#dolce gabbana evening dresses

[kitten4sannie]

dolce and gabbana

pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)

genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot

summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.

w.c: 3.3k

warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, only praise and pet names (omg who hacked k4s???), groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping on a couch in a very crowded room, one neck bite, san cums untouched, oral (receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)

a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33

song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller

San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.

Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.

San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.

It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of self-sucking the rich individuals around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.

“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.

San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”

“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a starter house. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”

Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”

San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.

“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.

Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.

San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.

-

The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands to various locked-in acquaintances, some off doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.

He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”

“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”

Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink anymore, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who simply nodded along in agreement.

Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.

Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, a half-empty champagne flute in hand, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.

Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.

San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”

“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.

San gulped, just about spilling the drink he was still holding onto, unknowingly spreading his thighs open further, as if he was giving you an unspoken invitation to climb onto his lap.

Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”

“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.

San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.

“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”

“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.

“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.

“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.

“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”

“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.

“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”

Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”

Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.

“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.

Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.

“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.

“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”

San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”

“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.

“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.

“And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you?” San smiled devilishly, his dimples appearing, kicking off his pants and running his closed hand along his curved, dripping length. He pressed his thighs against the side of the bed, running the tip of his cock over your lips, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

“I would.” Lifting yourself up so that you could completely rid yourself of your disheveled dress, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”

San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you.

You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”

“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”

“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.

As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.

You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”

San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Y-yes, San?”

San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”

Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.

“I’m not sure about that one…”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Hm?”

“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[sparklingchim]

you're losing me 02 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 5k

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

rating: 18+

warnings: pregnancy scare, mean possessive jungkook 😾, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, fingering, choking, oc gets her hands tied bc she's a brat ! ☝🏼, blowjob, cum eating, car sex, teasingg, tipsy oc, v vulnerable oc :(, dirty talk, daddy kink, crying, one boob bite methinks

summary: having a bit too much fun at chanyeol's halloween party, jungkook unexpectedly joins the party too.

a/n: it's finally here !! i hope u like it hihi <3

you're losing me masterlist

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Chanyeol never misses with his Halloween parties.

And usually, you never miss with your costumes too, but given the circumstance you’re glad to even attend.

Truthfully, it was entirely your own fault, and you hate to admit it because you had been extremely excited to wear your customised Barbie doll outfit, but one spill of your wine and the dress was disastrously ruined.

So you had to come up with a spontaneous Plan B.

You finally found usage for the small Victoria Secret wings from their special collection you received during a fashion show. Cinching a lace-embellished corset from Dolce & Gabbana, you paired it with a flirty ruffled miniskirt from Chanel. Your hair was crowned with crystal-embellished hairpins by Jennifer Behr. And oh, those satin heels by Jimmy Choo, adorned with dazzling crystals, added the perfect dose of sparkle to the outfit. You think you might’ve redefined last minute-magic.

“You’re trending on Twitter.”

As you sit on the couch, reaching down to retrieve the ping pong ball for Eunwoo turn at beer pong, Chanyeol abruptly shoves his phone in front of you. His screen is showing the trending page on Twitter.

“Didn’t realise my costume is that cute.” You look down on yourself. It’s a basic costume, but you would have thought that Chanyeol’s vampire look gained more attention.

“Your outfit’s cute, but everyone’s talking about what you posted on your Story,” Chanyeol remarks. He taps on your name trending and scrolls through a myriad of Tweets, with people reposting the picture.

“Oh.”

Eunwoo peeks over Chanyeol’s shoulder and reads the Tweets. He chuckles. “Everyone’s just talking about how hot we look.”

You giggle, swatting his arm.

You didn’t expect a little mirror pic creating chaos to this extent.

It was just a funny coincidence seeing Eunwoo dressed up in a matching costume to in a devil costume, complete with fitting horns and wings, creating an impromptu couple costume. It was his idea to take a picture.

You probably should have considered that Eunwoo is a rising idol and actor. Everyone adores him. And seeing him photographed next to a girl off-screen, especially when it’s not for a highly anticipated KBS drama, might not sit well with everyone.

“Has your hubby seen it?” Chanyeol asks.

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe? He does regularly check what I post.” But he told you how busy he is today, so you’re not sure if he saw.

“Have you thought about my offer, by the way?” Eunwoo asks.

“What offer?” Chanyeol curiously chimes in.

“The lead role in my next drama. They're srill looking for an actress and honestly, I think ___ would be incredible for this one.”

Chanyeol’s eyes grow wide. “You two in a drama? That’s insane.”

“I’ve never tried acting. Not sure if I’d be any good,” you confess,

“I feel like you’re good at anything,” Chanyeol assures with a grin.

“I’ll think about it.”

They both resume playing beer pong with the others while you watch them as you drink.

As you take a sip from your drink, the weight of lingering gazes persists – less intense than in the beginning, yet a subtle scrutiny remains.

The curious looks undoubtedly trace back to the headlines two weeks ago, when pictures of Jungkook and you in his car near the gynaecologist’s building surfaced online. Captured in a vulnerable moment, perched on Jungkook’s lap with tears streaming down your face, you know how it must’ve looked like to the public.

You couldn’t stand those pictures making the rounds, especially with you in tears.

~

2 weeks ago

“You don’t need to worry.” Jungkook gently traces his thumb over the back of your hand.

You huff, frowning at your interlaced fingers. “But I do worry.”

“Love, if you are potentially-”

“Don’t say it!” you cut him off. “Hearing the word makes me more anxious.”

You hear him utter an exhausted sigh. “You said yourself that your period has been irregular in the past.”

“Yeah, minus the morning sickness.” Your tone is a bit sharp, maybe even sassy, and you don’t actually want it to come off that way and in another circumstance you’d feel guilty, but you’re too drained from your emotions and the conversation to care.

“But the tests you took were negative,” he tries again.

“It’s just plastic. I can’t trust it.”

You took countless of pregnancy tests weekly, filled up the bathroom bin with those stupid little things until you finally acquiesced to Jungkook’s persistent suggestion to schedule an appointment with your gynaecologist.

The slow traces on your hand come to a halt. His fingers lightly squeeze your chin, directing your gaze at him.

“I promise you, whatever the outcome is we’ll make the best of it.”

“I don’t understand how you’re able to stay calm,” you say, eyebrows arching at his composed demeanour.

In truth, this is an authentic depiction of your relationship dynamic. You deal with lots of anxiety, always have been, and Jungkook stands as the serene counterbalance – tranquil and calm, akin to a gentle, silent breeze sweeping over your arms just as it gets unbearably hot in summer and you’re out of options to cope with the temperature.

But this is concerning you both and you can’t grasp the ease with which he handles the plaguing situation.

“Either outcome won’t change anything drastically.”

You head turns to the side and your stare out the windscreen, a hint of pique evident as your tongue pokes your cheek.

“I don’t want a baby.” It’s barely a whisper under your breath. “But you want one.” Your eyes flutter back to him.

Thinking about it, it dawns on you that a potential pregnancy would undoubtedly bring joy to everyone in your life. Especially your dad, who has been eagerly anticipating it for years – bugging you about it almost every time you see him. However, at 24 you have dreams beyond motherhood. The thought of being tied down to it now fills you with a quiet sense of unease.

You know that Jungkook views it differently. It’s understandable; he is 31, and despite mutually agreeing to wait for a baby, for him it’s not the end of the world. His calm demeanour, shaped by having navigated through a previous marriage and bringing a wealth of life experience, contrasts with your apprehension.

Jungkook hesitates. “I do want a baby,” he confirms, a shadow of regretful longing crossing his face. “But it doesn’t matter. Whatever the result is, I will support it – I will support your decision.” Upon squeezing your bare thigh, he realises how cold you are. “Love, you’re freezing.” He fetches a fuzzy blanket from the backseat that he keeps there just for you. He tucks you under the comfy blanket.

“It’s ‘cause I’m scared,” you mumble, leaning back in your seat.

“Come here.” He softly anchors his hands on your hips and guides you to his lap. “It pains me to see you like this.” He wraps the blanket around you tighter. “You don’t wanna go in there and get this done quickly? Avoiding the inevitable messes with your headspace.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

Jungkook mindlessly cups your cheek, tatted knuckle skimming over your skin.

Maybe it’s the way he peers at you. With a gentle shimmer reflecting sheer fondness and poised to unfold the world at your feet, build a home for you wherever your finger points to without having to ask. Maybe it’s the way he is holding you to himself, his hands serving as a protective embrace, a shield warding off any harm that would dare come your way. Or maybe it’s the tall, daunting building on the side of the road, towering over you like a spectre of uncertainty.

But something brings tears to your eyes – making you grow smaller and younger and suddenly fragile.

“My love,” Jungkook utters tenderly. It fills you with warmth and so much love.

Worry contorts his face. His hand around you holds you tighter.

“I’m not gonna cry.” It serves more as a reassurance for yourself than for him.

“You know you can when you’re with me.”

You refuse, adamantly shaking your head. But when you lose control over the tears stinging your eyes, you bury your face into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, adding a small peck to your temple. “It’s okay to feel this way.”

“Don’t like it,” you murmur into his now tears stained skin.

“But there’s no point in denying it.”

“There’s just...so much. All at once.” You lean back a bit, finger pointing right to your heart.

“I know, love.” He gingerly caresses your back. He softens at your trembling bottom lip, a piece of his own heart falling apart upon seeing you vulnerable on his lap. “I’ll carry everything you can’t, remember?” It’s a vow that formed the foundation of your shared existence. In the quiet assurance of his voice, he continues, “I’ll carry your worries, your fears, your doubts.” His promise is a soothing melody in the symphony of your shared moment. “As long as we talk – communicate properly, this won’t be difficult.”

“But we do talk,” you reply, scrunching your stuffy nose. “No?”

“Yeah, I know.” He nods, thumbing away the tear from the corner of your eye. “But I need you to be honest with me regarding this. No hiding your thoughts from me.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re ready now?” Jungkook asks. As much as he comforts you, traces of curiosity glimmer in his eyes.

“I think so.”

“There’s nothing to worry.” Jungkook smiles in that boyish and lovely way that it coaxes a weak smile on your face.

~

Jungkook had been right the whole time. You weren’t pregnant.

There had been nothing to worry.

You’re still in awe at how he never doubted his feeling. He just knew you weren’t pregnant – typical Jungkook, always has this uncanny grasp on things, like an innate ability.

Your gynaecologist attributed it to a lack of vitamins and advised better hydration.

Jungkook, feeling more than a tad guilty, bombards you with constant reminders to take your vitamins, drink and eat even more than he used to.

“Is that Jeon Jungkook?” A hushed female voice utters to the person beside her.

As you gaze upward, your eyes lock onto Jungkook in the back of the crowd. A flutter dances through your heart at the mere sight of him.

Jungkook’s presence demands every ounce of attention as people instantly recognise him. He’s draped entirely in black. His pants temptingly cling to his thighs, the buttons of his shirt straining across his chiselled chest and strong arms. His Rolex sits prettily around his wrist, it’s gleam harmonising with the brilliance of his wedding ring.

And you find it so funny, silly almost, because this is just Jungkook in his work attire, you see him like this every day, and yet people’s eyes morph into tiny hearts as he effortlessly strolls by, leaving a trail of heated admiration.

Sometimes Jungkook has a way of teasing your sanity. He turns your life into a whimsical romance, making you wonder if you’re living in a silly, sappy romance movie with the dreamiest guy as the lead. Because in this fleeting moment, the world around you dissolves into a blur, and you see nothing but him. Everyone fades, except him.

“Jungkook!” You stand up, a bit wobbly on your heels. He immediately wraps his hands around your sides.

“Hi, love.” He kisses you softly.

You missed his sweet, gentle voice when he talks to you.

He rakes a stare over you, one brow arched. “You’re already drunk? Who’s been giving you drinks?”

You deny his question with a dragged out “no”. “Just a bit tipsy – if even.” Before he can comment anything else regarding how many drinks you’ve already had, you ask, “Where’d you get these cute horns from?” Your hand reaches for the hairband with two attached red horns on them.

“Don’t know the brands name. Just a cheap store down the street from the company.”

You tilt your head as you ponder. “I don’t know of any cheap store close to the company.”

A ping pong ball rolls towards you on the floor. As you bend down to retrieve the ball, Jungkook’s hand pulls you back by the waist and he picks it up himself. His possessive hand travels to your butt and he slides his palm over the ruffles of your skirt.

“You’re not wearing any panties, are you?” he whispers into your ear. He throws the little ball towards the other end of the table. You shake your head, not really comprehending what he’s implying. Your more focused on how he effortlessly threw the ping pong ball straight into the cup.

“Yah, Jungkook! Come here, I need you in my team right now!” Chanyeol yells.

Jungkook lets out a humourless laugh. “Has Eunwoo not been good enough?”

Eunwoo sends a glare his way. “Chanyeol’s just taking everything too seriously.”

Jungkook rolls up his sleeve. “Too good that I’m also competitive.”

~

When Jungkook has enough of beer pong after carrying his team every round, he sits down next to you, pulling you to his lap.

You were just talking with Jisoo about the newest Dior collection, but she leaves the two of you alone with a knowing smile.

Jungkook swiftly takes the partially filled cup from your grasp and places it on the table. “You’ve had plenty to drink tonight.”

“I didn’t drink that much.” You don’t know exactly how much you drank because maybe you had too much to count, but you won’t tell him.

Jungkook cocks his head. He doesn’t need you to tell him to know.

“Get up.” His palms push your lower back.

“Huh?” You play with his necktie, leaning closer to his body. “For what?”

A crooked, entertained smirk crosses his face. “For what?” he scoffs.

His tatted arm snakes around you, his rolled-up sleeve flaunting the pretty inked lines adorning his skin. Jungkook grips you close to him. He angles your face down, his lips brushing over the sensitive part of your neck until he reaches your ear.

“Gonna fuck your brainless in my car. That’s why.”

His voice has got that pretty husky rasp you love so much. Tingles spread everywhere, especially your pussy. Jungkook sucks your earlobe between his teeth, and you think you can feel his smile when an unintended moan bubbles up your throat. You squirm in his lap.

“Someone’s got excited,” he teases as his hands run up your thigh, thumb disappearing underneath the white material of your skirt.

“Don’t.” Your fingers fly to his wrist. “There are people.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Now you care about people watching?”

Your lips pull together in a confused pout.

“You never notice, do you?” He decided against sneaking his finger further between your legs. Instead, he smoothens the hiked-up fabric of your skirt, though there is not much to adjust. It’s a skimpy skirt, it barely covers you.

“Notice what?” Your sparkly heels distract you and you move your feet around, watching every crystal glitter. “You’re being confusing, Koo.”

“I’m not being confusing,” he denies.

“Yes, you are.” You shift your gaze to him. A subtle crease appears between your brows. “You told me you didn’t have time for a silly Halloween party and yet you showed up.”

Jungkook dislikes seeing you upset. He really does. It creates this unexplainable feeling of protectiveness that sits right behind his rib – annoying and intolerable, coupled with a hint of guilt. But seeing your tipsy form upset delights him the tiniest bit.

“I was able to finish off early,” he explains. “Thought I’d join you, ‘cause you wanted me to.”

“And you were pretty mean to Eunwoo.”

“He can fuck off. I really don’t care about him.” His tongue peaks out as he swipes it over his bottom lip, teeth biting at the skin with furrowed brows.

“You’re such a meanie sometimes.” You run your fingers over his eyebrows, relaxing them.

“Want me to show you how mean I can be?” He tilts his head, a challenging glint in his eyes.

“You can’t be mean to me,” you say, shaking your head as your fingers settle on his broad shoulders. “Been good today.”

“You’ve been driving me insane tonight.”

“Me? What did I do?”

Jungkook rises to his feet with you, and you stagger a little at the sudden movement, but he keeps a safe arm around you. “Always so clueless,” he mumbles as he leads you through the crowd.

“___!” someone yells your name.

You stop when you see Karina rushing towards you.

“I’ve been looking for you all night!” She hands you a drink

You look at her through apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m leaving already. I’ll see you soon!”

Jungkook takes the drink from you after you had a sip and downs the whole thing. He tosses the cup into a near trashcan as you step out of the house.

“Oh, no. I told Eunwoo I’d give him my number,” you remember. “Lemme go back.”

But Jungkook’s hand on the small of your back remains firm.

“He’s not stupid. He’ll find a way to contact your manager.” Jungkook is pissed and you’re not quite sure if you heard it right, but you think he adds a small “Doesn’t need my wife’s number.”.

“Can you imagine me in a drama?” You giggle as you think about it. “Would you watch it?” You turn your head. “You don’t like watching dramas.”

“Of course, I’d watch it. Immediately.”

Your eyes spark up and Jungkook wants to have this image of your forever ingrained in his memory. A literal angel staring at him as if he was the one that hung up the stars.

You stumble over your heels when you refuse to look ahead, pretty eyes still admiring him. “Careful, love.” He quickly steadies you.

He unlocks his car when you reach it and opens the door to the backseat for you. But instead, you pull open the passenger door and bend over to open the glove compartment.

“Are there condoms left here?”

You search for the familiar package, but Jungkook hurriedly pulls you back, shutting it closed along with the car door.

“Nothing left,” he replies. “Get in the backseat.”

As you get into the car and settle on your back, you ponder, “Didn’t realise how many times we’ve fucked in the car.”

You're not particularly interested in cars, but in rare – or apparently not so rare – moments like these, you appreciate the spaciousness of Jungkook’s G-Wagon.

Before Jungkook joins you in the car, he scans the surroundings, vigilant for any lingering onlookers. He doesn’t need you on the front page of every media outlet again. You’ve had enough of that lately, and that darn Instagram Story of yours likely fuelled the gossip mill again.

Jungkook barely uses social media. You’re the only reason he has the apps on his phone. He doesn’t follow anyone except you, only has your notifications on. During a short break he mindlessly clicked on the Instagram notification, expecting a cute picture of your angel outfit – you had texted him complaining about your ruined Barbie dress and he suggested you could use the angel wings he once saw you carrying into your wardrobe.

Safe to stay he expected everything, but a picture with fucking Eunwoo wearing fucking matching costumes.

As hours passed by, his anger didn’t simmer; instead, it prompted his decision to make a swift trip to the dollar store and join you at the party.

“You tend to conveniently forget when you’re a needy brat.”

“It’s ´cause I’m not a brat,” you reply with a huff, yanking at his tie. “Just a bit needy sometimes.”

“Hmm, just a bit needy?” His knuckle follows along your jaw, teasing you with his gentle touches and the mock sympathy seeping from his tone.

You look so cute lying here for him, with the angel wings peeking from your sides and the little sparkly pins adorning your hair. He just wants to fuck you silly.

You nod pliantly. An innocent smile blossoms on your face.

Jungkook’s hand disappears under the ruffles of your skirt, middle finger sliding over your pussy. You gasp, body twitching at the sudden touch.

“So wet already?” he sneers. “All for me?”

You grind your pussy against him, hungry for more.

“And so greedy for me.” He spreads your pussy lips, gently rubbing the pad of his finger over your sensitive clit. Jungkook moves your skirt up and an immediate glint surfaces in his eyes. “So pretty.” He slips two fingers in, smirking when you shake beneath him. “Baby’s sensitive, huh?”

He pumps his fingers into you and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. The alcohol running through your veins heightens your sensitivity to his touch. Everywhere he touches leaves a shimmering trail of tingles, enveloping your body in a cloud of euphoria, a sensation both fuzzy and dreamy.

“I want you.” You reach for his cock, but Jungkook seizes your wrist.

“Did I say you could touch?” His voice drips with condescension.

You weakly shake your head, a frustrated whine accompanying it.

“Use your big girl words.” His fingers stop moving and he completely removes them when you remain silent. “C’mon,” he urges, growing more impatient.

“No, you didn’t,” you sulk. Even dare to look at him through a frown.

“You don’t get to do anything," he tells you. He loses hie tie, wraps it around your wrist in a swift, practiced motion and ties them above your head. “Just lie there and look pretty for me.” He pulls his pants and briefs down, stroking his hard cock before he teasingly nudges his tip against your clit.

You watch him play with your pussy and you’re unable to keep the desperate moans from leaving your mouth, eagerly waiting until he aligns his cock to your entrance, slowly filling you up with his entire length. A throaty moan reverberates when he’s all the way in.

“Pussy’s so good at taking me.”

A gasp leaves your mouth as he stretches you out. “So good,” you mumble.

Jungkook waits until he knows you’re used to h is size before he starts moving his hips.

Your tits move in the confines of your corset. Jungkook’s head dips down and you feel his tongue slide over the swell of your boobs that peek out, teeth slightly grazing over your skin.

“Don’t bite,” you utter between moans.

But Jungkook does exactly that. Even sucks on your skin a little bit.

“You think you have a say on anything?” His hand squeezes your face. Traces of petulance lie in your eyes. His other hand grips your hips, fingers buried in your skin to fuck you fast.

It’s almost ridiculous how fast Jungkook gets you to your high. He knows exactly what to do to get your walls clamp around his cock, begging him to give you just a little bit more to push you off the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, eyes falling closed as you the pleasure builds up in your tummy.

But then Jungkook suddenly stops moving. You open your eyes to find Jungkook smirking at your trembling body, amused when a shaky breath escapes you.

“Why would you do that? I was close!”

He pulls his cock out, tapping it over your clit.

“Hmm, no idea why I would do that?” he asks, pushing his cock back into your pussy in one swift motion.

“I haven’t done anything,” you say meekly, staring at the way he slowly fucks you. He could make you cum so easily.

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. “Can’t recall anything bad you did?”

He picks up on his pace and you can’t think at all, barely able to shake your head as more breathless moans fly past your lips.

“Posting a couple costume picture online? Fuck, ___ what were you thinking?” He hooks his hands underneath your thighs, pulling them up to fuck deeper. “Wanted everyone talking about you two? Wanted to piss me off?”

“No,” you whine. “Didn't mean it that way. We- we didn’t plan on it at all. Just – when we saw each other it was really funny, and I just took a pic of it.” You’re a babbling mess at this point, the ability to form comprehensible sentences gone once Jungkook sticked his cock in you.

“I don’t fucking care,” he curses. “You know how people perceive this stuff.”

“You don’t... don’t think it was a silly coincidence?”

Jungkook is flush against you. Your nails dig into your palms at how deep his cock is buried in you.

“I should find it silly?” A deep glower settles on his face and in a sick, naughty way it turns you on, making your pussy involuntarily squeeze around his cock. “Fuck, ___, do you wanna cum at all?”

“No, please,” you fuss desperately. “Wanna cum.”

“Then start behaving. Quit being a brat.”

“I am good,” you try to convince him.

Jungkook shakes his head in dismissal. “Put on an angel costume and yet you’re such a dirty girl.”

While you may not encapsule the right persona regarding the angel outfit, Jungkook undoubtedly fucks you like the devil. So mean and selfish, teasing and cursing at you.

“Wanna be – wanna be good for daddy.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, hand travelling up your body until it reaches your throat. “Then don’t disappoint me.” With his shiny Rolex around his wrist, he wraps his fingers around you, squeezing the tiniest bit. You feel the familiar outline of his wedding ring press to your skin.

Your legs wrap around him and you try not to poke him with your heels, but tears obstruct your view and you can barely control yourself, the aching feeling to come undone is back in your tummy.

