#getting use out of that banner tonight lol

[tteokdoroki]

HIGH HEELS - ryomen sukuna.

౨ৎ — about. “sukuna knows those heels, he’s pulled them off of you a million times before during a haze of lustful kisses and sly touches. he has no idea why the sight of them turns him on so much.” as rough and rugged as he may seem, ryomen sukuna lives to see his girl happy. he loves to see her smile. he loves to know she feels as good as she looks…but when you end up looking a little too good in a certain pair of heels, he can’t be blamed for making you late for a dreaded dinner... ( 6.2K )

౨ৎ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, pwp — video banner. modern!au, rich girl!au, forbidden romance, reader has sisters, degradation, praise, pain play, fingering (f!receiving), exhibitionism, slight!daddy kink, hold the moan, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!receiving), masturbation (m!receiving), cum play, creampies, modern bf!sukuna, rich girl fem!reader.

౨ৎ — things to note. haii everyone ! it’s been a while since i posted a longer fic so im excited. this was supposed to be a thirst lol. i’m just testing the waters with my version of modern bf!sukuna ! many thanks to @yennified for the ask that inspired it all. i’d like to thank everyone for their patience ‘n i hope you enjoy mwah mwah <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

“we’re going to be late, hot stuff.” 

“no we’re not, ryo. give me five minutes! i just need to —“ 

if there’s one thing ryomen ‘sukuna’ itadori had  learned from dating you, is that time management was never and never will be your strong suit.

if the phrase fashionably late could be embodied as a person, sukuna believes that it would definitely take the shape of you. you and your beautiful brown eyes that plead with him to give you a moment not even five minutes before you leave the house for dinner reservations. you and your sinful curves only accentuated the silk slip dresses you spend so long steaming before sukuna takes you out for the night. you and your perfect lips that have to be painted with the right gloss or lipstick to match your nails, purse and heels. 

all of you, and your beauty, make up the meat and bones of the phrase ‘fashionably late.’

just like right now, where you sit reapplying your hot chocolate lip gloss, perched on the edge of the luxurious king sized bed you’d demanded be in your hotel room. a room booked by your father for a family-oriented get-away. sukuna hadn’t wanted to come, as a man from humble beginnings, using your daddy’s money wasn’t something that he favoured — but the man liked to see his girl happy. sukuna lives to make you happy, even if he won’t admit it. 

“do ya really need five minutes to fix your lip gloss?” the pink haired man chides, sweeping a hand through his rosette locks in the mirror as he re-enters your bedroom. “i’ve seen you do it in less, gorgeous,” blood red eyes are quick to place you in the centre of the room — they never stray from you for too long, sukuna will always find you in a room no matter how busy or bare it is. your presence fills him with love and brings him comfort, even if he refuses to accept that as his truth. 

there’s a coldness to the look you give him over your compact mirror while you rub the swell of your lips together, spreading the pigment across them easily. it’s a warning not to rush you, a warning to your boyfriend who knows better. “i said, i need my five minutes.” 

ryomen drops the topic with a shrug, fixing his silky tie at the collar of his dress shirt — the one you’d so carefully picked because it matches the deep tone of his eyes and the colour of your slip dress. a mark of possession on your part. once he’s done, he takes to packing your designer clutch with all of your essentials from the dresser — blotting powder, your purse, any silver jewellery you’ll want to put on in the car. he slips on a couple of expensive rings to match with you too.

sukuna is more prepared for this dinner with your insufferable relatives than you are. he knows that tonight will be about your little sister and the rich lord she’s bagged as her boyfriend along with how soon they’ll be getting married. or it’ll focus on your older sister and her marriage that she’s trying so hard to keep together, despite it clearly falling apart. both of your siblings seem to think that they’re above you and your brooding, misunderstood boyfriend. 

but you don’t believe that. 

and you like to rub your love for one another in their bitter faces. 

“pretty girl,” sukuna purrs, his chest rumbling with affection once he takes note of your heels discarded to the side. their silver sparkles glint under the warm embrace of the lighting up above. sukuna knows those heels, he’s pulled them off of you a million times before during a haze of lustful kisses and sly touches. they’re expensive too — he has no idea why the sight of them turns him on so much. “if you don’t hurry up, we won’t be able to brag to your bitchy sisters about how in love we are.”

by no means is sukuna a man of weak resolve. his will is as strong as his exterior — coated in the scars of his rough past like the thick black tattoos that ink his arms. he remains strong in every scenario except for ones that concern you, one look from you and you’ve got that mountain of a man crumbling like an avalanche and falling to his knees. you cast your boyfriend an amused gaze, smacking your lips as you watch him sink to his knees before your very eyes. 

once again, your man takes the hint — thick fingers reaching for your glittery red bottom heels on the floor before he brings them up to the soles of your feet without a word. “you know how much i love the sound of that, ryo,” comes your dark hum, the colour of your eyes dimming with a desire ryomen sukuna knows all too well. “but i don’t see an issue with looking good while i do it.” 

“you’re right,” sukuna quips in a husky tone, taking one foot and slipping one of your expensive shoes onto it. “who cares if we’re late to meet your sisters. as long as you feel as good as you look — i couldn’t give a fuck.” his thick fingers that know the twitches and ticks of your body oh-so-well reach for the straps of your heels and slowly begin weaving them around your ankle, upwards. 

his blood red eyes remain hooked on your exposed thighs and supple skin, littered with a beautiful array of marks and scars from over your years of existence. some from before you even knew of ryomen, others from during your time together. “do you think i look good, baby?” you ask him innocently, leaning back on the bed with the palms of your hands lost in the whipped peaks of expensive cotton sheets — most exclusively found in this five star hotel. 

sukuna grins in that slow and sexy way which makes your stomach lurch with lust, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. “fuckin’ gorgeous, they’ll be shakin with rage.” he says, praise melting on the tip of his tongue. his words, in a symphony syllables, are accompanied by an undercover tune of desire — sukuna is a hungry man with little patience and a big appetite. once he’s settled on something, he’s damn sure to get it. 

tonight; his prey is you. 

the hulking man with the contrastingly soft pink hair bends at the neck to press a chaste kiss to your knee cap, smoothing the rough surface of his palms and workman’s hands over your doughy thighs — massaging you, easing any knots and tension beneath the top layer of your warm skin. his lips, only slightly chapped, curl upwards with a knowing smile when you let out a pleased chirp. sukuna’s hands work wonders on your body — causing your mind to drift away from the family dinner that awaits you. 

tonight; you could very well fall victim to the claws and fangs ryomen sukuna possesses.

kisses quickly become open mouthed and wet, hot and slippery over your flesh — and soon, sukuna adds teeth to the mix once he reaches your inner thighs, littering the area with deep shades of purple and midnight blue. he had no intentions of ravaging you like this, at least not so soon, but with a woman this irritable and fiery and troublesome on his arm how could he not? they say that you attract what you put out and the mirthy look in your eye, hidden between beautiful brown flecks of innocence, tells sukuna that you’re exactly what his guarded soul has been looking for all of his life.

his pulse quickens beneath the calcium cage of his chest — heart beat rising as you allow his curious lips and pink fluffy hair begin to disappear under the silky fabric of your figure-hugging dress. sukuna can practically taste you, the air underneath your skirt is dewy and warm and your flavour (that he knows oh so well) lingers within its particles.

god, he wants you so bad. he doesn’t even care how this may look. 

a man like him on his knees, ready to worship you as if you spout riches and bleed liquid gold. 

except you do, you’re worth more than sukuna could ever hope to be. the weight of your net-worth unfairly tips the scales and he doesn’t even care. all because he loves you. 

“why’re we even goin’ to this stupid dinner in the first place?” your rough and ragged boyfriend ponders out loud, with his words slipping over the edge of his sneaky snake's tongue. said tongue, if ryomen inches forward enough, could drag over your budding clit — clearly outlined through the barely-there crotch of your lace panties. “spend the night with me, doll. don’t gotta go a place…” a thick finger pulls the string of fabric away from your sticky slit, toying with the material until your premature arousal glazes his fingertip. 

but before the man can reward himself with the goods between your perfect thighs — the sharp point of your heel digs into ryomen’s firm right pec. your shoes are clean so they won’t leave a mark, but he feels like you’ve left one on his heart, even as the bottom of your shoe pushes him back and away from your warmth. 

“oh ryo, you must be hungry for the wrong thing,” you laugh breathlessly with your head tipping backwards, the sound shooting straight down to the hardness beneath sukuna’s black slacks. you push at him further until he rests back on his haunches — expression crazed and like a starved animal. “you forgot the other shoe, love.” 

it turns out, you’re just as skilled a huntress as sukuna is. a vixen who stalks her prey and makes them beg for all her mercy. “how careless of me…” the man drawls, finding himself drawn to you like a moth to a candle’s flame. he craves your attention, he basks in it when you give it to him in the way that you do now. there’s not a moment where you’re not looking at him, admiring the shape and form of your man as if he’s the rarest piece of art in the world or a treasure more expensive than any diamond. 

within the depth of those enticing brown eyes lay the truest form of love — even when you’re seconds away from devouring each other, your love for ryomen outgrows any doubt planted in your heart by your bitter family. 

“y’must be so disappointed in me…” he goes on, lifting your second ankle in one hand and adjusting your foot into the perfect position to slip your other heel on.  “how can i make it up to ya, gorgeous?” sukuna’s voice is gravelly, laced with intonations of neediness as he laces you up and finishes the job with a hand clasped over your knee. “i’ll do anythin’, anythin’ you want.”

graciously, you remove your red bottom from his shoulder and part your knees like the Red Sea — giving the older itadori the perfect view of the small string of fabric nestled between your glistening folds. even with the way you play coy, you’re always ready for him — as if it’s coded into your DNA to yearn for his touch. 

the upper row of your teeth sink into your shiny bottom lip as you look down at your man with unadulterated hunger. “anything, ryo?” 

sukuna’s chest rumbles (like a storm) with pride, his watchful gaze noting how you twitch and writhe for more. he leans forward and lets his black painted nails sink into the surface of your thighs — dragging you towards his awaiting mouth. “anythin’ for you gorgeous.” he repeats, voice raspy. in one swift movement, your red-bottom heels are swung over wide shoulders with thick muscles, keeping you nice and spread for him. 

from over your barely-there-panties, a finger glides through your glistening pussy lips and presses into your budding clit just to get a reaction out of you. a squeak that makes sukuna’s hips buck into the floor and a full body shiver that has your heels knocking behind the man’s head. arousal pearls on his fingertip through the material, which he leisurely rubs into the rest of your heated and throbbing sex, right down to your quivering hole. 

two fingers with polished black nails slip past your underwear’s waistband and dip inside of you with practised ease, instantly curling to find that special spot that drives you up the wall. sukuna knows you well, he’s spent years getting to that point. he’s committed every little detail there is to know about you to memory — the your lashes flutter when you like how he touches you, the way your throat bobs just before you mewl out his name. he knows exactly what you like and how to make you feel good. that fact drives sukuna into a frenzy.

his fingers start to work you faster, a lewd suctioning sound echoing throughout the luxurious room the deeper they plunge into you. sukuna’s thumb deliciously rolls over your swollen clit to add to your mounting pleasure, writing the signature of his claim on one of the most sacred parts of your body — where no other person can have you. 

“ryomen!” you squeal in surprise, your shaky thighs threatening to close around your boyfriend’s skilled hands. your hole clenches around his thick digits feverishly while drooling directly into the seat of his rough palm.

a resounding chuckle echoes between your legs, vibrating against your syrupy sex as his pink head of hair disappears beneath the hem of your silken skirt. “that good, huh?” comes his lazy reply to your call of his name, using his fingers to fuck your arousal back into you. “what’s the matter, pretty girl?” 

condescension twists with your boyfriend’s baritone voice, sending sparks of delight through your body like a thunder strike from zeus himself. when it comes to sex and pleasing you — sukuna is a god amongst mankind. the best you’ve ever had:

“don’t tease,” you growl out impatiently through gritted teeth, though your words melt into a whiny moan when sukuna easily bares down on your g-spot because he knows your squishy insides like the backs of his very hands. he finds it adorable when your face scrunches at the sensation of his cold, silver ring brushing up against your molten, sticky cunt and hums in content when you squirt a little bit for him in response. “we…we h-have plans for tonight!” 

“‘m sorry princess, didn’t know we were in a rush.” ryomen says smugly, leaning into the sinful scent of your sex as if he’s been bewitched. not even the sound of your silver gladiator heels knocking against one another behind his head can pull the man out of this reverie. despite your warning, your boyfriend figures that there’s still time to have his way with you, you don’t really care about being on time to meet your family and you hardly have the brain capacity to think about them right now.

not when you fall under the vicious waves of ecstasy and give in to your depraved lover. ryomen quickly has you drowning in pleasure as he finally takes the plunge and replaces his thumb on your clit with his lips wrapped around it. he sucks on the little nub from over your panties, tongue glazing the fabricated barrier with his saliva as he commits the taste of you to memory once again. 

your natural musk has sukuna drunk and high within seconds. you’ve got him returning to old habits and addictions he doesn’t have the strength to fight off. you’re bad for him and he knows it, but he can’t help but to make out with your clothed mound like it’s his life’s mission, mapping out the shape of your cunt through the stringy, soiled material. you ought to be embarrassed with the way you throb against sukuna’s eager lips as he buries his face further into your pussy. he inhales sharply, nastily, with his nose nudging against the sensitive treasure in circles — coaxing you open like a flower in the spring bloom. 

ecstasy decides to bloom within you too, evergreen roots taking residence deep within your chest and curling around your beating heart. your pulse quickens in anticipation, an intoxicating veil of covetous yearning shrouding your brain in darkness as the tip of sukuna’s tongue now begins to circle your tight little entrance. even with the fabric in the way, you greedily attempt to clench down on his predatory pink appendage and keep him locked inside your cunt — squirting small streams of your juices in the process. 

if your siblings could see you right now, how dirtily your man begins to ravage you just minutes before your family dinner while dripping on his tongue and the expensive bed daddy paid for, they’d be horrified. the sentiment strikes a pang of arousal in you, spreading to your boyfriend like a wildfire. 

and as ryomen hooks a finger around the soiled gusset of your panties to pull them down, you hardly find it within yourself to care about what your snotty sisters might think — not when you’re about to receive the best head and best orgasm of your life. 

“how d’ya wan’it?” instead of making a move to eat you out properly, ryomen takes two fingers and spreads your folds and exposes them to the blazing heat of his breath. exhaling through his nose next, he watches with blood red eyes as you twitch beneath his hold, dribbling liquid gold more than his mouth drools. “you’re so fuckin’ wet…all this from puttin’ on those pretty shoes?” your thigh shifts in response, heels clicking and back arches from luxury sheets crinkling under your back.

huffing impatiently, you send a threatening look down at your boyfriend despite how vulnerable you are to his torture teeth that could tear you apart in an instant. “ryo…your mouth,” you whinge, voice slipping into an almost babyish tone. despite your hard stare, your eyes are wet and wide like a prey animal watching its life go by right before it’s hunted or a deer in headlights, for that matter. “you promised you wouldn’t t-tease!”

“yeah, yeah, i know. ‘m sorry,” sukuna hums confidently, except he’s not really apologetic in the slightest — hardly doing his best to tame the uncomfortable yearning building up at your core. you’re a mess for him and he loves it, he’s entertained by the thought of you needing him so bad that it might kill you. he takes pride in knowing it’s not just him who feels this way. “thank you for tellin’ me, by the way. gonna use my mouth to fuck this pretty pussy til’ she’s creamin’ all for me,” he growls to you in a sultry tone, his aphrodisiac-like  words a breath’s width away from your sloppy mound — its timbre sound sending tremors of electricity through your swollen, unattended clit that convulses from the lack of attention.

nothing inflates ryomen sukuna’s ego more than the feeling of your sex throbbing against his face — juices glossing the plump swell of his lips as he wraps them around your puffy pleasure nub. his chest bristles as you open up for him like a flower in spring, the scent of your arousal acting like a perfume to him — the bee with the stinger of pleasure. he works his savage mouth along the length of your slit, as though he lacks the manners of a decently raised man, tongue prodding at your entrance just to be mean. after a while, sukuna stops sucking and making out with your dirty, creamy cunt to nip at your titillating folds, taking one between rows of sharpened pearly whites and gently pulling it away from you. 

at the abrupt feeling — you cry out hoarsely in a mix of bliss and surprise, taking a peek at the pink haired man between your spiked thighs with swimming vision. sukuna’s face is soaked, his angled jaw and cheeks and chin glazed in a layer of your slick as if he’s bitten into the ripest piece of fruit in adam and eve’s garden. the trail runs armously down and over his adam’s apple, coaxing your lover into eating you out properly this time. 

finally, finally putting his filthy mouth to good use.

“fuck, i love the way y’drool for me down here. got so much to give, don’cha gorgeous?” sukuna mewls into you whilst kitten licking your slit, drinking you in as though you’re a glass of water in an oasis of lust and sex. he chuckles happily at your dreamy sigh and circling hips that grind down on his face, tapping three fingers against your sticky pleasure bud lovingly. annoyingly ( but not without appreciation from you), sukuna takes it a step further by sloppily kissing you there. 

even with the time crunch, your pleasure takes priority. eating you out is like a reward for your man, it’s as though he was out on this earth by the gods purely to make you see stars. you feel lucky that he chose you out of all he could where he feels blessed to be the man you let touch you like this. 

“mmph, ryo… always g’na be wet f’you. for my man. only you get me this fucked up,” you drawl with a silky voice, making a show of tweaking your own nipples from over your dress for your boyfriend. with the slipperiness of a snake, your hands slide down from between the valley of your heaving breasts, over your clothed tummy ( that twists with knots of ecstasy ) and into the slicked pink locks that tickle your inner thighs. messing up his perfect look, you grip sukuna’s roots and tug on them forcefully — coaxing him further into the debauched realm concealed by the skirts of your dress.  

“princess…” ryomen lets out a pathetic, muffled groan — increasing the pace of the tip of his tongue as it lewdly flicks at your sex. “have you always had such a dirty mouth? what would yer daddy think?”

your head tips back at the new, gratifying sensation — ecstasy mounting in your lower tummy like bricks of a steady wall. “for as long as i’ve been yours,” comes your crazed and melodious laughter, only interrupted by pockets of squelching noises emitted from your squelching cunt. “oh baby…i don’t give a fuck about what my ‘daddy’ thinks. only you. let him stay mad — f-fuck! kuna!”

fuelled by the idea of pissing off your stuck up family, tattooed hands move to grip where your legs bend at the knee — pushing them back until your skirt rides up over your fleshy ass and your knees hit your shoulders and the soles of your shoes are able to lay flat against sukuna’s rippling back muscles. he hisses at the slight sting he feels from the pointed heel digging into his skin through his shirt, but it only fucks him up more. your pleasure is his pain, ryomen doesn’t give a fuck about anything else except for how good his girl feels. 

somewhere amongst the sweat soaked sheets your phone lets out a shrill cry — signifying a call from someone in your spoiled family. without sukuna’s command, you scramble through the sea of stiff fabric peaks and reach for the device, hitting the answer button before checking the contact. 

“h-hello?” you say in a poor attempt to speak clearly, stifling a deep moan. “speak of the devil and the devil shall appear…” comes your shallow whisper as you address your boyfriend. your chest grows sticky with perspiration beneath the bust of your dress — breathing uneven and heavy because of the way ryomen’s tongue wriggles past your tight little hole, squirming about against your lush walls to hit that special spot that has you screaming and seeing stars while on the phone to one of your relatives.

“excuse me, young lady?” it’s your father, much to sukuna’s dismay, his voice is irritatingly recognisable over the crackling of the line. of course he would find some way to unknowingly interrupt yourself and your loving, doting, disapproved boyfriend. “you were supposed to meet your sisters and i for dinner nearly forty minutes ago. where are you?” 

sukuna’s agitation shows with each wet kiss he aggressively places between your swollen folds, nasty and miscalculated whilst designed to leave you a shaky mess.“o-oh! hi daddy,” you emphasise the word, voice rising an octave until its light an airy. your swimming, doe eyes lock with crimson ones that bore into the depths of your soul from below — taunting and testing the pink haired man’s patience. “‘m getting ready. don’t you want me to look pretty?” 

the silky lilt to the tail end of your words causes sukuna to growl against your pulsating, temperate mound while his fingers yank you down onto his handsome face by your meaty thighs. eagerly, your hips canter down to match the stride of his tongue stroking your pretty pussy as though you’re riding his aching cock to your heart’s content. his tongue fills you up almost as good, warmly slipping and sliding over pleasure spots only he can reach. 

he kitten licks and sucks and bites at your raw sex like a wild animal, loudly moaning into you with every roll of your cunt over his face. you taste like heaven, the flavour almost angelic on his tongue. sukuna feels like a sinner with a greedy craving for more and if you cared just a little bit, you might have been concerned about your father catching the lascivious sounds from between your thighs over the phone. 

“i’m past the point of caring about how you present yourself at dinner,” your father says your name stern and low — talking to you as if you’re a child and not the woman you’d grown into. “your sisters are ravenous, they flew all the way into the country for this. don’t you think that they deserve an ounce of your time?” 

losing yourself to the danger of it all, you chuck your phone to the side after putting it on loud speaker. your lover targets your prominent, adorable clit again, the tip of his tongue rolling it in large circles until you’re close to tearing the sheets from the bed. you try your best to contain the scream building up in your throat, but sukuna has never made it easy for you to keep quiet. 

“mph…fuck!” 

“young lady! watch your mouth!” your father scolds you, still blissfully unaware of the fact that you’re getting tongue fucked by the man he hates all the way up to cloud nine. “i bet that good for nothing scoundrel has put you up to this. i keep telling you, no daughter of mine should be with a man like that. where is he? he’s the one making you late.” 

“actually, dad, sukuna’s been a good boy. sitting all handsome in those suits you like. i’m the one making…oohhh…m-making us late!” cruel carmine eyes flutter at your generous praise, lovesick as a sunburn like blush spreads over the bridge of sukuna’s nose from how desperate he is for you. if you tried your hardest to listen in over the wet sounds of your cunt being sucked on for dear life, along with the shaky delectable laments your lover lets out, you might be able to hear the sound of a zipper going down or the slickness of sukuna’s hand around his meaty shaft as he jerks himself off. no longer able to fight off his desire for you. 

your stomach flips at the sight and the pleasure mounts with your impending high, dainty fingers beginning to tug and twist at sukuna’s blushing pink hair. his pain is your pleasure.

“you’ve lost your mind, i didn’t raise you to be like this.” 

“you hardly…hardly raised me at all,” the words feel tacky in your mouth, as if it’s been stuffed with cotton that sucks up your saliva. it doesn’t help that your voice begins to waver too, reaching whistle tone notes. 

ryomen sukuna doesn’t know what’s hotter, the fact that you’re so easily able to sass your rich, douchey father or the fact that you’re letting him give you head while on the phone. “shit,” he curses as low as possible, using one had to smooth the pad of his thumb over the slit in his cockhead — smearing the precum that beads there over the sensitive flesh. his kiss swollen lips part from your sweet sex for only a moment to taunt you. he remains connected to you by a single rope of clear elixir that leaks from your precious little hole. “god, gorgeous. you’re fuckin’ drenched…all from talkin’ back to daddy, huh?” 

a lewd and sacchariferous mewl rumbles from deep in your chest as it rapidly rises and falls. it’s all too much for you to keep up with, you’re way too dizzy and it’s only made worse when sukuna bobs his head between your quivering legs so that his fat tongue drags through the entirety of your ravaged pussy lips. 

“holyfuckingshit!” you shoot the man a  glare once you remember where you are and who you’re on the phone to.

ryomen offers up a cocky smirk as his excuse before delving beneath your silken skirts once more, though it does nothing to mask how turned on he is — squeezing the base of his drippy shaft to stop himself from cumming too soon to the sight of you. 

you try not to forget the presence of your father again, it would be hard to, since he’s insistent on betraying you down the phone. “speak back to me again and i’m cutting you off. starting with cancelling the card you and your mangy boyfriend live off of.” 

“do it, i dare you.” you somehow manage to snap back, jolting at the sensation of sukuna’s razor sharp teeth grazing your clit. he hisses deliciously against your sex as your heels cut pretty crescent moons into his back. “i-i wonder what mom would have to say about it if you…if you did!” 

silence echoes down the line, broken by small pockets of your boyfriend slurping on your folds like a man starved. slurps that you’re just so blessed to be able to hear. you should feel ashamed instead of hungry, doing nothing to tame the greedy beast inside you that craves more and more of sukuna’s attention on you. you must have lost your mind, for letting him eat you out so brazenly while you converse with your father on the phone. it’s so depraved, so dirty and yet you wouldn’t give this… give sukuna up for the world. 

you love him more than anything. love how he treats you like you’re the strongest person he knows whilst handling you as though you’re made of glass. you love how he gets off to you, dribbling thick white from the tip of his cock because you make him a mess enough to need to jerk off. you love how he pleasures you, his baritone laments and simpers muffled against your cunt sending fireworks up your spine and setting them off at your tailbone where your mounting pleasure lies. 

you love ryomen ‘sukuna’ itadori, and no amount of scolding from your father will ever change that. 

“just…just be here within the hour. please.” your father requests quietly. 

“see you soon, daddy,” you hang up the phone faster than a lightning strike, all of your composure flying out of the window with the last dial tone. “ryo, fuck! i’m close… gonna cum. please, hurry!”

“god you’re such a fuckin’ menace, hah, pretty girl?” your pink haired lover quips airily, his jaw tight from flicking his tongue against your sex in sync with his fist flicking around his throbbing dick, slinging precum about the place. he’s amused and love sick all at once, a feeling that was once foreign to ryomen before he met you. “gotcha so turned on by talking back to your dad, yeah? all while i ate this pretty fuckin’ pussy out… so nasty,” only sukuna could make you feel this loved while degrading you, the only man who’s ever been able to do so. none of them could come close to knowing your body like he does, the way you twitch when you’re close and start to pout like a spoilt brat when you’re frustrated from waiting for your orgasm.

sukuna takes the edge off by lifting a tattooed arm and slapping his hand down on the entirety of your cut — letting out a haughty moan at the sight of glistening droplets of arousal flying about the place while your heels drag down his back with delightful pain. you cry out, but your boyfriend’s mouth is back on you in seconds — soothing your poor pussy. “‘m so lucky to have you though, my nasty fuckin’ princess,” he mewls into you, using his tongue to bully your g-spot over and over and over while he fists his precum glazed cock into oblivion. “gonna make you cum, gorgeous girl. let you make a mess in my mouth, you want that?” 

“m-more than anything, ryo!” you wail, fighting back tears as you spew a fresh wave of your sweet nectar from your pathetic hole. you do have a dinner to get to after all, you should only be crying from one place. your cunt. the sound of said squelching cunt and your dulcet whines make sukuna’s balls twitch with a load he would only dedicate to you.  “i love you, love you s’much…love you,” 

the delirium starts to catch up with you, becoming too much to bare as you babble nonsense into the sex tainted air. you can’t hold back, some of your release already beginning to stream out of you. “‘m gonna cum, ryo…cum with me, please!” you squeal in warning, mere seconds before your body succumbs to sukuna’s eager tongue and the wrath of your orgasm. 

“love you too, s’much,” your glittery heels knock behind his sweaty mass of pink hair, cutting into his back as he walks you through it all. “f-fuck baby, that’s it,” he goads as you gush into his mouth like a tidal wave. you have so much to give, release trickling into his mouth, painting his cheeks and sliding down his adam’s apple in a viscous current. sukuna is swept away by the arousal in the air, drinking you in as he pumps his cock harshly and in tune with the way you weakly hump at his face through the aftershocks. 

pulling his sticky mouth away from your equally sticky sex, sukuna replaces his tongue with three of his fingers to your clit — coaxing you through the rest of your high as he draws random shapes on the puffy nub. “keep that orgasm goin’ for me, pretty princess, give it to me…give it t’me while i fill you up,” he rambles brainlessly, abruptly standing up as he fists his cock pulled out from the zipper of his dress pants — barely fighting back his own orgasm. “spread those fuckin’ legs, wanna cum inside.” 

“ryo!” 

“ahh, fuckin’…fuuuck!” in one swift move, your boyfriend slips his sensitive and bulbous cockhead past your quivering, orgasming entrance — shallowly thrusting into your tight heat as you spasm around him, before he’s thrown off the edge into his own high. “c-cummin’…” hot sticky ropes of white seed flood your womb, which sukuna keeps plugged into you as he folds you over — chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. your heels clink at the dip in his waist behind his back. you’re still cumming as languid thrusts smear your boyfriend’s cum against your rippling walls, but you’re content, breathing beginning to even out as you both come down from cloud nine.

still releasing in small spurts, ryomen slowly pulls out of you with soft kisses pressed to the side of your face. “sorry, didn’t wanna fuck up my pants before dinner,” he chuckles over the warm static spreading over your happy little brain. 

you offer him your own dopey laughter, remaining sprawled out underneath your hunk of a man. “so you decide to just jizz inside of me? you’re a class act ryo. what about my dress?” 

“first of all, you don’t like it when shit goes to waste ‘n second off all, i made damn sure that it stuck. your dress is fine, brat.” a chaste kiss is pressed to your nose as sukuna helps you sit up, double checking for any mess he might have left between your shaky legs. “let me clean you up, don’t want your dad findin’ out what we were really up to all this time.” 

“pretty sure he already knows,” you shrug, rolling your ankles as you lean down to fix a strap on your heel. “you’re a messy eater, ryo.” 

but before you can fix your shoe back into place, ryomen sukuna is already on it — adjusting the strap to sit comfortably on your leg before he stands again and retreats to the bathroom for a warm cloth to clean you up with. 

you watch with a smirk as he goes, admiring all of the little red marks on his shoulder blades you’ve left on him with your shoes. “then i guess i’ll have to use some fuckin’ table manners at dinner,” he remarks childishly. “but i can’t help how delicious you look in those heels, gorgeous.” 

and it’s true, you’re the only meal sukuna could ever want — especially when you leave your claim on him with high heels like that. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere. special thanks to @yennified for the ask below !

[daisynik7]

Pairing: Takuma Ino x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: explicit language, mentions of a popular horror movie, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), nipple play, blow job, mask kink, slight degradation (slut, whore), use of pet names (cutie, sweetie, baby) 

Summary: You and your new boyfriend Ino decide to watch a horror movie together in honor of spooky season. Halfway through, he notices how skittish you are, making him want to play a silly prank on you with his signature ski mask. It’s all fun and games until he realizes that you actually like seeing him in this way more than he anticipated. 

Author’s Note: Happy October y'all! What can I say, I am VERY into Takuma Ino right now and I just had to get this out of my system. This is barely edited or proofread, sorry for any grammar mistakes or typos, I really was just letting my fingers fly through this in a moment of passion LOL. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune. 

You turn off all the lights, the only source of illumination coming from the TV screen, paused at the very start of the movie you decided to watch tonight. With a big bowl of freshly popped kernels in your grasp, you huddle beside your boyfriend, Ino, on the couch, covering both your legs with a fleece blanket. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer, reaching to grab a handful of popcorn to stuff inside his mouth. “Ready?” he muffles, pointing the remote to the screen, finger pressed to the center button. 

Nuzzling your head against him, you answer. “Yup!”

It’s apparently one of those cult classic horror flicks according to Ino, who recommended it when you mentioned how you wanted to watch something scary for October. He’s seen it before, many times in fact, but he insists that you watch it. He has no clue how frightened you get over the silliest things, so tonight will be a treat for the both of you. 

The opening scene plays out: a beautiful blonde picks up the phone and the conversation ends quickly short because it’s the wrong number. Normal so far, good. It rings again, but now the caller seems interested in talking. Do you like scary movies? Do you have a boyfriend? The man’s voice gives you the creeps, and you find yourself shuddering from it, cuddling closer to Ino, who glances at you with a smirk on his face. 

You never told me your name.

Why do you want to know my name?

Because I want to know who I’m looking at.

This line gives you goosebumps and you lift the blankets up to hide behind it. “Ew, creepy!” Ino only laughs, throwing a few more pieces of popcorn into his mouth. 

It escalates from here, getting increasingly chaotic and violent. By the time you’re halfway into the film, the bowl is down to its last kernels and you’re crouched in Ino’s lap, peeking through your fingers. He pauses the movie after one particularly brutal kill. “Snack break! I’m going to make some more popcorn and go pee.”

“You’re leaving?!” you whine, clinging on to him as he tries to get up.

He chuckles. “Babe! It’s just a movie. I’ll be right back, okay?” He kisses you on the forehead, heading into the kitchen, leaving you alone in the living room. 

Of course it’s just a movie, but you can’t help feeling creeped out in the dark like this. You reach for one of the nightstands, turning on the lamp. You hear the drone of the microwave, and after a minute or so, the distinct sound of popping. Eventually, it comes to a stop, and the entire house is eerily quiet. You’re tempted to call out for Ino, wondering where he is, but you remember that he had to use the bathroom. 

Suddenly, a shadowy figure appears right behind on you on the couch, grabbing your shoulders and shouting gibberish at you. You scream bloody murder, ready to punch him and run away when Ino lifts his ski mask up to reveal himself, tears streaming down his face, cracking up at you. 

“Ino!” you yell at him, slapping his hands away from you. “You fucking asshole!”

He doubles over, cackling, wiping his eyes. It takes a good while for him to regain his composure as you glare at him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m sorry, baby. I just couldn’t resist.” He sits beside you, stretching his arms out for a hug. “You have to admit, that was fucking hilarious.”

You shake your head, refusing. “You’re such a dick.”

“Oh, come on! It was just a little prank. Now you’ll be way more prepared for the rest of the movie!” He pulls the mask over his face again, everything covered except the holes for his eyes. “See? Not so scary anymore, right?”

You inspect him carefully, still pouting, not saying a word.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Truly. I promise not to scare you again.” He scoots towards you, nudging you in the arm. 

You roll your eyes at him, relaxing. “Fine.”

“Can I get a kiss now?” 

He tries to lift his mask up, but you stop him, pulling it back down. “I don’t want to see your face right now. I’m still annoyed, you know.”

“Aw man! Really?”

You hoist it just past his nose, leaning in to give him a soft kiss on the lips. When you break apart, he smirks at you. “You like this, don’t you? Seeing me with my mask on.”

You shrug, a sly grin on your face, neither confirming nor denying his accusation. Sure, you were a bit upset at first, when he scared the shit out of you. But seeing his face covered like that may have sparked a desire in you that you never knew you had, until now. 

“Oh my god! You do, you do!” he exclaims, shaking your arm. “My cutie has a mask kink!”

“Shut up, asshole!” you yell at him, pretending to shove him off, smiling. 

“You’re a fucking freak!” he giggles, pouncing on you. He starts tickling you along your ribcage, causing you to squirm beneath him as he straddles you, trapping you between his legs. His fingers flutter under your arms, stroking your sensitive skin.

“Ino!” you cry out, laughing from the sensation. 

You can feel his cock growing hard in his pants, balls heavy on your stomach. Suddenly, he stops, mask still folded to expose his lips, leaning down to kiss you sloppily. He pins your hands above your head, locking his fingers with yours. He slips inside your mouth, grazing your tongue with his, hungry for your saliva. “Fuck,” he moans into you, nipping at your bottom lip. “You like this freaky shit, don’t you? Nasty slut.” His playful tone is laden with lust now, low and sultry, mouth brushing along your neck, sucking at your pulse points to mark you. 

You whine his name, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding yourself against him. 

“Look at you, getting so fucking dumb all because of my mask,” he purrs. “What else turns you on, cutie? Tell me.”

Without thinking, you blurt out, “Spit. Your spit. I want it.”

“Oh shit,” he swears, licking his mouth. He traces the outline of your lips, beckoning you to open up, dribbling a thick wad of saliva inside you. You gulp it down, sticking your tongue out for more. 

