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a-b-riddle · 5 months

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Part Six

Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.

None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.

You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.

The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.

By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.

A colleague. You had a colleague!!!

The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.

It was one of them.

You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.

Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.

A vision.

You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.

"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"

"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," "Bon-"

"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."

"If you just let me make it-"

"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."

"Just give me a chance."

"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”

So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.

"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”

“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.

There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.

“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”

You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.

Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.

"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.

But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.

No.

If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.

No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.

"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."

"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.

He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.

"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.

His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.

There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.

He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.

He doesn't throw you on the bed.

Not this time.

He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.

But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.

"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.

He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.

"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.

"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.

In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."

You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.

He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.

With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.

It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.

The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"

"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.

His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.

His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.

"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.

"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.

It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.

You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.

The end.

He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."

You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.

"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.

He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.

"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.

He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.

His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.

You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.

You needed it to stop.

You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.

I could die like this, Lass.

Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.

He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.

You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.

You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.

You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.

Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.

"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.

"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."

You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.

"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.

You weren't too far behind.

He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.

But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.

"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."

He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.

in out in out in out.

Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.

His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.

"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."

He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.

"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."

You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.

Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.

"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.

The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.

Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.

"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."

"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."

"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."

"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"

"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."

"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."

"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.

"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."

"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"

No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.

But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.

You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.

So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.

"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.

"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.

You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.

You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.

Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.

"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"

You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.

Three minutes.

"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."

You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.

You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.

You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.

"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.

"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."

"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #angst

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sharkikive · 3 months

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Ken Sato with a supermodel!reader pls pls pls

Like they're dating in secret but accidentally reveals their situation and their fans go wild

OMG sure! Sorry this took time for me to write and I really do hope you'll like it <3

runway to your heart (ken sato x supermodel!fem!reader)

Summary: A baseball player and a supermodel, both celebrities in their respective fields. A relationship that had to be kept under wraps.

It was supposed to be a secret... until it wasn't.

Word count: 6,913

CW: Fluff, slightly suggestive (he def talks you through it), Ken Sato being the boyfriend of the year

A/N: I tried my best in writing this because I am not familiar with both fields (baseball and modelling) so here you go! This was purely out of my own imagination and is very, very self-indulgent because damn, who wouldn't want Ken Sato in their life? Rich, soft spoken, a good father, and the list goes on. Hope you enjoy this one just like how I kicked my feet every single time Ken becomes THE boyfriend.

***

Cheers erupted throughout the whole stadium and through the speakers, mixing in with the noise in the dressing room.

Hair rollers tucked in, brush with powder dancing across your face, and a neutral expression to let the makeup artist do his magic. Your eyes dutifully closed as the artist worked on your eyelids, but your ears got sharper to hear the conversations around you.

You knew who the main topic in the room would be, and that was the man that had just scored another point in the game on screen.

“Oh God,” you heard one of your model colleagues groan. “Ken Sato is too attractive. Look at that smile, that body-” she stopped talking and addressed you next. “Y/N, isn’t Ken Sato so handsome? Imagine being his girlfriend. That would be a-ma-zing.”

Your eyes were still closed and you hummed an immediate reply. “He’s okay. I’ve seen better and-” You opened your eyes when the makeup artist told you that he’s done with your eyes. “He seems like a cocky bastard.”

Your colleague, Hina, gave an exaggerated gasp as she heard your reply. “You did not just say that about Ken Sato. If he isn’t your type, I wouldn’t know who else would be able to satisfy you. He is the most sought-after man.”

You shrugged. “You never know. Maybe I like a single dad who has to raise a kid on his own, with him himself having daddy issues.”

Hina narrowed her eyes at you suspiciously, before prancing over and stared at you. “You know that whatever you described was very specific? Y/N,” she said, almost quietly, “are you seeing someone?”

“Yeah, I’m seeing you, Hina.”

She clicked her tongue. “You know, you always answer so smartly. One day, Y/N, I will discover your secret!”

You chuckled, watching as Hina got dragged by the stylist, prepping her to get her up to the runway. Your turn was still a long way to go, so you were left with your hair held up by rollers, while your eyes caught a notification on your phone. You read the notification and smiled, but quickly returned to a neutral expression.

The message read: It’s another win for us tonight, baby. Can’t wait to see you after this. Good luck for your show today, and break a leg. I know you’ll do great.

You typed in a reply, quickly snapping a picture of your prepped face and sending it over to the recipient. You weren’t even able to put down your phone when the next reply came in the next second.

You swore, this person could make you smile without even knowing, which could be a very risky thing considering the nature of both of your relationship.