“Jungkook,” you utter between little desperate puffs. “Wanna cum so bad.”

“Only when I allow you to.” Jungkook looks down at your defeated, crushed face with a smug smirk. “Can do that, right? My wife’s capable of that, hmm?”

Your eyes flutter shut. A single tear rolls down the corner of your eye. “Yes, I – I can wait.”

“That’s my good girl.” He leans closer, whispering it into your ear. “Cock so good it’s making you cry, huh?” His lips press to the corner your eye and he kisses your tear away.

The more he talks and whispers dirty word into your ear, the harder it becomes to resist the temptation to pull yourself back and cum on his dick. But you want to be good for Jungkook, want to hear him praise you for being a patient girl.

“Slow down, please.” Your bound wrists unconsciously attempt to free themselves, but Jungkook’s knot is too tight for you to undo it. You’ll cum soon if he continues at this pace.

“Nuh-uh.” He denies firmly. “You can take it. Show me how good you are.” His fingers dig deeper into your throat and your eyes open again. His brows are furrowed, an angry flush tinting his cheeks. “That’s it. Look at me – look at me when you cum.”

It crosses your mind to secretly cum, but Jungkook’s got a knack for spotting your telltale signs, so it wouldn’t be that sneaky after all. You did try to do that once though. You couldn’t properly sit the next day.

Jungkook swipes his tongue over his thumb before he slips his hand between your legs and starts to slowly circle your clit. A devilish grin sparks up his face.

“You wanna cum so badly, don’t you?”

“Please.”

“Wanna cum all over my cock?” His thumb moves faster. “Make a little mess?”

“Yes,” you pant. Pleasure seeps through your entire body and the effort to ignore the feeling becomes so exhausting, more tears fill your eyes.

“Then cum for me,” Jungkook demands, keeping a gentle trace in his voice. His gaze remains on your face and he watches you with greedy eyes as you come undone beneath him.

It happens almost instantly, like a string that snapped. You’re body shakes as your orgasm rumbles through you and you’re so sensitive you want to yank his hand away fromyour clit, but Jungkook enjoys seeing your writhe way too much to stop playing with your nub.

Shaky breaths escape you. Jungkook fucks you slower now, still rolling his hips into you with precision to hit your sweet spot.

“Doing so good, love.” The hand on your throat moves to your face, swiping away the tears. “So good for me.”

And just as you’re about to tell him you’re too sensitive, Jungkook removes his finger from your clit and pulls his cock out. He sits down and pats your thigh. “Come here.”

Despite being tired from just cumming, you’re hungry for him just by the sight of Jungkook stroking his cock. You move to sit on your thighs, tied up hands on your lap.

Jungkook gathers your hair in his hand before he moves your head down. “Open wide,” he instructs, guiding his wet cock into your mouth.

You taste yourself on his dick as your slide your tongue around him. Jungkook is close to cumming. You can feel it in the way his he impatiently pushes your head further down his cock.

“Gonna cum in your mouth.” Tiny moans fill your ear and you take as much of him inside your mouth as you can. “Fuck, just like that.”

Your mouth fills with hot, salty cum and you continue bobbing your head up and down, getting every drop of it.

“Good girl.” Jungkook pulls you away from his cock. You swallow his load as you look at him. He hums approvingly. “Wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks, untying the know from your wrists. He rubs his fingers over the red marks.

“I’m fine. Didn’t hurt.” Your eyes close when he pecks your forehead.

After he pulls up his pants and briefs, Jungkook checks his phone. His fingers are quick as he types something.

“Who’s texting you at this hour,” you ask, curiously peeking over his arm.

“Just work. I left a bit abruptly.” He tucks his phone away before you can read anything.

Before more questions can leave your lips, he meets yours in a sweet kiss.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he says, patting your hair to tame the mess on your head. “Once we’re home, I’m gonna give your ass the attention it hasn’t got yet.”

[neo-nomatrix]

Thinking about Sugar Daddy Miguel O’hara

Sugar daddy Miguel who: spoils you like you’re the only person in the world. When he’s around you you’re the only thing that matters and the only thing ever on his mind. His only goal in life is to make sure you’re happy and he makes it very obvious. He sets out different cards for you to take on your latest shopping spree, but of course when he takes you out he has one rule. Always let him pick out a few outfits for you. It doesn’t matter what he picks out, whether it’s a cute dress for your next date or a few pieces of string sewn together to make lingerie, you are instructed not to complain. “But it’s so uncomfy, and it doesn’t even look nice,” you whine to him about the new set he bought you. “What did I tell you about complaining? I bought all of this for you so what I say goes. Don’t make me return everything,” he threatens. Your eyes go wide at the thought of him giving back your newest Hermès bag or your Dolce & Gabbana perfumes. You immediately throw yourself onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and apologizing for what you said. You know Miguel, if he really felt like throwing away the thousands he just spent on you he would without hesitation.

Sugar Daddy Miguel who: Despite your somewhat imbalanced relationship loves you more than anything. He might pay for all of your necessities and insure you won’t have to work another day in your life but he will always treat you as an equal. Even when it seems like your relationship is him giving and you taking he will always come home to see you by the stove cooking his favorite meals. At the end of the day you are nothing but a happy couple. He loves opening the front door and wrapping his arms around you from behind, kissing your head and taking solace in your love. “I don’t know what I would do without you,” he says, sighing. “Mm, I love you so much Miguel,” you hum in response. “amo más que nada, mi amor.”

Sugar daddy Miguel who: Fucks you with such meaning and passion. He fucks you like it’s the last thing he will ever do. He kisses you and eats you out like he was starved for 100 days. He takes glory in watching you wither beneath him. He begs you to claw at his broad shoulders, the only time he ever likes seeing you cry is when he’s inside of you. His absolute favorite thing to do is making love to you on a bed scattered with dollar bills. He was out all day and barely texted you, of course you were upset! The only way he knew to make up for it was to take about $2000 out of his account in twenties, fives, and hundreds and lay it on your bed along with rose petals. “Come to the bedroom with me, amor. I have a surprise for you.” You take his hand as he leads you to the bed. You’re in shock when you see the grand gesture. He spends all night loving you and taking care of you. “You mean everything to me, I love you so much. Please don’t be mad at me, it hurts when you’re like this,” he moans in your ear. So of course, you can’t be mad at him after this. You’d be insane to still be upset after he treats you like you’re the most delicate and precious diamond in the world.

After all, relationships are supposed to be equal. He buys you everything you want and you love him like no one else could.

[xcherryerim]

“On your Knees”

Derek Danforth x Gender neutral reader

Word count: 3218

Warning: NSFW 18+, sexual tension, degradation, Hard dom Derek, fellatio only (aka giving head), exhibitionism (on the limousine), porn with plot, Enemies to lovers, lightly slut shaming Derek and the reader, Mentions of vaping and carts. Sassy reader, Even sassier Derek. No use of y/n. Words like slut and whore are used here. Light use of choking and spiting on readers face.

Summary: Once a suspicious source leaked documents of Derek helping his mom get ahead of the presidential election, you are forced into a PR relationship to distract the media from finding the truth. Even if this is all a facade, Derek will prove you’re his.

Notes: This was very rushed so sorry for a few mistakes here and there, also this is heavily inspired by Partition.

Being the vice president’s child wasn’t easy. Especially since you had to be around Derek a lot, which was hard to do. Every word he said sounded snarky and smart-assed. His demeanor was something you hated. But, since someone found out and leaked that Derek pulled some strings to make his mother win the presidential election, everyone decided to pull a PR stunt about Derek dating you to distract the media from ever finding out the truth.

You both had no option but to agree, even if you hated the idea.

You were waiting for Derek to arrive since fake paparazzi were outside, ready to take candid photos of you both walking around. Clearly not knowing you guys are being followed. The attire was supposed to be casual, like you both didn’t want to be noticed, but Derek, being Derek, came with flashy clothes that didn’t match. Military green-colored pants, a tiger-print shirt, and a dark red coat.

“Derek, what the fuck are you wearing?” You said this as your hands traveled to your forehead. Hoping it would calm you, which was hard to do with him around.

“Pants are Dolce Gabbana. Shirt Versage, of course... coat is—“

“No, Derek.” A sigh escapes from your lips. Your eyes tried to avoid his over-the-place outfit, but the distracting contrast of colors made it hard to not look away. “You were supposed to dress casual.”

“You said casual. This is how I dress casually. It’s not my fault; you are just basic compared to what I wear.” The look he gave you was the classic Derek Danforth smirk that made your blood boil.

You didn’t want to deal with his banter. Today was too stressful already, and it felt like it was going to get worse.

You walked towards the men's section of the store, picking up more casual clothes that you thought would fit Derek. He followed behind you with a raised eyebrow. Derek hits his menthol vape, the vapor hitting the exposed back of your neck and making you shiver lightly.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice laced with annoyance.

"I'm picking out clothes for you," you said, not bothering to turn around. "Now, stop that disgusting habit." You motioned to the vape. “You’re way too addicted to that shit.”

“I ain’t wearing those.” He said while crossing his arms, leaning on one of the walls, arms folded together, his eyebrow still raised in question as to what you were about to do now that he refused.

“Derek I frankly don’t give a fuck what you want. Just try these on. Now.”

Derek groaned but complied, taking the clothes you threw at him. He stepped into the fitting room and began to change. Meanwhile, you stood outside the door, tapping your foot impatiently, trying to calm down.

After a few minutes, the door finally opened, revealing Derek in a more casual ensemble of jeans and a plain white tee. "You happy?" He asked with a snarky tone. The basic outfit made the silhouette of his figure more apparent, and the white tee was the perfect amount of see-through-ness that lets you see the outline of his slutty man waist and abs.

You nodded and immediately turned away to avoid your eyes making it obvious that they were taking every detail of his body. It's clear you can’t stand Derek. No one could to be fair but, Derek had this sensual energy that was captivating, but the charm breaks once he opens his mouth.

Your hands grabbed sunglasses for the both of you. Once everything was paid for, your hand grabbed Derek's, which made him flinch a bit.

Yes, this was out of the ordinary. Usually, if you both were in a room together, you guys tried to avoid each other and be as distant as possible, but you couldn’t escape this time, and the only reason you were even part of this PR stunt was that there are only 5 people in the US who know the truth behind Derek’s crimes. Derek, his mom, your father, the person who exposed him, and finally, you. So there was no choice.

The more you thought about your hands in unison, the more you felt yourself getting nervous. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t feel bad either. His strong hand gripping tightly around yours made you feel some type of way. The sudden rush of emotion is making you feel lightheaded and sick. It's been so long since you've been touched, and the feeling of his firm, masculine hands wrapped around you made you shiver. You know you shouldn’t get turned on by a simple hand-holding, but then again, he has this sensual aura in everything he does.

You started to make your way out with Derek, walking slowly to help the totally not-paid-for paparazzi take the best photos of you both.

“You know…” Derek said, looking at you with a smirk. “You look really good this way.”

Was this a compliment from the Derek Danforth? That was rare. “What?” You asked confusedly.

“Yeah, you look great. Like with the hoodie over your head and the sunglasses covering your face... I think you look better this way than you do on a regular basis.”

Of course, he had to make a snarky comment. “Shut up.” You said this as you rolled your eyes.

“No, I’m serious, like you’re almost… passing.”

You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows. “For what?”

He shrugs “I don’t know.” Derek stopped his trance for a second to look at you up and down. You felt your body tremble as his intense eyes ran over your body. People’s eyes linger on you, but when Derek Danforth, with his perfect jawline, sharp features, and lean physique, looked at you in such a way, your mind was blank.

“You tell me,” Derek said smoothly as a playful grin appeared on his face. For a second, you are left speechless. No smart-ass comment comes to mind.

After a few seconds of awkward silence you finally found your words. "You're looking at me like you’re checking me out.”

Derek smiled at you. “Maybe I am.” He said as he hopped into the limousine, taking a small glance of you before leaving you standing there awkwardly. Then, the driver opened the door for you.

Once you sat down, your mind couldn’t help but think of how his hand gripped yours. The thought alone made you shiver, leaving your mind empty. However, it would occasionally flash out imaginary images of Derek fucking you from behind or him kissing and sucking on your body with the new tongue piercing he got.

“Hey!” Derek snapped his fingers at your face, bringing you back to earth. When you met his gaze, he sat back.

“So, for how long are we doing this shit?”

For a second, you felt annoyed by his attitude, but at the same time, his features were too distracting to get a raise out of you. His strong build made it clear that if he wanted to, he could dominate you as he pleased. Not that you would mind anyway, even if you won’t admit it to his face.

“4 months.” You said, shaking your head, trying to block out those intrusive thoughts about him.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” He muttered to himself as he looked out the window, trying to hide his annoyance about the news before facing you once again. “And are we going to act monogamous too?”

“What?! Of course!” You sigh. “Do I have to remind you that I’m fake dating you because you fucked up? One thing is to be your fake partner, and another is to cheat on your fake partner. I mean, if the paparazzi find you kissing someone else who isn’t me, they’re going to pity me and I don’t want that. So don’t even try it.”

Derek gives you the most cold expression before he hits his vape. He stayed quiet for a few seconds, thinking of something.

“Alright…” He said, then leaned forward. “Can I go to a party alone then?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re basically like a cart at a party. Tossed around, everyone’s mouths on you.” You mentioned with hints of slight jealousy.

It was true that at every party, if there was at least one single attractive person around his age, Derek would go to them and make out. Sometimes Derek would disappear for the night with them too.

Derek smirks. “Ah, so you’re jealous.” How did he…

He smirked more as he watched you flinch. “It’s cute,” he whispered to himself. “You know, I’m not surprised you find me attractive.” His voice was filled with arrogance. “I get it often.”

“You’re so full of yourself.” You scoff and look at the limousine’s floor. You felt Dejavú for a strange reason.

“If you want to go to that party, I’m coming with you to keep you in check.”

Derek raises his eyebrows and lets out a little chuckle. “Keep me in check? Do you think you can accomplish that?" His voice was filled with snark.

"Okay, maybe not, but if you’re going to be fucking around, I might as well.”

Derek stood there quietly. Processing your words.

“I’m not going to sit around and let you cheat on our fake relationship.” You retort, matching his previous tone and determination. Your gaze never wavered, holding his in a silent battle of wills. The tension in the car was thick, and the air was heavy with unspoken words and unspent emotions.

Derek's eyes narrowed, a glint of admiration flashing in them. “You’re a bold one, aren’t you?” He finally said, breaking the silence. His words lingered with sarcasm.

“Just don’t go around sleeping or kissing with random people, and I will do the same.” You mentioned.

Derek laughed, shaking his head slightly. "We'll see about that," A playful glint was painted on his eyes. "I won’t promise anything, but for now, let's focus on the party. Make sure you're dressed to impress because you're representing me as well."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his comment, but you nodded in agreement. "I'll do my best," you muttered with the most fake smile possible.

As the driver pulled up to your place, you quickly gathered your things and stepped out of the limousine. You knew you needed to get ready quickly since it was almost time, but you also needed to give a good image of yourself at the party. You’re the vice president’s kid, after all.

You fixed your hair and face before you rushed straight to your closet. Finding the perfect outfit. The material was velvet blue, and it combined with your subtle silver jewelry.

After 45 minutes, the limousine was outside. You stepped in, and Derek started to check you out with those eyes, taking in every detail of you. Not in admiration but more in a judgmental way.

“Get here.” He demands . You were confused by his tone, but you leaned closer to him anyway.

Derek rolled his eyes and started to fix your clothes. His eyes curiously traveled around your figure before landing on your lips. You followed his gaze. A shiver ran down your spine at the thoughts you were having now.

"Is there something wrong?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"No, nothing's wrong," he muttered, continuing to adjust your attire. "You just look... too... accessible."

You raised an eyebrow, not understanding his cryptic remark. "And what's wrong with that?"

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your body.

"I don't want anyone else getting ideas," he whispered, his breath sending chills all over you. "They need to know you're mine, understand?"

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of anger and arousal coursing through your veins. Yes, you were both fake dating, but that didn't make you his property.

"I'm not yours," you managed to croak out, trying to maintain your composure.

Derek voiced an annoyed chuckle before his hand was placed on your cheek. His touch was soft, and suddenly he slapped you in a teasing manner. “You are now. Like it or not,” he said with a husky tone that rang in your ears and made your heart stop.

“You think I don’t notice your eyes literally undressing me?” He leaned closer, pressing his body hard against yours.

“And I bet you fuck other people wishing I was taking their place.”

You felt your heart race as Derek's body pressed against yours, his words sending a jolt of electricity through your entire being. His confidence was intoxicating, and his dominance was undeniable.

"I don't fuck random people," you retorted, trying to keep your voice steady. "And I certainly don't wish you were in their place."

"Yeah, right,” Derek said as he raised the dark partition window of the limousine to give you both more privacy between you and the driver. He then grabbed your neck lightly, but his fingertips pierced your neck thoroughly. “Let me show you that you’re wrong about that.” He said before he leaned to kiss you.

As expected, Derek wasn’t soft, no. His kisses were rough, aggressive, and undeniably passionate. His fingers bit into your neck, causing you to groan into his mouth. There was no denying the electricity between you; the tension and attraction were impossible to ignore.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless and flushed, your heart pounding in your chest that you swore you could hear it. "Like I said," he growled, his eyes dark and harsh. "you're mine."

He spread his legs, giving you access to his bulge. The gray dress pants leave little to the imagination. You couldn't help but gasp at the sight before you, your heart racing even faster. Derek's confidence was astounding, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of desire coursing through your veins. "You're pushing it, Danforth.”

Derek grabbed your wrists forcefully; his eyes narrowed as he pulled you closer. “Make use of your mouth for once.” He said, letting go of you so he could roll off his pants and underwear, exposing his erect cock, glazed with pre cum.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. But then you steeled yourself and leaned forward, extending your tongue and tentatively touching the tip of his cock. The taste of his cum was bittersweet and hot, and it sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through you.

Derek groaned, his hand gripped your hair and pulled your head closer to his crotch. "That's better," he praised, his voice husky with desire. "Get on your knees and suck it like you mean it."

You paused for a moment longer, trying to gather your courage, before you did as he complied, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock and taking it slowly into your mouth. It was bigger than anything you've ever encountered, and it felt strange yet right in your mouth, almost like it was it’s only use.

You began to move your head up and down, your tongue swirling around the base of his cock, exploring every inch of him. Derek groaned again, his hips rocking slightly against your face, encouraging you to take more of him. You did, deep-throating him until you gagged slightly, but you didn't stop.

“You like when you get treated like a whore, don't you?” He asked teasingly before you slapped his inner thigh in response.

“And a brat too.” he chuckled.

You continued to suck and stroke his cock, feeling his warmth and hardness against your throat. His moans turned into growls, and his grip on your hair tightened. The power he held over you was intoxicating, and you found yourself lost in the rhythm of his thrusts and your head movements.

The cars and rain noises were replaced by the sounds of your slurping and his grunts. Your hands gripped his thighs tightly, digging into his flesh and leaving a few marks as you took more of him into your mouth. The feeling of being owned by him was addictive, and you wanted more.

Derek whimpered, his hips thrusting faster as his cock grew harder in your mouth. "That's it, that’s it... oh fuck," he panted, his voice hoarse with desire. "You like this, don't you?" Derek asked as he looked down at you, enjoying the sight of you on your knees just for him. "Being my dirty little slut?"

You moaned around his cock, your response muffled but clear enough. You didn’t want to admit it but you loved being his slut, loved satisfying him and making him feel good. You continued to bob your head, sucking him off eagerly as he called you names. It only turned you on more, knowing that you were his to use. Derek's hands tightened on you, guiding you as he thrust into your mouth. "That's good." He praised. "Such a good slut for me."

Your tongue swirled around the head of his cock, teasing him mercilessly. You loved the way he growled and shook when you did that, how much it drove him wild. "You like how you're mine, don't you?" Derek asked. "You love being my fuck toy huh?"

Without waiting for a response, he pulled you off his cock forcefully, causing you to choke and gag before spitting on your face. "Open wide.” he ordered, positioning his cock at your lips again. This time, you didn't hesitate. You opened wide, waiting for him to thrust back inside your throat. "That's better," he praised, starting to thrust faster and deeper, his hips moving in sync with your head's movement.

You gagged and choked on his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks as he continued to fuck your mouth. You loved the feeling of being his toy, owned and used for his pleasure.

Derek's hand gripped your hair tightly, pulling your head back harder, forcing more of his cock into your throat. "I know you love it," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "If you keep doing this you might become my favorite fuck toy.”

You moaned around his cock, unable to form coherent words, but the meaning behind his words resonated strongly within you. You wanted this, wanted to belong to him completely, to please him in every way possible. You could feel his cock throbbing in your throat, ready to come at any second.

With a final growl, Derek pushed your head deeper as he came, filling your mouth with him. You gagged slightly but managed to swallow it all, feeling satisfied with your performance despite the big size.

As you were about to get up from your knees, Derek grabbed your neck and looked down at your teary eyes.

"One more thing," he growled, his eyes never leaving yours.

You felt the limousine stop as you both finally arrived at the party. Derek looked at the window then at you. “We’re not done for the night.” He said before letting go of your neck, his hands buckling his pants again.

Once he was all set, you both stepped out, walking to the party. You felt a mix of exhaustion and excitement as you followed Derek. You weren't sure what he meant by "Not done for the night,” But you were eager to find out.

Thanks for reading! and if you have any requests send them out. You can also help me pick my next smut idea here.

Please be specific if you want gn reader/ afab gn reader / or fem afab reader! that will help me a lot. Thank you!

[cockdestroyer32]

all mine

tangerine x fem!reader

word count: 2304

summary: after the events in the bullet train in tokyo, you and ladybug have a new job in a new place, unfortunately, you're not alone.

a/n: okay so in this reader's codename is sarin. and you're besties w ladybug bc I lov him. title is from brent faiyaz's 'all mine' which has nothing to do with this fic but I didn't know what to name this and I rlly love that song so. also no smut in this.

When I grow up, I wanna be famous I wanna be a star, I wanna be in movies, when I grow up I wanna see the world, drive nice cars, I wanna have groupies.

The song blew out of the car’s speakers, and both you and Ladybug sang each word perfectly (and very obnoxiously, you were practically yelling out the lyrics.) He drove and you sat in the passenger seat, you both swinging your arms around dancing tirelessly as the citizens of Greece who were able to spy inside the moving car judged your shameless partying. You hadn’t seen Ladybug in months, so when you found out you were finally going to be assigned to a mission together again, you both beamed, and got together to plan your entire trip from the cities of New York to the city of Larissa. You went from cackling a little too loudly at comedy movies on the plane, to endless chatter at the airport, to listening to your iconic super duper awesome 2000s hits playlist on a rented Jeep (the playlist title was Ladybug’s decision.) There’s no one you’d rather work with. Except…you weren’t working alone tonight. 

This hit wasn’t just any hit, it was a stakeout. So, Lemon and Tangerine were called. 

You had walked into Tangerine a few times before; New Zealand, Cuba, Romania, and Tokyo, of course. You’d been the longest with him while in Tokyo, when you had to team up because of a lost briefcase. He was incredibly irritating and the different ways you both did your job clashed immensely, but by the end of the night you two had worked frustratingly well together. 

You’d never met Lemon before though, you hoped to God he wasn’t just a Tangerine 2. 

