” Your father pipes in, “Yes, same goes for you, Y/N.” Wonwoo and you exchange confused looks before you speak up, “Okay, but really. What’s this suspense for?”

“We know you’re dating.” Your sister blurts out, and there’s a sudden silence at the table. 

You think your eyes may burst out from the shock, and the way in which your palms instantly become sweaty is a dead giveaway of your nervousness. “What?! Unnie, are you out of your mind? What the fuck?” 

“Language, Y/n-ah.” Your mother says, “You think we don’t know what you both are doing, huh?” And then she giggles. The damn audacity.

“I think there’s some grave misunderstanding, Mrs Y/L/N. Y/N and I are… certainly, not dating.” Wonwoo’s mother grasps his hand across the table, and says, “Oh my son. My dutiful son. You don’t have to pretend about this. Just because Jeon Estates is rivals with Y/N’s company, doesn’t mean you both have to be secretive about dating!” There’s a little cough from both fathers, and Kyungmin and Wonbin, Wonwoo’s brother, burst out laughing. 

“Eomma, we’re not hiding anything. It’s a fact, we aren’t-”

“Explain these then. Booking out Eiffel Tower for a dinner date, huh?”

“Eomma, how do you know? Are you spying on me?”

“No! Of course not! We just looked at your credit card bill, accidentally. Then I spoke to Bora, your secretary, and she confirmed that you’d been spending a lot of time with Y/N. Not only that, there’s more-”

“Yes, indeed. Y/N-ie, why didn’t you ever tell us?”

You gasp, feeling lightheaded. “Did Jisung…? That trai-”

“Not Jisung. Jisung wouldn’t open his mouth. So I spoke to your chauffeur. He tells me he regularly picks you up from Wonwoo’s place?”

That’s it. This is it. It doesn’t get worse than this. This is your end. Oh, earth, swallow me up.

“Darling,” Mrs Jeon rubs your back, “Please don’t feel so shy. We know that our husbands haven’t left a great friendship for you two heirs. But you need not worry about all this rivalry.”

Your sister joins, “Yes. I’ve convinced Appa, and our lovely Aunt Jiwoo has convinced Mr Jeon too. Oh you both are so silly, hiding a precious thing like this from us.”

Wonwoo and you glare at each other. You realise there’s no point in explaining things to these people sitting in front of you. If they’ve reached the point where your sister is calling Wonwoo’s mother as aunt, then they must have discussed this extensively before calling you two to this lunch. An ambush, that’s what this is, you think in despair. 

“So what we’re saying is, instead of keeping it hidden like this, why don’t the two of you get married? Wonwoo-ah? You’re turning thirty next year, aren’t you? I want to see my grandchildren too,” Mrs Jeon says, and everything falls in place. This is blackmail. Your mother’s been asking you to get married ever since you took over the company, claiming that having a man at your side would help your life be perfect and free of any troubles, and even forcing you on some arranged dates. Wonwoo must be going through the same kind of thing, with him being three years older to you also. It fixes the nail in the coffin, and you stand up from your seat.

“That’s not happening. Mrs Jeon, Mr Jeon, Wonbin-ah, I’m sorry if this disappoints you, and the same goes for my family too. Wonwoo and I are grown adults. What we do is none of your business.”

“But if you are dating, what’s the issue with getting married? And from what I hear, it’s not even a recent fling. All this has been going on for a year now!” Your mother cries out loudly. Although you’re sitting in a secluded corner, the restaurant isn’t quite empty. 

“We’re not… dating. That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you all along.”

“Well, then are you guys enemies having movie sleepovers?” your sister adds, and it’s too annoying. “And why did you come over in Wonwoo’s car?” How the fuck? But then you realise, nothing is beyond these women. They may be keeping tabs on your and his car GPS for all you know. 

Wonwoo stands up, looming over your figure. “That’s quite enough. Like Y/N said, what we do is not your business. Thank you for your concern, and enjoy your meal. Eomma, since you’ve taken access to my credit card already, might as well use it to treat yourselves with this meal.” He steps out of the chair, and walks over to where you’re standing. He swiftly grabs your wrist, and pulls you away, “Let’s go. This is a waste of time.” And just like that, the two of you walk away.  

_

Six days later, a wedding invite stands ready in front of you, held out in Jisung’s pale hands. “Does it look good, Ma’am? I’ll send it for printing then.” 

You sigh, and nod your yes.

_

part 2 is now out!

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Okay can I request wedding headcannon to reader for Angel Dust, Husk, Alastor Adam and Lucifer? I need some fluffiness in my life right now

A/n: YES!!!!

Angel Dust will be paired with a male!reader

•Angel Dust•

You were the one to propose to Angel Dust, it happened on the day you were able to free him from his contract.

Angel Dust breaks down, he's never felt more safe than he did in your arms.

Uses Anthony, it feels right to use his name when he is marry you.

Charlie officiated the ceremony,her words spoke of redemption, love, and the power of choice. She reminded everyone that love transcends boundaries—even those between Heaven and Hell.

You and Angel Dust stood before the alter with your eyes locked, Angel's voice cracked as he recited his vows promising to love you through eternity. Your sweet voice followed, promising to heal Angel’s scars and cherish him forever.

Husk raised a glass to you both with a grin on his face. "About damn time."

You two met with a kiss, the kiss tasted of redemption, forgiveness and love. The guests erupted in applause, and even the demons shed a tear or two.

As newlyweds, you and Alastor danced your first dance on a cloud conjured by Lucifer. Your steps were light, Angel Dust's laughter echoed through out the room.

The wedding cake was a masterpiece,a tiered creation with silver fondant wings and red rose petals. As they cut into it, confetti exploded, and chaos ensued. Husk downed a shot, Lucifer blamed Alastor as Vaggie twirled Charlie.

•Husk•

Husk proposed late one night, drunk. He was scared you'd leave him. Find someone better, he stood in silence as you said yes.

The wedding took place in the ballroom of the Hazbin Hotel, the room was adorned with crimson and gold drapes, flickering candles, and ethereal flowers.

The guests, a mix of demons, fallen angels, and curious souls, gather in anticipation.

A haunting melody of a violin fills the air as you walked down the aisle.

Husk, in a tailored suit with a single red rose pinned to his lapel, awaits for you at the altar.

Your voice soft, you gave the man you love a smile as you recited your vows “Husk, you are my redemption. Your gruff exterior hides a tender heart. I promise to cherish your flaws and love you unconditionally.”

Then Husk recited his own. "you’re my light in this chaotic realm. Your kindness heals my scars. I vow to protect you, even from my own demons.”

Your closest friend Angel Dust gave you a teary-eyed smile as he raised a glass: “To Y/n and Husk! May their love be as wild as a demon’s dance and as tender as an angel’s touch.”

You and Husk sway to a haunting waltz.The room holds its breath as they twirl, your love defying fate.

The wedding cake held White roses intertwine with black orchids.

You feed Husk a delicate slice, and he smudges frosting on your nose playfully.

As the clock strikes midnight, you and Husk share a kiss another. It tastes of redemption and second chances.

The room erupts in cheers, and even the walls seem to hum with joy.

Husk whisks you away for a little pre-honeymoon fun.

•Alastor•

The Wedding of you and Alastor took place in Hazbin Hotel Courtyard.The courtyard is adorned with crimson roses and obsidian candles.

You descend the grand staircase, your gown—a blend of ethereal silk and charred lace—trails behind you a veil conceals your face, but your eyes—resolute and curious—betray your emotions.

Alastor awaits for you at the alter, his top hat tilted. His crimson suit is impeccably tailored, and his cane rests against his shoulder. His gaze never wavers from the staircase.

You smile up at your fiancé, light tears in your eyes as you finish your vows I choose you, Alastor.”

Alastor states his own oath“I, Alastor, relinquish my darkness. For you, Y/n, I’d trade my infernal powers.”His words echo through the damned souls, who watch in awe.

Your lips meet, a deep kiss. Alastor holding you tight afraid you might slip away.

Niffty supplying the treats, sinner themed pastries adorn the dessert table. Angel Dust sneaks a cupcake, giving you a wink.

For your first dance, you and Alastor swayed to a waltz.

Sinners gossip. Charlie smiles, Vox scowls as Husk grumbles about the open bar.

You Whisper: “To redemption,” she adds, and Alastor’s grip tightens.

You and Alastor sneak away to the roof top for a moment alone.

•Adam•

Much to his disappointment, the wedding takes place in the grand cathedral of the Hazbin Hotel which it is then transformed into a celestial sanctuary. Stained glass windows depict scenes from both Heaven and Hell, casting colorful patterns on the marble floor.

The guests, a mix of angels, demons, and curious souls, gather in awe.

The ethereal melody of harps fills the air as you walk down the aisle.

Adam, in a pristine white robe, awaits for you at the altar, his eyes reflecting both duty and longing.

Your vows are with love, and Adam does his best to keep things PG.

Archangel Michael steps forward, his wings spanning the aisle. His voice resonates through the halls.“May your love transcend realms, Adam and Y/n. May it heal the wounds of Heaven and Hell.”

You and Adam waltz gracefully, your steps echoing the celestial dance of creation your love story unfolds in each twirl—a delicate balance between duty and desire.

The cake, a fusion of angelic white and infernal crimson, stands tall. Feathers and flames intertwine.

You feed Adam a delicate slice, and he smiles, savoring the sweetness of your union.

Adam pulls you into a passionate kiss, his whispers a promise of nothing but love

You and Adam exit the cathedral,the guests hold their breath, witnessing the union of realms

•Lucifer Morningstar•

The wedding takes place in a cathedral in the heart of Hell that stood adorned with twisted ironwork and flickering candles. The air hummed with anticipation as demons,and lost souls gathered to witness an unprecedented event.

The setting of the cathedral’s stained glass windows depicted scenes of redemption and damnation, casting colorful patterns on the cold stone floor. Row of crimson velvet pews awaited the guests, their eyes filled with curiosity and skepticism.

You walked down the aisle your gown flowed like liquid silver, and your eyes held a mixture of hope and trepidation.

Lucifer stood at the alter, his black suit was impeccably tailored, and his crimson eyes bore both mischief and longing.The Devil’s presence commanded attention, and the room fell silent.

Your voice quivered as you recited your vows..

Lucifer’s own voice cracking as he recited his own.

As you lent in for your first kiss, the cathedral’s candles flared, casting shadows on the walls.

The reception hall was a decadent affair. Demons danced with fallen angels, as lost souls clinked glasses.

Your laughter echoed as you twirled with Lucifer, your steps defying gravity.

Vox, the media mogul, smirked. “A match made in Hell. Ratings will soar!”

You swayed in Lucifer’s arms, your head resting on his chest as you looked up at him

“Why me?” You whispered.

Lucifer’s eyes softened. “Because you see the light even in Hell.”

The stars above flickered, and Lucifer kissed your forehead. “Together, we’ll rewrite the cosmic order.”

[virgoilluminati]

Jude and Y/N going to a wedding - maybe Jude is her plus one and they're all over them because he's famous and he's just so in love with Y/N that he doesn't notice 🤭❣️

Numero uno

Inspo: Set in the World Class series, y/n's older brother Rowan decides to finally tie the knot with his girlfriend Rosemary. In turn, Y/N invites Jude as her plus one. Little did she know that inviting her boyfriend who almost won the euro's would cause such a stir.

You hated weddings. You hated the formality, the expectations, the grand declarations of love. How could anyone promise to love someone forever when life was so unpredictable, so fragile? People fell out of love, people changed, and worst of all, people died. You had seen it firsthand and the pain it caused.

The memory of Noah, your eldest brother, loomed large in your mind. He had been the glue that held their family together, his laughter and warmth filling every room he entered. But in 2020, a tragic accident had taken him from them, leaving a gaping hole that time could never fully heal. Rowan had been especially close to Noah, and you knew that today, more than ever, he would be feeling that absence acutely.

Yet, this wedding was different. Your older brother Rowan, who had been with his girlfriend Rosemary for as long as you could remember, had finally proposed. Rowan and Rosemary’s relationship had weathered many storms, and their love had only grown stronger. It was a day of joy and celebration, something you couldn’t deny them, despite your own reservations.

You stood in front of the mirror in your hotel room, your hands trembling slightly as you tried to zip up your dress. The gown was a stunning mix of red and black satin, elegant and bold, but the zipper seemed to have a mind of its own. You struggled with it for a moment, your thoughts drifting back to all the times Noah had teased you about your dramatic views on love and marriage. He would have laughed at you today, seeing you all dressed up and ready to support Rowan.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from her reverie. “Y/N, are you okay in there?” Jude’s voice, warm and concerned, came through the door.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you called back, though your voice wavered slightly. “Just having a bit of trouble with this zipper.”

Jude entered the room, his presence instantly calming you. He looked impeccable in his tailored suit, every bit the professional athlete who had just come off an incredible performance at the 2024 Men’s Euros. But here, in this moment, he was just Jude, the man who had captured your heart.

“Let me help,” he offered, moving behind you. His fingers brushed lightly against your bare back as he took hold of the zipper, sending a shiver down your spine. He slowly pulled the zipper upwards, your eyes meeting in the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, his voice husky with admiration.

Your breath hitched, a blush creeping up your neck. “Thank you,” you replied softly.

As his fingers lingered on your back, you thought again of Noah. The thought of him brought a pang of sadness that you couldn’t shake.

“Y/N,” Jude’s voice pulled her back to the present. “You okay?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… thinking about Noah. He should be here.”

Jude’s eyes softened with understanding. “I know. He would have loved this.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But you’re here, and that’s what matters to Rowan."

You nodded, drawing strength from Jude’s presence. “You’re right. Thank you.”

He smiled, his eyes filled with love. “Always.”

You turned to face him fully, your hands resting on his chest. “You look pretty good yourself,” you teased, your voice trembling slightly.

Jude grinned, his eyes darkening with desire. “Well, I have to look my best if I’m going to keep up with you.”

You shared a brief, passionate kiss, the intensity of your love wrapping around you. When you finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, you felt a thrill of excitement. Despite the sadness, despite your doubts, this day held a promise of happiness and love.

“We should get downstairs,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Jude stole one more quick kiss. “Yeah, we should,” he agreed, but his eyes told her he was in no rush. You steal one last kiss, before Jude gestures an arm for you to take and you slowly make their way down the stairs.

You and Jude arrived at the wedding reception, a beautifully decorated hall filled with flowers and twinkling lights. The soft murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses created a warm, celebratory atmosphere. You found a quiet corner near the entrance, waiting for the rest of your family to arrive.

You fidgeted with the strap of your bra, trying to adjust it discreetly. Jude noticed your discomfort and stepped in front of you, shielding you from view.

"Need some help?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

"Just trying to fix this strap," you whispered back, your fingers fumbling with the fabric.

Jude placed his hands gently on your shoulders, his body acting as a shield while you adjusted your strap. He kept glancing down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, noticing his intense gaze.

Jude's lips curled into a small smile. "No, nothing's wrong. It's just... you look really hot right now."

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. "Thanks," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jude's hand slid from your shoulder to your waist, pulling you closer. "Seriously, you’re making it very hard to focus on anything else," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. His other hand rested briefly on your ass, giving a gentle squeeze before moving away as he heard footsteps approaching.

Your heart raced, the heat between you two intensifying. "Who says you have to?" You whispered back, your fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him even closer.

Jude's eyes darkened, his other hand drifting down to your hip, fingers lightly grazing the fabric of your dress. His lips found your neck, planting soft, teasing kisses along your skin. Your eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping your lips. His touch was intoxicating, and for a moment, you were lost in your own world.

"You're driving me crazy," Jude whispered against your skin, his voice husky.

Your breath hitched as his hand trailed up your back, lingering at the nape of your neck. "Good," she managed to say, your voice shaking with desire.

Jude pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mix of lust and affection. "If we weren't at your brother's wedding..."

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest. "I know."

Your moment was intense, the world around you fading as you both focused solely on each other. Jude's thumb brushed against your jawline, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Before you could get further lost in each other, the sound of approaching footsteps and voices broke their intimate bubble. You reluctantly pulled apart, your connection still palpable, and turned to face the incoming relatives.

As you and Jude were still adjusting from your intimate moment, Aunt Karen approached with her warm smile, her eyes flickering with a hint of curiosity. "Y/N, darling! It’s so good to see you!" she exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. Then she turned to Jude, her eyes twinkling with familiarity. "And Jude, always a pleasure. How’s everything going?"

Jude smiled, his gaze locking onto yours, a silent message passing between you two. "Good to see you, Aunt Karen," he replied smoothly, but there was a heat in his eyes that made Your breath catch.

You gave a distracted smile, your attention drifting back to the way Jude’s tuxedo fit him perfectly, accentuating the strong lines of his body. Your heart skipped a beat, the memory of their earlier closeness still tingling on your skin. You could feel the warmth of his touch lingering, and despite the ongoing conversation, all you could think about was how impossibly handsome he looked tonight.