“Oh fuck, you’re nasty,” he says, doing it again. “Makes me so fucking horny seeing you like this. Seeing my cutie act like a fucking whore.” He slips beneath your shirt, fondling your bare breasts, flicking your peaked nipples with his thumbs. 

“Fuck, Ino,” you whisper, pussy throbbing in your panties, arousal leaking through the fabric. 

“You like it when I play with your tits, huh?” Like it when I pinch them hard like this.” He squeezes them between his thumb and index finger, enough pressure to stimulate you, making you moan his name again and again.

He swears under his breath, shoving his pants down his legs, shimmying out of them until he’s only in his underwear now, erection stiff in his boxers. “You gonna suck my cock now or what, slut?” 

You nod, kneeling in front of him, knees on the carpet, spreading his thighs apart. He lifts his ass off the couch to slide out of his boxers, letting them fall around his ankles. You kiss the tip of his dick, smearing his precum around your lips like gloss before swallowing him into your mouth. 

He lets out a drawn out, “Fuck,” watching you with wide eyes as you bob up and down his shaft. Voice shaky, he asks, “Can I put my hands on you?”

Something about him in this ski mask makes you want to be submissive, makes you want to be used. You grab both his hands, guiding them towards the sides of your head, giving him free rein to manhandle you.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, gripping you tighter, gradually thrusting his hips in tandem with you. His cockhead hits the back of your throat, teasing your gag reflex, but you resist, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes, enduring it. 

Noticing you, he pulls out, a string of spit between you. “Baby, baby. Please don’t force yourself. I don’t want to hurt you.” He reaches to his side, grabbing a tissue from the table beside the couch, wiping away the spit around your mouth and the tears in your eyes. “Come here, cutie. I want to make you feel good too.”

You strip out of your bottoms, straddling his lap, pussy wet and aching against him. He moans as you rock back and forth on his shaft, pressing his thumb to your clit, massaging it. “There we go. Now we both can feel good, yeah?”

After a few more strokes, you beg him to fuck you, lifting up to guide his cock inside you slowly, sinking down on him until he bottoms out. You bounce on him, his hands gripped to your waist, guiding you, moaning your name between expletives. 

As you approach your orgasm, you pull up his mask, placing it on his head as he usually wears it. He smiles brightly at you, nuzzling his nose to yours. “There’s my pretty girl. Can you come for me now? Come all over this cock?”

You kiss him passionately, arms wrapped around his neck as he thrusts into you, hands squeezed on your ass now. You reach your climax, moaning into his mouth. He comes with you, shooting his load deep into your womb, filling you up with his cream pie. The two of you continue to kiss slowly, catching your breaths. He caresses your back while you melt into his embrace. 

“We need to establish a safe word,” he suggests, cradling you in his arms. “I want to make sure I’m not hurting you.”

You hum into his skin, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Popcorn."

He chuckles, stroking the back of your neck gently. “Alright. Popcorn it is.” A beat later, he exclaims, “Popcorn! I totally forgot about the popcorn!”

You laugh, giving your boyfriend a wet smooch on the cheek.

[kakujis]

☆ 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒...

“...AND SHE'S FALLING ASLEEP, AS SHE'S WALKING WITH STRANGERS.”

synopsis: satoru’s had his eye on you for a while, who other than his best friend, suguru, to help him get you home?

warnings: dark content/ageless + minors DNI. afab!fem reader, modern au, naive/shy! reader, non curse! au. yandere!satoru. drugging, dubcon, voyeurism(sort of), non-consensual picture taking/recording, dacryphilia, fingering, p*ssy slapping, creamp*e, restraints, possessive behavior, blackmail, degradation, praise, pet names (baby, princess, angel, good girl), drooling, your friends are really shitty, suguru calls u a slut like one time. suguru is mean, satoru is less mean kind of, he's probs ooc at times. that should be it, if i forgot anything pls lmk.

ft + wc: mainly gojo x reader, lil bit of suguru x reader. around 5.8k.

network: @enchantedforest-network

a/n: well. this was a doozy lol. i started it back in mid september and it's taken me around a month to get here which is actually pretty fast for me! this was supposed to be part of my first mini kinktober but u can see with the pace i'm writing at... well LOL. anyways, big thank you to wallaby for actually getting me out of the rut to write this, koca the loml for helping me w satoru's dialogue (dirty talk)!! @sxgars for the banner, and nie, the other loml, for proofreading!

the embers burn under the twilight sky, as gojo satoru’s laugh bounces amongst the crowd. with feet buried in the sand, hands stuck in your hoodie, you stare at the bonfire. every so often, someone’ll throw another log in to keep it burning, the wood crackling like fireworks. it’s an interesting set of sounds, sights, and smells.  

your eyes flicker throughout the people surrounding you, some chatting away, some speaking only through makeout sessions, some are probably even arguing. none of them are your friends, not even acquaintances. you’re not sure why you agreed to come out tonight, coaxed by your own friends, who swore up and down they wouldn’t leave you alone this time, but ditched you when they found their hook up for the night. 

meanwhile, on the other side of the bonfire is gojo, handsome with snowy hair and blue eyes hidden behind his staple sunglasses, but loud and boisterous as he jokes with his friends, a small semi circle of individuals surrounding him. must be nice, you think before sighing and taking another sip of your watered down alcoholic drink, looking away when a voice calls out to you making you jump a little. 

“you alright?” he asks, squatting down to reach your eye level as you sit. when you look back, it’s geto suguru right in front of you, his own drink in hand, illuminated by the fiery light of the bonfire and the pale moonlight, the colors clashing against his skin. 

“i’m fine,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, but you’re already ready to back away. you’ve always thought geto was handsome, tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and an aura you just couldn’t read. perhaps it was the infatuation that kept you here on this sandy beach, even when your friends were long gone, eyes always finding him whenever one of you passed by each other at parties like this. “you?” 

“it’s alright,” he shrugs, pulling out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and leaning back, using the bonfire to light it up. you watch as he brings it back to his lips and takes a long drag, cheeks hollowing as he inhales, before making sure to blow away from you. “much better when there’s a pretty girl around.”  

you heat up, looking at your toes, peeking through the sand. “.. thank you,” you reply, struggling to look at him as he takes a seat next to you on your towel. “you’re not so bad yourself. you’re geto suguru, right?” 

“why, thank you,” he says, scooting closer to you, “and i am. what’s your name?” 

you give him your name, heart pounding away at the close proximity. beyond the scent of smoke, he smells woodsy, sort of like incense. you wonder if you smell similarly, your vanilla perfume mixing in with the bonfire fumes. 

“pretty name,” he says before he repeats it back, the syllables rolling off his tongue easily and straight into your stomach, “you staying out much longer?”

he makes you dizzy, and somewhat anxious, you were never planning - at least in this lifetime - on ever meeting him, let alone actually speaking to him. you’re not used to this, more comfortable with people watching than interacting.

you shake your head, “nah, i was gonna head home soon,” you glance out toward the ocean swells, waves crashing against the beach before they recede back into the tide. “my friends are already gone, so there’s not much else for me to do.”

“aw, really? that’s a shame,” he replies and you peek back, his mouth pressed into a hard line, his  thumb tapping against his cheek, before he nods, brightening up. “need someone to walk you home?” 

you pause, “um… no, it’s okay, i-”

“you’re gonna walk home this late at night?” he asks, cutting you off with an eyebrow raised, “by yourself?” 

you glance over at the darkened road, the dim lights of the city sprinkled far off in the distance. it’s foreboding and who knows what lurks in the dark? besides, wouldn’t it be better to walk home with someone? the warm amber light from the fire plays on his face as you glance back at him. 

“i don’t bite,” he continues, giving a reassuring smile as his hands come up playfully, “i swear.”  

“… okay,” you give in, nodding, “sure.” you make a move to get up, but he stops you. 

“wait,” he starts, bringing his drink up closer towards you. “let’s have a toast.”

you giggle, the tension easing out of you, before holding yours up as well, “a toast to what?” 

he smiles back, “to new friendship.” he tips his cup to yours, but doesn’t take into account how much stronger his clink would be compared to yours. the rest of your sticky drink crashes down onto you, spilling and seeping through your clothes, while suguru’s quick to mutter out, “oh shit, sorry!” 

you shake your head, “don’t worry! it’s fine!” but suguru isn’t hearing it, his cigarette dangling haphazardly from his mouth as his brow is scrunched in concentration while he tries his best to wipe at the mess with his hands. embarrassingly, your core flutters at his touch, especially when his fingers swipe across your thighs. 

“let me clean you up,” he says, half mumbled from the cig, handing his drink over to you, before unzipping his jacket. “don’t have any napkins on me, sorry.” 

your nerves continue to fire off, getting the best of you and the words of ‘really! it’s fine!’ die off your tongue. you glance around, looking for something, anything, to take your mind off of geto’s sweater dragging across your exposed skin, especially when he dips down in between your thighs dangerously close to your heat, to dab at the liquid that’s dripping off your body. 

gojo’s laugh booms again, causing you to glance over at him and you welcome the distraction. you catch his eye and he gives you an excited little wave, catching you off guard. you wonder if he can see just how flustered you are, but still, you raise your own hand back and he grins wider, before breaking eye contact as someone else calls for his attention. 

in an effort to calm your nerves, the recent memory of gojo’s affable bright smile definitely not helping, you take a big swig of suguru’s drink, forgetting it’s not even yours. his drink is stronger, thanks to the lack of melted ice, burning as it slides down your throat which makes you cough up some, scrunching your nose as some liquid runs down the side of your mouth. 

but geto uses a thumb to catch it, smirking at the way you blink up at him bewildered, “all clean.” 

you take a breath to steady yourself before speaking, “um, could you…  take me home?” you push his hands away, wanting nothing more than to hide under the safety of your covers. at this rate, you might pass out, the night’s been a bit too eventful for your taste. 

he nods, getting up and dusting himself before reaching out with an outstretched hand. you take it without hesitation, tensing when he starts to brush the sand off your shorts. you let him do that for a few moments, breathing hitching when his hand gets concerningly close to the bare skin of the back of your thighs, heart thrumming in your chest and pounding in your ears.

“just making sure,” he says, before he throws his cigarette into the pit, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “lead the way, princess.” he grins as he steps off to the side to make room and give a small courtesy bow which makes you laugh. 

he makes eye contact with satoru and gives a small wave before leaving with you, catching you each time you stumble in the sand, marked by shoe and foot prints from excited partygoers. he lets you know that he’s got you each time while you mutter out various ‘sorry’s!’ meanwhile, gojo peers over his friends, eyes honing in on your forms before he says a quick goodbye to them and runs off. 

as the two of you are finally on solid land, you hear a “wait a minute!” and glance back. jogging towards you is none other than gojo satoru and suddenly you feel like throwing up. you’re not too good at meeting a new person, let alone two. 

“hi!” he says as he huffs, hands placed on his knees. 

“are you actually winded from that?” geto laughs, a pretty little tune that plays on your ear. 

“i drank so much, dude. give me a break.” gojo responds. 

you’re even more uncomfortable as the two of them joke around, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you stare at the ground. satoru shifts so he’s in your view, bending sideways, pretty snowy hair falling down his face. 

“anyways… hey.” he says again but softer this time, twinkly eyes on yours as the corners of his lips upturn. “i’m satoru.” 

“hi,” you say, giving a small wave, before you state your name. “nice to meet you.” 

nervously, you glance back up at geto, who smiles reassuringly back at you. with your heart definitely beating a mile a minute, you back away. “it’s this way.” you say, jutting your thumb behind you, and the two friends nod. 

“we’ll follow you,” geto says, nudging gojo to stand up straight, who in turn, elbows him back. “go ahead.” 

you nod, trudging forward, listening to their continued talk behind you. it’s just their voices, the sea breeze, and the sound of shoes on pavement as you walk. you look back towards them, taking a moment to eye them, you drink in their tall, built forms, the matching dark outfits, sweaters and all, and for a bit, you decide to trust them. you trust the easy going smiles, the laid-back banter, and the way that satoru smiles each time he looks at you does a lot to ease the tension in your body. 

it’s not too long into your walk, maybe only 30 minutes since you took the last of your drink, before you start to feel… strange. there’s a heaviness that starts to settle in your limbs, your mind going foggy. you reach out, grabbing onto one of their sleeves, who’s sleeve? you’re not sure, but you grasp it trying to dig your nails into the cotton fabric, as your knees buckle from your own weight. 

“hey? are you okay?” a voice asks, bouncing around your brain as the scenery starts to spin. you must’ve grabbed suguru’s sleeve, as you try to focus on the inky strands of hair that fall past his shoulders. you reach out with your other arm, trying to grab onto something as you continue to fall, a ring starting to settle in your ears. 

“geto?” you call, as you feel another large hand on your lower back, trying to keep you steady. “i think, i need… to go home.” but you don’t hear a reply as the void takes over you, swallowing you up, as you fall completely unconscious into the arms of geto suguru. 

the two of them are quiet, the easy-going atmosphere suddenly gone. you’re thrown over geto’s arm haphazardly, limbs limp, as they stare down at you. gojo speaks first.

“that was quick,” he says, bending down to brush your hair away from your face. “how much did you give her?” he trails his finger down your cheek, poking the skin, before tracing the outline of your lips. he has half a mind to kiss you, but decides against it, wanting his first with you to be when you’re awake.

“the usual,” geto responds and if you were awake, you’d see he feels a little colder, eyes almost vacant. “you wanna carry her? you like her more don’t you?” 

“i don’t just like her,” gojo responds, before he’s lifting you out of geto’s arms. “i’m gonna make her my girlfriend and depending on how well things go, i’ll marry her soon.. ish.” he cradles you gently, carrying you in his arms, princess-style like as he watches you with mirth filled eyes. 

geto rolls his eyes, “oh yeah, i’m sure she’s gonna wanna date you after this.” 

gojo snorts, glaring daggers at his best friend, “she’s not gonna have a choice.” 

maybe if you weren’t so naive, you wouldn’t have ended up like this. you blink awake, body still heavy from whatever drug was, or perhaps is, still coursing through your veins. the lull of sleep continues to beckon you over, the weight of your eyelids aiding in it’s cause, but you try to stay awake. something feels wrong. 

you decide to start with your legs, wiggling them around when you realize you’re in a bed rubbing your legs against the silken sheets. you focus upwards, wanting to move your arms to prop yourself up, until you realize: you can’t.

the rope around your wrists is tight, coiled up and keeping you locked in place. even as you try your best to wriggle out of them, you’re doing nothing but giving yourself rope burns as panic starts to settle within your bones.the room you’re in looks normal enough, a desk off to the side, jacket hanging on the door, but there’s something sinister in how normal it looks. and you wonder just whose bedroom is this? 

“oh, hey, you’re up.” you hear as the bed dips under the newly added weight. it’s gojo, peering down at you. he’s taken off his top and jacket, leaving only his pants, and if you weren’t terrified, you’d probably appreciate the sight. you can see his eyes clearly now, his sunglasses sitting atop his nightstand and as beautiful as they are, you can’t be lost in them for long. 

“gojo?” you try, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“call me satoru.” he responds, a pretty smile gracing his features. 

“where..” 

“are you?” another voice chimes in, a voice that’s sweet, almost mockingly so. you glance towards the direction it’s coming from to see suguru, head leaning against his open palm. he smiles when the two of you make eye contact, the same disarming smile he gave you a few hours ago. “heyo~”

you’re still disoriented, glancing back between the two of them as you try your best to slide out of the binds. 

“hey, hey,” satoru starts, placing a hand over your wrists, “you’re gonna hurt yourself, baby.” his warmth isn’t comforting, it’s terrifying and the way that pet name falls off his tongue so easily freaks you out further. just where the fuck are you?

you can feel your tears welling up, nevermind the fact that your consciousness is still foggy. you’re exposed - vulnerable - with two men you’ve only met recently. there’s goosebumps on your skin, clad in nothing but your panties as you try to curl in on yourself, but gojo won’t let you. instead, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer, your head resting on his thigh. 

“gojo,” you plead, starting to sniffle, “i wanna go home…” 

“satoru.” he reminds you gently, before his hand starts to trail up and down your side, trying his best to comfort you. “i’ll take you home later, okay?” 

you shake your head, tears starting to fall, little droplets stain his pants, “why not now-”

“told you,” suguru drawls, interrupting you while his expression remains uninterested, “she’s scared out of her mind.” 

“thanks suguru, great input.” satoru deadpans, shooting him a glare before his focus is back on you. “i can’t take you home yet, but i will. i promise.” and those words shoot straight to your stomach. it’s so eerily similar to earlier, when geto promised he’d take you home and that he was safe. 

“my friends…” you mumble, “are gonna notice i’m missing.” it’s a pathetic attempt of a threat, your friends are already long gone and home for the night, but there’s the hope that when morning comes and your “i’m home” text doesn’t show up, they’re bound to notice, right? 

“hm? which ones? the ones that left you or the ones that let us take you here? oh wait, those are the same ones.” suguru taunts, snickering as the pit in your stomach grows by the moment, “it’s really funny what people will do for money.” 

you furrow your brow, heart shattering at the confession, because there’s no way your friends would sell you out. but the shit-eating grin that won’t leave suguru’s face, almost as if it’s etched in stone, silently confirms your worst fears. “i don’t…” - understand is the word that should be said, but it escapes you like the sand between your fingers on that fucking beach that you never should’ve been at in the first place. 

“okay, so, don’t freak out.” gojo starts, before muttering, “well i guess you already are, huh.” on the brightside, the drug suguru gave you is strong enough that the disorientation nestled so deeply within you is able to keep your screaming at bay. 

satoru’s focus, unlike yours, is almost too sharp. he’s been chasing after you for a while, but finally having you in his headlights is driving him insane. the tips of his fingers continue tracing up your arm til they find the depressions in your neck, that he has half a mind to wrap around to see what you’d look like with his hand as a necklace. but that can wait, he’ll be soft with you for the first time. 

“the important thing is that you’re here with me. you came out to have fun right? have fun with me and i’ll take you home.” he winks, his easy-going front still on full force as he tries to calm you down, but you flinch when he gets a little too close to your lips. 

in your mind you know, there’s always a catch. “what do you want from me?” you ask, voice featherlight, but everyone in the room knows what it is he wants. 

“i think you know,” suguru chimes and if you could curse him out, you probably would. “why else would we bring you here?” 

“hmm,” gojo hums, his thumb gliding across the top of your cheek to swipe at some of your tears. “you know, you’ve been coming around to our little get togethers for a while, but this is probably our first real conversation.”

gojo’s always liked you. when he first saw you, he thought you were cute. doe-eyed and clumsily searching for an open spot to sit while you did your best to hold onto your friend’s shirt, you caught his eye. cuter still were the pretty laughs that came from you, sometimes even snorting when something particularly funny was said. 

there was a minor issue though: you’d never look at him, no matter how much he bounced off the walls, even when he’d head over and say ‘hi’ to your friends, you scampered away much more interested in your hands situated in your lap. and maybe that was the charm, you were prey he wanted to catch. 

it wasn’t long til he noticed your quick, continued glances at suguru and how you only did it when you were sure he wouldn’t notice you. he was sulky at first, irritated that his best friend seemed to take his spotlight, but who is geto suguru if not gojo satoru’s closest and greatest friend? and with enough prying, geto got the information out of him and simply laughed. gojo was a little hesitant when geto suggested a plan, something they haven’t done in a while. 

“i dunno, i thought we decided we were over that.” satoru pouted that day as he stared off, focused on the others at the park. 

“you got any bright ideas, lover boy?” suguru retorted, leaning back on the park bench, hands in his pockets. 

“nah.” he shrugged, elbows on his knees and bent forward. and so they ended up here again, except, in gojo’s bedroom for once. 

“you know your friends were pretty easy to convince,” satoru grimaces, his thumb swiping at your tears. “you should really get some new ones.” 

you’re unsure if you’re more mortified than flattered that satoru feels so strongly for you. but there are no words that spring up in your mind, there’s nothing you can possibly say. 

“listen, the goal here, princess,” suguru starts putting emphasis on the pet name as he gestures between you and gojo. “is that satoru fucks you, you’re his girl, and you guys get to live happily ever after.” 

“...and if i refuse?” you counter, but your voice is still barely above a whisper as tears continue to fall down your face. 

“dunno if you wanna do that.” satoru sighs, before he catches the phone that suguru throws over. he opens it up, before turning it towards you revealing the photos they took of you earlier, tied up and exposed. “i mean you do look really cute in these, but i’d rather they stay in our circle for now.” 

the weight of that word is heavy, because there is no universe in which you’re allowed to say no. you’ve fallen deep into their sticky web with no chance of climbing out, the only thing left is for their fangs to sink into you. the images they’ve taken burn into your mind and you steel yourself to find your resolve. 

there’s a few pros when you think about it. gojo’s handsome, a little funny, and seems to actually like you. you’re not entirely sure if it outweighs the con of fucking drugging and then kidnapping you, but what can you do with the cards you’ve been dealt? geto is whole nother can of worms you don’t feel like delving into. 

“fine.” you sniffle and gojo perks up, lips curling up into a smile. “… i’ll do whatever you want.”  

“told you she’d say yes.” he singsongs as the other rolls his eyes. “that settles it, you’re officially apart of the gojo clan!” neither you, nor suguru, have the heart to tell him that you didn’t actually agree to marriage. 

“well then!” suguru claps, making you jolt. “let’s get started, yeah?” he shifts from his spot, moving til he’s back up against the headrest. “let’s get you a little more comfortable,” he says, pulling you up til your back is flush against his clothed chest. “that’s better.” 

you don’t have time to worry about just how fast things are going when satoru slots himself between your legs, heart racing in fear mixed with anticipation when he pushes your panties to the side as his fingers flutter around your clit. 

meanwhile, suguru is pulling your thighs back, locked beneath his elbows. as much as you want to close your legs, you can’t. suguru’s too strong for you. 

“you don’t need these, right?” gojo mutters, hands gripping one side of your underwear, but there’s no reason to answer as he rips them clean apart, chucking them onto the floor. 

it’s silent for a moment as satoru watches the rise and fall of your chest, quickened in your panicked state, before his eyes meet yours. he grins, “man, you’re so fucking cute, you know?” 

you heat up under his gaze, and you try to look away, but he simply leans in, so close your noses almost touch as he stares deeply into you before looking down at your lips. your breath hitches again as his lips ghost over yours and you shut your eyes when he asks, “can i?” 

it’s an odd first kiss with your hands tied up and his best friend in the same bed as you in a tangled mess of limbs but he’s surprisingly soft. you’re falling, so deeply into the kiss that you don’t notice the way suguru pulls your knees up more so he can get better access to your chest. 

you squeak when you feel a pinch on your nipple, suguru seemingly getting bored and deciding to pass the time playing with you. your squeals soon turn to moans as he rolls the nub between his fingers and satoru uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in, spit mixing with yours as your mouths mesh together. 

his fingers find their way downward again, lightly trailing up and down your folds with feather light touches, making you twitch each time he brushes against your clit. you jolt when he sinks a finger in, encouraged by the wetness of your hole, pushing back against geto in an attempt to squirm away, but you can’t, sandwiched between two men who can do whatever they want, however they want.  

gojo’s good, adding in another thick finger to your slick heat and sliding in your gummy walls. it’s different from when you do it, your digits are slender and smaller than his. you keel, moaning and thighs trembling, but gojo’s lips stay firmly on yours as does geto’s hand which continues to pinch and palm at your breast, sending ripples of hot pleasure through you. 

“you gonna cum on his fingers, pretty?” geto murmurs, voice low as he nips at your ear. 

satoru continues to pump away, fingers curling into your sweet spot and dotting your vision in stars of white. he picks up the pace when you mewl louder, the sound rushing straight to his dick as your slick rolls down his hand. you press further into suguru, whimpering and thighs tensing before you cum messily on satoru’s fingers, bucking and kicking as much as he allows you. 

“that’s it,” suguru drawls, his hot breath on your ear, “good fuckin’ job.” he says it like he’s the one inside you, churning up your insides. 

satoru pulls away, a small trail of saliva connecting the two of you that he laps up with his tongue. he slightly groans at your pretty spit slicked lips, before he’s taking out his aching cock. he’s big. big enough to make you whimper as he rubs your juices over his cockhead, precum already beaded on his tip, before running it through your sensitive folds. he’s slow, wanting to enjoy his first time with you, as he lines up to your still twitching entrance. 

“fuck,” he hisses as he sinks inch by inch into your dripping pussy. the stretch drives you insane even with the prep beforehand and he stills when he bottoms out, hips flush with yours. “sucked me all in, huh?” 

suguru and satoru move like they’re sync’d, somehow knowing what the other wants to do. suguru’s hands are replaced as satoru pushes your knees back up against your chest as your head lolls backward onto suguru’s shoulder, mouth agape.

“ah, ah,” suguru tuts, cupping your cheeks with one hand before forcing you to look back at the other. “let him see your pretty face.” 

“s-sorry,” you manage to say before satoru starts moving, your breath getting caught in your throat as you mewl out, “oh, fuck.” 

a breathless smile falls on satoru’s face, as he watches yours contort in pleasure with each slow drag of his cock within your tight walls that seem to swallow him up with each thrust. your embarrassment is long gone, replaced with a fervent need as satoru fucks every single thought out of your brain. 

“satoru,” you whimper and he digs his nails harder into your thighs, to not blow his load right then and there, but the way you plead his name as you stare up at him with needy, glass-blown eyes almost sends him over the edge. “satoru.” 

“yeah?” he coos, leaning in and tilting his head, as he slows the pace down, “what do you want from me, baby?” 

“use your words,” suguru says, pressing hot kisses to your cheek, reminding you that he’s still there. “c’mon, i know you’ve still got some in that pretty little head of yours.” you can feel his erection pressing against your back, as his hand snakes down to your clit to rub slow, sticky circles on your sensitive nub. “or are you too dumb on satoru’s cock, hm?”

gojo laughs, spurred on by geto’s continued teasing, “aww man i think she is. wanna be my lil cocksleeve? get fucked stupid everyday?” 

he laughs harder when your eyes roll back, cunt clenching at his words, the first time you’ve been talked down to like this. meanwhile, suguru switches to hook a finger into your mouth, digging his nail into the wet, warm cavern of your cheek, hot breath puffing onto his hand. when your eyes flutter up at him, he snickers, “you good?”

you feel a tap on your cheek and shift your blurry focus back on the one inside you, buried up to the hilt while his hips still slightly grind into you. his blue eyes burn through you and in moments like this, you truly can’t read him. “answer me.” 

through the haze you nod, but it’s not a good enough answer in suguru’s book. “you can do better than that.” he chastises bringing his hand down onto your puffy clit, slapping hard enough to make you squeal and bite down on the digit keeping your mouth open.

tears prick your widened eyes as he does it again, “that’s for biting me, brat.” he hisses, and you find your words again, stumbling out ‘sorry! ‘m sorry!’ as drool runs down your chin and his hand. but suguru is fucking mean, swatting down at your puffy pussy, each hit just as hard; a stark contrast to the sneer on his features while he hooks in yet another finger to pull your cheek further out. 

although the nicer of the two, satoru can’t help but be enamored with everything you do, especially if you’re screaming and crying trapped between the arms of his best friend. his cock twitches in your cunt, “well fuck, aren’t you pretty when you’re cryin’ on me?” he groans, pulling back out just to slam his hips back into yours at a brutal pace making you squeal louder.

you’re incredibly overwhelmed, glancing back between the two of them as the tears start to leak down your face again, chest heaving. you hate that it feels so fucking good to be used like this, having absolutely no control. still, you fight against your restraints once more, trying to raise your hands just enough to push against satoru’s abs to slow down, but it’s all moot, he won’t stop until he’s satisfied.

“shh,” suguru soothes, starting to play with your clit again, trying to ease the sting. “sorry for getting carried away, you’re just so fun to ruin.” his hand once again moving to cup under your chin, smearing drool and tears across your skin and  tilting you so that his tongue is able to press against your cheek, licking a stripe to taste the saltiness of your tears as his chest vibrates with a low groan. he can’t wait til it’s his turn to get his hands on you. 

“suguru - oh fuck - ‘m sorry, fuck, ‘m really sorry,” you blubber between moans, still whining and writhing, he raises an eyebrow at you with a hungry grin, liking the way you call his name. 

but satoru’s the one who answers, breathless and groaning, “it’s okay princess, shit, don’t worry about it. just focus on me, alright?” 

you’re pliant and close to your high, easily shifting back to satoru, watching him through muddied vision and mumbling out, “mkay, satoru.” 

the sweat rolls down the side of his brow and he’s so close to letting go, but satoru’s a bit of a romantic, thinking it’d be best for you to cum at the same time. still, the way you call his name has him glaring up at suguru, letting him know what he wants. 

his friend nods in acknowledgment as the speed of his fingers quickens, expertly working over your clit. “c’mon,” suguru taunts, already caught on to how much you like it when they’re mean, “be a good little slut and cum on satoru’s cock, yeah?” 

his words run straight to your core, as you babble out “mhms,” body tensing and jerking as your orgasm is finally coaxed out of you.

“fuck,” satoru hisses, groaning out, “good fucking girl.” as he unleashes his load deep into you. 

you hiccup and whine a few more times before you go limp in suguru’s hold, falling asleep. 

“shit, i think she passed out again.” suguru mumbles before he undoes your bindings, uncharacteristically kind as he rubs his palms over your tired and sore wrists. carefully, he slips out from underneath you, letting you fall back onto the bed. “you overdid it, satoru.” 

gojo’s unresponsive, chest heaving as he stays within you, so geto takes it upon himself to do the finishing touches. he reaches over, grabbing his phone and unlocking the camera app. 

pressing the red button, he captures the scene. you’re effectively passed out at this point, arms sprawled at your sides and head lolled back. this is always his favorite part, even more so than the actual fucking. there’s just something so fun about recording the aftermath, messy and dirty and oh so wet. 

satoru swoops down into view, throwing a wink and a smile, before reaching out for the phone. suguru obliges, tossing it over to let gojo capture what he sees. 

“you stayin’ over?” gojo asks, paneling down the expanse of your skin, littered in sweat, cum, and marks. he makes sure to record when he pulls out, as slowly as he can, to show off your swollen hole leaking out his seed.

“yeah, i’ll knock out on the couch.” geto replies, grimacing as he notices the wet patch of cum and fluids on his pants. he swipes a clean pair of gojo’s hanging on the back of his computer chair before heading out. he stops at the door with a quick turnaround to ask, “let me play with her sometime?” 

“of course,” his friend responds, kneeling down between your legs, spreading open your folds to further watch his sticky cum drip from your abused hole. “i owe you big time. let me know if you need any help yeah?”

gojo’s like a kid in a candy shop, delving his fingers in between your hole and your folds to catch some of the sticky substance dripping to the floor before bringing it up to the camera with a whistle. 

suguru shrugs, hungry eyes scanning back to your sleeping form before his lips curl up into a smirk. “nah, don’t think i’ll need to.” 

and satoru’s the same, just as insatiable as his friend, tossing his phone to the floor before he’s crawling up over you again, nose burying into your dizzying scent. fuck, he should’ve asked if you were cool with somno. well, maybe it’d be alright. it’s not the worst thing he’s done tonight. 

[leclsrc]

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder. 

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich. 

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface. 

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

— 

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft. 

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead. 

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast. 

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance. 

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle. 

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time. 

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.” 

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.” 

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.  

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink. 

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why. 

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you. 

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober? 

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look. 

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking. 

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows. 

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment. 

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly. 

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing. 

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

16

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

 “Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air. 

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his.  “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

 “Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him. 

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness. 

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily. 

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn. 

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it. 

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

[kwanisms]

Kinkuary 20 Jeongin — cnc/dubcon // table/counter sex

➥ dom!Jeongin × sub!Reader

summary: Y/N’s biggest fantasy has always been to be forcefully taken advantage of, something she never shared until she started dating Jeongin who seems more than willing to help bring her fantasy to life.

wc: 2.5k

warnings: afab reader, adult dialogue, established relationship, sexual content (minors dni!): fingering, rough unprotected sex (use protection!), Jeongin pins the reader down and forces himself on her (it's consensual! It's part of the con noncon thing!), reader asks him to stop and says no but it's part of her fantasy, sex on a table (they make a mess of their dining room lol oops), dirty talk and degrading names, Jeongin comes off as a little mean but it's all part of the fantasy. I think I got them all but let me know if I missed any!

a/n: TW: THEMES OF CONSENSUAL NON CONSENSUAL SEX. ALSO CALLED CON NONCON OR CONSENSUAL R@PE. THE READER HAS AGREED TO THIS PREVIOUSLY. If this topic bothers you, DO NOT READ!!! When she says no and asks him to stop, it's part of her fantasy and Jeongin makes sure to check in and give Y/N the opportunity to use their safe word to make sure she's still good to go. Consent is sexy and the most important thing between partners. Thank you for reading this installment of Kinkuary! If you like it, pls reblog as it helps with getting more people to see my work and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only. banner made by me. I do not allow reposts or translations of my works. All my works are ©️ kwanisms.

Permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @candidupped @dejavernon

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════════════════════════════════

You pushed at Jeongin’s chest, trying to push him off you but it was no use, not when your boyfriend was definitely stronger than you and for good reason. He’d spent most of his free time in the gym with Chris and Changbin.

And it was beginning to show how easily he overpowered you.

“Stop fighting me, Y/N,” Jeongin purred, caging your ur body between his arms and pressing you against the wall. “No,” you whimpered, gripping the front of his sweatshirt. “Let me go!”

When you first explained you fantasy to you boyfriend, he took the time to sit you down and have you walk him through every aspect. He was intrigued by the idea of consensual non consensual sex and even more impressed that you trusted him enough.

By no means, did Jeongin ever fantasize about taking advantage of you but when you assured him it was something you fantasized about a lot, he was willing to give it a try and came to find that he absolutely loved it.

He loved the control and power it gave him to over power you, but more than anything, he loved how you trusted and loved him enough to let him into this secret world of yours.

He’d fulfilled this fantasy of yours more than once and somehow he managed to keep it new and exciting each time.

You’d sent a text to Jeongin, one of your usual to communicate that you wanted him to come home and take advantage of you.

You: you wanna play with me tonight?

Innie🦊: tonight? You sure?

You: yes. Today was so stressful at work. Pls Innie?

Innie🦊: of course baby. Whatever you want 💕 what do you wanna play?

You: thank you Innie 🥰 how about obsessed stalker?

Innie🦊: i think I’m a little out of practice with that one. How about jealous estranged boyfriend comes home after a fight? I think i can pull that off on short notice 😉

You: perfect ♥️

Innie🦊: safe word?

You: cherries 🍒

You’d gone about your day like normal, making dinner, cleaning up the apartment, and putting away clean laundry. You were finishing filling the dishwasher when the doorbell rang.

You curiously walked over and peered through the peephole to see Jeongin standing outside the door. You sent him a quick text.

You: what do you want?

Innie🦊: let me in.

You: no. You left for a reason, Jeongin

Innie🦊: please baby. Let’s talk this out.

You: I don’t have the energy to argue anymore, Jeongin.

Innie🦊: no arguing. No fighting. I promise.

You forced the smile off your face before unlocking the door and pulling it open, but only as far as the chain lock would allow.

Jeongin turned to look through the gap.

“Baby,” he said, smiling at you.

He noticed the chain. “What’s with the chain?” He asked, smile almost falling instantly. You shook your head. “You wanted to talk?” You asked, noticing the way the smile on his face fell completely.

“Let me in, please, Y/N. I don’t want to talk this out through the door.”

You hesitated, eyeing him as he stood on the other side of the door, looking equal parts sad and pathetic. You groaned and rolled your eyes.