“Oh, boo!” Ladybug starts and you join him when you look up.

“Booo!” You yell out at the warehouse as if it’s just told some awful joke at a stand-up show.

The building has the same architectural creativity as a cardboard box. Except that instead of brown, it’s grey and dirty, and instead of holding a gift you just spent the last days waiting anxiously to arrive at your home, it just holds the next gruesome hours you’ll spend planning your hit.

You and Ladybug allow The Pussycat Dolls to finish the last few seconds of their song and turn off BlueTooth before you can be sad about not singing Britney.

You sigh and say, “It’s gonna be a long night.”

“Yep, but the sooner we do it sooner we’re done. Come on, let’s meet the fruit duet.” You chuckle.

The warehouse acted as a lighthouse, the nighttime a sea of nothingness. You can spot the remnants of the trucks that passed by in this area marked in the muddy ground. Tonight smells of wet grass and fancy dinner parties, the ones you should be in right now.

You enter the warehouse, the night’s cold air vanishes and it shifts to a warm, still atmosphere. You take off your coat. Tangerine and two other men are already in the room. Even at such a dead spot in town, Tangerine is still dressed elegantly, sporting a blue striped suit that fitted him perfectly, and smelling of rich men’s perfume. You often wondered if he could fight in those suits. Although you loved a good luxurious suit—God knows your blood money could buy one, your closet was full of Versace, Vivienne Westwood, Dolce & Gabbana and Burberry—you preferred to wear more tactical outfits for the job, you know, in case someone fucked something up and everything went to shit.

“That’s Lemon, by the way.” Ladybug whispers to you, while pointing his head to the man standing in front of Tangerine.

“What? I thought they were supposed to be twins,” Ladybug shrugs.

“Um, I hope we’re not late…you’re Lemon I suppose?” You pretend like Ladybug didn’t just tell you and offer a handshake. He takes it.

“That’s right, and you’re...”

“Sarin.”

You look over to his brother.

“Tangerine.” A nod, no handshake.

“Sarin.”

“You’ve met Ladybug.” You say to the two brothers.

“Yes, we had the pleasure.” The taller man doesn’t hide the sarcasm.

“Accommodating as always, Tangerine.”

“So, shall we?” Says the other man in the room, the one who was managing this whole thing, and you all follow him.

He takes you to a desk where there lie multiple files on different workers and a big map layout of the warehouse. The man shows all of you the place, discussing what approach the team should take for the mission, at what time each one should arrive at the building, the shift times of each warehouse worker, the spots each one should be in…and so on and so forth. Time passes relatively quickly, demanding you and Ladybug a secret high-five, and you all turn to look at the man who’d organized this.

“Yeah. That’s it.” The man repeats.

“Yeah.” You agree, still looking at him.

“You can go home now.” He practically demands.

“Uhh, I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to get paid now,” Lemon adds.

“You’ll get paid after you get the job done.”

“Did you not get the memo lad? We get first half now and second half after the job is done.” Tangerine said.

“Yeah, we’re supposed to get paid now, didn’t our handler message you?” You asked honestly.

“Well I didn’t bring the money, so what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, but we’re getting paid.” Tangerine insisted.

“There are lots of ATMs in Larissa…” Ladybug spoke. The man mutters some curse word under his breath,

“Fine. I’ll get you your fucking money, but you’re gonna have to wait.” He disappears from sight, making his way up the stairs in the corner of the building.

“Damn, what a Gordon.” Lemon remarks.

“Thomas the Tank Engine?” You ask.

“Yeah.”

“Nah, I think he’s more of a James, just super cocky.”

“Oh my God, there’s two of them.” Tangerine sighs.

“I’m gonna go get some air.” You say.

With your coat in hand, you make your way to a backdoor on the side of the warehouse. Slipping the garment on as soon as you open it, the chilly air cutting through your skin. You slide your hand into one of the coat pockets, finding a small rectangular box and a smooth metallic item. You fish one of the cigarettes out of the box and light it, inhaling the nicotine, warming your body while letting yourself freeze in the moment. You were so far out of town that you couldn’t hear any of the cars, any of the people in Larissa, your team also seemed to be particularly quiet inside the building. Here, it was silent, save for crickets chirping in the vast nothingness that was the field at nighttime. Tomorrow it’d be full of people, receiving and delivering new packages, trucks coming and going and workers arguing amongst each other, all their chatter overlapping, sounds of life, until you all arrive and the sounds of an active workplace morph into that of an action movie, slashing and yelling (no guns, this was supposed to be a somewhat subtle and more practical job) and then, nothing. The building once again ghost quiet, but this time painted red. 

It didn’t bother you. You’d been in this business for way too long to be perturbed by the sounds of the dead now. You knew what you were getting yourself into from the beginning, this is no bombshell. Although the still of a city that’s beginning to fall asleep is much better than one that had its commotion ripped away from it. So you took these quiet moments you had to yourself and held them tightly in your hand, like some old trinket gifted to you by someone special. And for a few moments, as you exhaled the smoke out of your body, you felt outside of space and time, frozen in the moment, your feet planted on the ground, scared that if you move even an inch, you’ll fall off the face of the earth. You melt off the moment when you feel a pair of eyes on you.

Tangerine stands by the back door on your right, looking at you. You’re not sure how long he’s been there, but he has a calm look on his face, a smile on his eyes but not on his lips, by far much different than all of the ticked-off facial expressions you’d seen on him before.

“The fuck are you looking at?” You tease.

“Geez. I’ve just come to get some air.” He walks in your direction. You offer him your cigarette, he takes it. You two breathe together for a while before you ask,

“Do you like this?”

“What? Jobs in the middle of nowhere handled by some fucking dickhead who can’t even pay us right?”

“No. This.” You look around, motioning slightly to your surroundings, “The quiet. We don’t get a lot of it in our job.”

“I suppose we don’t,” He passes the cigarette back to you. “It is kinda nice, I can hear my thoughts for once, don’t have to listen to Lemon yapping about.”

You snort. “He’s nice. I was scared he was gonna be like you.”

“What? I’m nice.”

You stare at him.

“How am I not nice?” He continues.

“How are you not nice? Okay let’s see, you’re impatient, you’re always irritated, you look like you’re constantly on the edge of throwing a fit, you’re always cursing people out and you always got that look on your face of a teen girl who just got her phone taken away by her parents.”

He takes this in for a second, surprised at the speed of your answer, as if you’d been waiting for this moment for a while, and maybe you were.

“Hm…still think I’m nice.” He adds, you smile to yourself, nodding your head in fake disbelief.

You can feel his eyes on you, even as you take another puff on your cigarette and stare at the darkness. You don’t look back, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“S, Fruit, guy’s back.” Ladybug pops out of the door, and you follow him back into the building, followed then by Tangerine. 

The man now holds bags of money, one for you and Ladybug, and one for Lemon and Tangerine. You finally leave the warehouse, each of you making your way to your hotel rooms. And you would’ve been able to wash the night off your body and rest on the hotel’s comfy bed, if it wasn’t for the misplaced amounts of money. See, your bag and Ladybug’s held only his share, not yours. Thankfully, it wasn’t some scam, your money was placed along with Lemon and Tangerine’s. So, now you’re going up an elevator to Tangerine’s room to get your share. You knock on 215 and he opens the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey, come in.” You walk into the room, but only close the door slightly, not shutting it, and you stand next to it, ready to just get your money and leave, not expecting to stay here any longer than you have to. He goes to the back of the room and brings back a bag, “Here.”

“Thanks,” You spy inside the room, the place is quiet, most of the lights are off and it holds only one bed. “Is Lemon not here?”

“No, different hotel, leave no trail and such.”

“Oh.” You’re genuinely surprised. Shit, that’s smart, perhaps you and Ladybug aren’t as great professionals as you thought you were—even if the bar when you two worked together was already pretty low.

“What? Is me delivering your money instead that bad?”

You snort. “No, no, that I don’t mind.”

You look at each other for a second, perhaps you should be on your way-

“Are you staying in Greece after the job?”

“Uh, no. Me and Ladybug are going back to New York right after.”

“Oh.” He looks down, the expression on his face something you can’t quite read. “Are you and Ladybug…”

“No! God, no!” You almost yell. “No, he’s my best friend.”

“Oh, right.”

“Why?”

“Just…curious.”

Hm. Curious. 

You stare at each other again, a smile on your eyes but not on your lips.

“Okay, I should get going.” You start opening the door to leave.

“Wait,” He says, grabbing your arm. “I think…you should stay here the night.” 

The smile reaches your lips, amused. “Why?”

“You know, you could just stay here the night, if you want…”

“Okay but, why?” You tease. He furrows his brows. “I’m sorry Tangerine, I just don’t know what you’re telling me.” Your words are of someone genuinely confused, but your face and tone tell a different story. He catches on and sighs.

“I’m just saying…you could spend the night here, with me.”

You click your tongue, “Tangerine…you have to speak clearly.”

He squeezes your arm, and approaches his face to yours, changing his tone, “Sarin. I want you to stay. I want you.”

You let your lips fully curve up this time, pleased.

You put both your hands on his face, and close the space between you, only placing a light kiss on his lips, then pulling away to see his reaction. He keeps his eyes shut for a moment, as if still in the moment. Then, he opens his eyes, staring at you for a second, and pulls you in for a stronger kiss. His hands at first cupping your face, then one makes his way towards you back, pulling you in closer, even though you were already as close as you could possibly be right now. You shut the door with your foot behind you, not letting each other go for even one second. Tonight your own bed’s gonna have to wait for you.

[sherwees]

cw : obsession, manipulation, implications of domestic abuse and why does yangyang have a helicopter in his backyard?

side note : @ne0pearl and @teasteeper wanted me to drop this so here it is!!

side side note : yangyang beret?!

best friend yangyang that'll try to prove that he's better than your boyfriend by buying you all types of luxuries ranging from dolce&gabbana, louis vuitton and rolex. Something else that adorned your neck besides the 1200 dollar necklaces was the hickies that he would leave just so he could hear you struggle trying to explain that they were just bruises; your best lie was saying that it was an allergic reaction.

he'll spend hours on his free days, just scrolling through clothing catalogs (sometimes with his sidekick, hendery) just to pick out his gifts for you. hendery always found something that was perfect and he was a little too exact about your interests but it wasn't that much of a big deal.

when he would looked up at you with his arms around your waist, doe eyes and all in your new outfit in the dressing room. you giggle then grab at the price tag and let out an honestly dramatic gasp with your hand covering your mouth and all. “oh my gosh! 5,000 for a coat?!” you squealed but he immediately shushed you as he stood up with a smug look, eyebrow raised. “don't worry about it.. let your best friend treat you well~” his voice low, smooth like his hands lowering to your ass, giving it a light squeeze before twirling you around.

your boyfriend, winwin which happens to be one of his closest friends always questions him about his gifts makes the happiness crawl up his neck in tingles. his scrunched eyebrows, the hurt in his voice and the looks he gives him just riles him on. deeper into you, deeper into his craze.

yangyang that loves scaring the truth out of you. he loves being all dry in your texts after you maybe say the wrong thing or he catches you hanging out with your boyfriend. sometimes, he would corner you and bombard you with questions that barely have an answer, just like the first day you both started dating.

“do you really love me?” he randomly blurted one morning, you turn on your heel with a confused look at his more angered look. he only walked closer and your ass uncomfortably pressed against the counter but he didn't stop until he stood only a few inches away from you but repeated the question slower as if you didn't already get it. “yeah, as a friend..” you shrugged nonchalantly before attempt to turn back to your cereal but there was suddenly a resounding bang from the cabinet by your ear and you shrieked. “what the fuck!” you whined, covering your ear with hopes to lull the ringing. yangyang muttered, “naïve little whore” before turning you around with a swift tug at your shoulder,

“so all those times together meant nothing to you”

“but I have a boyfri–”

“if you truly loved sicheng, you would've took a sign and left the dressing room that day.” His words spewed like a firework explosion. You cupped your palm around his mouth with a gasp, shaking your head slowly with a quick “Nuh uh!”, you could tell that he was smiling behind your palm. He then licked it with a chuckle, your hand slamming against the counter in the process which elicited a hard grunt from you.

“You're so pretty when you're mad~” he said whilst circling his hand around your neck to grasp and squeeze your nape before heading in for a kiss.

he scared you though. sometimes, he would shove himself in the crane of your neck to whisper belitting words and lies about your relationship; that'll only make you overthink. his persuasion was so good to the point where he convinced you to make him your ‘first time’ because winwin was inexperienced and “wouldn't understand you like he did.”

sometimes, he would even refuse to apologize or convince you that a situation never happened. that day he snuck into your room in the middle of the night. never happened. when he grasped your neck and nearly suffocated you unconscious. was the past and he “changed”. he wanted your relationship to be perfect.

everytime you and winwin had a simple misunderstanding, he would be the first to run to you about what winwin said supposedly:

“He was like, ‘she's too whiny about everything and I just don't fucking understand her! I just wished she understood me more!’” He mocked winwin's emotional state then bellowed a laugh before continuing to blow on his noir nails. A slick, sick grin raised at the corners of his lips once he noticed that your lips was distorted in held back laughter, his dried hand grabbed your cheek caressing it with his tongue peaked from his plump lips.

“But you know I love you more right?”

but when it came up to you both having a misunderstanding, it was different. when he could roughly cradle your balled up figure on the couch, he attempted to coo at you but his tone was urgent,scratchy and whiny as his hands sporadically quaked, patting to find his phone throughout the many pockets of his baggy pants. the only thing that could make you stay at least what he thought would make you stay was buying you things; his bank account locked one day when he was in a raging fit and nearly spent 3 bands just for you to forgive him.

“Look!” he attempted to shove his phone in your face, the high brightness of his phone making your sensitive orbs strain more caused you to wince and shield your face. He mumbled a fast apology, turning down the brightness and scrolled through the pandora website with unsteady fingers.. “I'll buy you something– please forgive me? I didn't mean to hit you.. I'll never put my hands on you ever again..” he lied vowed with you, his voice shook as the tears caked at his waterline nearly overflowing.

“yangyang, just leave me–” you looked over to him with slight surprise when you saw his expression, he seemed unfamiliar because he was actually crying?

“NO!” he yelled, his voice rasp. His black nails digging into your back and left knee, his cries only become louder; you could tell his esophagus was giving out because he started to hiccup.

yangyang was like a child, a snotty three year old. if you didn't give him what he wanted, he would make a tantrum. when he would try to make it up to you, he would finally give you what you wanted. you stared up at the ceiling and to yangyang's bloodshot red eyes, his lips agape; sore and chapped as he grunted and moaned. his hand pressed against your shoulder, his free hand travels to your wrist and his breath was hot&gruff against the top of your limp hand until he laid a chaste kiss on it. “I'll always make it up to you, alright?” he opens your fingers with his thumb before rubbing your palm against his cheek, the warmth of him causing you to slightly smile. “there's my girl..” His toothy smile made it's appearance finally, his thrusts only quickened through your slick channel.

he threw his head back, his hands finding leverage from the bottom of his your shirt as the tandems of pleasure coursed through his veins rapidly. Your high was approaching, quick and heavy but to your luck, yangyang stilled inside of you already. His uncomfortably warm seed pumped into your hole at a steady rate, he manages to lower himself down to mark your jaw and any open area of tan skin he saw. I mean.. at least he was happy, right?

it's been a month since you and winwin uttered a word to each other. His contact was simply back to “Sicheng 🙂”, nothing further. yangyang insisted on removing the emoji or just blocking him, yangyang was like your parent now. he monitored your phone, always looking over your shoulder and got snappy when he was suspicious on your relationships with people.

through your moments of uncertainty, his friend sidekick hendery was always there for you. yangyang would always glare at your closeness or whenever you two thought you were alone. shame started to lay in yangyang's soul heavily, his mind was clouded with regret.

his members were practically scared of him now, xiaojun accidentally slipped that ten was talking to someone and xiaojun only huffed through his nose as ten walked off with his head low, when kun snapped at yangyang about how winwin started to stress himself out from the several opportunities he had in china; even some he volunteered for just so he could stay away from them.

I guess so.

his thumb mindlessly exited all the shopping websites that he had opened, he looked over to you and hendery in the kitchen; you laughing as he swiped off the whipped cream from your nose. is this how winwin felt? worthless, just sitting there as you just slipped through his fingers like jello until you melted into pieces.

[sweetpinkchampagne]

sinful II

18+ readers only please lovelies!! (this is for a reason please listen<3)

little synopsis: the reader is tonys daughter (he had her young, canon doesnt exist) theres tension between you and stephen, an obvious age gap keeping you from eachother (26, 40). theyre 'trapped' in an elevator together and the tension crumbles.

its been 2 days since the elevator incident and stephen has left you high and dry.. at an event you spot stephen with a young model in his lap, clearly he has a type. an angry confrontation leads to sex in a bathroom.

pronouns: female pronouns are used

relationship: fem reader x stephen strange not established relationship

note: i do not know what possessed me to write this shit, i will not apologise. i love you <333

warnings: defined age gap, stephen being possessive, controlling smut, dd/lg kind offf, petnames, semi public sex

it had been two nights, two long nights since your slip up with stephen. since you dropped your façade. you had woken up in his bedroom to cold sheets and an empty pillow. he had gone. fuck that, you thought. neither of you texted each other and conveniently he missed two days of work. well, define work - because he managed to find it within him to show up to a gala your father had thrown. a very fancy gala where people bidded on expensive technology and played characters for an evening. mingle with potential investors, keep up with appearances, engage with the press. those were the rules, and you weren’t going to disobey your father. another interesting detail that was headlined by TMZ, “doctor stephen strange seen with blonde supermodel. love or lust?” you weren’t blonde, or a supermodel by trade. that struck a nerve. 

it was 8pm, the gala had started an hour ago but you decided that just in case he did show up, you wanted to make a statement. your dress was a floor length black lacey number, with a sheer element that somewhat exposed your lower back and your ass. cascading down the stairs elegantly, you pushed open the doors loudly, fuck it you wanted to be seen. interrupting some old white man's bid on your father’s new bionic eye invention. the room went silent and heads whipped around. you sauntered over to the round table that seated natasha and maria, plopping yourself down in the seat next to the lovebirds. out of the corner of your eye you could see a man with jet black hair and grey streaks eyeing you, tongue in cheek, jaw clenched and you loved in it. natasha was the only person who knew of your one night stand turned revenge plot - therefore so did maria. you loved them both dearly.

“he’s staring, oh he’s livid.” natasha chuckled, adjusting her necklace. you swiveled turning back in your seat to grab a glass of very expensive champagne from the waiter, thanking him. 

“who’s that?” maria cocked her head, studying the blonde sat next to him. you knew it was her, you didn’t bother to look.

“stella whitford, shes a 26 year old model for dolce and gabbana.” natasha nearly spat out her red wine at your retort and maria snorted. 

“jesus stark! what are you, a stalker?” nat composed herself before looking back at the model. whitford was laughing, stephen whispering something in her ear. must have been fucking hilarious. 

“not a stalker, i'm just...well–read.” 

“didn’t think TMZ was your kind of read.”

“oh, so you guys saw it too?” maria nodded before mumbling an insult directed to stephen under her breath and nat agreed. you shrugged in response, "it's clear he’s just a middle aged man who preys on young women. i couldn't care less. honestly." you lied

“oh come on..” natasha responded, giving you an all-knowing look. 

“sold!! to edward tieran for 6.5 million dollars!” the sound of the mallet against the wood ringing in your ears as the crowd clapped. you heard the blonde pleading behind yo, far away and stephen firmly saying no. controlling prick. stella stood up, dismissing stephen before making her way to your table. you appreciated that.

“hi! oh my god, i know this is totally unprofessional but i’m like a big fan and i just- i'm sorry i just wanted to meet you! i’m stella.” she grinned widely, adoringly looking at you. she was so sweet. it was clear she had no idea about you and stephen. 

“oh! no, don't apologise, that’s so sweet!! it’s so nice to meet you stella” you shook her hand before natasha queried politely. 

“are you sitting with, strange?” she said with a smile on her face. you kicked her ankle from under the table and maria bit her cheek to hold back her laughter. 

“oh, yeah. he’s just a hookup, to be entirely honest with you i just wanted to attend a gala. i begged for him to take me and he finally gave in! he’s not my type, he was just in the right place at the right time.” a wave of relief washed over you, drowning you. you all continued chatting, politely mingling and she swiftly checked her phone seeing it was 10:30pm. 

“i'm so sorry! i have to go, i have this like really important club event to go to, you know how it is. there’s a buncha modelling scouts there. it was so lovely meeting you guys!!” she quickly hurried off, abandoning stephen. 

“i love her, can we take her home? she’s so precious” natasha teased at how threatened you were by stella. you felt stupid. she was lovely. more than lovely, and she was absolutely gorgeous.

“okay, okay.. i got it. she’s very sweet and i feel like an idiot.” you groaned, your head resting against your hand, your elbow on the table. it was bad manners, but whatever. servers holding plates of the regular beef and chicken circulated the venue, placing meals to the left of attendees. 

“i'm just going to go to the ladies room, i’ll be back” you sighed, ducking in between the servers, apologising but still confidently walking. you opened the doors to the lobby, it was entirely empty. the bathroom was beautiful, with gorgeous marble pillars and sinks. you touched up your lipstick and stood there composed. you washed your hands and dried them with a paper towel, still embarrassed. you walked with your back to the door to the bathroom, throwing your balled up paper towel into the bin. and suddenly, thud. a lean but muscular body hit you. before you could turn around to see who it was he spoke. 

“nice shot” you could recognise that baritone voice anywhere. you rolled your eyes and turned around. 

“i could get you kicked out for harassment for standing in the women's bathroom” you bit back. you were all riled up. 

“what? you're lonely, date leave you or something??” you said turning around. he was smirking. god you wanted to slap him. you swore you weren’t an angry person but he did things to you. 

“oh don’t tell me you’re jealous, dear.” he walked forward, essentially pushing his way into the bathroom before he shut the door. jealous?? please. 

“you were the one who left, didn’t speak a word to me and then hooked up with stella whitford - who by the way, can do so much better than you.” you scoffed. 

“you reading up on me, baby? i didn’t know you cared for me that much” he chuckled, looking around the bathroom, continuing to step forward before your lower back hit one of the beautiful marble sinks. 

“drop your panties” he said lowly, undoing his dress shirt’s sleeves, before efficiently rolling them up and backing you against the sink and lowering his head down to look at you. 

“excuse me? you can’t just barge in here after you left me in the dark" you were swiftly cut off. 

“do I need to repeat myself? i said, drop your fucking panties, stark. don't be bratty.” he had your chin positioned up, looking into your eyes, tutting. that cold, sexy stare. would you be weak for giving in, because god you wanted to.. without thinking you complied, shimming down your skimpy black lace underwear and throwing them at his chest. he chuckled at your childish response before he spun you around and unzipped your dress. he didn’t rip it, he unzipped it.. that was new. the dress fell to the floor. 

“elbows on the sink for me, pretty girl, can you do that fr’ me??” you were putty in his hands.

“this isn't fair and you know it.” you retorted, the cold marble stinging your elbows. 

“i know baby, let me kiss it better for you, yeah??” the sound of him undoing his belt sent shivers down your spine. this wasn’t exactly a private bathroom, anyone could walk in at any time and he knew it. before you knew it he was pounding into you as you gripped the sink, hot breaths fogging up the mirrors as the sound of skin hitting skin echoed through the room. 

