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hueseok · 8 months ago

Text

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment.

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.”

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world.

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt.

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you.

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours.

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect.

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated.

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh.

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss.

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #bts #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts drabbles #jungkook drabbles #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #bts x you #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfiction

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g0dlyunsub · 10 months ago

Text

don't pretend.

spencer can see through all of your lies, including the bruises you’re hiding behind makeup.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of prisons, physical violence, bruises, reader gets injured, patching up, fluff

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: oh, looks like i’ve spawned another hurt/comfort fic yet again…

accompanying song :: who hurt you by role model

you’re an ambitious profiler.

you’re such an ambitious profiler that you interview offenders with the most extensive list of records whenever you have time. you want to understand more than just the simple question of why they did it. you want to explore the how’s and what if’s.

and you’re soft-hearted, so much so that you jeopardize your own safety.

things should’ve gone smoothly with your fifth and last inmate of the week, had you been a little more aware of your surroundings.

but you placed too much faith on your ability to make peace with the man who unyieldingly worshiped violence.

that was your only mistake, but it was a costly one.

you had kindly asked the guard to release the handcuffs, even though he insisted that they stay on.

it’s alright, you told him with the wave of your hand.

but you should’ve noticed the look of challenge on the inmate’s face. it was like he was taunting you, almost as if to say, do you really feel safe being in the same room as me?

it was your soft-heartedness that almost got you severely injured.

he managed to land punches to your left cheek and scratched his nails into the flesh of your leg as he fell, right as he was tackled to the ground.

he laughed when he saw you holding your hand against your throbbing cheek.

you arrive at the office as early as you can, a layer of makeup thicker than usual coating the bruise swelling your left cheek.

you pretend to bury your head in the case file that you retrieved from your desk when the rest of the team started to flood into the room.

when spencer arrives, he gives you a nod and gleefully chirps good morning as he takes his seat beside you.

spencer knows your routine like the back of his palm – he knows you’re busy with interviews at the federal prison on saturdays and sundays, and he knows you always need a caffeine boost the next morning. you gladly accept the cup of coffee that he sets in front of your hands with a small smile.

as hotch is debriefing the case with garcia, however, you can’t help but feel his eyes drilling into the side of your face, as if he can see through your cover.

your makeup can’t be that obvious, right?

your thoughts are interrupted when hotch closes the cover of his case file, stands, and announces wheels up in 20.

you lift yourself with the support of the table and wait for everyone else to exit before you follow, doing your best to disguise the limp in your walk.

---

“alright. jj and prentiss, go to the morgue. morgan and reid, go to the crime scene. dave, you and l/n can set up with the local p.d. i’ll go talk to the victims’ families.”

as hotch assigns roles to the team, everyone nods when their names are called out. but spencer raises his hand slightly and clears his throat.

“actually, hotch, do you mind if i switch with rossi and set up with l/n and the locals instead?”

hotch hesitates for a second, but nods slowly.

“sure. dave, you okay with that?”

the italian agent cocks up a questioning eyebrow but gives a warm smile. “i don’t see why not.”

you’ve never heard spencer contest hotch’s orders before, so you’re stumped as to why he’s suggesting an alternative role this time. but you soon brush off the thought, and decide to occupy your time re-reading the case files before the jet lands.

you sink into your seat with a heavy sigh, forcing your eyes shut as pain travels down your legs. you’re thankful that hotch assigned you to set up at the local p.d., since it doesn’t require much locomotion and spares you the struggle of getting up constantly. you watch as spencer spreads the corners of the map and sticks push pins into the corkboard.

“how did your interviews go yesterday?” spencer breaks the silence first and moves to grab a red marker. with his practiced hand, he quickly circles the areas of the crime scenes on the map.

you gulp.

“they went pretty well, you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”

spencer caps the tip, and a click sounds as the plastic edges meet. he nods, wets his lips with his tongue, and turns to look at you. you meet his gaze for a brief second before you look away, pretending to busy yourself with the m.e. reports that jj sent over.

“green neutralizes red.”

his sudden remark startles you. you drop the papers in your hands and look up. “i’m sorry?”

“green contains the wavelengths that are missing in red light, so when they mix, the colors neutralize each other. that’s why concealers with a green base are better at covering up more reddish bruising,” spencer elaborates, and starts to match up the photos of the crime scenes to the locations marked on the map.

you blink. oh.

there’s no way he’s talking about you, right?

“um, yeah, green’s a common color corrector,” you mutter as you nervously tap your fingers against the wooden table. “but there weren’t any bruises or marks of assault on the victims.”

spencer scoffs as you finish your sentence.

“it’s not about the victims. you. i’m talking about you.”

you swallow slowly.

“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you try, a fake smile plastered over your face as you shake your head left and right.

spencer studies you with a scrutinizing stare, eyes boring into yours like he’s counting the number of times you blink.

“could you grab that for me?” he asks at last, pointing to the book that’s two tables away, the one titled florida’s topography and bathymetry. without thinking, you nod and stand.

fuck.

what a clever way to set you up. now you have to somehow mask the limp in your steps and pretend like the pain coursing through your legs is nonexistent.

you do your best to walk normally, but it’s hard to tell if you’re doing a good job from his unreadable stare. you hold the book out with a bemused smile, hoping it’s enough to cover your pained expression.

he doesn’t look convinced.

“that,” spencer points to your leg with an accusatory gaze, “why are you walking like that?”

he swiftly takes the book from you, and your hand instinctively grips the side of the table for support.

“like what?”

you’re going to make him pry the confession out of you.

“like you’re hurting,” spencer utters quietly. his last word catches your breath completely.

“is that why you asked rossi to switch with you? so you could interrogate me?”

“who hurt you?” spencer ignores your question, setting the book aside and leaning over the table to get a closer look at your face.

instinctively, you retreat and look down, but he walks around the table and kneels in front of you. your brain buzzes with the words he’s just declared. it’s not what did you do, or what happened to you. instead, it’s who hurt you.

“i… it’s nothing.” you shift in your chair, but he stops the seat from turning completely by laying a hand on the headrest.

“tell me. please.”

you can’t fake it anymore, especially when he’s already hammered the nail into the hole perfectly.

you rub your sweaty palms on your lap. “one of them tried to hurt me during the interview. i-it was my fault, i asked the guards to take off the cuffs. i thought they’d be more willing to cooperate that way.”

spencer’s expression mellows as you speak, but he doesn’t return a comment. somehow, this makes you even more nervous.

a second after, he lifts his hand and slides a finger along the slightly swollen area of your cheek. he hesitates when you start to wince in pain.

tapping his knee with his index finger, he instructs, “let me take a look at your leg.”

you comply.

when you lift your leg, spencer’s hand slips between the wedge of your platform's heel, and gracefully sets your foot on his knee.

you observe him gently push the thin fabric of your trousers upwards. you hold your breath when he leans in to inspect closely, and you almost shudder when the vapor of his warm breath tickles the gash on your flared shin.

spencer steps back to retrieve a first-aid kit lying nearby and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. without saying a single word, he pulls a cotton pad and a gauze roll from the bag.

as he wraps your leg with the gauze, he looks up to meet your lowered gaze.

“tell me his name.”

you bite your lip.

“it’s fine. you should focus on the geo-profile instead.” you exhale as spencer unfolds the rolls on the hem of your trousers to cover your leg again.

“you do know that it won’t take me long to go through every incident report,” he retorts back with a challenging glint in his eye. your cheeks heat up with a hot flush of red.

goddamnit, spencer reid.

you hastily brush yourself away from him.

“what are you going to do?”

he pauses, every second of silence only feeding your suspicions. you watch the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

“you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”

you huff.

“don’t use my words against me.”

he shrugs with an indifferent expression, but chuckles before standing back up.

“his name. or do we want to do this the hard way?”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #dr spencer reid

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loveln4 · 2 months ago

Note

this clip i saw where the interviewer asked for their ideal date scenario, and oscar said smth like movie, restaurant, walk. and lando giggled and said smth like 1.say hi 2. boat ride under the stars 3.i'd rather not say no the fic would be like lando asking the reader out (first date) on a boat ride and then reader (who's seen the interview before) either goes damn okay or like 'wow, don't want to get to know me first?'

as requested!!

IDEAL DATE

“Wouldn’t you like to get to know me first?”

LANDO NORRIS x READER

synopsis: lando asks a girl out after a big win, but this girl’s heard about his ‘ideal’ date.

The night was young and Lando Norris had just won his first race.

The Miami GP had left him with a high and a large boost of confidence. Drink, after drink just encouraged the boost of his ego.

“Mate, calm down will you?” Oscar, his teammate had said as Lando downed his third shot. “You’ve got the whole night.”

Groaning with a sour expression plastered on his face, the alcohol burning his throat, “Yeah, but you see that girl there?” He replies, pointing to a girl laughing with Kika Gomes, Pierre Gasly’s girlfriend. “I need some liquid courage.”

Oscar laughs in his face, “Just go ask her out!” Lando grabs for Oscar’s shot and downs it, “Are you serious?”

“Now i’m ready.”

Lando made his way toward the two girls, squeezing in between sweaty bodies, never looking away from her face. “Hi, Kika.” He smiles down at the wag he’s gotten to know these past few years.

“Lando.” She smiles at him, looking to her friend with a knowing smile. “I’ve got to find Pierre before he does something stupid, see you tomorrow?” Kika tells the girl and she departs with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi.” The girl turns and looks up at Lando, “Congratulations on the win.”

Lando beams, “Thanks! You enjoying your night?”

“Yes, but perhaps it’d be joy-able with someone by my side?”

“How about I take you somewhere?” Lando suggests.

This gains a laugh from the girl, “You don’t even know my name, Lando.” Lando stutters over his sentence, trying to come up with something to say, “I’m kidding!” She laughs at him, “I’m y/n.”

“Well, y/n we’ve just met and you’re already causing me grief.”

“Good.” Y/n begins to walk toward the exit, Lando following closely behind, “Where’d you want to take me?l” She asks as they exit, camera’s flashing in their faces.

“Far from here, that’s for sure.” He lightly grabbed her arm and guided her around a corner, “It isn’t far from here.”

“You talking about your hotel room?” She jokes with him.

“That could happen after if you want.” He wiggles his brows.

His hand had left her arm minutes ago but she could still feel the lingering burn his fingers left. The breeze sobered Lando up as they walked along the harbor in silence.

“We’re here.” He stopped in front of a boat. It was big, the exterior a pearly white and the inside clean like it hadn’t been touched before.

“A boat?”

“Yes, a boat.” He smiles down at her and gestures toward it, “Would you like to go on a boat ride with me?”

This earns a laugh from y/n. “Wouldn’t you like to get to know me first?”

Lando was startled by this, “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen that interview with you and Oscar. ‘What is your ideal date?’ You had said, 1. say hi, 2. boat ride and uh— what was the last one?”

“I’d rather not say?”

“Yeah, that.” Y/n responded, “I’ll still go on a boat ride with you but…i’m not sure if we’d end up in your hotel room.”

“That’s fine.” He began to walk onto the boat.

Y/n was stunned, “Lando! Are you cut because i don’t want to shag you?”

He turned around, a large grin on his face, “No, i just wanted you on the boat.” He sat down, y/n mirroring this action, “You ready for the best boat ride in your life, y/n?”

“You know it.”

A/N: you can picture what happens afterward…maybe they do it? maybe they don’t.

leave requests please!! any drivers, any scenarios.

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luna-thecreator · 3 months ago

Text

Sweet Spot

A/N: Sorry this one took so long, college has been kicking my black ass, but im back with a juicy Roman fic!

Paring: Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A bold ultimatum turns into an irresistible claim when you demand your place in Roman Reigns' Bloodline. What starts as a power struggle quickly turns into something far more intense as Roman asserts his dominance.

Tags: Oral, (female receiving), language, p in v, smut village, claiming, 18+, USE YOUR IMAGINATION BABE!!!

“The Tribal Chief will be back soon after his interview, Y/N. You really shouldn’t be in here—”

Paul Heyman’s voice carried that usual mix of authority and nervousness, like he was trying to keep the peace but also lowkey freaking out. Classic Wiseman behavior. But before he could finish, you hit him with a cold, uninterested stare and cut him off.

“I don’t care… Paul.” You dragged his name out like it tasted bitter on your tongue. Your arms crossed over your chest, your body language screaming defiance as you dropped into one of Roman’s ridiculously expensive leather chairs, making yourself comfortable. “I’m staying right here until I talk to Roman about the Bloodline.”

Paul’s mouth opened, then shut like a fish out of water. He clearly wasn’t used to people shutting him down, especially not when it came to anything involving Roman. He adjusted his tie, the slight fidget a dead giveaway that he was scrambling for a way to handle you without setting off a nuclear-level argument.

"Y/N," he started again, voice softer now, like he was trying to reason with a child throwing a tantrum. "I understand your frustration, but decisions like these take time. The Tribal Chief has a lot to consider—”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair like you owned the damn place. “Paul, don’t give me that ‘decisions take time’ speech. Roman’s been stringing me along for months. Either I’m in, or I’m out. No more waiting around while he plays mind games.”

Paul’s lips pressed into a thin line. You could tell he wanted to say something slick, something wise and calculated, but you were past the point of caring. Your patience had been worn down to nothing. You weren’t just some random outsider begging for a spot—you had proven yourself. You had bled for this. And yet, Roman still hadn’t made the call.

Paul sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples like you were personally giving him a migraine. “This is not how things work. You don’t just demand to see Roman. You wait for him to summon you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Summon me? Paul, be fucking for real right now. I’m not some peasant waiting on a royal decree. If Roman wants loyalty, he needs to show me I’m not wasting my damn time.”

Paul exhaled sharply, clearly at a loss. He checked the time on his phone like that was gonna magically make Roman appear faster. “If you just wait—”

“No,” you cut in. “I’m done waiting.”

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. Any minute now, Roman would be walking through that door. And when he did, you were gonna make damn sure he finally gave you an answer.

You adjusted the black dress draped over your body, subtly pulling at the slit running up your thigh. The fabric clung to your curves just right—not that you planned it for Roman, but if he noticed, well… that was his problem.

Paul gave you one last lingering look, one that screamed you’re playing a dangerous game, before he sighed and exited Roman’s private room. The door shut with a soft click, leaving you alone in the space that practically reeked of dominance and control.

Minutes passed as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone, pretending like your heart wasn’t racing. Like you weren’t anticipating the moment he walked through that door. And then—

Click. Thud.

Your head snapped up at the sound, and there he was.

Roman Reigns.

Dressed in a sleek black suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that somehow made him look even more powerful. His presence alone sucked the air from the room, commanding attention without a single word. And damn, did he look good. So good that heat crawled up your neck before you could stop it. For a split second, you almost forgot why you were here in the first place. Almost.

His sharp eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, before one eyebrow quirked up.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” his voice was smooth, teasing, laced with amusement. “Who let you in here?”

The way he said sweetheart sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your composure, tilting your chin up as he stepped closer. He shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it on the chair beside you, the fabric brushing against your arm like a silent reminder of his presence.

You swallowed, clearing your throat before answering. “I—I let myself in.”

He hummed at that, walking over to the small table in the corner, pouring himself a cup of coffee like he had all the time in the world. The casual dominance, the way he moved, the sheer confidence—infuriating.

“And where’s Paul?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips.

“He left.”

That made him pause. His head turned slightly, eyebrow raising again.

“He left?” Roman repeated, almost like he didn’t believe you. Paul never left before he was back. Ever.

You crossed your arms, refusing to shrink under his gaze.

“So, let me get this straight.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still locked on you. “You invite yourself in… and then run off my Wiseman?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulse flickering under his intense stare.

“I wouldn’t say run off,” you muttered, shifting slightly.

Roman smirked, setting his coffee down with a soft clink. He took a step closer, the air between you growing heavier with every movement.

“Mm. That so?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerously amused.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to punch him or let that voice do dangerous things to you. Maybe both.

You straightened your back, squaring your shoulders as you met his gaze head-on. No more games. No more waiting.

“I’m here to tell you that I’m not waiting anymore, Roman,” you said, voice firm despite the way his presence made your pulse spike. “It’s either I’m part of your Bloodline, or I’m not. I mean, it’s been months, and I—”

You didn’t even get to finish.

Roman lifted a hand, cutting you off without a word. The simple gesture was enough to shut you down, not because you wanted to stop talking, but because there was something about the way he did it—calm, effortless, like he already had control of the entire situation. Like you were only here because he allowed it.

Then, before you could react, he moved.

Two long strides, and he was right in front of you, towering over you, his scent wrapping around your senses like a noose. Clean, masculine, laced with expensive cologne and something undeniably him.

His eyes flickered down to yours, dark and unreadable.

“Up. Now.”

A command. Not a request.

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up, pushing up from the chair without hesitation.

You stood, arms crossing over your chest as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. Even in heels, he made you feel small, like he could swallow you whole if he wanted to. The heat rolling off him, the authority dripping from every inch of his stance—it was infuriating.

And yet, you still obeyed.

Roman moved around you with a slow, calculated pace, like a predator circling its prey. Every step was deliberate, heavy with unspoken authority. You felt his presence even when you couldn't see him, the energy in the room shifting with every move he made.

Then, he stopped behind you.

The heat of his body ghosted over your back, close enough that you could feel him but not close enough to touch. His fingers landed on your shoulder, featherlight but firm, sending a shiver down your spine.

“It’s risky,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, the kind that made the air in your lungs thin. “And you’re too sweet.”

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head immediately. “I’m not sweet,” you shot back, voice sharper than you intended.

Behind you, Roman chuckled, the sound deep and knowing, like he was in on a joke you weren’t privy to.

“Sweet,” he mused, his fingers trailing lightly over your shoulder before pulling away. “But not fragile.”

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you.

“I can handle it,” you said, turning your head slightly but not fully facing him.

Roman didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, let the weight of his presence press into you, let the moment settle in a way that made your pulse hammer against your ribs.

Then, he leaned in just a fraction, voice nothing but a whisper against your ear.

“Are you sure about that, sweetheart?”

You inhaled sharply, the warmth of his breath still lingering against your skin. Roman didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he stepped away, walking toward the locker in the corner of the room, leaving you standing there, your body still buzzing from his proximity.

You turned slightly, watching as he opened the locker with ease, rummaging through it before pulling out a black T-shirt. Bold red letters stretched across the fabric.

Bloodline.

Your breath hitched.

Roman turned back to you, holding the shirt in one hand as he strode forward. The look in his eyes was unreadable—calm, unreadable, but undeniably intense.

“This is yours,” he said simply, stopping just inches from you. His voice was smooth, but there was something deeper laced within it. Something that made your stomach twist.

He held the shirt out, his fingers brushing against yours as you reached for it.

“Was gonna give it to you next week,” he continued, eyes flickering over you like he was assessing you all over again. “But you’re so damn bold… so here.”

Your fingers curled around the fabric, your heart pounding in your chest.

You stared down at the shirt in your hands, the bold red Bloodline lettering staring right back at you like it was daring you to make a choice. The room felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.

Roman took a step back, arms folding across his broad chest as he watched you. He licked his lips, the slow drag of his tongue over them making your stomach tighten.

“How about you put it on right now?” he said, voice smooth, low, but laced with authority. Like he wasn’t really asking.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in them made your breath hitch. He was testing you. Waiting.