Your Grandma appeared next, her eyes sharp yet affectionate as she took in the sight of you two. "Well, if it isn’t my favorite couple," she said with a teasing lilt in her voice, her gaze lingering on the space between you. "I must say, Jude, you’re looking dashing tonight."

Jude's smile widened, but his hand subtly brushed against You, sending a thrill up her spine. "Thank you. It’s great to see you," he responded, though his attention never fully left you.

Your gaze lingered on Jude, your thoughts clouded with admiration and something deeper, something that made your heart race. Your Grandma’s words barely registered as she continued, “And how was the Euro final? We were all glued to the TV, cheering for you!”

Your Uncle Michael joined the conversation, his face lit up with excitement. "We were screaming the house down! Me and the lads from the pub couldn’t believe it when you scored that winning goal. Everyone was talking about it!”

You shifted uncomfortably. The praise directed at Jude felt overwhelming, especially as your own achievements were being overshadowed. They each forgot the Women’s World Cup again, with the conversation seemingly revolved solely around Jude’s Euro final. You bit your lip, focusing on Jude’s sleek, tailored tux instead of voicing your frustration, but the intensity of your feelings were hard to ignore.

Another relative, Cousin Lisa, chimed in enthusiastically, “Honestly, Jude, you were phenomenal. The whole neighborhood was talking about it. I think they’re still raving about it!”

Jude’s eyes shifted to you, noticing your distant expression. He could sense your discomfort, the subtle tension between you growing as he decided to address it with a hint of humor. “Well, I don’t know. What do you think, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low and teasing as he glanced at you with a playful smirk.

Uncle Michael raised an eyebrow, puzzled. “What would she know? She’s not the one who made it to the final.”

Jude chuckled, his gaze never leaving you. “Actually, I think Y/N has a pretty good perspective. She didn’t just make it to the final—she won the whole Women’s World Cup,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of pride and admiration.

The room fell silent for a moment, and you felt a surge of pride and attraction. The way Jude acknowledged your achievements made your heart race, adding to the growing warmth between you. You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his with a newfound intensity, the air between you tao crackling with unspoken desire.

"Well, congratulations to both of you," Aunt Karen said, her voice sincere. "You both have so much to be proud of."

You managed a smile, though your attention remained focused on Jude. His presence, the way he spoke up for you, and the genuine admiration in his eyes made your heart swell with affection, and something more—a hunger that you couldn’t quite quell.

As the relatives continued to chat and praise Jude, you found it difficult to pull your gaze away from him. His tuxedo, his confident demeanor, and his unwavering support for you in front of everyone only amplified your attraction to him. It was a reminder of why you were so drawn to him, beyond the accolades and the excitement of the evening.

Amid the chatter, you reached out and took Jude’s hand under the table, your fingers lacing with his. You squeezed it gently, your touch lingering. "Thanks for standing up for me," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Jude’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing against your hand in a slow, deliberate caress. "Anytime," he replied, his voice low and reassuring, filled with a promise of more.

As you continued to mingle, the focus gradually shifted back to the others, but your thoughts were miles away, lost in the way Jude’s touch made you feel. There was a contentment in knowing that despite the overshadowing praise, you had Jude by your side.

As you and Jude settled into your seats in the church, the soft murmur of guests filled the air, blending with the gentle strains of the prelude music. Your attention was immediately drawn to Isabella, your six-year-old niece, who stood near the front with the other bridesmaids. Isabella, or Bella as the family fondly called her, looked absolutely adorable in her tiny ivory dress, a crown of flowers delicately perched atop her bouncy curls.

Your face lit up as she leaned forward, unable to contain her excitement. “Bella, you look like an absolute princess!” You gushed, your eyes twinkling with pride.

Bella smiled brightly, her cheeks flushing with happiness. She gave a little twirl, letting the layers of her dress float around her. “Thank you, Aunty Y/N! Do you really like it?” she asked, her voice full of hope.

“I love it,” You replied warmly, your smile wide and genuine. “You’re the most beautiful bridesmaid here.”

Jude sat beside you, his eyes soft as he watched the exchange. There was something incredibly heartwarming about the way you interacted with Bella—how you made the little girl feel so special and loved. He could see the natural ease with which you connected with your niece, and it stirred something deep within him.

As Bella giggled and skipped off to join the other bridesmaids, your gaze lingered on her, still glowing with affection. You turned back to Jude, your expression full of warmth. “She’s such a sweetheart, isn’t she?” You said, your voice tinged with pride.

Jude nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. “She really is,” he agreed, but his mind was elsewhere.

Watching you with Bella made Jude think about your future together. He could so clearly imagine you as a mother, holding your own children with the same tenderness you showed Bella. The thought filled him with a deep sense of warmth and anticipation, a quiet longing that he kept to himself. He knew how much you cared for your niece, but he also knew that the idea of starting a family someday made you nervous. It was something you hadn’t really discussed, and Jude didn’t want to push it, especially not now.

Instead, he simply admired you, letting the image of your possible future settle in his heart. You had a way of making people feel cherished, and he knew you would be an incredible mother someday—but that was a conversation for another time.

You noticed the thoughtful look on Jude’s face and gave him a gentle nudge. “What are you thinking about?” You asked, you tone light and curious.

Jude shook off his thoughts, offering her a soft smile. “Just how good you are with Bella,” he said, keeping his voice casual.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you laughed softly. “She’s been my little Bella since the day she was born,” you replied, your voice filled with affection.

Jude squeezed your hand gently, his smile lingering as you turned your attention back to the front of the church, where the ceremony was about to begin. He didn’t need to say anything more. For now, he was content to simply be by your side, holding onto the quiet knowledge of what he hoped your future would hold—dreaming of a day when you would be ready to take that next step together.

The ceremony soon began, and You watched as your sister Eden took her place as a bridesmaid, while your brother Elliot stood proudly as Rowan’s best man. The anticipation grew as everyone waited for the bride.

As the music swelled, the doors at the end of the aisle opened, and Rosemary appeared, radiant in her wedding gown. You felt a lump form in your throat as you saw Rowan at the altar, his eyes brimming with tears as he watched his bride walk towards him. The emotion in the room was palpable, and you felt yourself getting choked up.

You couldn’t contain your excitement, smiling and gushing as you watched your brother. You had never seen Rowan so happy, and the joy in his eyes was contagious. Although you wished Noah could be there to witness this moment, your heart swelled with happiness for Rowan.

Little Isabella, the flower girl, walked ahead of Rosemary, carrying a basket of petals. Every few steps, she would delicately sprinkle the flowers along the aisle, her concentration adorable. You couldn’t help but admire Isabella’s dedication to her role, smiling each time the little girl looked up with pride.

Jude noticed the way your eyes lit up, how you seemed to be the embodiment of joy and love in that moment. He was completely besotted with you, watching you as you took in every detail of the ceremony. He knew, without a doubt, that you were the one he wanted to spend his life with.

The officiant began the ceremony, and soon it was time for Rowan and Rosemary to exchange vows. Rosemary took a deep breath and smiled at Rowan.

“Rowan, from the moment Noah introduced us, I knew you were special. I promise to always laugh at your jokes, even the terrible ones. I vow to support you in your dreams and to love you fiercely, no matter what.”

Rowan chuckled, wiping away a tear. “Rosemary, I promise to always let you have the last slice of pizza. I vow to support your dreams and to love you through every adventure, every challenge, and every joy.”

Jude felt his throat tighten, his emotions mirroring the couple’s. As Rowan and Rosemary exchanged their vows, he couldn’t help but imagine standing up there with you one day, saying those same words, making those same promises. The thought made his heart swell with a mixture of hope and longing.

The mention of Noah made your tears spill over, and you rested your head on Jude’s shoulder, finding comfort in his presence. Jude’s eyes were misty too, and he wiped away a tear discreetly, his emotions matching yours. He tightened his grip on you, feeling a surge of protectiveness and love.

As Rowan and Rosemary shared their first kiss as a married couple, the guests erupted into applause. You joined in, your heart full despite the bittersweet memories. You looked up at Jude, who smiled down at you with so much love and understanding that it made you feel incredibly grateful to have him by yiur side.

“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Jude whispered, his voice slightly choked with emotion.

You nodded, wiping your tears. “Yeah, it really was.”

You sat there for a moment, soaking in the love and joy that filled the room. Jude’s thoughts wandered to the future, to the possibility of a life with you, filled with moments like this. He couldn’t help but dream of standing at an altar, looking into your eyes, and making vows of his own.

Later that evening, the reception is in full swing. The dance floor is alive with energy, guests mingling and celebrating Rowan and Rosemary’s union. The lights are dimmed, casting a warm, intimate glow over the scene.

You find yourself in the middle of the dance floor, smiling as Jude lifts little Isabella onto his shoulders. Her giggles are infectious as she waves her arms, trying to keep up with the rhythm. You dance alongside your sister Eden, the two of you moving in sync, laughing and twirling.

Isabella’s laughter rings out, her tiny hands clapping in delight. "More, more!" she shouts, and Jude obliges, spinning around and making her squeal with joy. Your heart swells with love as you watch Jude interact with your family. He fits in so perfectly, and it makes you think about what the future might hold for both of you.

You glance around the room, taking in the sight of your loved ones celebrating together. Rowan and Rosemary are glowing with happiness, sharing a private moment at their table. Your parents are dancing nearby, looking as in love as ever. The warmth and joy of the occasion fill you with a sense of peace. God, Noah would've loved this.

The DJ’s voice echoes through the speakers, “Can all couples please make their way to the floor for a slow dance?”

Isabella is gently lifted off Jude’s shoulders and handed over to Eden, who continues to twirl and dance with her. Jude turns to you, extending his hand with a playful bow. "May I have this dance?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with affection.

You giggle and take his hand, allowing him to lead you to the center of the floor. The music slows, and the soft, romantic melody fills the room. Jude’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you close. You wrap your arms around his neck, and together you sway gently to the rhythm.

As you move together, everything else seems to fade away. The chatter of the guests, the clinking of glasses, and even the music itself become a distant hum. It’s as if time has stopped, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

You look up at Jude, taking in his appearance. He’s wearing a tailored black tuxedo that fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and athletic build. His dark hair is styled neatly, and his deep brown eyes are filled with love and adoration as he gazes down at you. The way the dim light catches his features makes him look even more handsome, if that’s possible.

Jude’s forehead rests against yours, his eyes locking onto yours with a gaze that speaks volumes. His hands move gently up and down your back, sending shivers down your spine. You feel so safe, so cherished in his embrace.

“You know,” Jude murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “I could get used to this. Dancing with you, being with you. Forever.”

Your heart flutters at his words, your breath catching in your throat. You smile up at him, your eyes misty with emotion. “Me too,” you reply softly. “Me too.”

You lose yourself in his eyes, feeling the world around you blur into insignificance. His touch is gentle yet firm, grounding you in the moment. The way he looks at you makes you feel like the only person in the room, and you know without a doubt that this is where you’re meant to be.

The music envelops you both, the melody weaving a cocoon of intimacy around you. You rest your head on Jude’s shoulder, closing your eyes and savoring the feeling of being held by him. His scent, a mix of cologne and something uniquely him, fills your senses, making you feel even closer to him.

You’re wearing a stunning dress that’s a mix of red and black, the fabric clinging to your curves in all the right places. The intricate lace details add an air of elegance, while the deep red color highlights your features, making your eyes sparkle. Your hair is styled in loose waves, cascading down your back, and your makeup is done to perfection, highlighting your natural beauty.

As the song progresses, you feel Jude’s hand slip down to rest on the small of your back, his fingers tracing light patterns that send a thrill through you. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong, and it matches the rhythm of your own.

You tilt your head up slightly, your lips brushing against his ear. “I love you" you whisper, the words coming straight from your heart.

Jude tightens his hold on you, his lips grazing your temple. “Me too, your my numero uno.” he replies, his voice filled with emotion.

The world around you ceases to exist as you sway together, completely lost in each other. You feel a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of peace and happiness you’ve never known before. Being with Jude feels like home.

As the song comes to an end, Jude leans down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It’s a promise, a silent vow of the future you both dream of. When you pull apart, the room comes back into focus, but the magic of the moment lingers.

You glance over to see Rowan and Rosemary sharing a similar moment, their love shining brightly. Your parents are still dancing, your mom resting her head on your dad’s shoulder with a contented smile. Even little Isabella is now nestled in Eden’s arms, looking sleepy but happy.

You feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the love and support surrounding you. And as you look back at Jude, you see the same emotion mirrored in his eyes. He gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering on your cheek.

“Ready for another dance?” he asks, his smile soft and inviting.

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Always,” you say, your voice filled with love.

The next song begins, and you lose yourself in Jude’s embrace once more. As you move together, you notice Jude’s expression shifts slightly, a familiar look of deep contemplation crossing his face.

“What is it?” you ask softly, curiosity piqued.

Jude looks slightly startled. “What do you mean?”

“You did that face earlier,” you insist. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

Jude hesitates, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Jude, tell me!” you press, your eyes searching his.

He sighs softly, pulling you a little closer. “It’s just... when you were with Bella earlier, I couldn’t help but imagine what you’d be like with our kids. And when you were looking at Rosemary during the ceremony, all I could think about was how beautiful you’ll be when we get married.”

You’re taken aback by his honesty, your heart skipping a beat. “Jude...”

He quickly continues, sensing your apprehension. “I know, not now. But I also know that I want it with you. Whenever that is.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and love there. It’s a lot to take in, but there’s a comforting certainty in his words. He isn’t pushing, just sharing his dreams, dreams that now feel a little less frightening and a lot more wonderful.

“I... I want that too,” you admit softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Someday.”

Jude smiles, a look of pure adoration on his face. “Then someday it is,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you again, sealing the promise with a tender touch.

As the music plays on and you continue to dance, the future seems a little clearer, a little brighter. And with Jude by your side, you know that whatever comes, you’ll face it together.

[evangelical04]

A Single Daffodil || 3

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 11.9K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut, body image issues

Author's Note: is this being posted over a week late? yes but I'm in the middle of exams at the moment eek! on the bright side, I'll be able to work on this more often after this week since most of my exams will be done! and then I have about a month until my job starts so I'm planning to grind!! all that aside, we get to see them get married here, so exciting!! yoongi seems to be having second thoughts hmmm interesting. let me know what you guys think! i love to hear your feedback <33

Taglist:

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandylovejk @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @honeyypages @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @yoongibaybee

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You nervously smoothed out the skirt of your dress in an effort to calm your nerves but found little success. The day of the rehearsal had come and in less than twenty-four hours, you were to be married. Your hands shook as you grasped the door handle of the entrance to the banquet hall. Hoseok laid a comforting hand on your shoulder before shooting you a reassuring smile. He had decided to attend the rehearsal at your insistence, citing seeing Joohee again as the reason, though you knew he could tell how worried you were. 

Mustering a small smile in response, you pushed open the door to see the ceremony space set up with nauseatingly bright flowers and ornate, crystal-laden light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The chairs were decorated in satin sashes with gold embroidery and the altar was woven around with glittering flowers. Your mother was standing at the edge of the aisle, speaking to the catering service employee. She was dressed impeccably as always, her commanding presence demanding that you look at and respect her. Your father was sitting in one of the satin chairs, scrolling dully on his phone. Your mother noticed you standing by the door and quickly beckoned you over. 

As you approached, Hoseok following close behind, you noticed something at the end of the room. Standing at the end of the aisle was Yoongi, clad in the normal black suit you’d seen him in thus far, with his tie loosened and hair ruffled. He was speaking to his mother, who was adjusting his blazer, and his father, who stood off to the side, distantly nodding along. He had yet to notice your arrival, but you were fully enraptured by him. This was what you had been dreaming of since you’d met Yoongi outside that party so long ago, walking down the aisle to see him at the other end, promising your lives to each other in an act of fierce and nurtured love. But that wasn’t what was happening. Hoseok’s grip on your shoulder grounded you as you approached your mother. You could feel his arm laying across your shoulder blades and hanging loosely, but comfortingly, in an effort to brace you for your mother. 

“Nice to see you finally made it. You must’ve been in a rush if you only had time to choose that outfit,” your mother stated, not bothering to properly greet you or acknowledge Hoseok. She knew who he was and she didn’t approve of your close relationship with him, but she knew that she couldn’t say anything out loud lest her image be tainted, which is what you were banking on. 

Feeling Hoseok’s grip tighten at your mother’s careless words, you tried to subtly placate him, “Hello, mother. I’m sorry I’m late. Will we be starting soon?” Your mother only nodded curtly before turning away to speak to more of the venue employees. You let out a heavy breath before sitting down at one of the nearby chairs, not making an effort to try and greet your father. It’s not like he’d acknowledge you anyway. 

“God damn, you need therapy,” Hoseok whistled lowly. 

You let out a tired laugh, pulling him down to sit next to you, “Yeah, but we knew that already. Are you sure you’re up to face these guys? It can be a lot.”

Hoseok nodded, smiling kindly at you, before squeezing the hand you pulled him down with, “Of course, I am. I said I was here for you and I meant it.”