“oh stephen.” you moaned, throwing your head back slightly, he wasn’t kind, this wasn’t making love - this was pure sex. 

“fucking christ you’re addictive.” he groaned before speeding up his pace. he was hitting your cervix unmercilessly. his knuckles white as he dug into the plush of your hips. god he looked good in a suit. the pounding against your g-spot made you whimper, your eyes glazed over and your mouth parted. your hair wasn’t in the pretty curls they were before you stepped into the bathroom. 

“god- i’m.. go- gonna.” you whimpered and he smirked at you in the mirror, watching you intently. 

“right there with you, come on sweetheart. give it to me, make a mess fr’ me.”  

you were done for. you came with a loud cry, your body shaking and trembling as the last waves of pleasure washed over you. he released your hips and kissed the back of your neck, giving you a satisfied, cocky smile. you collapsed in his arms, your heart still pounding as he cleaned you up, redressed you and propped you back up on the sink. his scarred hands gently taming your hair and tucking a curl behind your ears. he kissed your forehead as you looked up at him dumbly, face flushed, freshly fucked, head empty. how could you have said yes?

“fucking christ you’re addictive” the words he had spoken previously, ringing in your ears, stuck in your head.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. Eventual nsfw, not this chapter. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. chapter map.

The Gate to Hell

You’re not sure what it is about airports, that somehow makes them feel like a special little extension of the circles of Hell. Or maybe purgatory, is more the like. All you do there is wait, and wait and wait, praying that soon it will be time to move on.

It probably doesn’t help that you’re absolutely fucking dreading your destination ahead.

Frankly, it will be a miracle if you survive this weekend with your sanity intact.

And then, there’s this dude behind you. You keep seeing him out of the corner of your eye. He just keeps pacing back and forth, rolling his stupid bag with him, and you just want to whirl and tell him to be still or sit the fuck down.

Instead, he comes to stand next to you.

You give him a glance. And then, you’ll admit, a double take, because he is stupidly handsome, even while frowning, staring churlishly at the flight monitor as though it had personally insulted him. And, to add insult to injury, he is tall. And well dressed in jeans and a button down and a nice sports jacket. And you inwardly sigh for some indefinable reason that has to do with longing and your acceptance that the universe does not bestow such gifts upon you for free.

“Nice dress.”

You blink, not having expected him to speak to you.

“Thanks.” It’s a 50’s style robin’s egg blue halter swing dress, your favorite color. You needed some bright color therapy, to face the hell you’re about to be stepping into.

“Is there a sock hop in San Luis Obispo I’m missing?”

You guess with your cat-eye Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses, you do look rather on brand.

From his sardonic tone you’re not sure if he’s making fun of you. “All the cool kids are going.”

You kind of deliver it like a dig, and you see the corners of his mouth twitch. “Ah. That explains everything.”

You look him over. He…really is ridiculously handsome, if you’re being honest. High cheekbones. Trimmed beard. Piercing eyes. Casually well dressed. A bit older than you, not that that’s ever stopped you.

“I hope our flight’s on time.”

You check your phone app for the airline. “Supposed to be.”

“Let me guess. You’ve got an app for that?” The way he says it, just this side of snide, like you fucking millennials—it kind of pisses you off. And maybe you’re overly sensitive to patronizing comments from older men, but with your history you have a right to be.

“Do you have a problem with me?”

He stands up a little straighter. “What?”

“Like what’s your deal? I was just standing here minding my own business, while you’re creeping around behind me—”

“I was not creeping. I was trying to see the board.” He gestures at the display screen by the gate.

You look him up and down. That’s a tall drink of water, if you’re being honest. “Because Mr. six foot six over here can’t see over my head—”

“I’m only 6’1”—”

“Okay, 6’2” in your shoes, and then you come up here, give me a backhanded compliment, and make fun of me for having the means to keep track of what’s going on with our plane?” You glare at him. “Holy shit, are you trying to neg me?”

“I don’t…even know what that means.”

“Ok, boomer.”

“I am not a boomer.”

“Whatever.”

Then he has the gall to step away—in front of you.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re going to butt ahead in line too?”

“On a flight that holds eight people?”

“Wow. Ok, be my guest.” You wave him on, and he rolls his eyes. Then you have to stand there, and look at his stupidly broad shoulders in that nice sports jacket, and his dark softy waving hair that just brushes his collar…you’re not going to look at his butt.

You’re not.

Your eyes slide down.

Fuck, but that’s a nice caboose.

The Fight Or Flight Response

As you sit in your backseat of the plane, there is one seat left beside you, and when you see who boards last you want to throw yourself down the stairs before they close the door.

“Anyone want to trade seats?” he asks, bent over practically in half, he’s so tall and the plane is so small.

Crickets.

With a resigned grumble he settles into the seat next to you, as though the world might end if he has to spend a handful of minutes in your general proximity.

Then, of course, the universe further conspires to embarrass you by sending you a defective peanuts bag, which you cannot for love or money get to tear open.

“Dear god, tear it at the notch,” grouses the rude man beside you, driven insane by you fighting with it.

“There is no notch.”

He’s there with his big hand extended, making an annoyed give it here gesture. It’s distracting, truly, how long and elegant his fingers are.

“Give it here.”

“I’m fine.”

“Give. It. Here.”

You’re so disgusted with this whole day, you hand it over. Then watch with smug delight as he can’t get it open either. Finally, he uses his teeth in his frustration, undoubtedly spitting all over it. When he tries to hand it back to you, you raise an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

With a sigh, he offers you his less molested bag.

You take it like accepting his sword on the battlefield.

You both make faces as you quickly find that the seasoning on the nuts tastes like hot trash, and you reckon it’s probably a metaphor for how the next few days are going to go.

This is going to be the weekend from hell.

“So what brings you to San Luis Obispo?” the man asks resignedly, almost like he can’t quite stop himself from talking to you. There is an exhaustion in his tone that would have pulled at your heartstrings, if you weren’t so generally pissed off.

“You don’t have to try to talk to me.”

He shrugs, throwing up those big, beautiful hands in a gesture of annoyance. You can’t help but stare at them—they really are a menace.

“Just trying to be pleasant.”

You can’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes you at hearing that. He frowns over at you, and you cover your mouth, hiding your smile. You know you must look like a crazy person—but it’s just too ridiculous.

“Was it that funny?”

You sigh, and for some reason you feel better after the involuntary outburst. Okay. Maybe you can make an effort. No one is ever in a good mood at the airport, after all. “I’m actually going to Paso Robles.”

“Row-bulls.”

“It’s pronounces ro-blays.”

“Everyone says Row-bulls.” 

“Well, not the fucking Spanish who named it.”

He looks away again with that thunderhead of a frown. Why does he have to look extra handsome, when he’s pissed off?

You sigh again. “Look, I’m sorry. I swear, I’m not always such a bitch. It’s just…this fucking wedding I’m going to.”

This catches his attention; he turns to look at you like a hawk zeroing in on a mouse. “Not…Keith and Anne’s wedding?”

“How do you fucking know Keith and Anne?”

“Keith and I share a mother.”

“Holy shit, you’re Frank?”

“Who are you?”

“I was engaged to Keith, years ago.”

“Oh my god, you’re y/n.”

You can sense by the way he says it that you’re infamous in the family’s lore. It’s been a long time, but still, it fills your heart with a familiar leaden despair.

You close your eyes, and look away.

“You’re just as horrible as Keith always said,” you say to the window.

“I find you equally disagreeable, I assure you.”

waiting for death the car

“There was supposed to be a car,” Frank grouses the second you exit the airport. Patience is clearly not his strong suit.

“The flight was early.”

“But it seemed so long.”

It’s a good dig, truth be told, and the corners of your mouth twitch despite yourself. You sit down on a bench, and to your surprise he sits on the other, though on the side closest to you. “So what the hell are you doing here?” he asks. “Didn’t Keith break your heart?”

“Shattered it into bits.”

“Well?”

“I was invited.”

“And…you’re a masochist?”

“Look, I’m not…whatever Keith must have said I am. I was practically a fucking child when he started dating me. It was not…” It was perfectly legal, of course, but the imbalance of worldly experience, looking back, had not been kosher.

You feel the tide of all the pain and insecurity that man caused you raise up in your heart. Usually you’re pretty good at shoving that shit down down in the deepest dungeon you can, like a healthy person, but the wound is feeling a little fucking raw at the moment, considering.

“Keith is an asshole who only cares about himself. I am aware.”

You sigh, and the tide miraculously recedes. Goddamn. It almost feels like he’s on your side.  “Okay, yeah. There you go.”

“Why do this to yourself?”

“You know, before he broke it off, we had a fight the night before because I told him I would never get breast implants, of all fucking things, and Keith told me I would never amount to anything without him.”

“Sounds like something asinine he would say.”

“I wanted to go back to school, and he didn’t like it. He wanted a Stepford wife, and I was becoming alarmingly aware of the world outside his own making of it, the way children do when they grow up. If you’re wondering why he dumped me.”

“That tracks perfectly.”

“He invited me to be a shit and rub my nose in it, so…I’m here as a fuck you. I wanted to show him I’m doing fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, actually.”

“You do seem rather well adjusted.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.”

This, surprisingly, makes him smile a little.

A few moments of slightly less awkward silence pass before he asks, “So what did Keith tell you about me?”

“Oh, he told me plenty.”

“Such as?”

“What does it matter?”

“Don’t do that,” he snipes. “Don’t dangle the tidbit then refuse to deliver it.”

“Fine. He said you’re a grouch who hates everyone.”

“Oh. I was afraid he might have said something untrue.”

You glance over at his ridiculously well-sculpted profile. He glares ahead, his brows furrowed, and you strangely get the sense that maybe…he’s a little sad for it.

At fucking last, the shuttle car from the hotel arrives.

Tbc...

[mirai-e-jump]

Beautiful Catalog Vol.3 ft. Kamen Rider Ryuki Cast Members Takashi Hagino x Ryohei Interviews & Photoshoot (translations below)

Publication: September 30, 2003

Takashi Hagino (Takeshi Asakura/Kamen Rider Ouja)

-I no longer make impulse purchases, like when it comes to snake print clothing (laughs)-

With a bright smile on his face, Hagino-san entered the studio. His pure white, rough style was perfectly balanced with the grass zori (sandals) on his feet, which was a unique choice! At first glance, it looks loose, with only the innerwear fitting to his body, but, it gives off a masculine feel. Against the natural materials, his silver accessories stand out.

Hagino: Fashion…..I'm not too picky about it~

He mutters to himself. His style is modest, contrary to his seemingly carefully coordinated choices.

"First off is the staff's favorite, here he is wearing a fluffy knit sweater."

Hagino: Uwah, who's that, me? My hair's all curly (laughs).

"We were most interested about this one. The growing reactions from those around you saying, "Cute~!," caused you to look nervous, which in turn made you look even cuter."

Hagino: During the time of that shoot, I was asked, "Please hold this plushie." Do I have to? It seems that stuff like that is becoming pretty common these days (laughs).

"What's your favorite fashion to wear?"

Hagino: Last year, all I wore was black. Black tanktops and such. Right now, I really want to wear whites. It's nice isn't it~? White! The other day, I saw Beckham wearing white on the cover of some magazine. He was also wearing pants like the ones I wore today. I thought, "Let's do this! I have the same fashion sense as Beckham" (laughs). From now on, I want you to call me Beckham (laughs).

"B-Beckham?? You want us to…..? Next, a jacket with fur that gives off an affectionate big brother feel. It's a very refreshing look!"

Hagino: I feel like I've never worn something like this either. It has a natural feel, like when you go out to walk your dog. By the way, the other day, for two days straight, I went to this pet store and was obsessed with this half chihuahua and papillon breed. When I looked at them, they hid in embarrassment. It was so cute! I was really hesitating whether to buy them or not, but the price for such a small and cute dog was 380,000 yen ($2,500)! The store is open until late in the morning, so I spend alot of time there. The shiba inu's and all the other dogs are just so cute to look at.

"Do you ever make impulse purchases?"

Hagino: Not anymore. Due to the "advice" of some store employees, I no longer buy snake print clothing (laughs). At the time, clothing with snake patterns were hard to come by, so when they saw me looking they said, "That'll look good on you~." They said, "We'll lower the price (alot)~." I thought, "Alright then~," and bought it. If you go shopping with friends, you'll have someone to stop you, but if you don't and go alone, you'll end up getting stuff that you can't afford. It's dangerous (laughs). I had to learn that recently.

"I'm not very particular when it comes to brands, but, the ones I like are Jil Sander and Dolce & Gabbana."

Hagino: I can't afford to buy all that because it's expensive, but, I do think it's really cool. Lately, I've been thinking that it would be nice to dress in a more formal way for such occasions. Wouldn't you want to try it? A dinner party on the roof of a building with a swimming pool. I'd even prepare business cards with a alot of lies on them (laughs).

"With fashion, Hagino-san says, "It's fun, it's like playing a game." What do you wear when you go to bed or to just relax?"

Hagino: It's either denim shorts or cargo shorts. I'll wear a T-shirt or tank top on top, which I'll take off when it's hot. The rest of the time I wear tracksuits (laughs). When I go to work, I'll wear either a T-shirt and jeans or tracksuit. I like to be able to change into my costume quickly and then take it easy.

"Finally, this last outfit is a multi striped suit with a strong sense of personality. With his hair up, he's transformed into abit of a bad boy. The manager said he looks like, "A respected elder brother." Hikawa Kiyoshi-kun from our office wore a similar suit for his "Zundoko Bushi" MV, but the vibe is totally different."

Hagino: It's so cool, the look reminds me of Lenny Kravitz! He's fashionable and looks good in fur, T-shirts, and all kinds of strange stuff. Compared to when I was first wearing the knit sweater, I feel like I've relaxed abit. It feels like I'm back (laughs).

"By the way, I hear you're very particular with your eyebrows."

Hagino: If I forget to draw my eyebrows before going out, I feel very uncomfortable (laughs). When I draw it myself, it's like a straight line. I'm not improving at all. I don't check my whole appearance in the mirror before going out, but I always pay attention to my eyebrows (laughs).

-I'll be a prince! But before that, I'd like to play a dirty role-

"He started doing karate about 3 years ago because he was attracted to the civility of the sport after playing many detective roles in the past. He takes time out of his busy schedule to attend karate, which he says helps him maintain his health and improve his voice for stage plays."

Hagino: I'm currently a yellow belt (6 kyu). I hope to be green this year, and brown within the next two years. Even before shooting for the photobook, I ran a marathon, went to karate, and did push ups when I'd wake up in the morning……that all I keep doing (laughs). Surprisingly, I don't mind doing these things.

His photobook, "Actor, Takashi Hagino," is filled with emotional and sensitive words that resonate with the heart.

"You say so many wonderful words."

Hagino: I wondered, "What can I do with this photobook?" I thought maybe I could include some words or afew sentences. But, it felt like, "As soon as you add color to a painting, it's ruined." I thought it'd be more interesting to write down what I was currently thinking, like a time capsule, so that later on I can say, "This is who I was!" I personally really like the poem "Confirmation."

"What's your favorite outfit in the photobook?"

Hagino: I liked the denim jacket~. That guy near the swingset, he may have been more offended by the unlikely setting of swings, rather than the fashion I was wearing (laughs).

"How was the stage play, "Yokosuka Dobuita Story," in which you played the leading role?"

Hagino: I really enjoy the stage experience. I also like the live feel of it. Since the foundation of a play is the stage…..I fully felt the determination of everyone around me, and while it was fun, I also fully enjoyed the live conflict that only a stage play can bring. I thought that as the rehearsals continued, I could feel so much of the warmth, cheerfulness, and sadness coming out of them.

"What do you think of Joji, the role you played?"

Hagino: In the beginning, he wasn't a nice guy…..but, he was a good guy. I think I was able to show him having fun and being sincere, so I'd like to add more variety if I ever play a role like that again.

"What scene was most memorable?"

Hagino: In the proposal scene with Kaori, played by Junko Mihara-san, she changed the way she spoke each time we performed it, and did so with different tricks, such as sulking or teasing. Gradually, our rhythm and breathing become the same, and my lines came out without being conscious of it. The scenes with Mihara-san were alot of fun to do.

"It's been announced that you'll play the role of the prince in the Cinderella musical. A bad prince…what's that about?"

Hagino: Quiet! (laughs). I don't think that's it, I think it's just a regular prince, but the script hasn't come in yet, so I don't know all the details. I am looking forward to the dancing in the musical. Although, I'm worried about singing. You know how the dialogue suddenly flows into a ballad like song with, "Why~"? I become nervous the moment, "Why~," comes up (laughs). But. I'll keep practicing and show you the fairy tale prince in all his glory.

"Will the prince's costume be……white tights?"

Hagino: My manager told me that if I wore white tights, right here (his crotch), would look really cool (laughs). No, rather, it's a wonderful fairy tale like costume. The show will be held in more than 20 locations across the country, so please look forward to it!

"What kind of roles do you want to play in the future?"

Hagino: Since I've already decided to play a prince, I'd like to play a serious and grim role before that. Something like a dirty role.

In his photobook, Hagino-san affirms that he loves humans, as he wrote, "Are you a human being? If you're a human, then you must be a wonderful one." This love for people is what makes his acting so refined, as he focuses on the essence of humans. We're really looking forward to seeing him as a fairy tale prince and in serious roles.

Ryohei (Shuichi Kitaoka/Kamen Rider Zolda)

-Is this too subtle? When it comes to this coordination, I think I should do my best.-

In a quiet studio located in a certain part of Tokyo, the sound of a camera shutter clicking resonates. The sounds are followed by rhythmical changes in facial expressions, poses, and overall atmosphere, creating the rich and colorful, "Ryohei World," almost like a perfectly beautiful picture were being painted.

Within the light, he strikes perfectly balanced poses that'll take your breath away, while occasionally trying to make us laugh by crossing his eyes and saying, "This is what real coordination looks like!"

While casually flapping his white coat, he says:

Ryohei: About 2-3 years ago, I used to wear clothes like these all the time during the Fall and Winter, but now, I don't wear them anymore. It's exhausting to wear them all day, don't you think? These days, I think it's better to dress comfortably. I wonder, have my shoulders become more relaxed as I've gotten older? Well, it's nice doing something like this once in awhile! It makes me feel motivated to strike the perfect poses.

"You picked out that coat."

Ryohei: The length is perfect! This half coat actually is a half coat. For some reason, usually, a half coat is a short coat, and a long coat is a half coat (laughs).

"Were there any problems with the size?"

Ryohei: No matter how big the clothes are, when I wear them, I always think, "These are way too small!" I do adore more loose fitting clothes. I can't pull off the look though (laughs).

"While not being particular about brands, Ryohei-san says, "I don't think something being expensive makes it better." He enjoys buying secondhand clothes, with sneakers making up half of his collection. He also claims to have about 50 pairs of unopened shoes. Today, he's wearing stylish leather sneakers."

Ryohei: I love sneakers. I sometimes think, "Even if they last a lifetime, I wonder, do I have enough?" I'll also put them in their box and stack them, it's really cool to look at (laughs). I don't really do it anymore, but there was a time when I used to pick out clothes that matched my shoes.

"Do you check your whole appearance in the mirror before going out?"

Ryohei: That's essential. Sometimes I'll dress in a way that makes me think, "Is this too subtle?," Although, I'm usually pretty ok with it. Fashion is like an extension of my hobby, so I think I should be doing my best at it. During the times I go on a date with a girlfriend, I think I should only make decisions when I really have too.

"Do you make snap decisions for a date??"

Ryohei: It depends on how long we've been together, but in the early stages of a relationship, a man wants to make a big impression (laughs). Well, if you've been together for 3-4 years, I think, "Alright, who cares~."

"That's terrible?!" (said by the entire female staff)

Ryohei: I don't think you have to be so cool in front of your partner all the time……I think it's okay to just look natural. So, it's not terrible, it's really not (laughs).

"What if after 3-4 years, she's wearing something she doesn't really care for?"

Ryohei: Well, that's exactly who I am. That's why I think we'd be compatible (laughs). You do your best at first, and once you're familiar with them, it doesn't matter what you look like.

"Do you care about your hairstyle?"

Ryohei: For me, I'm not particular with hair, so everyday my hairstyle is slightly different. When I go for a straight perm, my hair loses all its volume and flattens, regardless of how thick my hair is. A tip I can give, is to only use your hair dryer on areas that are particularly annoying and have strong frizz. It's easier to set up the look that way.

"Your eyebrows have a nice shape to them."

Ryohei: I don't do anything with my eyebrows. I don't want them being thin. It makes me lose the "impact" of my face and causes my appearance to change (laughs).

During the chair sitting shoot, the chair was too low compared to Ryohei's height, so he brought out a stepladder by himself, making it a very interesting shoot. Wearing a knit hat, Ryohei's beautiful face looked even more attractive, and he looked like a European college boy with an unfamiliar expression on his face.

"What is key to dressing well?"

Ryohei: I don't have any particular stances…..but, I don't want to be outdone by clothes. I want to make an effort to wear them, and even if I think they don't look good on me, I'll try and find a way to make them look good.

"You seem to be very good at posing."

Ryohei: During my time staying at motels, I studied my poses by looking in the mirror, so I wouldn't have to do them on set and feel embarrassed. It's like it's already been ingrained in my head. If I don't do them properly, the photographer won't be able to take any photos.

"While at Hagino-san's house, the two of them once practiced posing together while looking in the mirror. During the shoot, Hagino-san laughed and said, "Posing by Ryohei!," and he did the same pose Ryohei did, showing that they seem to get along really well. What advice do you have for for making your appearance look more beautiful?"

Ryohei: Pose standing slightly diagonal…doing so will make you look thinner. Always think of ways to make your appearance more slim (laughs).

"When did you first discover your style?"

Ryohei:…..I still haven't found it (laughs).

"Normally, wouldn't you discover fashion in the same way a girl would?"

Ryohei: Hmmm……It think it's alittle different from that (laughs). Rather than about clothes, I was thinking more about how to make people laugh and how to entertain them. When it comes to the clothes I'm wearing now, I don't think I can say whether they're good or bad. I might say later, "Why did I think this was cool to wear?" Fashion is an indifferent thing for me, but it's like a time capsule that reflects that moment in time……It's something that reminds me of who I was at one point.

-The action was difficult. Since my reach is different, it's difficult to get the timing right.-

"How was it working with veteran actors (Natori Yuko, etc) on "The Woman Prosecutor of Kyoto"?"

Ryohei: There was alot to learn just by listening and watching. The way they said their lines, it was so natural, me on the other hand, I'm still trying to perform well. In my head, I can see it all very well. But, it's hard to actually do it. On set, we called her "Professor Natori," since we had alot to learn from her.

"You made your first attempt as a voice actor in "Mobile Suit Gundam SEED," correct?"

Ryohei: Actors can make facial expressions while speaking, right? It's easy to tell when someone's "angry" because they speaks in an angry tone and has an angry expression on their face. I looked at the voice actors and thought that they're skilled at manipulating their voices. They do whatever they want. The way they react, the way they breath…..as an actor, I've learned alot from them.

"I heard that the shooting for the upcoming film, "Bird's Eye," in which you play the lead role, was difficult due to wire acting."

Ryohei: It was quite difficult. But, it was something of a challenge for myself.