“Fine! But you’ve got five minutes,” you said as you closed the door, undoing the chain and letting it open, allowing Jeongin inside. Once he was inside, he shut the door, locking it and advanced on you, taking your face in his hands. “I missed you so much,” he said softly, pulling you into a kiss which you tried to shy away from.

You weren’t going to let him get it that easily.

“You wanted to talk,” you said, trying to keep your voice even but the excitement of what Jeongin was about to do was evident.

You moved to the kitchen island and waited for Jeongin to make his move.

“I’m so sorry baby,” Jeongin said, taking your hand in his, caressing the back of it absentmindedly. “I was such a jerk the last time we spoke. I said some things I knew would hurt you and I never should have said them,” he said softly.

The look on his face was genuine and for a split second you forgot he was acting, as were you. He’d just gotten so good at it.

“What’s said is done, Jeongin,” you replied, pulling your hand from his. “Let’s just forget it and move on,” you added.

“Of course. I’d like nothing more than to move on with you,” Jeongin replied, getting to his feet as you moved to put space between you.

“Jeongin,” you warned. “When I said move on, I meant move on alone,” you continued. “We need to end things. This isn’t good for either of us.”

Jeongin’s expression shifted from confusion to anger. “Are you breaking up with me?” He demanded, sounding every bit outraged as he would, were this real.

You nodded slowly. “It’s for the best,” you said softly, moving out of his grasp and towards the door, hoping to urge him out into the hall. “Baby, please don’t do this,” Jeongin pleaded. “Give me another chance,” he added.

“I’m sorry, Jeongin. I just can’t,” you said, reaching for the doorknob. You felt his hand close around your wrist. “Is there someone else?” He demanded. You shook your head, trying to pull from his grip. “No! There isn’t someone else!”

His eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying you weren’t all buddy-buddy with Seungmin the other day?” He growled, eyes flashing darkly. For a moment you thought he was being serious. That he actually thought you were messing around with one of his friends. You pulled from his grip, turning to grab the doorknob.

“You need to leave.” You twisted the handle, pulling the door open only for Jeongin to force it shut. This was exactly what you were hoping for.

-last warning. con noncon from this point on-

“Did you really think it would be that easy to get rid of me?” He asked in a much lower and darker tone. You looked up at him, eyes wide. In all the times you’d acted out this fantasy, his voice had never once sounded like that.

It sent a chill up your spine as he grabbed your wrist and turned you, pushing your back against the wall and pressing himself against you, keeping you pinned to the wall. “What’re you—” you started but stopped when he captured your lips in a searing kiss. You melted for a moment before remembering the act.

“Get off me,” you hissed, pushing him off you only for him to cage you against the wall, leaning in to whisper four words that would be your undoing.

“Stop fighting me Y/N.”

The next few steps happened so quickly it took your brain a moment to catch up. Jeongin grabbed your wrists, pinning them against the wall on either side of your head, leaning in to brush his lips against yours as you whimpered out a no.

“I know you want this,” he purred, a devilish grin on his face because he was right. You did want this. You did ask for this. It was the delivery of his words that had your heart racing. “Let me go,” you whined, struggling against his grip.

Jeongin let out a chuckle. “It’s so cute how you fight back, knowing you could never escape me,” he retorted, his tone low. “I promise you’ll love it,” he added and before you had a chance to respond, he’d grabbed you by your hair, guiding you over to your dining room table.

“What are you doing?” You cried as he knocked everything off the table, turning you to face away before bending you over the wooden surface, keeping you pinned against it with one hand and undoing his pants with the other.

“Stop!” You cried out, struggling against him as he grabbed your shorts and panties and pulled them down your thighs with one hand. “Jeongin!” You whimpered as he kept you pinned down, one hand disappearing between your thighs to find your center already soaked.

“Fuck,” he groaned, fingers finding your clit and teasing it briefly before moving up to your slit. “I knew you’d enjoy this,” he continued, pushing two fingers into your cunt. “So wet already for me.” You shook your head, eyes burning with tears.

“S-stop,” you whimpered, walls clenching around his fingers. “But you’re responding so well,” he chuckled. “Squeezing around my fingers like you want more,” he added, pulling his fingers from your pussy and rubbing the tip of his now freed cock against you.

“Jeongin please,” you sobbed. “Stop!” ‘Don’t stop!’

He sighed, leaning forward, resting his forearm across your back and ducked his head closer to your ear. “Do you really want me to stop? You know what to say,” he whispered, the teasing tone absent from his voice. He was giving you a chance to use your safe word but this is what you wanted.

You shook your head quickly, letting him know you weren’t calling it quits.

“Then shut up and stop crying,” he said, the darker tone back in his voice.

“Just stay there and take it.”

You let out a moan, hands balling into fists as he pushed the tip of his cock into your cunt, your walls pulling him in as he bottomed out, a groan leaving his lips as he stilled, buried balls deep inside you.

“Fuuuuck me,” he growled, his momentary lapse in focus allowing you to try and push yourself up. He was quick to regain control, pushing you back down, grabbing both your wrists and pulling them behind your back to hold with one hand. “I told you to stay there,” he ordered.

“You think I’m gonna listen to you?” You hissed, struggling against his hold. You felt his fingers dig into your hair. “I already told you once,” he grunted, giving you a sharp thrust. “Stop.” thrust “Fucking.” thrust “Fighting me!” thrust.

You cried out with each sharp hit of his hips against your ass. “Jeongin please stop!” You sobbed again, tears burning the corners of your eyes and blurring your vision. “Stop bitching,” he growled, his grip on your wrist tightening.

“Just lay there and take it like a good girl,” he scoffed. “I know I’m not the only one you’ve been fucking,” he added. “W-what?” You asked incredulously, trying to focus on the dialogue. “You’ve been fucking my friends behind my back, haven’t you?”

You shook your head. “No I haven’t!” Jeongin ignored your protests.

“You think just because I left the apartment the other day that you can go off and fuck anyone?” He asked, the force of his thrusts causing the table to scrape against the floor. “N-no!” You cried out. “I haven’t been fucking anyone!”

Jeongin scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh,” he growled. “I’m not an idiot, Y/N.” He let out a chuckle. “It doesn’t matter how many guys you fuck after me. You’re mine,” he added. “You. Are. Mine.”

Your walls clenched around his cock at his words as if agreeing and solidifying his claim over you.

“This pussy is mine,” he continued, giving a few measured, sharp thrusts before resuming the same relentless pace from before. “That pretty mouth is mine,” he added, releasing your wrists and leaning over your back, pinning you to the table as his hips continued their assault.

His hand came up around your mouth, cutting off your protests and your screams as he pounded into you. “That’s it, baby,” he said softly. “Scream for me. No one can hear you.” Your walls tightened around him, your thighs trembling as your orgasm crashed over you quickly.

“Oh that was fast,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’m not done yet.”

You tried to pry his hand off your mouth but he was too strong for you. His free arm wrapped around your chest. “If you don’t want me to tie your hands, stop fighting me and just take it,” he groaned, hips moving erratically, thrusts growing sloppy as he chased his own high.

You moaned, the sound muffled by his hand as his own orgasm washed over him, his hips stuttering to a halt as he buried his cock deep inside you as he came, emptying his load into your cunt. “Fuck!” He swore loudly, giving you a couple more thrusts before letting go of you and pushing himself up.

You fell limp against the table, panting heavily. “Y/N?” Jeongin said, his voice back to normal. “You alright baby?” He asked. You nodded feebly.

“Was I too rough?” He asked, leaning down to pepper kisses against your cheek. You shook your head. “No,” you said hoarsely. “It was perfect.”

Jeongin pressed a couple kisses to your head before finally pulling out of you, wincing from sensitivity as you whined at the loss of his cock inside you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmured, pulling your shorts and underwear back up. “I’ll pick up later,” he added as he helped you stand up straight, your legs shaking as he supported your weight.

“Do you need me to carry you?” He asked, all semblance of the act from before gone. He was just your loving, sweet, and caring boyfriend again. You shook your head but let out a little yelp when he scooped you up anyway.

“Jeongin!” You whined in embarrassment as he carried you through your apartment towards the bathroom. He silenced you with a kiss before setting you on your feet and guiding you to sit on the closed toilet lid.

“Shower first, then bed,” he said as he turned to start the water. “Bed?” You asked, looking up at him. “It’s only—” you tried to protest but he silenced you yet again with another kiss, this time longer than the last.

“Yes. Bed. I want you to rest. Then we’ll have dinner and then makeup sex,” he added. “But—” he pressed a finger to your lips. “No buts,” he answered.

“I’m gonna cuddle you, feed you, and spend the rest of the night making it up to you.”

“There’s nothing to make up for! Jeongin, I asked for that. I wanted it!”

He shook his head as he tested the water. “You didn’t ask for that part with Minnie. I’m sorry about that,” he replied. “I don’t think you’d ever sleep with my friends by the way.” You nodded. “I know Innie,” you said as he knelt before you.

“It was just part of the act. I know that,” you said, caressing his cheek. He took your hand in his, placing a kiss to the back of it and caressing your skin with his thumb. “I love you,” he said softly, looking up at you.

You smiled at his admission. “I know that, too,” he playfully smacked the back of your hand. “Yah! Say it back!” You rolled your eyes, sliding from your seat and onto his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck before your lips descended onto his.

“I love you too, you dork.”

[jjkeverlast]

keep in step | knj (m)

-> pairing professor!namjoon x professor!f.reader

-> genre/au's smut, enemies to lovers, dinner party au!

-> summary after namjoon has got you worked up for nothing, you find a way to reclaim your power, and what better way than to do it at the annual dinner party?

-> word count 2.6k

-> warnings sexual tension | reader teases joon with cake lol | taehyung and jungkook are mentioned | namjoon's thighs (trust me it's a warning) | namjoon is wearing the outfit | oral (m. receiving)

-> author's note i cannot believe that a request from my milestone celebration AND joon feeding us so much content today had me writing pt2 so quickly... but here we aaaare :)))) i highly suggest reading the first part, which you can find here ! to my lovely readers and moots who have been waiting for a second part, i hope this meets your expectations <3 also big thanks for the banner made by my lovely mari ( @archivedkookie ) i love you babe, it's absolutely beautiful omg.

i should note that play the game was a request by my darling jess @btsgotjams27 for my milestone last year and therefore there will not be a taglist to this! thank you :)

Three months. Three painful months of doing absolutely nothing after your little mishap with Namjoon. It was torture, to be quite honest. Somehow you weren’t certain about him, about his intentions with you and certainly not how to revenge yourself in the perfect way. 

Namjoon proved towards you that his little scheme in the copy room was part of some fucked up game. A game to prove you don’t hate him. Currently, it’s one to zero, but you’re going to prove to not only him but yourself as well, that he isn’t here for the game, but you. 

Another reason for you to have yet to revenge yourself was because Namjoon was barely in the same capacity as you. The universe loves to suddenly turn your world upside down and make sure that you and Namjoon now have separate auditoriums for your classes. Therefore, you haven’t exactly been annoyed with him as you were before when he overtook your classes time. 

It wasn’t until the annual teacher’s dinner party that Namjoon was at your expense. 

The dinner party was a tradition, paid by the university to give thanks for the teacher’s hard work throughout the year. The venue that was picked out was spacious, various tables decorating it and big chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. 

As soon as you stepped in, Namjoon was the first to catch your eye. He was wearing an all black outfit, his hair dark in a nice cut. It’s the first time you’re seeing him without his glasses and the sight is refreshing. There’s something about how his eyes are more captive from a mile away for you, and how exposed his defined face is. 

Namjoon’s eyes move towards you, gliding down to your feet in a slow movement. He smirks, his dimple prominent by the action and you’re trying to hold your breath. He’s not going to win tonight. You’ll make sure of it. 

A few presentations are presented by various teachers and counselors. All of them honoring the hard work. You’re sitting next to Kim Taehyung, an art history professor who’s been nothing but kind to you. His boxy smile and lame jokes keep you in a good mood and keeps you away from thinking about a certain someone. 

You don’t know what it is about Namjoon. Ever since he went down on you in the copy room, giving you a mindblowing orgasm he has managed to engrave himself in your head and infiltrate your love life. Yes, you had clearly tried to find a solution, a partner who actually wants you but whenever you managed to get a date, Namjoon’s dimple filled smile and his tongue skills would cloud your mind and leave you in irritation. 

Every part of you wants to look and glance at Namjoon. He’s sitting two tables away from you, his laugh flowing through the venue directly to you and you grab tightly onto your bag to restrain yourself. 

Just stick to the plan. 

‘’Wow, can’t believe we’re already halfway through the year.’’ Taehyung comments, earning your attention. 

‘’Yeah, time really does fly.’’ He nods along, swirling his thumb against his wine glass as if he’s contemplating taking another sip. He mutters under his breath, grabbing onto the glass and taking a light sip. The cringing expression on his face connects to his pondering face from before. Taehyung isn’t a wine person, but in most cases alcohol is still in the end, alcohol. 

The first course gets served and everyone on the table is pleased. Minor conversations are exchanged, mostly university related and you join in once in a while. Somehow your mind continues to play Namjoon’s words before he took the courage and kissed you. 

‘’You hate me, yet you stare at me as if you want me.’’ 

Brain, kindly shut the fuck up. You don’t notice yourself poking more aggressively at the food in front of you but it’s the only way for you to scold yourself. 

Namjoon doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s— 

You almost drop your fork, glancing upwards to find Namjoon watching you with delicate eyes. His fingers trail beneath his chin, nodding along to the person babbling away next to him. But his gaze, his gaze remains on you. You squirm in your seat, clearing your throat as you avert your attention elsewhere. 

Fuck, that’s another point for him. 

You’d love to blame yourself for this, but in reality it’s his fault. His fault for showing up with an outfit showcasing every part of his body that is to drool for. You’re thankful that you aren’t sitting with him, or else you’d constantly throw glances downwards to his prominent thick thighs. You may or may have not once dreamt about riding them. But that’s for him to wonder and for you to know. 

The desert rolls around, a creamy cake and Taehyung’s eyes light up at the delicacy being placed in front of him. Maybe you’ve had enough, or maybe you’d love to finally revenge yourself seeing Namjoon is already giving you the perfect attention for it. 

Slowly, you take a bite, locking eyes with Namjoon from across the room. The cream manages to fill out the corners of your lips. Instead of taking a napkin, you drag your thumb over the corners before licking the excess. To your success, it works. Namjoon’s lips slightly part by your action, his adam’s apple bobbing proving he’s lost his breath due to it. 

Taehyung accidentally drops a piece of cake on his pants, groaning loudly which snaps you back from your lustful trance with Namjoon. You help Taehyung, handing him your unused napkin and he thanks you with a sincere smile. 

With hope, you return your gaze to Namjoon, but he’s gone. You look around, noticing how multiple have left the table and are now mingling amongst each other in playful chatter. This is your chance. 

‘’Hey, I’ll be right back. I just need to use the restroom.’’ You excuse yourself to Taehyung and he thankfully doesn’t seem to mind, leaving the table himself to talk with Jeon Jungkook, a biology professor. 

You set yourself on a mission to find Namjoon, walking away from the crowd, stumbling past some empty rooms that seem to be reserved for future meetings. When you reach the exit, someone pulls at your arm, pushing you inside a cramped closet. 

The minute you’re about to scream, you notice it’s Namjoon and your brows frown. Even though you were looking for him, you’re annoyed with every part of him and how he manages to affect you without having to lay a single finger on you. 

‘’Missed me?’’ He raises a brow in tact with the question. 

You roll your eyes at his comment, yet your body shivers. 

‘’I still hate you. Nothing has changed.’’ You step closer, the material of his jacket brushing against your exposed skin. 

Slowly, a smile grows on Namjoon’s face and a laugh manages to slip out. 

‘’Nothing has changed. Right, and you definitely haven’t been thinking about my tongue.’’ The words roll off perfectly, going straight to your core. 

‘’Not exactly.’’ 

With confidence, you bring your hands on him, trailing on his white shirt beneath the black jacket. Namjoon hisses by the sudden action, mouth agape as he watches you carefully explore his upper body. 

‘’Oh yeah? Then tell me.’’ You look up, moving your face closer to his until his nose brushes against yours. 

‘’Been thinking about sucking you off.’’ 

Namjoon closes his eyes before muttering, ‘’Fuck.’’ 

He moves closer, his lips hovering above yours but instead of completing his action you drop down to your knees. You give yourself support by holding firmly onto Namjoon’s thighs. They tense once in a while under your palm and it makes it hard for you not to imagine what it’d be like riding them. How the prominent lines of his muscles would flex under you, encouraging to continue as you hold tightly onto him. 

Maybe, if you still badly want him after this, you’ll take that fantasy into consideration. 

For now, you want nothing more than to return the gesture you would’ve given Namjoon since he left you half naked in the printer room. 

The material of his pants cling nicely to his thighs, showcasing a bit of what’s underneath and excitement bubbles at the pit of your stomach. Namjoon has completely lost his use of words, only breathing heavily as he observes your every move. 

Your palms start to move slowly over the material, feeling the soft sensation it carries. You squeeze down once or twice, dragging closer to his bulge that has started to strain beneath the slacks. You’re tempted to open the single button that keeps his pants up, but this is Namjoon. The Kim Namjoon who’s been on your nerves for the longest time. The Kim Namjoon who you thought you hated, but now? You aren’t exactly certain what you feel towards him. 

‘’I know what you’re doing.’’ Namjoon says. 

‘’And what am I doing?’’ You ask but don’t stop the motions of your hands. 

‘’You’re being slow on purpose, to torture me for all those months.’’ Wow. Kim Namjoon may carry a brain after all. 

It was your plan, to show him how painful slow can be and to poke him for being a slow professor in general. He’s taken you by surprise by cracking the code so quickly. 

You hum in approval. ‘’You got me.’’ Before you continue, Namjoon’s hooded eyes catch your attention. 

‘’I’m gonna show you how slow I can be.’’ It’s the last thing Namjoon hears from you, before you’ll tease him till he’ll plead for you to give in. 

Your mouth hovers above his bulge, lips trailing on the closed off zipper. The movements of your hands never stop admiring his firm thighs, how big they are under your burning skin. 

‘’You’re a fucking menace.’’ Namjoon manages to choke out, mind blurred from your breath so close yet so far from where he wants you. 

Ignoring his comment to your pace, you take a step further, removing his pants and dragging them down to his feet. His naked golden skin catches you off guard. The light partakes in making it look extraordinary, showing you the minor details of his definite muscles. 

‘’Shit.’’ You mutter under your breath and even though you aren’t looking at Namjoon, you can paint out the cocky smile he’s carrying. 

Straightening your back, you move closer, toying with the waistband that clings nicely on his hips. You haven’t even removed his boxers yet, but the outline of his cock tells you exactly what you’ve been wondering. Kim Namjoon is big. 

It’s a challenge you’re willing to take — in your mouth to be exact. 

Lifting the white shirt, you trail a few wet kisses on his abdomen and v-line. Namjoon grunts in response, grabbing onto your cheek out of instinct. The touch of his hand feels warm, careful and delicate and you urge yourself to not lean into his touch. 

Curiosity gets the worse out of you and with no warning, you pull down the briefs abruptly. Namjoon’s breath gets caught in his throat, a clogged moan slipping past his lips. You’re trying not to drool once his cock is fully exposed in front of you. Anger manages to seep through as well, remembering him keeping it a secret from you when you both got a taste of one another for the first time. 

He’s painfully hard, pre-cum leaking off his tip and you mentally praise yourself. You’ve managed to work him up a lot quicker than you had imagined. He’s never truly shown how much he wants you, even though his tongue has been on you. Namjoon never once admitted how much he wants you. 

Your lips trail on his thighs, inching closer to his cock that’s begging for attention but you aren’t so easy. The bridge of your nose brushes against the base of his cock and Namjoon’s grip on your cheek tightens. 

‘’You’re fucking killing me.’’ He’s laughing softly, although it’s painted with irritation. 

A small peck is received by your end. ‘’Tell me how badly you want me, and maybe I’ll give in.’’ 

Namjoon knows you’re playing the game, the game he started back then when he wanted you to admit how badly you wanted him before he dropped down to his knees, trailing his tongue on every part of you. You bat your eyes, waiting for him to give in and Namjoon clenches his jaw — contemplation overtaking his expression. 

With a deep breath, Namjoon closes his eyes. ‘’Please. Need your mouth so fucking badly.’’ 

One to one, to you. Let’s make that two. 

You comply, letting your tongue trail freely from the base to the tip, coating him in your saliva. The sounds from Namjoon are unexplainable, his moans sending you through the roof. 

The tip settles heavy on the end of your tongue, and you look up, catching a sight of Namjoon straining his neck, veins decorating it. 

Swirling your tongue on his tip, you manage to taste him. You open wider, inviting more of him inside your warm mouth, lips closing around his cock. With the help of your hand, you stroke what your mouth can’t cover and you start off at a slow pace. 

‘’Fuck—’’ Namjoon curses under his breath. His hand never leaves your cheek, secretly loving how he’s able to feel his cock inside your mouth. 

The slow pace is still a threat to him, but your soft lips on the outline of cock eases down the hatred he has for your plan. 

Internally you hope no one catches the both of you. Inside a closet, at an annual dinner party doing anything but friendly chatter which the other professors are too busy maintaining. It’s kind of thrilling somehow, your secret sneaking around with Namjoon — a professor you were bound to hate — yet here you are stuffing your mouth with his cock. 

The thrill starts building up when muttered chatter can be heard from where you are, and with that you completely blow off your plan, quickening the pace out of the blue. 

Namjoon knows you’re both at risk and he’d wish he would be able to enjoy this without having an uncomfortable thought of being caught. He bites his bottom lip, refraining himself from being too loud and giving you both away. 

Quickening your pace makes it easier for Namjoon to reach his limit. His thighs tense, along with his hand on your cheek and you’re prepared for him to come in your mouth. The last thing you want is for people to find cum stains in the closet while picking out their jacket to go home. 

‘’Shit baby— Yes. Fuck!’’ One choked out moan and Namjoon’s orgasm seeps through, the cum spilling itself in the base of your throat. The nickname catches you off guard, but you’re too busy making sure you don’t leave a mess behind. Thankfully, you succeed and quickly pull yourself up to your feet. 

‘’Holy shit.’’ Namjoon blurts out, panting with a smile. 

‘’We need to leave, before anyone catches us.’’ You inform, grabbing his wrist towards the exit while he fumbles with getting his pants back on. 

The air is a bit cooler once you’ve stepped out, Namjoon behind your trail. The dinner party is still going on, music starting to play over speakers and the teachers forming an awkward dance circle. 

‘’Hey, do you wanna get out of here?’’ The question throws you off guard. 

‘’What?’’ 

‘’Yeah, I mean my place isn’t far from here and I’d love to finally fuck you.’’ 

You chuckle, crossing your arms. ‘’You’re gonna have to earn that.’’ 

Before Namjoon responds, you turn your back, returning to Kim Taehyung and the rest of the crowd. 

Two to one, Kim Namjoon. 

© jjkeverlast 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost any of my works]

[darkroomkisses]

Please can we get a clingy ethan who never leaves the reader alone and the group thinks he is so annoying and weird, and the reader soon feels suffocated and tries to break up with him but he ends up scaring her with ghostface and so he comes to her rescue as if he didn't drive her to it💀 ty🫶

He Who Hurt You The Most (Dark!Ethan Landry x Reader)

(Not my pics-credit to Pinterest)

A/N: Sorry this took soooo long. I literally trash :/ but anywhoo, Enjoy some fucked up smutty romance lol<3

Pairing: Dark!Ethan Landry x Reader

Summary: You break up with Ethan after you can't take his suffocating and clingy behavior anymore. Unable to cope with the breakup, Ethan comes up with a sick plan to get you back.

Warnings: NON-CON, SMUT, Dark!Ethan Landry, Ghostface! Ethan Landry, Fem!reader, Angst, Toxic relationship, Choking, Dacryphilia, Possessive!Ethan, Unhinged!Ethan Landry, Unprotected P in V, Creampie, Bruises, Face Slapping, Name-calling, After-care. Ethan is mean in this. Bad time for reader.

Don't read if uncomfortable with dark themes!

Words: 4.4k

Banner by @straywords 🥀

“Ethan enough!” you shriek at your boyfriend. Finally, you had enough of this played-out argument you two were having for the millionth time. Your whole body was shaking with anger. You were sick of Ethan hovering over you and questioning your every move when you’re not with him. The last 8 months have had its ups and downs, but the ‘downs’ were getting harder to ignore.  

You love Ethan even though his jealousy and paranoid behavior scared you a little. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend; just overprotective. You tell yourself that over and over.

Ethan was looking at you with sad puppy dog eyes, he was kneeling at your feet while you sat in your bedroom. His grip is tight on your thighs.

“I just need some space...” you trail off, trying not to think of the pain he was currently inflicting on you.  

“What? You don’t mean that.” Ethan’s voice cracks. He looks into your eyes; he could tell you were serious this time, but he refused to accept it.  

“I do, now can you give me space for tonight? Please we can talk later.” you plead with him.  

“No Y/N, I love you! this isn’t you! I want this to work! I fucking love you baby.” Ethan holds you tighter, his voice growing louder with every word. The pain from his grasp makes you hiss now.  

“Ethan, you're hurting me” you whine.  

“What am I not good enough for you now?! You don't love me anymore?” Ethan moves his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks tightly.  

Lately Ethan hasn’t let you leave his sight. Every time you wanted to do something without him it turned into a fight, him yelling at you for minor things, it was too much. You shake his tight grip from your face.  

And God forbid you didn’t answer his texts within a certain time.

“Even now, you’re not listening to me, even my friends think something isn’t right-“ 

Ethan cuts you off quickly. “Friends? Why the hell would you talk to them about us?” Ethan spits out, insulted they had something to say.   

“I just needed to vent. I needed to talk to other people, not just you.”  

You love Ethan a lot, but you couldn’t deal with him being up your ass another minute.  

“You’re all I have! I can’t be without you!” Ethan screams at you, reaching to hold onto you again.  

“Just stop!” You pushed him away from you and stood up.  

“God! You're suffocating me, I need space! You never leave me alone. I don’t even get time to hang out with my friends. It’s too damn much. I hate it!” Your words come out like vomit. You let out a long sigh, turning your head away from him. “Just go!”  

You couldn’t hold back anymore and finally tell him what's been making you lose sleep at night. Was it a little harsh? Maybe. But you needed to get it off your chest. You hated hurting him like this, but it was only going to get worse if you didn’t say anything.  

Ethan stands up, not saying a word. His head is down, he looms over you like a dark figure. He’s furious. 

Ethan grabs your neck with one hand in a quick motion forcing you to look into his dark eyes. The usual bright light in your boyfriend's eyes is absent. The way he looks at you makes your heart sink, fear prickles on your body.  

“You will regret this and will realize what a big fucking mistake you’re making right now.”  

Your face drains of any color you had left. You reach up and try to pry his hand off you. Desperate for breath. Ethan finally lets you go and slams the door behind him. You let out a choked sob, tears breaking out of you like a burst dam.  

💔 

You were at a coffee shop the next day with Mindy, Tara and Annika. Your sunglasses covering your puffy and red eyes. You stir your coffee with a straw. You were sighing constantly and avoiding the perturbed looks coming from your friends.  

Your phone has been on do not disturb all day, you’ve been dodging Ethan’s calls and texts after last night.  

“All I'm saying is good riddance; He was so weird anyway” Mindy cringes. Sipping on her hot latte.  

“Yeah, like he was always around, like we barely seen you the last few months. We miss you” Tara voices putting her hand on yours in a comforting gesture.  

 You sniff at their words; you feel bad about them talking about Ethan this way, but you know they are right in a way.  

“Not to hate on the dude but he’s always creeped me out, the way he looks at you is kind of spooky.” Annika remarks, shivering at her own words.  

“You don’t know him like I do. He’s a gentle soul, he just has some demons, and bad family drama and its hard on him y’know” You utter trying to sound convincing. You didn’t know if you were trying to convince the girls or yourself. They stare at you for a beat, then share a look.  

“What? Don’t we all? He’s not perfect, trust me I know. He’s made mistakes.” You reason with your friends; they shift in their seats. They look like they don’t believe a word you say.  

“Right” Mindy lets out sarcastically and crosses her arms. “Thats why he yelled at you and put his hand around your neck and won’t leave you alone? Yeah, sounds like a realll good guy that respects boundaries.”  

“Mindy...” Annika chastises her. Shooting her girlfriend a disapproving glare. Mindy grumbles about being right. You know Mindy had a good point, Ethan never hurt you like that before yesterday, you were so scared of him in that moment. Even though he’s been texting and calling non-stop to say sorry; you’ve been ignoring him. You just can’t talk to him right now.  

You sigh and sink in your seat. You feel like you’re going to cry again. “Whatever, I need to go home, I barely slept a wink” You mumble before standing up.  

“Thanks for the coffee.” You say flatly as you gather your bag and phone.  

“We’ll come with you, if you want” Tara chirps.  

“Nah, I need to be alone for a while.” Your friends give you pitiful eyes and goodbyes as you walk out.  

You couldn’t stop thinking about your friends comments on the way back to your place.  

Was Ethan really that bad? Or did your friends not just understand him. You loved him but you couldn’t ignore some of his behaviors. His need to be with you all the time was off-putting. He acted like if he blinked you would disappear. And him choking you was a step too far; you need real time apart. You just hoped this time apart would be healthy for both of you and would make your relationship stronger than ever.  

You make your way into your apartment, You take out your keys, putting the key in the hole, only to find out the door isnt locked. That’s odd but maybe you forgot to lock it on your way out earlier. Your tired brain must have forgotten. You don’t linger on it too long as you step into the apartment.  

Your bedroom light was on. The light peeked through the cracked door. You could have sworn you turned it off but you’re too tired to give it much thought right now.  

You push the door open, and you take a quick look around your bedroom. Nothing. You feel a little anxious still; but decide it’s just lack of sleep playing tricks on your mind. You shrug off your bag, it drops on the floor. You’re so ready to curl up in bed and sleep the day away. 

You plop on your bed laying back, closing your eyes. When you hear a creak on your wood floors, you tense sitting up quickly. Your heartbeat quickens and you stand up. You know in every horror movie the dumb character investigates a noise and ends up slashed, but your feet don’t stop you from doing just that.  

“Hello?” You whimper out loud. Maybe a dumb thing to say if someone was in here. But you don’t know what else to do. You creep to the closet where you think the noise came from. You slowly reach for the door, you feel like you might shit yourself. Your heart races as you open the door and stare into the empty closet.  

“Nothing of course” you sigh out reassuring yourself you are fine. You laugh at yourself for being so paranoid as you walk back into the living room making sure your front door is locked. You turn out the lights and head to your bed. Not even bothering to change out of your dress. Your eyes linger on the stuffie Ethan got for you on your first date. You cuddle it softly as quiet sobs escape your body.  

💔

Ethan was hiding out in your apartment since you left earlier for coffee. Ethan stalked you all night, never really leaving you alone like you asked. Tracking your location, of course you forgot to turn off your shared location. He just had to make sure you were alright without him.  

He waited for you to text him telling him how wrong you were and how much you need him, but that never happened. In fact, you were ignoring all his texts and calls. Ethan was more angry about that then he wanted to admit.  

Fuck it, he couldn’t wait any longer. He knew he had to do something more drastic to get you back and he had just the plan.  

He was a little disappointed in you, you barely noticed that your apartment was broken into. He was in your room, on your bed, turned your lights on, even left the door unlocked and you didn’t bat an eye. He’s angry you didn’t drop this ‘breakup’ act and didn’t immediately call him to check the place out.  

Ethan was going to show you how foolish you were. He moved out of his hiding spot tucked away in another closet. He spent some time just watching you sleep, unaware of his presence. He was in his Ghostface costume; he had to make this scare authentic as possible.  

He was looming over your sleeping body. He so badly wanted to be cuddled up with you, holding you tight as he caresses your sleeping face. But no, he couldn’t do that because you made the bitch move and kicked him out.  

You shifted in your sleep and Ethan perked up and grips his knife tightly. He was ready, he wanted to give you the scare of a lifetime. He didn’t want to hurt you with the edged blade, but he had to make this believable. 

Ethan pulls your blanket off and gets on the bed and straddles you. “Y/N~” Ethan whispers softly in his Ghostface voice. He grips your neck when you don’t wake up. Your eyes pop open, you stare up at the dark figure hovering over you. “What-” you choke out, your eyes wide and full of panic. Your heart is beating so fast, you try to shake him off.  

Ethan grips your neck tightly. He wishes you could see his face right now. He’s smiling hard thinking about taking his anger out on you. You left him. You wanted time apart, and Ethan couldn’t cope with that. He loved you deeper than he ever loved anyone. You took his virginity, you took his heart, you consumed his soul. Now it was his turn to break you. He was going to make you run back into his arms whether you wanted to or not.  

Ethan was giddy to see you so broken and scared under him. Nowhere to run or hide. Ethan took the blade of his knife and pressed it flat against your exposed panties. Your scream is caught in your throat with Ethan’s hand still wrapped around your neck. He harshly pressed down on your neck again before quickly moving it away. You let out a choked sob. “If you scream, I'll fuck up that pretty little face of yours.” Ethan threatened.  

You silently nod your head, having no other choice. Your eyes quickly scan the room looking for anything to help you. Fuck, you felt trapped with nothing in reach to save you right now. Ethan gripped your face, noticing your wandering eyes.  

“Don’t fucking think about it, nothing can save you right now” The mockery in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you.  

“What do you want?” you sputter out. “You.” Ethan simply said. He flipped the blade on his knife; the cold metal sends shivers through you. “Please don’t! Take anything I don’t care, just leave me alone!”  

Ethan laughs at your pleading and begging. “Baby your body is worth so much more than anything you can offer me.”  

Ethan takes his hand off your face and removes his blade. You shiver with relief for a second. “My boyfriend will be here any fucking moment you need to leave!” You lie, trying to sound convincing. Ethan lets out another laugh, shaking his head at you. “If you only knew”  

You pinched your brows together. What the fuck does that mean? Did he hurt Ethan? Is he dead right now? You don’t know what to think, your mind racing while this nightmare in form of a man looms over you. Tired of your silence he gets your attention by slapping your cheek hard. You gasp at the sudden attack. 

“Standup.” He commands, moving sightly away so you can squeeze from under him. You do just that, holding your hot cheek.  

You stand up on shaky legs, you watch Ghostface in front of you sitting on the edge of the bed with his knife pointing toward you. His immense figure is frightening, the expressionless white mask sends goosebumps all over your body, you don’t say a word, afraid of what he might do next.  

You quickly glance at your bedroom door; it’s closed and locked. You curse at yourself; you were hoping to use this moment to run.  

You clear your throat, you can't see it, but you feel the man under the mask running his eyes over your body. You push the bile forming in your throat back down. You try to cover your body, feeling exposed in the dress you chose to wear today, it was one of Ethan’s favorites.  

“Don’t” he says roughly. “Take it off”  

“I can’t-” 

“Don't make me cut it off. That would be a shame, it looks so good on you”  

You take a deep breath and unzip your dress sliding it down your body, you opted for no bra today, kicking yourself for not giving a fuck earlier. Your black cheeky panties are the only thing keeping your modesty. You keep your hands at your sides. You hear a deep grunt from the man in front of you. 

“Come” Ethan motions his fingers at you to stand in front of him. You take a step closer, and he grabs your arm pulling you against him. He wraps his arms around your middle and for a quick moment his hold feels familiar. That thought is ripped from you when you feel him tearing your panties from your body, you let out a yelp.  

His free hand runs over your body, lingering on your tits, squeezing and molding them in his palm. “Fuck your body is amazing” He drags out. Ethan couldn’t hold it in anymore. He needed you now after watching your little striptease for him. 

“Get on the fucking floor, lay on your stomach, and don’t move an inch” He commands making you move without second thought. You were trying to lay still but your body was shaking hard. You tried to control your breathing; you closed your eyes in preparation for what you imagined was going to happen next.  