You grinned, having missed his fervent support and soothing touch, “Thanks, Hobi. You’re the best.” Hoseok only gave you another squeeze in response. 

“Wow, I’m offended,” came a voice from behind you, “I thought I was the best.”

You and Hoseok turned to find Joohee in a simple dress, hands resting on her hips. Smiling up at her, you nodded, “You know you’re in a league of your own. Hobi can’t even compare.” 

Hoseok scoffed incredulously, “You’re so fickle, how could you call yourself my friend.”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you leaned back in your chair with Joohee joining, sitting on your other side. Your eyes drifted back to Yoongi, and you startled, finding him looking right back at you. He casually shifted his gaze back to his mother, who was still speaking to him, not sparing you another glance. 

“So, that’s him?”

You turned towards Hoseok, whose gaze was pointed at Yoongi’s form. You nodded, “Yeah, that’s him. My…fiance.”

Hoseok studied your sullen form for a moment before grabbing your shoulders and giving you a friendly squeeze, “At least he’s hot!”

Joohee and you laughed at his antics before hearing the large, wooden doors to the entrance open once more. A group of handsome men entered, about four, only one of whom you recognized as Joohee’s older brother. The group approached, laughing together while walking towards Yoongi. Joohee stood, shouting Seokjin’s name, calling him over to your small group. Kim Seokjin smiled at the sight of his sister before breaking off from the group, one of the men following after, while the others continued to Yoongi. 

“Hey, Joo, how’s it going,” Seokjin smiled easily, ruffling his sister’s hair. She swatted at him before answering, “Good, but mom’s been on my case lately to come home.”

You looked on in envy, wishing you had a similar, friendly relationship with your own brother. Kyungsoo was nice enough to you, when he cared to acknowledge you. He had been primed by your parents to take over their company since he was young, but they’d made sure that the two of you had stayed competitive academically. Even though you were younger, you tended to do better in your studies, something your parents never let Kyungsoo forget. As a result, he’d grown extremely distant with you and you rarely spoke now. Actually, you weren’t even sure if he was coming to the wedding. 

“There’s the bride-to-be! How are you feeling,” Seokjin’s voice boomed, snapping you out of your daze. 

You smiled politely at him, “Hi, Jin oppa, it’s nice to see you. I’m feeling alright, as well as I can.”

Seokjin nodded sympathetically, “I know Yoongi hasn’t been the best, but give him some time to adjust. If he’s still an ass after that, let me know and I’ll beat him up.”

You laughed as he puffed out his chest and raised an arm to display his muscles. Joohee rolled her eyes before punching him lightly in his side, “Oppa, no one wants to see that. Here, let me introduce you to Hobi.”

Hoseok stood to greet the older man, no longer obstructing your view of the other man who had followed Seokjin out of the group earlier. He was quite tall, though not as tall as Seokjin, and well built, with tattoos flowing down his hands, curling around the small wrinkles of his fingers. His shaggy black hair framed a boyish face that wore a polite smile. Why did he seem so familiar?

“Jeon Jeongguk,” you blurted out, almost stumbling to stand and confirm your suspicions. He turned to face you, with you now realizing that it was, in fact, the same streamer you’d been following for the past few years. You hadn’t recognized him immediately without his usual garb of sweatshirts, headphones, and piercings littering his face. 

“Hi, you’re Seo Y/N, I assume,” he smiled, eyes crinkling. Feeling slightly starstruck, you nodded dumbly. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, Kook, she’s a big fan of yours. She watches your streams all the time,” Joohee interjected. Your gaze shot towards her, sending her a silent message. 

You know him? And you didn’t tell me? 

Joohee only shrugged sheepishly, Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind.

You gritted your teeth, I’m so interrogating you later.

Jeongguk’s voice called you back to him, “Really? That’s cool, I always love meeting fans.”

Feeling your cheeks redden, you stumbled slightly over your words, “Yeah! I love all your videos, you got me into a couple of new games I didn’t think I’d ever enjoy,” you finished, laughing awkwardly. 

Jeongguk took it in stride, bashfully scratching the back of his head, “Thanks, I appreciate that. So you’re into a lot of games, yourself?”

Seeing an opportunity, you relaxed, feeling yourself brighten at the chance to talk about your favorite subject, “Yeah! I actually work for O.K. Gaming in their planning team. I’m not really into MMOs, but I like a lot of RPGs and platformers, my favorite right now is actually this indie one from the U.S. that’s been out for a couple of years, Celeste, it got put on the switch but I played it on my PC. But I’ve been branching out, thanks to you! Watching you play all the old Zelda games made me want to get into it too, but I ended up starting with Breath of the Wild because it looked so pretty, the graphics are just amazing! So are the mechanics, I was really impressed with how-”

“Woah, there,” you heard Hoseok, laying a hand on the small of your back, “You’re gonna scare him away.”

You laughed awkwardly, noticing the shocked expression that painted Jeongguk’s face, “Sorry, I tend to get over-excited when it comes to that stuff.”

Jeongguk seemed to snap back into the conversation, shaking his head wildly with a large grin, “No, that’s great! It’s been a while since I’ve been able to geek out with someone. We should totally hang out, what’s your number?”

You felt yourself slip back into a comfortable smile before taking Jeongguk’s phone to put your number in while he excitedly mentioned the games he was thinking of streaming next. Handing his phone back, he glanced at it before looking back up at you, “Hey, is it okay for me to call you noona? I do the same with Joohee noona.”

Slightly surprised at his forwardness, you nodded, “Yeah, that’d be nice. I don’t think I’ll call you Kook though.”

He laughed brightly, “We’ll work our way up to that.”

One of the other groomsmen called both Seokjin and Jeongguk back to the altar, leaving you to bask in the feeling of having met one of your favorite content creators and becoming friends with him, ignoring Hoseok’s quiet teasing at your geeking out. The bliss didn’t last long though as you heard your mother clap her hands and ask everyone to sit near the front. Hoseok’s hand slipped into your own, giving it a gentle squeeze, along with an encouraging smile, before letting you and Joohee join the others at the front. You’d wished that you could put Hoseok in your wedding party, but you knew your mother would never allow it. You were grateful already that he’d come to the rehearsal despite not being able to do anything the entire time. 

You and Joohee took your seats at the front, sitting next to some other young women you recognized from your mother’s galas, likely the rest of your bridesmaids. Your mother had been kind enough to let you choose Joohee as your maid of honor, but you knew she’d only allowed it because Joohee’s family was high up enough according to her standards. 

Your mother positioned herself at the altar, addressing everyone with a confident tone, “Now that everyone’s present, I’ll let Mrs. Shin go through the itinerary for today.” Your mother then stepped aside, joining your father on your family’s side of the aisle.

A small, stout woman with her hair in a tight bun and a string of pearls adorning her neck took the stand, “Hello, I’m Shin Miyeon, the wedding planner for this event. For today, we’ll start with a rehearsal of the entrances and ceremony, which will be followed by the entrances for the reception and a run-through of the timings for the dances tomorrow. We’ll end with a joint dinner, and then we’ll be done. Let’s get started.”

Mrs. Shin immediately started directing people, the bridal party being the first, and pairing them up by height to walk together. Joohee was quickly whisked away, leaving you shaking nervously, as this was all beginning to feel a bit too real. The thought was suddenly occurring to you that you really were going to be marrying Yoongi and he absolutely did not want it to happen. Sinking further into your seat, you sent an encouraging, but wavering, smile to Joohee who was paired with her brother due to their similar heights. Your eyes drifted towards Yoongi, who was sitting calmly on the other side of the aisle, swiping through his phone with an unimpressed expression. How could he be so nonchalant about all this?

“Mr. Min, Ms. Seo, please join me at the entrance,” Mrs. Shin’s voice called out, making you raise your head in her direction. You felt your heart rate speed up and your hands clench, you weren’t ready for this. Your vision almost seemed to cloud as it felt like a hand was closing in around your throat, and your breath started to stutter. You absolutely were not ready for this. Your life was about to change, arguably for the worse, and you had to spend it with someone who wouldn’t even acknowledge you. You could distantly hear Mrs. Shin calling your name once more but it felt like you couldn’t move, your body didn’t feel like your own. Gaze lowering to the ground, it seemed like spots were taking over your vision. Your breath continued to quicken and you could feel yourself beginning to fully lose control of your breathing.

This can’t be happening.

You needed to get ahold of yourself, there were people all around you, not to mention your mother and Yoongi. But no matter how hard you tried to ground yourself, the control you had over your body kept slipping away, and it only caused you to freak out further. A pair of smart, black dress shoes came into your view and you lifted your head to see Yoongi looking down at you with a raised eyebrow through your blurry vision. 

“Are you coming?”

You forced yourself to hold your breath, letting it out slowly after counting for a few seconds, before nodding and standing on wobbly legs. You didn’t have time to break down, you had a job to do. 

Following Yoongi and Mrs. Shin to the entrance doors, you pointedly avoided eye contact with your mother while sending shaky smiles to Joohee and Hoseok. You had to get a grip. 

“Alright, let’s go through the order we’ll be going down the aisle. Can the rest of the wedding party please come down here?”

You were squished up against the door with Yoongi at your side as the wedding party took their places to arrive at the altar before you. Setting your eyes straightforward, you resisted any temptation to glance at Yoongi to see his expression. You couldn’t face him after he’d witnessed you almost experience a full-on panic attack. Focusing in on Mrs. Shin’s firm tone was an easy distraction, as you watched her guide your wedding party down the aisle and to the altar. Slowly but surely, she made her way to you and your groom, with Yoongi being directed first.

“You’ll walk before Ms. Seo and take your place next to Mr. Kim at the stand,” Mrs. Shin said, guiding Yoongi toward the other end of the room. You watched as he gracefully strode down the aisle, casually stopping next to Seokjin and turning to face your direction. The action made you pause, almost breathlessly, as your gaze connected. However, his eyes didn’t last long on your form, as they slid over to Seokjin and Yoongi began conversing with him. 

You couldn’t help the disappointed feeling in your chest, despite knowing full well you had no right to suffer it. Yoongi wasn’t yours, he would never be, something he had made quite clear in your limited interactions. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a tugging in your stomach, a pain in your forefinger, at his blatant dismissal of you. Biting your lip, you cursed inwardly, now was not the time to fall even deeper for your husband-to-be. 

“Ms. Seo, please follow me. You can hold this in place of your bouquet,” Mrs. Shin said, handing you a nondescript water bottle. A quick glance at Hoseok’s form turned to face you had you confirming that he was making fun of you as you had suspected. You brushed off his giggles and stepped in what you hoped was an elegant manner after Mrs. Shin, following her down the aisle. 

You deliberately avoided looking at Yoongi’s face, knowing that he wouldn’t be watching you. Did you want him to? 

Yes.

You almost scoffed. What a ridiculous notion. What you were in need of was a good, old reality check, not playing into the fantasy of marrying Yoongi for love. As you passed Hoseok, he whistled wolfishly, earning a disapproving frown from your mother. It was exactly what you needed though, pulling a laugh out of you before discreetly flipping him off from behind the water bottle. You felt the tension leave your body at Hoseok’s familiar antics, finally feeling relaxed for the first time that night. Maybe you could do this, after all.

Reaching the altar, Mrs. Shin proceeded to give minor notes to the rest of your wedding party as you stood awkwardly next to Yoongi. You could hear his soft breaths as he waited patiently for Mrs. Shin to address you both, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at or try to start a conversation with him. Yoongi seemed to be doing the same, keeping his eyes forward and occasionally glancing at his watch. 

You felt lonely. You were standing next to the person who was going to be your partner for the rest of your life and yet, you felt a deep and painful distance from him. You could feel his warmth, hear him shuffling beside you, but you deliberately shied away from brushing elbows to solidify the separation between you. Yoongi seemed so calm and indifferent, it made you feel a troubling combination of envy and anger. 

Why couldn’t you be as blase as him about this? Why was he so apathetic in the first place? Didn’t he care about you at all? Was he judging you for not being aloof yourself? Why didn’t he want to engage with you at all?

It hurt, to say the least, but the rational part of you annoyingly came to his defense. Realistically, you knew he had no obligation to try and converse with, or even care about, you. So why were you still so hurt?

“Mr. Min, Ms. Seo, please join me at the doors. We’ll run through it again.”

Mrs. Shin’s voice put a halt to your spiraling thoughts, making you register Yoongi turning around beside you. Following suit, you joined behind him, taking a glance at your watch. Only about thirty or so minutes had passed.

You sighed, this was really going to be a test of your endurance. 

The cushioned chair felt welcoming, even though your company did not evoke the same feeling. Your mother was sitting across from you and her cold stare made you shrivel into your seat. Hoseok was placed on the far end of the table with Joohee, making them achingly far from you. Yoongi was next to you in a performance pretending this was a willing marriage. Not that the restaurant staff would care. 

You scowled internally, lamenting the fact that you couldn’t even eat dinner comfortably. Your mother was sending you cursory glances while talking to Yoongi’s mother, and your dad was talking business with Yoongi’s father, and with Yoongi conversing with Seokjin, you were painfully lonely. You resorted to quietly playing with the napkin in your lap and staring at your empty plate and wine glass in front of you, desperately wishing you could drink to make the dinner easier but you knew your mother wouldn’t approve. 

“Y/N noona?”

You looked up, making eye contact with Jeongguk, who was sitting next to you, previously talking to another groomsman with stunning dimples next to him. 

“Oh, yes,” you responded, straightening in your chair. 

“I wanted to talk to you some more about the games you mentioned earlier since we didn’t get to finish,” he responded, a bright, bunny smile decorating his face. 

You felt yourself smile warmly in response automatically, his joy and bubbliness seemed to be contagious, “Yeah, I’d love to. What would you like to know?”

The conversation with Jeongguk proved to be your oasis in the desert of the stale and stiff conversations happening around you, especially between your parents. His encouraging smile put you at ease and made the tension flow out from your fingers. You were grateful that he was so engaging, keeping you distracted from the shifting from the aloof and dominating presence you felt beside you. 

Yoongi had remained relatively quiet throughout the whole evening, only having spoken to you when you were on the verge of breaking down. He spoke quietly to his friends, not bothering to introduce you to them, and had barely looked in your direction. Part of you couldn’t deny it upsetting you, but you constantly reminded yourself that this was to be expected. 

The both of you had made no commitment to each other outside of appearing as a couple when it mattered, he had no obligation to be friendly towards you. It felt like your mind was going in circles continually trying to keep your emotions in check and avoid crossing the boundaries Yoongi had so clearly laid out. 

The thought entered your mind once again, Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? 

It certainly felt that way. 

You felt Yoongi shift beside you once again, making you flinch. Thankfully, Jeongguk didn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in describing his most recent gaming obsession with you. You felt hyper-aware of Yoongi’s presence, whether he was right beside you or at the other end of the room. It bothered you how much he affected you, but you almost enjoyed it at the same time.

There was something pleasant about the feeling of falling in love with someone, regardless of whether it was a tragic infatuation or not. The rush of your heartbeat whenever you caught a glimpse of him, the way your breath hitched when you accidentally brushed shoulders, the way your fingers itched to grasp his hand, it all felt so romantic in a way. 

Where it all came crashing down was the reality that Yoongi didn’t feel a semblance of the same way. Your spiked heartbeat was met with his indifferent exterior, your hitched breath with his calm and even exhales, and your twitching fingers with his clenched fist. It was detrimental, damaging even, and it was taking a toll on, not only your emotional wellbeing but your self-confidence as well. You were so swiftly rejected by him that it was a blow to your self-esteem. You hadn’t felt particularly great about yourself prior to his crushing dismissal, but you had certainly been in a downward spiral since then. 

Too often now you were scrutinizing your appearance in the mirror, choosing baggier clothing while hating the silhouette, and catching yourself while speaking. It wasn’t logical or warranted, but that didn’t stop your overactive mind from whispering your insecurities quietly every day. Maybe Hoseok had a point. You really needed to look into therapy.

“Noona?”

“Oh, sorry, I was just zoning out,” you blinked, tuning back into Jeongguk’s honey-sweet voice. 

He smiled sympathetically, something you seemed to be on the receiving end of a lot lately, “That’s okay. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m alright,” you nodded, not wanting to divulge the cacophony of thoughts swimming around in your head, “Please, continue with what you were saying.”

Jeongguk’s energizing smile made a reappearance, making you relax further into your chair. You let his dulcet voice lull you into a comfortable conversation for the rest of the dinner, trying not to react whenever you felt movement beside you. 

“Thank you all for coming, we appreciate your being here. We’ll be meeting at the venue tomorrow at nine, so please be sure to be on time,” your mother concluded, your group standing outside the restaurant. With that, the crowd slowly dispersed, your parents speaking to Yoongi’s at their cars and the bridal parties filing out into respective vehicles as well. You leaned back into Hoseok’s firm torso, letting his arm encircle your waist and his chin rest on your shoulder. 