"Please tell us some highlights of the film."

Ryohei: It's an action film. But, I only had 3 days to practice. I couldn't even meet the person I was going to be working with until the day of filming. Being so tall, I had a different reach from my partner, so it was very difficult to find the correct timing. When you punch, you take a step forward, right? But when I step forward, I get too close, so I end up performing a limp punch (laughs). I'm sure there must have been a better way to do it, but unfortunately, I didn't have time to do any research.

"The way you beat them up was impressive though."

Ryohei: I was mostly on the receiving end (laughs). RIKIYA-kun (Kawaguchi Rikiya), who played Tsuyoshi, used to box, so as expected, his punches were excellent.

After the photo shoot, Ryohei-san went to the waiting room. Among the outfits there, he found a pair of yellow pants with purple square patterns on it, and his eyes started to sparkle.

Ryohei: This, it's amazing! I want to wear it right now! Can I try this on?

Just as Ryohei enjoys fashion with a carefree attitude, and takes on challenges with an open mind, while also exploring new areas as an actor one after another, absorbing them naturally and without hesitation. His sincere attitude to cherish every moment and his mischievous spirit of challenge expands "Ryohei's World" endlessly, by giving off a refreshing charm. We won't take our eyes off his future challenges.

[emkayewrites]

Behind-the-scenes #Lukola moments from my fanfiction - Luke is in Milan after the Bridgerton S3 London Premiere and he is missing Nicola.

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

June 15th 2024 – Milan (Italy)

Refuge.

That was Luke’s first thought as he surveyed the palatial Four Seasons suite that was his temporary home.

The living room was an airy space with tasteful elements of Italian and contemporary décor.  A sage sofa and matching armchairs were arranged around an elegant walnut table.  Tall, clear vases with bouquets of red, lavender and pink chrysanthemums brightened up different parts of the room.  Arched floor-to-ceiling windows gave an impressive view of the tranquil courtyard and the pink-red sky outside.

Eagerly, he slipped off his black leather shoes and padded his way into the bedroom where a sumptuous king-sized bed with neutral toned sheets greeted him.

He could hear the low hum of air conditioning kicking in, but the heavy, black Dolce and Gabbana leather jacket he had been wearing all day was still unbearable to be in.  Every part of him wanted to tear off it off but he resisted the urge; instead opting to gingerly peel it off himself, being mindful not to scuff the material.  He was still not clear on the rules.  Was the jacket his to keep or would they want it back?  Either way, the thought of even slightly damaging a loaned item bothered him enough to be careful. 

Dressed just in the mercifully breathable fabric that was a linen black vest and trousers; he sank down onto the plush bed with a deep and satisfied sigh.

With his eyes closed, images of the day flew through his mind: he was at Milan Fashion Week, he was stood before cameras or in front of crowds of people and everywhere he looked, someone wanted his attention.  It was overwhelming to recall.  Yet, he felt he should be used to this level of exposure at this point.  He had accepted he would never enjoy having to be entirely himself for the masses, he was more comfortable playing a role, but even so, he had hoped that after several months of press, it would all start to come more naturally to him.  It bothered him that a day like today still wore so heavily on him. 

He wandered if he needed to admit to himself that one of the reasons being here was so challenging was that he was doing it without Nicola.  They had been the balance for each other.  Whether they walked onto a red carpet or into a studio for a sit-down interview, they did it with hands intertwined, heads held high and a promise from Nicola to take over the talking if needed.  Given her charismatic energy, she did not usually need to try to take the spotlight away, it naturally fell upon her.  It made things easier.  She made things easier. 

Still, cultivating a public image was an important part of success as an actor and he did not want to waste any opportunities that were offered to him outside of the Bridgerton brand.  Who knew how long anyone would know his name for? His mothers’ words echoed in his mind: make hay while the sun shines.

He allowed himself to flop back onto the bed, holding his phone out in front of him as he scrolled.

Without thinking, he was on Nicola’s Instagram and watching her story updates.  There were photos from the London Bridgerton premiere which had only taken place a few days before.  He looked through her feed, scrolling past images from all around the world from their promotional tour.  There was a series of photos of them in Rio De Janeiro, her in a white dress and him in a grey-blue button down posing with a guitar.  The memory it invoked made him smile.  The Nicola and Luke on his screen were deeply connected, sharing everything from inane jokes to their deepest fears about their burgeoning careers. 

He could admit that a hollow feeling had been growing inside him all day as he went through the motions of attending a high-profile fashion show but not being able to share details of it with the one person who would appreciate it the most.  Being the avid fashionista, he knew she would have given him the third degree about every element of the day.  What was he wearing?  Why was he wearing it – what was the artistic vision?  How did the clothes make him feel?  Which season were they from?  He would have responded in a deliberately ignorant way just to work her up into a frustration, which in turn would have amused him enough to make the day seem a little lighter.  In fact, he could have called her right there and then and shared how he was feeling.  He could have told her that he was growing tiresome of being recognized but at the same time, he was terrified of losing the recognition.  She would not only have understood the paradox but also helped him laugh about it.

It stung that things were not as simple as just picking up the phone and speaking to each other anymore.  There was a distance between them now that upset him.  

He realised in that moment that he was brooding alone in a luxurious room that was growing darker as the day vanished.  His life had never been more beautiful and at the same time, he had never felt lonelier.

What a fucking cliché. He thought with some disgust at himself.

You’re not even alone on this trip. 

Somehow, this reminder did little to comfort him. 

He was fortunate to be in a loving relationship with someone who cared about him.  Yet, as the months had stretched on, he had a growing awareness that it had that had developed in abnormal circumstances.  Their earliest dates had involved luxury travel and red-carpet events.  It was not easy to mature as a couple when your most meaningful conversations were about designer clothes and trip itineraries.  He hated himself for not being able to switch off the sense of paranoia he had that perhaps this was not the right time in his life to try to have a girlfriend, especially someone who did know truly know the version of him before his life became so surreal.  He felt a strong sense of guilt for entertaining this thinking.  It was not Antonia’s fault that they had connected just as his life had catapulted into all of this.  It was also not her fault that they had not really had any important conversations about where their relationship was going.  Between all the events and travel, there never seemed to be the right time.  Now that her photo was plastered all over the press and social media, a break-up felt even more challenging to navigate.  Truthfully, he did not have the bandwidth for it. 

He wanted to get his mind away from these darker thoughts.  Instinctively, he navigated his way through his phone to the video.  It was kept tucked in a folder within a folder. 

He was not sure why he had kept it.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him that it was a foolish thing to do.

Yet, there seemed to be something painful about the physical act of pressing ‘delete’ on it. He reasoned he did not want to wipe the memory away, and sometimes, he needed physical proof that it had ever even happened.

He hit play.

The dimly lit interior of his trailer on the Bridgerton set came into view.  However, there was enough light for the scene that was playing out to be clear.  There was a paisley patterned sofa on which he and Nicola were locked into a frantic embrace.  Their hands and arms running all over each other’s body, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss.  He was shirtless.  Her usually expertly styled hair was disheveled.  There was no sound except for their breathless panting.  The strap of her black vest slid down her shoulder and his hand yanked at it, pulling it down further.

Watching it back did things to his body that he tried to suppress.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps entering the suite hallway jolted him back into reality.  He abruptly swiped out of the gallery app and pressed the button to lock his phone.

Antonia appeared at the doorway, clad in a bright green bikini with a white coverall and a sunhat. 

“What are you doing here, brooding in the dark?” She smirked, pulling her hat off and placing it on the dresser drawer that stood at the entrance of the bedroom.

“Just needed to recharge.” He smiled back at her as she climbed onto the bed on all fours, slinking up to him like a cat.  He realised how much his heart was racing.  He hoped she would think it was the effect she was having on him.

“Have you recharged enough to want to go to the afterparty?” She put her head on the pillow next to him and looked at him pleadingly. “Pretty please?”

“Ughhh…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I am so after-partied out.”

As he spoke the words, he felt bad.  She had dutifully spent the day at the hotel by herself whilst he had attended the show. He had realised too late that he would be seated front row and there would be no room for a plus-one.  Attending the after-party was her one opportunity to experience some of the glitz of Fashion Week. 

“Well, I guess we can just order room service.”  She looked disappointed.

He sat up. “No, we’ll go.”

“You’re just saying that because I want to go.” She fixed him with a look.

“No, I really want to go.  I just needed to hear that the other option is room service to make me realise it.  I can’t think of anything more boring.” He lied.

She let out a happy squeal, jumping up from the bed as she did so. “Ahh, I am so glad.”

“Right, I have three outfits – you can choose which one you like best.” She offered; excitement in her eyes.

He could not help but to laugh.  It was nice to see someone enjoying themselves.

Read more here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56951683/chapters/144819154

[gavisuntiedboot]

ok you totally don't have to do it butttttttttttt like could we get a spare gavi spending eid w/ the reader's family for your muslim readers 👀

It would be so islamaphobic if I didn’t do this (reader is an Arabic speaker. If you don’t speak Arabic, pretend that the Arabic is whatever language you want!)

~~~

Drip Too Hard

“Pablo I’m almost ready I just need to- what are you wearing?”

Pablo fought back the urge to laugh at the look of shock-horror on your face. It didn’t seem like the appropriate time. His eyes scanned your figure, wrapped in a beautiful blue dress. The skirt and sleeves were embroidered in gold thread, weaving elaborate floral patterns that cascaded and shimmers across your body. Delicate glass beads reflected the light, throwing fractals around the room. Layers of jewelry hung delicately from your neck and wrists, chiming with every one of your movements. He was used to your face done up, but your hair flowing and the precise black lines framing your face made you a different type of captivating. You looked simply stunning. He peered down at his own attire, suddenly feeling horribly underdressed. His short sleeve shirt and khakis, despite being rather pricey, gave the impression that he was off to a beach volleyball tournament, while you looked ready to grace a runway or gala.

“…clothes? I didn’t know this was a formal event. I thought we were just going to go have brunch with your parents.”

“Right but it’s Eid brunch. Why are you in shorts??”

“Why does this brunch need us to dress like we’re going to a ball?”

Your eyes were wide as saucers, jaw on the floor. You know Gavi hadn’t been around the culture and religion for that long, but you couldn’t process this level of unawareness to his surroundings. You had dragged him across Barcelona to different markets to get fabric and beads for your dress, taking swatches to perfectly match your heels, and even asking him to bring you a specific pendant from his trip to Ibiza. You thought he might sense that the occasion called for something more formal than khaki shorts.

“Come here, Pablito.”

You said, sitting on your couch and beckoning him over. He froze in his spot a moment, realizing he was about to face a potential scolding. He walked slowly and sat beside you, careful not to crush the luxurious fabric you were wrapped in. You turned your phone screen to him, showing him a glamorous photo. Three young men, all around your age, in different colored suits. All of them brandished designer belts with large buckles, the leather matching that of their dress shoes. Three wrists displayed three gleaming watches, all embossed with a crown. Next to them, a girl stood in a beautifully embroidered dress, the glittering fabric reflecting the sunlight. The deep purple of the garment was reflected in her intricate eye makeup, and the red bottoms of her heels peaked through the drapery.

“These, Pablo, are my cousins. This is what they wore to Eid brunch with the family last year and they were called underdressed because one of them didn’t have a suit jacket. Eid is the Muslim Met Gala, and I will not be on the worst dressed list by association. Please tell me you have something else to wear.”

Gavi brought his hands to his temples, rubbing them to soothe the oncoming headache from all the information.

“Amie Paris always sends me stuff and I haven’t opened most of it. Oh and Dolce & Gabbana. You can look through and pick an outfit for me.” He suggested, watching your eyes light up and a smile erupt across your face. You tugged his wrist, encouraging him to follow you in. For the next 20 minutes, you treated him like your own personal Ken doll, dressing him up in different luxurious clothing.

You took a step back to admire your artistry. On his chest rested a crisp blue Amie dress shirt, tucked into the pants of a stunningly tailored D&G suit, hugging every muscle in an elegant and yet drool inducing manner. A black Hermes belt sat low on his hips, matching the black leather dress shoes you had forced him into (“Pablo it’s a formal event put the Dunks away!”). Matching Hermes cuff links clinked softly against the platinum Rolex on his wrist. He pushed his hair back and put on his favorite sunglasses.

“Good enough for the Eid instagram picture?” He asked, smirking as he saw you look at him like he was ambrosia from the heavens above.

“Mhm, almost too good. Let’s go before my parents get suspicious as to why we’re late.”

~

Pulling up to your parents house, Pablo parked behind the six or seven other cars by the property. The gorgeous weather had brought the Eid festivities outside, and Gavi couldn’t help but be struck by the beauty of it all. Tables in white and gold cloths held serving trays piled high with sweet and savory delicacies. Every utensil, from the plates to the silverware, was embellished with gold patterns, forming the shapes of stars and crescent moons. Your entire family was spread across the lawn: parents in the middle conversing with aunts and uncles while sipping on cold juices, and cousins ages 3 to 33 were spread about, running and laughing and of course taking photos.

“While I’m incredibly grateful that you made me change, I still feel a little out of place. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do on Eid.” He said, keeping himself at a respectable religious distance. You giggled softly before grabbing his hand, lancing your fingers between his clammy ones. “You just celebrate. Like Christmas. We’ll say hi to my parents, then we can mingle and do whatever we want until they serve the food.”

“Okay okay, one last question.”

“Yes, pablito?”

“What is that creature on the table?”

You turned around to follow Gavi’s line of sight, a loud laugh releasing itself from your throat before you could contain it. You tried to stifle it quickly as the redness creeped onto Gavi’s cheeks. You didn’t want to embarrass him.

“That’s a roasted lamb, amor. I know it looks a little strange to see a whole one on a tray like that, but it’s tradition. They might ask you to eat the head.”

“What??”

Before you could answer and quell Pablo’s fear, your mother called you over.

"حبيبتي، شو المضحك لهذه الدرجة؟ صوتك كثير عالي"

(Love, what’s so funny? You’re laughing very loudly)

Walking over, you kissed your mother on the cheek three times, hugging her close and wishing her a blessed Eid.

"ولا شيء مهم، ماما. كان خطيبي بس خايف من شكال الخاروف "

(Nothing important, mama. My fiancé was just scared by the lamb)

Pablo followed you over after a moment, shaking your father’s hand and kissing your mother on the cheeks. He thanked them for allowing him to be a part of their celebration, and your mother hugged him once again, reminding him that he was like family.

After small talk with your parents, you and Pablo moved around the function, greeting and chatting with various cousins. You laughed and talked loudly, continuing carefree. You loved watching Gavi interact with your family, culture, and religion. About 30 minutes after your arrival, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“We’re going to take instagram pictures now, and we were wondering: can we steal your man to be in them with us?” You stated in shock at your cousins, who often payed you and your doings no mind. “Why him?” You asked, amused by how shy they seemed, like children asking if their friend could come play. “Because he’s dripping hard. Plus if we tag him we could get mad amounts of girls in our DMs.” Have to appreciate that honesty.

Gavi agreed to the photos, and stood with your male cousins to take some hot and only slightly cringey photos in front of all the expensive cars people drive to the function. Afterwards, Pablo handed his phone to your cousin, asking for pictures of the two of you.

“We have to get some together princesa. I wouldn’t look this fine without your help.”

Walking over, you wrapped an arm around him and kissed his cheek, eliciting vomit sounds from your family. “You’re pretty fine looking all on your own. Thank you, by the way, for coming with me.”

“Of course. There’s no one I’d rather spend my time with, habibti.” (My love)

Needless to say, that one phrase is what created the best photo. You were looking over your shoulder with sheer joy on your face, eyes meeting those of an excited and lovesick Pablo. He was your biggest blessing.

~~~~

Based on my real eid fit and how serious eid insta photos actually are. Also, Eid is 3 days, so this is y’all’s eid gift from meeeee!! Hope y’all enjoy this one 🥰 love u guys xoxo, boot w another migraine !!!

[svt-kiki]

( 🪞 ) KIKI’S STYLES ⌅ .

... daily outfits ‪!

her style is simple, casual yet classic — kaia gerber has the similar style to her.

kiki prefers comfy clothes but it doesn’t mean her outfits are completely street-kind, it’s more based on the casual style with a touch of old-money vibes.

she’s considered one of the best ‘fashionista’ among the kpop idols and japanese celebrities bcs she knew what kind of clothes would fit her well.

prefers to wear or use things in long term, pay attention to quality and silhouette more than design or brands.

(　favorite items　)　jeans, sneakers, new era caps ( mini logo is her favorite )

(　favorite brands　)　ralph lauren, jill sander, adidas, calvin klein and vintage jp designers

... dance practice !

prefers wearing actual pair of sweatsuits or tracksuits more than random brand t-shirts.

sometimes wears crop top but mostly it’s loose-fittings that cover her body line.

wears hats a lot, the favorite is caps but wears beanies too.

(　favorite items　)　sweatsuit, tracksuit, sneakers, caps

(　favorite brands　)　adidas, nike, new balance, sporty & rich

... airport fashion !

hoodies !!!

there’s no kiki people know, she’ll literally turn into airplain mode in the airport — silent, unresponsive, limited.

just like everyone, she dislike the flashlights and croud of people screaming and pushing eachother to get closer. usually seungcheol or jun or mingyu ( the knight line ) will make sure to stay by side to protect and comfort her.

air pods max is essential.

she never EVER wear heels even got required to do some brand deals.

adores comforting clothes obviously, but she can just looks good without stylist.

when it comes to hats, she usually wears caps but in the airport, buckets are on her checklist.

always puts on her favorite acne studios scarfs in winter.

(　favorite items　)　hoodies, bucket hats, air pods max, rimowa suitcase ( arctic blue is her favorite 🤍 )

(　favorite brands　)　the north face, rimowa, mardi mercredi, acne studios

... award show !

mother is... mothering.

she and others claim herself to be the female idol who looks best in a suit and that’s not even a lie.

loves to stay with minimal color palettes.

hot people slays in black dress and kiki knows that.

sophisticated, sheath silhouettes just matches with her body type and aesthetic ( but can pull out any silhouettes really )

kiki had wore only suits for the first nearly two or three years, then started to try on gowns since 2019. now she wear both suits and gowns and carats LOVE IT.

always has a beef with heels adjgsaj

kiki: how do i walk properly with these goDDAMN NEEDLES- *taking off those aggressively*

(　favorite items　)　blazer, tie, black dress

(　favorite brands　)　ralph lauren, valentino, versace, dolce & gabbana, armani privé, ysl

(    📁    )   :   NAVI   :  MASTER LIST     

[swayziiwriter]

Hands to myself | Pablo Gavi

summary: modelling for Dolce and Gabbana was exciting in itself, but when you are given the opportunity to model alongside Barca’s golden boy Pablo Gavi you both just can’t keep your hands to yourselves.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

REQUEST: I wanted to ask if you could write a gavi smut where him and the reader do advertising for dolce and gabbana underwear and pablo can’t take his eyes off of her and gets all touchy and needy so they get nasty in the dressing rooms

You made your way down the large studio letting out a breathe as Pablo’s figure came into sight. He was listening to a photographer speak nodding intently as your eyes travelled down his body, a pair of black boxers the only material covering him. Your attire was similar, a matching black bra and underwear covered with a white button up that was opened completely leaving you exposed. Pablo’s eyes were off the photographer in seconds, looking at the way your hips swayed as you walked towards him. He was watching your every move, entranced. He’d never seen someone look at him the way you did. Even if it was innocent the thoughts clouding his mind were anything but.

Once the photographer switched her attention to you Pablo felt himself shift uncomfortably. Making sure he didn’t get hard in the middle of the shoot was a priority now that he was working with you. Every inch of his body felt as if it was electric and you were water. That even the slightest touch would send him into a complete state of shock. The photographer ushered you both to the set positioning your bodies up against each other.

“Is this ok?” Pablo asked softly as he rested his hands on your hips at the request of the photographer. You smiled shyly, nodding your head slowly as your body relaxed into his. Pablo’s eyes never left your body his burning gaze was electrifying, taking in every curve and edge of your almost naked body laying against his. His hands edged up your body slowly, uncertain almost. You watched his hand run up your chest circling your breast area as the photographer had stepped away to adjust the lighting.

You let out a soft whimper, Pablo’s touch was warm and calm. Keeping your body close to his Pablo adjusted his leg to softly pry open your thighs, moving his muscular leg to be inside of it. His knee applied slight pressure on your clothed pussy, circling his knee antagonizing slow against your now dripping core. Pablo ghosted his hand over your bra, looking into your eyes for permission before sliding his hand into your bra moving his lips to the base of your neck- “ok, back to the shoot” a voice rang out. Pablo left your body swiftly, moving into his prior position without so much as another look from the photographer who was still oblivious to his antics.

You smiled coyly at him, growing needy with every breath he let out against your neck.

A soft smile appeared on your face as you studied the first two pictures of your shoot, the rest would be developed soon enough these two were the first your had your eyes on. A knock on your dressing room door interrupted your thoughts, strutting towards the door you were faced with a very smiley Pablo. “Hey” he said, “hey” you breathed out. “Can I come in? They said you had the first few pictures” he continued silently hoping you wouldn’t read into his true intentions. You nodded, shifting to let him through. It didn’t take long until you were inevitably pressed up against the door, Pablo studied your face before leaning down to your face.

He was taller then you, making the space between your bodies closer then ever. Your breathing pattern increased, Pablo had you squirming under his touch. Pablo brought his face down to yours the proximity between your lips barely there, you closed the gap letting the soft feeling of his lips invade your body. Pablo brought his hands to your hips, letting them slide behind to your butt before grabbing it harshly. You gasped at his action giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your throat, his lips were hot on yours the eagerness of the kiss evident.

He left your lips slowly, catching his breathe “I want to give you everything but we don’t have a lot of time” he protested. You smiled “I want you Pablo, now, just give it to me already” bringing your hands to his exposed chest running your hands down his toned abdomen. Pablo brought you to the counter that was situated across the room, lifting your body to be on top of it he wasted no time discarding your body of the thin garments that remained. You pulled Pablo into your body, reaching down his abdomen pulling out his hard cock. He was warm and big in your hand, twitching at the feeling of you warm hand making way to his tip that was leaking precum.

Pablo let his boxers fall down his legs before lining up with your dripping core, Pablo teased your folds prompting a weak moan to come out of your mouth. “Pablo please” you whined, moving your hips into his encouraging him to continue. Pablo smirked at your neediness, “I’ll give it to you” and with that he thrusted into you, nearly knocking all the oxygen out of your body. You grabbed his shoulders connecting your lips as he moved his hips up into yours. You moaned into the kiss, Pablo returning the favour by groaning lightly.

Your lips made their way down his chiseled jaw to his neck, you left open mouthed kisses all over his neck as Pablo thrusted harder into you. Each thrust filled you up deeply with his cock, you were completely filled to the brim with his long member. Your hands found a place on his back, tracing the lines of his back muscles as Pablo’s movements sped up. “Fu-fuck” you let out a strangled line of curse words as Pablo continued to drill into you. His hands burned into your hips, grabbing the flesh with a force that matched the strength of his thrusts. Your juices covered his cock slickly, the sound of skin slapping and strangled moans and groans filled the tiny space. Every curve of his hips sending you closer to the edge.