Ethan tucked the knife away and undid his zipper pulling his aching hard cock out. Giving it a few strokes while staring at his once perfect little girlfriend under his mercy and willing to do anything to save herself.  

Breaking your psyche was punishment enough, but to really send you running back to him, he had no choice but to fuck you hard and rough on your bedroom floor. He gets on top of you running his hands on your body and he takes his gloves off and rubs his fingers over your pussy then focusing on your clit for a minute.  

You let out a little noise, your eyes still squeezed shut. Ethan was doing a half ass job of getting you wet, not really caring right now about your comfort or pleasure. He still wanted it to hurt and make you regret trying to leave him.  

He takes his cock and lines up, pushing deep with his first thrust. You let out a cry, bracing yourself on the hardwood, trying to push yourself up. Ethan takes his hand and pushes your face against the hardwood, keeping you in place.  

“Oh fuck” Ethan lets out as he pulls out to push inside you roughly once more. Your body aches with every thrust against the hardwood. You pound your fists into the floor, trying to wiggle from under him. Ethan rams into you again and again, the burning sensation makes you scream out. Your tears stain the floor.  

“S-stop, it hurts!” you beg, your mind can’t understand anything but the pain coursing through your body. Ethan leans onto your back making him push deeper into you. He slows down giving you a little relief from his intense pounding.  

“Fucking take it, whore like you deserve pain.” Ethan speaks into your ear; The mask digs into your neck. You whimper softly, “What did I do?” You can’t even understand why this was happening, or why you would ever deserve this. You apologize anyway, over and over hoping to appease the man “I’m sorry, I'm sorry”.  

“Oh baby, words aren’t enough, don’t waste your breath” Ethan’s merciless words only make you cry more. Ethan reaches his hand under you and makes contact with your clit; he rubs it harshly.  

“Your crying is so cute; it makes me so hard for you” Ethan wasn’t lying seeing you crying like this made him swell even more inside you. It turned him on whenever he seen your pretty face spoiled with tears, he finally got to admit that out loud. 

“Cry for me baby. I know you like me filling your little hole up.” Ethan moaned out. Despite your fear and discomfort, your body doesn’t listen, and your hole gets slicker with every move of his hips and stroke of his fingers. You let out a little whine, as he rolls his hips deeper into you, pressing his hips flush against your ass. “Up on your hands and knees now.” 

He pulls your hips up and makes you steady on your hands and knees. He holds onto your hips with both hands, and fucks into you hard enough to make you scream. Your arms go limp, making you crash onto the floor, you have no energy to hold yourself up anymore. 

Your head is spinning from the pain. Ethan doesn’t help you back up; he continues to fuck you with no mercy.  

“Fuck I don’t wanna stop, you’re so perfect for me” Ethan’s mind is so delirious with pleasure, his anger is long gone, He only cares about getting off right now.  

“I'm going to cum, tell me you want it” Ethan slurs. He digs his hands deeper into your bruised hips. 

“Say you want it, baby” you don’t answer, and Ethan slaps your ass check hard.  

“Fucking say it, you little whore” Ethan takes a hand to the back of your head to pull you up by your hair. He stares at your fucked out face, only made dirtier by your tears and snot smeared on your face. “Fuck you’re so dirty, I really fucked you up.” Ethan smiles smugly and grips your hair harder, waiting for your answer. 

“I-I want it, I want it” you finally choke out. Ethan wanted you to beg more but he couldn’t wait, he was so close. He pushes you back down and with a few jerks of his hips and he comes deep inside you. He doesn’t pull out right away savoring the warm feeling.  

All the months of dating you never let him cum inside you, but right now you didn’t have a choice. He wanted this feeling to last forever. He reluctantly pulls out of you, watching his cum drip down your leg. 

You don’t move an inch. You lay there silently, hoping this is a bad dream you’re going to wake up from. Ethan stands over you. He tucks his cock back in his pants and zips himself up.  

“Word of advice don’t go trying to find me or go to those pig head cops. I will find out and next time you’ll wish I just raped your tight little pussy again.” His malicious words cut into you deep like a knife. You curl into yourself and weep hard. 

He takes his knife and steps over you. Leaving you lying on the cold floor, sore and broken and more afraid than ever.  

You don’t even know how long you laid in that same spot, it felt like hours. Your body was so sore you could hardly move. You used your little strength to pull your blanket off your bed to cover yourself up. You grabbed your phone with shaky hands, you dialed the number that you spent all day ignoring. He picks up on the first ring, and the familiar hello warms up your icy body.  

“Ethan? I-I need you” you take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “Come over please.” your voice squeaked a little.  

“Are you alright? You don’t sound okay” Ethan questioned; you could hear him rushing in the background.  

“Just come, okay?” You barely have the energy to say more right now. Ethan lets out a quick okay and you hang up.  

It isn't too long before your bedroom door creaks open. Ethan is standing in the doorway. “Y/N?”  

“Oh my god, what happened to you?” Ethan rushes over to you, and lightly puts his hands on your shoulders.  

You look up at him slowly, you almost burst into tears when you see him. The disturbed look on his face makes you feel sick.  

“S-someone attacked me...wearing a Ghostface mask.” You whisper out, holding back more tears. Ethan squeezes your shoulders a little tighter.  

“What? Where did they hurt you?” His eyes run up and down your body looking for wounds.  

“No not like that, he-” You burst into tears before you can even get the words out. You wanted nothing more than to tell Ethan what that heinous man did to you, how much you were hurting but the words wouldn’t come out.  

Ethan seems to understand what you mean without you saying anything more. “Do you know who did it? Baby, listen we have to call the police or something.”  

Fear shoots through your body. “No, I have no idea, but please no cops! He’ll know, I can’t tell anyone.” You quiver, running your hands over your face to wipe your eyes. Ethan doesn’t say anything else. He pulls you into a tight hug, rubbing your hair softly. Letting you cry it out.  

Ethan couldn’t help but smile as he comforted you. He was happy the line about the police worked so well. Of course, he didn’t think the cops were smart enough to pin it on him, but he had to be safe by scaring you like that.  

His heart was racing not because of the terrible guilt or shame he felt. But because you came back to him. He smiled because you chose him to help you in a time of need. You didn’t call any of your bitch friends, they were part of the reason you tried breaking up with him. You called him first. And he couldn’t be happier.  

You sat wrapped in his arms for several minutes before the tears stopped.  

“Baby let me run you a bath, warm you up” You look up at Ethan and nod your head. He goes to the bathroom and runs the water nice and warm for you. He returns to you and walks over. You start to get up. “Don’t move, let me help” He scoops you up in his arms holding your body bridal style, keeping you as close to him as possible. Ethan never wanted to let you go, you feel so fragile in his arms, he knows he is the only one who can protect you now. 

You were surprised at how easily he picked you up with no effort. He carries you into your bathroom and settles you into the soapy water, it’s the perfect temp, you close your eyes as the warmth hugs you.  

Ethan grabs your washcloth and soap and slowly starts cleaning your bruised body. He didn’t get a good look till now of the red marks covering your skin, you were beautiful in his eyes, displaying the marks he gave you.  

“I promise you, we will get through this Y/N” He reassured you as he slowly ran the washcloth up and down your arm then your torso.  

“That man will never hurt you again. I won’t let a soul come between us and I won’t ever let you leave me again. I’ll always protect you baby.”  

Your heart skipped a beat at Ethan’s words, an uneasy feeling settled deep inside you. You gave Ethan a weary smile, despite your instincts pointing at something very wrong. You don’t trust it and choose to push it away, not wanting to believe the worst.  

You finish your bath, and Ethan wraps you in your towel, and carries you to your bed, planting light kisses to the top of your head.  

He picks out something for you to sleep in and puts it carefully on you, trying to be as gentle as possible. You get under the covers and make room for Ethan.  

“Ethan, can you spend the night?” His eyes light up at your request.  

“Of course, I wouldn’t think of leaving you” Ethan takes off his jeans and shirt and settles in the bed with you and wraps his arms around you.  

“I’ll never leave you alone again baby, you’re safe with me...always safe with me” Ethan says believing his own lies and so do you. Ethan hugs you tighter as you silently cry into the arms of the man who held you down only hours before. But you will never know that. If one thing is for certain, Ethan would make sure of that. 

[mrworldwideshoulders]

can’t take my eyes off of you || reader x kth

Pairing: reader x KTH Word count: 5.1k Rating: M / R (18+) Genre: one night stand, smut, pinch of fluff Summary: It was supposed to be a girls’ night out. So what are you doing here by yourself, and why has the guy across the bar set his smoldering gaze on you of all people? Inspired by Runaway Baby - Bruno Mars.  Warnings: alcohol consumption, penetrative sex (protected of course), orgasms, big dicc!tae (my god), reader is a blushing mess (and so am I jfc) A/N: this took forever for some reason (even though it was totally supposed to come out sooner T_T) but it’s finally here (and just in time)! first attempt at real smut so this is probably a mess but enjoy anyway >.< as always beta'd and bannered by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable). thx! ly - robyn P.S. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they simply inspire me. 

inspo playlist here

part of the doo-wops, hooligans, and unorthodox magic collection (masterlist)

“Should we take this somewhere more…private?” That deep, velvety-smooth voice again, a whisper that brushes lightly against your ear. 

You awaken with a start, eyes roving around, attempting to make sense of your surroundings. That is definitely not the ceiling of your apartment above you. Everything is unfamiliar: everything from the sheets to the art on the walls to the handsome stranger in bed next to you. He’s asleep, a flop of messy hair sweeping over his delicate, almond-shaped eyes. His arms wrap around you, as if he’s hugging a pillow to his chest – as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You only have to look at him to remember that it was his voice in your head. Who is he? And how did you get here? Memories of what must have happened last night flood into your brain, though somewhat obscured by the fog that comes with heavy drinking and other bad decisions. 

The bar. You remember getting to the bar. What happened afterwards? You were supposed to meet your best friend Hyejin, but she cancelled on you at the last minute, something about how her younger brother was visiting on surprise leave from the military. "I'm sorry, y/n!" she'd wailed into the phone. "I had no idea Jun was going to pull something like this. I was literally walking out the door when he showed up, and he's only in the city this weekend, so our parents will kill me if I don't take him out to dinner at least once." 

You sigh, only slightly annoyed. "It's fine, Hyejin. He's your brother. I understand." 

"Not that I don't appreciate the thought, but aish, I could just kill him sometimes. Will you be all right by yourself?"

You glance around the bar, which is starting to get noisier as more people fill in. "I'll be fine. I'll probably just have one drink and then go home. Since I’m already here."

Hyejin blows you a raspberry. "Boring! And we were going to get you laid tonight, too. Finally break that dry spell of yours. All because my brother decides he just has to surprise me this weekend."

"Jin!" you hiss, cheeks flaming. You’ve never been the casual hookup-one night stand type, and she knows that. Why is she so hellbent on getting you laid?

"It's true!" she insists. "It’s been months since you’ve gotten any. Y/n, please promise me that you won't just have one drink and go home. Have two drinks. Three, even. Give excitement a chance to unfold. Maybe get yourself something – or someone – special?" You can almost picture her waggling her eyebrows on the other end of the phone. 

You roll your eyes. “I’m hanging up on you.” 

“Okay, okay. Promise you’ll tell me all the gory details at lunch tomorrow?”

“I doubt they will be in any way gory or interesting, but fine. I’m really hanging up on you now, Jin. Have fun with your brother.” 

“Be safe, y/n. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and don’t forget to use protection!” You can hear the mischievous grin in her voice.

You let out a disgusted groan, and hang up without another word, sighing as you stare down into your nearly empty cosmopolitan. Hyejin is right. It's been what, almost six months since you found your boyfriend in your bed with another woman? You still miss the sheets you’d had to throw out after you kicked him out of your apartment. The whole experience was enough to put you off dating permanently – but you can’t deny you have your own needs. You’re a grown woman, after all, and there’s only so much your vibrator can do for you. You finish off the last of your cocktail and order another, fully intending to leave once it’s gone. There will be other nights, and other men, and you’d much rather do this when Hyejin is around to keep you from embarrassing yourself too much. 

The bartender sets a fresh glass down in front of you. “Compliments of the gentleman over there.” He nods toward the end of the bar, where what may very well be the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on is sitting. Dark hair falls in a swoop over one eye, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal a set of toned forearms. An expensive-looking watch rests on one wrist, completing the full image. He nods at you, winks, and raises his glass of red wine. You raise your own in return. 

First and last time that’ll ever happen, you think to yourself, sipping on your drink. The clamor of the bar builds, and you sit there alone, not quite sure what to do with yourself. You tug at the hemline of your dress: short, spaghetti strapped, uncomfortable, thinking of the sweatpants you’re going to change into immediately upon returning home, the shows from this week that you need to catch up on, and then maybe you’ll fall into bed at a reasonable hour, waking up just early enough to squeeze in a workout and a shower before you have to meet Hyejin for lunch and tell her all of the non-details of your non-adventurous evening. Boring, routine, and comfortable. A glance tells you the man at the end of the bar is still staring at you. You try to ignore him, but his eyes are still laser-focused on you. You shift uncomfortably.

Just who does this guy think he is?

You down the last of your cosmo and vacate your stool, making sure not to wobble in your heels as you march toward him. He watches you approach with what seems to be great interest. "You," you demand, pointing a finger at him. "Why do you keep staring at me?"

He holds your gaze, almost defiantly. He doesn’t even flinch at your accusing finger. "I like looking at pretty things," he says, his mouth quirking up at the corners in a smirk. "Can you blame me?"

You're not sure whether to feel flattered or creeped out, but your mouth speaks for you before you can even think about it. "What, so I'm a thing now?"

"Is that so bad?" he questions. "To be the object of someone's admiration?" His eyes darken as they look you up and down. 

You feel bare. Exposed. Like he's seen something about you that you've never even seen yourself. “What if I don’t want to be an object?” you challenge. ”What then?” 

“Hm. I don’t know,” he says. He seems amused. “I’m sure we could figure something else out.” 

“Who are you, anyway?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. 

"I'm Taehyung." The name rolls off his tongue. "But you can call me Tae. Yours?"

You hesitate. "Buy me another drink and maybe I'll tell you," you say finally. 

Taehyung smiles. Challenge accepted. He motions the bartender over, who looks between both of you questioningly. "You heard her," he says. "Whatever she's having."

You slide onto the barstool next to him, and the bartender sets another cocktail in front of you. "So," you start. "Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to stare at people?"

"They have. It's never stopped me before, though." Taehyung takes a sip of his wine. “You still haven’t told me your name, by the way.” 

“Y/n,” you say after a momentary pause, debating whether or not you should give him a fake one. “It’s y/n.” 

“Y/n,” he repeats. Your name sounds different when he says it. “A pleasure.” 

Your cheeks warm, though you’re not sure if it’s the liquor or his gaze. "What brings you out by yourself tonight, then?" you ask. “Surely someone like you has plenty of places he could be on a Friday night, instead of sitting by himself in a bar, staring at unsuspecting women.” Handsome. Seemingly well-rounded. Fairly charming. 

"Hmm,” he muses. “I’m an artist of sorts, but I’m feeling a little…blocked at the moment, so I guess you could say I'm looking for inspiration." 

“You’re an artist?” you say. “I never would have expected that.” A closer glance at his hands reveals a few stray flecks of paint around his nails.

“I get that a lot.” He chuckles. “I guess I don’t really look the part, do I?” The corners of his eyes crinkle with the boxy smile that emerges from his laugh. 

“Well,” you say, resting your chin on your palm. “Mr. Artiste. How’s the search for inspiration going?” 

"Between you and me," he says, turning to you, one elbow leaned against the bar, "I'd say it's looking fairly promising. But…” Taehyung looks you straight in the eyes. “I could ask the same of you. Y/n, what’s a beautiful woman like yourself doing alone at the bar on a night like this?”

“You flatter me.”

“It’s true.” He shrugs. "Anyone can see that you're positively captivating."

Your ex never would have told you anything like that, not in the months before things ended. Your ears tingle. "At least someone thinks so." 

“Why do you say that?” he asks.

“Where do I start?” You stare down into your glass, running a finger around the rim. You shake your head. “Ah, don’t listen to me. I don’t want to bore you with complaining about my asshole ex.” 

“Whoever he is, or was,” says Taehyung, gently turning your head to look at him, “it’s his loss. He has no idea what he’s missing out on.” 

"You just met me five minutes ago," you say. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Well," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching, "I get the feeling I'm about to find out."

Oh my god. Oh. My. God. You take a deep breath in an attempt to keep yourself from panicking. What did you do last night? What are you supposed to do now? Your memories are still blurry, but one thing is for certain: you’ve got to get out of here before he notices you’re gone. Hoping he doesn’t wake up, you extricate yourself gingerly from his grip and edge gently to the side of the bed, holding one of the blankets to your chest while you scan the floor for your clothes. As you’re about to stand up, a hand suddenly locks around your wrist in a firm grasp. You look over your shoulder. Taehyung’s eyes are open now, his gaze fixed on you. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demands. His voice stops you in your tracks. Even half-asleep he sounds like the type of person who’s used to getting what he wants. "Did you think I wouldn't notice you trying to disappear on me?"

“I was just…” You clear your throat. Your cheeks burn. What exactly are you planning on telling him? Leaving? Looking for the bathroom? Going on a coffee run and never coming back? You can’t make yourself finish the sentence. It's as if his gaze has caused your brain to short-circuit.

Taehyung sits up, the bedsheet draped tantalizingly low across his hips, the firm planes of his lower abdomen taking your mind somewhere it shouldn’t. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy on me now.” He dips his head at the blanket covering your breasts. “Especially not after everything you begged me to do to you last night.” He smirks.

Your face flames even hotter. “Um – I…I don’t —” 

“You don’t remember?” he says. “Hm. And what should we do about that?” An arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back toward him. “Should I give you a refresher?” he whispers into your ear. “I’m ready whenever.” 

“I can tell,” you say breathlessly. You can feel him pressing against you – every inch of him. 

Taehyung kisses you, just behind your ear, letting his teeth graze the outside of it, planting a trail of blooming kisses down your neck and across your shoulder. “Anything?” His voice is low and dark, filled with lust. “Or should I continue?” 

“It’s coming back to me,” you exhale. Don’t stop. Please.

The brick wall outside scrapes against your shoulder blades, the cold night air making you shiver slightly. His lips are on yours, on your neck, trailing down across your bare collarbone, each one burning more than the next until you’re completely aflame. The front of his shirt is clenched in your fists, the only thing keeping you from sliding down to the pavement. But he pulls away, and you let out a frustrated huff. A crowd of people leaving the bar walks past, chattering loudly, and Taehyung’s hand is suddenly on the wall next to your head, his arm out to shield you from anyone’s view. He’s biting his lower lip, dark eyes glinting. “You have no idea how much I want to just take you right here, right up against this wall.”

“So do it then,” you breathe. "Take me. Fuck me right here in this alley.” You don’t know what you’re saying. All you know is that you want his hands back on you, right now, so you guide them toward your waist. 

“So eager.” He smiles. “But not here. I want to be the only one who hears you scream tonight.” Taehyung’s voice lowers to a whisper as he leans in. “Should we take this somewhere more…private?” He tilts your chin up to look him in the eye. “Last chance to say no.” 

“Is there a reason I should?” You look up at him through your lashes. 

“Not in my opinion.” Taehyung smirks. “So what’s it going to be?”

You're barely inside the door of his apartment before his hands are on you again, fumbling for the zipper of your dress, eventually giving up and yanking the whole thing over your head. "Hey, be careful," you giggle between kisses, working at unbuttoning his shirt. "That dress was expensive."

"I'll buy you a new one," he says, flinging it away so you don't see where it lands, nimble fingers moving to unhook your bra, an uncomfortable strapless push-up you only ever wear to make your tits look good. “I’ll buy you ten new ones." He tosses the bra over his shoulder as well. "God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He hoists you up, palming your ass with those massive hands of his, letting your legs wrap around his waist. You buck against him, needing the friction to lessen the ache between your legs. “Fuck, y/n,” he growls. “I can’t control myself around you.” 

“I don’t care,” you say, gasping as he presses you up against the wall. “I don’t fucking care.” You’re moving again, down a hall to another room. The bedroom. 

Taehyung tosses you down roughly on the bed. He looms over you, his eyes nearly black with desire. “Stunning,” he says. “Absolutely stunning. Now that I’ve got you all to myself…I might never let you go. I’m going to ruin you, y/n.” He snaps the waistband of your underwear. “Are you all right with that?” 

“Why are you still talking?” You pull him down toward you and kiss him, pushing the unbuttoned shirt all the way off his shoulders. “Go ahead and do it already. Ruin me. I’m all yours.” 

"That's right," he says, dropping another kiss on your lips. "You're all mine, baby. Just for me.” His lips trail down, a waterfall of kisses running through the valley between your breasts, down your stomach, stopping just above your hips, where he deftly slides off your underwear and tosses them aside. “Are you ready?”

You nod wordlessly. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He’s gorgeous, standing there in the moonlight. He leans over you, reaching for something in the bedside table, enveloping you in his scent: sandalwood and bergamot, hints of pine. You hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper. 

“Wait.” You stop him before he can put it on. “Let me. Please, Tae. I want to.”

“You want to touch me?” Taehyung smirks. “Even better.” He hands you the unwrapped condom. “I’ll let you do the honors.” 

You draw in a breath and roll the condom up his cock: thick, heavy, already wet with precum. It’s bigger than you imagined, especially in your hands – in fact, massive might be a better word for it.

He groans as you move slowly up the shaft. “Y/n…” 

“What?” you tease. “Something wrong?”

“It’s not every day I have your pretty little hands wrapped around my cock.” He grins. “I’m just enjoying the ride.” 

"Oh, these hands?" you ask innocently, running a finger down his length.

"Fuck," he exhales. He leans down, bringing his face inches away from yours. “You trying to kill me?” God, this man knows how to use his mouth. And his fingers. He traces one long index finger down your drenched center, teasing at your entrance. “So wet for me already,” Taehyung marvels. “It won’t be long now.” 

“Tae…” you whine, biting your lower lip.

“Say please.” 

You inhale sharply. “Please.” 

“Good girl.” He slips another finger inside you, circling your clit. It’s so swollen and sensitive he barely has to touch it before you let out a soft moan. "Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what you need." 

"I need you," you gasp. "Need you inside me. Right now."

Taehyung gently touches your face. “Not yet, baby,” he coaxes. “Wait for me. Just a little while longer.” He settles himself between your legs, the tip of his cock pressing against your core. You close your eyes, sucking in your bottom lip, gasping slightly as he slips inside, feeling yourself stretching to accommodate him, shifting your pelvis to take on even more. You feel full. Warm. Good. It feels good. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. He’s huge. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Can I move?” 

You nod earnestly. “Move, Tae. For the love of god, fucking move.” 

He rocks into you, slowly at first, then faster. “God, you feel amazing. How is it possible that you’re so amazing?” 

“Show me,” you demand. “Show me how good I make you feel.” 

“Whatever you want, baby. I’ll give it to you.”

“Harder,” you pant. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t see straight. I want to see stars. Constellations. The whole damn solar system.”

“Happy to oblige.” Taehyung smiles. His thrusts intensify, leaving you teetering on the edge, fists clenching the sheets underneath you. You cry out, the pressure of your impending orgasm nearly too much to bear. He touches your cheek. “Wait for me,” he commands. “Almost there. Almost.” 

“I can’t,” you whimper. “I’m going to –” 

He silences you by touching a finger to your lips. “Shh,” he whispers.

That moment seems to last forever, building, building – until finally, the dam bursts. Pure, white hot adrenaline, the passion, the desire, all setting off fireworks behind your eyes. Your nails dig into his back as you hang on, seemingly for dear life. He comes undone with a groan, spilling himself inside of you as the force of your climax hits you like a tidal wave. 

He collapses onto the mattress, panting slightly, and presses a kiss to the side of your forehead. “Fuck. That was…”

“Really something,” you finish. Your heart is still racing. 

“You could say that.” Taehyung chuckles. 

“I haven’t come that hard since…ever.” 

“Never?” He turns his head to look at you, one eyebrow raised. 

You think back. “Maybe once. But it’s been a really long time.” 

“So definitely better than your ex?” he teases. “I’ll take it.” 

“That’s it? You’re easily satisfied.” 

His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you toward him. “No. I’m not. Not usually. So you’d better be careful or…”

“Or what?” 

Taehyung smiles, eyes closed, almost half asleep already. “Hmm.” He hums gently. “I just might fall in love with you.” 

“So,” he says, his low voice bringing you back to the present. “Where were you running off to in such a hurry just now?” 

“Uh…” What was it you were about to do? You were looking for something. Clothes. You were looking for your clothes. “My dress. I need my dress.”

“Oh, that,” Taehyung says dismissively. “I think we left it somewhere near the kitchen. Along with, well…” He peers around at your face, grinning. “Everything else.” He’s still pressed up against you. 

Your senses come rushing back, and you pull away. “Look,” you babble. “I don’t normally do this kind of thing, and last night was…great, but —”

“I’d like to think it was more than just great,” he shrugs. “Phenomenal. Earth-shattering. Damn near amazing. But call it what you like.” 

“I’ve really got to go,” you blurt. “I have an…engagement.” Lunch. With Hyejin. Right. What time is it, anyway? 

“Ah.” If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. “Of course. Don’t let me stop you.” Taehyung cocks an eyebrow wolfishly. “Unless you’d like me to.”  

"Uh, no. That’s all right." How does he do that? How does he know how to fluster you with a single look? You keep the blanket wrapped around you while you pad into the kitchen, where you find your dress in a mound on the floor. Wrinkled. Of course. You sigh and pick it up. The daylight allows you a better look at the rest of his apartment, one that you didn't get the night before. The front room is high-ceilinged, exposed brick and tall windows overlooking the street below. Your eyes linger on the canvases leaned up against one wall, the easel with the cloth-covered painting on top of it. Or you would assume there's a painting under there; you can't exactly see it, but it would only make sense. "So he is actually an artist," you say to yourself. 

"Of course I am," he says, appearing behind you out of nowhere. "Not exactly the kind of thing I’d lie about." 

You whip around to find him standing there, clad only in boxers and an amused expression. "I don't know. You could have just told me that to make yourself seem more interesting. You wouldn't be the first guy to do it. Women love a man with depth."

"So did it work, then?" He presses his lips together, obviously trying to hide a smile. "Do you think I'm interesting?" 

"Hm." You smile and look down. "Not sure yet. I'll let you know." 

"Please. By all means."

You seem to remember there was something else you were supposed to be doing. "Uh…bathroom?"

"Down there." He points you back in the direction of the bedroom. 

"Thanks." You gather up your things into a pile and shut the door after you, letting out a breath as you lean against it. You dress quickly and fix your hair as much as you can with the comb you keep in your purse, splash some water on your flushed cheeks, then head back into the kitchen. He’s there at the island, scribbling something on a piece of paper. “What’s that?” you say as you approach, still fiddling with the back zipper on your dress that seems to have jammed itself on its way off last night. 

“My number. I realized I didn’t give it to you last night.” He smirks, pushing it toward you. “Just in case you need me.” 

God, he's cocky. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little into it. “Who says I'll need you?” That’s what you say – but you tuck it into your bag anyway. 

“If you change your mind. Here, let me.” Taehyung gets the zipper unstuck and finishes zipping up the back of your dress. He presses a final kiss lightly against the shell of your ear. “You should go. You have your engagement, don’t you? Wouldn’t want you to be late.” 

"Are you rushing me out?" you say, glancing over your shoulder.

"Oh, you can stay as long as you like," he says. “Just trying to be considerate of your time.” 

"I appreciate that." Suddenly you don't want to go. You’d rather stay here, in bed, in his arms. But that’s not what that is. You don’t know what this is, but you know it’s not how this kind of thing works. You pick up your shoes and walk toward the door. He follows closely behind you. You hesitate, turning back toward him. “I guess this is it, then?” you say. 

“I suppose it is,” he says. 

“Well…thanks,” you say, unsure what to say next. “I had a good time.” You recall the stiff, sore feeling between your legs and sigh internally. You’re going to be feeling this for the next day or two – but regret doesn’t even begin to cross your mind. 

“Until the next one?” He’s still smirking. 

Next time? “Who says there’s going to be a next time?” You cross your arms and look up at him. 

“Just wishful thinking. I would like to see you again, but we can discuss that when the time comes.” He smiles down at you. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend, y/n.” 

Wishful thinking indeed.

You hurry home with just enough time to take a quick shower before you have to go and meet Hyejin for lunch. Your mind wanders to Taehyung several times while you’re waiting at the restaurant: the way his hair fell across his eyes, that squinting, boxy smile of his, his hands, exploring every inch of your body. The way it felt when he—

“Y/n? Y/n, hello? Are you there?” Hyejin is looking at you pointedly. 

You jump. “Yeah. Sorry. My brain stopped working for a minute. Were you saying something?” 

“What happened last night?" Her eyes narrow. "Please tell me you didn’t just have two drinks and go home. Did something happen?” Hyejin raises an eyebrow. 

You consider telling her about Taehyung, but you’re not sure if you could do him justice. “Nothing happened, Jin. And that’s exactly what I did. Two drinks, went home, fell asleep watching Bridgerton.” You redirect your focus to your lunch, the smell of which makes you a touch nauseous.

She crosses her arms and stares you down. “I don’t believe you. You definitely had more than two drinks. You’ve got that look in your eyes that you get when you’re hungover. I’d know it anywhere.” She squints at your right shoulder, right in the crook of your neck and gasps. “Y/n! Is that a hickey?” 

You nearly choke on your water. Shit. How could you have not noticed that? You tug at the neck of your sweater. “Not so loud! I don’t need the entire restaurant knowing I have a hickey! Which I don’t. Because it’s not a hickey. It’s, um—”

“Oh my god, it is! It totally is. Y/n! You got some, didn’t you?” 

“No comment.” Your face burns red hot. 

“Okay, well, based on the fact that you don’t want to tell me, your best friend, about it, it was probably either really good or really bad. And judging by the way you’re blushing…” She leans her chin on one fist. “I’m going to guess that it was really good.” 

"Stop it. You're the worst. The absolute worst." There might as well be steam coming off your face. You lower your voice. "Yes. It was really good. He was hot, thorough, and not clingy at all. The consummate hookup. Are you happy now?" 

"Overjoyed." Hyejin looks far too pleased with herself. "Does this guy have a name?”

“Taehyung.”

“Taehyung,” she repeats. “So. Are you going to see him again?"

You think about his number written on the scrap of paper currently sitting in the change pocket of your purse. In case you need me. "I don't know. Probably not. I mean, that's how one-night stands work, isn't it? Kinda defeats the purpose of the whole ‘one-night’ thing if you see them more than once." 

Hyejin shrugs. "They can. There's no rule that says they have to. You said he's hot. Would you want to see him again?" 

"Well…maybe?” You think about it. The man hasn’t left your mind since you left his apartment. “If the opportunity presented itself? He did give me his number. And he did say he wanted to see me again."

She sighs. "Y/n, I love you. But you might be the dumbest person in the world when it comes to this kind of thing."

"What?" you demand. "What is that supposed to mean? He was probably just being flirty. I doubt he really wants to see me again." 

"Of course he was being flirty. He wants to see you again. He made it a point to give you his number, y/n. Opportunity is literally pounding on your door. Are you just going to let the best sex of your life slip past you when you could seize the day and do something you’ve never done before?” Hyejin leans in. “Look. I know what you’re going to say. You’re not looking for anything serious right now, and I totally get it after what that piece of shit did to you. But why not have a good old-fashioned no strings attached fling? You deserve it. You’re practically a saint for putting up with that asshole for so long. And if this guy isn’t on the same page, then you cut your losses and move on. Simple as that.” 

“Simple as that, huh?” You cross your arms and stare pensively at the table. 

“Honestly.” She shrugs. “If you don’t text him, I will.” 

“Jin, you’re engaged.” 

“Yeah, but I’m not dead, am I?”

You: Hi. It's y/n. You: From last weekend? You: This is Taehyung, right? Taehyung: It is. Taehyung: I was wondering when I’d hear from you. You: And I was wondering when I could see you again. Taehyung: That depends. You: On what? Taehyung: How bad you want to see me.

You rap three times and wait, the silence in the hallway almost unbearable. For a moment you think you’ve made a mistake coming back over here, but then the door swings open, and there he is. Barefooted, in shorts and a baggy, paint-stained t-shirt. A far cry from the way he looked when you met him last weekend, but at this moment you don’t think you’ve ever found anyone more attractive.

He looks you up and down, a satisfied smirk creeping across his mouth. “So you came.”

“Yeah. I did.” Your heart is pounding. “This is probably a bad idea.”

“Uh-huh.” Taehyung nods, leaning against the frame of his front door. His crossed arms draw attention to his rolled-up sleeves, accentuating his biceps. 

“A really bad idea.” Your nails are digging into the palms of your hands. 

“So you’ve established.” He tilts his head to one side. “Still time to leave. Although I won’t say I’m willing to forget it ever happened.” 

You shake your head. You’ve already spent way too much time thinking about this. “No. I want this.” 

“Good, because I do too.” He holds out a hand. “Are you going to come in, then?” 

You put your hand in his, and he immediately tugs you toward him, until you’re mere inches away from each other. His touch is magnetic. Like perfect polar opposites. “Yeah,” you breathe, inhaling his scent. Sandalwood, bergamot, and pine. “I’m coming in.” 

©2022 by @mrworldwideshoulders​

[discotenny]

The second night

Dice moves in with you. It’s only on the second night of sleeping in your bed that he realizes what it means.

———

Aka- DICE SLEEPING SCENARIO LETS FUCKING GOOOOO

———

The first night- the thought of commitment slips his mind. After all, it was racing, filled with thoughts of safety, security, comfort, and most importantly you.

It was easy for his thoughts to focus on you- how could they not?

The first night- as soon as his head hit the pillow he passes out. Exhausted from moving all of his material possessions out of Ramuda’s basement (and dealing with his friends’ eccentric personalities), there’s nothing his body craves more than sleep.

“Dice? Are you gonna shower now?” You call out, in the adjacent bathroom getting ready for sleep. When silence is your only reply, you open the door.

“Ah…” You’re met with his face down, ass up in the air. Despite the pillow covering his mouth and nose (was he even getting sufficient air?), you hear his obnoxiously deep snores.

Despite him still being in his day clothes, unwashed from activities of the week.

Despite him going to bed without a shower, embarrassed to get in while you were still washing up.

Despite him having three unpacked boxes sitting in your living room, promising he would have them out of your way by nights end-

You smile, laughing at his awkward appearing yet comfortable position- snapping a picture to send to Ramuda and Gentaro. You tuck him into bed and you notice a smile wavering over his face.

“Goodnight, love,” you whisper before shutting off the lights.

The second night- he’s in a pair of pajamas you bought for him in the day. You’re in the adjacent bathroom, getting ready for sleep at your own pace.

The fabric of his shirt is so soft it almost tickles him just to lay in it.

It’s a strange feeling - going to bed with clothes he doesn’t plan to go out in. It’s even stranger to him that it’s new- not new like what Ramuda makes him- or new as in he just bought it second hand- but new- bought from a store you went into without meticulously counting your change beforehand.

The second night- he’s subject to the teasing texts of Ramuda and Gentaro- annoyed as they laugh at the way he slept last night.

Gentaro sends something off handed- calling him a horrible househusband- but it catches Dice off gaurd.

The second night- commitment is all that’s on his mind.

‘Househusband…?’ Dice thinks, ‘That would mean…’

Commitment, a promise to stay, a promise that he’d try his best for you no matter what, bounded to you, sharing a space with you forever, forever loving, forever caring, forever laughing, forever holding, forever taking care of you.