You didn’t often let people touch you, but Hoseok was a rare exception, having broken your barriers down in college, and served as a comforting touch whenever you needed it. It evolved into more casual affection, a similar version being displayed between Hoseok and Joohee, and you accepted it as just part of his personality. You knew how it looked to people around you but you simply didn’t care, Hoseok was a good friend, and you’d be damned if you were going to refuse the little human contact you allowed. 

Joohee was talking animatedly to Hoseok about something or other, you weren’t really paying attention. Hoseok’s warmth soothed you, making your eyelids fall in the exhaustion from the day’s events. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught your mother frowning at you, but you paid no mind. For the first time since the announcement, you wondered if she’d finally leave you to your own devices now that you were doing the ultimate show of subservience to her. 

Kim Seokjin’s booming voice startled you from Hoseok’s grasp, making him switch to leaning against your car door. You spotted Seokjin’s tall figure making his way over to you, the other groomsmen following behind. Yoongi was also tailing Seokjin, making you stand up straighter and try to steel your expression. 

“Joo, Y/N, we’re gonna go for some drinks to celebrate Yoongi’s bachelordom ending, want to join? You’re welcome too, of course, Hobi,” Seokjin smiled kindly. You almost flinched at the mention of Yoongi’s bachelor lifestyle ending, apparently, he hadn’t told his friends about the rules he’d set. 

Joohee’s face hardened towards Yoongi, apparently realizing the same thing you did, before turning sickeningly sweet towards her brother, “No thanks, oppa. We’re gonna head back to Y/N’s.”

“Oh, c’mon, noona,” Jeongguk looked at you imploringly, eyes shining, “It’ll be fun! We can hang out more!”

You smiled apologetically as you felt Hoseok wrap a protective arm around you, noting that he was probably on the same page as Joohee, “Sorry Jeongguk, maybe next time.”

Jeongguk shrugged, turning to the other groomsmen, the dimpled man with tan skin and a model-esque-looking man with dark eyebrows and lighter hair. Seokjin furrowed his eyebrow slightly, mouth upturning into a small frown, “Well, okay, but I’ll be taking you out to celebrate at some point, Y/N. Mark the date!”

You laughed quietly, waving him off with an acquiescing nod. The men filed back towards their respective cars, heading to bars or someone’s house, you assumed. You began turning further into Hoseok to face your car before realizing that Yoongi was still standing there. 

Pausing, you looked at him questioningly, feeling Hoseok’s grip tighten. Yoongi’s dark eyes narrowed at your intertwined forms. 

“Do you need something, Yoongi-ssi,” Joohee asked in a clipped tone. You almost cringed at the blatant contempt. 

“No,” Yoongi responded quietly, “I don’t. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He nodded politely in your direction before turning to walk back to his car, pausing for a last glance at your bemused face. 

“What was that,” Joohee scoffed, flipping off Yoongi’s silhouette. 

You shrugged, not knowing what to make of it either, “C’mon, let’s just go home. I need to get drunk.”

Joohee entered your car and you were just about to follow before Hoseok pulled you back, making you almost stop in your tracks.

“Y/N,” he sighed, looking into your eyes, “Are you really okay?”

You pulled your hand out of his, tired of being treated in such a fragile manner, “Yes, I’m fine. As good as I can be. I just want to go home.” You felt bad for snapping, but you were irritable after a long day and you wanted to get out of your dress and wipe off your makeup. You turned back towards the car before Hoseok spoke again.

“I know,” Hoseok said softly, “But there’s something off about him. I can’t place it. It was the way he looked at you, especially when I was hugging you.”

You twisted your head in his direction quickly, “Stop. Seriously, Hoseok, I really don’t need to be thinking about that. The last thing I need for this stupid infatuation is to think that there’s something there when there isn’t. I don’t need you putting those kinds of thoughts into my brain.”

Hoseok recoiled before scratching the back of his head and shooting you an apologetic glance, “You’re right, sorry. Let’s just go home, yeah?”

You both entered the car, Joohee leaning forward from the backseat to glance at the both of you.

“Is everything cool with you guys,” she questioned, likely having witnessed the scene outside the car. 

“Yeah, just fine,” you said bluntly, gripping the steering wheel. What were you doing? Hoseok was just expressing concern. You didn’t have a right to get so worked up and take out your anger on him.

Sighing, you let yourself relax into your cushioned car seat, turning towards Hoseok who was in the passenger seat, “Sorry, Hobi. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s totally fine,” Hoseok smiled comfortingly, “Don’t even worry about it. I know how stressed you’ve been.”

“No,” you protested, “That isn’t an excuse. You were just looking out for me.”

Hoseok laughed jovially, “Hey, it’s fine, I promise. If anything, I’m glad to see you letting out some emotion, I was beginning to get worried that you didn’t get angry anymore.”

“Oh, she can get angry, alright,” Joohee mused from the backseat, “You’re just not around to see it anymore.”

You laughed, feeling relief at Hoseok’s easy acceptance of your apology. You started up your car, pulling out into the street. 

“Let’s go get shitfaced in your living room,” Joohee cheered from behind you, Hoseok laughing along loudly. 

A smile formed on your face, making you chuckle at Joohee’s exclamations. You were lucky, luckier than you thought initially. Even with everything going on, you felt your heart fill at your friends’ gracious and kind attitudes toward you. You continued driving to your apartment, feeling a touch more confident about your ability to get through tomorrow relatively unscathed. 

Your dress felt constricting, but not in a way that a seamstress could fix. Despite your unfounded confidence the night before, standing behind the closed doors of the aisle sent a fresh wave of anxiety through your veins. 

How were you going to get through this? Yoongi was waiting on the other side, at the end of the aisle, about to become your partner for life. Except, you weren’t going to be his partner in the same way. 

Initially, Yoongi was supposed to walk down with you, your entourage partnered up like you’d practiced at the beginning of yesterday. But Mrs. Shin didn’t like the visual, making her change it to a more traditional style ceremony. Go figure that she wouldn’t think the sight of you and Yoongi walking together 

A sick nausea curled in your stomach, making you clench the audacious bouquet, letting a few petals fall to the floor. You felt a hand clasp your shoulder, making you turn, seeing Joohee’s concerned frown. 

“Hey, it’ll be okay, I’ll be right there. You can do this,” she squeezed your shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, I can do this,” you repeated, attempting to calm your nerves. A small voice in the back of your mind whispered, wondering if Yoongi had the same nerves. 

The thought almost made you scoff, there was no way. Nothing much in his life was changing other than getting a roommate he had to take to galas. 

You knew that wasn’t a fair sentiment. Yoongi was as negatively affected by this arrangement as you were, he was just taking a more emotionally removed approach. Maybe you should learn from that. 

Mrs. Shin appeared next to you in a flurry, “We’re about to open the doors. Are you ready?”

You nodded stiffly, knowing the answer was that you’d never be ready to marry Min Yoongi. 

Hearing the muffled piano begin to play, signaling the start to your bridal party’s entrance, you released a heavy breath, trying to paint on a passive exterior. Joohee whispered some small last bits of encouragement your way before taking her place in front of you. 

The doors slowly opened, letting your bridesmaids walk down before you. You could feel your hands trembling.

Hidden from the audience’s eyes beside the door, Mrs. Shin gestured at you, mouthing that you were up next. 

Taking a moment to close your eyes, you steeled your nerves and took a step forward. You could do this. It was just a walk, that’s all it was. 

You repeated the mantra in your head as you took more and more steps down the aisle, focusing your gaze on the ornate carvings above the altar. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your mother gesturing for you to smile, and you responded automatically, letting a small smile adorn your mouth. It felt hollow, but that wasn’t what mattered. 

As you approached the altar, your gaze naturally shifted down to Yoongi, who was poised in a statuesque manner. He looked radiant, the black suit fitted perfectly to his chest and tapered at his waist. His charcoal hair was styled, showing his forehead, displaying his clear, smooth skin. His hands were clasped in front of him, your eyes tracing the outlines of his fingers, and his aura exuded confidence. You purposefully kept your gaze away from his face, not wanting to see the expression that he wore. 

Reaching the steps up to the altar, you carefully climbed each one, making sure not to trip over the hem of your dress. You took your place next to Yoongi, feeling him turn to face the officiant. As the officiant began speaking, you felt yourself breathe out slowly, trying to recover from the initial stress. You had the first step done, the rest wouldn’t be so hard. 

Thankfully, you could zone out for most of the ceremony, with the officiant droning on in your ear. Most of this was for show anyway, you didn’t really need to seem present. It was lucky that you were facing away from your audience, allowing your eyes to glaze over and subtly stifle yawns. 

You barely processed Yoongi’s presence throughout the ceremony, trying not to glance in his direction. He hadn’t really acknowledged you, but it didn’t surprise you. In a way, it almost pained you that you were getting used to his apathy this quickly. 

Another blessing came in the form that you didn’t have to recite vows. The attendees of the weddings had seen far too many arranged marriages to sit through another cycle of canned and rehearsed vows. It felt especially lucky to you as well in that you wouldn’t have to look into Yoongi’s eyes as you declared your devotion to him. 

The ceremony itself quickly came to an end, and you were forced to turn to Yoongi, making eye contact accidentally for the first time that day. It sent a rush of heat to bloom in the apples of your cheeks and the pace of your heart quickened. It felt pathetic, really, to let him have that effect on you. 

You extended your hand as Yoongi gently took it, sliding the cold metal of the ring onto your finger. Your hands felt numb from staying in place so long during the officiant’s speech, but Yoongi’s warm touch sparked new life in them, making them tremble in his grasp. 

Letting out a shaky exhale, you took Yoongi’s hand in your own, noting the smooth planes of his palm and long digits. You internally cringed at your quivering fingers as you slid Yoongi’s own obsidian wedding band onto his finger. Letting go as soon as you were done, you let your hands fall back down to your sides. You pointedly avoided any eye contact with Yoongi, knowing what was next. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

It felt like the air was sucked from your lungs. You knew this was coming yet it still scared you. You weren’t so much afraid of the kiss, you’d kissed plenty of people, but you were afraid of what it would ignite in you. 

Yoongi left you no room to hesitate as he grasped your cheeks and gently tugged you toward him, almost making you stumble. Your eyes widened as he leaned it, his own closed. Reflexively, you almost pulled away. 

“Relax,” you heard him whisper, too quiet for even the officiant to hear, the warm breath from his words gently caressing your mouth. But you couldn’t stop shaking. You clenched your eyes shut as he leaned in closer before feeling the skin of his thumb covering your lips. His thumb pressed against your lip for just a second before he pulled back entirely, dropping his hands back down to his sides. 

You hovered, unsure of what just happened. Did he cover your mouth for the kiss? You weren’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, you were admittedly relieved, not wanting your first kiss with Yoongi to be under these circumstances of obligation, and it certainly spoke to his respect for your own consent. Even though you were sure there wouldn’t be any more chances for a kiss anyway.

But a more sinister and greedy part of you wished he hadn’t shielded you, craved the soft touch of his lips against your own. You, ashamedly, wanted to share a romantic moment with him, even if it was a guise for a happy marriage. Just feeling his slightly calloused fingers grazing your cheeks was enough to leave you wanting more. 

Applause startled you out of your trance, making you turn towards the audience and plaster a smile on your face. Scanning the crowd, you spotted Hoseok clapping, sending you an encouraging smile. You breathed out, feeling minutely comforted by his sweet smile. 

Yoongi took your hand, holding it, as you began walking down the aisle. You’d practiced this yesterday, so your body was almost numb to the situation of his thumb rubbing against your forefinger. 

Almost.

A nasty thought slithered its way into the forefront of your mind.

That was the same thumb that he covered the kiss with.

As you walked down the narrow pathway, making sure to smile at the sea of guests your mother had invited, you could feel your gaze growing hazier. This was all getting to be a bit overwhelming. Your feet were hurting in the heels your mother had made you wear, the jacquard of the dress was starting to dig into your skin at the bust, the hairpins lining your hair were hurting your scalp, and the scent of Yoongi’s cologne was intoxicating. 

You and Yoongi reached the end of the aisle, walking past the doors and letting them close behind, leaving the both of you a few minutes to catch your breath before you were whisked away from the reception. Yoongi quickly separated from you, taking a water bottle from an attendant and downing almost half of it. Your hand felt cold suddenly. 

Another employee offered a water bottle to you as well, and you gratefully accepted, taking a swig immediately. The cool liquid soothed your scratchy throat, feeling it go down with it being the only thing you’d had today by way of food. The attendants then gestured for you to follow them into separate changing rooms, preparing hanboks that your parents had wanted you to wear during the reception. 

Letting the attendant dress you in the hanbok gave you time to process what had just happened. You were now married to Yoongi. You had filled out the paperwork about a week prior, but the bells and whistles of the ceremony made it feel much more real. Sighing, you took solace in the fact that the hardest bit was done. 

But was it really?

Now, you had to sit through a reception, thanking guests for coming and pretending like Yoongi actually liked you. Exchanging recycled pleasantries and fake smiles with your parents’ social circle and business partners was less than appealing. 

The employee quietly told you that she was finished and moved aside to let you look in the mirror. 

You tried to be happy about how pretty you looked, but all you could see were your bloodshot eyes and the slightly cakey makeup trying to hide your eye bags. At least the hanbok wasn’t as tight as your dress. 

Exiting the dressing room, you caught sight of Yoongi in his dark blue hanbok with white pants. He looked striking, as always, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be starstruck at this point in the day. You just wanted to go home and lie down. You were led to the reception hall where guests were already mingling for cocktail hour while the food was being prepped to be served. 

A man whose name you didn’t know announced your arrival and the guests turned in your direction and began to clap. Yoongi grabbed your hand in his once more, the suddenness of the action making you flinch. You entered the hall, smiling and greeting guests politely. You couldn’t even recognize anyone staring back at you. 

Yoongi led you through all the guests expertly, exchanging greetings and small talk smoothly like he’d done this before. You felt like you were in a trance, repeating the same pleasantries and shallow questions. How was he so good at this?

You finally reached the end of the guests, moving to your bridal parties. You hadn’t even seen your parents, your mother was probably talking to guests herself. Joohee pulled you into a tight hug, holding it for a second longer before releasing you with a comforting smile on her face and sympathy in her eyes. The other bridesmaids didn’t bother going beyond quick congratulations, which you were grateful for. You didn’t know them anyway. Hoseok was next to Joohee, also immediately encasing you and attempting to ruffle your hair, but you moved your head out of the way. He stepped back, taking a moment to look at you before speaking. 

“You’re doing well.”

Your eyes became watery as you mustered up a shaky smile, something about him praising you for what felt like thankless effort almost pushed you over the edge, “Thanks, Hobi. Love you.”

“Love you too, always.”

“Hey, I love you too,” Joohee protested, making you bark out a laugh. 

“You’re my number one, Joo,” you smiled, taking her hands and squeezing them. She grinned widely in response before punching Hoseok in the arm. 

“Ow, what the heck,” he grumbled.

“Because I love Y/N more than you,” she responded petulantly, leaving Hoseok to only roll his eyes in response. 

The antics made you smile, giving you room to breathe in the stifling room of business partnership discussions. 

“Y/N,” Yoongi’s deep voice rumbled, making you freeze before turning to face him. His eyes laid on your figure in what felt like a scrutinizing manner, making you squirm under the heavy gaze. 

“I’d like you to meet my groomsmen,” Yoongi stated, gesturing behind him, “You already know Jin hyung.”

You nodded mutely, sending an unsure smile in Seokjin’s direction. Why was he doing this? He hadn’t bothered to introduce you to them before, why did it matter now? Were you supposed to introduce Hoseok too, then?

“This is Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi continued, moving his hand to clap the tall, dimpled man’s shoulder. The man smiled politely, the dimples faint with the minute movement, and stepped forward, putting out his hand, “Hi, I’ve known Yoongi since college. It’s nice to meet you.” 

You shook his hand, feeling quite exposed under his dragon-like eyes, “Nice to meet you too. I like your hair.” It was a rule that you’d made with yourself, to try and give at least one compliment to each new person you met. You found that it made them much more open and friendly towards you, and it didn’t hurt to receive compliments in return.

“Thanks,” Namjoon said, smile widening and deepening his dimples. His firm grasp on your hand grounded you, but you still felt your cheeks grow hot at the contact. Why were all of Yoongi’s friends so hot? “I like your hair too,” he finished. You smiled in response, pulling your hand away before your blush became too obvious. 

“This is Kim Taehyung,” Yoongi’s voice pulled you out of the stupor Namjoon’s visual put you in, “I met him a bit after college. He’s a pretty famous jazz performer.”

The model-esque man from the previous day stepped forward, rendering you speechless. Seriously, what was with this friend group? His elegant cheekbones and narrow nose perfectly complemented the kind eyes that adorned his face, and the sandy blonde hair that fell on his forehead. He quickly took your hand in his, kissing the top, making you gasp in response.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Taehyung said, his voice was a smooth baritone that sent shivers down your spine. He looked up from your hand, eyes hooded from his brow bone, making you quickly pull away at the stunning visual. 