“You feel so good, so tight” Pablo groaned into your ear, breathing heavily as his thrusts became more sloppy. “So good Pablo it feels so good” you whined your head falling into his shoulder, biting loosely as the flesh. Pablo brought his hands into your hair, locking it in his fingers as he shifted your hips to be higher off the counter. This allowed him to reach the deepest parts of your core, your head moved back in pleasure basking in every delicious sensation of his cock hitting your g-spot. Pablo felt you tremble, your body becoming more limp in his as he continued to ram into you every time harder then the last.

“I’m close Pablo, faster please” you begged, bringing your eyes to look into his. He smirked, stopping abruptly before pulling your body even closer to his. You were about to protest until your thoughts were cut off with a long hard thrust up into your core. “Yes, oh fuck” you practically screamed, Pablo was assaulting your pussy deeper then before. Sweat dripping from his hairline as he left open mouthed kisses on your neck, “cum for me y/n” “Sé una buena chica y córrete sobre esta polla.” be a good girl and cum on this dick. You fell apart at his words, costing his cock with your juices as you moaned through your release. Pablo never slowed down, letting you ride out your high with hard thrusts.

His dick was twitching inside of you begging for a release, his thrusts became sloppy as you brought your hands into his hair pulling on the locs harshly. “Cum inside me Pablo, give it to me” you encouraged leaving kisses all over his neck. Pablo groaned bringing a hand to your clit circling it slowly, feeling another orgasam approaching Pablo spoke “cum with me, cum all over this dick” his words had your head spinning. Pablo’s cock twitched inside of you before releasing his load into your tight hole, triggering your second orgasam your body shook in his, trembling as he rode out your highs.

Pablo slowed his movements before pulling out of slowly, a string of both your juices leaking out. “When we’re finished, I’d like for you to come back with me” Pablo spoke relaxing his breathing. You leaned your head against the mirror behind you catching your breathe to muster out a response “I’d really like that” you responded, connecting your lips once again.

[safarigirlsp]

Satan Wears Burberry

Satan Wears Burberry

Modern Jacques Le Gris x Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Humor. Romance. Enemies to Lovers. Fur.

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: For a Valentine's Day special, and as a gift for the lovely and wonderfully talented @kyloremus , here is a fun bitchy Fashion AU inspired by Cruella DeVille and The Devil Wears Prada! This is only the intro, if it is well received, I'll do more with it. There’s not even any murder or mayhem! What’s wrong with me?

Fashion is a viciously cutthroat industry where appearance and manipulation often win over sincerity and benevolence. Weapons of choice are razored nails, deadly heels, and backstabbing smiles. Everyone who is anyone and all the someones aspiring to be something in the fashion industry know there is no event more seminal than Paris Fashion Week. Statuesque models strutting runways, aggressive designers gauging their competition, and hawkish agents scouting new talent can all be found amid the crowds and press.

As the Editor in Chief of Annees Folles Magazine, your front row seat at every event was reserved. This season, Annees Folles had even surpassed Vogue in sales and influence. Before anything became fashion, it had to receive your stamp of approval and be featured in the pages of your magazine. Brands rose and fell pursuant to your approval or condemnation just like a gladiator’s life dependent upon the tilt of an emperor’s thumb. Among the other more illustrious attendees, were the heads of the most preeminent fashion lines in the world, the CEOs and moguls whose names had forged the foundation of modern fashion.

La Maison Gris, a relatively new brand from an old and noble French family, had made a meteoric rise to the very summit of the industry. Helmed by its formidable and charismatic CEO, Jacques Le Gris, La Maison Gris had firmly secured a position high among the most distinguished names in fashion. Le Gris had fast become synonymous with Chanel, Versace, Lagerfeld, Gucci, Valentino, Tom Ford, Dior, Dolce and Gabbana. Aided in his ascension by his calculating mind, his almost irresistible charm, his devilish good looks and imposing size, Jacques had steamrolled his competition like a tank over protestors.

Jacques Le Gris always dressed to the nines and was dashingly groomed and coiffed, his image immaculately maintained. From a finely tailored bespoke suit that flattered his impressive and athletic 6’4” physique, enhancing the breadth of his great shoulders and the taper of his fit waist, to a simple signet ring bearing his century’s old family crest that drew attention to his enormous hands, he used fashion to emphasize his towering size and noble bearing. He wore a neatly trimmed van dyke, and his thick black hair down to his shoulders. An intentional streak of silver shot through his glossy ebony mane like the milky way shimmering across the night sky, giving him the regal air of a melanistic lion. He was dressed now in pieces from his own line, a charcoal suit with a chic glen plaid pattern, black shirt, unbuttoned down two buttons from his throat, and a black overcoat with a subtle flair of silver Persian lamb around the collar.

Notably broader without exception than everyone in attendance and standing a head taller than most, save for the willowy models, some of whom hoovered near his airspace when in heels, Jacques cut an impressive and unmistakable figure where he stood next to the runway in the dimly lit audience. The room was filled to capacity with the crème de la crème of fashion, interspersed with the journalists and photographers who would relay their chosen highlights to the public. While he waited for the show to begin and the first model to strut down the runway, Jacques discussed his line with anyone who would listen, showcasing his renowned affability. He was cordial where others were aloof, a trait that had helped spur his rise to the top.

Jacques was confident that his spring line that was to be revealed at this show would impress all those in attendance, but still, it never hurt to grease the wheels with a few dashing smiles. He could charm almost anyone into submission, a talent that cut across many different lines of social interaction. Only one major player had remained staunchly immune from his allure, and she unfortunately wielded one of the most important opinions. In fact, it was as though the Editor in Chief of Annees Folles Magazine took pride, a morbid relish even, in eviscerating the designs of La Maison Gris. With each scathing article, La Maison Gris and its profits took a hit and took months to reclimb the ladder from several rungs below. To say Jacques was ruffled by it was an understatement, he was mad as hell. He had yet to meet the woman in person, which he assured himself was the reason he had so far been unable to exert the full magnitude of his charm and magnetism.

The lights dimmed and the music picked up tempo, indicating the show would soon be starting. Jacques was focused on the runway, and didn’t see you approach and squeeze in beside him for a place at the head of the runway. The room was packed as tightly as a nightclub, but filled with an exponentially more beautiful crowd. Jacques recognized you with a visible start, his affable manner momentarily dampened with worry, fear even, at being in the presence of the one woman with the power to unseat him from his high horse. The pen was indeed mightier than the sword when it was you who wielded it, writing the destinies of every hopeful designer in the pages of your magazine.

You were dressed in a Dolce & Gabbana dress of ebony lace that hugged and flattered your shapely curves to perfection paired with a charcoal gray double-breasted Burberry Prorsum coat with military-style epaulets and cuffs. You wore five-inch Burberry heels that, although pointed-toe stilettos, they were fitted with Burberry’s signature lug sole, adding to your combative appearance and reputation. Although it was dark in the room, you wore a pair of aviator sunglasses by Maybach, also in gradients of carbon, that concealed your infamously ferocious eyes. Your hair was elegantly styled and your bearing was as proud as any model on a runway, but your presence was of a military general standing on a battlefield.

The sight of you took Jacques’s breath away. He had never been so taken aback by a woman, so instantly devastated by beauty.

With a deep steadying breath and a visible effort, Jacques composed himself. It was absurd, he reasoned, to be so unnerved by a woman. He was a master at seduction, and what was business but a different kind of seduction? Both involved a degree of manipulation and power plays. Even if Jacques didn’t know how to deal with you as a cutthroat editor who struck fear into the hearts of men, he knew how to deal with a red-blooded woman.

“I think you’ll find the florals are luscious,” he whispered with a smokey depth to his voice. He moved closer beside you until your shoulders brushed, perfectly acceptable in the crowded room.

“Florals? For Spring?” you scoffed. “Groundbreaking.”

“Well… Florals are classics for a reason,” he stumbled at the sharp rebuff. “Spring lines always have florals. It’s what you do with them that matters, is it not?”

“Have you sustained a head injury?” you derided haughtily, turning to look at him briefly over the rims of your sunglasses. “Yes, follow like the little lemmings toward the cliff of the cliché and the mediocre. The market – that is, sellers who have already made you rich -- want to get their winter fashions off the racks. Something inventive, something charming and clean, for example, would sell regardless of the season. Are you marketing to the likes of Kohl’s or Target?” You dismissively returned your attention to the runaway. “Dolce & Gabbana is the only designer who has any business at all dabbling in seasonal florals. Perhaps, an honorable mention to Dior.” Jacques tried to retort, but you steamrolled over him. “But not La Maison Gris, I assure you, and my assurance is the only one that will ever matter.”

This silenced him as he looked away, a strange and foreign mixture of rejection and embarrassment mingling inside him with an all-too familiar anger. He then looked back at you tentatively, feeling hesitant to challenge you.

“Just last spring Vogue raged over my florals,” he stated with a confidence that for once he didn’t feel, his deep voice undercut by an undertone of fear. Because of his size and physicality, deep voice, and wealth, he often unwittingly intimidated people. He was unused to being on the other side of that scale, and he couldn’t recall being so as a grown man. It was a challenge, he realized, and he savored challenges.

“Then, they were novel. Now, they are tired and uninspired,” you sighed as if bored by his simpleness. “Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative -- that’s Oscar Wilde, mind you – and I do believe he had a sense of fashion. He even went to prison for his fashion genius, among other proclivities.”

Jacques’s handsome features broadcast he was ready to retort but thought better of it, chewing his lip instead to bite back the argument that wanted to leap from his tongue. As the first model made her appearance on the runway, the audience applauded, approving of her floral dress with fox trim. He puffed his chest and looked at you as if to say he told you so. The next model wore a lynx shawl over a dress of gold floral brocade.

“Mixing fur and floral, are we? I always thought fur looked best on its original owner.” You studied each ensemble carefully with the eye of a critic. “Models should be comfortable in their own skin, not someone else’s, don’t you think?”

“This line is novel, sleek and vivacious. If you wish to stand out and feel good about yourself, my line is for you,” he huffed and retorted as another model stalked toward you wearing a beautiful lavender dress trimmed with tasteful sable fur in a complimentary dusky hue. The crowd roared in approval. “Nature has evolved to flatter animals of every shape and size. Do you argue that natural evolution shouldn’t be used when one is designing clothes to flatter women?”

You paused at the audience’s enchantment with Jacques’s line. He, too, saw it was a hit and raised one eyebrow at you. The next model wore a sleek aviator jacket with a collar of sheared beaver dyed in a subtle chevron pattern. The crowd actually clapped at that one.

No matter, people often didn’t know what they really liked until you told them.

You gestured for him to lean closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Like I said, the unimaginative masses are easily impressed. They can’t do what I can do: convince the biggest retailers in the world to market your line, and the populace to buy it.”

Jacques took a deep breath, gathered his courage, smiled mischievously, and said with a seductive tenor, “Well, there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

“I suppose you would know,” you quipped as another lynx trimmed ensemble walked past. “Regardless, the details of your incompetence do not interest me.”

“My incompetence?” Jacques huffed. No one else in the world would dare to call him incompetent. But arguing the point with you would get him nowhere. He decided to try a different tactic. “Let us continue this tete-a-tete somewhere more private, and I’ll try to find something about myself that does interest you.”

“Bold of you to assume a ridiculous man like you could please me in any venue. Be assured, I am demanding in my personal life as well as my professional one.” You let your appraising gaze rake over his body. “I want the best. I deserve the best. And I demand the best. In all things and in all ways.”

“My fashion lines may bore you, belle comandante.” Jacques grinned and asserted boldly, “Trust me, as a man, I would make you purr.”

“I have no commitments and I find myself rather bored by Paris, but I’m sure you have a parade of floral harlots vying to charm you into letting them walk your next runway. Who would I be to deprive them of the valuable life lesson in regret they would learn from a night with you?” You eyed another fur-trimmed model skeptically. “Dear God, you’re not into furries are you?”

He said nothing more until the show was over, but a sly lupine smile played on his plush lips. When all the models had walked the runway and the din of conversation filled the room, he made you a darkly illicit offer. “I’ll make a bet with you. If I can make you purr for me, then you will write a splendid review of tonight’s show.”

Removing your sunglasses, you eyed him with unveiled skepticism. “And if I find you are not up to the task of pleasing me?”

“You won’t.” He winked at you.

“Graduating from fashion to prostitution, are you?” You raised a judgmental eyebrow. “I can’t deny it’s a better fit for you.”

“Not publicly.” He grinned at you, flashing a predatory glint of white teeth. “But for you, I will make a one-night-only exception. I’m a gambling man, and what higher stakes could I play with? If I can wring a good review out of you between the sheets, you will write a nice review for my fashion line on the pages of Annees Folles. We’ll enjoy ourselves in the process, that I promise you, cherie.”

“It is an interesting thought.” You smiled. “To wonder what I will find worthy of review. The before or the after?”

“Yes, I agree,” he boomed loud enough for everyone to hear. You had heard he was a showman and viciously sarcastic. “You know why failed designers become harping editors of fashion magazines? It’s a petty facet of human nature that we feel the need to tear apart others who have talents one does not.”

“Is that what you think?” you laughed at the absurdity, meeting his challenge and projecting your voice. “Designers are many. On the other hand, people who dictate the tides of fashion and control the very destinies of men like you are few. The truth is, no one can do what I can do.”

“It must be lonely at the top for a maneater like you,” Jacques teased, his voice low again. “Who keeps you warm at night?”

“Renew your offer at the end of the evening,” you replied coyly. “And I’ll decide who’s keeping me warm tonight.”

*******************************************************************************************

Nearly as important as the fashion show itself was the afterparty. This was where most of the schmoozing and deal-making were conducted, where connections were made and alliances were formed. Swanky upscale clubs were privately rented for these glamorous soirees. The afterparty for La Maison Gris was celebrated at L’Arc, the highly exclusive nightclub at the top of the Champs Elysees. Jacques had rented the club for the night, open only to those on his well-pruned guest list. The neon strobes of the club ordinarily played across a beautiful crowd but during Fashion Week, its lights never fell on someone who wasn’t either rich, famous, beautiful, or otherwise extraordinary.

Jacques was the man of the hour and had to make himself seen at his own party. You, of course, were on every guest list of every afterparty, but only an elite few were deserving of your attendance. After making your rounds at parties hosted by Dolce & Gabbana, Burberry, Dior, and Tom Ford, you decided to make an appearance at the La Maison Gris party and see if Jacques’s bet still intrigued you. Your arrival was just late enough to be aptly fashionable.

A redwood of a doorman recognized you and ushered you in ahead of a winding line of at least one-hundred hopeful partygoers, much to their displeasure. The floor of the club writhed and undulated with women in chic dresses and men in suits dancing in time with heavy driving bass. You would have been hard-pressed to squeeze up to the bar that was so tightly packed that even the attempts of waifish models were foiled by the mass of humanity.

The freshly bleached smiles of several of the biggest names in Hollywood caught your eye from various corners of the room. One perfect smile belonged to the actor who had just landed his big break in being cast in the newest reboot of the Superman franchise. Clark Kent du jour had the build of a linebacker, a square jaw to match, cerulean blue eyes, and jet back hair, complete with a Superman curl he had cultivated since landing the part. He had also been pursuing you since you had toured the set for a piece on the costumes, most of which had been crafted by Zegna. He wore a suit by La Maison Gris, complete with a dyed sable pocket square instead of the usual silk. Tragically, he had both buttons done on his jacket, a glaring faux pas that required all of your limited reserve to overlook. You could take the man off the farm, but you couldn’t dress the farm out of the man.

Aspiring models stalked through the crowd on mile-high legs like otherworldly creatures, eager to impress designers for a chance to walk down their runways. And there was Jacques Le Gris, standing in the middle of an entire harem of them. A flock of scantily and colorfully dressed models surrounded him like birds at a feeder, some batting their eyelashes, others stroking his body, others still giggling vapidly, all desperate for any crumb of attention he deigned to toss their way. Though you couldn’t hear what he was saying, he was gesturing magnanimously, smiling and laughing at his own infectious humor, and very much enjoying the attention.

The spectacle of the fawning models was enough to make you return Clark Kent’s smile just long enough to encourage him to make an approach. Your timing was perfect; like all the best predators, you had the gift of precision. Jacques noticed you just as the handsome actor made a beeline for you and procured a flute of champagne from the tray of an obliging waitress who flitted by on his way. The actor was only the first to approach you. Within moments, you too were encircled by a mass of noisome people, even larger than the group that surrounded Jacques. Everyone wanted your attention, your approval.

At the sight of Clark Kent sidling up to you, a dark veil passed over Jacques’s dashing features, turning them murderous for the breadth of a second. It went unnoticed by most if not all, but you saw it and you smirked. Clenching his jaw, Jacques pushed through the throng of humanity and shooed away the plumage of women, heading not toward you but to the bar.

You smiled as the actor handed you the champagne, trying not to dwell on the state of his tackily buttoned jacket. But you drew the line at champagne, telling him with your usual stridence, “Oh, you can keep that for yourself. I don’t drink champagne, but I’m sure a large country boy like you can handle mine and yours and many more after.”

The poor pretty idiot didn’t know if you were serious or teasing, but since he had no basis in experience dealing with such a direct and assertive woman, he took your harshness for humor and laughed. He would be so easy to rip to shreds, which could be a fun passing amusement. He was exceedingly lucky you were in a good mood tonight. Adding to your relative levity was the towering figure of the CEO of La Maison Gris striding purposefully toward you and fighting to keep his composure and grin through his jealous anger. He held a drink in each hand, filled with amber and ice.

“This is my party,” he said by way of greeting you, making his voice notably deeper than the actor’s. Jacques was taller, but only just, which added to your amusement when he tried to look down his charmingly hooked nose at his more classically handsome opponent. “How is it that you just waltz in here and everybody gravitates toward you like you are the sun.”

“I’ve found that Nietzsche’s herd concept applies in a variety of ways.” You smiled icily back. “The human herd often has a collective sense of who’s the most important person in the room.”

Still looking at the actor, Jacques wordlessly handed you one of the two drinks he carried. You accepted it with a raised eyebrow and lifted it to inhale its aroma. Then, you gifted him with a genuine smile. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I have. Your drink of choice is an old fashioned made with Midleton Single Pot Irish Whiskey and garnished with an orange peel.” He took a sip of his own drink, the same as yours, closing his eyes briefly to savor the taste. “But I think you’ll like this better. I prefer Redbreast twenty-seven year old Irish Whiskey.”

You took a skeptical drink, your eyes not leaving Jacques’s. The old fashioned was remarkably flavorful. “It’s tolerable, I suppose.”

“I better get a nicer review than that from you after I’ve given you a taste of something else that’s full-bodied and old fashioned.” Jacques winked at you as he took another drink.

“I’ve already been here fifteen minutes, and already this is growing dull.” You pointedly looked at the Breitling watch strapped to Jacques’s thick wrist. “When are you going to make it worth my while to have come at all?”

“Finish your drink,” he challenged and downed the better part of his own. He gave the actor a dangerous glare, but the other man was too focused on you to notice, still standing beside you, hopeful and oblivious.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said to Clark Kent with unveiled sarcasm, the man was utterly clueless. “I forgot you were there. You may go now.”

“I may actually grow to like you.” Jacques grinned and took your elbow, his large hand squeezing you for emphasis.

“I would expect so,” you replied haughtily. “It is a sentiment I acquire often but return sparingly.”

“Carpe nocturne, ma jolie fille,” he growled as he pulled you through the crowd and out of L’Arc to his waiting car.

*******************************************************************************************

Enroute to a more comfortable and conducive location, you and Jacques each downed two more old fashioneds as his driver maneuvered through the labyrinthian Parisian streets, overfull with tourists for Fashion Week. With his drinks, Jacques smoked a thick cigar on the drive, billowing smoke from his nose like a regal dragon through a cracked window. It came as no surprise you were both staying at the Ritz Paris, after all, it was the finest luxury hotel in Paris and some say in the world. You discovered it had been Jacques who had sniped the Suite Imperiale, the finest suite in the opulent hotel, out from under you, leaving you to book the only slightly less decadent Suite Windsor for yourself.

Jacques strode with you proudly through the lavish hotel, past numerous celebrities and icons. His hand rested possessively on the small of your back, leaving no doubt as to the nature of your evening.

“People are staring,” you said without a trace of shyness, relishing the attention.

“Let’s make it worth their while.” Jacques took your hand and twirled you like he was dancing with you and then dipped you for a passionate kiss in full view of the bustling lobby.

People indeed stared, their captivated gazes following as he then led you to the bank of elevators. Inside the elevator, he pushed you against the wall and propped his hands on either side of your head, caging you inside his arms as he loomed over you.

“Want me to say goodnight, jolie fille?” he asked, his voice dripping with husky desire.

Biting your lip as you paused to consider his words, you looked up at him. “Not for a few more hours.”

A broad toothy smile broke across Jacques’s features as the elevator chimed and you stepped out of his arms, enroute to his suite.

Jacques walked so closely behind you as you approached the door to the Suite Imperiale that you could feel the heat radiating off his massive body. Hot breath huffed on the back of your neck, raising goosebumps and sending electric currents down your spine. At his door, he handed you his room key and let you fumble with the lock while he trailed his hands down over your hips and then back up your thighs. Hooking his fingers in the hem of your dress, he pulled it up over your ass, the cool air on your skin a stark contrast to his hot hands. His broad chest pressed into your back and his head fell to your neck. His lips teased at you tantalizingly as he dug his thick fingers into your soft hips, pulling your ass back into the massive bulge in his pants.

“I knew you had a luscious ass,” he growled into your neck. He teased you with the scratch of his beard near your ear and smiled against your skin when he dipped his hand between your thighs and felt the moist heat of your arousal. “It would be a shame to ruin your lovely clothes. We need to get you out of them before they get too wet.”

You laughed breathily as you opened the door and stumbled inside with Jacques still pressed to your back. He kicked the door shut and spun you to face him, crashing his lips to yours as you each clawed at each other’s clothing. His jacket and shirt were the first to be discarded. You wanted to see his body before revealing yours, and you were not disappointed when he peeled his shirt away. His chest was larger and more impressive than you had guessed and his arms more thickly muscled. He had the finely sculpted look of a performance horse, massive, sleek, and powerful all at once.

Backing away from him sultrily, you slowly unzipped your dress as you angled toward the bedroom. Inspired by the Chateau de Versailles, the living room of the Suite Imperiale was done in burgundy and cream, with vaulted ceilings and enormous airy windows. The burgundy and gold drapes were open, letting the lights of Paris glimmer into the otherwise darkened room.

Before you could step out of your dress that had fallen to your feet, Jacques lifted you up into his arms, all but yanking you off the ground in his fervor. He was so powerful and solid that he made you feel weightless in his arms, a feeling that heightened your anticipation as much as his expert touch.

Jacques twirled once inside the suite’s bedroom with you still in his arms, taking every advantage to show off. This room was decorated in cream and mint with a green and mint brocade canopy enshrouding the lavish bed. Jacques laid you gently down onto the plush bedding and traced hot kisses down your throat and chest as he rose back to brusquely discard the rest of his clothing. You eyed his body shamelessly, very pleased by every magnificent part of him. His aurous eyes were even hungrier than yours as they devoured the sight of you.

“I’ve never seen true beauty before tonight,” he said reverently in a voice that was all smoke and darkness.