Dice wasn’t used to forever. He wasn’t used to sureness. Dice lived for the thrill of not knowing what was to come- of gambling with whatever percentage that something wouldn’t turn out right. He wasn’t used to this- to commitment.

But would he really mind it if it was with you? Despite all the nights of him shivering due to gambling his clothes away.

Despite all the times he begged at your doorstep for a meal.

Despite all the times he dragged you around with Ramuda and Gentaro as a substitute for dates- you stuck by him- you stayed committed to him.

He watches your silhouette move in the bathroom door. A smile finds itself on his face the more he stares.

Safety, security, comfort, all words he finds himself thinking of as he watches you. And all of a sudden, he finds that he doesn’t mind the title of househusband.

“Dice! Are you gonna shower tonight?” You call out, not expecting an answer.

“C’ming babe!” Dice calls back.

The second night- he watches as you fall asleep- a smile on both of your faces.

Fell hard down the hypmic rabbit hole I had such a masculine urge to finish this draft. Not proofread. Had the banner from before my disappearance O.O

Fling Posse my beloved &lt;3

It’s been a while >.€ I’ve been working on a dating sim for the past year or so (it’s not any close to finishing LOL) But how are y’all :3

[triplexdoublex]

Chlorine and Nicotine

Pairing: Jaden Hossler x Reader

Warnings/tags: Smut , Age Gap (reader is in her 30’s) tipsy hookup (consent implied) mentions of prior divorce, pregnancy, c section and children. Body image issues /self conscious reader . Mention of coopers death/fentanyl poisoning.

A/N: 5.5k words! This one’s for the self conscious and tired mamas on this app. Go find yourself a Jaden lol

You and your two other friends, Ashley and Liz, had planned the perfect getaway to celebrate your messy divorce being finalized: A child-free, 7 day, all-inclusive, 21+ cruise to the Bahamas. Tickets were purchased, excursions were selected, trustworthy babysitters were hired and bags were packed, there’s only one thing you all forgot…

“Is it just me or are we like the oldest ones here?” You ask your friends, looking around as you all board the cruise ship.

“Yeah, I noticed that too— seems like mostly college kids for some reason?” Liz responds.

Just then you all notice the banner on the side of the ship ‘Spring Break 2023’!

The three of you, having been out of school for close to two decades already, had completely forgotten this week was usually spring break.

“Ugh,” Ashley groans, “I can’t believe we forgot. I was hoping we could all get some much needed rest and a full night's sleep this week without our kids, not be kept up by a bunch of frat boys and sorority girls partying.”

“Hey, you know what? As long as I’m with you guys I’m sure we’ll still have a great time, even if they do keep us up. Besides you know the saying ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. When was the last time any of us got to let loose and party a little?” You reply.

“True,”

“Yeah, you’re right,” your friends answer in unison.

“Ok,well now that that’s settled, first order of business is finding our cabin, changing into our bikinis, and working on our tans while we sip margaritas pool side.” You instruct. “Let’s go!”

**********

“Whooof!” You exhale. “I’m getting hot. I’m gonna go take a dip in the pool and cool off real quick. I’ll be right back.” You head into the pool.

“Ash, do you hear that? I think those guys next to us on the right are talking about Y/N. Listen,” Liz says, keeping her voice low..

“— yeah the one in the yellow floral two piece… right there … she just got into the pool… she’s a total MILF bro—“

“Okay, I’m back, mmmn that cold water was refreshing. Did I miss anything?” You joke, knowing you were only gone for a minute.

“You did actually,” Ashley speaks in a whisper “Apparently you’re a Milf!” Liz adds.

“Says who!?” You laugh.

“Shhhh! Liz warns. “That little cutie right over there,” She nods in his direction. “The one in the black swim trunks.”

Descretly, you turn to see who your friends are talking about.

“Oh my god, I’m pretty sure I have jeans in my closet older than him! You scoff before taking another look. “I mean… he is pretty cute though— solid body, lots of tattoos.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you actually do,” Ashley laughs. Which reminds me we need to go shopping and update that wardrobe of yours, I haven’t seen you in anything but leggings for the past 6 years.”

“Ugh I know! It’s because nothing fits! It’s been 6 years since I had the twins and I’m still not back to my pre-baby weight,” you sulk. “Plus I’ve been so busy taking care of them and putting them first, I haven’t even had time to think about me. And now with the divorce and paying my lawyer— money’s tight. If it wasn’t for you guys paying my share of this trip, I wouldn’t have been able to go, and lord knows I need the break. I can’t thank you guys enough.”

“Aww you’re so welcome,” Liz hugs you.

“You deserve it,” Ashley says, patting your shoulder.

“Sorry, I’m being a negative Nancy. Fuck all our problems! We’re here to escape them and have fun!” You state. “Anyone else getting hungry, I could totally go for a burger?”

**********

At night, the pool area transforms into somewhat of a night club, with drinks, dancing, swimming and fun events— tonight’s is a singles lap dance competition.

“Good Evening,cruisers!!! The lap dance competition is about to begin,” the event organizer announces. “I need three single people to volunteer to receive a lap dance, raise your hand if your single and would like to receive a lap,” he shouts loud and enthusiastically as if announcing a wrestling match.

“Oh my god y/n! You should totally do it!” Ashley squeals, trying to raise your hand for you.

“No way, are you crazy?” You laugh pulling your hand back down.

“C’mon y/n, you’re single now , and when was the last time you had a hott guy on top of you?”

“Not within the last eight years, I know that much!” Liz sasses, wide-eyed taking a sip of her drink, and making you spit out yours.

“Fair enough,” you cough out after practically choking. “Fine I’ll do it,” you agree,the liquid courage you’ve been sipping on, helping to release your inhibitions.

“Alright, I just need one more volunteer!”

You adjust your bathing suit and raise your hand.

“ Ok pretty lady, c’mon up,” the DJ calls out. You head up onto the stage, your friends laughing, screaming and cheering you on. “Now I’m gonna need some volunteers to give the lap dances. Let’s start with this pretty lady right here,” the DJ motions to you. “Who wants to give this beautiful woman a lap dance?”

You look out into the crowd watching as a few hands go up. One in particular catches you eye, and you try to place why he looks slightly familiar, and then it hits you; it’s the young guy your friends overheard calling you a MILF earlier in the day.

“Alright, take your pick,” the DJ tells you.

“Him—the one with the dark hair and tattoos,” you point into the audience, before taking a seat on the folding chair on stage.

“You heard her, my man, c’mon up,” the DJ calls him to the stage.

He stands in front of you wearing his black swim trunks from earlier but is now also sporting a white tank top and a forward facing baseball cap. You can feel his eyes looking down at you, checking you out while waiting for the other contestants to choose their lap dance partner.

“Let’s get it started!” the DJ announces. “At the end of the song, y’all are gonna help me decide the winner,” he says, speaking to the audience. “Let’s gooo!!”

Sam Smith’s ‘Unholy’ starts bumping from the speakers and your tattooed partner throws his head back in a brief laugh at the song choice, before locking eyes with you. He wastes no time getting close; stepping forward so that both of your legs are sandwiched between his wide stance. With one hand on your shoulder he begins rolling his body in your lap, his free hand quickly grabbing his hat and turning it backwards so the brim doesn’t hinder his view of you. He glides that same hand down his torso over his white tank to its hem, bunches the material in his hand and slides it up, exposing his perfectly toned abs. You smirk, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth at the sight. He removes his hand from your shoulder and uses both hands to peel his tank off completely, tossing it down on the stage. Then he slides his thumbs into the waistband of his swim trunks purposely lowering them, his prominent V-lines on full display, along with a fuzzy line of hair descending from his navel. Your eyes follow the trail down until it meets a small patch just barely visible peeking out the top of his swim trunks. Your mind wanders, imaging what’s below—imaging what he’s working with. The trance you’re in is broken when he places one of your hands flat on his chest, inviting you to touch him while he moves in your lap. You let your hand glide down over the topography of his body, your fingertips exploring the hills and valleys of muscle as you go, stopping when your hand reaches the horizon where flesh meets material, even though your hand craves to continue its descent. As if he can read your mind, he pushes your hand lower, pressing his half hard bulge against your palm as he rolls his hips insync with the last ‘unholy’ of the song before it ends.

“Alright it’s time to vote. Let me hear you give it up for couple number one,” the DJ instructs. The audience claps, cheers and hoots. “Alright, a alright, now make some noise for couple number two.” A slightly louder roar of cheer and applause echoes under the night sky. Your sexy partner stands behind you with his hands on your shoulders as you both await your turn.“And last but not least couple number three.” The crowd goes wild with thunderous clapping,and high pitched whistles —your friends cheers the loudest of them all. “We have a clear winner here tonight, folks,” the DJ announces. “Winning by a landslide…couple number three!”

Tattooed arms unexpectedly scoop you up off the chair, running bridal style off the stage and towards the pool with you. You playfully shriek and laugh the whole way until … splash... he jumps in the water with you. When you both surface again, your hungry mouths are attacking one another like prey: desperate and determined. He moves forward in the water, pinning you against the side of the pool with his body as you devour each other— all lips, tongue, teeth and flesh. His skin tastes like chlorine, his kisses- a hint of nicotine; and just as addictive. Underwater, he teases a hand up your inner thigh and begins gently rubbing you through the fabric of your bathing suit. You allow it, encourage it actually—rocking your hips to press yourself firmer against his fingertips. You can feel how hard he is through his swim trunks and you opt to help him out, grasping his hard cock through the thin veil of fabric. You work each other into a sexual frenzy and it’s not long before his fingers transcend the boundary of your bathing suit bottoms, pushing the fabric aside and inserting two slender fingers inside of you. You follow his lead, sinking your hand into his swim trunks and wrapping your fingers tightly around him.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a complete stranger who’s name you don’t even know, or that he’s much younger than you, or perhaps even because no one besides your ex-husband has touched you this intimately in years, but you feel a familiar sense of heightened arousal that can only compare to the giddy exhilaration of your first sexual experience. God the nostalgia!—Back when just the novelty of making out, and touching each other was enough. Back when foreplay still existed, before the busyness of life and motherhood had you trading sex for sleep. Or swapping making love for quickies during naptime.

Every swirl of his tongue, curl of his fingers, and flick of your wrist has you feeling renewed, awake and alive again. You never want this to end but your body is chasing after the high it so desperately wants bucking against his palm while his fingers caress that sweet spot inside of you. As your orgasm begins to build, your grip on him falters so he places his free hand over yours, helping you stroke him. The feeling of your walls squeezing his fingers as you cum is so sexy to him that he finishes shortly after you.

Since the moment he jumped into the pool with you in his arms, you’ve been in your own world, oblivious to anything or anyone around you. It’s not until you start coming down from your high that the outside world starts to trickle back in: the music, the people, the sounds of your friends cheering your name. You turn to the direction of the noise in search of your friends, but a series of cannonballs by a group of guys momentarily blocks your view before you finally spot them. When you turn back after locating them, the boy is gone.

***********

The next morning in line for the breakfast buffet you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

“Hey, sorry about last night. My name’s Jaden by the way,” he holds out his hand.

“I’m y/n,” you shake his hand. “What exactly are you sorry about? I may have been a little tipsy, but I remember having a great time.” You give a small smirk.

“Ok, good,” he smiles “I was worried I got a little too caught up in the moment and took things too far,” he admits. “But mostly I’m sorry I disappeared on you like that. My buddies almost drowned me with their cannonballs and I wanted to spare you from having to see me choke to death and squirt water out of my nose.” He laughs.

“Fair. You’re forgiven,” you joke. “Can I ask you something?

“Of course, ask away.”

“How old are you?” You brace yourself for the answer, but at least you know he’s at least twenty one.

“Twenty two, you?”

“Oh god, umm let’s just call it mid 30’s” you answer, slightly embarrassed, and worried about how he might react.

“Can I ask you a question now?” He asks.

“Sure.”

“I’d like to spend some more time with you today. Would you like that?” He asks.

“Wait, so your not bothered by me being much older than you?” You question.

“Not at all,” he smirks. “Sooo is that a yes then?”

“I-I dunno..” you're sure he just wants to hook up again , and you don’t want to give him that impression. Last night was just a heat of the moment thing.

“I just wanna talk, get to know you. Hands to myself this time, promise,” he replies as if he’s read your mind.

“Okay,” you agree. “My friends and I have a dolphin excursion during the day and dinner reservations at 6:00, so why don’t we meet somewhere around 8:00?”

“That works for me. Meet at the hot tubs?”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then.” You answer.

**********

You head down to the deck with the hot tubs after dinner; bathing suit on and towel in hand. You know you’re going to be a few minutes early but you figure you’d get there before they get crowed. When you arrive however you see Jaden already in one of the hot tubs; his elbows resting on the edge, and a cigarette between two fingers. You know it’s a nasty habit and not good for his health but fuck - why does he look so good doing it.

“Hey,” you say, grabbing his attention.

“Shit!” He blows out a mouthful of smoke and ashes the cigarette out on the edge of the hot tub. “Sorry, bad habit, tryna quit. I wasn’t expecting you for like another ten minutes, thought I could sneak one in.”

“No worries,” you smile, stepping into the hot tub with him. “I expected there to be more people out here, thought I’d come early before they filled up.”

“Yeah, same,” he says as you scoot over next to him . “But apparently there’s supposed to be a rainstorm some time tonight, so maybe that’s why. Although I don’t really see why it would matter, like you’re in a bathing suit literally sitting in water anyways.” He shrugs. “So anyways, tell me about yourself. I’m guessing you’re not here on Spring Break too.” He laughs.

“Nope, celebrating my divorce actually,” you admit, holding up your left hand and wiggling your ring finger— a lighter band of flesh, where a ring once sat.

“Ooh brutal, sorry to hear that. Did you guys have kids together?” Jaden asks.

“Dont be. I’m glad it’s over. And yeah twin boys actually. They’re six. My moms watching them while we’re gone.”

“Aww, sweet” he smiles.

“How ‘bout you? I already know you’re here on Spring Break. Sooo ummm—ooh I know, tell me about your tattoos, do they have any special meaning or anything?

“Some I just liked, and some have meaning but this one’s the most important to me,” he points to a scrawling of repeated sentences that goes from his chest down his side. I got it for my best friend Cooper who passed away from fentanyl poisoning last year. I just didn’t know what say, didn’t know what to do after he passed , ya know, it’s like — “ he pauses a moment and swallows hard . “Fuck, I’m sorry. Let’s just talk about something else,”

“Sure, no problem. I understand” you say supportively, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The rest of your conversation is much more happy and upbeat —sharing your favorite movies, music, and books, where you both live and what you do for work. Also telling silly anecdotes about your childhoods, college life, motherhood and so on.

And then the rain starts; which you both agreed was no big deal but, unfortunately this rain is accompanied by thunder and lighting.

“Ugh, I was having a great time talking with you. Sorry the rain cut our little date short.” You say, sounding disappointed as you both quickly exit the hot tub.

“Is that what this was?” He smiles.

“Maybe,” you answer coyly with a shrug and flirty smile.

“If you’re okay with it, you can come back to my cabin and talk a little more, hangout, watch a movie or something,” he suggests. “But I totally understand if you're not comfortable with that. No pressure.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” you agree.

***********

“Shit, I just realized I don’t have anything dry to change into” you state upon entering his cabin. “And my rooms like on the complete other side of the ship. Do you have anything I could just throw on for now?”

“Uhhhm, sure,” Jaden looks around the room for something to give you. “Here you can wear this bathrobe,” he says, tossing you the white, terry cloth covering before sitting down on the bed.

In the corner of the room you turn, facing away from Jaden, put on the robe, and then descretly remove your bathing suit from under it.”

“What, no show?” Jaden jokes.

“You don’t wanna see, trust me.” You say, sounding down.

“Oh, but I do,” he laughs, but then stops when he notices you aren’t laughing too. Hey, what’s a matter. I’m just joking.I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable that wasn’t my intention. I don’t want you to think that’s why I invited you back to the room. You don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that. I’m just really not comfortable in my own skin these days—haven’t been for a while actually. I love my kids to death but let’s just say pregnancy didn’t do my body any favors. You're young, you can have any hott girl with a tight little body. Why would you wanna see mine, it’s nothing to look at, I promise you.”

“I promise you you’re wrong. Let me show you how beautiful you are.”

You’re not sure what that consists of exactly, but you nod in agreement anyways. Jaden makes you feel so safe, and you could definitely use a confidence boost.

“C’mere,” Jaden leads you by your hand into the bathroom, and positions you in front of the mirror. “Can I take this off?” He whispers in your ear from behind you, as he places a hand on each of your robe covered shoulders. You meekly nod yes and he slips the garment off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet, leaving you completely nude. You fight the urge to cover yourself but the look of awe in Jaden’s eyes as he surveys your naked body helps melt away some of your insecurity. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breaths against your our neck. “Now what I want you to do is look in the mirror with me,” he instructs. You flick your eyes up to the mirror meeting his in the reflection. “I want you to tell me what you see when you look at yourself in the mirror—give it all to me, the good, the bad, the ugly, then I’m gonna tell you what I see.”

“I see someone I don’t recognize anymore. I used to be pretty, but now I have crows feet by my eyes, and my breasts have lost the perky fullness they had before breastfeeding two kids. It’s been six years and I still haven’t lost all the baby weight,” You poke at your stomach. “And I have this C-section scar from when my body failed to do the one thing it was literally designed to do!“ You start getting emotional. “My hips are so wide now, and my ass is huge , and don’t even get me started on the stretch marks on my inner thighs,” you sigh, holding back tears.

“First of all, you ARE pretty, I think you’re absolutely gorgeous. When I look at your eyes I don’t see crows feet— I see a million smiles and childhood summers spent having fun in the sun,” he says, making you smile. “That’s a million and one now,” he teases playfully. “Now, before I continue, do I have permission to touch you?”

“Permission granted,” you snicker “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying to feel your hands on me again,” you admit, blushing.

“And my lips too?” He begins kissing slowly up the side of you neck, making every hair on your body stand on end with arousal.

“Mmmhm, yeah, that too.” You giggle coyly.

“And these,..”he continues, cupping you from behind, “I see breasts that nourished two beautiful babies,and still look plenty perky to me, especially these nipples,” he rolls the buds between his thumbs and pointer fingers. “I love how erect they are for me.” He tugs on them gently before moving his hands to your stomach. “You don’t need to lose a single pound, all I see is curves and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not the 90’s anymore where women had to be rail thin to meet some ridiculous standard of beauty— all bodies are beautiful. And besides you don’t give yourself enough credit for growing two human beings inside you, this was their home for nine months!” He grips your soft belly tightly as he speaks. “And this scar,” he traces his finger over it, causing a ticklish chill to run through you at the ghostly sensation— you still don’t have much feeling there. “This is not a failure, it’s a reminder of how your babies were able to safely enter this world when things didn't go quite as planned.” Your eyes begin to well with tears again, not with sadness, but from the joy of a guy you met less than twenty four hours ago helping you fall back in love with your body and realize all its accomplishments. “And your ass and hips— fuck, that might be my favorite part of your body. Do you know how many women literally pay thousands of dollars to make their hips and ass look like this?” He rubs his hands over the swell of your backside. “It’s literally perfect.” He says with a firm squeeze. “And these—” he places his fingertips on the jagged pink and white lines on your inner thigh and begins to trace them upwards. “These are a map, leading me to where I wanna be the most,” he slides his middle finger through your wetness, “God damn you’re soaked and we’re not even in the pool this time,” he teases. “I think you want me here too, huh?” He begins rubbing slow circles on your clit, “and I mean more than just my fingers this time,” he smirks at you in the mirror before pressing his growing erection against your backside, and his mouth to your neck.

“Mhm, fuck—“ you moan, tilting your head and reaching back to run your hand through his dark hair while he marks you. “Mmmm, Jaden… do you… do you have a condom? I mean, my tubes are tied but—”

“I just got tested before the cruise baby—I’m clean.” He states breathily, before reattaching his lips to your neck, and pulling himself free from his swim trunks with his free hand.

“Okaay,” you moan. “I-I trust you.”

He slips in with ease; both of you releasing a shaky breath at the feeling. And while you haven’t exactly seen his dick yet, you can tell that it’s big.

“Fuccck, you feel incredible!” He nips along your jawline as he begins to thrust — one tattooed hand on your hip and the other, full of your breast, holding you against him so you can watch. He begins with a slow, gentle rhythm, taking his time to fully appreciate your warmth and tightness with each lengthy stroke.

“Ohhhh, Jaden!” You moan breathily.

“Mmmh yeah—am I making you feel good, baby?”

“Ss-so good.” And you mean that in every way- not just sexually.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror. I want you to see how beautiful you look while I fuck you,” he rasps in your ear.

You watch Jadens thrusts grow more urgent, his hands more hungry as he claws and grabs at every square inch of flesh he can get his hands on. Because of him you’re able to watch unashamed, as your soft body jiggles everytime Jaden’s hips crash against your backside, the movement spurring him on even more. You’re able to see the undeniable desire in his eyes, hear the truth of his words.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy!” He grunts through clenched teeth, increasing the intensity and depth of his pace even more, as he grows close to orgasm.

You grip the bathroom counter in front of you and let your head hang down in overwhelming pleasure. With a firm but gentle hold of your throat, Jaden lifts your head back up to face your reflection.

“Don’t want you to miss the best part,” he teases.

And with one final thrust, he cums hard, filling you to the brim. The warm eruption triggers your own orgasm, splashing against Jaden’s pelvis and dripping down his tattooed thighs.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard before,” you admit after finally catching your breath, your legs still weak and trembling.

“I can believe that,” he laughs looking down at the mess you’ve made of him. “It was so fucking hott though…Shower then room service?”

“Sounds perfect” you smile, stepping into the shower with him.

The shower starts off innocent, with the intent of actually washing up and getting clean but when Jaden asks if he can help wash you, things heat up rather quickly. As he soaps up your breasts you feel something brush press against you and look down.

“Are you really hard again, already? You just came!”

“I’m young, I got the drive and the stamina to go all night if you want,” he smirks.

“I just might have to take you up on that,” you smirk back, reaching to grasp his cock. You give it a few teasing tugs before dropping to your knees.

He watches with his bottom lip between his teeth as you tease your tongue along the underside of his shaft , tracing the vein from hilt to tip. He lets out a low and breathy “Fuck” as the head disappears inside your mouth— the rest of his length soon to follow. He tastes of you, and the scent of chlorine still lingers on his skin, especially when you take him deep, your nose pressed into the neatly trimmed patch of hair on his pelvis. The same patch that was just slightly visible last night above the waistband of his low hung swim trunks. You remember the way your eyes followed his happy trail to it, your mind wondering what was below it. Now just barely twenty four hours later it’s been inside of you; first your pussy and now your mouth. Every bob of your head brings him closer, his pleasure building so much he can’t help but buck his hips, gently fucking into your mouth.

“Ohh, shit —Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” He moans out, grabbing the back of your head with both hands holding you in place as he spurts down your throat. “Mhgmmmmmmmmm” he lets out a long and pleasure-filled moan, still pumping his hips in short stokes, enjoying the last tendrils of his orgasm before pulling out. “God damn, that was so good!” He praises your skills, making you blush. “Ok” he starts with a laugh “let’s try this again, shower then room service”

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

By the time room service arrives after your shower, you’re at it again, this time riding Jaden in bed— a position you haven’t been brave enough to do in quite some time. You’ve already cum and Jaden is dangerously close when you both hear the faint knock followed by “Room service.”

“Shit, don’t stop,” Jaden whispers to you before shouting to room service “Just—fuck, j-just leave it by the door!”

Another roll of your hips and he’s done for, eyes rolling back, chiseled body twitching under you, calling out your name as he cums for the third time tonight.

*********

“We definitely worked up an appetite,” Jaden laughs looking at all the now completely empty pile of dishes on the room service cart. “You save any room for dessert?”

“No way, I’m stuffed,” you answer.

“Well I did.” Jaden smirks pushing you back down on the bed, and spreading your legs, his head disappearing between your thighs.

“Ohhh Jaden …”

**********

In the morning Jaden wakes before you, he can’t help but watch you sleep, sofly swiping a single knuckle along your cheek as he admires your beauty. The sensation stirs you from your slumber. Your eyes still heavy with sleep blink open and Jaden’s face comes into focus.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Jaden says, his husk, sleep laden, voice sounding so sexy. “It’s just that you're even beautiful when you sleep.”

“S’ok,” You murmur, with a smile. “Gotta get up anyways,my friends are probably wondering where the fuck I am.”

***********

You put your key card to the door of your cabin and the door clanks open rousing your friends from their sleep.

“Shit, what time is it?” Ashley asks, squinting at her phone. “Ten thirty two, sorry we woke up so late. I think me and Liz had a little too much to drink last night. I hope you weren’t bored waiting around for us.” Ashley apologizes. “Have you already been swimming this morning?” she asks noticing you're in a robe with your bathing suit dangling from your hand.

“Wait!” Liz interjects, “That’s the bathing suit you had on when you left for your date with -with that college boy, what’s his face—“

“It’s Jaden” you remind her.

“— you’re just getting back now, aren’t you!! You spent the night!?” Liz exclaims accusingly.

The hue of your cheeks and your guilty smile give you away. You take a seat on the edge of the bed and wait for the slew of questions you know you’re about to get pummeled with.

“Oh my god, did you sleep with him?” Ashley asks.

You answer wordlessly, pulling back the collar of the robe, exposing the numerous wine colored markings that decorate your flesh.

“Jesus! I haven’t seen that many hickeys since highschool” Liz teases. “Ok, spill, how bad was the sex? I’m cringing just looking at your neck.”

“It was honestly the best sex I’ve ever had,” you blushed. “He made me feel like a fucking Goddess!”

“ There’s no way,” Liz scoffs. “How much experience can he even have.” She says with an eyeroll.

“Yeah I’m not buying it either,” Ashley laughs. “C’mom you don’t got to lie to us. We’ve all had our subpar hookups, especially when we were in college. Guys that age are all confidence and no skill.”

“No I’m dead serious, it was amazing!!!” You gush. “And not just his dick, but the way he made me feel…”

You proceed to tell them every detail of last night, from how he praised and appreciated your every flaw and gave you your confidence back, to just how good his dick felt inside you and how talented he was with his mouth and fingers. When you're done talking Liz gets up and starts walking towards the cabin door.

“Where are you going?” You ask perplexed.

“Going to find me one of these college boys” Liz laughs. “Does he have friends?” She jokes, making her way back to the bed. “Seriously though, sorry we teased you, that sounds amazing.”

“Yeah,” Ashley agrees. “I’m a little jealous— good dick AND body positivity, sign me the fuck up!”

“What are you guys gonna do when the cruise is over?” Liz asks, “You’ll probably never see eachother again.”

“Oh my god, that’s right! I forgot to tell you guys the best part! Earlier in the night when we were just talking in the hot tub we figured out that he only lives an hour away from us!”

“Holy shit, what a small world, that’s awesome.” Ashley exclaims.

“I’ll tell you what’s not small,” you smirk.

[jeonbunnie]

the entertainer ✧ 2

✧ reader x seokjin, ft. yoongi

✧ summary: In need of some real cash, you take a job as a dancer in your city's most notorious strip club. You’re making your own hours, raking in a good amount of money, and feeling sexy while you do it. Everything was fine as long as you kept your work life and your personal life separated.But when a handsome stranger shows up one night you find it difficult to maintain the balance.Jin is a gorgeous, rich, and–taken man. But one look from you on that stage has him spellbound. He knows he’s got no business coming back to the club, but there’s something about you that makes him want more than just a private dance. . .

✧ genre: strangers to lovers; angst; smut; fluff; 18+

✧ content/warnings: 18+, rich/ceo!jin, fuckboy!yoongi, stripper!reader, college!au, songfic, pov shifts, based on summer walker’s last days of summer album, loosely inspired by pretty woman, slow burn, smut, pining, mutual pining, love triangle, romantic suspense, cursing, dirty talk, explicit sex, oral sex, fingering, aftercare

✧ a/n: this is an old fic I wrote under my prev pseudo @jeonsweetheart that I put on hiatus as noted in this lovely banner by @kookdiaries. however recently I’ve found some love for my old pieces so I decided to try writing it again. If by some miracle your someone who’s read this story in the past lol I’ve edited some details to fit the narrative better but other than that, I’m continuing with the story as is! this isn’t beta’d and since I haven’t done a series in a while I’m actually pretty nervous reposting this so if u like it pls stop by my inbox or drop a comment I’d really appreciate it :)

✧ soundtrack: girls need love—summer walker

✧ word count: 9k

♪ So what’s a girl to do when she needs loving too... ♪

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[2:06am] Yoongi: You up?

You squinted at your phone, reading the message in the dark as the blue light shined on your face. You liked Yoongi; you really did. But more and more, you noticed he’d formed a habit of messaging you late at night. Only at night.

He’d brush you off when you attempted to hang out with him outside of work in the daytime, then later hit you up when it was convenient for him. You were starting to hate him for that and yourself because you let him get away with it.

Well, not tonight, you told yourself. I’m not gonna play that game. You put your phone on DO NOT DISTURB, returned it to your nightstand, and buried yourself in your sheets. You lay in bed feeling empty inside; you liked Yoongi, but you didn’t like this. Feeling so desperate for him all the time it was stupid and embarrassing.

Is that what love is?

You didn’t know. You’d never been in love before. Not really. Sure, you had crushes, mild infatuations, and situationships galore, but nothing like this—not this dull ache in your chest. If what you felt for Yoongi was love, then as much as you hated to admit it, maybe it was unrequited, and Hyuna was right.

Love had to be better than going to bed alone, feeling so cold and numb even though you were covered by a blanket.

You hoped she was wrong.

You wanted to be more to him than a few stolen kisses in the night and a body to hold. But as much as you wanted him to take your relationship seriously—to take you seriously—you could never risk asking him for more. To ask would be to give him all the power, and Yoongi already had enough control over you.

It wasn’t always like this. There used to be a time when you had all Yoongi’s attention.

You were so nervous coming into the club the first time. Back then, you still weren’t fully comfortable with stripping. But you had just started school, and though you already had a job bussing tables, you were still so very broke, and those bills wouldn’t pay themselves.

So you sucked up all your inhibitions and made yourself audition. You don’t know how Yoongi saw you in that crowded room. There were so many girls, certainly some more eye-catching than you, but he managed to catch you in the corner having a minor panic attack.

“You need to breathe.”

“Huh? Sorry, did you say something?” You blinked, taking in the appearance of the handsome stranger before you. On any other day, his intense eyes would have made you swoon. But that day, you were too caught up in your thoughts, worried about the worst possible outcomes of your getting up on stage. It’d been a long time since you danced for anyone besides yourself, and somehow, you were convinced you would mess up. Trip over your heels or forget a part of your routine.

“I said, you need to breathe. You look like you’re holding your breath. Are you that nervous?”

Yes, yes, you were.

You smiled weakly at him, clutching the water bottle in your hands. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I don’t think I can do this.” Your eyes flitted towards the exit.

“You’re here now, so you might as well go through with the audition. Don’t stop halfway.”

God, you thought, were you that obvious?

“What if I fuck it up?”

“Then you fuck it up. But that’d still be better than not trying at all.”

You remember being shocked at his response. But the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Yeah, so what if you fucked it up? You didn’t know these people. Worse scenario, you wouldn’t get in and leave a little embarrassed, but no one would know about your private failure except for this handsome stranger.

You must have taken too long to respond because shortly after his blunt advice, Yoongi apologized.

“Sorry. . . I’m not that good at pep talks.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t know why, but that actually helped.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened. Just a bit. Just enough for you to know your response surprised him. “Uh, good. You’ll be fine.”

“Thanks,” you said. Then thoughtfully, you wondered out loud, “Why are you being so nice to me??”

You couldn’t believe some guy was talking you down from your anxiety attack in a strip club. What was his agenda? Did he expect something from you?

“Why not?”

You opened your mouth to question that logic when you heard your name called. Your stage name. It was your turn to audition next. You glanced up at the stage before you, the black velvet curtain in the background, soft pink and white lights setting the mood, guiding your eyes to the catwalk in the middle. And on that center stage, those same lights highlight the silver pole in the middle.

Just looking at it made you gulp. Even though you were no stranger to the spotlight, having been a dancer, this new venture was awfully intimidating.

Strange enough, you found yourself looking towards the kind stranger—for what? Words of encouragement?—but he offered you none. Just a lazy smile as he nodded towards the stage for you to dance.

Truly, you don’t remember how the audition went. You were too nervous, too full of adrenaline to recall if you did well and if your movements were graceful and sexy rather than stiff and awkward. What you remembered was the conversation that followed, what you could make out of the hushed voices huddled together to decide your fate.

You strained to hear them over the thump of your racing heartbeat.

The first man to speak still seemed to be in thought as he stated his opinion. “I’m undecided. She doesn’t really seem like the type. . . I can’t imagine her sticking around for long.” He turned to the other judges in the room, “What do you think?”

“I agree with Namjoon,” said a man so pretty you could have mistaken him for a girl. “Technically, she’s a great dancer, but she’s lacking major confidence.”

Finally, the woman spoke. “Well, I like her. I think she’s got a lot of potential. Everyone grows into it anyway; give her a chance.”

Even with that vote of confidence, the group leader still seemed unsure. He turned to look over his shoulder to the man in the audience you spoke to earlier, the one you gave your whole performance to as you swayed on stage under sultry lights. “What do you think, Yoongi?”

At last, you had a name to put to the face of the handsome stranger. His dark eyes held no hint or indication that he favored you, and if his body language was anything to go off of, you were sure it wouldn’t be a good thing based on the way he slouched in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

But then he spoke, a slow grin pulling over his face that put all your nerves at ease.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.”

That was how it started. At the time, Namjoon, Jimin, and Hyuna were strangers to you. You had no idea the club owner and their two most favored dancers were in the room with you deciding your fate. Yoongi gave them his vote of confidence and sealed your fate. You started work later that week.

After you were hired, you were always aware of his presence at the club. You could feel his gaze follow you on stage, at the bar, always that cool, calm smolder. And the attraction was mutual. You constantly watched him in the booth, amused by his natural gift for music. There are so many shows you put on just for him. It was a crush, simple as that. You wanted him, but you were much too shy to say it. Thankfully, Yoongi was brave enough for both of you, asking you out after your first week.

The date was a pleasant surprise. Despite Yoongi’s introverted nature, he actually took you to dinner and made conversation at first, none of that Netflix and chill bullshit. His calm, quiet demeanor was infinitely attractive to you, and you found yourself mooning over him the whole night.

You hadn’t planned on fucking him, honestly.

But it’d been a while since anyone had touched you like that. So when Yoongi’s gravelly voice whispered in your ear, asking you to tell him how you wanted it, how you needed it, as his fingers rubbed sweet circles on your clit, all you could do was whine and tell him how badly your body wanted him with a desperation that couldn’t wait. You needed him right then and there.

The next morning, you woke up and swore it wouldn’t happen again.

But, of course, it did.

Again, and again, and again.

So here you were, stuck inside a situationship you didn’t want but one you always succumbed to. And tonight seemed no different.

Closing your eyes, you will yourself to go back to sleep, and you do for a little while. Until a pounding sound woke you up. You barely registered it as a knock the first time, but after two or three times, you dragged yourself out of bed and to your front door.

You had half a mind to reach for the bat you keep in the hall closet, just in case. It was an ungodly hour, and you lived alone (times like these made you regret not getting a roommate). You checked the peephole first, then sighed. Irritation rose in your blood.

You unlocked the door and snatched it open. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You were giving me puppy dog eyes all night. You really think I wouldn’t show up?”

You can’t tell if the anger surfacing is from your lack of sleep, the scare, or the fact that Yoongi is standing on your doorstep. It’s probably a combination of all three. “It’s two in the morning,” you said pointedly.

Yoongi isn’t phased by your grumbly voice or sharp tone. He shrugs and moves to step inside, but you block his path.