“Thanks,” you stammered, trying to collect your thoughts, “You have a pretty smile.”

Taehyung’s face broke out into the aforementioned expression, an adorably contagious boxy smile, as he straightened up, “Thanks!”

“I actually listen to some jazz myself, though not that much,” you mentioned, wanting something to connect over, “I’ve been very into Kenny Garrett recently.”

Taehyung’s smile brightened, letting out a low chuckle, “Yes, he’s pretty great. You should come to one of my shows then, I’ll send you a ticket.”

You heard Yoongi clear his throat. 

“You and Yoongi hyung a ticket, of course,” Taehyung finished, winking at you before turning away to greet Hoseok. 

“And, lastly, this is Jeon Jeongguk. He’s the son of one of my father’s friends, so we grew up together,” Yoongi concluded, but Jeongguk interrupted. 

“Hi, noona! You look so pretty,” Jeongguk smiled, excitedly hugging you. You laughed in response, patting his back before retorting, “Thanks, you look pretty too.”

Jeongguk pulled away, laughing jovially, “Thanks! I told Yoongi hyung we already talked but I don’t think he believed me.”

You stiffened, glancing at Yoongi, whose face was impassive, “Oh, I see.”

Yoongi stepped forward, blocking Jeongguk from your sight, “And who’s your guest?”

“Oh,” you stuttered, flustered by his closer presence, “This is Hoseok. We met in college, but he lives in Busan now. Well, not for much longer, he’s looking to move here,” you rambled. 

Hoseok chuckled before placing a hand on your shoulder, “Hey, I’m Jung Hoseok. It’s nice to meet you.”

Both men shook hands before Hoseok returned to your side, “I’ve been by Y/N’s side ever since our first year, it’s a surprise I’ve lasted this long,” he finished with a short laugh. 

You elbowed him in the side, only making him grimace and slip his hand down to your waist for a teasing squeeze, “I work a dance studio in Busan but I’m planning on opening my own here.”

“Impressive,” Yoongi stated in a monotone voice, “You two must be close.”

“The closest,” Hoseok grinned, pulling you flush to his side, causing you to struggle, “We’re very familiar.”

Oh no.

That’s Hoseok’s shit-stirring voice, you knew it well. One glance at his sardonic grin had you wrestling out of his grip and trying to move on in the conversation to avoid whatever Hoseok was planning, “Yeah, we and Joohee are all really good friends. We were practically inseparable until Hoseok moved. We should all get lunch together sometime so you can get to know them better.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Yoongi said, almost eerily calm, eyes set on Hoseok’s impish smile.

You deflated at his words, forgetting for a moment that Yoongi didn’t want you to mix personal lives. It was embarrassing to say the least, and you felt like you came off as desperate. You felt yourself curl inwards before muttering a quiet, “Sure.”

Yoongi sent a curt nod in Hoseok’s direction before turning away to return to his own friend group, leaving you flustered and disconcerted next to Hoseok. He grinned triumphantly before noticing your abashed state, quickly pulling you into a soothing hug. 

You pulled away, not wanting to be embarrassed anymore tonight, and reached for a passing waiter’s tray of champagne. You didn’t usually drink at public functions, but you felt like this was a worthy exception. The bubbly liquid felt necessary to get through the rest of the night, and you welcomed the warming sensation enthusiastically. You didn’t catch Hoseok’s concerned gaze nor the other stare that fell on your form from a far darker pair of eyes across the table. 

You were exhausted. Every limb in your body and your brain itself were screaming out with soreness and fatigue. It felt like a light at the end of a tunnel when guests began filing out and the party came to a close. 

You were decently buzzed, but still sober enough to be aware, from the multiple champagne glasses you drank. Joohee had made sure to keep you well hydrated, somewhat numbing the effects of the alcohol on your body. 

The rest of the reception had gone by quietly, with you and Yoongi separated for the majority of it, greeting what guests you hadn’t and barely talking during dinner. You were conflicted, somewhat grateful for the ease the lack of Yoongi’s presence gave you, but also finding yourself missing his confident aura. 

You waved the last guest out, before letting yourself collapse on a nearby chair. Joohee patted your shoulder and Hoseok wandered off to grab your belongings so that you’d be ready to go. Your mother closed the door to the room before approaching you, Yoongi’s parents in tow. 

“Yoongi,” his mother called, pulling him away from his friends who were seated at another table. He approached, arriving at your seat at the same time as your mother. 

“You’ll be going home in the car we’ve called for you,” your mother stated, leaving no room for argument. You were going to stay in Yoongi’s apartment now, “I assume your things are already there?”

You nodded timidly.

“Right, well, we’ll leave you to it. Would you like to join me and Woohyun for some drinks,” your mother asked Yoongi’s parents.

“Yes, of course, we’ll have a driver take us to your home. Yoongi, be good now,” his mother said, patting Yoongi’s shoulder and giving you a polite smile. You mustered up what you hoped was a smile in response, but you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a grimace instead. 

Your mother offered you no goodbye and instead gathered your father and gave some closing instructions to the cleaning staff, before swiftly exiting. You were left looking at Yoongi, who was mouthing something to his friends, waiting to see what he would do.

Joohee squeezed your shoulder before leaving you to help Hoseok with your bags. Hoseok didn’t really need help as you didn’t have much except the clothes you’d arrived in and some electronics, but you could tell Joohee wanted to escape the tense atmosphere. You couldn’t blame her. 

Yoongi turned toward you, making you stand automatically to meet his gaze, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, let me just,” you started before being interrupted by Hoseok arriving with your bag. You chuckled awkwardly as Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, watching you take the bags from Hoseok. Joohee was next to him, fiddling with her phone in an effort to not engage, you assumed. 

“Are you leaving,” Hoseok asked, to which you nodded in response, “Well, have fun. Call me anytime, I’ll always be there.” He pulled you into a hug, making you melt in his embrace. You soon felt Joohee’s arms wrap around you as well, “Me too, we’ll talk later.” They released you before giving you encouraging smiles. You couldn’t say you felt the same level of confidence. 

Facing Yoongi, you gathered your bags, noting his one bag at his side, likely containing his suit. He nodded curtly at Hoseok and Joohee, who waved in response, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. You stumbled after him, waving a messy goodbye to Hoseok and Joohee, and finally catching up to Yoongi holding the door open for you. You tried to muster a grateful nod, but seeing his cold expression, you moved quickly to get out the door. 

Awaiting your arrival outside was a sleek, black car, with a chauffeur standing patiently holding the door open to the backseat. You took a quick glance at Yoongi, who gestured for you to enter first, so you did, leaving your bags sitting outside. Yoongi climbed in afterward, quietly asking the driver to put the luggage in the trunk. The two of you sat in silence, waiting for the driver to finish packing the luggage away. 

It was finally over.

Somehow, it didn’t feel that way. The relief you’d hoped to feel was nowhere to be found and you were left with only the biting anxiety that Yoongi’s silence incited. You played mindlessly with the seams of your hanbok, finding it slightly uncomfortable to sit in the backseat with. Yoongi didn’t seem to share the same discomfort, scrolling idly on his phone and not acknowledging your presence. 

You wished you could do the same, but you’d left your phone in your bag after not having used it all day. Instead, you turned to the scenery outside your window to keep yourself occupied. The driver soon started up the car and began heading to Yoongi’s apartment. Watching the scenery fly by gave you time to think about what was waiting for you there. 

You hadn’t visited Yoongi’s apartment yet, too afraid and uncomfortable to set foot inside a space so truly and specially his. Most of your things from your own apartment were apparently already set up, courtesy of his maid, Mrs. Lim, whom you had been in contact with when you first dropped off your things. You had been in a rush, trying to get to a dress fitting, and Mrs. Lim had insisted that you give everything to her and that she would make sure it would be ready for you when you came. 

You supposed now was that time. 

Yoongi was still silent beside you and you weren’t sure what to say to him. You hadn’t really spoken for the rest of the night after his odd introduction to Hoseok. It frustrated you how the little things he was doing kept messing with your head. 

You weren’t an idiot, you knew that his actions could point toward jealousy, but you refused to consider that as a possibility. Not only would it contradict his entire attitude towards you, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel even a sliver of hope that Yoongi might harbor feelings toward you. The constant self-regulation was taxing and you dreaded the idea that this would be your future, constantly reminding yourself that your husband doesn’t love you and to not get confused. 

Your thoughts halted with the car as the driver pulled into the entrance of the large building that housed Yoongi’s apartment. It was dark, so you gladly accepted the help of the chauffeur in getting out of the car. He kindly handed you your bags before bowing and driving away. You didn’t have access to the building yet, having called Mrs. Lim for your past visits, so you looked helplessly at Yoongi to unlock the door. 

He didn’t spare you a glance as he punched in his code and stood aside to let you in. You nodded in thanks anyway and shivered at the cold nipping at your cheeks. Yoongi led you to the elevator, pressing the 9th-floor button, silently standing in the opposite corner from you. 

Sighing internally, you almost laughed at the blatant display of the contempt he held for you. For the first time, you thought of him as slightly immature. 

The elevator doors slid open and Yoongi led you to a hallway with only four doors, each housing a penthouse apartment. The farthest door was Yoongi’s, you learned, as he held his thumb up to the pad before hearing a click and pushing the door open. Mrs. Lim was immediately there to greet him. 

“Mr. Min, let me take your things. Oh, Ms. Seo! Here, I’ll take your bags to your room. Wait, should I call you Mrs. Min, now?”

You smiled at the sweet, older woman, nodding your greeting, “Hi, Mrs. Lim. Please, just call me Y/N.”

She smiled at you, taking your things and rushing off to the upstairs portion of the apartment. It left you standing awkwardly next to Yoongi, who was typing something out on his phone. You took the moment to let your eyes wander around the sparkling apartment. It looked straight out of a catalogue with cool tones and neat furniture with an open concept. He had smooth, black leather couches surrounding a large TV with a path into a dining room that housed a large table and comfortable-looking chairs. That was next to a large kitchen with a wide counter in the middle and a sleek, silver refrigerator and oven. It looked nice, but not welcoming. You preferred warmer lighting and more touches of color, with some plants, but you reminded yourself that this wasn’t your space to customize.

Or was it? You weren’t really sure. It felt like you were invading Yoongi’s home, but wasn’t it your home now too? Should you be able to decorate it to your liking as well? Or at least compromise? The thought of addressing that now felt too overwhelming and you didn’t want to piss off Yoongi so early into your stay. 

“You can go change and get ready to sleep. We can discuss the ground rules now or tomorrow morning, your choice,” Yoongi said, snapping you out of your observation of the apartment. 

You nodded absently, wondering what other rules he had, “I can come down after changing.”

Yoongi hummed in response before taking off to the stairs, evidently going to change himself. You stood awkwardly by the entrance, not knowing exactly where your room was, and decided to take hesitant steps toward the stairs. 

“Oh, Ms. Seo, let me help you to your room,” came Mrs. Lim’s comforting voice from the top of the stairs. You gratefully accepted her help and followed her through the halls as she gave you a tour. 

“Over there is Mr. Min’s office, and just next to it, his bedroom. He has another office downstairs for his work, this one is more for personal use. There’s a bathroom here, but you have an en-suite bathroom in your bedroom anyway. There’s an extra room downstairs that I’ve fashioned into a bit of an office for you if you’d like to use it. That’s the guest bedroom there, the hallway bathroom is mainly for that one. Sometimes Mr. Min’s friends will stay over if they’ve drunk. Ah! Here’s your bedroom.”

You entered, enjoying Mrs. Lim’s chattering as she gave you a mini tour. Your bedroom was large with a queen-sized bed and soft-looking sheets with a fluffy comforter. There was a desk in the corner and a vanity in the other. You noted a door on the side that must lead to the bathroom, and your bags sitting on the floor by the desk. 

“Through that door is your closet and bathroom. I’ve set up your closet for the most part and tried to make it homey, but please feel free to decorate it to your liking! I’m so excited to have another woman here long term, Mr. Min doesn’t always make for great company. Oh, but don’t tell him I said that!”

You giggled, enjoying the motherly presence Mrs. Lim provided, and began unpacking some of your bags from the day, “Thank you, Mrs. Lim. I appreciate you doing all this for me. And please, call me Y/N.”

“Of course. Do you need assistance getting out of your hanbok?”

“No, I think I’ll be alright, thank you.”

“Right, then I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be off shift now so I’ll be heading home, but please feel free to call me if you have any questions.”

“Of course, thank you, Mrs. Lim. Have a good night.”

She bowed before exiting and you breathed out, sitting on the plush bed, making the comforter balloon around you. The room was nice, definitely, but it felt a bit stale and unwelcoming. At least you could customize this area without having to worry about Yoongi. You opened the door to the closet, marveling at the size and open entrance into the bathroom with a large tub and shower. Your clothes were nicely organized and you had no trouble finding some pajamas to change into with an old shirt you’d stolen from Hoseok and shorts. 

Quickly undressing, you neatly hung up your hanbok and slipped into the shower, grabbing the necessary toiletries from your bag. You relished in being able to wash the hair spray out of your hair and loosen it from your scalp, glaring at the pile of hairpins that sat on the granite counter you’d spent upwards of five minutes removing. The warm water soothed your aching legs and the soapy bodywash felt rejuvenating. 

You swiftly finished showering, not wanting to keep Yoongi waiting, and wrapped yourself in a towel before loosely drying your hair. You preferred to let it air dry, so you only lightly patted it with a towel. Drying off the rest of your body, you donned new undergarments, pausing on whether or not to put on a bra. You usually didn’t wear bras to bed, but you didn’t want to go down to meet Yoongi braless. 

You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation and pulled on a comfortable sports bra, before slipping on your shorts and t-shirt, finally feeling comfortable. Quickly checking your reflection in the massive mirror, you headed down the stairs to meet Yoongi. 

He was sitting on the leather couch in a loose white t-shirt and black sweatpants, almost taking your breath away at how beautifully casual he looked. You’d only seen him in suits so far and seeing him in loungewear with wet hair and a towel around his neck left you flustered. He noticed your presence, eyes running over your form making you feel embarrassed. 

He gestured for you to join him on the couch, setting aside his phone to lean forward on his knees. You sat on the loveseat across from him, not quite sure what the etiquette was at this point. 

“Okay, so I’ve already told you the general rules I have. Basically, don’t enter my space without knocking and please, do not go into my upstairs office. I’ll do the same for you. You’re free to set up your rooms however you like.”

You nodded, all of this seemed pretty fair so far. 

“You can use the kitchen however you like, just let Mrs. Lim know what groceries you want. If I have guests over, I’d prefer if you stayed in your room, but I won’t force you. This space is as much yours as it is mine, now.”

You continued nodding along, making some notes of getting a TV for your room so you could properly entertain yourself when his friends were over. You wouldn’t exactly want him coming into the room when you’re with Hoseok and Joohee either. 

“You can invite your friends over whenever you want, just let me know in advance. I’ll be sure to do the same for you. Also, if I have any of my own partners over,” he continued, the last words causing you to flinch, “I’ll make sure to let you know. Please just give us some privacy and try not to be out in the common space when they’re here. Of course, I’ll extend the same courtesy.”

The harsh reminder of the openness of the marriage left you squirming in the chair. You didn’t want to remember that Yoongi would be fucking other people in the home you shared. 

“We can add things as we get used to living together. Anything you want to add?”

You shook your head quickly, just wanting to go to bed as soon as possible. Yoongi nodded, rising, before sparing you one last glance.

“Alright, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight,” you squeaked, watching him ascend the stairs. After his form disappeared into the hallway, you leaned back on the loveseat, exhaling harshly. What a conversation. You’d have to take some time to get used to this. You returned to your room feeling heavily conflicted. As you set up your phone and watch chargers, you thought over the conversation. 

Objectively, Yoongi was being relatively fair, letting you exist in the space in the same capacity as him. Yet, you still felt unhappy. You knew why. You wanted him to be only yours, to have the same exclusive outlook you did on the relationship. You were upset with yourself more than him. 

He had made this clear from the beginning, that he had no intention of stopping any partners outside of the relationship. He clearly didn’t want to have a relationship with you, sex or not, so what he was doing now was completely fair.

You couldn’t turn the emotional part of your brain that craved to have a real romantic relationship with him. It was almost annoying and you were frustrated at yourself for continuing to feel this way. 

Climbing into bed, you continued wallowing, deciding that you’d pity yourself tonight, but the next day, you’d have to pull yourself together. You’d taken a couple of weeks off at the insistence of your boss, even though he knew you weren’t going on a honeymoon, and you wanted to enjoy sleeping in. 

It was time to adopt Yoongi’s approach and try to remove yourself emotionally from the situation. How hard could it be?

Yoongi couldn’t focus on his book, ultimately setting it aside on his bedside table. He furiously rubbed at his eyes, feeling frustrated. 

His eyes hadn’t been listening to him lately. They seemed to constantly wander after your figure, finding your face and curves at every corner. The past couple of days, they had barely strayed from you, watching as you cuddled up to that man, Hoseok. 