Looking gorgeous as always, baby. The text message read. I really am the luckiest man to have you.

You put down your phone as your name was called over; your turn was approaching fast. You were practically floating around from one point to another, having different hands adding last-minute touch ups.

The line was moving fast before it was your turn, and you could see that every one of the models who finished their turn returned with a grim look on their faces backstage. You looked at the small entrance, and when you spotted Hina, you quickly signaled for her to come over.

“Was the runway condition that bad?” you whispered to her, whose hair was going in different directions at once.

“They said they wanted to simulate an ‘extreme condition’ on the runway, right?” She did quotation marks.

You nodded, agreeing to her. “Yeah.” You inched up the line. “The theme for today’s show is extreme weather.”

Hina exhaled slowly as she attempted to fix her hair. “All I can say is that they managed to replicate it well.” She shook her head. “Good luck, Y/N. You’ll need it.”

You turned your head back to the front, your turn coming closer as the models in front of you went out to continue the show. It was a rapid show, where you finally had your turn right after Hina disappeared behind a row of clothes.

You understood what Hina meant as soon as one foot was out from behind the scenes. The runway was boxed within a transparent glass, protecting the simulation from the audience.

From years of experience, you put on your best face before walking down the runway, doing your best in showing off the collection.

You were sure they were trying to imitate a blizzard, but the worst they could offer to models wearing heavy dresses and high heels. You saw the model in front of you fall first, the strong winds knocking her back before as she couldn’t fight it back.

One rule on the runway: you keep on walking, no matter the condition. Walk over your fellow models, maintain your expression and show off what you have. It’s an unapologetic world out here.

But that’s exactly the reason why you’re known as the rule breaker around here.

While maintaining your face, you did a show of reaching out to the fallen model, helping her up to let her continue, but you figured this time around, being a rule breaker did have its consequences.

You knew the fallen model; she considered herself as your rival, always trying to one up you in every single aspect. Every, single, aspect including boasting about having a ‘sweetheart’ while you don’t.

Your rival, Mei, quickly took this as a chance to get back at you and embarrass you in front of the audience. She accepted your hand at first, but you realised that she was pulling you down instead of pushing herself up. Not enough with it, she added an extra push, disguised under the pretext of accepting your help to get up.

You were thrown to the side, and coupled with the condition on the runway, you almost tumbled off the path. Luckily, you managed to break the fall but as you landed sideways, you could feel the bruise forming near your right ankle. You cursed silently as you saw Mei picking herself back up and smirking in a split second before strutting away, leaving you stranded.

You knew no one was going to help you up as long as the show was on, so you braced yourself while continuing. Throughout the whole show, you managed to finish without breaking rhythm. You didn’t let the pain hinder you, although all you wished to do was to be lying down, giving your body a much needed rest.

Backstage after the end of the show, your manager, a sweet woman in her 40s, quickly rushed to you. A single mother of 2, Ms. Tornado as you’d like to call her, as she always seemed like she was caught up in something chaotic. She fussed over you, but you quickly brushed her away.

”Ms. Tor,” you cooed, hiding the pain with a calm demeanour, “I’m done for the day. Let’s go back.”

On the way out, you gave a signal of reassurance towards Hina, who looked worried while her right fingers were tapping on her left knuckles. You saw Mei smirking at you, offering no words to you. You gave her no satisfaction of seeing you in pain as you smiled back.

You knew that everyone had seen you fall on the runway, but that didn’t disturb you.

Your phone pinged with a notification. As you read the message in the car, you turned to Ms. Tornado on the driver’s seat. She understood your signal.

”Usual place?” she asked.

Unable to hide your excitement, you quickly nodded.

No further questions asked as she drove towards the city border, bringing you to one special spot you had practically owned with that one person. In fact, you’re sure that he had bought ownership over the whole area. Your smile grew wider as you spotted the person waiting on a camping chair with an empty one next to it, a campfire lit up.

You sneaked up from behind, forgetting the pain in your legs as you broke into a run, almost causing the person to tumble forward as you hugged him from behind.

”Kenji!” You exclaimed, your character a total 180 degrees from whatever you put on when you were ‘the supermodel who revived the fashion scene’.

With him, you allowed yourself to be comfortable; no pretense of having to check your posture, controlling your expressions or giving off a cold demeanour. With him, you were just Y/N, the girl who preferred to be nested in your home, finishing your time up by watching your same favourite shows over and over again.

Kind of ironic how you considered yourself an introvert yet landed a job that essentially thrusted you into the spotlight.