You exhaled slowly, then—without breaking eye contact—you reached for the hem of your dress and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you in nothing but your black lace bra and matching panties. The air in the room shifted instantly.

Roman’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened, flickering over your body with a heat that sent shivers down your spine.

You smirked slightly, then took your time slipping the Bloodline shirt over your head, letting it fall just below your thighs. The fabric was soft, the scent of him still lingering on it.

Roman exhaled sharply through his nose, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath before stepping closer, his fingers grazing the hem of the shirt as he looked down at you. “Fits you good, sweetheart.”

You tilted your chin up, your own smirk growing. “I told you I belong here.”

Roman chuckled, low and deep. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

Your back hit the wall before you even realized he was moving. Roman was on you in an instant, his sheer presence crowding your space, making the air between you crackle with tension.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unwavering, his expression unreadable—but his intent? Crystal clear.

“Rules,” he murmured, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, his fingers slow, deliberate.

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling faster as you swallowed hard. “Rules?” you echoed, barely recognizing your own voice.

Roman’s jaw clenched, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your face.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, rough, possessive. “Mine. Not Jey’s. Not Jimmy’s. Not Solo’s. Mine.”

The way he said it, like it was law—like it was already written in stone—made your stomach tighten. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as his hand lifted, fingers grazing the hem of the Bloodline shirt now hanging loosely on your frame.

“You understand that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You licked your lips, your throat suddenly dry. But you didn’t back down. You wouldn’t.

“I understand,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

Roman smirked, but it wasn’t playful. It was dark. Satisfied. Like he’d just won.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise. “I’m gonna pull these down, taste you, then I’m gonna fuck you—hit that sweet spot over and over, just to remind you of exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.” His words were low, dangerous, and laced with an undeniable intensity.

The heat surged through you as he slowly slid your panties down, his touch deliberate and teasing. You gasped, breath hitching, "Roman—" you whimpered, unable to hide the desire creeping into your voice. His gaze never left yours, intense and unwavering, as he slid his middle finger between your folds, making your pulse race even faster.

He set a slow, teasing rhythm, his fingers moving in a steady pace, the sound of your wetness filling the room, making the atmosphere thick with tension. "Oh god—" you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure coursed through you. Roman’s jaw tightened, his grip firm as he continued, his pace unrelenting, each movement deliberate, driving you closer to the edge.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" he groans in your ear, his pace quickening, pushing you further into a haze of pleasure. You struggle to catch your breath, "Mhm... yes..." you whimper, your body betraying your words.

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out, his grip shifting as he hooks his arms around your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up against the wall. He raises you so high that your pussy aligns directly with his face, and the shift leaves you breathless, heart pounding.

Roman’s breath was warm as he hovered just inches from where you needed him most, his lips so close that every exhale sent a new wave of desperation coursing through you. Then, without warning, he blew a slow, teasing stream of air against your wetness, the sensation making you jolt in his grip.

"You’re dripping, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, with control, with possession. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and heavy with intent, waiting—watching—as your body reacted to his every move.

The heat between your thighs throbbed, and your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, desperate for more. But Roman? He took his time, his hold firm, ensuring you had nowhere to run from the way he was about to ruin you.

That was the moment you lost all control—the second his tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate stripe against your slick heat without warning. A choked gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall as a surge of pleasure shot through you like wildfire.

“F-fuck—” you stuttered, your voice barely above a breath, but he didn’t give you a chance to gather yourself. His grip tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in possessively as he held you in place, completely at his mercy.

Then, he latched onto that sensitive bead, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, making your entire body jerk in response. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your thighs trembling around his head as you instinctively tried to press closer, needing more—needing everything.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another pulse of pleasure straight through your core. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “Let me hear you.”

Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging helplessly as your legs threatened to give out—not that he’d let you fall. He had you trapped, exactly where he wanted you, and he wasn’t stopping until you were completely undone.

His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and unrelenting dominance. The intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a tightly wound spring.

Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his hold, dropping his left hand, leaving you suspended with only one strong arm wrapped around your waist. The sheer power he possessed sent a shiver down your spine, reminding you just how effortlessly he controlled you.

With his free hand, he worked the button of his slacks, then the zipper, his movements slow—calculated. The sound of fabric rustling filled the room as his slacks slid down his legs, pooling at his ankles, followed by the drop of his boxers. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and hard, standing tall beneath you.

Roman smirked at your reaction, his grip tightening. “See something you like, sweetheart?” he rasped, amusement laced in his deep voice.

You swallowed hard, unable to form words, but the need pooling between your thighs said enough.

He didn’t give you time to dwell on it. Instead, he adjusted his stance, his large hands gripping your thighs as he guided you down, letting gravity and desire take over. Your back slid down the wall, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensation of his warmth pressing against you.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips the moment you felt him stretching you, inch by inch, your walls molding around his thick length. Roman groaned, his head falling forward as he buried himself deep inside you, his grip bruising as he held you still.

“Fuck—” he growled through gritted teeth, his breath ragged. “You feel even better than I thought.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as pleasure and pain blended into something euphoric, leaving you breathless. “please—ooHH MY GOddd” you whimpered, voice breaking in agony.

He lifted his head, his nose grazing yours, his lips ghosting over your parted ones. “What, baby?” he taunted, rolling his hips just enough to make you whine. “This what you wanted?”

You barely managed a nod, your body trembling in his grasp.

He smirked, dark and wicked, his hands tightening around your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall. “Good,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now.”

His dark hair slipped free from the messy bun, cascading over his broad shoulders as sweat glistened on his golden skin, accentuating every defined muscle and intricate tattoo under the dim lighting. His pace was relentless now, each deep thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your trembling body, pressing you harder against the wall.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his low, guttural grunts. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, holding you in place as he drove into you with a punishing rhythm.

Roman’s head tilted back slightly, his jaw clenched, his breath heavy. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” His voice was deep, laced with raw dominance. His piercing eyes found yours again, dark and full of hunger. “Wanted to be part of my Bloodline so bad…” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, making you cry out.

You could barely think, let alone respond, but that didn’t stop him.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “Then you’re mine now, sweetheart.” His teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it between his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto. “R-Roman—” you gasped, your voice breaking from the intensity.

He chuckled, dark and amused, before pulling back just enough to meet your dazed, pleasure-drunk gaze. “From now on, every Friday night,” he murmured, rolling his hips slow and deep, making you whimper, “I’m gonna fuck you into my Bloodline.”

A sharp cry left your lips as he picked up his pace again, pounding into you harder, making good on his promise.

With one last deep, punishing thrust, Roman buried himself to the hilt, his grip on your thighs tightening as a guttural groan ripped from his throat. Your body tensed, the overwhelming pleasure crashing over you in powerful, shuddering waves.

“Oh my—Roman!” you gasped, your head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every last drop of his release as his breath came out in ragged pants against your ear.

“Fuck—” he growled, his forehead pressing against yours as he rode out both of your highs, his body trembling slightly from the force of it. His hands slowly loosened their bruising grip on your thighs, fingers grazing over your heated skin as he took deep, steadying breaths.

Your chest heaved against his, bodies still tangled together as the aftermath of your passion settled in the air. The only sounds in the room were the mingling of your unsteady breaths, the cooling sweat on your skin making you shiver against him.

Roman smirked, his lips barely ghosting over yours. “You good, sweetheart?” His voice was thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too—something possessive.

You swallowed, still dazed, nodding weakly. “Yeah…” you breathed out, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

He chuckled lowly, his nose brushing against yours as he finally—slowly—slid out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He kept a firm hold on your waist, ensuring you didn’t collapse the second your feet touched the ground.

Your legs felt weak, unsteady, and Roman smirked knowingly. “That was cute,” he murmured, amusement lacing his voice as he held you up.

You rolled your eyes, even as a small smile pulled at your lips. “Shut up,” you muttered breathlessly, swaying slightly as you leaned into his solid chest for balance.

Roman reached for his discarded suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his touch surprisingly gentle as he smoothed the fabric down your arms. His fingers lingered at your waist before he pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up with a single finger.

“You’re mine now,” he said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His dark eyes bore into yours, possessive and intense. “No backing out.”

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. There was no denying it—you had just crossed a line that couldn’t be undone.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across your lips. “Guess I’m in the Bloodline now, huh?”

Roman chuckled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before leaning in, his lips hovering over yours.

“Damn right, sweetheart.

#smut #fanfic #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fic #tribal chief #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction

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saerins · 7 months ago

Text

birthday wish;

itoshi sae x female reader. wc 2.4k

content: fluff. some profanity. slight making out. birthday fic for sae <3

summary: it’s itoshi sae’s birthday. the world hates you. you’ve never been a lucky one. being “shit out of luck” is the only thing you know. the tables must turn.

if higher beings do exist, they really must hate you. they must. you can’t fathom your bad luck otherwise.

not only did your cab to the airport run into an hour long jam, your connecting flight also got delayed and now you’re running a day late.

all you get to see is the group chat blowing up, people sending pictures of others, of each of their antics. there’s a photo of everyone together except you.

because your business trip is a pain in the ass.

because it made you miss a weekend getaway with your friends in hokkaido.

because even when they made the effort to convince the birthday boy to make a little side trip back to tokyo, you’re still too late for that.

if it was anyone else, you’d have been fine with it. as much as you feel guilty about that.

but it’s sae. it’s itoshi fucking sae and you can’t even remember the last time you saw him in person because everyone else’s schedules match except yours. the world has driven a constant wedge between you and sae and you hate it.

is there any other emotion to be reserved when that happens to you and a boy you’ve had a crush on since forever?

meeting itoshi sae as a kid was exciting, hopeful. falling for itoshi sae when he was a teen leaving japan for opportunities elsewhere was giddying. sometimes you can’t believe that someone you know is that successful, and other times you hate the fact that he’s so far away because of it.

more than half the time, he’s in spain. he’s never where you are at least ninety-nine percent of the time. the one occasion he was, which was three years ago over new year’s, you were fucking sick.

and all he sent you was a text telling you to get better while the rest of your group of friends get to hang out with him.

though, you suppose that’s a good thing. he barely ever texts anyway, and you don’t initiate, if only out of fear for getting in his way. (as if small speech bubbles could get in his way at all.)

you sigh helplessly as you reach the immigration hall, even more irritated as you look at the time. already past midnight, sae’s flight would’ve already left by now—or, actually, an hour ago because he doesn’t have your bad luck—so you don’t even have the chance of bumping into him at the airport.

whoopee.

your phone finds itself tossed into your duffel bag at your irritation. unwarranted but it is what it is. by the time you finally get your luggage and exit, you’re exhausted. from the disappointment, the delays, everything.

it’s only when you walk a couple more steps, lugging your things behind you when you stop in your tracks, your boots suddenly feel like they’re one with the marble below them.

“didn’t think your luck could get any worse.”

is it possible for your heart to feel like it isn’t functioning properly after hearing a voice? a voice that you haven’t heard physically for who knows how long now?

you have to take a deep breath to even get his name out. “sae…?”

his brows furrow before he cocks one, sighing as he propels himself forward from against the railing, hands in his jacket pocket as he takes a few steps towards you. his face is hidden behind a black mask, his hood pulled over his head but you can still see the clear piercing teal of his eyes and the same nonchalant expression he always wears in his interviews.

you’ve seen a bunch of them.

“who else would i be?” he sighs again, like he’s exasperated, before he grabs the luggage handle from you and starts tugging it behind him.

it occurs to you seconds later that he expects you to follow him when he doesn’t even turn behind.

“wait wait.” you nearly trip over your own feet as you scramble to catch up to him, feeling out of shape the moment you fall into step beside him. “didn’t you have a flight to spain, like, an hour ago?”

you couldn’t have gotten the timing wrong because you triple checked it in the group chat.

sae makes a confused noice in his throat before shrugging. “pushed it a day later.”

he doesn’t elaborate. like he always does. or doesn’t.

“but why? don’t you have training right after you land? or, when you were supposed to land?”

his body brushes your side when he sidesteps someone on his right. you’re ashamed of how your heart skips a beat.

“i have training the day after. i just wanted to get a day to nurse my jet lag if i could. i could still make training if i leave tomorrow.”

he’s always to the point. but he’s intentionally evading a part of your question.

“but why—”

“i’m hungry. you hungry?” he asks, and you can only blink. you can’t even say anything before your stomach growls and answers for you and sae doesn’t have to wait for your response.

he holds your luggage with his right, and his left hand reaches out for you, warmth enveloping as he tugs you beside him into the nearest izakaya, swiftly getting a table for two in the privacy of their special corner table and all he had to do was remove his mask.

“it’s a little late but… happy birthday,” you whisper to him across the table.

sae’s gaze flicks over to you, blank expression as he just stares at you for a moment. “no it’s not,” he says, and upon your confused expression continues, “i got your text.”

right, because you used the shitty in-flight wifi to try and get your message to him. looks like it worked.

“oh, good then,” you heave a sigh of relief as you let yourself relax, subtly slinking lower against the booth.

over supper, sae purposely asks you questions, about your work, your days, life in general, overloading you with them so you don’t even have a chance to ask him anything thus far.

neither of you even realise that it’s not a 24-hour place, but it’s not a surprise that being itoshi sae has its privileges. before long, the only customers are you and the boy you like and your impatience that puts its foot down and bites the bait.

“why did you push your flight back, sae?”

his bowl is long cleared and all he has to busy himself with is the hot ocha on his side. he looks out the window for a moment, as if contemplating something before he spots the waiter and asks for the bill.

another attempt at shaking the question off that won’t earn him any points because the moment you step out of the airport and into the chilly air outside, you question him again.

“sae, tell me.”

sae takes a deep breath, and you can see the bare hint of a flush in his cheeks. it’s not that obvious, but you can see it.

he finally lets up for the first time tonight, the life granting a glint in his eyes. he chuckles, and he shakes his head, though his smile is subtle—just barely visible.

“you’re still as irritating as when you were a kid, you know?” he remarks, and you find yourself crossing your arms before he finally relents.

after a small pause, he takes a step towards you, his body barely inches from yours. he leans down to your ears, with a voice that’s barely a whisper, “i wanted my birthday wish to come true.”

this isn’t fair, itoshi sae.

“and what’s that?” you ask because he’s still there, his neck right next to your lips and sucking the energy out of you because it’s always nerve-wracking being near him even if you’ve known him most of your life. l

“i wanted…” he pauses, hesitant to say, “to see you. in person.”

and he finally straightens back up, giving you room to breathe.

is it greedy of you to not be satisfied? you feel like this could be a fever dream. are you sick?

“why?” you ask again, and you find yourself trailing after him when he refuses to answer.

sae flags down a cab, telling him your address, word for word correctly and it doesn’t register to you that despite never having been there, he remembers it like the curve of the soccer ball, like the arc of his passes.

nothing is ever too much effort if it’s worth it.

you’ve just never thought you were ever in sae’s head.

by the time you reach your apartment, the both of you are shriveling in awkwardness, too stubborn and stupid for too long that you’re too used to it.

“this one, right?” sae asks when he gets to your unit, the one in the corner of the top floor.

you nod weakly, and sae purses his lips before he pushes the luggage towards you.

“get some rest. you must be tired,” is all he tells you before he starts to make a move, heading back towards the elevator.

but you’re sick of it. sick of the chances you never take and sick of how you’re too scared to even try. your fingers reach out to grab the hem of his jacket sleeve, holding him back.

“i wanted to see you too,” you declare, even if he never asked. you get greeted by the sight of his widening eyes, by the slight upward tug of his lips. “you’re never free when i am and i just—fuck—i hate it. and you’re so accomplished and i’m happy for you, really, but i… i miss you.”

(sae looks at you, looking at the floor, looking guilty as if saying you miss someone is a sin. he feels the way his heart aches in his chest—fuck, did he really miss you this much too?

he’s used to having the upper hand, always having you squirm in embarrassment, but why does he feel like it’s slipping with every instance he’s about to tell you how he really feels about you? why is it slipping every single time he sees you smile? in your photos, your stories, even the emojis you send in your fucking texts.)

“yeah, missed me that much?” he asks, teasing you a little as he sees your feet shift nervously.

what you do next catches him completely off-guard, his eyes snapping shut the moment you grab his jacket lapel, pulling him close and kissing him, tasting so sweet he would be tempted to ask you to do that all night.

by the time you pull away, sae isn’t ready. he’s not ready anymore. to leave you. not so soon. you’ve always been one of the few reasons he couldn’t bear to leave japan and not seeing you all this time has helped him tolerate it. now that you’re here, in the flesh, his fingers digging into your hips, he doesn’t think he can leave.

“you- um- what time’s your flight tomorrow?” you ask, breathless when you finally manage to pull away.

sae groans, shaking his head. “don’t wanna talk about that, doesn’t matter it’s fine, i’ll make it,” he mutters, eyes shutting close again because the next second he’s chasing your lips, swallowing your chuckles as you stumble to open your apartment door.

he makes the effort to kick your luggage inside before he feels his back hitting the back of the door, eyes flying open and being greeted with a smirk on your face.

so you have this kind of side to you too.

sae smiles a little wider now, shaking his head when you wrap your arms around his neck, jumping up with your legs around his waist as you drown him in kisses that would probably last him at most a few days.

“sorry, i know this is more than you wished for,” you laugh weakly in between kisses.

sae shakes his head. “i don’t mind a bonus,” he jokes, and you hit him playfully on the chest.

it’s a little surreal to you that the boy you’ve had a crush on for half your life is actually reciprocating. you’ve watched him play pro-soccer since he was a teen until now, when you’re both full-fledged adults. you’ve never thought that anything would work out. not when you’re just barely navigating through life while he has his whole career figured out.

not when you’re always shit out of luck. but if this is the kind of luck that you get, you’ll take it.

“i… i’ve always liked you, itoshi sae,” you confess, foreheads pressed against one another’s as he continues to hold you in his arms, stronger than you remember.

a low hum leaves his throat. “i know, rin told me the first time i came back to japan from spain.”

you might actually kill rin.

(sae bites back a chuckle. he never thought of it much at all back then. he barely cared for anything except soccer. he can’t even remember when he started to think of you more. miss you. wish to see you on birthdays, on new year eves, on new years, christmases, whatever occasions there are in a year.)

“i think i might love you,” he confesses, and it takes your breath away.

you can only blink, slowly letting it sink in. you get down off his arms, both of you locking gazes and never looking away.

“think you could do that from halfway across the world too?” you ask.

it dawns on him what you’re afraid of, but after years of pining for you, sae has no doubt in his head.

“think i could do that forever, no matter where we are,” sae assures you, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “could you grant me one more wish?”

you swallow the lump in your throat. “what is it?”

“be mine.”

and this is his birthday (it’s still not 11 october in other parts of the world!) but you feel like it’s your lucky day.

“i think i’ve always been yours, itoshi sae.”

and for the first time since you’ve known him, you see him smile. wider than you’ve ever seen. you finally see the path clearing, you can finally tell, somehow—itoshi sae will be yours for life.

#i JUST put this together so pardon any mistakes :’) but i hope you guys still enjoy it <3 #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #sae x you #sae x y/n #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #itoshi sae fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #૪ aeri’s fics !