“Absolutely not. I’m going back to bed.”

“You’re mad.”

He didn’t say it like a question, but you could tell by the lilt in his voice he seemed surprised.

You scowled into the dark. “You can’t do this, Yoongi. Pick and choose when to show up.” Pick and choose when he could be in your life, when you mattered to him.

You motioned to close the door, but Yoongi stopped you, sticking his hand in the frame. And then he did something that made you pause. He reached for you, placed his hands on your waist, and pulled you close.

Shit.

Yoongi pulled you in like the tide. It was always eb and flow with him. When he did things like that. . . You couldn’t help but give in. You were weak for this, for his touch, for the moments when he wanted you. So when Yoongi swept in close, body heat coming off him in waves as his hand reached up to cup the back of your neck, you leaned into the embrace.

“I know I’m late,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth. He nuzzled into your neck, sneaking kisses on your collarbones.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“Yoongi. . .” You started, coming to your senses for just a minute. But before you could protest, he interrupted you with a kiss. Any resolve you might have had left your body once his lips found yours. It was so easy to lose yourself in Yoongi. His kisses were fire, all-consuming, wild. You could never get enough. Yoongi licked into your mouth, and you moaned, stumbling back into your apartment.

And just like that, you crumbled.

You let him lead you to the bedroom, shrugging off his clothes, his mouth never leaving yours. You felt your knees hit the back of something soft and sat down on your bed while Yoongi kissed you stupid. You let him touch and, tease and pull you apart. Till the pleasure overtakes the pain in your chest. And it’s good, so good. Good enough to make you forget why you were even upset in the first place.

He inches you forward with kisses and bites—marks you know will leave a hickey—till your back hits the headboard, momentarily breaking you from his spell.

“Wait,” you said, eyelids fluttering open.

But Yoongi’s hands are already sliding up your nightgown, leaving wet kisses down your thighs.

And then there was the solid feel of his hands spreading your legs apart, lips dangerously close to where you needed him most.

He hooked a finger under the waistband of your lace underwear, pulling the material off.

“You were saying?” said Yoongi, and you shivered as his breath fanned over you.

Honestly, you couldn’t remember. You lost every coherent thought your brain was trying to form. All you could think about was his touch, his thumb on your clit, the feel of him stroking you gently. You were so, so wet.

And he knew it. You could feel Yoongi smile against you as he rested his cheek on your thigh, long slender fingers working over you until all you could do was tilt your head back and sigh.

“I love playing with your pussy.” He whispered, voice just above a purr.

His words made you throb. “Yoongi,” you moaned, his name a desperate plea on your tongue.

“What?” He answered, voice smug, “What do you need?”

Too embarrassed to say the words out loud, to admit just how badly you need him, you reached down, sliding a hand into his hair, tugging at his locks to pull him right where you wanted him.

Yoongi chuckled. “So impatient.” But he didn’t move his head from between your thighs. Instead, he leaned forward, licking a stripe up your center before rolling his tongue around your clit.

You couldn’t help but lean into the action, hips tilting up to catch the sensation. But Yoongi was having none of that. He brought up a hand, pushing one palm against your belly to press you down into the mattress, while the other caressed your thigh.

“Behave,” he said, the dominance radiating through his voice. It’s the only warning you get before he nips at your clit, drawing out a sharp cry from you, the pain mixing with pleasure. Before you could even respond, Yoongi lapped at your folds, tongue making a mess out of you.

You let yourself get lost in the sensation as Yoongi buried his head between your thighs, devouring your whole. You’re too far gone to stop the whimper that spilled from your mouth. All you felt were stars as his tongue curled around your clit, languid licks driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Yoongi knew your body like it was his. He memorized every shiver and shudder, every move that turned you on. He could hear your heavy breath, feel the tremble in your thigh, and know exactly how to push you over the edge.

So he does it, sliding two fingers deep inside you to press against the spot that made your body taunt with pleasure. The pressure of his palm against your belly, his hot tongue flicking against you, his fingers curling deep—it’s overwhelming.

Chest heaving, you called out his name, a plea and a warning all at once. You were so, so close.

Cum for me,” Yoongi rasped, voice vibrating against you, and that’s all it takes for you to fall.

You climax, pleasure rushing all through your body, blanking your mind, curling your toes. Your hands fist in Yoongi’s hair, once again tugging at his locks. Only this time, Yoongi didn’t stop your pleasure but doubled it, replacing his fingers with his tongue to delve inside and taste every drop of your release, stopping only when your thighs shake, the sensation becomes too much.

When you finally came back down and caught your breath, Yoongi lifted his head and met your gaze with a smirk. “Did I make it up to you yet? Or should I apologize again?”

Though you’d been satisfied, Yoongi ‘apologized’ twice more for good measure before laying you on your side and pulling you against his chest. Cold as he appeared, Yoongi defied all fuckboy logic and was quite fond of aftercare and cuddles. Thirty minutes later, he still laid beside you in bed, naked body flush against your skin.

These were the moments you treasured the most. Pos-coital bliss, where you could pretend, if only for one second, that you were something more than strangers who sometimes shared beds.

But they also made you the most confused. Because, here in his arms, it felt like more than friends, more than sex. But did he think that, too?

So many nights you spent just like this, trying to convince yourself that this was good enough, that you were comfortable living in this in-between state. But that was then, and this is now, and it’s not enough.

And now you know it never was.

“Yoongi?” you said, turning in his arms so you’re face to face.

“What,” he grumbled back, voice thick with sleep. It’s a sound you’re all too familiar with, one you’ve let lull you into a stupor time and time again. He leaned down to kiss you, but you placed a hand on his chest, keeping him away.

“What are we doing?”

It’s a question you’d always been too afraid to ask, but now that it was the only thing on your mind, you couldn’t stop yourself from blurting it out.

Yoongi scoffed. “Sleeping?” He nipped at the sweet spot on your neck, “Unless you’re up for another round.”

“Yoongi, I need—”

He licked a stripe up your neck, scrambling your thoughts. “What? What do you need?” He said, voice husky. It’s enough to make you moan but not enough to distract you from your racing thoughts.

I need to know what this is. I need to know where I stand with you. I need—

“More than this.”

“I’m serious. What are we doing? What. . . what are we?”

You said it. The thing you’re not supposed to say, and it made you feel sick to your stomach.

You shouldn’t—it’s not as if it’s some forbidden phrase, but the words weighed heavy in the air. You’re going places you’ve never gone with Yoongi, putting all your cards on the table. It’s risky. No one wants to be the one who cares most, but you do. And you know you’re not supposed to. You know you can’t say that you want more. That you want love. That somehow, this unspoken arrangement isn’t what you needed any more. You needed to know if he felt anything for you in return, and you needed to know now.

It was quiet for a minute before you finally said, unable to stop yourself from masking the vulnerability in your voice: “I like you.”

“I like you too,” said Yoongi. There was no weight to his words. He said it so quickly, so easily, that it stunned you.

Maybe a little too easy.

“So what does that mean for us?” you said, sitting up in bed, more awake now than ever.

Yoongi froze. “Us?”

“Yeah, is there an us?” You can’t seem to say what you really mean; the words hover around the truth of your real desires, that you want a relationship. It’s obvious, isn’t it? “Because if it’s not, if you can’t see this being real, then I don’t think I can do this anymore. I might take a break.”

He has to know what you mean. . .Do you really have to spell it out?

But apparently, you do because Yoongi glosses over the true meaning of your words entirely. “Can we talk about this in the morning? I’m tired. I don’t want to fight right now.”

He reached for you, his hand slipping up your thigh and rubbing small circles with his thumb. The touch is soothing, but your mind is still whirling. Still trying to connect the dots from what he said, what it meant, and what you heard.

“I don’t want to fight right now.”

Why does the question of choosing me have to be a fight?

It’s this thought that makes it all clear. It’s not a fight. Yoongi knows the question you’re asking. He just doesn’t want to answer.

You opened your mouth to say as much, but you’re tired, too. Tired of this bullshit. The ease with which Yoongi dismissed your needs time and time again. You don’t have the strength to plead your case, and you shouldn’t have to, really.

You laid back down with you back towards him, nodding your head in agreement even as you shoved your disappointment down deep.

As if sensing your frustration, Yoongi wordlessly consoled you. He trailed kisses down your body. Each kiss, a tiny apology. At the top of your head. Sorry. By your jaw, sorry. The dip between your neck and shoulder. Sorry.

Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Despite yourself, you lean into the embrace. Yoongi didn’t always have the right words to say, but he always had the right touch. Still, a part of you starved for a deeper affection, a part that even Yoongi’s touch couldn’t reach.

. . .

In the morning, you woke up to the shining sun, aching limbs, and an empty bed.

Yoongi wasn’t beside you, and the loss of his touch stirred you from your sleep as the loneliness crept back in. You know there’s no note for you to or an explanation to where he’s gone, so you don’t bother checking. Instead, you roll over to your side, clumsily fumbling around for your phone on the nightstand.

You open your eyes with a sigh, blurred vision trying to make sense of the digits on the screen reading 9:02am when everything clicks into space with startling clarity. Your entrepreneurship class started at nine.

Shit.

“Late! I’m late!” You shouted, hopping out of bed and throwing on a T-shirt and jeans. No doubt, you look a mess, but you didn’t have time to worry about appearance. You could not be late; this course was one of the hardest in your major. You couldn’t afford to miss any class and pass, and if you flunked out, you’d have to wait another two semesters before it’d be offered again. That was time you simply didn’t have. It’d put you way behind your schedule to graduate on time with your degree, and you couldn’t afford to waste more time in school.

It’s the desperation that has you rushing down the hall to your classroom, tired and out of breath after sprinting from the parking garage into the building. You’re flustered, sweaty, and way too embarrassed to make eye contact with your professor as you enter the room, only bowing your head in apologies as your eyes scan the room for a seat.

Mia flagged you down in the corner of the room, and you slid into the desk next toher. “I saved you a spot,” she whispered, careful not to raise her voice above the steady drone of your professor’s lecture about starting a new business.

“Thanks,” you said, eternally grateful to have made a friend in this class. Mia was a school friend who, through late-night study sessions and lunch breaks, was slowly becoming a real friend, too. If only you didn’t have more time on campus, you’d probably be best friends by now, but between working for two jobs and school, your schedule was always full.

“We’ll dive deeper into identifying your target customer base next week.”

When the lecture ended thirty minutes later, you pulled Mia outside the classroom. “Hey, thanks again for saving me a seat. Can I borrow your notes from earlier?”

“Of course.” You thanked her as she pulled out her notebook and handed it over.

“No problem. Where were you this morning? I thought we were supposed to catch up before class.”

You forgot about that. “Uh, sorry. I overslept. Rain check?”

“Sure. I have a class until 3, but after that I’m free. You wanna grab dinner tonight?”

You wince, knowing you’ll have to turn her down once again. “I’d love that. I really would, but I’ve gotta—“

“Work, right. Of course.”

“Sorry, Mia.”

“Look. I get it you’re busy. But I feel like I never see you these days.”

You can’t help but feel guilty knowing she’s right. You have been all over the place this semester. Your social life was definitely suffering for it.

“And when I do, you see, you’re basically running around campus looking like a total mess.”

Ouch. When she puts it like that. . .

Mia must have read the hurt look on your face cuz she quickly backtracked. “I don’t mean to sound harsh. I’m just worried about you, ya know?”

You know she’s right, but it still made you feel like crap to hear your friend chide you like this. You know you’ve been distant, but were you really that bad?

“And I miss my friend,” she added, squeezing your hand.

At this admission, you relax, understanding where she’s coming from. “I know. Today’s not great, but I promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?” You looked down at your phone, checking the time. Now you were going to be late for your next class, too. “I gotta run, but we’ll talk later?”

Mia nodded. You hugged her before hauling ass across campus to your next class.

. . .

“Do you know what an embarrassment you are to this family?”

Seokjin sighed, slumping in his seat. His father slapped the newspaper onto his desk so hard it’s a wonder the glass didn’t crack under his palm. It took all of his strength not to wince at the title:

Billionaire Playboy Caught At An Infamous Strip Club.

“I didn’t choose to go there. Taehyung and Namjoon took me out—“

“I don’t care what Taehyung and Namjoon do. They can destroy their families’ reputations if they want to. But you are my son. I won’t have you tarnishing my reputation. You think you deserve to run this company after a stunt like that?”

At this, Seokjin rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I deserve anything. I’ve never wanted this company,” he said.

“You ungrateful piece of shit.”

Seokjin meant what he said, but he wasn’t ungrateful. Inheriting his father’s million-dollar diamond corporation was never part of his interest. “You should hand over your company to the child who wants to run it. Sohee would—“

“Sohee doesn’t have what it takes to run my company.”

Translation: Sohee wasn’t a man. And Seokjin’s sexist father would never give her the chance she deserved to take over the family business. Even though she was the progeny most naturally suited for the job.

His father waved away the idea. “Enough of this talk of Sohee. You will inherit the family business. It’s time you stopped acting like a child. Have you forgotten your responsibilities? After your wedding to Mei, our company will expand. You’ll have no time for these foolish endeavors.

How could he possibly forget? Between the tabloids and the endless, frivolous meetings crammed into his schedule to decide what color goes best with the tablecloths or what dish should be served for the twelfth-course meal, he hasn’t been able to escape any thoughts of the wedding as much as he’d wanted to.

Seokjin met Mei under duress six months ago with the intention of their union expanding the company into the Chinese market. And though their families held a long-standing relationship with each other—they were practically strangers. He had no feelings for her, and their relationship was strictly business, to his chagrin.

Seokjin didn’t want to get married—let alone to someone he barely knew. But the decision wasn’t up to him. As with everything else in his life, his father made all the decisions. Every school, every job, and every opportunity was already picked out for him before Seokjin could even utter the word ‘no. Nothing was ever a choice.

He hated his father. For his cruelty and selfish ways, his blatant disregard for others, his children’s wishes, and the control he had over Seokjin’s life.

“As a matter of fact, I have an important business dinner with her father this evening—you will attend.”

“Of course, not like I had any plans.” Said Seokjin, smiling sweetly, but his eyes held malice.

His father cut him a look and opened his mouth for what Seokjin was sure would be a good cussing out, only for his father to explode into a coughing fit. The bastard was sick, but unfortunately for Seokjin, not ill enough to die. Just enough for his father to retire early and order him to take over, crushing any dream he had of escaping his legacy.

His father cleared his throat. “I expect you to be on your best behavior and impress him, boy. But don’t be a fucking kiss ass. Remember, you represent the Kim name. Show me you are not a complete disappointment as my heir. You can do at least that, can’t you?”

Seokjin grit his teeth, swallowing down his anger. He hated his father for his relentless demands, but he also hated himself.

Because despite resenting it all, Seokjin always did as he was told.

. . .

[4:34pm] Sunshine Boss: I have something for you :)

[4:34pm] Sunshine Boss: I know you’re off tonight, but you should stop by and pick it up. I think you’ll be satisfied with the gift.

You look up from your phone, stopping midway in your tracks. It’d be risky, but you could squeeze in some time to stop by the club before heading to your other job.

Jeongguk winked at you as you walked up to Paradise. You smile at him as he holds the door open for you, shaking your head at his endless flirting. It always amused you that he was the club bouncer when the kid was a little younger than you. But you always felt safer having Jeongguk at the door. You’ve seen firsthand how that sweet bunny smile could fade into a deadly expression. Jeongguk could be very intimidating when he wanted to be, and his muscles weren’t just for show. You felt sorry for anyone who crossed a line at the club and ended up facing off with him.

It doesn’t take you long to find your boss. He’s tucked away in his sleek gray office as usual, typing away on his laptop. He looked polished as ever in a new suit and a crisp white button-down. When you knocked on the door, Hoseok looked up and waved you inside. “Come in.”

“You said you had something for me?” You asked. You were still curious as to why he requested you stop by. Work was work, but Hoseok took your personal lives seriously. He never crossed the line between the two, so you found it odd he reached out.

“I do,” said Hoseok, reaching inside his desk drawer. “Your private session left you a big tip last night. I thought it’d be best if you received it directly.” You watched as he pulled out a fat white envelope and slid it across the desk.

Just looking at it made you raise an eyebrow. Hoseok’s bright eyes gave nothing away as he waved a hand towards the envelope, beckoning you towards it.

Without thinking, you opened the envelope and let out a little gasp of shock at the thick wad of bills inside. Hundred-dollar bills.

“All this is for me?”

“All of it.”

You shifted out a few bills, ready to hand over your expected dues, but Hoseok stopped you with a hand. “You misunderstand. I already have my cut. Everything within that envelope is yours.”

“Are you serious?” You said, unable to hide the shock in your voice. You had enough money in your hands to pay your whole rent for the month and then some. All from one dance.

The sharp angles of Hoseok’s face softened, and he smiled at your disbelief, a dimple showing out. “Clearly, you left a good impression, but I expect nothing less—you’re one of the best.”

You wave away his words, too embarrassed to accept the compliment, thinking about exactly how you won Seokjin’s favor. Just the thought made your heart race. As much as you hated to admit it, your patron wasn’t the only one affected by that last dance.

“I um—I’ve got to go. But thank you for making sure I got this personally.”

“Of course. Before you leave, your gift came with a letter,” said Hoseok, pointing back to his desk.

You don’t know how you missed it at first, but sure enough, another smaller envelope was on the glass with your name handwritten on the front.

“Oh.”

“I think you might have a new regular. Seokjin seems to be very fond of you.”

. . .

Later that afternoon, you pulled up to work, grateful you remembered to stash a bag with clothes in your car. You quickly run to the back, hoping to change into your uniform. But your boss caught you before you could sneak off to the back.

“You’re late,” she hissed.

Yes, that was becoming quite a habit of yours. You ducked your head apologetically, hoping the woman would scold you quickly. “I’m sorry, I was—”

“—I don’t have time for excuses. A high-ranking guest is coming in tonight, so just do your job.”

You don’t miss the pointedness in her tone—no fuck ups tonight.

“Got it,” you said, holding back your grimace as she berated some more before sending you off to change. All you could do was grin and bear it. Even if you didn’t feel like you had it in you to pull on a fake smile and tend to your special guests.

But that was your job as a hostess. It paid well, though sometimes it almost didn’t feel worth it with the snooty customer base you had to face, but between rent and your school tuition, you literally couldn’t afford to be picky.

Even if you didn’t have the energy to put up with these rich assholes, at least you didn’t have to pull a shift at Paradise after this. You just had to pull yourself together for a few hours, and then you could go home.

You change into a little black dress and switch out your sneakers for a pair of tall heels. It wasn’t exactly a ‘uniform’ uniform, but your second job still has a certain look and aesthetic to maintain. The dress hugged your curves in all the right places, and you can’t help but feel eyes on you as you make your way back to the hostess table up front, heels clicking.

Dionysus was in full swing, each white-clothed table crowded and buzzing, and you watched as people clinked glasses under the chandeliers. But at your post, you kept your eye on the empty room in the back.

Whoever your guests were tonight, if they were truly a big deal, you’d escort them to have their meal in that private room.

Once the opening crowd thins out, the evening goes by slowly for you, and before you know it, you’re sneaking a peek at your phone, trying not to keep your boredom at bay.

There were a couple texts from Hyuna and a picture she sent of herself and the girls at Paradise.

[6:15pm] Babygirl: I’m so BORED when you’re not here🥺

[ 6:16pm]You: Sameeee. Don’t have fun without me!

[6:18pm] Babygirl: You know it’s boring when you’re not here! Miss you tonight 💕

You heart the message, missing her too.

Still no messages from Yoongi.

All his silence does is confirm the feeling in your gut and fuel the quiet resolve to make a decision.

You’re so busy ruminating that you don’t even realize you have guests in front of you until someone clears their throat in front of you.

“Act like you have some sense. The reservation for the Kim Corporation is here.”

You shove down your disdain for your boss and put on your best smile, ready to greet your new guests. Only when you look up do you realize it’s not a new guest after all.

Kim Seokjin stood in front of you, handsome as ever. His fringe frames his face, drawing your attention to his dark eyes and immaculate suit. You could tell from the quality of his clothes that it was expensive, but the white button-down left open on his chest said that looking flawless was effortless on his part. His brows furrowed at the sight of you, but then the confusion cleared, and in its place, Seokjin fixed you with a dazzling white smile and said: “It’s you.”

You barely have time to recover from the blow before you fix your smile in place (the one you use strictly for work; polite and friendly) and greet his party.

“Welcome to Dionysus, Mr.Kim. It’s a pleasure to have you dine with us tonight.”

Seokjin blinked at your formal demeanor, not expecting your casual dismissal of his recognition. But you don’t react—you can’t. No one here knew of your other life, and you planned on keeping things this way.

“Please follow me; I’ll direct you towards our private dining experience.” You quickly turned on your heel, walking forward without sparing so much as a second glance towards him. But you can sense his eyes on you, that hot, molten feeling rising in your body as you lead the party toward the back.

When you stopped before the table, Seokjin pulled out the chair closest to your position, trying to address you once more. “It’s nice to see you again.”

You maintain your plastic smile. “You must be mistaken, Sir; we haven’t met. I’ve heard this is your first time visiting Dionysus.”

“You mean to tell me we haven’t met before?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, but your facade didn’t waver. If anything, your eyes seemed to embolden, daring him to question your professionalism. You’re so calm and cool that if it were anybody else, Seokjin might have believed himself to be mistaken. But he knows he’s not. As if he could forget your face after last night.

So that’s how you wanted to play this? Fine. Two could play that game. He’d get your attention one way or another.

“Excuse me, I have a special request,” asked Seokjin, successfully grabbing your supervisor’s attention. “Your hostess is so lovely. Is there any way that she could tend to our table tonight?.”

Your eyes widen in shock for a split second, not anticipating this outcome. “I’m sorry, I’m not a part of the waitstaff—”

“—Absolutely,” Your boss cut in. “I’m sure (Y/n) would like nothing more than to take care of your party personally.”

At the mention of your name, Jin’s eyes widened. He simply wanted you near, but his request seemed to come with a little gift now that he knew your name.

The realization must have dawned on you simultaneously since the look on your face is a mix of shock and rage. Jin finds the combination amusing, and he can’t keep the satisfied smirk on his lips, knowing he sneakily earned another night with you.

Serves you right for trying to ignore him. Seokjin gave you a look, cocky and full of ego, relaying this very thought.

You wanted to wipe his smug smirk off. Asshole. You haven’t waited tables since your first year in college, and now, because this guy batted his pretty eyes, you’re right back where you started?

Who does this guy think he is?

You’re beyond annoyed, but all you can do is plaster on another fake smile and join the servers at the table. Thankfully, you’d served with everyone working the table before, so getting back into the flow of things was easy.

You fell into step from memory; everything returned to you from years of practice waitressing. You reached past Seokjin to fill his wine glass, and the asshole had the nerve to look up and smile at you.

You smile back, of course, even though you’re silently fuming, but your eyes tell a different story. You let Seokjin see it, all the anger buried underneath the polite mask as you pour.

But Seokjin’s smile didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. You swear his smile only brightened, the grin spreading across his handsome face.

You didn’t realize you had overfilled his glass until you heard the scrap of his chair across the floor when he jumped back from the table.

You were so distracted you poured the wine right into his lap. But he didn’t have to know that. Even though it wasn’t your intention, you’re more than happy to claim the credit for his displeasure.

“My apologies, Sir,” you said with a smirk.

Seokjin glared at you in response. Now that the shock was gone, you had to stifle a laugh behind your hand seeing his pouty face.

Your boss hissed your name, eyeing you with a tilted head at the mess you were in no rush to clean up.

“Let me help you with that,” you sighed. You bent down, picking up a spare napkin off the table. You dipped it in water and mindlessly dabbed at the spill on his suit.

You were already so close before you realized your mistake. You could smell the heated spice of Seokjin’s cologne, and you were just a breath away from that dazzling face. Just as close as you were the first night you met. The memory of it flashes through your mind—the warmth of his palm cupping your cheek like you were his lover. It’s enough to make your breath hitch.

You met his eyes, and the depth of his dark pools told you you weren’t the only one thinking of your first night together. Seokjin’s gaze dipped, looking at your lips as he wet his own.

It’s that small action that brings you back. What were you doing? Surely you weren’t about to kiss the stranger in the middle of a job? Quickly, you removed your hand from his lap, clearing your throat as you backed away.

Your mind felt hazy, and you knew who was to blame. But what you wouldn’t understand was the fact that Seokjin had any effect on you at all.

You knew it wasn’t his status; you often came across rich men in your work. His looks were unparalleled, but you rarely found attraction towards a pretty face last if you hadn’t liked their personality.

And you didn’t like him, right? No. He wasn’t your type at all. Still, you couldn’t deny the pull felt whenever he was in your presence.

For the rest of the night, you completed service for the party away from Kim Seokjin. Dinner went on in a daze. And before you knew it was closing time. The Kim Party stayed the whole night, which was tiring, but the generous tip they left did lighten your spirits as you exited the building.

You’re halfway out the door, eagerly awaiting a night alone in your apartment, when you hear someone call out your name.

“(Y/n).”

It’s Seokjin. You looked up to find him leaning back against a luxury SUV. “Or should I call you Angel? Both names suit you quite well.”

Dammit. In the heat of the moment, you forgot all about your boss giving away your name. If your two lives weren’t crossed over before, they certainly were now.

You’ve half a mind to ignore him and pretend you didn’t hear him in the first place, but ultimately, you decided to deal with it before things get more out of hand.

You walked up towards him. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you kept that name to yourself.”

“Which name?” He teased, eyes glinting at you in the dark. “They’re both very pretty.”

“I mean it. People don’t know about my other job here.”

“So you live a double life? That’s sexy.”

“It’s not as sexy as you think,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s actually really hard, so don’t make it any harder for me.”

Seokjin tilted his head to the side, studying you. You put up a good front, coming up to him acting all demanding. But he could see the vulnerability underneath it all; a part of you was worried.

“I wouldn’t dream of making anything more difficult for you,” he said, earnestly hoping to put your mind at ease. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Oh…” You weren’t expecting him to acquiesce so quickly. You honestly thought he’d be the type of jerk to tease you and hold it over your head like earlier. But Seokjin immediately respected your boundary; you didn’t even have to put your foot down.

“Thank you,” you said awkwardly.

“Of course.”

His behavior took you off guard, but you couldn’t lose focus. Your name wasn’t the only reason you approached him.

“Um, also, while you’re here, I’d like to give you this back,” you said, reaching into your bag for the envelope. You help it out for him to take. “Thank you for the tip, but I can’t accept this.”

Seokjin stared at your hand. “That was a gift.”

“It’s too much,” you added as if that held any weight.

“I haven’t to politely disagree. I enjoyed myself, and I value your time. I think the amount reflects that.”

“I can’t accept it.”

“Can’t? Or won’t.”

“Okay, I won’t accept it. Take it back.”

“No.”

“Seokjin.”

“(Y/n).”

“Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Love, you’re the one making this difficult.”

“Look,” you said, frustrated at the conversation. “I’m not in the mood for games. I don’t know what your expectations are. But I’m not that kind of girl.”

Seokjin shook his head. “I’m not following…”

“Well then, let me make it clear to you. I said. I’m not that kind of girl.”

You were all up in his face, eyes full of fire, and Seokjin couldn’t help but like it. For a man in his position, very few people had the confidence to speak to him like that. He at once found it incredibly attractive and entertaining, watching you sass him with your neck craned as he looked down at you.

Clearly, you meant to be intimidating, but all Seokjin could think about was how sexy you looked when you were assertive.

“You didn’t read my letter, did you?”

“The letter is irrelevant; I don’t care how rich you are—you can’t buy me.”

“I think you are mistaken. I’m not trying to buy you, (y/n).”

You didn’t buy it. If there was anything you learned in life, it was that nothing ever came free. There was always a price. And this man came from a world where money ruled supreme.

“Then what do you want?”

You. It was the first thing that entered Seokjin’s mind. The thought took him by surprise. It’d been a while since he felt this attracted to anyone. And he certainly didn’t know what he was doing waiting after dinner to talk to you. Something was there, but he knew better than to voice this new feeling aloud.

Instead, he told a partial truth. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “That night…. I’ve never seen someone move like that. The way you dance...You captivated me. You were like a goddess.”

You wanted to be mad at him. You really did. But you couldn’t help but feel yourself flush at the compliment and the sincerity in his voice. Men flirted with you often. It was a hazard of the job, but not like this. You’ve heard men highlight your body before, but no one ever mentioned the way you dance with awe in their voice, not just lust.

“It’s only natural to give an offering as your patron,” said Seokjin, winking at you.

Your body betrayed you then, a flush that heated you up. Get a grip! You thought. You weren’t some lovesick teen. You were grown. You would not be swayed by some rich asshole’s stupid flirting.

“Well, I don’t need your money. Here,” you said, thrusting it out in front of you. “You can have it back. I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“You don’t owe me. I wanted to give it to you,” said Seokjin, stepping closer to you. “I think you deserve a lot more, to be honest.”

Seokjin placed his hand over yours, firmly keeping the envelope in your grip. “It was a gift. Nothing more, nothing less. Keep it.”

You’re so close Jin could smell you; your skin is warm and sweet, and your perfume was sultry and floral. Seokjin could drown in it. The scent clouded his senses and, clearly, his judgment because he closed what little distance sat between him and you. Here, he had a front row to your beautiful eyes, and those plush lips, and the only thing running through his head was what it would be like to kiss you.

Seokjin looked at you, really looked at you, and this time, he noticed you were not startled. Your pupils are blown, your chest rising quickly—he’d bet anything that whatever it is going on with him, you felt it too.

But again, you pulled away.

You took a step back to give yourself space and clear your head. Any longer, and you might have kissed him for real. And even though you and Yoongi were barely a thing and planned on ending things, you hadn’t ended them yet. Even though Seokjin had you wanting to cross all kinds of boundaries—you weren’t about to cross that line.

“I um,” You stuttered, “I really can’t convince you to take it back?”

Jin considered your question. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll take the money back in exchange for a date.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Was he really asking you on a date? “How is that appealing to me? That’s just swapping one problem for another.”

“It would be the best day of your life.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

You sighed. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m seeing someone. And even if I wasn’t—”

“Are you exclusive?”

“Well, no—”

“—Then I have a chance?” Said Seokjin, taking a step closer to you. He smiled again, and this time, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and you felt the warmth of his gaze flush all over you.

“I, um—”

Seeing you stutter, Seokjin’s smile brightened. “I do have a chance.”

Stupid, damn feelings.

“You have no chances,” you said, barely recovering from the brilliant attack on your heart. “Because I don’t date clients, remember?” You let words settle between you, their weight grounding you back to reality.

“And now you’ve also popped up at my day job?”

“A charming coincidence, I promise,” said Seokjin, placing a hand over his heart.

“Hmm. Well, I guess I’ll keep your money after all.” Even if he was the most handsome man you’d ever met, you were an adult. Your better judgment kept you from crossing that line.

Seokjin smirked. “Good.”

Good? You narrowed your eyes at him. He looked a little too pleased with your decision. “Did you only propose that because you knew, I’d say no and keep the money?”

“No,” he said, leaning toward entrancing you again with a close-up view of his superior good looks. “I hoped you’d say yes. But I’ll take the consolation prize.”

“Besides, I’m rich,” laughed Seokjin. “It’s not like I need more money.”

And just like that, the moment of infatuation passed. Seokjin was back to being a rich asshole. Perfect. You could work with that.

You backed away from him, heading for your car. “Goodnight, Seokjin.”

“Goodnight, (Y/n)”

It’s not until you’re sitting in your car, catching your reflection in the rearview mirror, that you realize you’ve got a stupid grin on your face.

Immediately, you stopped, catching yourself. It felt nice to be admired and flirted with, but what was your problem? Why were you smiling about some random stranger when you had a—

The bright ping of your phone went, and you reached inside your purse to check your texts.

[9:06pm] Yoongi: Missed you at Paradise tonight? Can I stop by later?

Speak of the devil…Of course, Yoongi would contact you now.

You didn’t owe him any loyalty, but that didn’t mean you felt comfortable talking to other guys. But still, why?

Yoongi wasn’t your boyfriend. So why were you giving him the boyfriend treatment?

“Are you exclusive?”

“Well, no—”

“—Then I have a chance?”

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. Why were you thinking about Seokjin’s words earlier? He wasn’t even a dating option, but he did have a point.

For all intents and purposes, you were practically single, so why were you acting coupled up again?

You look at the three little dots bubbling up from your lack of response. How long were you going to keep doing this? Repeating the same cycle over again?

No. No more.

You fired off a text back: I can’t, busy, then threw your phone on the seat and started up your engine before you could change your mind

The cycle ends right now. You wouldn’t spend the rest of your twenties going back and forth with some guy who only ever wanted to sleep with you.

You’re young. You’re hot. You didn’t have to sit around and wait for some guy to want you. You could get a date with anyone you wanted, hell, even a millionaire!

For a minute, even though tonight was an inconvenience, you’re grateful you ran into Seokjin just for that reminder.

The next time you see Yoongi, you know what you need to do.

You’re ending things up with him. For good.

[lysol1201]

crack ass headcanons but this time they were written at 5am

made this at 5am when i was stressed over school in march and i spilled redbull all over my desk and setup (i was a video game art major so everything i did was on my PC and then redbull got all over it so my life flashed before my eyes. at least i'm graduated tho now lol)

has some 18+ themes on here, nothing explicit just some suggestive jokes.

this is a long one so enjoy bbg's

++++

-Mammon’s favorite marvel hero is iron man because rich bitch

-Satan relates to the hulk, he empathizes with him, satan goes full on empath mode with bruce banner

-“OH SHIT! A RAT! THERE’s A RAT! THERE’S A MOTHERFUCKEN RAT!” -Barbatos probably

-MC boutta blare the p*rnhub drums music in HoL, the people who turn their heads

Asmo (lmao duh, also like smirks and is like omg what video)

Levi (he knows what it is but didn’t like it, he prefers hentai thanks. also probs knows from memes, is embarrassed because he’s levi even if he isn’t a p*rnhub avid viewer)

Mammon (oh shit oh fuck)

Lucifer (avatar of horny)

Satan is an intellectual!!! (He looks lol catgirl shit in that history and you know it)

Beel knows the sound but doesn’t care or feel embarrassed cuz it isn’t something he indulges in and Belphie is asleep.

-Levi has had significant others in the past but all have been online and most just stopped coming online after a couple days

-Satan had a skrillex phase, don’t ask why, i just can feel it

-Barbatos once played his playlist when he was baking with Luke and Luke was like “can’t wait for smooth jazz” and suddenly fucken breaking benjamin starts fucking blaring “SAY GOODBYE! AS WE DANCE WITH THE DEVIL TONIGHT! DON’T YOU DARE LOOK HIM IN THROUGH THE EYES! AS WE DANCE WITH THE DEVIL TONIGHTT” and Luke had a breakdown he had to go home. Barbatos was no longer allowed to play his playlist around Luke. So Barbatos played Cooking by the Book in apology. Luke once again got angy and went home.