Kenji exclaimed your name back in the same energy you gave him, hugging your arms as he planted a kiss on the back of your hand. He stood up and dear God, you love this man so much. One of your features that contributed to your modelling career was your height, but you loved the fact that even then, he towered over you.

Ken Sato, the name that had revived Japan’s baseball team, who had acquired a celebrity status after essentially becoming the saviour.

Ken Sato, the man who had kept the audience on the edge of their seats as he scored yet another point in the game.

Ken Sato, the one man who had essentially saved your life while unironically revealing his one kept secret to you.

And Ken Sato, your boyfriend.

Though both of your relationships had to be kept under the radar due to your statuses, you were content with what you’re having now.

Who cares if people think you’re too ‘cold’ and that’s why no one wants you? A small smile played on your lips as you thought, Well, Ken Sato does.

How both of you met was bizarre, to say the least. You were out eating dinner alone, under the disguise that you always wore when you’re just a ‘normal’ citizen, when the ground shook. You were sure that there was a monster attack somewhere, but you were calmly eating dinner when the restaurant’s roof got lifted up.

Ultraman’s giant figure was punching the monster, and you were left gaping at the sudden loss of roof above your head. You quickly finished up your dinner, and when you were about to walk back to your condo, you saw the one thing that you were sure you shouldn’t.

You saw Ultraman shifting back into a human-sized figure and lo and behold, it was Ken Sato. Before, you never bothered to dig deeper into his life because you figured out that you would never be affiliated with the baseball scene. You knew he was famous and that was it.

You couldn’t believe your eyes so you gasped, but your hand wasn’t quick enough to muffle the sound until he turned back to look at you. Both were stone statues for a good minute before he finally spoke up at that time, “Um… can you keep… uh the… secret?”

You sure as hell did keep the secret that even after a drunken stupor, a one night stand then turned into a secret relationship with him, it was still safe with you.

You were so comfortable with him up to the point that it was nice to be yourself with him.

”What’s wrong, baby?” He planted a kiss on your forehead, bringing you back to the present. You inhaled his scent as you buried your face in his chest. “You’re thinking of something?”

You shook your head, tightening your grip around his waist. “Nah,” you mumbled. “Just thinking about the time we first met.”

He chuckled as he ruffled your hair. “I’m sure you did great in your show just now, hmm?”

You stayed quiet, debating or not whether you’d like to tell him what actually happened. He most likely hadn’t seen the show yet, but sooner or later he’d find out. It’s just a matter of now or later.

You were in your comfortable clothes; baggy t-shirt with cargo pants and hair tucked underneath a beanie. In public, people would usually leave you alone when you’re in this attire. Today though, the long pants were also an attempt for you to cover up the growing bruise.

You decided to keep quiet about the bruise, figuring later that he would find out and by then, you hoped it wouldn’t look as bad as it was now. You detached yourself from his hug, careful to not make it so obvious that you were limping. You took a seat, beckoning for him to come over.

Ken traced you with his eyes, lips locked before he smiled. He passed by his seat but didn’t settle down. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the sand, facing you. He leaned forward, crossing his arms with each other on your legs and rested his chin on top. He looked up at you, that same boyish smile he had whenever he was with you.

You looked at him, uttering, “Looks like my boyfriend won yet another game today.” You patted his cheeks, and he quickly grabbed your hands to hold them.

”It was the team, really,” he said humbly, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I was just one of the players.”

”Whatever you say, Mr.-eligible-bachelor-with-thousands-of-adoring-fans-waiting-to-be-picked.” You rolled your eyes.

He chuckled. “Little do they know,” he drew circles on your palm, “that I’m no longer available.”

He stared at you as you looked into the distance, the crashing of the waves filling in the silence between both of you. He stood up, cocking his head towards the shoreline. “Wanna go for a walk?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, the trouble you had with your feet coming once again. You didn’t get a chance to answer as he knelt in front of you with his back towards you.

He gently pulled you on his back, your legs dangling on either side of his body as he piggybacked you. “Okay, let’s go for a walk,” he said, firmly placing his hands under your thighs.

You said nothing, circling your arms around his shoulders, your face buried at the nape of his neck. You loved the fact that you’re always calm around him, something that you’d always need after spending hours in a fast-paced environment for work every day.

As you walked along the shoreline, both of you pointed out stars shaped like objects, and he stopped at one point when you suddenly said, “I love you so much, do you know that?”

He laughed. “What’s with the sudden confession? I love you too, baby.” He gave your thigh a light slap. “And I’m glad to call you mine.”

”It’s time to go back, isn’t it?” You asked, hoping the answer would be no but knew the world would have to end for it to be.