Who was he? Were you two together? Was Hoseok in love with you? More importantly, why did it bother Yoongi so much? 

He groaned, feeling annoyed that your relationship with Hoseok was getting to him so much. He had been the one to set the boundary of it being an open relationship, so why did it bother him so much that you seemed to be employing that? Yoongi knew that he had no right to feel this way and was only further annoyed that he continued to do so. 

And what was with your budding friendship with Jeongguk? When did you two become so close? Yoongi buried his head in his hands, shouldn’t he be happy that his friends and wife are getting along?

Wife. It felt odd to say, or think, that. You were his wife now. Except he’d made it clear that the title didn’t change anything between you, nor would it change his actions. Despite his earlier resolve to not let this marriage affect him, you seemed to be having a great effect on him. 

He’d followed your form and mannerisms throughout the past couple of days. He’d noticed your trembling hands and avoiding eye contact. When the two of you had been about to kiss, he could feel your body shaking beneath his hands, prompting him to cover your mouth for the kiss. 

He hated how tempted he’d been to fully kiss you.

Throughout the rest of the ceremony and reception, you’d been largely withdrawn, until you’d met with Hoseok. Yoongi was frustrated that you didn’t seem to be able to stand up for yourself, that you played so well into the role of a trophy wife, but he’d been even more upset at your close contact with Hoseok. 

The man had laid his hands on you so easily and seeing the way Hoseok’s fingers curled around your waist and your smile when you talked to him made Yoongi’s blood boil. Why hadn’t you smiled at him like that? 

Yoongi bit his lip, he knew that wasn’t your fault. He hadn’t been welcoming at all to you, he’d barely given you a chance to talk to him. Yoongi was just steadfast in his mission to continue on with life as normal, he didn’t want this marriage to change anything. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to be upset with you going along with his requests. 

You were dangerous. 

You were dangerous in the way that you nodded along to everything Yoongi asked, in the way you refused to let your mask slip and show any emotion, in the way you smiled so brightly with Hoseok and Jeongguk, in the way your cheeks tinged pink when Taehyung kissed your hand and Namjoon smiled at you, and in the way you looked so comfortable and natural in your pajamas. 

Yoongi had to suck in a breath when he saw you entering the living room with your freshly washed and damp hair, falling in wet curls strands around your shoulders, making a wet spot on the oversized dance team t-shirt. 

That was another thing. Where had you gotten that shirt? It was far too big for you, Yoongi knew that well. It was obvious in the way it fell past the hem of your shorts, tantalizing his eyes to rake down your legs, and it was for a college dance team. Were you on one in college?

Or, Yoongi’s mind raced, was it Hoseok’s? Hadn’t the man said he worked in a dance studio? The thought made Yoongi fume, just how close had you two gotten? 

But he paused, what right did he have to feel upset? Yoongi had been in bed with another woman just days ago, it wasn’t fair of him to judge you for doing the same. He’d said that you were allowed to sleep with or date whoever you wanted, so why was he so angry at the idea of you and Hoseok? 

Another sigh escaped him, he didn’t have it in him to deal with this tonight. Just the idea of you a few rooms down in that too-big shirt and too-short shorts was enough to drive him crazy. 

He reached over, turning off the lamp next to his bed. He’d unpack his feelings in the morning. Yoongi turned over, settling into bed, ignoring how empty and cold his hand felt without your warmth. 

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[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 1 | Bucky Barnes

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It was supposed to be easy, but it's not.

He felt his hands and sensed they were shackled to this agreement. While everyone chatted and laughed at this lunch party, he couldn't share the same sentiment.

Today was the engagement party of two influential conglomerate families.

The daughter of Celestial Enterprises, which owned Luxury Goods, Smart Home Technology, Media & Entertainment, was Victoria Sinclair.

She was a strikingly beautiful woman, exuding an air of sophistication, yet there was a hint of maturity beneath her seemingly spoiled demeanor.

With a shy gesture, she reached out and gently touched her fiancé's hand. Her soft touch snapped him out of his daydream.

She gazed at his face, mesmerized by his striking features. He could easily be the most handsome man she had ever encountered in her life. Despite meeting countless models and actors, none of them held a candle to him.

Bucky Barnes was the epitome of sophistication. With his jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and impeccable suit, he exuded an aura of intelligence and quiet confidence.

As the heir to the AstraNova Group, specializing in aerospace, renewable energy, and real estate, his wealth and influence were undeniable.

He felt something creeping on his hands, he glanced down to see his fiancée Victoria touching him. Despite his discomfort, he clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out.

But he had to keep it together. Tonight, his psychiatrist would have to listen to his anxiety. He couldn't let anyone at this party know about his Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD).

He was overly sensitive to sensory input, including touch. In this room, only his parents knew about his disorder.

Bucky smiled and gently pushed Victoria's hand away from him. He could only tolerate it for five minutes. But it seemed this woman didn't understand him.

If she were just another woman, Bucky would have instructed his assistant to escort Victoria away. But he couldn't do that.

Because this woman was necessary, in fact. Her family's money was crucial. This was a business marriage. Bucky wasn't a social man, so when his family arranged the marriage, he complied with their wishes.

He thought he could go along with it, but his disorder acted up every time he got close to Victoria. She was glued to him.

"Fuck," he thought. He wished his parents had chosen a woman who preferred shopping over clinging to him.

"Look at this couple. Hohoho… Like newlyweds," remarked Victoria's mother, Genevieve, a woman around 50 years old, exuding opulence in her elegant gown adorned with intricate lace and jewels.

"What a joyful day," nodded Bucky's mother, Juliana, a woman of similar age, dressed in a modest yet tasteful attire, her eyes fixed on her son who appeared calm. However, she couldn't help but notice Victoria's persistent touching.

She prayed that Bucky wouldn't lose his patience.

"By the way, where is the oldest daughter?" slipped one of the guests, causing a ripple of unease among the attendees.

Even Victoria lost interest in getting close to Bucky. She stopped leaning toward him and sat up straight.

Her silent expression mirrored Genevieve's, catching Bucky's attention.

This was the first Bucky had heard of another daughter.

“You have an older sister?” Bucky asked Victoria.

Victoria responded with a nervous voice, “I do... She's... how should I say this? She's complicated. She's never at home. And when she is, all we do is fight.”

Bucky nodded, understanding her explanation. An estranged sister.

But he had never come across any mention of this in his fiancée's family background.

Were they hiding their other daughter? An illegitimate child?

Bucky noticed Victoria's father, Jonathan, a distinguished man in his sixties, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, who had stopped drinking and focused his attention on the table.

Genevieve laughed elegantly and remarked, “Haha… She doesn't enjoy these kinds of events. She prefers outdoor activities.”

On the first day of their engagement, Bucky found himself embroiled in family drama.

Then, a voice from outside could be heard, “I'm sorry, miss. This room has been booked,” said the security.

“It's booked for Sinclair and Barnes, right? What a coincidence. I'm a Sinclair too,” a playful female voice retorted.

‘BANG.’

The private door burst open from a forceful kick, startling the guests.

All eyes turned toward the newcomer.

Even Bucky turned around to see who it was.

She was wearing black leather boots, black pants, and a gray turtleneck sweater. Her attire stood out starkly against the elegance of the room.

She looked at everyone, then stopped at Victoria and Bucky. Then she scoffed, causing Victoria to clench her fist and bite her lips.

Compares to Bucky. He wondered what had happened to her. She was wearing a hand cast, a band-aid under her right eye, and small new scars under her lips.

Two things he realized were that her demeanor and facial features were different from Victoria's.

Victoria nervously laughed, "We thought you wouldn't come."

💋💋💋

You smirked and grabbed a glass of wine from the server who was serving drinks.

With a bow, you said, “Congrats on the engagement. Pardon my lateness. Seems like a rat ate your invitation.”

Victoria forced a smile, determined not to take the bait, especially in front of her fiancé, Bucky, to avoid any confrontation.

You walked past the couple and headed towards your father, Jonathan.

He showed no reaction, simply sipping his wine.

Standing beside him, you didn't even glance at Genevieve, who gritted her teeth, continuing to smile at the Barnes family.

You said to your dad, “Is this what your wife asked for? I must say I'm impressed.”

Bucky was taken aback when he heard that. What did it mean?

Genevieve gripped her wine glass tightly. The stories of her as ‘the other woman’ were in the past. She had worked hard to be accepted in this socialite world, and it had made everyone forget that she was the second wife. Everyone had called her Madam Sinclair, and Victoria the only daughter.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I'm just impressed that my sister could join the Barnes household. She didn't have to steal someone's husband like her mom.”

Victoria gasped and started sobbing.

Genevieve exclaimed, “How could you make your sister cry?”

You drank the wine in one gulp and put the empty glass on the table. “I want to vomit when I call her my sister. I need that wine to clean my tongue.”

Genevieve looked at her husband and whispered, “Jonathan, stop your daughter.”

You looked at your father, who was also looking at you, both of you silent. This is the relationship between father and daughter. Both of you used to be close, but everything changed after the other woman entered the family.

He won't say anything. He never does.

Turning to the new couple, you observed Victoria drinking water and her fiancé Bucky.

You didn't know much about him. What an unlucky man, you thought.

Walking towards him, you stopped in front of Bucky.

Bucky was looking at you too.

You said, “She throws away everything that I own or touch. I wonder…”

Your fingers touched his chin, and your face came close to his. You could see his eyes clearly.

You smirked and said, “I wonder if she still wants you after I do this.”

What you did next made everyone gasp.

Victoria screamed, “Get your lips away from him,” as she pushed you away from Bucky, acting as a barrier.

You wiped your lips, achieving your goal of seeing Victoria panicked.

With a salute gesture, you said, “I've got what I wanted. Goodbye, everyone,” and left the party.

Victoria grumbled, looking at Bucky and touching his hand. “Are you okay? I'm sorry. If you're mad at my sister, I apologize.”

Bucky pushed her away from him, his action shocking her slightly, but understandable since he had just been kissed by a stranger.

Bucky remained silent, not because he was angry, but because he had a million questions.

His disorder prevented him from being touched by someone, and yet he had just been kissed.

This is also his first kiss.

And... he didn't vomit.

Bucky looked at the closing door, wondering where you had gone.

He knew he had to see you again.

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

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[repulsiveliquidation]

Two is Better than One || The Orgy

Part 4 of The Orgy

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

warnings : Mommy/Daddy kink, oral sex, anal sex, pillow riding, plug usage, strap-ons, swearing, dirty talk (degrading)

The cameras flashed with every move she made. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup was flawless. Her suit was impeccably made. It fits every curve, toned muscle, and pound of flesh she had, not a single stitch out of place. She was La Reina of course, perfect in every shape and form.

The beige complimented her skin beautifully, her confidence allowed for nothing underneath to look so elegant and poise. She smiled like she owned the place, the cries for her to look a certain direction normally bubbled her anxiety but tonight she was feeling herself.

Down at the other end of the red carpet stood another blonde who knew she was gorgeous. Her tie sat on her chest in a perfect knot, her shirt was pressed and her pants had the perfect crease down the front. The black and white brought out the color of her hair and her mesmerizing eyes. She sauntered in with full confidence, shoulders back and chin up for all the photos she knew would have her best side. She looked over and saw the Spaniard at the end, talking to the most beautiful girl she had ever seen.

The girl had on the most beautiful emerald dress that showed off her curves, the thin straps and satin material brought out the beautiful blues and greens in her eyes. The gold necklace and accessories around her wrists rang through the sound of flashes going off. Leah made a beeline towards you, tapping the Spaniard on the shoulder and greeting her politely. You smiled and handed her a mic as well, slipping into the perfect segway of the World Cup final.

Nothing beats a story about the final straight from the captains themselves. This was a promising story and you had the privilege to be the one to write it. The two captains enjoyed the rivalry that had been quite light over the years but there was evidence of a lot of maturity between them and the admiration they both had for each other was very apparent.

Leah explains how the game only motivated the girls to play harder and work harder. Seeing it from the stands and knowing what Alexia had gone through was something that Alexia echoed when asked what it was like playing the Lionesses and not having Leah on the pitch battling it out.

The two made their way into the auditorium, parting ways a little more starstruck than when they set foot on the carpet, the image of you was one that both captains had running around in their minds that night.

Leah approached the bar and asked for a whiskey sour, standing at a cocktail table drumming her fingers on the table while her head bobbed to the music. She sips the last bits of her drink when the smell of your perfume enters her orbit. You had walked behind her towards the bar, a big smile on your face as you sipped the margarita that appeared in front of you a little too quickly.

Leah took a deep breath and walked up to you, handing her an empty whiskey crystal glass and asking for another. You smiled at her and minded your business, not wanting to talk to her more than you needed to, being a journalist and all. Leah surprised you though, leaning on her arm as she stirred her drink.

“I loved doing that interview with you, by the way, Y/N.”

“Oh, I appreciated your time, I’ll make sure to use all the best parts in the final cut!” you thanked her, sipping on your drink nervously. The English woman carried herself well and towered over you a little, smirking a little too smugly at you.

“Are you here with anyone?” Leah asked forwardly, the two double shots of whiskey drinks on an empty stomach already gave her a little buzz.  

A little taken aback and flattered by her line of questioning, Leah was happy to see you shake your head. You were about to ask her the same when the slightly more intimidating captain appeared behind you and asked for a rum and coke in the sexiest accent you had grown to love.

“Hola, Y/N. Leah,” Alexia acknowledged, taking her drink from the bartender with a quiet “gracias,” at the end before she sauntered off back to her friends.

“She knows your name,” Leah said, pointing out that her tone suggested that she knew you before the red carpet interview. Leah was a little disappointed that she had never seen you till tonight, let alone know your name.

“I work for Barça, I’m their sports writer,” you explained, finishing your drinking and asking for water.

Just as Leah’s about to ask you more about your job, your producer texts you that the star guest, Aitana Bonmati just arrived and you need to interview her. The latest Ballon d’Or winner was your last interview before you could clock out and enjoy the party so you make sure to tell Leah that you wanted to talk to her and take up her time.

“She’s my last interview, have an extra strong marg waiting for me?” you tell her and run off, smiling when you hear her stutter her agreement. Leah smirks and turns to the bartender, “You heard the woman, have a marg ready when she’s headed over here again, yeah?”

Over at the Spain delegate table, Alexia had been chewing on the little stirrer in her glass, eyes dark and staring so hard, Marta was sure there would be lasers coming out of her hazel eyes if she put her mind to it.

“Are you trying to kill her, Reina?”

Alexia snapped out of her angered trance and brushed off her co-captain, annoyed that her attempt at wishing for Leah’s downfall was interrupted.

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Ale, if looks could kill about half the room would be dead. You’ve death-stared everyone she’s talked to.”

“How do you–”

“You’re not as subtle as you think, capi. Go get yourself another drink and wait for her at the bar.”

Alexia huffed and stood, readjusting her jacket before walking to the bar. She stares at Leah sitting there, immediately deciding to occupy the seat you were in before you left. Just as she’s about to lift herself into the barstool, Leah pipes up and what she says tips her anger past its boiling point.

“Someone’s in that seat,” Leah provides, looking at the Spain captain with a smile.

“And who might that be?” Alexia asks, albeit a little roughly.

“Your new sports writer, Y/N. She’s asked me to save her the seat.”

“Well, I’ll wait for her too then.”

“Do you need to have everything I have a chance at, Putellas?”

“Please, the better team won that day. And it wasn’t England.”

“You fucking–”

“Hola capi!”

Both their heads whip around and look at you, your big smile making both of their anger dissipate. The bartender listened and had a fresh margarita waiting for you like you requested and Leah smiled as she pushed it towards you. Alexia helped you into your seat and Leah glared at her. You were starting to get a hint of what was going on, feeling a little proud of yourself.

“What were you girls arguing about hm?” you ask innocently, raising your strong drink to your lips. Leah and Alexia nursed their drinks and didn’t answer you before the Spaniard mumbled something in Catalan. You understood the language and giggled, replying to her snarky remark. Alexia laughed and added to it, making you laugh a little harder. The English woman on your right had her eyebrows crossed, a look of pure annoyance on her face.

“I-I made sure he made your drink strong, did he make it right?” she interjected, reaching for your chair to swivel you to face her. You take a long, flirty sip and smile, nodding your head.

“It’s perfect Leah, gracias,” you compliment, rubbing her arm. You feel the ripple of her muscles under her jacket and realize that she’s flexing on purpose, making a conscious effort to feel around a little more.

“Did you make sure no one stole my seat while I was gone?” you ask cheekily, knowing that Ale probably came up here and tried to take your seat.

“She did but I made sure it was kept safe for you, princess,” 

A dark blush creeps up her neck and Leah decides then and there that she wants to keep your neck that shade of red with all her bites when the annoyed Spaniard interjected and spun you back around towards her.

“¿Qué trato tienes con ella?”

"¿Por qué Ale, estás celoso capitán?"

“¿Te estás olvidando de quién perteneces, princesa?”