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abusivelittlebunny · 5 months ago

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wonder if u’ve seen this…would love to hear ur thoughts 😇

Explicit fic below (warning for dubcon & bdsm & daddy kink)

"Get in the car, now." Carlos' harsh whisper against his neck punched all the sanity out of Charles' mind in an instant. The command left no room for argument, nor did the grip on his hair at the base of his skull, already guiding Charles manually towards the exit. Charles would've stumbled to the ground multiple times if not for Carlos' hands, firm and steady and unforgiving to any mistakes now.

It always made him go boneless how easy it was for Carlos to manhandle him around, how he used his superior strength to show just who was really in charge between them.

"I let him go first like I'm holding the door open for a lady," Carlos once joked to an interviewer who asked him how come he's such a supportive second driver when he has proven he drives just as good if not better than Charles. "I'm a gentleman."

But there was nothing gentlemanly about how Carlos ripped the car door open and tossed Charles into the passenger seat, with a force that almost made Charles hit the window on the opposite side. Carlos didn't take any pity on Charles' pained yelp, just slammed the door behind him with much more strength than needed, the entire frame of the car shaking with it.

Charles was in big trouble now, he knew. Usually Carlos plays it sweet and harmless when there were paparazzi around them, but after tonight he can't keep the gentleman's facade any longer, to hell with the cameras.

What excuse would he take into consideration now? Was there anything Charles could say that would keep Carlos at bay? No simple "I'm sorry" will solve this, he knew much better than that. He was absolutely furious.

Charles didn't realize he was shaking until the door on the driver's side was torn open, and his entire body froze. He didn't see Carlos take his belt off and out of the loops of his neatly pressed trousers, so seeing it gripped firmly in his hand as he got in the car made Charles' stomach drop.

His heart was pounding in his ears as Carlos started the car without a word, driving through the gate of the villa much faster than necessary, but he didn't seem to care, all too focused on getting Charles and himself alone.

Charles was feeling dizzy, not just from the toss, but also just from the raw emotional rollercoaster he went through, and with no doubt the punishment looming in the air, ready to drop at any minute. He stared at the belt; folded, gripped together with the steering wheel by Carlos' big hairy hand. The veins on the back of his hand seemed more prominent now.

"It wasn't-, Carlos, please, it wasn't what it looked like, I swear-," Charles stammered, wincing at the squeaky quality of his own voice, betraying how he felt like a mouse caught in a merciless trap. "I didn't even know the man,-"

"Clearly you don't need to." Carlos snorted coldly as he took a sharp turn, avoiding the main road, no patience for traffic right now. "You'd take any dick that poked at you without even a second thought. Anything to prove what a good boy you are, right?"

That hurt too much for Charles not to speak up. "You know I'm not like that. You know,- you know better than anybody."

"Do I?" Carlos' amused tilt to his voice mocked him to his very core. "I remember you being a touch too eager every time you got to hop on another dick. Particularly when it comes to the celebratory gangbangs, you just become a brainless little cumdump."

"Because you asked those of me!" Charles knew he shouldn't be raising his voice right now but Carlos was just plain unfair now. "I only did that because you told me to, and would have never let anybody fuck me if it wasn't for your amusement! I-, you know I gave you everything. My virginity, my future,-" Charles held tightly onto the engagement ring on his finger, always quick to put it back on after a race, wanting to feel Carlos close at all times.

"Are you complaining about it?" Carlos' grip audibly tightened on the belt and wheel.

"What? No, no, of course not. I love you, mon amour. You and only you. You own me entirely, no one else can have me except for you." Tears have been welling in Charles' eyes since he first felt Carlos' threatening grip on him, - yanking him out of the study he found Charles in, - but they now finally spilled over as he shakily asked. "But you can't say the same thing, can you?"

Carlos grinded his teeth together, sighing loudly. Denying it would be futile, they both knew.

"I know about Lando. How you still-, you still fuck him when I'm not around. And not just him. He told me what a joke I am; "the devoted little lovesick wannabe-wife to a man who can't keep his dick out of half the grid," that's what he said."

"He's just saying that to rile you up, you can't take that puta seriously-," Carlos started, even though from his quick dismissal it was obvious Lando was far from lying.

"What about Franco?" Charles actually snarled as he said his name; he had nothing but venom for that homewrecking tart. "He told me how Williams won you over with him. How you got to... take him on a test ride to make sure you got a good deal. The car might be shit but the boy that came with it was worth it, huh? He said you found him better than me. Younger, prettier, tighter, and fully in your service."

"And you believe him?" Carlos scoffed, eyes were fixed on the road since the beginning, not sparing a single glance to Charles since he dragged him away from the gala. Meanwhile Charles could only look at him, entire body turned in his seat so he could stare up at Carlos like a pitiful puppy.

"I didn't at first but then he-, he started sending me things. Pictures and videos of you with him. Some when you're asleep, with your hands around that- that boy. Both of you naked if he's not in your shirt." Charles bit his lip, watching Carlos' eyes darken further and his Adam's apple bob in rage. "And even some where you're fucking him. Heard you like it when he calls you Papi."

"That's not-, that fucking-" Carlos almost barked, absolutely livid as he got into a traffic jam despite his best efforts to cruise through the city at a breakneck pace. He hit the steering wheel and cursed a bountiful bouquet in Spanish, half of which Charles understood, thanks to how much he tried to adapt to his husband. He was cursing Franco, saying something about wringing that stupid little slut's neck.

"It's over, Carlos." Charles shook his head solemnly, finally turning to face the road ahead, red lights criss-crossing in his vision, blurred by the tears.

Funny how Carlos could only look at him now, once Charles was faced away, unable to meet his eyes.

Charles gave a chuckle that was more of a sob than anything. "I tried to tolerate it, turn a blind eye to how you treated me, treated us, our relationship, thinking if I keep being nice, do as you say, be a good boy, maybe you'll finally choose me." Charles wiped at his eyes, sniffling. Turning the ring on his finger over and over again.

Carlos proposed shortly after Lewis announced he was coming to Ferrari. It terrified them both, knowing what it meant. They could keep their secret romance as steady as they wanted but not sharing a team, not sharing a garage, put them in a difficult position. They wouldn't be able to see each other as easily in private as before once the new season starts. They'll officially have to be rivals unlike ever before.

There was no room for a Romeo and Juliette romance when it came to the grid.

But Carlos said fuck them, he doesn't want to end it, no matter what anyone says; he loved Charles as Charles loved him, or so he said when he got down on one knee and presented him with the ring. Pure gold with a gorgeous red ruby sitting in a bed of crystal clear diamonds.

They were to marry in December. End of the year. But start of a new chapter. A confirmation that Charles meant more to Carlos than all the boys he had before. That he saw their future together.

He was meant to end his little fooling around with those other boys on and off the grid long ago; he said he would be all his once the wedding is done. They'd become official.

"But if you wanted to choose me, you would have by now. I'm not going to waste any more of either of our time. I'm tired of being nice, letting you have whatever you want at any time. It keeps biting me in the ass. "

"Charles, don't start now. Listen to me-," Carlos dropped the belt in his lap and tried to touch Charles' face only for it to be slapped away. Carlos froze, caught off guard by the retaliation.

"I think we should break up."

The silence that followed echoed within the car and it felt like time stood still like a moment before a life changing tragedy struck. The deafening void of a horrid crash if their worlds. Worse than any accident either of them got into on the grid. Charles could only hear his own blood pumping in his veins, his thick swallow; not a single sound coming out of Carlos. It took all his power to turn around and meet his gaze.

People often joked about how when Carlos is hyper focused his big beautiful brown eyes get a sort of manic, madman quality to them, the facade peeling back a bit. If before that gaze seemed intimidating, now it was downright terrifying. Carlos looked insane, like he could rip Charles' heart out with his teeth within a second. Bathed in the red lights, his face chilled Charles to the bone.

And he knew.

That was the match that lit the dynamite.

Charles whipped around to reach for the car door but his yanking proved futile, Carlos pressing the lock the moment he made a move. Before he could even think about turning around, the belt was thrown over his neck, and Carlos pulled.

Carlos has choked him before, quite a few times actually, but never this hard, and Charles clawed at the leather strip around his throat, head thrown back to Carlos' shoulder and kept there by his other hand gripping his jaw.

"Cah-, Carlo-, Ch-," Charles coughed and whined and scratched and kicked, body trashing weakly as he struggled for breath. He scratched at his own throat and at Carlos' hands, choking on a sob when Carlos snarled against his temple.

"Easy there, easy, calm down Charles, calm down." As if he was trying to soothe a jittery horse, not choking his fiance to near blacking out; he only eased on the belt's tightness when Charles' movements started to subside, his vision plagued with black spots.

The minute his throat got the space needed to fill his lungs again, Charles violently started coughing, tears, sweat, and saliva freely flowing down his red hot face. He was a right fucking mess, croaking and whining, trying to rub at his sore neck as he collapsed against Carlos' solid frame.

That will definitely be leaving a mark he won't be able to hide, too above the line of his collar.

"That's it, good boy, good boy, easy there, I got you, I got you." Carlos breathed roughly into his hair, more of a threat than a comfort, while kissing the side of his face, wherever he could. He did not mind the wet mess, tilting Charles' head by the jaw to press their lips together even as Charles was still fighting for breath, panting into his mouth. "You didn't mean that, no, no you didn't. You're my good boy, and you will be my good little wife, mine, mine, all mine. I got you."

"Cah-,Carlo-," Charles was dizzy still, eyes unable to focus on his fiance's face or actions, only vaguely registering his kisses before he collapsed fully into Carlos' lap. His head would've hit the strong thighs beneath him hard if not for the belt tightening on his throat instantly, softening the impact but at the same time taking Charles' breath once more.

"I know you didn't mean what you said, cariño, but still, you have to watch your pretty mouth more or you'll make daddy angry." Carlos tutted at his open mouth gaping and his fingers weakly trying to pry some space between his neck and makeshift collar. "You need to learn some discipline, cariño. Always so bratty, you keep getting into trouble for it. You won't say something so silly again, will you? No, you're going to be my good little wife aren't you? You'd never leave me, right?"

Charles' feet kicked at the passenger window, and he could barely make out the older man's words over his own choking noises but he managed to nod weakly, eyes rolled back into his skull and completely blurred from tears. Carlos took a torturous second to ease up on the strangulation once more when he deemed his answer satisfactory.

Charles turned his face to the side to suck in some air and not choke even more on his own saliva as he coughed. He whimpered like a kicked puppy, felt like one too, not even noticing how he buried his face into Carlos' tummy to muffle his pitiful sobs until he felt a gentle hand pet through his hair, Carlos cooing above him adoringly.

"There we go, there, that's my good little wife, so good for me." Carlos smoothed the messy brown curls out of Charles' eyes, humming at the puddle of drool and tears Charles was making on his lap. He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled the zipper down like a threat. "Let's put that unruly mouth of yours to better use, baby."

"Carlo-," Charles started to whine but got caught off by the belt again. It never left his neck and Carlos made sure Charles remembered that.

"Show me you're my good boy, cariño. Or daddy will have to give you a tighter leash." As if to confirm, the light illuminating Carlos' face turned blue-green from the traffic light. Carlos loosened the belt around his throat again, but didn't let go of it; Charles was able to feel it move together with his steering as he began to drive.

Charles reached for his zipper with a trembling hand and pulled it aside to press apologetic wet kisses to the bulge lying beneath the dark cotton underwear. He was already half hard; seeing Charles in pain always turned him on but the aspect of a breakup probably kept him from fully enjoying the situation.

Charles sniffled as he pulled the gorgeous thick cock out of his confines and kissed along the length. His hot breath and gentle, worshipping touches had Carlos' member stiffen to its full size fast enough.

He remembered how much practice it took as a virgin to learn how to properly serve Carlos; he had his work cut out for him, Carlos was very polite at first about his clumsy, sloppy efforts, but he was used to Max's incredible deepthroating technique and Lando's eager efforts and wouldn't come as easily as Charles would have hoped for. And he had no chance of tapping out either, no matter how much his jaw would ache for the week that followed, Carlos wasn't the type to let him leave the job half finished.

But once he got the hang of it he kept on practicing, fueled by the urge to beat Max in this area at least; he wanted to be the best Carlos has ever had. Max might have had his gag reflex annihilated at an early age, but Charles was far more passionate when it came to blowjobs and knew worshipping a dick was far hotter than just getting it off as efficiently as possible; or at least that's what Carlos reassured him about.

Charles now breathed out a shaky moan as he took Carlos down deeper and deeper at every drag, slurping on it as he came up, not letting a single drop of precum go to waste and dove right down when he felt a hand on the back of his neck.

"Good job, so good for me, cariño, fuck-," Carlos let out a satisfied sigh, his short nails scratching Charles' scalp appreciatively. "Daddy loves your clever little mouth so much, sweetie."

Charles preened from the praise, doubling his efforts even with tears still dropping from his lashes at every bump the car drove over. His throat hurt with every move of his tongue, every swallow, but that didn't stop him from going down until it slipped past the gag reflex point and his lips kissed the base. Charles sighed out a trembling breath through his nose, face buried in the musky pubic hair. It felt so good down there. Carlos knew he liked it deep too, like the thick familiar length was hitting a hidden sweet spot in the back of his throat.

"You love it so much, don't you?" Carlos slapped his cheek softly, leather wrapped around his palm still. "Charlie baby, the golden-mouthed prince of Monaco. Fucking fantastic, sweetheart. How could I want anyone but you, honey?"

Charles whined, fingers curled around Carlos' suit and thigh in ecstasy and he gulped around his cock, saliva overflowing in his wanton mouth.

Whether it was intentional or not, Charles had to refrain from basking in victory shortly after as Carlos hit the brakes a bit too hard.

Usually he'd pride himself in being trained better, but because of the ache from the choking, the pain made him instinctively gag and he was pulled off by his makeshift collar before he could choke too hard or give more than a hint of teeth.

"Messy puppy." Carlos hissed as he watched Charles cough, and try to catch his breath. "And here you were doing such a masterclass in cock-sucking. Don't you want to show them how good you are for me?"

Charles could only whimper out a dumb sound in answer inbetween coughs, his fucked plump lips unable to form a coherent word, letting drool flow past them uselessly. He didn't understand exactly what Carlos meant until he tugged a bit on the belt around his throat again, making him look up and out the window on the driver's side.

They were being watched by a few men in the car standing still in line right next to them. Carlos had a very big cock, they must have seen his mop of brown curls go up and down in Carlos' lap as he took him down his throat and came back up to suck on the tip.

They were hooting and hollering in amusement, the guy on the passenger side had his phone out to take pictures or a video even, the ones at the back scrambling to do the same.

This was going to be all over social media in a matter of minutes. Charles Leclerc, with his fucked-flushed face drooling helplessly on full display, a belt around his throat giving roadhead to his soon to be ex-teammate like a two penny whore.

"C'mon, cariño, you don't want to disappoint your fans, do you?" Carlos chuckled into his ear and tugged lightly on the belt, making tears well in Charles' eyes again from the humiliation. Carlos kissed at his temple and pet his hair in a condescending manner. "Show them who's my little champion, hm?"

Charles was frozen for a second, all thoughts completely evaporating from his head before he turned to Carlos.

Was this revenge? Ruining his reputation for finding him with another man in a peculiar position? After all that Charles has swallowed for him over and over again?

Not today.

Charles swallowed thickly against his makeshift collar and made his move. He turned to kiss Carlos in a chaste manner, hand cupping his strong jaw tenderly so he couldn't pull away. He could see the camera flash even with his eyes closed, and he knew it bounced back on the engagement ring like the sun.

Carlos was first caught off guard but kissed back with more passion out of reflex, fingers tightening in Charles' hair, the simple golden ring Charles has put on him after the proposal as a promise on display for all to see.

"I am your little champion." Charles breathed with a weak voice but a triumphant smile as he pulled back, lashes fluttering in delight as he saw the realization dawn on Carlos' face.

Charles very quickly changed the headlines from deranged slut Leclerc blowing ex-teammate Sainz in his car to try to keep him loyal to secretly engaged and hopelessly in love Leclerc and Sainz seen sharing a tender moment in car after gala. Charles even made a show of holding his hand up with a big smile for the camera as if the engagement just happened.

Carlos couldn't have stepped on the gas pedal harder as the traffic light turned green and Charles giggled as they sped past the neighboring cars.

"Honey, you're going to get us pulled over-," Charles drawled before he got his face shoved back down into Carlos' lap by a merciless grip in his hair.

"You only worry your pretty head about making me come in your sweet little mouth, baby." Carlos snorted spitefully. "Maybe I'll go easier on you then once we're back home."

"Didn't I do as you asked me to, daddy?" Charles licked playfully at Carlos' erection and got choked again for it. But by now the burn of the belt diminished next to the satisfaction in the forefront of his mind.

"Oh, that you did, darling. That you fucking did."

Carlos did not go easier on Charles even when he made him come down his choked-tight throat three minutes before they arrived back to their home. He made sure to decorate not only Charles's throat but his back, his ass, and his thighs as well in quickly purpling bruises from the belt all through the night and into the morning.

Charles woke in the afternoon sorer than he has been in a very long time, pained winces leaving his chapped lips as he tried to heave himself up in a somewhat propped-up position to gulp down the still-warm cappuccino on the bedside table.

A plentiful bowl of creamy peanut butter porridge topped with uniformly cut bananas and a dusting of roasted nuts sat beside his mug, right next to a jar of honey and a jug of water. On the other side of the bed the healing balm, the Vaseline, the sore-throat drops already prepared.

One could call Carlos a particularly vicious dom, but he never skimmed out on the aftercare; he knew what his boy needed after what he put him through.

Charles smiled to himself and kissed his engagement ring.

He was doubtful about this plan at the start but reading the headlines of the news on his phone while he munched away on his oatmeal put his mind to ease.

CARLOS SAINZ PROPOSED TO CHARLES LECLERC AFTER POST-CHAMPIONSHIP CELEBRATIONS AT MONACO ROYAL ESTATE

WILL THE LOVELY COUPLE BE SPARED BY THEIR TEAMS DECISIONS? DID SAINZ GET BOOTED FOR HAVING SECRET RELATIONSHIP WITH LECLERC? FERRARI UNDER INVESTIGATION

DID LEWIS HAMILTON TRY TO BREAK UP THE COUPLE? WILL HE BE FORCED BACK TO MERCEDES?

SAINZ SEEN TRYING TO BE SEDUCED BY WILLIAMS' ROOKIE FRANCO COLAPINTO! WANNABE HOMEWRECKER ALERT!

"We couldn't be happier, honestly," SAINZ REPORTEDLY ANSWERED QUESTIONS THIS MORNING WHILE OUT ON ERRANDS. IS HE HURRYING TO WILLIAMS HEADQUARTERS OR TRYING TO FIND WEDDING VENUES?

SAINZ DENIES ALLEGATIONS OF AFFAIR WITH LANDO NORRIS, FRANCO COLAPINTO, OSCAR PIASTRI, AMONGST MANY OTHERS.

"I have loved Charles since the moment I met him, I just wasn't allowed to come clean about it in public because of our management. Now we're hoping this will change and give us the opportunity for a future we both hoped for." Carlos chuckled in a video taken only two hours before Charles woke up. He was surrounded by paparazzi like a bleeding man in a pool of sharks.

"Fans are incredibly supportive of your relationship, but will it last the test of time now that you're in separate teams? Or will you be breaking the heart of Ferrari's favorite prince?"