He threw back his head to get a look of your face before uttering, “Sorry. I have a game tomorrow.”

You pouted slightly but knew that the circumstances wouldn’t change. Whether you’d like it or not, even though you didn’t mind your relationship was playing this way, both of you had your individual lives that didn’t intersect with each other.

Dates would always be a secret with limited areas you could go to, and you had to make sure you’re not seen within the vicinity of each other. If both of you needed to go to each other’s house, it felt more like you’re on an undercover mission.

Today, though, with you still on his back, he held onto you firmly and made his way back to his bike parked nearby some bushes.

”Kenji-“ you started, figuring that maybe he forgot that both of you were supposed to follow separate ways.

”Tell Ms. Tornado you’re staying at my house tonight,” he uttered, placing you on his bike’s seat, taking a helmet and helping you to put it on. “You’re sleeping at my house today.” He checked his watch. “I know that you don’t have any work scheduled for the next few days, right?”

You shook your head slowly, secretly happy that he actually kept track of your schedule. Your eyes searched for his from behind the visor, and you blinked slowly as he tapped your helmet.

“Stay at my house until you’re fully healed. Mina can take care of you.” He’s referring to the supercomputer his parents had programmed. He wore his helmet and leaned forward. If not for both of your helmets in place, he’d be resting his forehead against yours. “Of course, you’re welcome to continue staying until…” he winked, “whenever.”

He positioned himself in front of you, powering up his bike. You leaned forward, circling your arms around his waist.

Before your voice got swallowed by the roar of his bike, you said, “You knew I was hurt.”

Underneath his helmet he smiled. “I always do, baby. Always.”

***

One of the reasons you didn’t want to stay at his house for too long was because you knew you’d be too comfortable. It seemed that after the fiasco you ran into with Mei, Ms. Tornado told you that she was suspended from any work and your agency gave you time off.

So here you were, warm mug of coffee in hand, cross-legged on Ken’s sofa while wearing one of his hoodies. So far from your side, your manager was the only person who’d known about your secret relationship with the baseball player. You’re grateful that your agency was not the type to pry into your private life, so long it didn’t affect your work.

You made yourself right at home at Ken’s house. You could say that you became best friends with Mina, with her occasionally sharing stories about how Ken was when growing up and you helping her around the house.

You sunk in the plush sofa, watching a live show of another one of Ken’s games. You saw him turn to the camera, winked and did a secret sign that was directed at you. Seeing how he’s so expressive, you wondered whether Ken actually wanted your relationship to be public.

Even then, you wondered whether anyone actually noticed that Ken started doing the same pose to the camera whenever he scored a point, after he got into the relationship with you. Maybe the secrecy of your relationship was just held back by a single click to post on the Net.

As far as you knew, only five were aware of this relationship; both of you, your manager, Mina and Kenji’s father.

Rather than your own reputation, you’re worried more for Ken’s image. He just moved here from America, carrying the expectations of everyone who had set their eyes upon him. He rose to fame real quick, while you’d already established your foundation right in your hometown as you were raised through a family generation of models.

Night was approaching, and you did catch a message from Ken updating you that he would be joining the group dinner to celebrate their win first. He promised to come back as soon as the dinner was finished. While waiting for him, you caught Mina’s red bar from the corner of your eyes and you smiled at her.

“Y/N, Ken had actually asked me to ask you one important question.”

“Sure, what is it, Mina?”

Immediately, Mina displayed a projection showing a website of a furniture store. She changed the page to the ‘bed frames’ category.

“I was told that the bed broke last night. Ken told me this morning to ask you which ones would you prefer,” Mina said without any hint of emotion. “He didn’t want to disturb you while you’re sleeping this morning.” After remembering another point she added, “He said make sure to pick the strong ones.”

You, on the other hand, were already burying your face in your hand as your cheeks reddened. “Oh my God,” you groaned. He could go one day, one day, without making you blush. It didn’t help that Mina was delivering the message so robotically. Well, she was one, but you get the point. “Mina, can we talk about this… some other time? Don’t worry,” you pressed your lips into a thin line as you remembered how exactly the bed broke last night. “I’ll tell Ken that you delivered the message well.”

Mina backed up, doing her gesture akin to a nod. “Sure, Y/N.”

You turned your head towards the front door when you heard the door opening, and you stalked your way to your boyfriend, who was holding his jacket in his left hand. Your face fell when you saw that he was wincing, the skin near his eye bruised and his right hand gently pressing over the injury.

“What happened to you?” You fussed over him, requesting Mina to take a bucket of ice and a cloth. “Who did this?”