"Mm, papi, ¿no podemos agregarla a la lista de cosas bonitas que colecciono?"

“¿Es eso lo que quieres, niña bonita?”

"Sí, papi, la quiero tanto" you beg, pulling your best puppy eyes that are guaranteed to make Alexia fold. It does the trick and she nods, swigging down the last of her drink and standing. She steps towards Leah and adjusts her jacket, smirking a little.

“Williamson. Come with me a second.” 

Leah scoffs and stands, following the Spaniard to a quieter side of the room.

“What, Putellas?”

“She has requested for you to join us in our room tonight.”

Leah can’t believe her ears. She blinks a few times and asks the two-time Ballon d’Or winner to repeat herself.

“She wants to fuck you, Williamson. You want her, don’t you?”

“You two a thing?”

“A thing of convenience, yes. Is that a problem?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

“Good. We’re in room 116, meet us there in fifteen minutes.”

Alexia leaves with you on her arm, a little drunken smirk on your face. Leah walks back over to the bar and asks for a cold glass of water. She chugs it all and waits ten minutes before she walks over to the elevators. Her hands sweat a little, and she’s nervous. She stands in front of room 116, hesitant to knock. Just as her right hand gets the courage the door opens and it startles her but your welcoming face calms her racing heart.

 “Come in, you’re right on time!”

You walk in behind her and Leah gawks at the bed and all the stuff on it. There were more toys there than she had at home, harnesses that looked custom-made, and dildos that looked hard to take. Alexia sat in the meeting chair near the window, leg crossed and arms on the rests. Leah stands a little intimidated before you sit in Ale’s lap and look mesmerizing under the tinted orange lights.

“Welcome Williamson, I’m surprised you didn’t chicken out,” Alexia teases and you smack her arm, leaving Leah to cover her chuckles with a few unconvincing coughs.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Putellas.”

“Play nice the two of you or you’re not fucking me.”  

Alexia sighs and regroups, taking a deep breath.

“Leah, welcome. I’ve got a few rules that we use to make this enjoyable. Would you like to say your safeword, amor?”

“Strawberry,” you answer obediently, snuggling back into Alexia’s arms.

“Mine is Apple,” Alexia tells Leah before Leah decides to sit on the edge of the king-sized bed.

“Watermelon,” Leah supplies, leaning forward on her elbows. She smiles, watching your eyes sparkle as she winks at you.

Alexia gets a little annoyed but keeps talking. Her hand around your waist tightens and you lean into her more, green dress a little creased where her hands feel you.

“You will do as I say when I say it, no arguments understand.”

Leah was about to answer her but you piped up with a voice so soft and subtle that it sent shivers down Leah’s spine.

“Yes Daddy,” you whispered to Alexia, standing up and sauntering over to the side of the bed. Leah smiles and watches you, and you smile, seeing both the captain’s eyes on you.

“Mind if you help me take this stunning dress off Mommy?” you ask Leah, watching as her eyes go dark when you use that name on her. Leah nods, walking over to you and helping you unzip your dress. You smile at Alexia and watch her fiddle with her jacket, knowing she’s already feeling hot inside.

“May I?” Leah asks you, pushing the emerald material off your shoulders. You smile and nod, feeling the English skipper’s hand take in all your curves and edges. Leah leans in and kisses along your shoulders and back, whispering how beautiful you looked in that dress and how she longed to see it on the floor in a pile next to her clothes.

Alexia stands in front of you and tilts your head up, eyes boring deep into yours. She smiled kindly, leaning in and pecking your lips. You kiss her back and Leah takes the opportunity to mark your neck up how she wanted to earlier. You moan into Alexia’s mouth and smile against her lips, reaching your arm behind to cradle her head.

Alexia pulls away from you and you step to the side as Leah crashes her lips on Alexia’s. Alexia grabs her face and kisses her back hard, moaning into Leah’s mouth. You stand and watch, biting your lip and rubbing your thighs together. You’ve slipped your underwear off and unclasped your bra, climbing onto the bed how Alexia liked. Leah pushes the Spaniard’s jacket off as hers comes off too, hands in pants struggling to get each other naked fast enough. Hands roam and explore, muscles taut and on display for you to feast your eyes on.

When the two of them finally pull away, you’re on your knees and smirking, holding Alexia’s strap in your hands. She smiles and takes it from you, Leah helping her put it on. There’s a dramatic shift in power in the room, with you and Leah taking a more submissive role as Alexia takes control.

Leah gets on her knees beside you just as Alexia gives her her first command of the night.

“Lay on your back Leah, wanna use your mouth.”

The tingle that sentence sends down Leah’s legs was one that she hoped happened every time Alexia shoved her cock down her throat. Leah did as she said, laying on the bed with her head at the edge. Alexia caressed her cheek and smiled, kissing her lips briefly. Leah sat between your legs, a little buttplug in her hands that you didn’t know was coming.

Alexia’s cock sat on Leah’s face as she caressed her chest. Leah’s nipples perked at her touch, the cold room keeping them rock hard. Leah moaned and smiled, licking up the silicone as the blood in her body slowly rushed to her head.

Alexia stood tall and pressed her cock to Leah’s lips, watching her face get more and more red. Alexia’s hips fuck into her mouth slowly, hands holding her head steady. You, on the other hand, pushed Leah’s legs wide open to play with her wet folds. Leah’s dripping, feeling your fingers play with her clit and ass.  

Alexia gently wrapped a hand around Leah’s neck, feeling the cock bulge in her throat. Your fingers slipped into Leah’s pussy and she moans, the vibrations sent around Alexia’s cock and she felt it in her palm. Alexia smiles and chuckles, slapping her breast a few times before speeding up her hips. You sucked on the buttplug and Alexia watched, eyes hooded and lips already red and bitten from concentration. She pulls out and spits into her open mouth messily just as you slip the plug into Leah, hearing her moan and pant in pleasure. 

Leah scoots up and feels the blood from her head distribute properly, the plug inside her settles just right and she looks up at you with a smirk. She licks Alexia’s spit from all over her mouth and makes sure to keep her eyes on Alexia.

“I wasn’t expecting that but I am so fucking thankful I said yes.”

“Ready for more, Mami?”

“Fuck yes,” Leah pants, turning over and waiting for Alexia to give her further instructions. Alexia smirks, hand reaching for your face and kissing you hard. Leah watches, eyes bouncing between you and Alexia. She takes your breast in her mouth, sucking noisily as you lay down for Alexia.

“Open those pretty legs for me, mi amor,” Alexia asks, and Leah latches off your breast with a loud pop. Your legs open wide and you’re soaked, pussy glistening for Alexia to enjoy. She swipes her fingers through your folds and licks her fingers clean, both you and Leah watching her in awe.

Alexia looks at Leah and she feels immediate obedience fall over her, ready to do her every wish.

“I want you to ride her face while I fuck her pretty pussy. And when I say ride her face, I mean use her like the fucking whore deserves to be used. Got it?”

“Yes Daddy,” Leah replies easily, the title sending pleasure through all your veins. Leah settles on top of you and lowers herself onto your mouth, hands gripping your hair as she grinds down on your tongue. Alexia pushes your legs back as wide as they can and thrusts her hips forward for her cock to effortlessly slide into your pussy. Leah moans when you start sucking on her clit, your hands massaging the plug in her ass gently as you sucked.

Alexia watched you and Leah closely, hips pounding into your hole hard. She almost bent you in half, legs wide open which only helped her cock into your pussy deeper. Leah slipped off your face and turned around to face Alexia, leaning forward with her hands gripping Alexia’s big ones as she ground a little harder on your tongue. Alexia held her steady and kissed her roughly, moaning into Leah’s mouth. You spanked Leah’s ass and fucked it with the plug inside her, feeling her hole clenching on your tongue that you just slipped in. Alexia leaned back and you cried out for her to fuck into you faster, eyes rolling into your head as you struggled to focus on eating Leah out while Alexia fucked your brains out.

Leah was close too, thighs shaking as your skillful tongue suckled and flicked over her sensitive clit. Alexia fondled your clit with her rough hands, angling her hips up into your sweet spot to push you towards the edge. You pulled the plug inside Leah out and that was more than enough stimulation for her to come, orgasm ripping through her hard. She shuddered and moaned your name alongside Alexia’s, collapsing off of you and panting hard. Alexia grinned and simply pulled out, turned you onto your knees, and pushed her big cock back into you. You moaned and cried out for her, feeling your arms get pulled behind your back.

Alexia held you down and pounded into you, lips muttering dirty things into your ear to spur you on.

“You take it so well, amor. Can’t wait to see Leah on the end of my cock when I’m done with you hm? You wanna come all over it and make her taste how much of a good girl you are for me?”

“Yes Daddy!” you scream, coming hard and all over her cock. Alexia ruts into you despite your cries of sensitivity, pulling out only when she knew she’d leave you shuddering for a good thirty seconds afterward. Alexia kisses you and holds you as you settle, kissing your damp hair gently.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Leah compliments, the stars in her eyes tell Alexia that she’s more than ready to take her cock.

"Ven aquí, cariño,” Alexia beckoned, Leah crawled over and kissed Alexia’s neck slowly going lower and lower. Soon she was face to face with her wet cock and Leah immediately took it in her mouth, tasting you all over it. Leah moaned, eyes locked with Alexia’s who looked almost feral.

She studied her expressions and smirked a little menacingly, eyes dark and lust-driven. You sat obediently by her side, watching Leah suck Alexia’s cock and taste you on it.

“Doesn’t she taste like magic, cariño?”

“Yes Daddy, she does,” Leah answers, kissing the tip before kissing Alexia passionately. Alexia tastes you on her lips and you can see their tongues fight for dominance, the exchange of your taste turns you on immensely.

Alexia settles in behind Leah and smiles at you. She caresses down Leah's toned defender thighs, knowing exactly where Leah could feel Alexia’s cock on her. Alexia kissed her shoulder and neck, whispering in her ear only for Leah to hear.

“Want me to fuck your ass, cariño? Did she get you nice and loose for me?”

“Yes Daddy, please fuck my ass,” Leah begged, feeling a shiver run down her spine. Leah bends forward onto her elbows, pushing her ass out for Alexia. Alexia leans in and spanks her hard, kneading the defender’s meaty ass. She looks over at you and chuckles, seeing your thighs rub harder together as you refrain from touching yourself without her permission.

“Need something, amor?”

“Wanna feel good Daddy, please…”

“Hmm, but I’m fucking our guest amor, I can’t do you both,” Alexia points out matter-of-factly as if Leah wasn’t even there. And boy did that turn her on.

“Please Daddy, it hurts…” you say, hips grinding down on the bed when Alexia gets an idea.

“You wanna show your latest collection how good you are at riding, amor? Want to grind that gorgeous pussy on a pillow and show her how you make yourself come?”

“Yes, yes please Daddy, I’ll show her how good I am for you,” you tell her and grab a soft duck feather pillow and straddle it, grinding your hips gently for Leah and Alexia.

Leah watches you through hooded eyes and a melting mind, feeling Alexia’s tongue slip into her ass as her fingers rub soft circles over your swollen clit. You put on a little show, grinding seductively on purpose to show Leah all the tricks up your sleeve.

Leah moans when Alexia’s cock slips into her, feeling the cold lube and thick appendage stretch her wide. Leah grips the sheets but keeps her eye on you, watching your hips ride that pillow expertly. Your face is full of erotic expressions when Alexia chuckles.

“Faster amor, I think our guest loves your little show, don’t you Leah?”

“Y-Yes!” Leah exclaims, feeling Alexia’s hips fuck into her ass harder. Leah’s head droops as she moans in pleasure when a large hand grabs her hair and forces her to look at you riding the pillow.

“Eyes on her, cariño. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? Isn’t she just perfect?”

“S-She’s so beautiful, Daddy,” Leah croaks out, feeling Alexia pull her back against her chest and her hand moves from her blonde hair to around her neck. Alexia’s hips smack her ass with a loud clap, echoing through the hotel room.

You can barely hold back anymore, holding the pillow taut and grinding your clit down in a particular way that shoves you head-first into your second orgasm of the night. The sight of the two captains fucking and Alexia’s dominant side on full display was more than enough for you to get so turned on and come so hard your ears were ringing. You almost missed the part where Leah begged and begged Alexia to let her come and make a mess on her cock.

“Daddy, Daddy please!”

“Please what, Mommy? You want to come?”

“P-Please, please! I’ve been so good!”

“You have been the perfect guest cariño, so perfect for us Mami,”     

“Close Daddy, so fucking close!”

“Come cariño, come on Daddy’s cock,” Alexia allowed, pounding into Leah’s ass a couple more times before Leah almost passed out from her orgasm. You caught her and kissed her everywhere, Alexia caressing her cramping legs as Leah slowly came back.

“Fuck, that was-”

“Exquisite.”

Alexia threw her harness off and laid back, pulling the two of you into her sides. You gave Leah a look that she understood immediately. Leah’s hands roamed naughtily down between Alexia’s legs as you took Alexia’s breast into your mouth. Alexia physically relaxed into the mattress and chuckled, opening her legs a little to let Leah in a little more. Leah’s fingers slipped into her pussy and pressed up immediately, finding her sweet spot and rubbing it hard.

Alexia moaned Leah’s name and yours, cradling your head that sucked her breasts one after the other. Her breath shallowed and her chest heaved, hand on your head as you leaned over her and licked her clit as Leah fingered her.

“Amor! Ca-Cariño!” she cried out as she came, feeling her ears ring and legs shudder hard. She panted and you slipped back beside her. Leah gently pulled her fingers out of Alexia and she sucked on them, moaning at the taste of the Spanish captain.

“Delicious,” Leah stated, settling back into Alexia’s side.

“When you come to England in two weeks, stop by?” Leah asked you and Alexia, pecking both your lips.

“Sí, we have to play both sides out no? Like Champions League,” Alexia states seriously, you and Leah laugh and she starts chewing you two out in Catalan again which somehow lulls Leah to sleep.

Two weeks later, when you and Alexia make your way to England for the second leg of the Champions League semi-final against Chelsea, they crash at Leah’s house for the night. Alexia sat in the living room grumbling about the lack of good football on TV while you and Leah tried to reheat the takeout Leah had picked up from a local Chinese place down the street.

After dinner, Alexia suddenly got a little antsy, snuggling into Leah’s chest while you sat between her legs. Her hands were less subtle, finding their way under Leah’s hoodie, caressing the warm skin gently. You were the same, already settled on Alexia’s lap kissing her neck. Leah smirked and turned the TV on a little lower before caressing down Alexia’s arms.

“Does Daddy need something from us?” Leah asks, kissing Alexia’s ear softly as she whispers into it.

“Want you two, couldn’t stop thinking about that night at the hotel,” Alexia admits easily, melting into Leah’s embrace. Leah watches as you grind down on Alexia’s crotch when she shakes her head and looks back at Leah.

“Want you to fuck me Leah, want amor to watch you use me, cariño please,” Alexia pleads so beautifully, eyes filling with tears that only make Leah’s cunt throb.

“I can do that darling, you promise to be good for me angel?”

“The best, I am the best.”

“That you are, baby. I want you two in the room naked and on your knees at the foot of the bed.”

They scramble and Leah grins, turning the TV off and taking her time before she goes into the bedroom. She stood at the door and heard hushed whispers, before silence. She walks in and smiles, seeing the two of them exactly where she wanted them.

Alexia sits a little taller than you do, rocking a little on her knees in anticipation, clearly not accustomed to giving up control in the bedroom but seeing Leah’s eyes change and go dark with pure lust and sexual motivation only made her core ache in eagerness of what was to come.

“You,” Leah points rudely at you, “on the bed at the head. Not a fucking sound,” you nod and scramble onto the bed where she asks, hands folded neatly in your lap.

“And you,” Leah steps in front of Alexia, “lay down in the middle and be a good girl.”

“Yes Mommy,” Alexia answers, lying in the middle of the bed obediently. You settle at her head and caress her brunette and blonde hair, while Leah sits comfortably between her legs. Leah wastes no time and dives into her dessert, slurping and sucking on Alexia’s folds, fingers drumming up her muscular thighs that threatened to crush her head between them.

Alexia’s hands don’t know where to put themselves and Leah pulls them into her hair, eyes fixated on the thick Spaniard in her four-poster bed. Leah slips two fingers into Alexia like she had the last time they fucked and it sends Alexia’s brain spiraling, having tried to desperately recreate that feeling since Leah left the next morning.

You too can’t decide what to do with your hands, having been trained by Alexia to wait for instructions before moving a muscle. Leah can tell that Alexia has given up all her power today and that she held the reigns. It was a power that made her chest swell with pride.

“Ride her face, darling. That’s all her slut mouth is good for, isn’t it?” Leah taunted but Alexia only got wetter, the slick practically pouring out from the Catalan.

“Yes Mommy, she eats pussy so good,” you supply, straddling Alexia’s face before she can say anything. Leah smirks and presses her fingers up into Alexia’s sweet spot that she remembered from the last time. Alexia moans right onto your cunt, lapping up your juices that made your thighs sticky.