Carlos smiled nervously and nodded to himself before making the crowd around him shake with laughter by declaring: "Absolutely not. I know I wouldn't survive if I ever dared to. I will be a good husband for him regardless of our contracts, you will see."

"What about allegations that you were choking him with your belt?" Another reporter piped up. "Is it true Charles has suffered domestic abuse from you in the past?"

"Those are all made up, I can assure you, I'd never lay a finger on Charles," Carlos winked cheekily at the camera, "not in a way he didn't like, that's for sure."

Charles rolled his eyes with a snort as he kept on reading the news regarding their engagement. No one gave a fuck about who won the championship at that point, all eyes in motorsports and out of it turned towards the ring on Charles' finger.

He owed Max now for giving him this brilliant idea and snatching the limelight from him.

"What if he calls off the engagement?" Charles sobbed on Max's couch a couple weeks ago, hugging a pillow tight to his chest that Max eyed like he wanted to burn as soon as Charles let go of it. He probably wanted to burn the whole couch the way Charles littered it with dirty tissues since he began his dramatic breakdown that evening.

"Then you're better off, honestly." Max rolled his eyes and scooped another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth; the price Charles bribed him with to hear him out on his latest Carlos issue.

"No, he'll be better off with that stupid fucking whore!" Charles wiped at his eyes and threw his phone across the room onto the bed. He was in full tantrum mode at that point. "That fucking slut couldn't wait to get his hands on my Carlos, if he had his ring too I'd tear his fucking face off-"

"You can't even breathe an impolite word to that child, let alone do that. Besides, don't think a pretty pair of green eyes is all it takes for Carlos to pop the question." Max really was the best friend to have around in these dire times for Charles. He has always been a no-nonsense type of advice giver and now as he was heavily pregnant he cared even less for pointless melodrama.

Besides, he knew Carlos better than anyone, even better than Charles. Their history ran bone-deep. That's why he wasn't out to snatch Carlos away probably.

"I can't let him choose that bitch. I can't-, I-," Charles gasped for words, too far in crying to make a coherent sentence so Max waved his spoon like a conductor as if he tried to put a spell on Charles to make him calm down.

"Charles, we talked about this before, first with me, then Lando, then Piastri, then Liam, and so on it goes; you know this won't end by itself. It's not a question about who he will choose. He can't choose, that's his issue. He will keep sticking his dick wherever the wind blows." Max grimaced as he thought about something for a second before burying it in another caramel-fudge spoonful. "I even heard he took George to bed but I'm sincerely hoping his taste didn't stoop so low."

"Are you trying to make me feel better with this?" Charles glared above his tissue.

"I'm trying to make you realize that you gotta rethink your strategy here, because for a lack of better word, it's very Ferrari." Max raised his brows comically and shrugged. "Doesn't really work, does it?"

Charles wanted to object but Max was right; Charles has been bending over backwards to try to please Carlos for a while now, did everything the way he told him and Carlos still slipped out on occasion to "let out his pent up frustrations" on some other boy.

Most of them were more discreet about it, like Piastri, desperate to stay on Charles' good side even with his man's come not yet dry at the corner of his mouth. Or there was Liam, outright avoiding him with a flushed red face after stumbling out on unsteady feet after Carlos pulled him into the closest lockable room. Or there was Lando, taunting Charles with threats of Carlos seeing reason and coming back to him to resume the fairytale relationship he believed they had.

And there was fucking Franco sending him a picture of Carlos sleeping on his chest, arms wrapped around his scandalously tiny waist. The caption, placed right below where Franco had his cheek resting against Carlos' messed up hair read:

"Papi got a bit too excited for my blue panties tonight. He must be a bull that prefers blue over red. Don't wait up for him tonight."

Just the fucking cheek of it all made the hair on the back of Charles' neck stick up.

"He has done enough to drive you mad with jealousy, now it's your turn." Max pointed at him wisely with his spoon. "You just get him to catch you with some other guy and boom. His focus will be very much back on you."

"But what if that just makes him discard me completely?" Charles huffed. "Being one of his... his boys I can deal with, but him dropping me for cheating I could never-,"

"Oh, that is the polar opposite of what will happen, trust me." Max chuckled knowingly. "When he first caught me with another man I couldn't scrape him off of me for months. And that was after I already told him I couldn't do anything serious because my father wouldn't let me. He said he was cool with it, he had plenty of options lined up. But those options seemed far less exciting when something he thought belonged to him was getting fucked by another man."

"You... think that would work with me too?" Charles mumbled after a minute, seriously thinking it through.

Max shrugged, not keen on taking responsibility over Charles' fate and risking another hysteric yap session. "I think he's far more into you than anyone I've ever seen him with, truly. I was tempting to him for being Redbull's miraclebaby but you're different. You're Ferrari's golden boy, Charles, you're special or whatever. You're a gem any man would die to have as his crown jewel. You should live with that privilege. Remind him you are the hottest commodity out there."

So Charles did; finding a sponsor who was eager to try to get him alone in a study at the villa was easy enough, playing coy until he had the man grinding against his ass and hurrying to take his clothes off was simple.

He was thinking stretching it out perfectly so Carlos found him while the man was still hard inside of him would be the challenge because he seemed like a two minute wonder but he misjudged Carlos' attention on him. Charles could barely breathe the first moan as the man pulled his shirt open and kissed at his neck and Carlos was busting down the door, not waiting a second more to drag him out like an unruly puppy.

Max warned him of the painful consequences, but they would all be worth it in the end. Carlos couldn't possibly break up their engagement now, not with the media pressure, and this little stunt had Charles back in his sole focus for good. He couldn't visit his boys under such scrutiny or hurt him too much, or his reputation would go down the gutter.

Charles caressed at the painful bruise on his throat and giggled to himself.

Who had the leash on who now?

#ahhhhh this got long #but i will refine it and post it on ao3 when i get the time #charlos #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #f1 #ficlet

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firewasabeast · 20 days ago

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Laughing thinking about how bucktommy fans reacted to the breakup by saying “we should write to abc and let them know how much we love tommy and how we hope he comes back, and how they should check their biphobic writing, but be respectful!!” and we were called crazy and stupid…

BUT those same people can threaten to kill the showrunner, harass cast and crew, send csa fics to peoples inboxes, tell us to kill ourselves, harass us, dox us, create multiple fake accounts to continue harassment after being blocked, make fake exit interviews, tell us we should get over Tommy and that Lou had left the series, stalk the sets, get leaks and yell about them, make a memorial billboard in NYC of all places, spam Instagram comment sections, AND MORE, but that’s perfectly acceptable.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 abc #just thinking thoughts #also this is why I will never agree that ‘bucktommy fans are just as bad’#stfu no we’re not

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mrsshabana · 25 days ago

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𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬

ꔫ‧₊ Summary Your kindness and sincerity are like a drug to him, healing the broken man beneath the fancy suit and tie. But he will need to tread carefully so as not to overstep the professional boundary as your boss. And not to mention his wife, a cold and detached relationship that's worn him down. ꔫ‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, Modern au, Boss & secretary relationship, Gyutaro is married, Age gap ꔫ‧₊ Note 1k words. I've been planning this fic for a long time and I finally feel comfortable putting my own writing wants first. I think it'll be good for me as an author to prioritize what I'm excited about instead of constantly putting them on the back burner and writing what everyone wants me to. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter and thanks for reading ♡

✧:･ﾟ→ Chapter 2 ✧:･ﾟ→ AO3

Today is your first day at your new job. It’s a secretary position in a fancy building downtown. You don’t know much about the company itself, but you do know they are big and quite successful. Really the only reason you applied was because the pay was great and you had experience doing secretary work in the past.

You had your interview with a man by the name of Tengen Uzui. He was kind, funny, and very charismatic. Making a point to state multiple times that he thought you’d be a great fit for his boss, Gyutaro Shabana, the CFO of the company. Who apparently needed a secretary desperately.

When he offered you the position on the spot, you were more than happy to accept. Leading you to where you are today.

Tengen excitedly leads you up to the top floor of the building, walking over to a large door. Knocking twice when you hear a gruff voice from inside the room rumble, “Come in.”

Opening the door, you see your new boss sitting behind a large desk, tall glass windows behind him, filling the room with natural light and a beautiful view of the city below.

Immediately, you notice his unconventional appearance. He looks quite rugged for someone with such a high position in the company. His hair is shoulder-length and untidy, he has bags under his eyes, and looks exhausted. Contrasted with how sharp he looks in that dark tailored suit that nicely hugs his broad shoulders and thin waist. And of course, there’s the obvious — the strange assortment of birthmarks on his face. They’re midnight black and create a pretty contrast with his pale skin and deep blue eyes. He looks unconventional, but there’s something about him that you find appealing and attractive.

With a smirk, Tengen pushes you forward, “Hope I’m not interrupting your brooding session. But I brought you someone.”

“Explain,” Gyutaro says flatly, his expression unreadable.

“This is Miss Y/N,” Tengen smiles, “You’ve been complaining about scheduling messes and email overloads for weeks. So I took initiative and hired you a secretary. You’re welcome.”

Gyutaro is slightly annoyed by Tengen hiring a new employee without telling him, but he doesn’t want to come off as rude, so he forces a smile as he stands and reaches out his hand, “I see, well it’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Y/N.”

“The pleasure is mine! I’m excited to work for you!” You say enthusiastically, hoping to make a good impression on your new boss, trying not to be intimidated by how tall he is once he stands from his desk.

With a clap of his hands Tengen chimes, “Well, I’ll let you two get acquainted! Try not to scare her off, boss,” he winks playfully before leaving the room.

Gyutaro sighs, already feeling a headache forming, “I’ll call the IT guys to come up and help you get your computer set up, I’ll also forward you my calender and files. In the meantime you can get situated at your desk,” he gestures to the desk sitting outside his office.

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” you bow curtly before turning to exit the room.

Gyutaro watches you, a mix of curiosity and confusion in his eyes. You didn’t flinch — you had actually smiled at him. Like there was nothing wrong with him, no imperfections on his face, no rasp in his voice, no awkwardly crooked teeth. You looked at him like he was normal.

Something he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

His gaze lingers, and he doesn’t realize he’s still staring at the door after you’ve closed it behind you.

His office is dimmer now, orange light filling the room as the sun begins to set behind the horizon of buildings. Gyutaro leans forward in his desk, fingers pressed into his temples as he tries to lessen the aching in his head.

His email inbox is a war zone — filled with meeting requests, reports, and investor inquiries. He sighs, exhausted and full of frustration.

Then, a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” he grunts, sounding more annoyed than he intended.

You shyly step forward, holding a stack of neatly sorted papers and a printed schedule.

“I went through your emails and responded to anything urgent. The rest I’ve sorted here by priority,” you offer a kind smile as you gently set the documents on his desk.

“Oh!” you gasp, almost having forgotten to mention something, “I also fixed your schedule for tomorrow afternoon. You had three meetings scheduled at the same time. So I reached out and rescheduled based on everyone’s availability.”

Gyutaro is left speechless. Impossibly impressed by your diligence, especially since he hadn’t even realized the accidental triple booking.

Taking the documents in his calloused hands, he scans them over, “You did all this?”

“Yes, sir. I know you’re busy so I figured it might help.”

He stares in awe at the weekly schedule you’ve printed for him, everything is clean and organized. Feeling so much more manageable than the mess of stress he had before.

“Thank you,” he offers a soft smile.

“You’re very welcome, sir,” you blush slightly, “I-I hope I’m not overstepping-”

“Not at all,” he says firmly, “You’ve done more in one day than most could do in a week.” There’s a rare hint of warmth in his tone as he says this, “It’s been a long time since someone has helped me like this.”

You try to hold back your excitement at his praise, “That’s my job, sir.” You grin happily, warmly, at him before slipping out of the room.

Leaving Gyutaro alone again. But this time, the air in his office doesn’t feel as suffocating. It’s warm and calm. Something Gyutaro hasn’t felt since he was a child. A feeling that he never feels at the office, and certainly never feels at his home.

But he welcomes the unfamiliar feeling. And for the first time in a long while, he can’t wait to come into work early tomorrow morning.

Maybe hiring you wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He’ll thank Tengen later.

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #boss x reader

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rumplereids · 9 months ago

Note

hii!! i’ve read some of your docs and they are just awesome !!

i wanted to ask you if you could write a fic (paring Spencer x fem!Reader) about the BAU chasing the unsub and they manage to catch him, tough he did fire some shots that didn’t hurt anyone except reader but reader doesn’t realise it until she starts to feel dizzy and feels her shirt wet only to find a gun wound on her side, spencer is really worried etc etc.. you know an hurt/comfort !! :3

sorry for my bad english 😞😞

take your time !! :33

tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. hurt/comfort. reader gets shot. blood. reader using sexual jokes as a coping mechanism. a/n: unedited! set around season 12, bcos i just rewatched the s11 finale lol. i also took some creative liberties but i hope u still like this :) masterlist. requests are open !

There’s something Spencer always did before the team goes out to take down an unsub.

First, in the car, in the calm before a probable storm, he would take two fingers into the collar of your bulletproof vest. He’d tug on the back, checking the tightness of the straps while confined in the SUV’s backseat. And then, the same hand would run down your back. A comforting gesture that grounds him more than he’d admit. And lastly, he’d take your hand in his. Squeeze it three times in a silent ‘I love you’. He’ll wait for you to squeeze back, and your eyes would meet for a second, words unneeded as your gaze tells each other to take care.

It’s a routine done even before you officially got together. Tonight was different.

You were on the way back to the station after re-interviewing a witness with Rossi. You’re sat on the passenger seat, notepad in hand, attempting to arrange your thoughts on the case. A ringtone coming from the car speaker distracts you from your musings. Rossi reaches over to accept the call.

“Yeah, Hotch?”

“We found him. Garcia sent the location to your cells. You’re 20 minutes away from the address, but do not engage. Keep your distance and wait for the rest of us.” Hotch drops the call after you reply with an “On it, boss.” You flip a switch on the console, turning on the sirens.

“I still hate how loud these things are,” you make a passing comment.

Rossi spares you a glance, a bemused look in his eyes, “I haven’t gotten used to it either.”

You turn to reach for your vest behind the passenger seat. After putting it on, you triple check the straps. And then, you unholster your standard issue pistol, thumb on the catch, before you check your mag.

Rossi’s turning the corner while you holster your gun, reaching over, you turn off the siren. Based on the profile, this unsub will not hesitate to draw guns if met with law enforcement. Best not give him a heads up. A few blocks ahead, you see the bright neon sign of the motel the unsub is hiding in. Rossi shifts the SUV into a slow crawl. He stops a block away, a safe distance that still gave you a good vantage point of the motel. You keep a lookout, Rossi putting on his vest while your eyes pass over each entrance, exit, and window on the two-storey building. You notice movement on the first floor. A shadow behind a curtain on the second floor.

You’re starting to get antsy when the rest of the team, and the local cops arrive. You quickly open your door, walking toward where Hotch, Tara, and Spencer were huddled by the trunk of a precinct car.

“Are you attempting to negotiate?” Rossi asks from your side. Spencer’s eyes meet yours from where he’s hunched over a map. Embedding the floorplan into his mind. You watch his eyes rake over your body twice. Eyes running to each strap on your vest. Your heart warms at the gesture.

“He has hostages,” Hotch’s voice breaks your eye contact with Spencer. The sheriff walks toward your team, a megaphone in hand. Hotch thanks the sheriff, turns on the speaker, and begins to call out for the unsub.

“Bryan Masen! FBI! Come out with your hands above your head!”

You see the shadow shift on the second floor. And then, a loud bang. Bryan Masen has an assault rifle, shooting out of the windows of the motel lobby, while a second unsub shoots their own rifle from the second floor. In all the chaos of gunshots and screams, your mind rotates through three things; Is Spencer okay? A partner wasn’t in the profile. My ribs hurt. Is Spencer okay? A partner wasn’t in the profile. My ribs hurt. Where’s Spenc—

The following silence was deafening.

And then, a group of uniforms led by Hotch and JJ move in on the motel. You begin to stand, intending to join the second group of uniforms with Luke and Rossi. Subconsciously, your hand presses against your side. It’s warm. And wet. You take one step forward. Hear Spencer call out your name. And then, it all turns black.

Spencer’s hands won’t stop shaking. He stares at it. The red on his palms. It’s drying, and all he can do is stare blankly at it. His knee jerks. It won’t stop. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Heavy. Comforting. Unwanted. He hears Luke ask him if he needed anything. He can’t hear his own reply. Hunched over his bloodied hands, he sees the boots peeking between his fingers. Black. Leather. Heeled. JJ tries to get him to wash his hands. He feels hands guide him to a sink. That same hand on his shoulder leaving when smaller hands take his in their own. The water is cold between his fingers. The hand scrubbing his knuckles is warm. He can’t afford to look away. Can’t risk his eyes closing for more than a blink. He needed to be distracted by something. Knowing that if mind was preoccupied by any other menial thing, he won’t be forced to see your body falling onto the sandy ground. Over and over. The scream in his throat. The thud. The frantic hands. Red, red, red. Pale lips and eyes closed. Over and over.

He has half a mind to stop JJ from cleaning his hands. But then, the faucet turns off. Paper towels are pressed into his hands, and JJ guides him back to where the rest of the team are waiting. Their silence tells him that there hasn’t been anything new. He falls into a chair. Numbers. Statistics. That can help him focus on something else.

The number of GSWs treated per biennium increased from 1,349 in 1996-1997 to 1,484 in 2014-2015, with a 59% increase occurring from 2010-2011 to 2014-2015. Overall mortality was 14.6%—

An unfamiliar name calls out your name.

He stands before anyone else can react. Like a wolf descending on a prey, he begins a barrage of questions; “Where is she? Is she okay? Is she ali—”

“She alive and well. The shrapnel missed any major arteries, and we were able to take every fragment out. Major bruising around her ribs. She’s currently sedated, but you can come and see her.”

Spencer bites back an attempt to snap, wanting to raise his voice and demand that they bring him to her already. But he doubts you’d let him get away with such a behavior. And so he silently follows after the doctor, fists pressed against his sides, thumb popping a knuckle.

When he enters your room, it’s dimly lit. But he can see your face, and the bruise on your cheek from when you fell unconscious. His eyes take you in, every inch of you. The hair pulled behind your ears. The medical gown covering pallor skin. The tube connected to the crook of your elbow. He reaches a hand out, smoothing your hair, before taking a deep breath in. He remembers your comment about the smell of hospitals.

“I’ll stay with her,” he mumbles. Two fingers pushing down the collar of your hospital gown. You don’t like it when your clothes bunch up around your neck. His fingers subconsciously move to trace the side of your throat. Moving to feel the beat of your pulse beneath his fingertips.

“I’ll bring your bags back in an hour,” he nods once to acknowledge JJ’s words.

“Thank you,” he coughs away the lump in his throat. You’re alive. You’ll be awake in a few hours. You can go home by the end of the week. He forces himself to feel optimistic.

“Get some rest if you can, Reid,” Hotch speaks from where he’s standing nearest to the door.

He nods, opting not to say anything. Unable to make promises.