Jacques crawled over you, a predator over his prey, caging you beneath him with his impressive arms on either side of your body. When you put your hands on him, you could feel his heavy muscles tense and flex as he moved. The feel of him alone was a potent aphrodisiac. He could read all the signs of your body, the way you moved and sighed and responded to his touch. He knew you wanted him, and wanted him now. But Jacques wanted to savor you, to spend as long as he could possibly stand it, to sear every moment of this night into his memory like a firebrand.

Agonizingly slow, he returned his lips to your skin, kissing and teasing every part of your flesh he could cover. He knew he would have you several times tonight, and he decided he wanted to make you moan with his tongue before he made you scream with his cock. It was quick work for him once he settled between your legs and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. He had barely traced his name into you a handful of times when he felt the shuddering rush of your ecstasy.

Positioning himself above you, he captured your lips as he thrust into you, fast and fluid but gentle too. Slow at first, he followed the pace you set as your pleasure deepened. He was a consummate lover, and he shifted his hips until he knew his angle was perfect, like a marksman hitting the bullseye. He saw your features rendered beautifully distraught by pleasure, and he thought that he had never seen anything so lovely in the world of fashion and art as the sight of you beneath him.

Your arousal mounted as vigorously as he pistoned into you. Everything faded from your world until there was only the handsome man above you and the pleasure that flooded you until you were bursting with it. Jacques crested with you when a powerful orgasm throbbed through you and he carried you through every delicious shudder until you were both delirious with exhausted bliss. He kissed you with a slow lingering passion and when he pulled back, it was to look at you with adoration. His gaze was brief, but the emotion was unmistakable.

In the sultry minutes between your first session together and the next of the evening, you lay across Jacques’s chest, listening to his steadying heartbeat and the resonant timbre of his voice that sounded much like a contented purr beneath your ear. His hair was tangled and wild, and his chest glistened with a light sheen of sweat. His arms were strong around you and his hands huge and comforting on your skin. The man was an absolute fever dream.

“This is only the beginning, ma belle amour,” Jacques whispered much later that night, careful not to wake you. Even in sleep, he dreamed of you and of the bright and glamorous future you would forge together.

*******************************************************************************************

Jacques prided himself on being part of the 5am Club, but this morning he felt that he had earned some extra rest after his robust performance the night before. You told him that he was incredible, and he couldn’t disagree with you. He was an exceptional lover – he made a point of excelling in all areas of importance to him – and he knew it. He had pulled out all the stops for you. He wanted you not only pleasured but impressed; hooked, and wanting more and more. He grinned sleepily at the realization that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he was just as hooked after this first time as you were sure to be.

An obnoxious beam of sunlight soldiered through a gap in the curtains to shine on Jacques’s face, forcing him to blink into consciousness. Groaning at the light, he rolled over to curl into you and pull you close to him, and maybe have you again for breakfast. But his hand fell on a vacant sheet, cool to the touch. That brought him into full alertness like a bucket of ice water dosed over his head. He propped himself up on an elbow and brushed the hair out his eyes as he looked around the room. All of your things had been collected and were gone, and no sound emanated from the open door of the adjoining bathroom.

Jacques was alone.

No woman had ever sneaked out on him before the dawn. Of course, he had done so countless times to countless women, the number of which he couldn’t have remembered or even closely estimated with a gun to his head. But no woman had ever given him the same treatment. It was unthinkable! Jacques had only ever slipped away from women he considered unimportant, disposable – which, admittedly, were most of them – but he would never have ducked out on you, not after the night the two of you had shared.

Last night was only the beginning, he told himself, knowing it must be true. Anything that felt that good, that right, had to be only the start of something great.  

A bitter thought slithered into his mind, worse than the gravelly morning-after taste on his tongue. Surely, he wasn’t a disposable fling to you. He couldn’t be. He was more than a one night stand, when he wanted more, anyway. It was unfathomable to think a woman, any woman, wouldn’t want more with him. It was blasphemous, even.

No, that couldn’t be it. Jacques knew you were a busy woman, you must have had things to do and places to be. He too was in demand and could hardly begrudge you the same. Throwing the covers aside, he stood and proceeded to walk around the room naked, looking for anything you may have left behind. He was sure he would find a letter or just a brief note, but there was nothing. He even fogged the bathroom mirror in the chance you were prone to mystery and had left a message on the glass that only mist would reveal. He called your suite, received no answer, and had no better luck calling reception. When he checked his phone to see if there were any messages from you, he realized with a sinking feeling that you had not exchanged numbers.

The room was as though you had never been inside it at all. Only the smell of your perfume on his sheets and the scratches you had traced across his skin were proof that last night had not been only a fantasy.

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Never before had Jacques felt so compelled to chase after a woman, but he restrained himself. The rules of a burgeoning relationship were new to Jacques -- not that he ever played by the rules at anything -- but he thought it only fair that since you had been the one to leave, that the burden was on you to make the first contact. He waited for days for a call or email or text, at first angry and then despondent when nothing came.

Jacques Le Gris, the CEO of La Maison Gris, would not chase after a woman. But for this woman, this one singular woman, he consented to casually saunter in her direction. And he was not pleased about having to do so.

It was Friday morning, nearly a week after your evening together, when Jacques relented. He stood restless in his luxurious office, surrounded by walnut paneling, rich colors, and oil paintings. His office had a regal ambience reminiscent of a Victorian study but with a decidedly masculine touch. Every appliance was ultra-modern and colored in sleek carbon, contrasting chicly with the otherwise vintage style. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the city of Paris, offering an unobstructed view of the Champs Elysees.

Being at the tops in your respective industries made you each easy to track down, even if then making contact was exponentially more difficult. Jacques called the main branch of Annees Folles Magazine in Manhattan and was given the runaround for the better part of an hour. Christ, it was worse than dealing with an airline. He wondered if he would have to fax a copy of his ID just to speak to a living human who had any authority at all. He was near the limits of his temper, his notorious good humor completely expended, by the time he was put through to your office.

“Editor in Chief’s office.” A curt nasally male voice answered Jacques’s call with a note of disinterest. “Armitage Hux speaking.”

“I’m calling to speak to the Editor in Chief directly, please,” Jacques said in his most diplomatic tone. He added his name, which alone opened most doors for him. “This is Jacques Le Gris.”

“The Editor is not to be disturbed. Furthermore, she only takes calls from those listed on her approved call list.” Came the snide reply. “There’ s no Jack.”

“Jacques,” he enunciated more clearly, adding more force to his voice. “Jacques Le Gris.”

“There is no le Grease on the list either.” A withering sneer could almost be heard through the phone.

“Le Gris,” Jacques corrected, fighting to keep from losing his temper.

“My apologies,” Hux answered without the barest hint of contrition. “Regardless, you are not on the list, Mr. le Grease.”

A frustrated growl slipped out before Jacques could stop it. “For fuck’s sake, ask her about me!”

“There’s really no need for profanity. I’ve already told you, she is not to be disturbed,” Hux continued in a tone that was now verging on bored. “Certainly not by people who aren’t important enough to be on her approved call list, Mr. le Grease.”

“Important?” Jacques laughed at the absurdity. “Do you know who I am? I’m the CEO of La Maison Gris!”

“I’m legally required to say that my opinion does not in any way reflect the views of Annees Folles Magazine, but I have always preferred Gucci,” Hux lilted in his superior manner.

“If Le Grease doesn’t spur her memory, tell her I’m the man she spent last Saturday night with!” Now, Jacques was pissed. Comparing his distinguished line to that family of garish Italians was like slapping a glove across his cheek. “She knew my name then because she was fucking screaming it!”

“Ah, maybe you’re on that list.” Hux smiled deviously, which could be heard on his voice.

Jacques ground his teeth until he thought they would surely crack while he listened to the other man’s unhurried keystrokes as he pulled up that list. Jacques made a mental note to clear that fucking list out for you real fast.

“Barber… McHenry… — forgive me, I’m skimming here — Mills… Ren… Zimmerman…” Hux read through each name with relish. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid that this list is Grease-free as well.”

“Listen, you trumped up little shit.” Jacques finally lost control of his temper. “If I have to get on a fucking plane, walk right in there, and kick the door down to her office —“

“Hold please,” Hux intoned, utterly unconcerned. Music only slightly trendier than elevator music assaulted Jacques across the line.

Jacques punched the end button with as much force as he could muster with his finger on the button that was too small for his thick digit. He caught himself just before he threw his phone across the room, and instead turned and swung a savagely powerful punch into the wall, slamming his fist straight through the plaster.

*******************************************************************************************

Bright and early the following Monday a fresh copy of the American edition of Annees Folles Magazine was delivered by courier to Jacques’s office. There was no accompanying note, but the magazine smelled of the sultry exotic perfume he remembered so well. Jacques knew with absolute certainty who it was from. It was longer than he wanted to wait for an overture from you, but at least it was something.

One of the subheadings on the cover read, A Special Editorial and Behind the Scenes Look into the New Fashion Line of La Maison Gris. Jacques seated himself behind his imposing desk, leaned back in his tufted leather chair, and propped his long legs on his desk, crossing his feet at the ankles. He intended to savor your special editorial on him and his fashion line, expecting to fall even deeper and more hopelessly into the abyss of his feelings for you, into this new and uncharted territory.

Jacques rustled through the pages, eager to find your editorial. Splashed across the page was an extra treat – a startlingly high-quality photograph of his runway with a model in a floral dress with fur cuffs, and front in center silhouetted by the runway lights, the pair of you stood side-by-side in the crowd watching the show. He decided to have it framed for his office, a memento of the night your relationship began. He imagined your smile when he showed it off to you in person.

Below the photograph, the article was not what he expected. It was five-hundred words of honeyed vitriol.

La Maison Gris, with CEO Jacques Le Gris at its helm, has been the rising star in the fashion industry and with good reason. His designs mix ultra-modern chic with the classiest and the most decadent styles history has ever seen. From Victorian era draping and corsets to Regency-esque frocks and slippers to beading and sequins that would flatter the most exuberant 1920’s flapper, Le Gris’s inspiration is regal and refined and imbued with his own signature twist and flourish.

Ascensions, however, are precarious. Climbing to the top in fashion is just as perilous as climbing Mount Everest. One misstep can cost one his career.

Confident in his own grandeur, Le Gris opened his show at Paris Fashion Week with a new line featuring a daring use of fur on every piece. Icarus, too, was daring in his flight toward the blazing Sun. Just like Icarus, Le Gris has reached beyond his capacity and will soon find himself plummeting back to Earth to crash and burn with so many other has-beens whose names are not worth remembering.

Swept up in his penchant for melding modern with iconic, Le Gris does not consider the advances that we as a society have made. No longer do we need to resort to the barbarism of the fur trade to clothe ourselves. Nor do we, as Le Gris would have us believe, need to resort to fur to dress ourselves in the finest fashion and haute couture. Rest assured, dear readers, La Maison Gris is not in the upper echelon of fine fashion and haute couture.

In addition to the heinous and overdone use of fur, Le Gris has the tastelessness to cobble together a kaleidoscope of florals ranging from pastel to electric. His florid color palette can best be described as ‘A Murder of Unicorns,’ as painted by Monet. It reminds one of a cheerily painted playroom inside a children’s mental institution. A more cultured eye will gravitate to Dolce & Gabbana for florals, to Burberry for iconic; and if one is looking for fur, a vintage fox, mink, or sable from a boutique will always carry the day.

Le Gris’s approach to fashion seems to be that a lack of quality can be disguised by flair and concealed with fur. This mirrors the man’s approach to life. A boisterous grandstander, Le Gris tries to project a distinguished air. However, like a magician’s trick revealed, all his flash and charm are little more than smoke and mirrors with no real substance.

A little fur here and there can make a girl purr, but an overuse, such as the spring line of La Maison Gris, is barbarous at best and utterly gauche at worst.

One wonders if Le Gris has the capacity to bear a defeat with dignity, but the smart money will bet on the negative. Like a scavenging hound, Le Gris will likely refurbish his failed spring line for another runway this coming fall or winter. He will certainly gain no traction on any runway of repute. With his brash sensationalism and garish taste, perhaps he shall find his true calling outfitting cosplayers or larpers.

Jacques crumpled the offending magazine in his fist as if he could choke the life from its Editor in Chief through the abused pages. He viciously ripped it in half, throwing each segment across the room in different directions. He wanted to punch another hole in his wall, but his knuckles were still scabbed and bruised from his recent outburst. Not for the first time, he decided to hang a heavyweight punching bag in his office. He glared around his office, looking for something to break. Why the fuck was everything his decorators chose some one-of-a-kind antique?

Sparing his knuckles further damage, he let out a savage growl like a wounded lion. Jacques was breathing as hard as if he had run a mile, his huge chest straining the buttons on his tailored shirt. As he tried ineffectively to calm himself, his shrewd mind began to calculate and strategize. After a few moments of huffing, he decided on his course of action. If you wanted to play dirty, he could roll in the mud with the best of them. Retrieving his phone, he dialed a familiar number.

“Jacques!” Pierre D’Alencon, the Creative Director of La Maison Gris, answered with friendly ebullience. “I was just going to call you. Drinks this weekend? I happened upon a gorgeous set of twins -- redheads, no less -- and of course I’m willing to share with my closest friend.”

“Put the twins on ice for now,” Jacques grumbled gruffly. “This is business. Did you see the editorial in Annees Folles?”

“I did, indeed,” Pierre’s voice lost a hint of its buoyancy. “Hence my offer of drinks and women to lift your spirits.”

“I’ve made a decision, and it involves you. If that glorified tabloid wants to blast me for using fur in my line, I’m going to single-handedly revive the fur-in-fashion trend! We’ll see who holds more power in this little game.” Jacques grinned devilishly at his own newly formed plan of attack like a knight finding a chink in his opponent’s armor. “Which is where you come in. I want to see designs for an entire line with fur on every piece by the end of the month. Get on it, Pierre! Give me your best.”

“Do you not think it best to respond with more dignity and sweep all this unpleasantness under the rug?” Pierre asked with a heavy sigh. “This is why you have PR people.”

“Who was it that said any publicity is good publicity?” Jacques asked, unphased.

“That would be the American spectacle, P.T. Barnum,” Pierre replied with resignation.

“Smart man. I always admired his joie de vivre.” Jacques smirked as he paced across his vast office. “That’s exactly what I want. I want a spectacle. I want a public circus. I want a showdown. We’re going to revive the fur trend, you and I, and I’m going to rub it in that demoness’s face!”

“Ah, so this is all motivated by astute business acumen and professionalism, is it?” Pierre gave a laugh that was ignored.

“Use every kind of fur you can get your hands on. The crueler the fucking better! Lynx, fox, sable, Persian lamb – all the cutest and cuddliest animals. Are chinchillas still a thing? Those too. Can we still get leopard? If you can design a full-length coat made of puppies, do it! Dalmatian with a lynx collar, how about that?” Jacques ran a hand along the shimmering silver streak in his black hair, thinking. “And I don’t want faux anything in sight. I want it all real, all genuine fur.”

Pierre confirmed his understanding of his marching orders and signed off. For so long as their mission remained retaliation and war, anyway. He also decided on a side-quest of sorts, to put his second greatest talent to work while he created a runway line trimmed in fur. He would try his best at figuring out his friend and boss’s quarry, and aid him in hunting the most dangerous game of all, a powerful woman. Perhaps if Jacques could seduce her personally, there would be no need to batter her into submission professionally, and Pierre knew he was just the man for both jobs.

Jacques was still wound up after the call, but now he had a course of action, a focal point, a target at which to channel his anger and frustration. The embers of rage still alighted Jacques’s nerves and the sting of betrayal still burned in his chest. He still wanted to punch something, to find a release. It was a poor substitute, but he ranted and bellowed instead.

“That frigid bitch!” Jacques snarled, glaring out of his window over the streets of Paris. “That shrew. That succubus. Satan. That woman is fucking Satan!”

*******************************************************************************************

To be continued…

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© safarigirlsp 2023

Tagging some fashionistas:

@in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @babbushka @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @reborn-rekall @maybe-your-left @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @darkhairedmenrule @reyloaddict55 @fizzywoohoo @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @clydesfavoritegirl @bensolodyad @thepalaceofmelanie @celiholland @durangoninetyfive @reveluving @vedavan @fax4life27 @lumberjack00fantasies @kyloremus

[xcherryerim]

Josh hutcherson character multi verse would go something like this pt.2 :

pt.1 | pt.3 | pt.4

Josh Futturman: “Why?”

Peeta Mellark: “I don’t know. I just don’t like Derek. He reminds me of the people from the capitol which isn’t a good thing…” He said looking at Josh and then started to chuckle to himself lightly.

Peeta: “He dresses as ridiculous as them too!” Both Josh and Peeta start to laugh uncontrollably.

Futturman suddenly stopped laughing and looked up.

Peeta: “He is right behind me isn’t he?” He asked with a fainted sigh.

Clapton: “Yep.”

Billy: “Ha! I mean is true. Derek dresses ridiculously.” Billy said with a cheeky smirk.

Derek scuffs.

Derek Danforth: Uh, I know im not getting fucking judged by you guys. I don’t wanna hear it from people that can’t even fucking afford Dolce & Gabbana.”

Mike Schmidt: “Didn’t know they needed a clown mascot.” he mutter.

[vinetae]

______________________________________________________________

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

Pairings: College Professor!Jimin x Student!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Sexual content, foul language, 18+ Confessions, vaginal fingering, (f.) masturbation, voyeurism, dom!Jimin, exabitionist themes, protective!Jimin. MENTIONS OF UNDERAGE RELATIONSHIPS.

Don't do that, yall. Ew.

Summary: You had asked your Psych professor for his signature in signing off your volunteer hours. Only a few weeks later, you two are caught at the same club.

Strip club to be exact.

Where you work, to be exact.

A/n: It's cheesy and late, but it's MINE. and I love these two.

And yes my baby fever peeped through at the end but we won't talk about that- 0_0

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Find my main masterlist here

Find part 1 - here

______________________________________________________________

“Okay..” You take in a deep breath, eyes flashing back and forth between the two options set out for you. Your hands graze over the black, a-line dress, watching as its silky fabric slips between your fingers. The material reminded you of a beautiful ocean. 

But that’s not the reason you bought it. 

It was half off at a thrift store. 

Well, because the fabrics were half off as well. 

Safe to say that the dress was in shambles. Actually, it took more money to repair it than just buying a new one. 

But you loved that dress. 

So, you kept working at it. 

Stitching every seam, heming every end, and flattening each piece until it had been perfected. 

Soon, you had the most beautifully hand-stitched (halfway) A-line dress to call your own. You’d used a little bit more saved money to really make the piece pop. 

You chuckle at the irony, throwing the other dress back into your closet. “Why am I even debating this?” 

Your arms slip through the sleeves, watching as the glittery clear sleeves hug your forearms beautifully. The sweetheart neckline dropped to your shoulders, giving more hints to your prominent features rather than to conceal them in heaps of cloth.

Of course, black was a little too…

“Ugh, basic.” You groan, throwing the dress into the hamper near your chair. Your eyes scan your messy dorm, looking for anything that could be more appropriate. After a few minutes of looking, shoving and -quite frankly, a few breakdowns- you’d finally seen the perfect outfit. 

______________________________________________________________

Music calmly strings in the background, as overly-dressed students and faculty members had flooded the large ballroom. Well, it wasn’t a ballroom to be exact. 

But it felt like something you’d see in a Disney movie, that’s for sure. 

You inhale quickly, before taking the ticket from the handler. You flash a quick smile before making your way through the crowd. Your eyes landed upon what had seemed like millions of name brands. Some Armani suits, Gucci ties and loafers, Louis Vuitton bags, and some names that looked too expensive to even try and pronounce. 

Your Walmart purchased cheap heels clack against the marbled floors, trying to make your way through the large crowds of the Rockefellers.

You’re just about through the swarm of rich bees before your body crashes into a tall figure. You groan, picking yourself off the floor, taking a glance up. Her powered and proper face had been oozing with anger and mascara. 

“Are you kidding me right now!?” Her hands swipes out to examine her dress. The purple and deep-cut mermaid figure had been ruined by a huge, red wine stain in the front. You quickly stand, bowing deeply, muttering millions of apologies. 

“I-I’m so sorry, ma’am-” She laughs out, a malicious look plastered on her Botoxed features. “You’re s-s-sorry?” Her laugh is high-pitched and loud. The commotion had called over a few other viewers to watch the scene. Your hands come to wipe your own dress, thankful that not much had spilled on it. 

“This was Dolce and Gabbana, you little shit! How are you gonna pay for it, huh?” 

Her voice sends shivers down your spine. Once you’re finally off the floor, you take a look at the mess. 

“It’s a dark dress…I’m sure you could just take a sharpie and-” Her banshee-like screech attracts more witnesses. 

“Sharpie!? The only thing you need a sharpie for is writing me that check!” Your eyes lift slightly, scanning the room as people crowded around the two of you. Hushed whispers and posh comments used words you didn’t even understand. Her sparkly silver heel taps against the floor, hand extended to you. 

“Well? Where’s my fucking money, huh?” Her eyes were sharp and narrow. The high of her cheekbones had given away that she was not from here.

“I’m waiting.” 

“You’ll be standing there for quite some time, Miss Alachua.” A deep voice cuts through the thick commotion as his hand comes down to pick your body up off the floor the rest of the way. Your eyes flash, taking notice of his gray-ish toned suit. The little yellow handkerchief stood tall in the chest pocket of the suit. Blonde streaks with fading pieces accentuate his whole aura. 

“Jimin.” Her voice softens to a light banter. Anger is still prominent, however. 

He flashes a short but sweet grin towards her, extending his arm to exchange something in hand. 

“Nice to see you too.” He comments, sucking in a tsk at her dress stain. His eyes glance to yours, head shaking from side to side gently. 

“Did you do this, Miss Choi?” He watches your throat swallow a thick lump, trying to respond. 

“It was an accident..” Your hands clasp to the front, embarrassment settling over the whole situation. 

On your end anyways. 

He quicks a smile before clearing his throat, pacing his way over to meet with the woman. “She said it was an accident.” 

Her arms across her chest, heel continuously tapping against the marbled, echoed flooring as she scoffs. “She’s still gonna have to pay for it.” 

Jimin’s eyebrow raises at her tone, as he sets a palm on her shoulder. “Did you pay for it, Miss Alachua?” Her eyes blow wide at the comment. 

He smirks, lowering his voice to where only you two could pick up. “Mmm, that’s the thing about using daddy’s money for your own purposes. So technically, you got his dress messy, isn’t that right?”

Her head slowly falls down, then back up nodding at his sentence. He backs away, clapping. 

“Perfect. Then, I’ll get Miss Choi to transfer the money over to his account.” Her mouth falls open, quickly trying to protest. “But I-” Jimin holds up a hand, silencing her. He reaches over to grab your wrist pulling you from the terror of the crowd. Once you’re in a quiet section of the ball room, you’re quick to tug on his sleeve. 

“Jimin I don-'' He shushes you, pressing a finger to your lips. “I’ve got quite a bit of information on her father.” His eyebrows tease, signaling to you something, but you couldn’t quite catch on. He chuckles, motioning for you to sit down next to him as he lowers his voice. His finger guides your eyes over to the corner, as you both see a couple leaning on the wall of the ball room, hands entwined together as his older body towers hers. 

Your eyes glance back to Jimin’s, watching the smirk on his corned lip. “What are we looking at?It’s just a couple.” 