-Asmo has once convinced Mammon, Levi, and Satan to do a performance for a Christmas event and it was the fucken Mean Girls choreography. Levi weirdly got way too into it

-Asmo listens to NSFW asmr this isn’t a self projection okay look let me explain I tried it out of curiosity and then passed out like good ass ASMR until the sounds of fucking woke me up n e wayz that’s Asmo

-“Oh fuck, Lucifer found the pee drawer… in his study HIGH FIVE” -Anti-Lucifer League

-ButterSock owners:

Lucifer

Barbatos

Solomon

-“Beel stop, don’t eat your brother-“ -Lucifer

-Who can do the WAP dance the best, from best to worst

Asmo (lmao is that a question)

Barbatos (don’t ask why)

Belphie (weirdly good at things without trying, just kinda like his grades)

Solomon (just listen)

Satan (wasn’t going to let Lucifer be better than him)

Lucifer (could be better if he wanted to but he’s not sure whats worst, being the best at it or being the worst at it. settles with the middle)

Diavolo (mmm fuck)

Levi (probably practiced before it was brought up, but too embarrassed to use his full potential)

Mammon (too much force)

Beel (too distracted by “macaroni in a pot” lyric)

-Pacifist Route Undertale Players:

Luke

Simeon

Diavolo (dunno why I just feel like he’d just be happy to be there)

Beel

Renegade Route Players:

Belphie

Satan

Solomon

No Specific Route:

Lucifer

Mammon

Asmo

Both Playthroughs:

Levi

-Lucifer wears crocs

-Buys discord kittens nitro:

Satan

Levi

Is a discord kitten:

Asmo

Belphie (fakes identity for free shit)

Mammon (b urself❤)

-No Nut November Survivors:

Beel

Belphie

Satan

Barbatos

Diavolo

Simeon

No Nut November Failures:

Asmo

Lucifer (avatar of horny)

Mammon

Levi (someone looked at me, horndog)

Solomon

-“This one’s for you bbg.” *misses*

Levi

Mammon

Satan

Asmo

Belphie

Solomon

-belphie studies by listening to like audio shit and falling asleep to it, gets that shit engraved in his brain and he can sleep also win-win he’s unstoppable

-“Hey…. do you know about Candice? Candice dick fit in yo mouth.” -Anti-Lucifer League

-Mammon can outrun lucifer but he lowkey wants to be caught cuz its fun

-“Hey, what do you have?”

“A knife!”

“NO!” -Lucifer and Belphie interaction

-“If you enjoyed the Bee Movie, you’re going to Hell!” -Luke

-Solomon told Diavolo about Spaghetti Tacos from iCarly and Diavolo immediately made Barbatos make some. He loved it.

-Asmo gets Lucifer to do tiktok dances with him and Lucifer is good as fuck

-Barbatos is perfect at tiktok dances. and everything. he’s perfect.

-Belphie is skilled with firearms, be afraid (proof right here)

[hobeemin]

the visit

🦇 genre: angst, smut, supernatural, vampire au

🦇 pairing(s): vampire!kim hongjoong x (f)poc!reader x vampire!park seonghwa

🦇 rating: 18+

🦇 warning(s): biting, blood, restraints, blindfolds, dirty talk, kissing, lots of sensory deprivation

🦇 word count: 1k

🦇 credits: forgive me for any mistakes, this is getting posted unedited... i know i know, i never do that, but i wanted to write something for Halloween...but life lol

thank you to @beomcoups for looking this over 💜💜 thank you so much!

banner resources found here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

🦇 a/n:

for @kpopsblackcreatorsociety Halloween Event "Blood and Bane"

⤞ Category: vampires

⤞ Prompt(s): sensory play | blindfold

Lips traveled down her frame as goosebumps trailed behind. She let out a hiss as pointed teeth dragged across her bare chest. Squirming under the restraints wouldn’t stop them from their work; instead, it made them want to do more, push her to the edge.

If anyone had told her she’d be seduced by not one but two vampires on that night, she would have laughed in their faces. Because c’mon…vampires weren’t real. 

Oh, they indeed were. Meeting Hongjoong and Seonghwa was purely by chance. Y/N took a chance going to a BDSM event for the spooky season. It was simple: she signed up in interest and got an invitation immediately. As it was Halloween-themed, she needed a costume ASAP. It was a tie was between Selene from Underworld or Michelle Pfeiffer’s Catwoman.

Catwoman won.

Walking into the party, she didn’t expect to join in on the first night. For her, it was an observation. Curiosity brought her there, but what she didn’t realize was that she grabbed the attention of the two men instantly. 

They could smell the purity on her. It was like a veil that embraced her. How fun would it be to dye it red?

Seonghwa appeared before her first. The usual antics, small talk, and whatnot. She was enamored, to say the least. Even under the dimmed lighting, she could tell he was breathtaking, even if he was covered head to toe in black. All she could see was his eyes, but that alone drew her in. 

“Love your costume,” he purred.

“T-Thank you,” she stammered out.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these. You new?”

“Y-Yes. My first time.”

Seonghwa chuckled, leaning against the wall. “Welcome. I’m Seonghwa.”

“My name is Y/N.”

“Lovely name.”

“Seonghwa hogs the pretty ones,” a voice cooed behind her.

Y/N turned to see another man dressed identically to Seonghwa. He wasn’t as tall as him, but the power that radiated from him made her knees buckle. He returned her stare with equal amusement.

“I’m Hongjoong.”

“P-Pleased to meet you, Hongjoong.”

“Happy to have you as our guest tonight.”

Her eyes widened. “This is your party?!”

“Yes, it is. How do you like it so far?”

“I like it a lot,” she gushed out, “I mean, it’s something different I’ve never done.”

“Were you hoping to find something here, Y/N?” Hongjoong inquired.

She gulped once, then twice. They were so close. Why, under the lights and heat of the club, did she feel a chill go through her body? 

Seonghwa lifted her gloved hand into his, removing the mask over his mouth. His lips pressed onto her knuckles, making her knees buckle. 

“Well, little Kitty, are you ready to go down the rabbit hole?”

And so here she was after giving her consent. Body bare on display for only their eyes. Wrists restrained above her head with a silk tie wrapped around her eyes. Her other senses heightened as they worked their magic on her. She was like putty in their hands.

Seonghwa admired their handy work as he nodded at Hongjoong. 

“You’re a piece of art, Y/N,” Hongjoong whispered. “Don’t know how lucky you are to catch the attention of both of us.”

Seonghwa nodded in agreement. “This never happens, Kitten. We just want a little taste.”

Y/N rubbed her thighs together. Something about their words only caused her lust to grow. “Yes, please do,” she begged. “Use me how you want.”

A smile formed on Hongjoong’s face as two sharp fangs appeared. “With pleasure.”

He dropped to his knees, spreading her legs wide for him to see. His breath played on her skin as his lips and tongue traveled up to her inner thigh.

“So soft,” he murmured, “So sweet. And all ours.”

Y/N felt a prick as she winced, but soon the euphoria washed over her. A strangled moan spilled from her lips as Hongjoong lapped at the blood trickling down her legs, reveling in the taste. He made sure not to drain her. She was too good to get rid of so quickly. He bit down on his bottom lip, letting a few drops fall on the marks. They healed closed as he left a kiss on the place.

Seonghwa tapped his shoulder with a grin. 

“My turn.”

He closed, dragging his thumb across her lips. Y/N keened into the touch. “You’re so turned on, you don’t know what to do, hmm.”

“S-Seonghwa?”

“Hmm, needy for me, too. Oh look, Hongjoong, our little Kitten is addicted already.”

“Want me to kiss you love? Take your breath away?”

Her head bobbed as his lips grazed against her. His hands wrapped around her neck, pulling her close and deepening the kiss. If she weren’t being tied up, she would have dropped to the floor. He pulled away as she let out a whimper, moving to her neck to nip the skin gently. 

“Hongjoong says you’re delicious Kitten. May I have a taste as well?”

“P-Please.”

It happened so fast. His fangs pierced her shoulder, drawing out more nectar for him to feast on. Meanwhile, Hongjoong caressed her skin, whispering sweet promises in her ear.

Her body felt so alive. It was nothing like she ever felt before. She reacted so strongly to the men she came on just those actions alone, her hips bucking at nothing. Seonghwa licked the remnants, closing the wound. He nuzzled against her, kissing her earlobe.

“You are a treat, little Kitten.”

Hoongjoong hummed in agreement. “Don’t want to share you with anyone else.”

Seonghwa removed her restraints and blindfold, letting her rest on the bed as they brought her water to drink. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until the liquid flowed down her throat; her eyes adjusted to the lights in the room as the two men sat on the bed on each side of her.

“How do you feel?”

She placed the glass down and rested her head against the pillows. “Exhausted but invigorated at the same time.”

Hongjoong clicked his teeth. “It’s a long night, Kitten, and we’re hardly done with you.”

“What?”

Seonghwa chuckled darkly as his fangs slid into view. “Oh, little Kitten, you’re in for a treat.”

[lahooozaherr]

I Will Always Find You

Chapter 4

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: angst, fluff, yearning, pining, shooting a blaster with Mando (aaaaaay) vague description of dress on reader (listen, I said it was “traditional Naboo” dress but I don’t know if such thing exists I just love that dress Padme wears by the lake lol but I’m leaving it as vague as I can incase y’all want to imagine something else, I only describe having an open back) (wanted to give Mando some skin, ok), reader runs hand through hair and has strand brushed away but no actual description of hair, Din tries to not have sexy thoughts lol

MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI. AGELESS/BLANK ACCOUNTS WILL BE BLOCKED.

My tag list (instructions & requirements)

Summary: You and the Mandalorian spend part of your “hooky” day relaxing in a place special to you. Later, he helps you get ready for the festival. Both of you are full of conflicting emotions as realizations surface and the end of the week looms.

A/N: Welp, this is getting done later than I intended. I recently visited my grandpa who is in the dying process. I had a good weekend with him and my family and tbh I thought I would be writing/reading in my spare time then but it didn’t end up happening, but that’s ok! I was able to come up with more things I wanted to add to it before so I hope everyone enjoys it. I promise we’re getting close to the smut lol I just have story building I gotta do. Also, I realized I already messed up the timeline I was trying to work with so look forward to me fixing that when it becomes more relevant. And by timeline I mean, it def takes more than a week between this and the flashback opening of the first chapter, so I’ll edit that. I’ve also been doing my best to leave reader and some other things as vague as I can but if that starts to sound weird pls tell me, I just want anyone reading to be able to see themselves in this. I also fixed the series master list banner since I kept have nagging feelings about the pictures I originally chose lol.

Song Inspo: Unfair by The Neighborhood

Inspo Playlist

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Din only really has himself to blame for getting himself in this position, he tells himself.

He was almost immediately mesmerized by you, and he let his heart and not his mind take the reins. That was mistake number one.

He went from experiencing loss, trying (and failing) to cope with that grief, to here. With you. He knows he has to face his feelings, because meeting you has flipped his inner world upside down. 

Every night he leaves you, images of you replay at the forefront of his mind’s eye. At first he’d brushed it off, chalking this up to some playful banter with a bored princess. But then he entertained it, learned more about you, watched you, and found himself enchanted by you. 

Somehow you had made your way through the cracks of his armor. Not exactly his Beskar, but the one he built around his heart. 

He hasn’t slept much tonight, opting to use this time to reflect and at least try to gather himself. He can no longer ignore what you do to him. How the sound of your voice has become music to his ears. How your touch sends electricity throughout his body from your delicate squeezes in the spaces of his arm that are not covered in Beskar. The way your eyes almost always find his own, despite the helm covering.

When he saw you help that lost child, when you opened up to him about your own mourning and conflicted emotions about your position, he almost snapped. Something possessive, or maybe more so protective, wanted to wrap himself around you. Prevent you from having to do this anymore. He could tell you didn’t want this. Maybe you wouldn’t say it, and he couldn’t out loud, but he could feel it.

He doesn’t know what to do with his own life and hasn’t for a really long time. Now, he’s coming to terms with his feelings, and desire, for you. 

But the life he leads isn’t a life for you. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. This life is dangerous…..and lonely. He knows he couldn’t ask you to become his just as much as you can’t, or won’t, abandon your position. It’s easier to accept that answer over the latter.

He’s let this go too far, but he can’t help it. You bring something out in him that he tried to forget he had. It’s like he simultaneously knows he can’t make you his, and that’s he’s too scared to. Which is saying a lot; a Mandalorian afraid? But not just over anything. Over experiencing that kind of love and then losing it. He can’t go through that, on top of the rest, it’s too much. 

Yet Din ignores his instincts and indulges in you. He wishes your affectionate glances were reserved for only him, and no one else. 

Catching you yesterday was almost the final straw, taking every fiber of his being to not rip away the garment bag that separated your bodies. His helmet picked up on the wild thrum of your heartbeat; and maybe he wasn’t certain how you felt but it had to mean something, right? Even if neither of you can say it. 

For now, he will force himself to settle for what he has with you until this job is done. 

—————————————————————————

“Mando?”

Din is wrenched out of his head, coming back to himself. Both of you are on a small boat steered by a droid, him across from you. He must have been lost in his thoughts on the short sail to the area you spoke of. 

You wave a hand across his helmet’s eye-line, “hey, are you in there?”

He cocks his helmet, turning back to you, “where else would I be?”

You let out an amused huff but your eyes search his helmet, concerned but observing. Returning your hand back to your lap, “is something wrong?”

“No, Cyare.”

Your face heats up, looking away quickly thinking he wouldn’t notice. It brings him instant satisfaction, the way he flusters you sometimes. The boat comes to a stop as you stand to gather the basket you brought with you. 

“One of these days, I’m going to find out what those names mean.”

Din carefully stands in the boat, stepping over the side to the dock as it approaches, “you can sure try.”

Although, the thought of you finding out has Din’s face heated, another moment to be thankful for the helmet. 

He steps up onto the dock, connected to the other side of the lake you departed from. An expansive field full of greenery and flowers, surrounded by a forest in the short distance. It was tranquil and private, just like you had described to him. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You remark, maneuvering your way out of the boat until his hand drops in front of you, offering help. You stop first, looking up to him to smile before taking it. His strong arm helps lift you out of the boat, effortlessly.

“I would come here to just be alone,” you continued on as you adjusted the basket and yourself. You decided on wearing a simple set of a tunic and leggings for this portion of the day, saying you’ll change later. The combination hugged your body’s curves in a way the dresses didn’t and Din certainly didn’t mind. 

He mentally scolds himself for wandering towards such thoughts. 

He follows you as you trek through the field, heading deeper towards trees that provide shade. Picking a spot, you drop the basket and plop down next to it. Sighing and stretching your legs before settling to lean against a tree, you close your eyes and inhale. Din lowers into the spot next to you, facing the view. 

Several quiet moments pass before you speak up again, “my mother found this place.” This caused Din to look at you, waiting for you to say more. You look into the sky, tightening your lips, not quite smiling and not frowning either.  

“It means a lot to you,” Din states. At this point he could tell how sentimental certain things were to you, he has very few things like that for himself. 

“It’s special to me, there’s a lot of good memories here. Time spent with her, many books….the first place I learned how to shoot a blaster.”

Din snorts before he realizes he’s even done it, you smile, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“You? You can shoot a blaster?” He teases, emphasizing the first ‘you’.

“Are you underestimating me, Mandalorian?” Batting your lashes at Din. He can hear his heartbeat in his helmet while trying to conjure an image of you, aiming a blaster in hand.

“No….” He trails off. Your eyes trained on him with a determined expression. “I just don’t expect a princess to know how to shoot.”

“Well Mando, it looks like there’s even more for you to discover about me.”

“Alright, prove it,” he shifts to stand. He offers his hand again and you take it, firmly. When you completely stand, you're closer than he had originally intended and he can feel the tense air between you. He brushes a thumb across your knuckles before letting go. 

You give him a sly grin while motioning your hand towards him, “alright, hand it over.”

“Hold on, let’s find a better spot.”

The two of you don’t stray too far, walking into the small forest behind the tree you were previously leaned up against. Din stops and points to a different tree just a few feet away, “hit the middle of that one.”

Usually, Din wouldn’t be so keen as to just hand anyone his weapons. But, you weren’t just anyone, were you? He sets the blaster in your hand, switching off the safety. 

“Thank you,” you mutter, situating the blaster in your dominant hand, with the other coming up to steady it. 

Raising your shoulders, you assume your stance and level the blaster for aiming. He watches from behind, arms folded and observant. So far he could say you’re doing everything you’re supposed to and is already impressed, not that that shows. 

Taking a deep breath through your mouth and out your nose, your supporting hand drops and your finger twitches on the trigger. In a split second, the blaster fire perfectly hits the middle of the tree. Lowering the blaster, you let out a “Hah!” You puff your chest with pride, looking back at Din for his reaction. 

If Din didn't think he was in trouble before, he definitely is now. He hadn’t realized just how attracted he would be to a trait like that in YOU, and suddenly the armor is too hot for him.

He almost can’t bring himself to say anything in response, it feels like his heart jumped into his throat. A self-satisfied look on your face as you set your other hand on your hip, “you seem…speechless? Hard to tell.”

You were right, and that was saying a lot for Din, considering he’s not much with words to begin with. He quietly clears his throat and reaches to take the blaster from your outstretched arm, “Count me impressed.”

You beamed, but this time it’s shy as you try to look away from him as he takes the blaster. He’d tell you that was cute if that wasn’t so out-of-character for him. 

“What made you take this up?” Din asks as you return to your spot on the grass. 

“Father said ‘pick a form of self defense’ and that was my choice,” you mimic your father’s voice and shrug. “I just happened to hit it off with blasters, and now I prefer them.” 

“But have you ever actually had to use one?”

“No. I guess, fortunately?”

A silence falls, you fidget with your hands as he settles next to you, once again. 

“I know that part isn’t impressive,” you add, dejectedly.

“It’s not bad. I’m glad you haven’t had to yet,” Din then turns his head towards you. “Any more surprises?”

Your lips curl at the edges, biting your lip and stifling a giggle, “for now.” You wink at him and turn to dig through the basket you brought with, setting out various fruits. 

Din’s eyes focus on the food but says nothing. 

“Don’t worry,” you assure him, while taking a bite out of one you’d chosen. “It’s just in case you want it. I felt rude not at least trying, I can give you privacy if needed.”

Din mulls the thought in his head for minutes, considering the setting. He feels a twinge in his stomach, anxiety coming up as he shoves it back down. He’s grateful for how understanding you are when it comes to his boundaries. He hasn’t been given a lot of that when it comes to his helmet and his creed. The galaxy so far has insistently been against him when it comes to those. 

“I appreciate it,” he says. 

—————————————————————————

You choose for today, and just today, you’ll pretend. Pretend your obligations don’t exist, that you’re not a princess. That you’re just you, someone capable of being so much more than what she’s just been slated in life. Capable of being more with Mando. 

That’s when the realization finally sets in, just how deeply you’ve found yourself in love with him. You realize it’s only been several days since you’ve met him, you haven’t even seen his face! But that didn’t matter to you, you have never felt so drawn to and comfortable with someone before in your life. 

You also can’t say you didn’t let it happen, and it’s tragic almost. It didn’t help that the two of you had almost immediately fell into a rhythm together. Two stars in sync with each other’s gravitational pull, becoming a careful dance.

You can’t be with him, and he can’t be with you. But that’s assuming he feels the same way, and that you’re not really sure of. It might be better to not know. You can’t abandon your life, and he shouldn’t have to worry about you.

It hurts immensely. 

“Here, I’ll do this,” you say, shifting your body to sit back to back with him. “I can’t see you this way, and I won’t look.” 

Mando says nothing at first, visor trained on the spread you’d set out. His lack of response causes you to feel insecure. 

“I’m sorry, maybe that’s too much-“

“No. You’re fine. It works.”

You give him a small nod before turning back to face away from him. You focus your eyes on anything else; trees, hills, the sky. You hear a hiss escape from where you feel him shift to lift his helmet and your heart stops. How would it be to see that face? But you would never betray that trust he’s just displayed. 

Mando doesn’t completely remove the helmet, just lifting it enough to take bites of the fruit you’ve laid out. Fair enough, though. Whatever works for him and makes him feel most comfortable is more important to you. 

Moment’s of peaceful silence pass as you take in the sounds and scenery around you while partaking in some of the fruit you snagged. Beautiful, lush green forest and fields, a clear and beautiful sky, the silent chewing from your armored companion. You wish you could live in this moment forever.

Reality finds ways to drift back into your thoughts though, always somewhat present and hard to escape. You let out a quiet sigh, leaning your back against his. You feel him tense up, subtly. But before you can think twice about it, he relaxes back into it, giving you a small amount of physical contact. You’re relieved he allows you this.

‘I’m glad we did this,” you break the silence. “I needed a break, as brief as it may be.”

“Thank you for including me,” he says in his unfiltered voice, helmet still lifted. Your heart in your chest speeds up from hearing it. As much as you love his voice with the modulator, the actual, naked sound is music to your ears. His voice is still low but with a rich timbre. 

Worrying your bottom lip, you lean your head back onto his shoulder. He allows for that as well, maybe indulging you. It’s comforting, but also sad. 

“There’s a chance I could not become a senator, like my father.”

Mando stills, “Is that so?”

“Sort of,” you begin to explain. “We still have democratic elections. There’s a possibility of me not being elected.”

Mando gives a low hum, “What would you do then?”

A million ideas including him run through your mind at that question, but you don’t say. “Technically I’d still be serving in some capacity, it’s how our family has always worked.” Part of you had hoped he'd have something to offer, more to say to that.

It’s quiet again, this time more somber. You’d been thinking about this detail for a while, and it still felt like no way out, and you feel ashamed for even trying to look for one. Mando doesn’t respond yet, replacing his helmet to its normal position. 

You sit up and turn back to him, looking into his visor. Helmet already trained on you. 

“Thank you,” he all but whispers, barely picked up by the modulator. You give him a gentle smile in response, “Of course.”

After the afternoon had worn on some more, and some comfortable quiet moments had passed as the two of you relaxed together, you signaled it was time to go. 

Your heart tightens in your chest at the thought of every minute passing, becoming less and less time with him. You’ve tried hard to not focus on that, nor show that emotion. You want to enjoy the time you have left.

—————————————————————————

You and Din return to your suite at the palace, stopping just before the door. He assumes his regular place in front, waiting to watch you disappear inside for the time being. 

But you don’t go inside, you stop just at the threshold. You stop in your tracks, seemingly contemplating something. You turn back to him, avoiding his gaze but also not as you start to run a hand through your hair. 

“You can come in to wait for me…..if you want.” 

It’s silent again, but tense. Din can feel his heart in his throat now, mouth dry as he tries to swallow it back down. His resolve crumbles enough for him to step forward, towards you. In his usual fashion, saying nothing, he strides past you into your living space. You step to the side to allow him in and he nods to you on the way. 

Upon entering your temporary living space, he takes in the details of proof that you’ve been there. One side of the room is a luxurious, wide bed with accompanying side tables, a couch sits at the end of the bed. Across the room from there is a table with books, a rack of clothing, a vanity and dressing screen for your privacy. 

“The couch is probably the most comfortable,” you mention as you saunter past him. “Make yourself at home.”

Din does so, looking out-of-place as he cautiously sits in the middle of the soft couch. Posture straight and gaited, he looks as stiff as he feels. He is painfully aware of the effect of the whole situation on the inside of his flight suit. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable, he just never expected to be in such a private setting with you.

It’s been too long since he’s felt this kind of need and genuine desire, and that also scares him. He feels like a doomed man, mentally cursing to himself that if only you had met under different circumstances. 

You press a button on a panel on the wall near the dressing screen and all lighting in the room fades to a softer, yellow hue. You step behind the screen, bending to start removing your shoes. 

Din has to suppress the almost audible gulping sound that leaves him when he realizes he can see your silhouette through the dressing screen. He doesn’t know if you know he can see you like this and is too stunned to even say. 

“I’m happy we happen to be here right as this festival is happening,” you state. “I haven’t been to it since I was a teenager.”

He watches your shadow begin to undress, slowly peeling off your layers one by one until you’re in your underwear. Your hands move to undo the clasp on your chest band, causing an audible ‘snap’ noise. You move sideways, emphasizing a perfect outline of your front and back. He imagines your breasts must be as soft and enticing from their outline in the shadow. 

He feels a twitch in his flight suit pants then immediately seeks to contain that by resting his ankle on his knee, bouncing it repetitively to keep himself ‘busy’. He almost jumps out of his skin as you walk to the edge of the screen, only to stop just before the end and reach your hand and naked arm to the rack where the garment bag you picked up yesterday hung, plucking it.

It’s certainly not out of place for him to have nothing to say, because at the moment he can’t even muster a word. He’s way too distracted now and hopes you’re not looking for a response.

You maneuver yourself into the dress, swaying your hips side to side to slide the fabric over your body. Din unconsciously flexes his hands, imagining how those hips would feel beneath them. 

When you finish fitting the dress onto yourself, you emerge from behind the screen. When you notice him, your expression is curious and he fears he’s been caught until you ask, “are you ok?”

Din crosses his arms and stands abruptly, guarding the subtle expressions of his body language as much as he can. Give offers a curt, “Yes.” He immediately notices how flattering the dress is on you, laying perfectly with your back being the most exposed. 

You narrow your eyes at him briefly and turn to seat yourself at your vanity. Din takes the opportunity to roam the small space, observing the table of books and reading material from the event that had been unceremoniously placed there. 

You adjust yourself in the mirror of your vanity, fixing your hair. You look back at yourself with a determined look, twisting your arms to place your hair where you need it. Din watches your meticulous routine from behind, eyes flitting between your actions and yourself in the mirror. You can see him in the reflection as you work. 

“It won't be too long, but it’s a process,” you murmur, moving to grab various pieces of makeup to apply. 

Din can barely manage to offer any words as he imagines what it would be like to casually approach you, placing reverent kisses on the back of your neck and shoulders. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he finally says. 

You shoot him a questioning look where you see him in the reflection of the mirror, “are you sure you’re alright?”

Din forces himself to visibly relax, it’s uncanny how well you’ve been able to pick up on his mannerisms since you’ve met, “everything is good with me.” He feels like he sounds unconvincing and your lingering eyes in the mirror don’t help. You shrug and return to your tasks.

That companionable silence has returned as Din watches you apply your makeup, you mutter to yourself absentmindedly here and there as you move to each next piece. Some time passes before you set down your items and pat your lap, giving yourself a last look over in the mirror before standing. 

The way you look takes his breath away. He was almost shocked when he first saw how casual you’d chosen to be today but loved it all the same. He loved seeing another side of you and right now is no exception either. He felt domestic just from being allowed to watch you put yourself together. 

He wants to take you apart. 

—————————————————————————

“Well?” You query Mando as you turn side to side to get a good look over yourself in the mirror. “Do I look alright?”

He’s paused then steps closer behind you, looming over your shoulder at your reflection, you look at him. You feel your heart rate quicken under what feels like his eyes raking over you. It takes everything in you to resist the urge to turn into him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Beautiful,” he offers the one-worded response, but that's all that needs to be said. 

You turn to him, smiling, staving off a heat that threatens to take over your cheeks, “thank you.” He cocks his helm to the side in response. 

You stride past him, noticing his helmet visibly follow. You sway your hips ever so slightly as his visor scans you up and down. Getting closer to your door, you look back and flash him a grin and gesture with a nod, “I saw that.”

“No you didn’t,” he throws back at you, sarcastically. You snicker in response, “Come on, shiny man.”

Mando stalks towards you and stifles a chuckle, “I get a nickname too?”

“I tried, not sure how I feel about that one.”

“Not as fun as mine, mesh’la.”

—————————————————————————

The festival is bustling, vendors sell their wares and trinkets while others offer delicious and exotic street foods. There are large displays of flowers and accompanying decorations across the town and performers scattered entertaining the masses. 

You point out these things to Mando as you stroll through, your hand back in its place in the crook of his elbow. He doesn’t have much to say but you know he’s invested in your excitement and what you say. 

Here and there you'd explain the meaning behind certain displays and performances to educate him. You figure you can do the same for him as he’s done for you when he’d allowed you to poke at him about Mandalorian customs. You’d share similar traditions from your own planet and how they coincide with each other. 

You tried your best to be in the present and stop worrying about tomorrow, when you’ll inevitably have to say goodbye to the Mandalorian. You’re going to miss the camaraderie the two of you had unknowingly built together in the short amount of days. You’ve never found someone so in sync with you. 

Regardless if he has similar feelings, it’s heartbreaking all the same. It’s too scary at this point to ask. If you’ve learned anything about him this past week, it’s that his actions speak louder than his words. Although it seems he reserves many of those words and actions just for you. A self-indulgent thought you keep tucked in your heart. 

Day slowly turns into night, the sun giving way to a beautiful, pink setting in the sky. You finish up a snack you’d bought earlier as you nod at Mando, “fireworks should be soon, we should find a good spot.”

“Fireworks, huh? They really go all-out here.”

“It’s Naboo,” you laugh. “What do you expect?” 

“Do you have a spot for that too?”

You scoff in response, “of course I do.”

And that you did. It’s a bold move, but you offer him your hand, “follow me.” He takes your smaller hand in his gloved one, and it feels warm. Safe. 

You lead him along, navigating through other festival-goers until you find yourself in front of part of the forest that lines the city. He doesn’t question it though, and you bring yourselves to a small path in. When you’ve arrived, you’re at a small clearing on the side of the larger lake the show will display over. 

“I never doubted you,” he proclaims. You feel like you can ‘hear’ a smile in his tone. You turn your nose up with a ‘hmm!’. You hear a faint chuckle that barely escapes his helmet’s modulator. 

The sun is finally set, giving way to a beautiful, clear night sky. You take in a deep breath of air and admire it, smiling to yourself. You look down and notice he’s still holding your hand. You don’t say anything or move it, for fear of ending the small contact. He doesn’t try to break it up either. 

One by one, lights lift into the sky and explode. The fireworks are bright and loud and your spot is the perfect and more private place to view them. You instantly become entranced in them, their reflections flash in your eyes.

You suddenly feel a familiar shift in energy, one that you’ve been feeling all week. From the times you feel his eyes on you for long periods of time. Sometimes even when his helmet isn’t exactly pointed towards you. A feeling almost hard to explain, you just know. But you don’t turn to face him just yet, preening under what feels like his warm gaze, while you can. These last few moments are difficult to approach, no matter how hard you shove back the emotions.  

What will it be like after tomorrow? Will you feel a hole in your chest? A part of your heart that knows and wishes to know him that will forever be empty? Will you always spend the rest of your life asking “what if”?

You finally turn to him and he does the same. But there are no words. You’re both silent, save for the sounds of fireworks in the background. You look into his visor and admire the reflection of the bright, colorful explosions that play out on his helmet. It’s beautiful. 

A tension builds between you, again. But what could be said? It’s too painful to say out loud. You’ll have to speak through your actions, just as he does. 

You slowly lift the hand you’re still holding, cautiously bringing it to place over your chest where your heart pounds. You fear it might be too much when his hand stills, but then relaxes in place underneath yours. You just want him to feel your heartbeat, and he acquiesces. 

But he surprises you again, after a moment passes, holding his hand over your heart. He brings his other hand up to remove his glove, carefully plucking from his fore and middle finger, sliding it off then placing it in his pocket. 

With his now bare hand, he gently tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. Instead of bringing his hand back, he caresses the side of your face. You can feel him hesitate at first, hovering slightly above your cheek, seeking silent permission. You oblige by nuzzling into his palm, relishing the feeling of his bare skin on yours.

The setting is calm but the storm in your chest is otherwise and you wish you could remain like this. Tomorrow is coming too soon, it’s too much. But you know, and he knows. 

When the show ends, the two of you remain that way for a short while after. You can’t bring yourself to end it any sooner but after some time, you decide to rip off the bandaid. When you slightly move from his hand, he returns it to himself but without putting the glove back on. 

When you return to your room, after a solemn and quiet walk back, you swear you can still feel the warmth of his skin on yours. It’s all he can give right now and you’ll hold it dear to you. 

—————————————————————————

Settling down for the night, you walk around the room to fade the lights back to the yellow hue. You sit on the couch as you read the last of a book you’ve had your nose in for the last hour. You glance up, down, then quickly back up again when you notice the silhouetted shape of something from behind your dressing screen. 

Hurriedly putting the book down, you set for the screen to investigate. Behind it is the pile of clothes and one of your suitcases that had made up the shape. You realize, to your mortification, that anything behind casts a shadow than can be seen.

That means. That earlier. That he could. He could see- Oh MAKER. 

Mando'a Translated:

Mesh'la = Beautiful

Cyare = Sweetheart

@dindjarinsmut @impala1967666 @kittenlittle24 @angel-with-a-heart @leithatnight @i-usually-main-bards-tho @dins-riduur-anthe @fatima-marisa @lalalalemonade11 @n7cje

Next Chapter

[mrworldwideshoulders]

where love finds us || reader x knj

Pairing: reader x KNJ Word count: 5.4k Rating: PG-13+ Genre: established relationship au, fluff (like a lot), (light) angst, the teensiest implied smut for good measure Summary: An evening with your fiancé's parents to celebrate their anniversary has the two of you reflecting on how lucky you both are to be in each other’s life – even if it took a long time for you to get there. Inspired by If I Knew by Bruno Mars. Warnings: discussion of ~feelings~, discussion of pregnancy, cute romantic moments, joon keeps trying to touch reader’s butt (hehe), tongue kissing (bleurgh), reader is a child of divorce and has ~trauma~ A/N: hi! this fic is a giant sticky sweet glob of sap. please forgive me (or don’t) and be sure to check your blood sugar at the end to make sure you haven’t gone into diabetic shock. i know it’s out of order but this is the same couple as the one from the way you look tonight (shameless plug) though both can be read as standalone oneshots if ya want. i freakin love this fic so i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing. beta’d and bannered as always by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable​)! thx! ly - robyn T/N: eomeonim = used when speaking to one’s mother-in-law, specifically on the husband’s side; abeonim = the same thing but for father-in-law. PS. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers lately (eeeeee) – thanks for joining me! if you’d like to be added to any taglists, just ask in the notes or in my dms or the ask me a question thingy :) PPS. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they just inspire me.

part of the unorthodox jukebox collection (masterlist)

You check your reflection and fidget nervously while you're waiting for your fiancé to get out of the car, making sure the skirt of your dress is laying the way it's supposed to, that the clasp of your necklace hasn't shifted around to be in the front instead of the back the way necklaces do sometimes, checking in the mirrors to make sure your lipstick hasn't smudged. You were supposed to be here earlier – much earlier – but the festivities are already in full swing, due to the unexpected obstacle of trying (and failing) to drag Namjoon out of the house in a timely manner. His parents' anniversary party has been on the books for weeks. He knows that. It's like everything goes in one ear and out the other these days, no matter how often you swear you've reminded him. It's frustrating, really. Namjoon is practically a genius. He can remember the most obscure bits of trivia to insert randomly into casual conversation and quote long passages of literature verbatim – yet he can never seem to remember where he's supposed to be or when he's supposed to be there. His best friend Jin keeps making cracks about how he’ll probably be so immersed in whatever it is he’s doing beforehand that he’ll end up being late to his own wedding – which would be funny if it weren’t one of your exact fears. Deep breaths, y/n. Deep breaths, you tell yourself, exhaling, envisioning all of your irritation drifting away like dandelion fluff. 

"You almost forgot this." Namjoon hands you a carefully wrapped box as he gets out of the car. He looks you up and down and smiles. Damn that smile. It's almost enough to erase all of the morning's frustrations. "Gosh, you're beautiful. Have I ever told you that?"

"You may have mentioned it a time or two," you say, tilting your head with a sly smile. "You're not so bad yourself." You reach up to straighten his collar. "That’s a nice suit. Dressing to impress?" Your fiancé always looks ten times better in a blazer, as opposed to his more relaxed everyday style, despite him always complaining of being too hot in suits.

He glances down sheepishly. "Ah, you know. Just threw on the first thing in my closet."

"I like it. Did your girlfriend buy it for you?" 

"My fiancée picked it out, actually. Her taste is very discerning.” Namjoon chuckles, giving you a quick flash of that adorable dimple in his left cheek. "She chose me out of all people when she’s so amazing she could have had anyone.” He leans in and drops a kiss on your forehead. "Kind. Intelligent. Great kisser. Too wonderful for words. I can't even hold a candle to her."

“Sappy.” You give his lapel a tug. “Come on. We’re already late.” 

“Hey, it doesn’t matter when you come, you’re never late for a party.” 

“Says the man who’s late to every party.”