Your eyes are heavy when you come to. You can feel the crust on your lids. The cool of the AC against your cheek. Slowly, you open your eyes. There’s a painting of a grassy field on the wall in front of you. You turn your head. Spencer has his socked feet up on the armchair. Curling into himself to fit better. He has his focus on your copy of Pride and Prejudice. You can tell it’s yours by the sticky tabs peeking between the pages.

“Spence?” your voice is throaty and hoarse. Struggling to crawl out. He still hears it, anyway.

“Oh, baby,” he drops your book on the chair, moving to sit by your side. His forehead presses against yours, his hands cup your jaw. Spencer presses a kiss on the apple of your cheek.

“You scared me,” he confesses with a whisper.

“I’m okay now,” you bring a hand into his hair. He moves his kisses down to your jaw.

“I was so afraid of losing you.”

You take his kisses as he freely gives them. He hides his face into your neck, kissing where it meets your shoulder. You move your hand down to scratch where his hair ends before his nape. “You could never get rid of me,” you say with a small smile. He presses a kiss where your neck meets your ear.

Right hand on your cheek, left hand going down to grip the flesh below your scapula. Slender thumb and finger pinching the softness behind your armpit. He breathes in the scent of you. Your hand starts to massage the muscle where his neck and shoulder meet. You know that he feels heavy there whenever he gets stressed out. You want to crack a joke at how tense he is, but keep it in and choose to give him comfort instead.

“I love you,” his lips whisper against your skin.

You sigh, the sound making him look up to meet your eyes.

“I was so scared too,” it was your turn to confess.

“You’re okay. We’re both okay,” he moves his hands to take yours into his. You squeeze his hands thrice.

“I asked Hotch to give me time off while you’re on medical leave.”

“You did?”

He squeezes your hand back. Three times like you both always have, and always will.

“I also had to call your family,”

He watches you grimace, “How did they take it?” He gives you a slight wince of a smile.

You let out a sigh, “I’ll call them in a bit.”

“Your mom is taking a flight to Washington,” he informs you.

“That sucks. We won’t have the house to ourselves for at least a month.”

He raises a brow at you, “Why would it matter? You’re not allowed any strenuous activity for three.”

You give Spencer a little pout, chastised that he easily called you out, “That’s just mean.”

He gives you a withering look, “Behave.” He gives you one more kiss on the cheek, moving to stand from your bed. He has to tell the team you’re awake. Taking your phone from the end table, he begins to draft a text.

“I still have my hands, you know.”

He turns to you, caught off guard. Disbelief painting his features.

“You did not just say that,” he says.

You stick a tongue out.

“Stop it. You’re injured,” he says with a slight reprimand.

“So? That didn’t stop us when your knee got shot.”

His mouth falls open, “I can’t believe you.”

“Three months is just a recommendation. You would know.”

You grin at the blush that takes over his face.

taglist: @i-live-in-spite @khxna please feel free to send an ask to be added to my general taglist!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff

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movingmusically · 1 month ago

Note

I found your fics recently and can't stop reading them! You're really talented at this and i look forward to reading more of your work

Can i request something inspired by austin's flirty interaction with a reporter during the sydney premiere of bike riders? He looked so hot in a drenched suit/wet hair.Except the reporter is reader and they end up exchanging numbers and hooking up afterwards.

Word Count: 6.8k

Masterlist

Exit Through the Side Door

The rain hadn’t let up all night. It fell in a steady curtain over the Sydney premiere of The Bikeriders, drenching everything, the carpet glistening with every flash of the camera lights. You stood under a canopy that didn’t help much, microphone in hand, nerves in check—mostly.

You stepped into position just as Austin Butler was ushered over, suit drenched and hair slicked back in a way that really shouldn’t have looked as good as it did. He was all sharp cheekbones and slow charm, water dripping from his collar, his grin disarmingly casual as he turned toward you.

Oh.

That was your first thought. Just—oh.

Because you’d seen the press photos, the interviews, the clips. But they didn’t quite prepare you for the real thing. Not for the way his gaze locked onto you as if he had all the time in the world. Not for the way he wore the rain like it was part of the suit.

“Hi Austin,” you said, offering your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N?” he repeated, taking your hand with a firm but warm grip. “Have we met before?”

You smiled. “Not unless you’ve been secretly watching Australian breakfast news. Maybe I just have one of those familiar faces.”

He glanced down at his soaked attire and then back at you, noting your relatively dry appearance. “You’re dry; I’m soaked,” he said with a grin.

“I was going to say—we’ve really turned on the weather for you,” you quipped, gesturing to the rain around you.

“You sure did,” he laughed. “Are you from here, from Sydney?” he asked before you could get to your first actual question.

You nodded. “Born and raised.”

He smiled. “That explains the accent.”

Before you could reply, he tilted his head slightly, still watching you. “So what are you into?”

The question caught you off guard—not because it was inappropriate, but because of the way he asked it. Casual. Curious. Like he really wanted to know. And maybe it was the way he was looking at you, maybe it was the weather, or the fact that his voice dropped just a little when he said it—but for a split second, your mind absolutely did not go to hobbies.

You blinked once, composing yourself. “What am I into?”

“Yeah,” he said, flashing a slow smile. “Like, what gets you out of bed in the morning?”

You let out a soft laugh, deflecting gently. “Bit of a heavy question for a red carpet, isn’t it?”

His mouth curved. “I’m just trying to get to know you.”

You raised a brow. “I’m supposed to be interviewing you, by the way,” you said, angling the mic back between you with a knowing smile. “Just in case you forgot.”

He grinned, leaned in just a little. “Am I being difficult already?”

“A little slippery.”

“I’ll behave,” he said, though there was a glint in his eye that suggested otherwise. “I just don’t like talking about myself.” The admission was low, sheepish—and absolutely not the energy of someone who looked like he’d been airlifted in from a perfume commercial.

You arched a brow. “That’s kind of your job tonight.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “I’d rather learn about you.”

“Oh, smooth,” you said, laughing despite yourself.

“What else can you tell me?” he asked, still not letting go of the thread. “How old are you?”

You raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the directness—but far from rattled. “Wow. Straight for the kill.”

He grinned. “You don’t have to tell me.”

You leaned in, mic angled just slightly away, like you were about to tell him a secret. “Let’s just say… old enough to know better.”

Austin’s grin widened, and you could see the moment it clicked for him—that you weren’t flustered. Not really. You were playing back.

“Now I’m intrigued.”

You tried not to laugh. “I should probably jump into the questions, ’cause this is my job. You wouldn’t want me to get in trouble, would you?”

“Depends,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Is it the fun kind of trouble?”

You tried not to laugh.

“Okay, okay,” he added, still not taking his eyes off you. “What do you want to talk about?”

And just like that, the flirtation hung in the air—light but electric, threaded beneath the rhythm of rain and red carpet chatter.

You hadn’t expected to enjoy it as much as you did. The interview, that is. After weeks of watching clips and prepping questions for the premiere, you’d figured it would be another round of carefully measured answers and predictable talking points. But Austin had surprised you.

Once the teasing simmered down, he’d answered your questions about the film with a quiet thoughtfulness that felt… rare. He spoke about the physicality of the role, the camaraderie on set, the way riding felt like freedom on wheels—his words, not yours. You’d been half-listening by that point anyway, too caught up in the way he kept sneaking looks at you mid-sentence. The whole time, he kept circling back to you. Like he genuinely liked that your questions weren’t the same ones he’d been asked all night. Like you’d managed to catch him off guard, too.

Your crew was wrapping up now, voices raised over the sound of distant applause and the chatter of the still-moving press line. You’d taken a step to the side, microphone now tucked into its bag, your fingers absently smoothing the skirt of your dress as the adrenaline started to ebb. The energy of the red carpet was winding down, and you could already feel the buzz of it fading into something quieter—something a little more surreal.

You were still turning the moment over in your mind—his smile, the way his gaze had lingered just a beat too long—when someone stepped into your periphery.

“Hi,” a woman said, polite but brisk, with a sleek blazer and a laminated crew pass hanging around her neck. “You’re Y/N, right?”

You blinked, a little startled. “Yes?”

She glanced around quickly, then leaned in just a touch. “Austin asked if you’d be alright with passing along your number.”

You stared at her, thrown for a half-second before catching yourself. “He… did?”

She smiled, like she wasn’t surprised you were surprised. “Or, if you’d prefer, I can give you his.”

Your stomach flipped—just a little—and you hesitated. Not out of doubt, but out of sheer disbelief that this night was unfolding like a scene from something scripted. “Right. Um. Sure. You can give him mine.”

She pulled out her phone, efficient as ever. “Great. Go ahead.”

You rattled it off, still vaguely stunned, and she repeated it back to confirm. “Thanks,” she added, already typing something out. “You’ll probably hear from him tonight.”

And with that, she was gone—vanishing into the well-oiled chaos of handlers and publicists and umbrellas moving in choreographed circles.

You stood there for a second longer, barely noticing the rain anymore, heart thudding with something dangerously close to anticipation.

Well. That was unexpected.

But not unwelcome.

Not even a little.

You didn’t linger too long after the carpet wrapped—just enough time to collect your gear and say a few goodbyes. You weren’t technically required to attend the screening, but tonight… you’d made an exception.

Part of it was curiosity. The film, the buzz, the scale of it all. But mostly? It was him.

Inside the ornate, velvet-draped theatre, you slipped into a seat near the back. The crowd buzzed with anticipation, the kind of low, charged hum that only comes with red carpet premieres and sold-out venues. You let your dress settle around your legs, your lanyard tucked away in your bag now, trying to look like just another guest. Though part of you was keenly aware of where the exits were, just in case.

And then the lights dimmed.

The screen flickered to life—not with the film, not yet—but with the host stepping into the spotlight. Moments later, Austin appeared beside him.

Still in the same drenched suit, hair slightly rumpled now from running a hand through it, he took the mic with an easy smile. The audience erupted into applause, whistles echoing through the cavernous theatre. You felt it more than heard it.

He didn’t speak for long. Just a few words about the film, the team, how grateful he was to be there. But he delivered it the same way he’d given your interview—sincere, understated, a little rogue around the edges. You caught yourself smiling.

Then, just as the host moved to wrap up, Austin glanced out into the audience. A quick scan, casual. Meaningless to anyone else.

But somehow—maybe it was luck, maybe it was instinct—his eyes caught yours.

You couldn’t be sure. Not from this far back. But for a second too long, his gaze stayed fixed somewhere in your direction.

Your breath caught.

And then he was gone. Offstage. Applause rising again as the lights dimmed fully and the opening credits rolled.

You stayed for a few minutes. Long enough to be polite, long enough to confirm what you already knew: your focus was not on the film.

Your phone buzzed quietly in your lap, lighting up with a number you didn’t recognise. You opened the message before your heart had even caught up.

Austin: Hey, it’s Austin. Didn’t want to interrupt the movie... But I’m still drenched and skipping the after-party.

Austin: Want to sneak out with me instead?

Your heart did something entirely inconvenient and unprofessional.

You glanced at the screen. The darkened crowd. The glowing stage below.

Then you reached for your bag.

And stood up.

You moved quietly, slipping past knees and whispered apologies, heart thudding in your throat as you edged down the curved row toward the exit. You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

The theatre lobby felt cavernous now, mostly empty save for a couple of ushers and a group of stragglers lingering by the merch table. You stepped out into the cool night air, the rain finally slowed to a misty drizzle, the kind that clung to skin and curled into hair.

You barely had time to check your phone again when another buzz lit up the screen.

Austin: I’m out back. Black car. Driver’s with me.

Austin: You coming?

You didn’t respond. Just moved.

Your heels clicked softly against the slick pavement as you followed the side path skirting the venue, past ropes and service doors and a stagehand smoking something that definitely wasn’t a cigarette. It was that in-between moment—storm fading, night settling, the kind of hush where anything felt possible.

And then you saw him.

Still in the same suit, but with the jacket unbuttoned now, clinging to his frame in a way that was entirely unfair. His shirt was wrinkled, the collar slightly askew. He was leaning against the open back door of a black car, posture casual but eyes locked on yours the second you rounded the corner.

His smile was quieter now. Realer. Less for show.

“You made it,” he said.

You lifted a brow. “Didn’t even wait for the opening scene. Bold of you to assume it wasn’t the best part.”

He laughed, head dipping, and opened the door wider. “Couldn’t risk it.”

You tilted your head. “What, missing the film?”

His eyes flicked over you, amused. “Missing you.”

You stood still for a second longer, then ducked into the car.

The door shut behind you with a soft, insulated thud. Inside was warm and quiet, separated from the noise of the night and the hum of the festival. You heard him slide in beside you, the faint rustle of wet fabric and the click of the door as it locked.

You turned toward him.

He was closer now.

Much closer.

His voice was soft when he spoke, low and amused. “You never did tell me.”

You lifted a brow. “Tell you what?”

“What you’re into.”

Your lips curled. “You’re still thinking about that?”

“I haven’t stopped.”

And just like that, the space between you tilted. The quiet of the car was thick now. Not uncomfortable, just… waiting. His knee brushed yours where you were both angled slightly in, facing each other like the rest of the world had politely excused itself.

“I thought maybe you’d change your mind,” Austin said softly, his voice barely above the hum of the engine as the driver pulled away. “Go home. Do the sensible thing.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “I considered it.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “And then I remembered you said you don’t like talking about yourself. Which makes you a terrible interview. So really, I’m just here for professional closure.”

He laughed quietly, that same slow, low sound that had already started to take up space in your head. “Of course. You’re very committed to your craft.”

“Painfully.”

His eyes drifted over your face, less playful now, something warmer settling in. “Wasn’t just the interview.”

You met his gaze, pulse skipping.

“No?” you asked.

He shook his head. “You were different.”

You arched a brow. “Because I didn’t ask what it was like working with Tom Hardy?”

“That helped.” His smile tugged a little wider, then softened. “But nah. Just… the way you looked at me.”

You went still. “And how did I look at you?”

He was quiet for a second too long. Then, “Like maybe you already knew me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You tried to play it off, to reach for something flippant, but nothing came. Nothing that didn’t sound exactly like what it was—a deflection.

Austin didn’t push. Just let the silence stretch. Let the air do its work.

The lights of the city blurred by the tinted windows, casting flashes of movement across his face. You watched them flicker along his jaw, his cheek, the collar of his shirt still damp from the rain.

“You warm enough?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter now.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

But he still reached over. Just to adjust the air slightly. Just to check.

His hand lingered between you for a second longer than necessary, and when he settled back, his thigh pressed lightly against yours. He didn’t move. Neither did you.

Your phone buzzed in your bag, a faint, tinny sound you ignored without hesitation.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

He glanced at you. “Do you want me to tell you?”

You considered. “Not really.”

He smiled. “Okay then.”

And that was that.

The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence, thick with anticipation and the occasional glance that lingered too long. You felt like you were floating above it all—like it wasn’t entirely real yet. Like someone might call “cut” at any moment, and you’d laugh and step out of character.

Except this wasn’t performance. And the look in his eyes wasn’t scripted.

By the time the car slowed to a stop, you still didn’t know where you were, only that it was somewhere tucked away—quiet, dimly lit, and far from the buzz of the premiere. A private entrance. No photographers. No fans. Just a door. And him, holding it open.

“You coming?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

You walked through.

The small lobby was nearly silent, a discreet hum of soft lighting and polished marble. A nod from the driver to the concierge, a keycard already in Austin’s hand. No waiting.

He guided you into the lift without a word, the space too small, too quiet, too charged. You could feel the weight of him beside you, the damp cling of his shirt, the slow way his eyes traced the line of your jaw when he thought you weren’t looking. Or maybe he wanted you to notice. Maybe that was the point.

Neither of you said a word.

The elevator chimed. He stepped out first.

You followed.

The walk down the hall was short. Carpeted. Quiet. You didn’t realise you were holding your breath until he swiped the key, opened the door, and stood aside.

“After you,” he murmured.

You stepped inside.

The door shut behind you with a heavy click, muffling the world outside. Inside, everything was quieter. Dim lighting. Soft shadows. Clean lines and dark wood and the faint hum of an air conditioner overhead. A hotel suite—minimal, expensive, impersonal. But he didn’t look out of place in it.

He raked a hand through his damp hair and looked down at himself, letting out a low laugh. “I’m still completely soaked.”

You stepped in closer, already reaching for him. “Good thing I’m here, then.”

He didn’t move as you slid your hands to his chest, fingers brushing over the lapels of his blazer. You pushed it back slowly, the fabric heavy and damp beneath your touch, and eased it off his shoulders, letting it fall onto the arm of a nearby chair.

Then your hands found his tie—dark, saturated, clinging slightly to his collar. You loosened it carefully, your fingers grazing the skin of his throat as you pulled it free. He watched you the whole time, eyes darkening with each movement.

You moved to his shirt next, fingers finding the buttons one by one. Each one you undid revealed a little more skin—warm beneath your touch, slick where the fabric had clung tight. Your knuckles brushed his chest as you worked lower, and his breath caught, just barely.

When the last button came undone, you slid the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. His body was lean, solid, damp from the rain—but none of it seemed to bother him. He didn’t say anything, just watched you—eyes dark, mouth parted, chest rising and falling as you skimmed your palms over the planes of his chest, tracing the dip between his collarbones, the slope of his ribs. When your fingers drifted down to the waistband of his trousers, he caught your wrists—not to stop you, but just to still them. To look at you.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low, rough at the edges.

You nodded, eyes steady. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

That grin curled again, and he leaned in to kiss you.

It started slow—tentative, exploratory. Then his hands came up, one to your cheek, the other to your waist, and he deepened it, pulling you closer with slow, certain intent.

He walked you backwards without breaking the kiss, his mouth warm and sure, and you didn’t realise where he was leading you until the backs of your thighs bumped a low console table. You let him guide you onto it, the wood cool beneath your legs as your dress slid up slightly.

His hands found your waist, gripping just tight enough to make you squirm, and when your fingers tangled in his wet hair, he groaned into your mouth, kissing you harder. One hand cradled your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, the other slipped between your legs, dragging your dress up higher.

Then—heat.

His fingers brushed the inside of your thigh, stroking up slowly until they pressed over your underwear. You let out a sharp breath, hips canting forward. His mouth found your neck, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver, and then he was palming you through the thin fabric, fingers firm and teasing.

Your head tipped back against the wall with a soft thud, a quiet, breathy sound leaving your lips.

“Look at me,” he said, voice rough, his mouth hot against your jaw.

You forced your eyes open.

He was already watching you.

And then he slid his fingers under the fabric, just enough to part you, to feel the heat and slick waiting for him. He started slow, stroking between your folds, dragging his fingertips over your clit in soft, maddening circles.

Your thighs trembled, hands fisting in the back of his hair, your breath coming harder now—whimpers you didn’t mean to let out falling freely as he worked you open.

You were close—already. His voice, his mouth, his fingers—

But just when your body began to tighten, when your hips rolled into his touch with desperation, he pulled away.

You gasped. “Austin—”

“Shh,” he murmured, dropping to his knees.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow and reverent, as he tugged your underwear down and off. Then he hooked your legs over his shoulders and leaned in.

The first stroke of his tongue was soft—barely there—but it still made you cry out, your back arching, fingers flying to his hair again. He groaned at the contact, hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you steady as he licked you open, slow and thorough.

He was patient. Methodical. Every flick, every press of his tongue felt intentional—like he was learning you in real time, testing what made you gasp, what made you shudder.