Leah pulls her fingers out and climbs off the bed, pulling her favorite strap out and securing it to her hips. Alexia can’t see what she’s got on but she can hear it and it sounds heavy. You ogle at the appendage between Leah’s legs and your eyes go wide, the ribbed dildo was long and thick, surely as big as Alexia had ever used on you.

Leah thrusts three fingers into the Spanish woman and fingers her hard and fast merely to open her up, Alexia’s legs struggling to keep themselves open as you leaned forward to ride Alexia’s tongue that had slipped into your heat.

“She feels so good Mommy,” you tell Leah, watching her fingers push into Alexia’s gaping pussy till the webbing. Her slick made a wet patch on the blanket under you three, your slick making a mess on Alexia’s beautiful face. She was in heaven, she thought, the two weeks of dreaming about this day made it worth the wait and it was more than she was expecting.

“She does feel good, sweetheart. Can you hear how wet she is?” Leah teases, reaching out for you for a kiss. You kiss her hard and moan, feeling Alexia’s big hands grab your ass for some stability.

“Want something a little special, darling?” Leah asks as she pulls away from you. She pulls her fingers out and watches you nod, tongue out like a panting like a dog. You think that Leah’s gonna let you have a little fun with Alexia but you were in for a little surprise like Leah said.

Leah presses her Alexia-covered fingers into your mouth deep into the cavern, pressing down on your tongue to pull a gag out of you.

“That is my favorite sound in the world, cariño,” Alexia pipes in, grinning wide with her slick-painted chin and lips.

“It is music to my ears,” Leah chimes in, pressing her fingers deep into your throat again to hear you gag. Tears fill your eyes and you stumble a little, falling forward onto Alexia’s torso.

Leah pulls out a strap from under her pillow and gives it to Alexia. You slip off her and stare, connecting the dots in your head.

“Daddy’s gonna fuck you while Mommy has her way with me, got it?”

Leah smiles, helping Alexia pull the harness on. It settles right above her cunt which leaves it all for Leah while you could comfortably ride Alexia at the same time. Alexia sees the dildo Leah’s got on for the first time and smiles, stroking it gently.

“Will it fit Mommy?” she asks innocently, grabbing the lube Leah handed her to coat the toy with. She made a show of spreading the lube all over it, using the leftovers for her cock.

“We’ll get it to fit, darling.”

Leah manhandles you onto Alexia with her clean hands, spanking your ass hard as you look close to tears. She guides the toy into your pussy and you whine, the stretch was more than Alexia’s tongue could prepare you for.

“So full Mommy, feels so good,” you sigh, bottoming out on Alexia’s cock. She smiles and caresses your thighs before you add something that sends lightning through both Leah’s and Alexia’s veins.

“Your turn Daddy,” you grin and bite your lip, kneading Alexia’s breasts. Her hands on your hips suddenly go tight and Leah’s hands on your waist press you forward to expose Alexia’s heat. Leah swipes a little more lube on the tip and slides herself home, kissing your back as whines and whimpers leave Alexia’s mouth.

“Fuck, Mommy,” Alexia starts but takes a sharp breath when Leah bottoms out, “your cock is so big.”

“Too much, darling?”

“It’s perfect Mommy,” Alexia moans, moving her hips on her own. You began to ride her cock, feeling Leah’s thrusts which felt like she was fucking you too. You hover over Alexia and take her cock, feeling her thrust up into you as you try your best to ride her.

Leah ruts into Alexia like a dog in heat, the sticky lube creaming at the base of Leah’s cock as she enjoyed the view of your tight grip on Alexia’s cock to spur her on.

Alexia moaned loudly, feeling the ribbed cock inside her graze over her sweet spot. It jerks her hips which sends her cock so deep inside you that you’re sure you can feel it in your stomach. Your hand caresses your belly and lo and behold, there’s a cock shaped bulge just above your belly button.

“Oh Daddy, you’re so deep!” you moan, canting your hips on her cock faster to chase your high. Leah grips your waist but feels the skin tug under her hold and moves them just over your palm resting on the bulge that came and went.

“Daddy, you really are deep darling,” Leah tells Alexia whose hand, which is the biggest of the three, rests on top. She smirks when she feels the rhythmic pulse of her cock inside you.

“¿Cerca?” Alexia asks you and you nod when she feels Leah fuck into her pussy harder. It sends shivers down her spine and pleasure right through her body. Her eyes roll into her head and she smiles in pleasure, pulling you down for a searing kiss. Leah leans back and fucks up into Alexia’s swollen sweet spot, making sure the whole ribbed cock grazed it over and over again.

You aren’t sure who came harder.

You aren’t sure who screamed louder.

You aren’t sure how you ended up in a suspiciously Leah-scented hoodie.

Alexia asks herself the same question.

“Hello, darlings,” Leah’s voice sounded distant but comforting until there were kisses pressed to your head and several more on Alexia.

“What happened?” Alexia asked, tucking herself into Leah’s side and looking up at her.

“You two fell asleep the moment you came at the same time. I cleaned you up and put fresh sheets on. Now I need you two to finish this bottle of water before the pizza I ordered gets here.”

“We haven’t got any more games over here do we?” you ask Alexia as she sips on the water while Leah gets the pizza from the delivery man at the front door.

“No, but I think I can convince Jona to have international training to use the facilities at Arsenal or something because I need her dick again.”

[lacroixqueen]

i can fix him no really i can (18+, dubcon) ex bf deadpool x down bad reader

Summary: your ex boyfriend deadpool shows up at your apartment after many years and he's badly hurt so you need to help him but he also wants to fuck you because he's toxic :/

Pairing: ex bf deadpool x fem!reader with unresolved feelings

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings/Tags: dubcon, making out, flirting, wounded, angsty

It was Friday night, so naturally, it was pouring rain outside. You were already snuggled up in bed with a bowl of popcorn and your favorite movie locked and loaded ready to play. Until you realized exactly what this perfect evening was missing: ice cream. You quickly got up out of bed and moseyed your way into the kitchen.

 

Before you could swipe your favorite gelato from the top shelf, you heard a loud crash emanating from your living room window. You froze in your steps for a moment, and then grabbed the largest kitchen knife you could find in your vicinity. 

Inching your way towards the noise, you were about to swing your weapon at the intruder before a nearby lamp flickered on and you laid eyes on a face you could recognize from a mile away. 

“Holy fuck, put that shit down!” the assassin in all red and black exclaimed, taking the knife out of your hand with ease. 

“Wade?!” you said, placing your hands on your hips. “What the hell are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in what, five years?”

“Great to see you again too, sweetheart,” he replied, noticeably clutching the lower part of his abdomen. “I just thought I’d swing by and say hi.”

“Wade, you are bleeding,” you pointed out, rushing to his side. “What the heck even happened to you?”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he muttered through gritted teeth, sliding his arm over your shoulder, which immediately caused your back to tense up. “But if you want the short version of the story, let’s just say I pissed off someone who had a giant sword for an arm. Like, he drove that shit through my fucking brain! It’s okay though, I’ll get him back for that one of these days, he’ll see.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed as you guided him to sit down on your couch. “Just.. don’t go anywhere. I’m gonna grab some stuff real quick.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it!” he chuckled playfully. “Also, did you do something new with your hair? I love it. It’s like your old color but just subtly different. Hey, did you like tone it? Was it that salon next door? Because their cut and color deal is to die for.”

“Stop doing that,” you shot back, ambling over to your first aid cabinet. 

“Stop doing what?” he said with a feigned innocence. 

“You know what,” you responded bluntly, pulling out a set of tweezers, gauze, and saline. 

“What, flirt with you?” Deadpool asked, sitting up a little bit more enthusiastically now. “Honey, we’ve been broken up for a long time, do you seriously think I would pick this moment to hit on you? Because you would be sorely mistaken. I am happy to report that I am 100% completely over our relationship and have moved on to bigger better things in life like car sales and snorting cocaine with Blind Al. Oh, she said she misses you by the way.”

“Your timing has never been impeccable,” you commented, kneeling before him with your wound care supplies. Before he could protest, you parted his legs open and rested your forearms on his thighs. This was making him blush harder than he would ever care to admit to you. “Now can you lift your suit up for me, please.”

“We’ve barely caught up for five minutes, and you want me to strip for you already?” Wade chirped, placing a melodramatic hand on his chest. “I mean, I’m all for it but aren’t we moving a little bit fast here?”

“You’re doing it again..” you sighed while shaking your head. “Can you just please not make this more awkward than it already is?”

He grumbled a bit before finally lifting up his suit, revealing a sizable gash slightly to the side of his V-line. There were multiple shards of glass embedded into the wound, glistening menacingly in the dim lighting of your living room. 

“Holy shit, Wade,” you breathed while laying out your instruments. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Look, maybe I pissed off an intergalactic space fascist or two,” he mumbled while shrugging his shoulders. “But who’s counting? Besides, the next time I get my hands on that freak I’m going to gut him from the inside out and make him eat it. Ooh, that would be satisfying, it’s making me so hard right now.”

“Always the pacifist,” you murmured sarcastically, taking your tweezers and dislodging one of the largest glass shards from his wound. “Have you ever considered, oh I don’t know, volunteering at the soup kitchen? Being a contributing member of your community? It doesn’t always have to be about bashing people’s faces in.”

“Jesus fucking shit on a stick motherfucker! Fuck!” he yelled as you removed the glass piece. “What kind of archaic method was that? At least numb me up first? Or I don’t know, buy me dinner?”

“Oh don’t be such a little bitch. If you wanted anesthetic, you could have just gone to the urgent care across the street,” you said matter-of-factly. “Besides, this isn’t exactly a professional clinic.”

Wade’s breathing became heavier when he noticed your soft tits pressing up against his leg as you focused harder on prying out a stubborn shard of glass. And how your lips curled into an adorable little pout when you were extra concentrated on something. 

“You know, this would be the perfect opportunity to give me head right now,” he said with a smirk under his mask. “Like, you could not be in a better position.”

You tried to ignore his lewd statement, focusing on removing the smaller shards of glass in his wound. You gasped when you felt his leathered hands reach into your hair, gathering the locks between his fingers to form a ponytail. 

“Wade!” you groaned, immediately setting down your tweezers. “I said stop, so quit it.” You shook his hands out of your hair, re-directing your attention back to his injury. 

“Oh, but you always looked so hot doing it!” he reminisced, clasping his hands together like some dazed fangirl. “And you were amazing! Like, took the entire length, it’s like you didn’t even have a gag reflex! I’ve never seen anything like it. Oh, and you always swallowed without me even having to tell you. Do you know how rare of a find that is? Because I haven’t gotten head that good since the day we broke-”

“One more word out of your mouth and I’m literally not going to help you anymore,” you interrupted, staring him dead in the eye, which was quite effective at shutting him up. 

You finally removed the last piece of glass, working a bit more efficiently now that he is not constantly interjecting with his fantasies about you. 

“Aaand, all done!” you said, tucking the debris into a wad of gauze. You cleaned the wound with some saline and covered it with a large bandage. “Yay, that actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Well of course, I’m literally a self-healing mutant,” Wade replied, pulling his suit back down to cover his wound. “Someone has literally shot me in the head before, but here I am, still kicking!”

“But it’s not like you can just heal foreign bodies out of yourself,” you countered as you cleaned your bloodstained tweezers with some bleach and a cloth. “You would have been in pain for days if it weren’t for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” he sneered. “But thank you sweetheart, that actually did get me out of a pinch. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a big ugly bad guy to send back to his dimension, and time is money, so I really should get out there before he blows up another building downtown or God forbid beheads a baby or something.”

“Nope, you are going to stay right here,” you established as you closed the lid of your first aid kit. “Because I’m not gonna have you come back here multiple times again throughout the night and me not sleeping at all.” 

“Wow, so now you’re just being a selfish bitch!” Wade said, crossing his arms over your chest. “Did you hear that, innocent bystanders? She could give less of a fuck if the world was set ablaze the next morning because I wasn’t there to stop it!”

“Oh, the world will be just fine,” you stated. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go to bed and you are going to sleep on the couch-”

As you got up, your stance wobbled a bit and you found yourself collapsing face forward onto Wade’s lap, your lips just barely brushing against his mask. You grasped onto his shoulders out of instinct, steadying yourself. 

“Ohhh I see what you’re doing here!” the assassin called out. “You want me to stay so badly because you are just a horny little slut who can’t get enough of me! Well that’s no problem at all, because I am actually completely open and willing to do this, just know that my hard lines are scat, vomit, and furry. I don’t know why I can’t get into those animal costume things by the way, just something about the eyes..”

“I don’t want to sleep with you tonight, Wade Wilson,” you said, enunciating every single word. “I just.. lost balance.”

“Uh huh, ‘lost balance’,” he repeated, making air quotes with his fingers, his gaze not wavering. “Well if that’s the case, why don’t you kiss me and not do anything else? Since you’re so certain.”

“I’m not kissing you either,” you snapped, gasping a bit as you felt his hands slide over the curve of your waist, tugging gently at the fabric of your cami. 

“You’re just saying that because you know if you did you wouldn’t be able to resist doing more,” he accused, voice darkening all of a sudden. He lifted up his mask to reveal just his lips. “So kiss me, Y/N. Since you’re sooo not attracted to me like that anymore.”

You sighed a bit as you felt the tips of his lips brush against yours, his hot breath entering your mouth, almost inviting you to lean in closer. You also realized you were never one to back down from a challenge. You went ahead and wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips into his. You tilted your head slightly to the side, allowing a couple strands of hair to fall down your face. 

So you kissed him, your soft pouty lips blending seamlessly with his bruised, callused mouth. He was hungry, voracious for you even, wanting you so desperately as he pushed his tongue into you. And you allowed him to. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer towards his body as you kissed him back. Your tongue twirled against his, a little whine escaping from your lips as he broke the kiss momentarily to catch his breath. 

He grasped one of your bloodstained fingers, and sucked his own blood off of them, licking his lips mischievously after.

“W-wait, Wade, stop..” you gasped, leaning back a bit once you felt his hand sneak over your taut stomach and grasp your neck firmly. “I-I can’t do this.”

“Aw, but we were getting so into it babydoll,” Wade whined, his grip tightening a bit around your neck before finally releasing you. “What happened? Are you getting cold feet because you remembered I’m so good at it?”

“No, it’s just I can’t catch feelings for you again,” you admitted, unclasping your hands from over his shoulders. “I don’t like it when I get like this with you.”

You stood up from the couch and turned your back to him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Ugggghhhh you always get so dramatic like this,” he said, standing up to follow right behind you. “I promise you it’s not that serious. Think of it like this: just two people fooling around and then calling it a night. We don’t have to get into all that messy bullshit from the past if you don’t want to. We could just.. What’s the word my therapist says all the time.. Oh! Compartmentalize. Yeahhh that’s it. You know, you get really good at shit like that when you watch multiple people you care about die in front of you, it’s pretty great.”

“But it’s not that simple Wade, I can’t just..” you sighed as he wrapped his arms over your torso, pressing his chest tightly against your back. He slightly lifted up the bottom of your cami, playing with the top of your panties that peaked out of your shorts. “Please.. don’t do this to me.”

“What, this?” he asked before sliding his tongue over your exposed neck, still playing with the top of your lacy panties and twisting the little bows around his fingertips. “Love these by the way, are they new?”

“St-stop..” you stammered, breath quickening as he rolled up your tank top to eventually reveal your delicate bralette, which accentuated your cleavage perfectly. You felt his hot breath splash against your shoulder as he panted at the sight of your body gradually revealing itself to him. 

“Wow, you look even better than I remember!” he commented, playing with the little ribbon in the center of your bra. He used the palm of his gloved hand to rub aching, undulating circles over your toned stomach. “Have you been working out? And by the way, love the statement piece, it goes really well with what you have under too! Ugh, I love when you wear a matching set for me, which reminds me, remember that gorgeous lingerie you had on that one Valentine’s day? I still can’t get it out of my head! Oooh, do you still have it? Because if so I would love to uh, borrow it for a few days if you don’t mind?”

You broke away from him, stepping towards your bedroom door, back still faced to him. “I have to go to sleep now,” you said, trying to conceal how flushed your cheeks were getting in the dim lighting. “You can use the sofa but please be gone by morning.”

You twisted the handle to enter your bedroom and slammed the door behind you. You pressed your back against the cold wood, trying to regulate your breathing by counting numbers and steadying yourself by grasping your dresser while the room spun. 

“Welp, at least I tried,” you overheard Wade mutter nonchalantly. He stepped over to your living room window, unclasped the locks, and disappeared out into the night. Like it was just another pit stop in the evening for him. 

Eventually, you found yourself back in bed, staring at the ceiling as your heart continued to pound against your chest. You tossed and turned the entire time, wide awake, until eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and had to find some relief. 

So you regrettably, masturbated to the thought of him, legs shaking underneath your sheets while you clasped your hand over your mouth. This was something you did way more often than you care to admit. And only then was sleep able to reward you.