The atmosphere inside is lively, filled with party chatter and the sound of music playing from somewhere. “Ah, y/n, Joonie, you’re here!” exclaims Namjoon’s mother, pushing her way through the crowd to wrap you tightly in a hug. “Welcome! It’s about time.”

“We were beginning to wonder,” adds Mr. Kim, “but then we remembered who you were dealing with here.” He pats Namjoon on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Be careful, son, or y/n might decide she’s tired of putting up with you before you’re even married.” 

“I’m…working on it,” mutters Namjoon, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Looking for a way to change the subject, you remember the box you’re holding. “Abeonim, eomeonim, this is for you.” You hold it out to them. “Happy anniversary.” 

Your mother-in-law takes it from you and pulls you into another hug. “Oh, y/n, thank you! How lovely! You shouldn’t have.” She cuts a knowing glance at Namjoon. “Joonie, why did it take you so long to ask this one to marry you? I thought you were supposed to be smart.” 

“I have no idea,” sighs Namjoon. 

“Anyhow, you two enjoy the party,” she continues. “There’ll be toasts later, so stick around.” Your mother-in-law winks and disappears with her husband. 

You peer around at your fiancé's face. He looks a touch dazed. “You okay?”

“Oh…yeah,” he says. “I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting all that as soon as we walked in. Well…shall we?” Namjoon motions in the general direction of the party.

“Absolutely.” You loop your arm through your fiancé's and look up at him, as the pair of you weave through the mass of party guests. "Do you think they'll like it?”

“Hm?” says Namjoon absently. “Like what?” 

“The present, Joon. The one you handed me not ten minutes ago?”

Realization appears on his face. “Oh, sure. Definitely.”

You poke him in the arm. “You don't even remember what we got them, do you?”

“Of course I do. We got them, that, uh, thing. For the kitchen. It’s a kitchen thing. Right?”

“No.” You sigh. “It’s a vase. For decoration. Namjoon, you were sitting right next to me when I ordered it. And you helped me pick it out. How could you have already forgotten what it was?”

“Because that was like a month ago, and you know I can’t remember anything unless I’m reminded about it a million times? And if it’s remotely breakable, like I know most vases are, you wouldn’t let me anywhere near it anyway.” He leans over to plant a kiss on your cheek, before you can open your mouth to chide him. “They’ll love it, y/n. I know they will. My parents adore you. You could gift-wrap a rock and they’d love it because it’s from you. Me, on the other hand…" Namjoon makes a tsking noise with his tongue. “It'd just be a rock in a poorly-wrapped box if it came from me. You know, I’m getting the feeling they might like their future daughter-in-law better than their own son.” 

“Of course they like you.” You reach up, patting him on the chest. “I mean, how could they not? You’re their pride and joy, Doctor Kim.”

“It’s still just Professor Kim for now,” he corrects you gently, though he looks amused. “I won’t be finished with my dissertation for another year, and I still have to defend it before anyone can call me Doctor.” 

"Even so. You're already Dr. Kim in my eyes." 

He smiles and opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but gets interrupted by another party guest approaching. The interloper is one of Namjoon’s aunts, who can’t stop gushing over the two of you. “You make such an adorable couple, it would have been such a shame if one of you couldn’t make it,” she exclaims warmly, beaming from ear to ear. “When’s the big day again?” 

“Second week of May,” you answer, glancing bashfully at Namjoon, who squeezes your hand and smiles. 

“Oh, not long now! It’ll be here before you know it.” She pats Namjoon’s arm with a knowing smile. “You’d better behave yourself until then, Joonie.” 

The faintest hint of a blush finds its way onto his cheeks. “I always do, Auntie.” 

“Tch! I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Namjoon sighs as she disappears back into the crowd. “What a piece of work.” 

“She’s just happy for us.” 

“I know. Everyone is. Of course I am too. But I haven’t heard the end of it from any of them since they met you. It’s all, ‘don’t let this one get away,��� and ‘behave yourself, Joonie.’ As if they think I’m going to scare you away months before I finally get to marry you.” He leans over, his voice a low whisper in your ear. “If they only knew what we get up to when no one else is around. I wonder if they'd still be telling me to behave myself.”

“We’re in public,” you whisper back, cheeks burning. “Maybe you should listen to them.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” His hand drifts to rest on your ass, giving it a small pinch. “You know I can’t help myself around you. And everyone knows you drive me crazy.” 

Now your ears are burning too. “Well, try.” You gently move his hand and give him a pointed look. “Please? Your parents are right there.” You look pointedly in the direction you last saw them.

“Y/n, they’re not even looking at us. Nobody is. And you can’t seriously think everyone expects us not to touch each other just because—” Namjoon starts, but stops at your slight frown. “All right, fine. I will attempt to contain myself if it bothers you that much.” If you’re not mistaken you’d say he almost looks wounded. “You do realize we will have to kiss each other at the wedding, right? In front of people? We could do a lot worse than a few public displays here and there.”

“Yeah, well, let’s test that theory another time.” Your voice comes out harder than you mean for it to. 

“Okay. Duly noted.” His tone is clipped. “Am I allowed to hold your hand, at least? Or is that off-limits too?”

“If that’s the way you feel about it, then maybe you just shouldn’t hold it at all.” You pull it away, letting out a frustrated huff. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I’m just nervous, that’s all. You know I get uncomfortable around lots of people. Even if they are lots of people who know and love you, because they’re people I haven’t met yet.”

“Yes. I get that.” Namjoon sighs. “But you got so touchy all of a sudden, and when have we ever been shy about that kind of thing?”

“Never,” you murmur. 

“Exactly. I just have to wonder if everything’s okay, that’s all.” He takes both of your hands, his large ones nearly covering yours. “Everything is okay, right? I know I’ve been busy lately. We both have. That’s no excuse, but—” 

“No, everything’s fine.” You shake your head, despite feeling like it’s the opposite. “Forgive me. I don’t know what my problem is today.”

“It’s okay. I worry about you, that’s all.” Namjoon smiles, but it seems a touch forced. “We should make the rounds, yeah? Say hello to everyone?” 

You plaster on a smile to match his. “Yeah. Let's do that.”

His hand stays firmly tucked in his pocket the whole time, except for the few times it brushes against yours, which makes him pull it away as if he’s been shocked. You find yourself missing all of his little touches: a hand on your waist, on the small of your back, your neck, your shoulder. You’d forgotten just how physical he is with his affection, and you’re beginning to wish you hadn’t snapped at him and just let him touch your ass like he wanted, relatives be damned. 

Kyung-min, Namjoon’s sister, eyes the two of you suspiciously the whole time you’re talking to her. “What’s going on with you two?” she demands, mostly addressing Namjoon. “You’re both acting super sketchy. Are you in a fight?” Her gaze turns to you. “Y/n, you can tell me if he’s being a jerk. I can handle him. Seriously.” She glares back at her brother.

“No!” You shoot a glance at him. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine, right, Joon?”

“Right!” He smiles, almost imperceptibly. “Just some…pre-wedding jitters. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” She narrows her eyes. “Sure. Let me know how that works out.”

You sigh softly and watch Namjoon for a moment. He’s watching Kyung-min leave, his one free hand still tucked in his pocket, a drink in the other. You pull gently on his sleeve to get his attention. “Joon, I think I’m going to step outside for a minute. Get some air. It’s a little hot in here.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows lift in surprise. “Uh – do you want me to come with you?”

You shake your head and feign a smile. “No, that’s all right. You stay here. Have fun.”

“Okay, well…I’ll be here.” He raises his glass slightly.

The lanai is deafeningly quiet compared to the clamor inside, giving you a chance to finally sort through your jumbled thoughts. It’s nearly dusk already and you stare distractedly at the sun gradually beginning to sink behind the trees and houses in the distance. “Oh, why did you have to go and snap at him over nothing?” you mutter to yourself. “So what if he touched your ass? You’re about to marry the man. Is this what we do now? Blow up over nothing?” Your hands clench anxiously at the sides of your skirt. Sure, he’s busy. So are you. You could just chalk it all up to the very fact that weddings are just stressful. Exciting – but stressful. But is it really just the stress of planning the wedding that’s getting to you? Or is it something else? We’re happy…aren’t we? Is this how it starts? Does every relationship have the potential to end in anger? Resentment? No matter how happy and well-intentioned things are at the beginning? Am I just doomed to be unlucky in love because of the way I watched my parents’ marriage unravel? You close your eyes tightly and try to calm your breathing the way you did before – deep breaths, in and out – but it doesn’t work this time. 

The sliding glass door opens behind you, and you turn around quickly, startled. It’s Namjoon’s mother, looking puzzled. “Y/n? What are you doing sitting out here by yourself? I would have thought you and Namjoon would be attached at the hip this close to the wedding.” 

“Eomeonim,” you say, standing up. “Hello. I just…needed some air, that’s all.” And some space, from my fiancé, who loves me. Sure.

She sits down on the bench and motions for you to join her. “What’s wrong?” she says. “Are you not enjoying yourself? Do you not feel well? Should I go find Namjoon?” 

“Oh, no.” You wave your hands. “I’m all right. And the party’s lovely. Nothing to bother Namjoon with.” 

“Just between us girls, then. What’s the matter?” She narrows her eyes. “Did Namjoon do something?”

"No!" You shake your head. "Nothing like that. It's just…" You draw in a breath. "I see him every day. I talk to him every day. But I feel like we haven’t really spoken in weeks. He might as well be a million miles away, even though he’s right there in front of me." Your fingers twist together in your lap. "He didn’t even remember we were supposed to be here today until I reminded him an hour before we were supposed to leave. After that I snapped at him over such a small thing that I don't even remember why I was so annoyed with him.” 

“But that’s not all, is it?” she asks.

You shake your head. “I know he’s got a lot on his plate with his paper, and I thought I could handle some of the wedding stuff on my own so he wouldn’t have to worry about it. I didn’t mind that too much. But there were some things I just wanted his input on, small things that wouldn’t take all that much thought, but no matter what I ask him he just says whatever I pick is fine and that he trusts my judgment. So I started to wonder, does he even care? Would he even notice if I didn’t show up? The wedding is two months away and I'm scared that we aren't on the same page anymore, that things have changed – and that maybe we're not meant to be together." Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm being silly. Look at me, making everything about myself.” 

"Oh, y/n. Sweetheart." She pats your hand. "It's not silly. Lots of couples feel this way sometimes, especially right before the wedding. Marriage is a big commitment. It's natural to question whether it's the right thing to do. You love him, right?"

You nod. "More than I've ever loved anyone." 

"And I know for a fact that Namjoon loves you too, even if he's not very good at showing it sometimes. So just talk to him. Clear the air, and tell him how you're feeling. He'll understand. The two of you will work it out, whatever it is." She tucks you into a soft hug. “I should be getting back to the party. Come and join us whenever you’re feeling better, all right?”

You nod and manage a watery smile. “Thank you for listening, eomeonim. And congratulations again. Thirty years – that’s special.”

“Thank you, dear.” She smiles kindly. “It takes two. You’ll get there someday.” 

“Yeah.” You fiddle with your hands, smiling to yourself. “I hope so.” 

You wait a few minutes after she’s gone to compose yourself before you go back inside, weaving through the crowds of people to find your fiancé. He’s easy to spot, lingering by himself near the front corner of the main room, hands tucked deep in the pockets of his jacket. He cuts a handsome figure standing there by himself, staring off into space, with the light of golden hour glowing behind him, and you have to stop for a moment, struck suddenly by how good-looking the man you’re going to marry is, on top of being one of the kindest people you’ve ever known. His face brightens noticeably when he sees you approaching. “There you are.” Namjoon smiles softly. “I was starting to wonder if I should come looking for you.” 

“Oh, Joonie.” You wrap your arms around him in a quick hug, resting your head against his chest. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“What’s all this?” He sounds surprised but wraps his arms around you anyway. “Is everything okay?” His brown eyes search the insides of yours, crinkling with concern. 

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just wondering…would you take a walk with me? The sun is about to set, and I thought we could find a place to watch it. And talk, while we’re at it.” 

“That sounds nice.” Namjoon takes your hand, twining his long fingers through yours. “Let’s go, then.” He guides you outside to a small walking trail behind his parents’ house that runs along the side of a creek. “I used to come down here all the time when I was a kid,” he says. “Mom would practically have to drag me inside for dinner when the weather was nice.” 

“Aw. I bet you were cute when you were little.” 

“Eh.” He shrugs. “I was. But I’m much cuter now.”

“That’s different.” 

“I’ll just have to show you the pictures, then. Maybe we can get Mom to dig them out later.” Namjoon’s sleeve brushes against your bare arm. He glances down. “Those shoes aren’t hurting your feet, are they?”

“My feet are fine, but thanks for asking. These shoes are actually pretty comfortable.”

“Really? They don’t look comfortable. I’m happy to carry you. Or the shoes. Either one. I don’t mind.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll live. What about you? You're not too hot, are you?”

“Well, I might boil to death, but it’ll be worth the sacrifice, I think, if my fiancée thinks I look nice.”

You manage a smile, but it doesn’t last for long. You take a deep breath and drop your head. “I’m sorry, Joonie. I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.”

“Baby, is that still bothering you?” Namjoon turns to you and lifts your head to look at him. “I told you it was okay.”

“Is it really?” You watch his face. “You looked so hurt when I yanked my hand away that I thought—”

“Yes, y/n. I meant what I said. Of course I was hurt, but it's not worth staying mad over. Not to me, anyway.” 

"But…" Your mind goes back to earlier. "You didn't touch me the whole time we were talking to everyone." Your voice almost sounds petulant.

Namjoon laughs suddenly. “I was trying to behave myself, like you asked me to. And do you know how difficult it was for me to keep my hands to myself for that long when the most beautiful woman in the room was standing right next to me the whole time? So difficult. I might actually deserve some kind of compensation for it.” 

“How was I supposed to know that?" you demand. "Since when have you ever listened to me when I tell you not to do something?”

He folds you securely into a hug and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Aw. You missed me, didn't you?”

“Maybe a little,” you say, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Thank you for apologizing.” He kisses you on the forehead. “But it's not necessary. Consider the whole thing forgotten, okay?” 

“Okay,” you say. “Sorry for being annoying. I was just overthinking, I guess. Being a child of divorce will do that to you.”

“Annoying? No, of course not. No one could possibly find my fiancée annoying.” Namjoon wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you further into his warmth. “Y/n, are you cold? Do you want my jacket?” He sighs. “I should have expected it would still be cool now. I would've reminded you to bring your sweater.” 

“No, Joon, it’s fine,” you start, but he’s sliding out of his blazer and draping it over your shoulders before you can finish talking. It still radiates warmth from his body heat and smells overwhelmingly like him. “You’ll look for any excuse to take your clothes off, won’t you? Or is it just that you like seeing me wearing them?” 

“Can’t it be both?” He grins playfully. “I really was about to boil to death, you know. Seeing you look all small and cute in my jacket is just a plus.”

“I’m so sure, you goofball.” You reach up to cup his chin. 

Namjoon’s face softens and his eyes drop. “I’m sorry, too, by the way.” You look at him quizzically. “If it feels like I haven’t made a lot of time for you lately, then you’re probably right. I haven’t been very present at all, to be honest. We were supposed to be planning this wedding together, but it dawned on me that with the edits on my paper and everything else that’s going on, I let most of the planning fall on you without even asking if you were okay with it. You even asked me if I was going to be okay planning a wedding when I was this far into my thesis, and I swore up and down that it wouldn’t be an issue, but here we are, two months out, and look at that – it’s an issue. You have your own responsibilities outside of the wedding, and it was selfish of me to just expect that you'd take care of it.”

You feel relieved. “How did you know that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about?” 

“I’m just that smart. But also incredibly dumb at times, because I have this very bad habit of taking the people I love for granted. Oh," he adds, "and Kyung-min overheard you talking to Mom and came to yell at me, so I put two and two together and figured it out from there.” 

"That sounds like your sister."

"She even pinched me. Hard. I’d forgotten how painful her pinches are." Namjoon rubs a hand against the top of his head. "I never meant to upset you, y/n. I just get so lost in my own little world sometimes that I forget that it’s not just mine anymore, because you’re a part of it too. It's our world. You and me. So when it happens again – and I know it will – I’m counting on you to pull me back out and keep me grounded in reality. Okay?"

“I will.” You press a soft kiss to his mouth. He leans in to deepen it further, fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of your neck. His lips become more pressing, more insistent, his tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. Your lips part gently, allowing him in deeper. 

“I’ve missed this," Namjoon sighs between kisses. “I'm going to be happy when life settles down again, you know? Then I can go back to having you all to myself." He looks down at you, his eyes glinting mischievously. “And I can give you all the attention you deserve.”

“Is that so?” you say, as he’s leaving a trail of kisses down the side of your neck. “All the attention?”

“Mhm,” he says, face nearly buried in your shoulder. He pulls away suddenly. “You know, maybe we should just get married already. Are you sure you don't want to just call it all off and elope? Didn’t you say you didn't care how it happened as long as we ended up married at the end?" 

"If I’m remembering correctly, I believe that was you." You smile. "We met at a wedding, remember? It's only right that we give someone else the same opportunity.”

“A wedding reception,” he corrects you. “We barely knew those people, and we didn’t even go to the ceremony. We can always just elope and still have a big party.” 

“It’s only two more months,” you say, pouting slightly. “I’ve already bought the dress and everything. We're too close to call it off now. Can you imagine how disappointed your mother would be if her only son ran off and got married without telling her? She'd never forgive you."

"You can still wear the dress if we elope. And we'll make it up to her by giving her a couple of grandkids to spoil." Namjoon shrugs. "What do you think? The sooner the better, right? We could get started right away if we go ahead and make it official." His hand sneaks toward your ass. 

"I think," you say, catching his rogue hand in yours, "there’ll be plenty of time for that in a year or two, once you finish your dissertation. If I got pregnant, oh, say a month from now—”

“A month?” he protests. “I don’t think it would take me that long to get you pregnant.”

“Hypothetically, Joon.” You poke him in the arm. “Think about it. You’d be signing yourself up for a hormonal pregnant wife during the first half of the school year, and then a screaming baby keeping you awake during the second half. You barely managed planning a wedding. Do you really think you could handle that?”

"Hm, when you put it that way, I guess I can wait a little longer," he muses. "Oh, well. I suppose I just really like the idea of someone that’s a little bit you and a little bit me running around.” 

"Someone that has your eyes and nose? And a sweet little smile with a dimple to match?" you tease.

"Or maybe a little carbon copy of my beautiful wife?" Namjoon bumps his forehead against yours, grinning. "I could get used to that." He stands in silence for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "Whenever we decide the timing’s right…I think you’ll make an amazing mother.” 

“You think so?” You chuckle. “As long as their childhood isn’t anything like mine I’ll be satisfied. I don’t think I ever heard my parents have a conversation that didn’t end in a screaming match.” Your parents did nothing but fight for fifteen years before they got divorced. Your mother, for one, is much happier now that your father is out of the picture, but his seemingly never ending reserve of anger and resentment toward your mother has left you with some pretty deep scars and a fear of commitment that plagued you throughout most of your dating years. Your relationship with your fiancé is the only one that’s ever come close enough to having marriage on the table as a possibility, and it took months of him being patient, slowly working his way past all of the walls you put up for yourself over the years, to even get there. 

“It won’t be,” says Namjoon firmly. “It’ll be different. We’re different. You told me your father changed once they got married, right? I’d never do that to you.”

“Everyone changes, especially once they get married. You don’t think you will?” 

“Well, of course I’ll change.” He tilts his head to one side pensively. “I think everyone does, at least a little. I just hope it’ll be positive change. For example, the way I love you is never going to change, but how much I love you is just going to continue to grow every day.” 

“That’s a nice way of looking at it.” You smile. “I like that. I hope it’s the same for me, too.” 

Namjoon smiles down at you and takes your hand. “What we have is special,” he says. “We’re so lucky to have stumbled across each other when we did. I couldn’t have found a more perfect match in anyone else. We’re made for each other. It’s like…the stars and the planets and the whole universe lined up just for us.”

“You believe we were meant to be?” 

“Exactly. It was destiny. Fate. It was meant to happen exactly the way it happened. If Jin hadn’t dragged me out of my apartment that weekend, and Ji-eun hadn’t tried to set you up with that guy, who knows where we’d be right now?” 

"Probably on another terrible blind date that Ji-eun set up because she swore up and down that this guy is the one and totally perfect for me, and so much better than the last few that she also thought were totally perfect for me."

“And I would probably still be sitting in my apartment buried in papers, with Jin trying to convince me to come out drinking with him again.” Namjoon smiles ruefully and looks down. “Can I say something dumb really quick?” 

“Your ‘something dumb’ will probably still end up being something thoughtful and well-said, so by all means, go ahead.”

He hesitates. “I wish I’d known it was going to happen. That I was going to meet you when I did. I spent so much time thinking about my ex, everything I did wrong with her, what I could have done to keep her from breaking up with me, that I didn't even give a second thought to the fact that there might be someone better out there. Someone…like you." Namjoon tilts his head forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “If I’d known it was going to be you,” he continues, “I guess, I don’t know, I would have tried harder. Worked on myself more. Tried to be better. Something like that." He’s still smiling, but there’s regret in his eyes. 

“Oh, Joon.” You put your hands on both sides of his cheeks. “You know that’s one of the things I love the most about you? But you’ve always been enough for me. Ever since we met. You were enough for me then, you’re enough for me now, and you always will be. I love you, Kim Namjoon, just the way you are. You’re my perfect fit. Always and forever.”

"Thank you." He takes your hands in his and squeezes. "For trusting me. I know you’ve had a lot happen that would scare anyone away from commitment. I know you worry all the time about ending up just like your parents. But you overcame that. You looked past all of my flaws and agreed to spend forever with me. And every day you’re by my side you get even stronger. That’s a huge deal. I’m grateful for that. And I’m so proud of you.” 

“How could I not, when you make it so easy? When you’re so willing and patient with me?” You reach up and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m excited. To be your wife, to start a family with you, anniversaries, old and gray, the whole deal. I don’t want to be like my parents. I want us to be like yours. I want to build a life together. Something that will last forever.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles and hugs you closer. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He kisses the side of your head. “We’re going to make it, y/n. We’re going to go so far together, and I can’t wait. It won’t always be easy, but I’m ready to try.”

“And I’ll be right there next to you.”

“I love you,” he whispers into your ear. “Thank you for saying yes.”

“Thank you for asking,” you whisper back. “It sure took you long enough, didn’t it?”

Namjoon tosses his head back and laughs. “No one’s ever going to let me live that down, are they?”

©2023 by mrworldwideshoulders | full series masterlist | main masterlist

[blog-name-idk]

Everything Falls (Into Place) | 17

*Banner by the incredible @bangtansmauyeondan

Pairing: OT7 x Fem Reader

Genre: College!AU, Roommate!AU, Fluff, Humor, Smut

Summary: Your new roommates are unbearably nice and unbearably hot. Good thing you're an adult who is fully capable of platonic friendships with the opposite sex, right?

Word Count: 2766

~~~~~

Namjoon Guys, I have a problem

Jin What did you break this time? You've already burned through your security deposit

Yoongi maybe he got an A- on his last assignment

Namjoon Please guys, I'm serious I don't know what to do

Taehyung Hyung, what's wrong?

Namjoon I think I'm in love

Jimin !!!!!!!

Hobi !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yoongi about time your balls dropped

Jin Ah, to be young again…

Namjoon Hyung, you're only 2 years older than me Also, please guys It'll never happen I'm doomed I have no idea how to proceed

Hobi What are you talking about?? How could anyone turn down that face?

Jimin Yeah, hyung! You're a total catch!

Jin Yeah Joon, you're almost as beautiful as me, don't sell yourself short

Namjoon Thanks guys… But really, I'm not fishing for compliments I just want to know how I can get over someone who is literally perfect

Jungkook Hyung if she's not willing to give you a chance then she's prob not worth your time You deserve someone who can see how amazing you are

Jimin OMG Kookie!!! Yes!

Jin From the mouths of babes…

Namjoon Well, she doesn't actually KNOW I like her

Yoongi dude

Taehyung Aw, it's cute that you're being so shy!

Namjoon No, like I CAN'T like her She can't find out

Jin ?

Jungkook Oh goddammit

Taehyung ??

Hobi ???

Jimin ????

Jungkook It's [y/n], isn't it

Namjoon … Yes

Yoongi join the fucking club

Jin Wait what

Yoongi what

Jimin Kookie, how did you know??

Jungkook Are you guys idiots It's obvious we're all in love with her

Taehyung Shit, it is?

Hobi OMG I thought I was the only one! Wait, should I be happy or sad?

Jin Wow kids Your first female roommate and you all have the hots for her?

Jimin I mean, do you not?

Jin Nevermind

Namjoon Fuck Jackson is going to murder all of us House meeting tonight [Y/n]'s having a girls night with Mina

Jimin Wait how do you know that?

Yoongi probably because unlike some people he actually asks about her day instead of staring at her tits

Jimin RUDE

Jungkook Lmao rekt

Taehyung To be fair, they're pretty nice

Hobi Do you guys think she knows?

Jungkook Doubt it She's the only one more oblivious than you morons

Hobi LOL

Jin Don't talk about my wife that way!

Jungkook changed the group name to Boys in Luv

Namjoon Why did God put me on this earth just to suffer

~~~~~

"Why are we getting ready here again when your place is closer to the club?" you complained as Mina fussed with her hair in the mirror. Both of your last exams had been today, and you had already either finished or turned in all of your final projects. The two of you were long overdue for some irresponsible fun.

"Because you have double sinks," she said as if it was the most obvious response in the world. Well, actually it kind of was. "Which is so unfair by the way."

"I mean one of them is Hobi's," you hedged, though you were secretly incredibly smug at your good fortune. Not only did you basically have an ensuite bathroom, the boy you shared it with was tidy and respectful. Besides the shower debacle, there had been zero issues sharing.

"Yeah but he keeps it so clean," she whined, and you grinned.

"I know, it's great."

"Man, he's gorgeous, sweet, funny, clean, AND has a huge - "

"MINA!" you screeched, hoping your friend wasn't in his room. He was actually in the living room with the other boys waiting for the two of you to leave, but you had no way of knowing that.

"Heart," she finished with a smirk. "What? What did you think I was going to say?"

"Why do I love you?" you asked with a groan, making sure your mascara had dried without smudging.

"Because I'm amazing, and still your best friend despite the fact that you've been ditching me for your hot harem for the past semester."

You winced, knowing she was right. It hadn't been on purpose - it was just easier to study and make plans with people you literally saw every day. Tonight was in fact one of the ways you were making it up to her. You didn't actually hate clubbing - every once in a while you were in the mood to dance - but you usually preferred house parties or smaller groups where you could relax and not worry too much about things like getting roofied or bending over and flashing your ass at everyone.

Today however, you submitted yourself to Mina's whims. So you put on your finest hooker heels and shoved yourself into a tight dress that made you feel like an overstuffed sausage. You knew you actually looked amazing, even if you felt like you were one wardrobe malfunction away from getting written up for indecent exposure. Your eyes were smokey and alluring, and your hair had been painstakingly styled to look effortlessly breezy.

"I know, I know. I'm the worst. Tonight I will partially make it up to you by dancing my heart out and hip bumping any gross randos away from your beautiful butt," you promised, taking a swig of your whiskey and ginger beer. You'd need a healthy buzz going before you started believing you had good dance moves, and you weren't about to rely on overpriced, watered-down bar drinks.

"You better," your best friend responded with a wink. "I called an Uber, I think we're about as hot as we're going to get."

"Which is incredibly hot," you finished for her. You clinked your glasses together, downed your drinks, then went downstairs to await your night's chariot.

~~~~~

Mina grinned in anticipation as the two of you headed down the stairs. She could not wait to see the reaction of your housemates. Would it be obvious if she pulled out her phone to take a picture?

"You two heading out?" Jin asked when they reached the bottom, turning to look at the two of you with a smile. His face froze when he got a good look at you, and Mina internally snorted. And you thought he wasn't whipped for you? For someone so brilliant you could be so endearly stupid sometimes.

The other boys turned as well, and if she had lower self-esteem she might have been a little miffed that they only had eyes for you. Luckily for everyone involved, she had a great therapist.

It was hard to contain her amusement at the various ranges of emotional constipation on display. Namjoon was staring, a forgotten book dangling from his hands. Handsome Jin had recovered somewhat and rearranged his expression, but his ears were bright red. Hobi's eyes darted from your face, to your bare feet, and then back up to your face as if he wasn't sure where it was safe to set his eyes. The grumpy one, Yoongi, was actually licking his lips.

The youngest had the most hilarious (and adorable) reactions, though. The three had turned to look at you at the same time, and their eyes bugged and jaws dropped in perfect unison. Jungkook's eyes, already naturally large, had widened into saucers. She could really see what you meant when you said he was a mixture of cute woodland creatures. Taehyung's eyes held a deep longing that actually made Mina feel a little bad for the guy. You loved reading - how did you not see the emotions written so plainly on his face?

The deafening silence was finally broken by pretty Jimin, whose face was dusted a pretty pink.

"Y-you two look great," he squeaked, chewing on his lip as if trying to prevent other words from spilling out.

"Thanks Chim!" you said cheerfully, and Mina almost rolled her eyes at the way your smile made him melt into the couch.

"Bye guys! Have a good night! Don't wait up!" You called as you headed to the front door with your heels in hand, apparently oblivious to the tangible yearning in the air. God, you were more clueless than an anime protagonist. Mina, however, was not. She smirked and waggled her fingers at the stunned group.

"Bye boys. I'll do my best to keep her in line, but no promises," she teased with a wink, enjoying the different degrees of jealousy flashing across their faces. So she wanted to stir the pot a little. Sue her. They were all good guys. Things might get weird or embarrassing or messy for a while, but you were all adults enough to resolve things in a healthy way. Life was all about change, and one of them (or more, she wasn't going to judge), might be the one to help you grow into living for yourself as much as you did for others.

Or maybe it would all end in disaster. It was certainly a possibility - nothing was absolute, after all - but she had a feeling things would end up just fine. And if they didn't, well, she would be there to help you back up when you fell. Just like you always did for her.

Shaking the alcohol-induced sappiness out of her mind, Mina followed you to the door and sat next to you to put on her shoes. It was time to forget about schoolwork and boys and problems and get jiggy with her best friend.

~~~~~

As soon as the front door closed behind you and Mina, the group in the living room let out a collective exhale.

"I kind of feel like going out tonight, actually," said Jungkook casually, starting to rise from the couch.

"Me too," chirped Jimin, moving to follow.

"Sit. Down."

At Namjoon's authoritative command, the two troublemakers immediately dropped back into their seats, looking chastened. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts and trying to scrub the image of you looking like sex personified out of his brain. Well, not scrub it completely - more like cache it for later perusal.

"Okay," he began, looking at his friends - his brothers. "Okay."

Despite the topic having consumed his thoughts since that disastrous group text, he still wasn't quite sure how to start. So he stood there like a lump, letting the silence grow to suffocating levels.

"We all like [y/n]. We don't know how she feels about us. Also we all love each other so we have to figure out how to deal without letting this get between us."

Everyone stared at Jungkook, who shrugged. Despite being the youngest, he often surprised them by showing his deeper, more mature side. It was easy to forget that he was actually quite astute and intelligent when he was rage quitting a video game or pouting for attention.

"That's… a pretty accurate overview of the situation," Namjoon agreed lamely. "So… We should talk about possible outcomes and how to handle them, maybe set some ground rules."

"That makes sense," Hobi agreed, though he looked uncomfortable. Well, most of them did. They had all been through a lot together, but this was an awkward, unprecedented situation.

"Before we continue, I need a drink," Jimin announced, bouncing up to head to the kitchen. "This is too much to think about sober."

In the end, everyone ended up joining him to get a glass or bottle of something. The dancer was right, a little social lubricant would make this entire situation easier to deal with.

"Alright, so let's discuss the possible outcomes," announced Namjoon when everyone had settled. He had taken the opportunity to grab the small whiteboard and easel from his room and set it up in the corner despite the teasing from his friends.

"One: She chooses me," said Jin immediately, snickering at the glares from the other boys. Namjoon rolled his eyes while uncapping his marker. The brainstorm went more smoothly after that, and by the end of a discussion filled with jibs, pouts, and giggles, they had settled on a final list.

1. She chooses one of us. 2. She chooses some of us. 3. She chooses none of us.

"Anything we're not thinking of?" asked the leader, looking around the room. Taehyung raised his hand.

"What if she liked all of us?"

Everyone stared, and Namjoon sighed. He couldn't say the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but it just seemed so unlikely. Still, it was a possibility, however remote it might be, so he added it to the board.

4. She chooses all of us.

With the options laid bare, the floor was now open for discussion. Unfortunately it seemed no one knew where to begin, until Hobi bravely made the first comment.

"Well… as long as she's happy I guess I can accept any outcome," he said bashfully. "I mean, I guess it would kind of hurt to see her with someone else, but I'd like to think I could eventually get over it."

"I'd rather see her with you guys than anyone else," Taehyung added with a nod, blushing. "At least then I'd know she was being treated well."

"Speaking of which, what are we going to do about Dongmin?" Jimin asked suddenly, looking pointedly at the older dancer. "He's sniffing around [y/n] and she's way too good for him!"

Namjoon sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As much as he didn't like the idea of you with someone he didn't know, it definitely wasn't right to interfere in your life to that extent.

"[Y/n] is an adult and her own person," he said sternly. "If she decides to date someone else, we have to respect that." Jimin pouted and gave a sulky nod.

"So… what happens if she likes more than one of us?" asked Yoongi, speaking up for the first time that night.

"I mean, I was in an open relationship once, but it didn't really work out," Taehyung offered, frowning in thought. "I think it was more because of poor communication than the situation itself, though."

"I've only been in monogamous relationships," Jin mused. "I'll have to think about it."

The boys were all nodding thoughtfully, and Namjoon was pleasantly taken aback that no one looked offended or scandalized. Then again, perhaps it wasn't that surprising - the reason they all got along so well was that while their differences complimented each other, they were generally on the same fundamental wavelength. Huh, maybe this would be less complicated than he thought. Though these were all hypotheticals - there was no guarantee that you wouldn't eventually just fuck off and ride off into the sunset with this Dongmin guy.

And then Jungkook had to go and make it awkward.

"So, what about like threesomes or - "

"OKAY! Remember, these are theoretical situations, and if they come to pass, this would be something to discuss with [y/n] present!" Namjoon interjected in a strangled voice.

As if the exchange had broken the ice, everyone started laughing and the air in the room lightened visibly. The guys began falling into their usual interactions as they grew more comfortable, and eventually the conversation devolved into what almost felt like a [y/n] fanclub. Finally, Namjoon called an end to the meeting, feeling satisfied. He headed back to his room then sent the house group chat (minus you) a text with the final "rules" before erasing the whiteboard.

Namjoon Just sending this out for reference

1. No matter what, [y/n] is our friend and we will be supportive no matter what happens (even if it sucks at first) 2. We each decide for ourselves if we want to pursue this or not 3. Don't out anyone else 4. Jealousy happens, but try not to be an asshole 5. Communication and consent are the golden rules - if we get angry or upset about something someone else has done, we will discuss it like adults

Anyway, good talk everyone This is uncharted territory, so I'm sure things will be harder than we're thinking but I hope that we can all be open and honest about this stuff with each other Remember, we're all a team It'll always be us against a problem, not each other I love you guys

Yoongi you forgot one 6. no glove no love but i love you guys too I guess

Jimin Awww, hyung I'm gonna cry! Love you <3

Jin You kids make an old man sentimental

Taehyung You guys are the best :)

Hobi Love all of you!!!

Jungkook Love you guys

Taehyung Oh, the semester ending means that Jackson-hyung will be back soon, right? Should we invite him over for dinner some time?

Namjoon Oh fuck

~~~~~

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