When he focused on your clit, lips wrapping around it with just the right pressure, your head fell back again, legs tightening around him. He moaned against you like he could feel it too, the vibrations shooting straight through you.

Your body was shaking now, breath broken and shallow, and still he didn’t stop—just kept going, kept devouring you like he couldn’t get enough, like this was all he wanted.

Like tasting you was his whole goddamn purpose.

And when your orgasm finally hit—sharp, sudden, flooding every nerve—you didn’t even realise you were crying out his name until your voice cracked around it.

Austin groaned like it was the sound he’d been waiting for all night. He didn’t move at first—just held you there, tongue slow and lazy now, coaxing every last ripple of pleasure from your body until you were trembling beneath him.

Then, finally, he eased back. Kissed the inside of your thigh. Let your legs fall gently from his shoulders.

You blinked down at him, flushed and unsteady, as he straightened up. His lips were slick, jaw tense, eyes dark with something deeper than want. His hands settled on your knees, spreading them wider as he stepped between them.

“Come here,” you whispered, your voice rough, breath catching on the words.

He didn’t make you say it twice.

His mouth was on yours before you could catch your breath, and you tasted yourself on his tongue. He kissed you like he meant it—slow and deep, hungry but still savouring you. You tugged at his belt as he kissed you, fingers fumbling for the buckle. He let you work it open, then helped you push his trousers and boxers down in one rough motion.

And then he was fully bare before you.

You inhaled sharply, eyes dragging down, taking in the sight of him—cock hard and flushed, curved up against his stomach, impossibly perfect.

You met his gaze again.

“Condom?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, leaning just long enough to grab his wallet from the dresser and produce one. You took it from him, tore it open with steady hands, and rolled it on—slow, careful. His hips tilted into your touch, a soft sound escaping his throat.

Austin stepped back in, kissing you again as he reached down, guiding himself to your entrance. He paused, the tip pressing against you, and his eyes searched yours one last time.

“You sure?” he asked again, voice barely more than a breath.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulled him in. “I’ve never been more sure.”

Then he pushed in—slow, thick, stretching you open inch by inch until you were full to the hilt, your breath catching hard in your throat.

You clung to him, mouth falling open, a broken sound escaping your lips as he bottomed out.

Austin let out a curse against your shoulder. “Fuck… you feel—” He cut himself off, pulled back slightly, and rolled his hips into you again. “So fucking good.”

You couldn’t answer. Could barely think. All you could do was hold on as he started to move—slow at first, deep and deliberate, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him.

And god, you did.

Your head fell back against the wall again, your fingers locked in the damp strands at the base of his neck, hips meeting his with greedy little rolls as the rhythm built. Each thrust sent a jolt through you, your whole body thrumming with the aftershocks of your first orgasm and the climb toward another.

“Austin,” you gasped, nails dragging down his back.

He kissed you hard. “I’ve got you.”

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you off the console in one smooth motion. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, breath catching again as he carried you across the room—still inside you, every step a slow, careful press that made your head spin.

He paused beside the bed, holding you there with your bodies still pressed close, and looked down at you with something close to reverence.

“This dress,” he murmured, brushing a hand up your side, over the fabric still clinging to your body. “It needs to go.”

You nodded, heart thudding.

He set you down on your feet, your balance unsteady, hands still resting lightly on his chest. You didn’t look away as he reached for the hem of your dress, dragging it up over your hips, your ribs, then over your head, letting it fall to the floor. The air hit your skin—cool against the heat of you—and his gaze swept over your body with something close to awe.

You stood there, bare before him, the soft light painting every line of you.

Then he guided you back onto the bed, eyes never leaving yours, and followed you down. He climbed over you with slow, deliberate weight—mouth finding yours again as he sank back in with a low, desperate sound.

This time, the angle was deeper. He moved slowly, letting you feel it, letting you adjust.

One hand braced beside your head, the other cupping your breast, thumbing your nipple until you whimpered into his mouth. He groaned at the sound, hips pressing deeper, his tongue dragging against yours with an urgency that bordered on reckless.

“You like that?” he murmured against your lips.

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yes.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice thick, like it was costing him to keep his control. “Feels so fucking good.”

His thumb circled again, teasing and insistent, until your back arched and your breath turned ragged. He dropped his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed for half a second before he started to move faster—stronger now, like he couldn’t help it.

You met him thrust for thrust, your body tuned to his, every nerve alight and wanting. Everything he gave you—the slow drag of his hips, the warmth of his body pressed tight to yours, the way he said your name like it meant something—had you slipping closer to the edge.

Austin rocked into you harder, each thrust smooth and purposeful, hips meeting yours with that perfect mix of restraint and urgency. His mouth trailed down your jaw, over your neck, until he found the spot just beneath your ear that made you gasp. He stayed there, sucking gently, his breath ragged now against your pulse.

Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He was everywhere—his weight, his heat, the sound of his voice breaking in your ear. Your body moved with his like it had always known how.

One hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, circling with just enough pressure to send a bolt of heat straight through your core.

You cried out, back arching. “Austin—fuck—”

“I know,” he rasped. “I know, baby, you’re close.”

You were. So close it hurt.

His mouth was back on yours, swallowing your moans, his pace relentless now—more erratic, less polished. The edge was close for him too; you could feel it in the way his body tensed above you, the way his rhythm stuttered.

“Look at me,” he said again, voice sharp and pleading this time.

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his.

And came hard.

Your body clamped around him, trembling beneath him, a cry catching in your throat as waves of pleasure surged through you. You barely heard his curse before he followed—hips jerking once, twice, a groan tearing from his chest as he collapsed against you, burying his face in your neck.

The room pulsed with silence after that, broken only by the sound of your breath and the soft thud of your heart against his.

He didn’t move for a long moment—just stayed there, holding himself over you with shaky arms, his chest rising and falling against yours. Then he lifted his head, eyes meeting yours again, lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

You reached up and brushed your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He exhaled, a soft, almost disbelieving sound. “That was…”

You smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

Austin pressed a kiss to your jaw—soft, lingering—before easing out of you. He moved carefully, like he didn’t want to jar the moment, and rose to his feet. You watched the shift of his body in the low light as he turned away, discarded the condom, and returned a moment later, sliding back under the sheets beside you.

You lay there in silence for a beat, still catching your breath. Then, finally, you shifted to sit up slightly, pulling the sheet with you.

“I should go,” you said quietly. “We’ve both got early starts.”

“Don’t,” he said gently, cutting you off.

You looked over, surprised by the softness in his voice. You expected some cheeky line, maybe an invitation for round two. But it wasn’t that. He wasn’t asking for more sex—though the heat between you still simmered under the surface.

He just didn’t want it to end yet.

And if you were honest with yourself… neither did you.

Austin pulled the covers up around you both, then turned to face you, propped on one elbow. You mirrored him, shifting closer until your knees brushed under the sheets. Your hand drifted to the edge of the duvet, fingers fidgeting slightly—still a little unsteady from everything he’d just done to you.

“This isn’t really my thing,” you said after a moment, voice low. “Sneaking out of premieres with the guy I just interviewed.”

Austin smiled—warm, a little crooked. “Yeah. Me either.”

You raised a brow. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “This kind of thing… the timing never lines up. Or the person isn’t right.”

You hummed, eyes meeting his. “And tonight?”

He reached out, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “The timing still sucks. But the person’s definitely right.”

You smiled despite yourself.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The quiet between you was soft now, comfortable. His hand lingered where it had tucked your hair, fingers brushing lightly along your jaw before he let it fall.

Then, almost sheepishly, Austin glanced toward the other side of the room. “I haven’t eaten since before the carpet.”

You blinked, surprised. “Seriously?”

He nodded, lips tugging into something crooked. “Didn’t have time. Got soaked. Got distracted.” His eyes flicked back to yours. “Still distracted.”

You laughed, the sound quiet in your throat. “You want to order something?”

“If you’re hungry,” he said, but the tilt of his voice gave him away—hopeful, a little too quick. Like he didn’t want you to go. Not yet.

You tilted your head, teasing. “What do you usually get after premieres and impromptu hotel sex?”

Austin grinned. “I usually don’t do either.”

That made you laugh again, and this time it lingered. “Okay, fine. What would you order if you did?”

“Fries,” he said instantly, like he’d been waiting for the question. “And something chocolate.”

“Solid choices.”

“I knew you’d approve.”

You sat up, the sheet slipping slightly down your chest, and reached for the room service menu. The air was cool against your skin, but the heat between you hadn’t gone anywhere. Your legs brushed his beneath the covers as you scanned the options.

Austin shifted beside you, propping himself up, his gaze heavy on your face.

You glanced sideways without looking up from the page. “Are you even reading this?”

“Nope.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

Eventually, the two of you settled on a late-night order that made absolutely no sense—fries, a sandwich neither of you could pronounce, and some kind of molten chocolate cake that Austin insisted was necessary. He called it in, his voice smooth and relaxed on the phone, like this was something the two of you did all the time.

While he ordered, you slid off the bed and padded into the bathroom. You didn’t bother getting dressed—just slipped one of the soft white robes from behind the door around your shoulders, tying it loosely at the waist. You ran a hand through your hair, still a little wild, still damp in places, then caught your own eye in the mirror and shook your head with a quiet, breathless laugh.

When you came back out, Austin was already under the covers again, stretched across the bed like he owned it, one arm behind his head, the other resting lightly over his stomach. His eyes flicked to you the moment you stepped into view.

“That’s a good look,” he said, nodding toward the robe.

You smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

He chuckled and held up the covers, an invitation. You climbed in beside him, and he tucked them back around you like it was instinct.

And for a while, you just talked.

Not about the film, or the junket, or your job. Not even about the fact that you were in a strange hotel bed with someone you’d only just met.

You talked about everything else.

Music. Books. Childhood stories. The way certain songs made you cry on long flights. The dumbest thing he ever did as a teenager. The cities you’d loved. The places you still wanted to go.

Somewhere between the laughter and the promise of shared fries, he told you about the best view he’d ever seen—from the back of a motorbike in Joshua Tree, the desert washed gold at sunset. You told him about a night drive down the coast with the windows down and no shoes on, the smell of salt and petrol and freedom in your lungs.

At some point, his hand found your knee under the blanket—like it had just landed there. But he didn’t move it after.

The food came. You shuffled upright, propping yourselves against the headboard, the tray between you. You shared everything—swapping bites, comparing favourites, arguing over who got the last fry until he fed it to you with a grin. The chocolate cake was rich, dense, and wildly indulgent. You took turns stealing bites off the same spoon.

You didn’t even notice when the heat crept back in—until it was already there.

The way his hand drifted from your knee to your hip.

The way your leg slid over his, the robe falling open slightly without either of you fixing it. The way your fingers grazed his chest, just resting there… then stroking, slower, softer, testing the beat of his heart beneath your palm.

You looked up at the same time.

The question didn’t need asking.

The kiss came next.

Slower, deeper this time. Less urgency. More weight. The kind of kiss that said I liked the first time… but I’m not done learning you yet.

Austin shifted beneath you, one hand sliding to your hip, the other curling around the back of your thigh as he guided you forward. You let him, knees bracketing his hips as you straddled him, the robe slipping from your shoulders and pooling around your waist before you shrugged it off entirely.

He looked up at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

You reached for the packet together, your fingers steady now as you tore it open, rolled it on. His hands never left your body.

And this time—god, this time—it was slower. Deeper. Your body moved with his like you already knew how. He sat back against the pillows, letting you take him in at your own pace, his hands roaming your thighs, your back, everywhere he could reach.

It wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate. Drawn-out. Felt. Every rock of your hips, every sound in your throat, the way he watched you like he never wanted the moment to end.

He kissed you through it. Held you steady. Whispered your name like it meant something.

And when you came again—softer this time, clinging to his shoulders, your mouth pressed against his neck—he followed not long after, breath stuttering, his hands gripping you like he didn’t want to let go.

You stayed there like that for a while. His arms loose around your waist, your cheek resting against his shoulder, your breath still shallow. The room had settled into quiet again, the kind that made everything feel suspended—like time had pulled back to give you a moment before it all started moving again.

Eventually, you shifted just enough to press a kiss to his neck, then leaned back slightly to meet his eyes.

Austin cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You okay?”

You nodded, lips tugging into something small and real. “Yeah. You?”

His smile was soft. “Definitely.”

You climbed off his lap with a quiet, reluctant sigh. He disposed of the condom while you pulled the sheet loosely around yourself and flopped back onto the bed with your hair a mess and your skin still warm. He joined you a moment later, lying on his side, facing you again.

Neither of you said anything for a while. The weight of what had just passed had mellowed into something slower, more grounded. You could still feel it in your limbs, in the places he’d touched you, but the urgency had passed.

Eventually, you spoke—your voice softer now, hesitant. “I should probably…”

He didn’t let you finish.

“Don’t,” he said gently.

You glanced over. “Austin…”

“I know,” he said, already reading it in your tone. “I know you’re not staying overnight. Just—don’t go yet.”

You hesitated, then nodded once. “Okay.”

You pulled the sheet tighter around you and lay back beside him. He reached for your hand this time, tangling your fingers together over the blanket. It felt oddly intimate. Strangely natural.

For a few more minutes, you just breathed in the quiet together.

“I’m glad you came,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

You turned your head toward him, brow raised. “To your hotel, or in general?”

He grinned, unabashed. “Both.”

That made you laugh, and the tension eased again.

Time passed without either of you marking it. The food trays still sat abandoned at the foot of the bed, the chocolate cake forgotten halfway through. Somewhere in the suite, a clock ticked. Somewhere outside, the rain had stopped entirely.

You shifted slowly, the sheets rustling as you sat up. Austin didn’t say anything—just watched you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting across the space you were just in. His gaze was soft, unreadable in the low light.

It was late now. Not quite morning, but close enough to feel it coming. You had work in a few hours. He had a full day of press.

You gathered your things slowly, slipping back into your dress, your skin still humming from everything that had happened between these walls. He stayed in bed, propped up, the sheet pooling at his hips.

He didn’t try to stop you this time.

You walked to the door and hesitated, hand on the handle, then turned to look back.

“You’ll be gone after the junket?” you asked.

He nodded once. “Yeah. Early flight the next day.”

You gave a small nod, lips curving faintly. “Well… have a good rest of the trip.”

He held your gaze for a beat. “You too. Take care, alright?”

You didn’t answer. Just stepped back to the bed, leaned in, and kissed him—slow, soft, like a thank you that you didn’t know how else to give.

He kissed you back with the same quiet weight, his hand rising briefly to your hip, grounding you for one last moment.

When you finally pulled away, you smiled. “Bye, Austin.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

Then you turned.

And left.

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#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #fan fiction #fanfic #imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #austin butler fanfic #austin butler x #austinbutler #fiction

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loveln4 · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request like a max verstappen fic with jealous max with a happy ending ? Just really whatever you feel like , thank you so much and I recently found your account and absolutely loved your works, stay safe 🤍

Thank you!!

Stay safe as well 🩷

as requested:

JEALOUS MUCH?

MAX VERSTAPPEN x CHILDHOOD FRIEND!READER

synopsis: Max is surprised by his childhood friend in Abu Dhabi. The last time they were together wasn’t ideal, has times changed?

WARNINGS: sexual tension, body kissing, teasing, licking…, head(female receiving), orgasm, fingering, vulgar language, jealousy durhhhh, piv sex, safe sex, fluff ayeee

Max had crossed the finish line, concluding the 2023 season. Cheers erupted from the grandstands and the garage, but this was all inevitable.

Everyone had known that he was going to win the race, hell everyone knew he was going to be the world champion.

He jumped off his car, cheering as if this wasn’t his nineteenth win this year. Heading toward his team he noticed someone out of place.

Taking off his helmet as he approached, looking down at her, “What are you doing here?” He was breathless. Why? It could be the race…or even because of the tragically beautiful sight in front of him.

His team patting him on the back, saying their congratulations but his eyes were locked onto her. The last time they had seen each other in person, things didn’t go down the way they would’ve liked.

“I’m here to see you.” She yelled over the cheers, “Congrats, Max.” She looked devilish in the night light, forbidden thoughts rushing to his head.

“I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?” He looks back, seeing it’s time for him to get interviewed, “Meet me in my drivers room.” Before he could walk off someone had grabbed his arm.

Christian Horner was stood beside her, his hand stopping Max from walking away, “You treat this girl with a nice dinner, no clubbing until later.” He whispered into Max’s ear cautiously, “Too much cameras, you need to keep whatever this is professional until we talk to PR.”

“Yeah, yeah.” This caution made Max roll his eyes. Y/n and him were just friends, but the night they shared 6 months ago begged to differ.

“Max…” She moaned as he kissed her body gently, “Please.” Y/n whined as he started to strip her dress off her body.

He silenced her with a kiss, tasting the faint alcohol that she drank at dinner, “Be patient.” Max whispered against her lips.

Max went down toward her abdomen, leaving kisses and teasing her, licking up from her stomach to her chest.

Y/n’s legs clamped shut hoping for friction. Max laughed against her skin, entertained by the pain he’s causing her.

The door clicked shut behind him as he entered his drivers room. It was small, only housing a small couch, a fridge, a table and a tv mounted on the wall.

“Hey.” He greeted his friend who helped herself to a redbull from the mini fridge.

“Hi.” She took a sip, offering the can to Max, he takes it. “So, world champion…what’s the plan for tonight?”

This made him close his eyes, imagining her bare body on his bed just a few months ago. “Uh, dinner?” He asks her.

Nodding with a smile, “I was thinking a club? But if you want to have dinner first— I mean you’re probably starving, right?” Y/n stands and grabs her bag, “I’ll wait for you outside by the exit, take your time, you know? Talk to your engineer or whatever.”

She closed the door behind her, her mind reeling. His scent addictive and musky, reminding her of the night everything changed.

Her gasps were short and shallow, making Max hard through his trousers. He kissed and nipped at her core, causing her to shudder with every flick of his tongue.

She had tasted so good on his tongue that when she eventually had come undone, with a whine, he didn’t slow. Max held her down as she tried to escape from his mouth, “Max!” She cried in pleasure, this pleasure slowly turned into overstimulation as he stuck two fingers in her causing her to groan and gasp trying to push his head away, though he was to strong for her to do anything about the great amount of pleasure he was giving her.

After the second orgasm he stopped pumping his fingers into her and removed his mouth from her clit, though the flicking of his tongue was replaced with slow, painful circles endured by his thumb.

“You taste so good.” He whispered as he laid his head upon her stomach that was moving rather quickly as she tried to steady her breathing.

When Max was finally ready to celebrate his win and leave the track he found Y/n talking to another driver by the exit.

Y/n had laughed and grabbed Charles’ forearm . This filled Max with jealousy.

“Charles.” He coldly said, “Going out tonight?” He questioned him.

“Uh—planning to.” He replied, his smile faltering.

Y/n was no fool and could tell how the air shifted between them three, “Max should we go?” She asks, placing her hand on his bicep, “It was nice seeing you again, Charles.”

Charles bid them farewell as they now find themselves walking to Max’s car. Upon entering, Y/n could tell he wasn’t happy and the way Max slammed his car door just confirmed her suspicion.

“Don’t start slamming shit.” She warned as she buckled her seatbelt.