He chuckles, leaning back against the chair, sipping from his champagne glass. “Just a couple?” You nod, not following his words. He inhales deeply, enjoying the classical music sounding in the background. 

“Yeah, she’s fifteen.” He laughs at your wide-eyed expression. His lips wrap around the glass’s rim, fogging the clear set with his warm breath. 

“Still ‘just a couple’?” He teases as you hit his side. His eyes narrow at your action. “Watch it, missy.” 

“Yeah? Why should I?” His eyes said one thing, but his tone said another. His finger lifts from the glass, pointing around to the room. “I’m your teacher right now.” He watches your eyes roll back at his words. 

“Oh really?” Your hips rise from the lowered sofa, leading the way through a few doorways. Like before, his feet follow in your guidance, like a puppy on an imaginary leash. He watches your heels step out of the exit door’s frame. Your hands run up the curves of your body, watching as his Adam's apple bobs up and down at the motion. Your hair blows in the night’s chilly winds, with little to no one around the two of you. 

Your feet plant themselves right at the entrance outside the building, as they keep themselves on the marbled floor’s inside. “What are you doing..” His voice lowers, eyes glancing around to take notice of no one’s presence. 

Your hands lift up to pull the hem of your off-shoulder neckline down, revealing the top of one of your breasts. His jaw tightens at the sight. 

“Y/n..” 

Your smirk edges him on. “It’s Miss Choi, Mister Park.” 

Your back hits the brick wall, finger trailing down the plains of your body to toy with your hemmed skirt. You lift the fabric up a bit, revealing a slimmer of your black laced underwear. His voice thickens at the sight, hands fisting at his sides. 

“Y/n.” The tone is commanding, yet you still toy on. 

“What? You’re my teacher, Mister Park.” His throat lets out a slight groan, chuckling at the irony of it all. “This is fucked up, Y/n.” 

Your lips curl into an innocent smile as you lift the option of your leg up, revealing more of your underwear’s thin fabric. “I’m just a student, trying to enjoy a little time to myself..” Your fingers toy with the hem of your panties before dipping in slightly. Your head rolls back against the brick wall, lips parting at the sensation. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/n.” His teeth clench at the sight. Your back arches, lifting away from the wall, your hand stuffed between the fabrics of your laced underwear. Your eyelids lift slightly, taking a glance at him before continuing. 

“Ah, feels so good..” You moan out, free hand scooping more of your puffed tea-length dress to reveal the glorious sight. He watches as your knuckles quickly turn white at the pressure. His voice can finally be heard. 

“Fucking minx.” Your teasing smirk only edges him as his feet step out the door. His body pressed against yours, quick to wrap his palm around your wrist to remove your hands from between your panties. “You wanna this game, baby?” Your arms try to wrap around his neck, but he’s too quick to pull away, not letting you touch him like you wanted. His task sends shivers up your spine. 

“My rules.” 

His hand grips yours, pulling you from the wall to lead you to the parking lot. His hand pulls from his pocket, clicking the unlock button on his car shaped fob. 

“T-This is your car?” He smirks, opening the door for you to slip in. 

“Ladies first.” 

Once you’re both settled in, he cranks the car, letting the engine run for a few seconds before pulling out of the parking lot. His hands clasp in the front, trying not to refrain from touching anything. He chuckles at your stiff body, hand coming to rub on the inner of your thigh. Your body straightens at the touch, mouth parting in agony at the feeling. His eyes glance over before removing his hand. You silently groan, breath heaving up and down from the frustration. 

“How much does the school pay you?” You question, looking around to notice the intricate details and emblems designed in the leather. His eyes flash to your movements before focusing back on the road. “Is that any of your concern?” You huff at his answer. 

The car suddenly speeds up, as your body sinks back into the seat. His hand clutches the stick, shifting gears faster than you could say ‘peanut butter’.

Soon, your body is following the curves of the road as your body is jerked around from left to right, as his body is completely still through all of the roller coaster turns. 

“Jesus, Jimin!” You yelp, gripping onto the handle on the door’s side. He chuckles, as the car comes to a sharp yet smooth stop. If you’d been breathing heavily earlier, you were possibly having a heart attack right about now!’

His seatbelt clicks undone, as he reaches over to undone yours. Once you’ve gotten your land legs, he helps you steady yourself in your seat. Your hair is a mess, and your dress is riding up your thighs. He takes notice of the exposed skin, smirking. 

“So, you like?” He asks, watching as you try pulling your soul back into your body. He chuckles at your distorted figure, stumbling to grip onto reality. 

“F-fucking fast-” You groan out, feeling a little sick from the rush. He nods, waiting patiently for the white to fade from your complexion. 

“Yeah, the first time I test drove it, I almost threw up.” He chuckles, remembering the day that seemed so recent. “I’ve had her for about two years now.” You groan, eyes rolling at his comment. “Her?” 

He nods, laughing at your messied self. “Why? Jealous?~” He teases, poking your cheek. Your head shakes, huffing in annoyance. “Why would I be jealous of a car?” His hand cards through the blonde locks, as a sheet of glimmer rises off his skin. 

“Don’t know.” His elbow rests on the middle console, a teasing innocent look paints his expression. “Why are you jealous of a car?” That makes you scoff. 

‘I’m not jealous of your stupid car.” He faints a pained expression, rubbing the steering wheel gently. “It’s okay baby, she didn’t mean it.” His voice makes you burst out laughing.

“Hey, don’t make fun of Nova.” You watch a simple, child-like expression peak behind his commanding demeanor. You laugh at his demand. “You named her?” 

“Well of course I did. Everybody names their car.” You scoff lightly, taking a peek out the window. The dark knight had disguised the road’s wavy ways. 

Wait.

Waves?

Your head cranes to the side, giving Jimin a certain glance. “Are we at the beach?” 

He nods, pointing out the front window. “You couldn’t tell?” 

“Yeah well I kinda was busy trying to hold down my lunch.” He chuckles before popping the driver door open. A few seconds later, he’s on your side. You watch as the door pops open softly, his hand extends out to offer help. You slide your hand into his palm, as he leads the way down a flight of wooden stairs. 

“Are you avoiding having sex with me?” He pauses at your comment, tilting his head to the side before flashing a quick smirk. “Who said we’re not having sex?” 

That sends butterflies to your stomach.

Your arm wraps around his, as you two walk in sync, head resting on his broad shoulder. He chuckles, swinging your entwined hands together to an imaginary beat only the two of you could hear. 

“This seems like a good spot.” He stops walking, laying the blanket down on the sandy beach as you take a look around, noticing the moon’s reflection shining brightly on the water’s clear surface. His hand reaches up to pull you down, settling you down right next to him. He leans back, arms supporting his body from behind as he takes in a deep breath. 

“I’ve always hated those events anyways.” His head tilts, flashing you a quick smile. You nod, admiring the cute little seashells along the blanket’s hem. You lay flat on your stomach, watching as the sand falls between your fingers as you try to dig for more shells. His soft laugh hatches more butterflies in the pit of your stomach. 

“Have you never seen shells before?” He asks, laying down on his stomach next to you. 

“Never been to the beach really..” You sigh, fixing yourself to prop your head up on your two palms. He smiles, lightly petting the crown of your head. Your loose bun had fallen long ago, right as the party had begun. His fingers trail along the curves of your spine, listening to your breath pitch in tone at his touch. 

“Do you like it?” His voice lowers, soft whispers brush against the shell of your ear. You nod, moaning quietly at the sensation. “Feels good..” You hear his chest let out a sharp chuckle. 

“I meant the beach, sweetie.” You quickly sit up, half-heartedly remembering where you were. You nod. “Yeah.. I do.” He smiles, brushing a few of your strands of hair from vision. You huff, leaning closer to meet his gaze as his hand trails up your outer arm. “You drag shit out too much..” He laughs. 

“I told you, I’m a gentleman.” You groan, scooting closer to his body, toying with the fabric of his tie like before. “But I don’t want a gentleman..” 

“But you need one.” Your eyes widen at the blow. 

“I need one?” He nods, humming. 

“What I mean, is that you’re too good for an asshole like the guys you work for.” You scoff, feeling the way his fingertips graze the dip of your collarbone. “I worked for you.” 

“Mmm, I’m an exception.” 

Your eyes roll at his cockiness. “High and mighty, are we?” He smirks, combating your tease. 

“Horny and impatient, are we?” You punch his arm lightly, making a few laughs escape from his chest. 

“I’m only still horny because you haven’t fucked me.” He shakes his head, laughing as he caresses your cute, chubby cheeks. 

“You don’t get the whole point of this, do you?” Your head shakes, as he sighs. “And you’re trying to get a psych degree? Psh.” You huff, crossing your arms at his comment. He smiles, leaning closer to your face, lips brushing the pads of your gently as he continues.

“You’re too impatient.” 

“I am.” 

He lets out a short chuckle, laying back on the blanket. Arms slipped under his head to support it. His breath is calmed and controlled. Opposite of yours. 

“Just enjoy this.” He sighs, taking in a deep breath of the salty air, closing his eyes softly. 

“I didn’t come all the way here to enjoy the pretty view.” His eyes peak open as a smirk presses his lips. “Really? Cause I did.” You’re quick to catch onto the little tease, making your cheeks flush red. Luckily, he couldn’t see the tint that well from lack of lighting. You groan, lightly hitting his chest against as he lets out a fake pained cough. 

“Owch.” He smirks, pulling you down to his level. You huff before throwing your leg over to straddle his lap. His eyebrows quirk at the sight. Hands come to toy with your hips, steadying you on his lower torso. “Alright, you’ve been your little gentleman long enough.” He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes creasing at the joint. 

“That’s not really your decision, now is it?” Your hips roll against his, yet you feel no sign of-

Anything. 

Groaning you roll off of his lap, sitting next to his sprawled out body. “Why don’t you wanna fuck me?!” He sighs, rising up to plant his hands behind his torso to prop himself up. 

“You’re right. I don’t want to fuck you.” You felt tears welling in your eyes. Your arm comes to hit him once more before sobs start leaving your lips. 

“Am I not pretty enough!? What! Do you like older women!? Huh! Tell me, fucking asshole!” His hands catch your wrists, stopping you from hitting him anymore. 

“Baby calm down.” His voice softens, as his arms wrap around your frame, holding you close to his body. Your eyes well with tears, a few slipping down from your cheeks as your struggles and throws start to become soft nudges instead. His hand guides your chin to meet his softened gaze. 

“You done now?” You sniff harshly, nodding. His smile makes you wanna knock his porcelain front white teeth out. 

“I’ve said it before. I don’t want to fuck you.” You push him away from your body, releasing yourself from his arms. “Then why not just take me home, huh? I’m don-” 

“Sweetheart, I want to make love to you.” Your eyes start to clear, now staring into his. “W..What?” His warm smile pulls you back in as he wraps you into his embrace once more. You’re slotted between his thighs, leaning back on his chest as his chin props itself on the crown of your head. 

“I wanna hold you like this..” He leans his head down, pressing his plush lips to your reddened cheek. “And kiss you like this..” you sniff, giggling at his cheesiness. You twist your torso to meet his gaze. 

“You don’t hate me..?” He chuckles, pecking your lips softly. “Why would I hate you?” You shrug gently, turning your attention back to the waves crashing upon the shore. 

You hadn’t really had a moment like this. You’d lost your virginity back in high school to one of the quarterbacks as a dare, and after graduation, you never really dated anymore after that. Only a few sleepovers that ended with the morning after pill. 

“I don’t want to just have sex with you, Y/n.” He coos, thumbing the tears from your stained cheeks. “I want stuff like this.” Your head leans back some more to nuzzle his chest. 

“I wanna wake you up with breakfast on the weekends.. And stay in bed all day, just cuddling like this.” Now, tears have been slipping from your ducts for a different reason. 

“How long..?” Your rosy cheeks burn with intensity as his hand comes to caress your softened jawline. 

“What do you mean?” His voice soothes the ache in your flushed face. Plump and soft lips brush the side of your ear, pressing a gentle kiss as you feel the rolls of his warm breath graze your heated skin. 

“How long have you.. You know..” He chuckles softly, pulling you head to tuck it under his chin. Your ear presses against his chest, hearing his calmed and patterned beating heart. The ocean’s salty taste leaves a bittersweet sting in your nose. Seagulls and other little creatures fill the silence, along with rolls of the waves crashing upon the drawn shores. 

His eyes narrow yours as a breath rolls from his lips. “Does it really matter?” 

You let out a soft giggle, snuggling closer to his warmth. His heartbeat matches the same patterns as yours, syncing with a light feeling. A brisk and colorful tone breaks your silence. 

“Y/n..” 

Your eyes glance up, meeting his own. His irises reflect the moon’s rays, similar to the ocean’s own surface. Specks of gold and white hues float behind his eyes. The once one-colored cast had been illuminated, showing millions of broken fragments. His nose scrunches at your rosy cheeks, nuzzling the tip into your neck. He sends you into a fit of giggles, as you hear the light sound of rhythm flowing through the atmosphere. 

“What’s that?” You question, head peeking up from curiosity. He shrugs before pointing over the horizon. “Look.” 

Your eyes squint, noticing a small, floating speck on the distant waters. The red and white colors clear as you notice the shape of a boat being formed. 

“It’s the ferry..” You observe, watching as the miniature piece floats by the two of you. He smiles, nodding. A few minutes go by before he comments. “Do you wanna go on a cruise?” 

“Huh?” Your head twists around, laughing at the idea. 

He smiles, shaking his head to pull you right back down into the safety of his arms. “Not right now. I mean, would you like to one day?” You hesitate, before nodding quietly. 

“My dad wanted to buy a boat..” You sigh calmly, entwining your fingers to play with his. His baby-like breaths make your heart swell. 

“Me too. It’d be nice, you know?” He leans back until you’re both almost completely on your backs, you still being tucked snuggly between his legs. 

“Really? What’d you name it?” You spin around, flashing your glassy eyes up to look at him. He giggles slightly, a red tint peaking through on his cheeks. 

“I don’t know. Don’t even know if I even want a boat yet. It was just an idea.” You hum, feeling the way his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes. Your lips ghost his own, arms coming to coil around the base of his neck. Your leg is now positioned over his waist, but no longer emitting the eager and rushed spirit you’d onced forced. 

This had felt calm and-

“Patient.” Your lips fall open at the realization. A smile paints his lips. 

“You’ve finally got it.” Your lips tug into a grin at the word, testing it more on your tongue a few more times. He laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist to steady yourself on his lap. 

Your voice lowers, whispering into the shell of his ear. “I’m still kind of horny though..” He chuckles, reaching down to grip your thighs to pull you more up onto his body. 

“Mmm, wanna fuck?” He asks, feeling the way your hips shift over his. Your head shakes. 

“Nope.” 

“No?” 

Your lips ghost his jawline, hands coming to tug at the button on his white formal shirt. You could feel the way his heart paces at your touch. A sheet of sweat barely visible on the surface of his skin. 

“Touch me.” His chest rumbles as a low groan rolls from his lips. Your hands lower to bring his palms up to the round of your clothed breasts, guiding his hands to knead at the plush skin. 

“Oh fuck..” He groans out, palming at the soft mound while your hand slips into the fabric of his trousers. Hand brushing along the outline of his hardening cock, slipping between the two fabrics to wrap your hand around the base. He groans, lips sucking on the thin sheet of skin on the side of your neck. Blue and purple splotches bruise around the sensitive skin. 

His hand comes down to trail the soft of your tummy, following the invisible line that draws to your center. His fingers mimic yours, slipping between the fabric of your thin laced panties. You moan out, immediately lifting your hips for him to easily remove them. He chuckles, keeping his touch right above your pubic line. 

“So needy.” He spits, flipping the two of you over. He hovers over your frame, tall and broad shoulders tower your figure as he smirks. Silently, his hand removes yours from between his legs, before lowering further, lifting the skirt of your dress over his head. 

“Jimin what are yo- Oh fuck..” You moan out, feeling the way his tongue presses flat against your sopping core. He chuckles, thumb curling around the thin material, watching as it pops against your skin. 

“You were so quick to try and suck me off, baby.” His head raises up, finger trailing the outside of your clothed panties. “Why?” 

Your head lulls back, hips pushing up to try and feel more of his touch. “Mmm- I wanted to make you feel good..” 

He smirks, reaching to the flesh of your thighs, jerking you down to meet his leveled face. 

“Mmm, I’d much rather do this.” His fingertip trails the outside of your panties before pulling them down with his set of teeth. You moan at the sight, head rolling in a circle from the excitement. 

You feel a sharp point graze the inner of your thighs, his lips press flush to your skin, sucking some more splotches into the thick of your skin. Your hand reaches down, carding through his sandy blonde locks, mouth falling open at the sensation. 

“Jimin please-” You whine. His head lifts up, a smirk plastering his features. 

“Who?” You groan at his cockiness. You sit up, not really knowing what he wants. 

“Daddy?” You try the word on your lips, internally cringing. He chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Not quite. Try again, baby girl.” You huff, scooting further down for his breath to roll onto the surface of your tummy. 

“Master?” He shakes his head. He makes a loud buzzer sound, giggling at the joke. “Wrong.” 

“What the fuck Jimin.” Your eyes roll at his childness. 

“Come on, Y/n. You know it.” He teases, lowering his lips just to graze the outside of your sopping core. His finger cards through your slick folds, bringing the tip up to suck between his lips. His eyes flash to yours, waiting. 

“Uhm..” You glance around, trying to think of something else to call him. 

“Sir?” He smirks, flattening his tongue to your clit. You whine out, squeezing his head gently between your thighs. Your head lulls back, gripping at his roots for support. 

His head lifts for a second to slot his middle and ring finger into the space of his mouth, sucking on them slightly before inserting them into your sopping core. You moan out, chest heaving heavily as his fingers pump in and out at a slow pace. 

“S-Sir! Oh- Fuck Ji-Jimin- Fuck!” You could feel his lips form into a smirk against your clit, sucking gently onto the throbbing bud. Your head falls back into the soft, comfy blanket. Your back arches off the ground just to fall right back down from his edging tease. 

“Ji- sir please.” You whine, watching as his head lifts up. A trail of saliva connects from his lips to your core. 

“Magic word?” He teases, flashing you a cheeky grin. You growl from frustration, pulling his body up from the ground, rolling over until you’re straddling his lap. Your eyes narrowing into his. 

“You know what? My turn.” 

You’re quick to lean down, crashing your lips against his. Mimicking the waves colliding into the shore. Swallowing the water’s contents whole. His chest heaves a deep groan, vibrating against the passion of your mouth. Which in turn, had made you moan just as loud. 

Your hand reaches down past the hem of his boxers, wrapping the base of his cock with palm. His head falls back, hands coming to pull your sleeves from off the shoulder to completely off the shoulder. His warm palms cup the rounds of your breasts, thumbing over the erect of your protruding buds. 

“Y/n I- Oh fuck.” He groans, cock twitching in your grip. You smirk, free hand softly tracing the sharp of his jawline. You tug at the hem of his button up. 

“Off.” He chuckles, making quick work of his buttoned shirt. He throws it onto the sand somewhere, watching as your eyes trail along the plains of his chiseled chest. 

“Don’t drool on me.” He teases, closing your mouth while chuckling at your reddened cheeks. 

“S..Shut up.” He laughs, leaning back in a more relaxed position. 

“Wanna switch?” 

“No.” You gripe, trying to assess what to do next. 

He chuckles, watching your face contort with focus. “You sure?” 

After a few seconds, you groan, rolling off of his body. 

“Fuck me, will you?” 

“Y-”

“If you don’t fuck me right now I will walk myself all the way back to the dorms.” He chuckles, gripping onto your thighs before flipping the two of you over. 

“Ironic, seeing how we crossed a bridge to get here.” Your eyes roll back, as he pulls the rest of your dress’s fabric down, making sure not to mess with any of the seams. You glance down, raising any eyebrow. 

“Don’t wanna rip it off?” He shakes his head. 

“If it was Gucci then maybe.” He smiles, folding the piece of fabric next to his thrown button down. 

“But it’s not.. It’s less expensive.” His hands reach around, pulling your body flush against his. 

“Not to you.” Your face tints at his words, as he continues his explanation, and undresses the both of you. 

“Didn’t you make it?” You nod. “How’d you remember?” 

His hands pull the last bit of fabric of your strapless bra down, watching as your breasts bounce from the sudden revealment. 

“You said you sewed.” Your head nods slowly, as you watch his fingers tug the hem of his boxer-briefs to circle his knees. 

“Says that so casually while unsheathing himself.” You chuckle, watching the interesting. His eyes glance up, narrowing towards you through his fallen blonde locks. 

“Unsheathed? What are you, an English major?” He laughs, reaching over into his trousers to pull a tiny foil packet from the pocket. 

“Was. Changed my major last minute.” He hums, quirking an eyebrow to you. “Really? Why?” 

You shrug, laying flat on the soft blanket. “Didn’t think it would pay enough. Gotta make a living somehow, right?” He chuckled, nodding before slotting his figure right between your parted legs. 

“Sounded like shakespeare to me.” He teases before hovering over your frame. You smile, lifting your head to lock lips with his. He pulls away, giving you a quick look over before continuing. 

“Ready?” You laugh, nodding. “Thou shall penetrate thy self with thine phyllu- Oh fuck!” 

He lets out a fit of laughs, slowly pushing past your velvet walls. “You’re gross.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple before slowly rolling his hips. Your teases are quick to cease, being replaced with a string of moans. His laughs fade to more of the same, as your legs wrap around his waist, hips rising to meet his own slow thrusts. 

“Oh fuck- shit oh my God, Jimin!” He groans, hip starting to pace faster. “Oh fuck baby-” His head falls to your side, supporting itself on your shoulder as his hands grip onto both sides of your hips to steady you. 

“Mmm baby sounds good.” You tease, feeling his lips nipping at the blotchy and bruised skin of your neck. He groans,  one of his hands coming up to knead your breast with his palm. 

“You’re not getting a baby.” He chuckles, harsh groans rolling from his lips. You fake a frown, flipping the two of you over so that you’re straddling his lap. He scoffs softly, watching your hips rise before snapping down. Hands come to steady both sides of your waist, bodies flush with one another’s. 

“Mmmm you’re getting kinda old, sir. Don’t you wanna- fuck- ..c-carry on your line?” He chuckles at the thought, leaning up to capture your lips in a passionate exchange. 

“Not right now.” He growls, taking one of your erect buds into the cavity of his mouth, lips wrapping around your hardened nipple. Your arms wrap around his head, body being thrown backwards slightly at the sensation. Your lips part, letting a few little words slip. 

“I love you!”

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Oooooo cliff hanger. Hehe.

Alot of people seem to think my one shots are SERIES I'm starting but guys like- you can ask for drabble of my stuff but- I'm already swimming in unfinished series I had started a LONG TIME ago.

Example: Full Circle, Friendly Favor, Love me Leave me, Snow Drops, etc.

So uhm- thank you for all of the requests but these are not going to continue as series. You can request drabbles and ask questions about the characters but other than that, I leave my one shots alone.

This one was a little bit harder to end, so I just left it on a cliff hanger. (Kinda one of those things you can imagine your own ending if you want.)

If you'd like to me finish this, comment or send me a submission <33

Thank You!

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©vinntaege 2023. I do not condone any translations, copies, modifications, or

repostings anywhere for ANY of my works.