“The fuck, you telling me to do with my car?” He bit back as he did the same, buckling his seatbelt and turning the car on, the engine revving loudly.

Y/n had unbuckled her seatbelt and started collecting her bag from the bottom of the passenger seat, “Fuck you.” She said as she opened the car door but max didn’t allow her to exit as he reached over her and slammed the door shut keeping her inside.

“Look, i don’t want you talking to him when I’m not around.” He said as he started to slowly reverse out of his parking spot, “Put your seatbelt on.”

She listened to him and put the belt around herself, “Okay, dickhead. Charles and I were just catching up from the last time we saw each other.”

“You guys used to date.”

“Yeah, back when we were sixteen.” She huffed and crossed her arms, “Aww, little Maxie is jealous.” She stifled her laugh as she turned her head away from his face.

This remark caused Max to gain speed as he drove on the highway, “Don’t put me in a bad mood.” He warns.

“What’re you gonna do? Fuck my brains out again?”

This left them in silence for the rest of the car ride until Max parked the car and turned off the engine. “I thought we were gonna leave that in the past.” He turned to her.

“Kind of hard to so when you look at me like that.” She whispered to him.

Max looked up at y/n as she sat on his lap. Pure love and lust blinding each other.

His hard had filled her completely, earning soft moans and grunts from Max every time she moved her hips just a little bit.

“Y/n.” He whimpered her name as she started to move her hips up and down. His hands finding her soft skin, rough hands fitting perfectly. Max’s breath shuddered when she went a little faster, bringing herself down on him harder each time. He rested his head on her breasts, groaning as his cum emptied out of his tip, the condom collecting it.

They had laid on the bed together, tangled limbs keeping each other warm.

What they didn’t know is that the next day their whole relationship would change.

Max and Y/n had walked into the dimly lit restaurant together, earning looks from others eating dinner. Little kids waving at Max as they past by tables before getting seated in a small corner, tucked away from everyone else.

“Remember when we first came here?” Max questioned the girl who had been silent since exiting the car.

“No.” She lied as she flicked through the menu, “Why?” Y/n asked as she looked up at him through her lashes.

He nodded, clenching his jaw. “We came here for your birthday.”

“Huh,” She says, boredom creeping in her tone, “I don’t remember that.”

A waiter comes and pours them wine, he takes their orders and leaves with a flirtatious smile toward y/n.

“Fucking hell.” Max whispers harshly as Y/n eyes the waiter up and down, “You could do better.”

“Probably, but if better means you— i think i’ll stick with the waiter.” Y/n takes a sip of her wine, “Wait, i do remember this place.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, this was the place where Charles and I fucked for the first time when we got back to the hotel.” Y/n smirked as she took another sip, “Great wine, no?”

“Let’s go.” Max demanded as he stood up from his seat and took out a couple of notes placing them on the table, “Get up, Y/n”

“You heard what Christian said.”

“Stop being fucking difficult, Y/n.” He walked off leaving y/n with no other choice but to follow him.

Once they got outside and far from the restaurant she finally yelled at him for his attitude, “You started this shit!” She turned him around as they got to the car, “I’m here to see you! To spend time with you, Max!” She sniffs as she wraps her arms around herself, “I wasn’t here to fight with you! I’m here to tell you that i love you.” She whispers as she finally hears what she’s saying.

This was bottled up in y/n for years. She had always pushed it down as Max got a new girlfriend or flirted with every other girl that had come his way, constantly pushing y/n away.

“Fuck it.” He carelessly said as he turned her around and pushed her against the car, claiming her lips with his. He was hungry for her, his hands gripping her body like he genuinely needed her to survive.

The kiss broke as they stared at each others eyes, a small smile working its way up to y/n’s mouth, “What?” Max laughs as he kisses her smiling lips, “Find this funny, huh?” He questions as he kisses her neck, “Get in the car.” Max whispers in her, eager to love her for the rest of the night.

God, hopefully for the rest of their lives.

A/N: rawr spicy…hope you liked it.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

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chlmtsdoll · 3 months ago

Text

BORN TO BE SEEN

Timothée Chalamet x female reader

☆ summary: dating an A-list movie star isn’t cut out for everyone, your exhaustingly in love and devoted to Timothée — but with his full schedule of press, interviews, and events it’s a non stop challenge to get your man alone.

☆ word count: 7.7k

☆ warnings: 18 +, smut, teasing, edging, mostly exhibitionism, oral (m) reviving, lots of pda, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk, heavy fluff, angst, obsession/worship

☆ A/N: I cannot believe this is my first ever Timmy fic after stanning him for years. I really let my fangirl flag fly so I hope this is well loved.

Part two 💋

There wasn’t anything but the landscape of a few stars scattered around the dark blues and grey of the night sky when your jet had finally landed. You hadn’t slept the whole flight. Not due to the anticipation of when you could finally lay eyes on your star boy after weeks of only getting as much as a couple late night calls and red carpet photos all over the internet from every journalist, high society article, or press outlet that could exist. You were proud. Maybe the proudest girlfriend out there, but there were times you could see how he fought the balance of it all not getting to his head.

The lights in the space that was exactly comforting to you were rising and you click your phone to check the time. Half after 3am.

You were tired, hell, only just pushing. But you couldn’t have been more awake with the adrenaline of getting your man for a whole three weeks that was starting to rush in.

“Okay, hotel is secured. They have your chauffeur waiting to take you straight there so you can rest, I’ll get your bags- -” your shared assistant that your boyfriend always kept around to take care of you when flying you out, was ready to go as she gently assured your stay. You already pictured it would be the most glamorous in-crowd hotel you could fathom. (Picked by him) you assumed there would be bodyguards with champagne even waiting for you outside this jet knowing your boyfriend.

But, you shook your head gently, with a smile. Already grabbing your designer purse to exit and get to fresh air finally. “No, no. I want to see him first.” You told your assistant and she only looked a tad stressed as she had already gotten out her phone to text a schedule change to the chauffeur.

“No problem, it’s already taken care of. I know he’s dying to see you.” Her voice had a flow of newfound tenderness to it — that made your blush heighten just a second before you and your bags were being escorted from the jet. Sure, there wasn’t a squander of sun out and lucky no paps to be found. But the moment your heel touched the gravel you pushed on your sunglasses (mainly to hide your tired eyes from your driver who was greeting you and taking your things in order.)

Scatter brained, you watched the lights of the new city you’d get used to for the next couple of weeks. Thinking and sorting out the plans you and your boyfriend would make in the wist of his tumultuous schedule. You knew he was a busy man. Maybe the busiest in the industry as we speak, all the promotion, press conferences and red carpets… with awards season creeping around the corner there was but so much time and attention he could give to you, his girl, in between.

The exhaustion, the flights back and forth. You did it all for him. And he made sure you’d be there to experience the bliss of having such a life so young. As much as possible.

His sweet reminders of just how much your hard working man adored you even through the chaos of it all. The world at his finger tips — you were always on his mind.

Even if the moments in between could be the sweetest you’d maybe ever experience, your love and his fame, it was a rollercoaster time to time. And the media wasn’t a first grade class, the pressure of it could be a thing of its own.

Everyone knew that you were the movie stars supporting and to put it as they say ‘almost annoyingly visually perfect’ girlfriend. They all were obsessed with the bond you shared. The it-couple factor you have. Your all too well, put together clothing that possessed the it-girl factor they all feed off of right beside your boyfriend. And you’d seen how his fans could nearly feel how obsessed with each other you are, through every snap of a camera shot that was published of the two of you.

And of course, that came with struggles, the public isn’t known for always being nice. But that’s what pushed the two of you even closer. He was there to protect you from it all, never making you feel like a burden in his limelight.

The idea of seeing him in just a few had your teeth bearing into your bottom lip, with a crooked smile and a soft squeeze to the hem of your skirt, you’d been pulling up to the dimly lit back entrance of the venue. You remembered him saying he’d be working late for a last minute photoshoot for his upcoming snl performance. He’s been over the moon about it and you hadn’t complained once every time you’d been a giggling mess when he’d run with his excitement of being back over the phone with you, no matter how late or early.

You missed him.

Before the driver could come to a halt, you’d already been grabbing your purse to jump out of the car.

“This way,” your assistant, right behind, had voiced to you — but as you go close to the door, the driver was peaking at your absence of the back seat.

“I can wait out here, ms. I know you had a long flight, there’s no problem.”

“Oh.. no, it’s fine, take a lap. I won’t be quick.” You flashed him a small thankful smile as your assistant braced your back gently to lead you inside the venue.

There wasn’t much to it. A long hallway, an elevator, and another long hallway. You knew he’d definitely not be expecting you to have came straight to see him, probably not wanting to bother you with texts thinking you’d be fast asleep under the warmth of luxury hotel sheets at this hour.

You hadn’t told him you landed anyways after all.

So you hoped the click of your heels against the floors as your assistant guided you to the back green rooms wouldn’t ruin the surprise.

Soon just hearing him made the tightness in your stomach come escalating when you sought out the sound of his voice. A few doors down. You could tell he’d been conversing in a way that he’d sure been smiling ear to ear. And your favorite tune there is, his follow up laughter that echoed as you got closer. Your favorite sound. Your obsession. Your home after another lonely flight.

There wasn’t another man out there like Timothee.

Stopping to watch him from the doorway first, your arms folded as your heart melted. You watch him take up the space in the room like second nature.

He’d been goofing around with his photographer Aidan. His hair an untamed state that looked dreamy as is, standing lean and stature in some ridiculously colorful outfit that he made look effortlessly cool. He moved his hands expressive as ever as he laughs in a humble tune. And his smile, oh, his smile in your opinion, could save lives if the right people were in charge.

Your assistant walked ahead, but Timothée hadn’t noticed you just yet — he’d been pretending to create some kind of silly music video with his photographer trailing around him, as undeniably impressed in a way you had no doubt was a reaction your boyfriend had no issue bringing out of anyone who’s around him. His fingers blaze through his hair quickly, trying his best not to laugh too much at his own radiance.

He was perfect like this. In his element. So beautiful in a star-like way that for a moment your smile was so large to the point your face began to hurt. You forgot you’re not just watching him on a tiny screen anymore — but right now. In real time. Your angel boy being right in front of you.

And then there’s something that shifts, after a mere few minutes of conversation, something in his expression notes he’s already aware of your presence, like he feels you there. When he does finally turns around, with that soft boyish grin creeping up on his lips, eyes full of something playful, and that damn charm — you barely have time to sink in how good he looks before,

“You came all this way just to stare ?”

You giggle out a soft squeal and there was not much to say before you were springing to be swept up in his arms. Heels once against the floor now being lifted as Timmy held you to him like it’s been more than a couple weeks, like centuries. Your lips mesh on instant, unhesitatingly taking it in with a little “mmm” of satisfaction. You wrapped your arms over his shoulders and his grip around you was firm with warmth. He smirked into the kiss, you could feel it even with your eyes closed, the tickle of his mustache — new yet familiar, you let out giggles in between the perfectly timed and soft yet daring kisses he left that said ‘fuck I missed you.’

Days of distance melting away and the two of you were completely unbothered by anyone around watching, already swooning and playfully shaking their heads knowing the magnitude you shared as a couple. Even as your boyfriend set you back to your feet, you’d still been trying to grasps a leg around him, feel the roots of his hair through your fingers. And he couldn’t let up on you either as he kissed on your face till you were a mess of laughter.

It felt like highschool. Timmy’s team, his photographer, your assistants — they didn’t exist in your reality. It’s just you and him.

“I missed you.. what are you doing here, baby ? I thought you'd be at the suite by now,” Timothee voiced softly as he pushed a few of your locks out of your face to see you. Eyes sparking up at him like it was the first time. Your smile beaming, and you held his wrists.

“I couldn’t wait to see you.. I had to see you ! It’s been three weeks, Timmy.”

“I know,” He laughs and leaned in to peck your cheek, your hands ghost over his rhinestone necklace with admiration and your eyes inch down his body of intermixed clothing of colors and brands, you grin.

“This is.. a look.”

“You like ?” His grin was back and you bit your lip just enough to bring the pride to his expression. Your eyes flicker over his studded belt.

“You know I love everything on you,” Your voice was humming of flirtatious notes towards your man, you drape your arms over his shoulders again and Timothee managed to keep his cordial manner but slightly licked over his bottom lip and scanned just over your head to check for the attention of the room, and to your luck, his team members had gone about what they’d been doing before your arrival. So, Timothee’s hands gracefully on your waist, flow a bit lower as he kept you close and under the gaze of his hooded green eyes. You were stuck there.

His fingers graze over the tight fitted mini skirt you had been flaunting. A light grey cashmere. You could tell he was holding back from the three weeks weight of not being close enough to feel the heat of your skin — trying to fight it’s way through him. Your hands now gently drifting his arms and the look in your eyes stricken by the man you got to call yours, Timmy just pulled you a little closer so you’d been hovering his chest. And he’d been able to lower his voice to whisper in your ear,

"This skirt… how could I focus on work tonight, baby ?" He was trying to keep a normal embrace of you, but he’d had that sly look of course. His fingers brushing against your thigh again and he was massaging the right of your hip with tenderness — just enough to make you shiver and heave a small little gasp. Pulling back to look up at him with doting eyes and a small sideways smile of mischief on your lips.

“I just wanted to give you a little surprise,” Your tone sweet, but laced with a hidden, lustrous, message behind it you knew your boyfriend could only take in doses. He scoffed with a chuckle and looked over to a corner of the room, noticing the time had been slipping as you’d already stolen his attention from his shoot. Quite the distracting treat.

“Uh huh.. we’ll talk about it later..” he started and he leaned back in to leave another slow, tasteful and greedy kiss on your lips. It had you closing your eyes and lingering for more. “Go get some rest, chéri, I love you.” Timmy slowly inched away with a soft chuckle as your intertwined hands stay locked although drifted between the two of you for a moment. The firm grasp of just not wanting to let your boyfriend out of your reach consuming you while the playful pout-like smile you gave him was what had him probably now staying till around five am.

When your fingers do slip, and your dragging your feet to walk away, instead biting your lip like a love stuck school girl — you watch him part. With the same restraint and grin upon his lips as he mouths a little “go” to your gone essence. And you were holding down your miss, your need, your want for him and to stay in his world the entire ride to your suite. The ravishing room with a view of the city, towering buildings, an outlook from an enormous glass wall. It all made you feel a little less distant knowing you’d finally been in the same city as your man. That’s what you needed. Close enough to your Timothee. At least for you.

With a soft smile, your bags became your last priority when you dropped them to reach what was left on the king sized bed for you. Pink peonies and red roses. Your absolute favorite, left next to a box of laudrée macarons. Elegantly wrapped in ribbon.

Your heart was going mad. And your face flustered as you plopped on the bed to find the pint note left on top of the candy, “Un cadeau pour la femme que j’aime. Tu me manquais trop, bébé.” You read instantly with the sound of Timmy’s voice in mind, you were rubbing your bitten lip to hide your obvious blush from the empty room of course. A girlish titter leaving you as you lay back and stare over the sweet words your boyfriend had written.

It was things like this. Dating an international superstar could be a deal breaker for most, but you weren’t like most. And neither your boyfriend — he made you feel loved.

No matter how far.

So even being as hard to pin down as he was, between filming and touring, meetings and flights. When it came to you. He did whatever he could to make time.

Eventually, you had fallen asleep with a quarter of the box of chocolates gone delightfully, and sunken between the silk sheets as the low sunlight of the day crept in. You slept so heavily you didn’t even wake when Timothee snuck in somewhere between five thirty and six am. Probably only letting himself sleep for a few hours before he was up, dressed and ready — but not to start promotion or press.

“Mon amour..” you heard a tender note into your ear as you’d been half in a dream and also waking up, feeling a gentle kiss being left on your neck, and hands through your hair. “Baby.. -wake up.” You sigh a tired-some little hum before shifting from your side to your back. A sleepy grin takes upon your lips when you feel another kiss embrace your jaw. Soon opening your eyes to not just Timmy, but the keys to his BMW dangling from his fingers.

“Brian won’t be on my neck for a few hours.. wanna take her out to go shopping ?”

Something along the lines of a squeal and a yawn was your answer as you jump up from your comfort almost immediately. Not taking your time at all before you’d been out the door, Timothee hardly got any real free time away from his work and it wasn’t even a question that you’d take it for granted. A quick fur coat, your heels, and a mini skirt would do. It was a shock to you both how fast you were out that door, hand in hand of course, for the first time ever.

While your plans were to shop. Something the two of you shared an overwhelming desire and bond for, it couldn’t have been less about clothes and more about when you could get them off. Timothee eyeing through some Chanel sunglasses, and you on him, caressing your finger tips over the loops of his belt like the clock was ticking before he’d get a text or call from his manager.

It was excruciating but he showed less resistant than you expected. Leaning over tiers of shoes to kiss you, rest his hand on the small of your back, even grip your side time to time. Pulling you in close so he could whisper a “I see paps starting to line up outside.. let’s give them a show, yeah ?”

And that was like ecstasy for you. One thing you both were good at, was not minding a little attention from the cameras. So when you and your boyfriend had been with your purses, shoes, pretty patted wallets and all, you two went into pda overdrive.

It was between you and the check out counter who’d get to Timmy first. And had simply won.

Your man was reaching into his back pocket to pay. But you didn’t make it that easy as you’d been standing on your tip toes, leaving kisses, soft pecks and smooches all over his face. His lips and his collar. “Baby..” Timothee chuckled as you’d cupped his jaw. He’d lifted his chin playfully higher so you’d struggle to reach and he could attend to getting his credit card out. But that was the last thing on your mind when you couldn’t even get yourself off his sent now. So you only followed, reaching for his lips anyway,

“What ?” Your giggle is soft with your reply, hands lowering to his neck with a small sound of pleasure leaving you when your boyfriend couldn’t help but lean into your kiss unapologetically. Even as he had passed off his card to the the cashier behind you, whom was truly trying to look away from your affection on display.

But completely distracted and without a care of who’d been in there, even possibly a fan being at a lost for words of the actors drift right now — Timmy was too lost in you.

“You’re something else, you know that ?” the corner of his lips curled to a grin when his hands rested on your waist, you pulled back to look at him. Eyes staying on his sweet lips that were yours to tease only with a devious smile.

“You can’t tell me to put on a show and expect it not to be good…” you hum and your boyfriend was in a painful field not to let his fixation on you over take him. Making himself as collected as possible, take you by the hand, and your bags of course— out of there quickly. You titter as you trail behind him in that moment which was caught in hundreds of snaps from the paparazzi outside. It would be published everywhere in approximately twenty minutes.

"Did you have fun spending all my money, baby?"

Your smile achingly sweet. "Well.. you love spoiling me."

To which he chuckles and mutters, “how couldn’t I ?”

When you two got back to your hotel, standing in the elevator with the somberly slow pace it’s going, it’s light music being a bore when you’d rather hear your name being purred from Timmy’s lips, you needed to get him up to that suite immediately.

And to only make it tougher — Timothee was leaning against the elevator wall, eyes on you with that little grin. The one that made your body ache. The corner of your lips tugging on a smile and you’re trying not to look at him. You shift your weight on your heels. Gripping the ribbon handle of the bag holding the freshly bought designer accessories.

“Stop staring at me and pull up your pants.” You direct your need to be pushed against this elevator wall to teasing your man as your eyes flicker to his jeans that were sagging off of his ass.

He just smirked, and annoyingly tugged them down a little farther so you could see the hem of his Calvin Klines. “Ma chérie, you love it. C‘mon.” He beckoned and you breathed out some pent up air. Biting your lip.

“I do… I love that shit,” was mumbled from you, and your man heard with a cocky chuckle as he ran his tongue over his teeth and sure enough, he was backing you against the elevator wall.

A proud sense of glee was washing over as you’d claim to be a master at manifestation. How quickly Timmy’s hands find your hips, leaning down to put his mouth on to yours in a crash, like he’d been starving for this — because he has.

“You really did come all this way just to tease me.” your boyfriend’s voice sets lower, teasing, raw. You’re barely getting the chance to respond because he’s excellently taking away your ability too. You softly groan into the way his lips move on yours like a dream. One hand gripping your hip, the other tilting your chin up as he kisses you —deep, slow, like he’s savoring the taste. Your fingers tangle in his short curls, pulling just enough to make him groan.

"I missed you," you breathe between kisses that are growing sloppier, needier. More urgent as the floors escalate. And your risk driven man smiles against your mouth. "Yeah?" He feels out the metal handle bar against your back, hands trail lower, gripping your thighs, as if he’s about to lift you against the wall, you giggle into the urgent kisses.

Elevator sex ? Fuck yes.

Was your fantastical thought before you heard a ding.

The doors slide open and a stranger steps in. The core shatter of feeling Timothee pull back from you on instant washes over and completely fucks up your vibe.

His jaw clenched, and a wave of frustration hit as your face was burning as you adjusted your skirt.

Your terrified they could hear the way your heart was nearly pounding out of your chest. And Timothee gives them a polite nod, solidifying his charm always. He stuffed into his pockets like you weren’t caught in an unseeable act at all.

The seconds stretch painfully.

Could the door just fucking open ?

You tap your foot. He sucks in his breath.

And when you shift, still feeling the faint touch of Timothee’s hands on you, you peak up at your boyfriend, he’s smirking.

Finally another floor hits.

They step out and the second the doors close, your boyfriend has you against the wall. “I wasn’t done.” His tone deeper, haughty, as he now grabs your wrist. They’re above your head in no time and you gasp,

“Timmy-”

“Shh.”

He’s looking up at the numbers on the top of the confined space going once again painfully slow, the camera beside it — then he’s looking back down at you. Fuck it. He’s pressing his body against yours slow. Intertwining his fingers within yours at a toe curling pace. He’s trailing torturous, sweet kisses down your collarbone. Breathing on to your skin and suctioning his lips on a final place. You whimper something hard to tell. You let your eyes close and feel it. Feel his large hands, exploring and groping your body, your thighs, your ass. Moving you against that wall like a trophy. His lips move to over your chest where your cleavage is just perfectly on display. Licking over the top your breast, taking his time. Running you through.

Your watching. Watching carefully every ounce of longing over the last couple of weeks he’s putting into tasting you. Feeling his want and need as he just keeps getting lower. Pressing a kiss to your abdomen till he’s on his knees. Hiking your mini skirt up a little just for him to see. Carving your leg over his shoulder and kissing on your inner thighs with a soft hum,

“Timothee..” you pant as you view with hands going to his hair, running through his scalp and your skirt up just enough to see green orbs staring up at you as his lips grace your skin. With hunger, and a small grin on display. His lips kiss, peck and smooch on your thighs till he’s breathing out near the thin layer of fabric over your cunt. He pressed a careful kiss there,

He’s really going to tear into you in this fucking elevator.

But that came crashing down when the elevator dings again. And before you both can even think about getting your shit together, in walks Brian. Timothee’s manager. Someone who’s probably seen it all with him probably wasn’t prepared for was something like this.

He makes his presence known, “Seriously ?”

You were breathless as you gasps before covering your mouth. You hit Timothee in the shoulder who was gripping you and had no intention of stopping. Your face turned into the sun. You tried to fix your skirt that was slightly crooked, straightening up like you weren’t pinned against the wall about to get eaten out.

Brian was staring deadpan at Timothee who was reluctantly rising from his knees with more of a sense of frustration that he’d been interrupted from his girl over anything else. Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. Timothee had a daring look on his face, like he didn’t care. “What ? She just got here.” He chuckled, unbothered. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Right,” his manager sighs, running a hand down his face. "And in five hours, you have a live audience watching you host SNL.“

Your heart has calmed down for once and you noticed your man most likely now laughing at your shaken appearance now, yet he’s still got his hands looped around your waist.

Brian just shakes head. "I don’t care what you do. Just... at least make it to rehearsal on time." Then he finally steps out of the elevator when the floor hits.

The second the doors shut again —

"How many more time you think we’ll get caught ?" Timmy is tugging you back in already, and you’re pushing him away with a bashful snicker.

“You’re crazy.”

☆

Due to your own gentle encouragement, and firmness to keep your clothes on — Timothee did end up making it to rehearsals on time. With as much energy it took to restrain yourself from making anymore risqué moves with your boyfriend, keeping your hands to yourself until after the show was necessity for such a huge night.

In all his greatest, you had no doubt he would blow the world away once again with his presence, his performance, his aura. It’s a feeling — the one where he doesn’t have to try to be amazing at everything he does.

So when your in a crowd of cheers, watching your man from side stage, overseeing him kill his opponents this awards season, the hug you had when meeting him back stage, was as authentic as could be. You threw your entire body into him the moment your bodyguards brought you back.

“You killed it, baby! You were amazing!” Your feet were off the floor again as he held you in his arms, his laughter closest to your ear, and the cast and crew around all came in hot with the excitement of the environment. You think back when you were out there, cheering for him. And his eyes matched yours for a moment, sparkle and all through the lights. A beam of ‘all for you’ like a subliminal message that only you caught.

He was setting you down with a brief kiss and you’d been smiling up at him after hanging on to it for a moment more.

“Are you ready to catch dinner with everyone? Change into that pretty dress we got earlier?” Timmy kissed your cheek with a grin, knowing you’d been thinking about that dress all day. Almost as much as him really.

“Wouldn’t you like a treat..”

“C’mon, don’t tease me. Where’s my reward for tonight ?”

Your eyes trail his figure with a little smirk, “Later.” You used his own game on him, and Timmy was putting his front back on not to draw attention to the way he’d ran a hand over his neck in primal repression, just before accepting your claim. He draped an arm over your shoulder, you blush.

Timothee got his team to take care of you as quick as possible. Not caring much for himself to do another outfit change when the ones he’s been in for back to back red carpet events were taking over every news outlet as we speak. His Yankees bomber jacket was his choice for the night. But you. You’d been dripping in drapes, rhinestones, and dollars by the time you’d been out of your suite again.

One thing about Timothee was that he was going to have you looking the prettiest, decked out for whatever event it was, on his arm. The Louboutins he gifted you the other night, along with simplistic jewelry that was not only blitzing with bling but had a message —

A chain around your neck with his initial.

So when he caught you in the suv to take you both to dinner, it was his unhinged jaw that did it for you.

“Holy fuck,” he didn’t even try to stutter when you sat extra close to him in that car. He kissed your shoulder. Diving in your florally vanilla sent.

Your smile proud, “this is all you, y’know.” You gesture to your dress, your diamonds, your Prada lipstick — but actually meaning all the heart you would put into being their for your man a million times again for what it’s worth. He was giving you a full dreamy grin as he looked over how chalant you’d been alongside his casualness. Reaching over to shut the door behind you, but getting extra close. So close his heat was emerged with yours, and his lips lingered your gloss for just a second.

And thank god the ride was short.

When you two got to the after party, it had been all flashes from the cameras the moment you stepped foot out of the car. So much so it was hard to see, hard to take shape of anything around you, but Timmy was the perfect gentleman — your hand locked in his as he lead you to your destination so you wouldn’t go blind by the lights. All those cameras, on him all the time. He was a pro at navigating it. So soon, the room was buzzing with nearly everyone currently relevant in Hollywood. Timothee effortlessly moving through the crowd, not giving quotes to reporters on purpose yet flashing that all knowing look.

All that as you we’re seated with him at a dimly lit table in the corner. Just how you liked, even with the chaos of all the stars around. His mind is completely on you.

Instead of sitting across, he’d moved his chair to sit right beside you. Taking your hand in his again and pressing it to his lips. After only an hour, when he’s sipping on a beverage and taking glimpses of you in, the way your dress sits and your collar bones look eloquently perfect. Your body was all he knew. They way you’d been playing with the ‘T’ chain around your neck, shining there with honor. All while you’re taking about him.

It makes him want to get you somewhere private and fast because you were unbearable (he’s terribly flattered).

“Oh my god,” you titter as you lift your phone that’s blowing up from messages from all your friends. Banging on about how iconic Timmy was tonight. “Everyone’s saying that Oscar is yours. And they’re totally right.”

He let’s out a humble chuckle and reaches out for his straw to stir around his drink, mumbling a soft “no, no.” He shakes his head, neat yet disheveled curls falling with.

“What do you mean no ? Yes !” You laugh more cordially so no cameras catch a bad shot of you looking insane.

Timothee gives you a fond smile, he watches your reaction to all his accomplishments and aways notices you might be a tad bit more excited — adorable and endearing, than he could ever imagine for himself. And you noticed that underneath his cool, the nervy jitter of his fingers would start up, so you set your phone down, you take his hand in yours, holding it under your chin with a sweet little smile.

“It’s already yours baby, you’re a prize.”

“You’re a prize,” he replied, green eyes never moving away from your shine.

You can’t help but blush, you were both so locked on one another. So into each other. Timmy let his thumb brush against your cheek, leaning in close and you felt a camera flash somewhere ahead of you — but it didn’t matter. You’re zoned in on the man beyond you.

“Can we get out of here ?” You suggested quite, but voice filled with a dazed kind of essence because your eyes flicker over his fit again. Saying so much without saying anything. He gets the hint and tenses up again.

“Are you suggesting we get away, mon belle?”

“Mhm” you nod as his thumb covers your bottom lip, almost slipping through before he catches himself in the act of being too taken by you. Your looking at him, pure yet seductive, and the corner of his lips curl upwards as he takes your breath away again in a gentle kiss. Before you knew it, Timmy was standing to his feet and taking both of your hands with him. He alerted Brian, his bodyguard and said his goodbyes to his peers before resting a hand on the deep of your back to meet your driver somewhere outside of the venue.

Of course, a hurd of fans, paparazzi and journalists all caught the two of you leaving that after party early and the sounds of screams mixed with paps trying to get to where your car was could be heard from the airport. Cameras were snapping photos of you, your glow, in the hard earned dazzle your boyfriend had been responsible for. And you had a polished expression. Waving to your audience, you didn’t mind at all having this dress in the press.

“Over here!” “Beautiful!” “Is that necklace in honor of your boyfriend?”

You were biting your lip and being an absolute doll for the paparazzi, giving a prideful beam over your shoulder at flashes — that being before Timothee took you by the hip. And pulled you into hiding with him in the car, you only giggled playfully when you’d been grabbed by him suddenly. He pretended to be annoyed by the paps asking him if he’d just talk about you. Even once, but, he held a small grin on his lips by the time you two were secured in the backseat of your ride. Because in the morning, you’d look stunning as ever. Posing for the cameras, hand in hand with him and it would be all over every social media platform in existence.

Everyone would go insane. His fans. The world. Obsessing over how you’d headed out early. Obsessed with how obsessed you were with one another.

Still on the high of his SNL performance, and the stride of his fame, with fans that were in tears as soon as he showed his face, paparazzi and people begging just to touch him. The chase and drive of award season and all, the praise, the status; you couldn’t have made the climax of his stardom feel like anything other than pure paradise. Solidifying his high paced lifestyle is all worth it when It’s only been a couple minutes since the driver pulled off, and you two had shut the window peek on sight.

the hum of the car engine was tough along the faint sound of people still screaming Timothée’s name in the distance while your all over him. Your glazed nails running down his chest, slow like you want to drive him insane. Your eyes were now dark, practically devouring him immediately. Your lips parted and meshing with his like you’d been starving. Timothee pulled you into his lap without anymore hesitation and you’d let out a little hum when the trace of his hands over your hips came in. Gripping on you like you’d get taken away if he didn’t grasp on long enough. Your hands go to his hair — Kissing deep, slow yet at a rushed pace, recklessly in that back seat.

Timmy’s Cartier ring, cold and sliding up your thigh, inching all over the way you sat on his lap and making sure to pull you in, keep you boarderline close. “Mmm.. mhm- -” was the only thing coming from you. Topping up so your knees were on the leather seats, on either side of his hips. And you deepen your smooches a little more and a soft groan comes from Timmy’s end. Your body drives him crazy. The way you arch your back ever so slightly. The way the fabric of your dress hugs your curves, clinging in all the right places.

And you’re flaunting it, teasing, and pushing on him. So he grips your ass with a little shake and you squeal with excitement. “I wish you could have seen yourself up there tonight. You looked- - fucking incredible.” You murmur against his skin, punctuating it with an open mouthed kiss.

Timothee smirks, “Yeah ? You liked that, huh ?”

“Yeah.. you’re so famous baby, and you work so hard. Everyone loves you.” You huff out a little sound, pressing your lips to the sharp line of his jaw, dragging your mouth against the slight scruff of his mustache, down to the heat of his neck. Your hands grazed there along with your kisses. “Never shave this okay ? It’s so hot.”

Timmy gives you that damn cocky grin, closing his eyes as he tilts back, giving you space to ruin him. “Mm, you're really gassin' me up right now.” His voice smug and heavy, hands ghosting over your inner thighs, daring to squeeze your ass some more which makes the dampness between your thighs rush in. You felt the stretch of his Adam’s apple along with a soft sigh that comes from his lips when you lick over his skin. His fingers tighten around your waist and he starts rocking you down against him and your eyes go intense and lost in his. His breath catches when your fingers only trace lower, teasing over his waistband.

You sincerely couldn’t sit with the temptation for another minute. So you lean up, find your balance within the bumpy ride pushing you only closer into your man, and speed to get his belt undone.

Just what he needs after all of it. The weeks that went by, the tiresome press and events. Alone with the love of his life, feeling him this way and getting him like this. That mix of devotion and sensuality. The voice of his girl right now, telling him everything he needs to hear “you’re taking home that Oscar, baby” — that’s exactly what he craves. You make him feral.

So as your eyes grow with hunger, your hands working quick to get his fly open and to embrace his boxers, sitting pretty with a nice tent. You’re watching the way he breathes when your fingers trace over his cock, teasing, hiking your dress up and getting on your knees in front of him.

There was only one way to finish what he started earlier.

Timothee stretched as much as he could in the fine spaced car as your nails trail the tops of his thighs and he’s man spreading for you. So heavenly, his jaw flexes,his eyes darkening in the low glow of the passing city lights.

He’s viewing you with so much hunger, lips parted, chest rising and falling as you sit up to tug his jeans farther away from his hips. “You gonna be good f’me ?” Timmy’s voice softened but assertive as he was already holding your chin in his grasps. Hooded eyes only on the beauty that you were as you’d been starring up at him, with a lust filled little smile and nod. Too sweet, too much for him to handle as your hands were doing a job of their own — reaching to stroke him once. Slow. Painfully slow. And as he curses, you try not to giggle but your lips grave the tip of his cock. Not looking away from his expression for a second as you let your tongue dart out to taste, lick a stripe on him dutifully.

Your boyfriends brows knit upwards and his tongue darts out to wet his lip as he watched you repeat that a couple more times. Then your mouth is on him completely,

“Oh.. shit,” one of his hands is reaching out to the arm rest across the seating, and the other going to search through your hair.

A low whimper could be heard from you as you didn’t hesitate to have your mouth filled with his dick the moment you’d fit him in. Sucking nice, then more brazen. Hallowing your cheeks and making him groan for it. You could hear his grunts, feel his veins pulse as you pick up the speed. And your sitting in your own pool uncomfortably when you let your hand glide and flow up his abdomen another time to grip his studded chain. Playing and toying with it as he moaned through the wet noises you made on him. You’re moving your mouth up and down on him in sequence with moans drawn out sharply as Timmy grips the back of your neck to move you how he wants.

Your hand was pumping him at the same time as he was dropping his head against the seat with a deep groan and you wish you could see it. Like all the tension, and the noise around Oscar’s buzz being washed away from him. He’s letting you take him away. “Fuck, you make me feel so good, pretty girl.” Although you were flattered, you couldn’t be more focused on trying to get him off. His skin just feeling right against your tongue and you only stop for air just to smile and calmly run your thumb over his tip with a sly grin. It makes him have to restrain from kicking the drivers seat ahead.

“Easy..” you murmur with a soft giggle as you watch your man fight it from above, sucking in his bottom lip and gripping his jeans as your hand jerks him clean. He was hissing a string of curses before you go back to licking and kissing on his shaft, moaning like you just needed to be fucked by the movie star right here. Right now.

And in all perfect timing, he pulls you off of him even as his cock twitched hungrily.

“Oh my god,” he huffs, chest rising and falling, “slide your panties down for me..”

Not only does your stomach drop, and heat flashes through your body like an electric current. You stop to take in Timmy’s disheveled state with utter contempt but urgency. Your image of a quicky in this car could go so many ways.

He’s amused at your hesitation. Even from the race of all day — trying to pin him down for this to be it. The fire throughout you was at an all time high. Timothee was getting you off the car floor and making sure you were properly on his lap again. “Now, chérie.” his voice a low, a commanding whisper, reminding you exactly the kind of night you were about to have.

So when you complied, taking part of the very thin panties you’d been wearing under your dress, and pulling them over your heat, it was just for him, as he leaned back and watched you move. Licking over his lip for a brief moment till you were bare.

That tiny obedient action drives him absolutely wild.

“Good girl, You’re always good for me.. yeah?” your boyfriend grins, hand going to your hips again and your now soaked cunt lingers right over his dick. Wanting, starving for you. And you feel it everywhere. Without him even being in, your legs go weak, your breath hitches, and his fingers are already toying with your folds as your nails prime his shoulder and you slip him a soft kiss that has you both moaning. Then again, yet this time his lips only skim the corner of your mouth, but he doesn’t kiss you.

He loves watching you fall apart first. Loves the anticipation. Loves knowing that you’d let him stretch you crazy right now.

You have a frustrated groan as your head releases. He huffs out a chuckle. Holding back from rewarding you for just another second, but it all came with the consequence of the car jerking to a stop. Easily throwing the two of you into each other.

Timothée blinks, his head dropping back against the seat, huffing dramatically. “Are you serious right now ?”

The driver tones in over the speaker. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Chalamet.”

Your boyfriend was breathless, at a loss for words and running his hands down his face. All you could do was shake your head with a light hearted chuckle and start fixing your dress.

“Hurry before you get recognized, Timmy.” Your tone sweet enough just to get him hard again, but vexing enough to piss him off farther.

He glares at you. Eyes still blown with need. But he kisses your neck, tender and poised anyways as he quickly buttons his jeans. “You’re gonna pay for this though.”

You both practically stumble out of the suv, Timothée tugs his hoodie up to avoid cameras, but your hands never leave each other.

And the second your through the lobby, past security, past the elevator doors, there’s no stopping again.

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