He winced once again, but grinned soon after. He threw his jacket on the sofa and grabbed your waist, kissing you, hard. It was like he was releasing whatever pent up frustrations he had the whole day, drunk in your kiss that you felt out of breath as soon as he let go.

You saw Mina hovering nearby, clearly not wanting to disturb both of you. You cleared your throat and Ken ran a hand through his hair.

Mina set down the requested bowl of ice and cloth, but Ken shook his head.

Ken uttered, “Mina, can you please bring a bucket of ice to the bathroom? I’d like to soak myself in the tub.”

“Sure, Ken.”

“Ken, you need to tell me what happened to you. You’re injured, for God’s sake!” Your eyebrows knitted in worry, but your boyfriend was displaying the opposite as he was happily dragging you along to the bathroom.

He only gave you a peck on your forehead as Mina helped to prepare the bath.

You wouldn’t let your eyes off his injuries, assessing how badly he was hurt. As Mina excused herself to leave both of you in the bathroom alone, he stripped and stepped into the tub. The water sloshed around as he settled down, and you gritted your teeth as you sat on the edge of the bathtub.

He lifted up his eyebrows, clearly teasing you. “Care to join me?”

You sighed, clearly dissatisfied at how he’s acting while not disclosing about what had happened to him until he returned with a black eye. You crossed your arms, not wanting to submit to his pleading eyes, not until he told you what happened.

Clearly, you were not strong against this man because now both of you were stark naked in the cold water, Ken hugging you from behind as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Now tell me what happened.”

Ken obliged. “So we went for a celebratory dinner at this one grilled meat restaurant.” He buried his face at the nape of your neck. “There was this one group of guys who clearly were too drunk. One of them,” you felt his arms tightening around your waist. “Was making inappropriate comments about your body. My girlfriend. Of course I got pissed and punched him. It was an easy fight, but I was unlucky to get this one hit. I won, of course.”

The knot in your stomach got undone, that heavy feeling finally lifting off as you laughed, relieved. You leaned backwards, muttering, “Oh, Kenji. My idiot Kenji. I really thought you had an encounter with a hater, someone that wasn’t afraid to punch you in public just because they hate you. I was so worried. But didn’t your teammates suspect anything? For you to react that way when they’re talking about me.”

“Even if they do find out, it doesn’t matter. Anyone who speaks like that about you deserves to be punched, baby.” The water sloshed around as he turned you around so that both of you were facing each other. He rubbed a thumb over your lips, his mouth lifting at the corners. “And guess what?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“I got a personal invitation from one of the biggest sports brands here. They’re inviting me for an official photo shoot for their new attire collection.”

“That’s amazing, Kenji!” you exclaimed, and he shook his head, a smile plastered on his face.

“And you know what’s the best part? It’ll be a duo photo shoot, a collab with one of Japan’s famous models.”

“A man?” you asked, still clueless.

“A woman.” He grinned, “With my woman.”

“Oh!” You slapped a hand to your forehead, not believing that you hadn’t caught on when your manager had told you that you would be having an upcoming photo shoot with one of the most famous athletes. No wonder Ms. Tornado looked all smiley when she was delivering the news.

“They were surprised when I agreed to it without much questions,” he said. “Said yes as soon as I heard your name.”

***

Your leg was all healed, Ken’s bruise subsided, and it was finally the day of the photo shoot. Obviously, both of you had to come from a different place and at a different time to avoid any suspicion, so the night before you had returned to your house, despite Ken showing you his puppy eyes to make you stay.

You left without looking back, having to reassure him that both of you would see each other tomorrow.

The day came. In the makeup room, both of you had your lips locked, only a slight nod of greeting when he first came in before you returned your attention back to the mirror in front.

God knew how much Ken Sato was holding back from pulling you into a hug as soon as he saw you in the room.

You saw him from the corner of your eyes, his eyes closed as he let the brushes and artist do their work. You smiled, your mind thinking about how Hina would most likely go crazy once she heard that you had landed a job with this famous baseball player. You figured that you’d let her find out by herself once the official photo shoot had come out.

In the studio, both of you exchanged a formal greeting before the photo shoot started, and you could see that Ken was trying to hide from forming a smile on his face. As the camera started clicking and poses were thrown, you could hear the photographer yelling out encouragement, including ‘Don’t be shy with each other’ and ‘Stand closer’.

You heard Ken slightly snicker, and he whispered to you subtly, his lips slightly brushing your earlobe. You shivered, and he was smart enough to not let anyone see what he was doing. “If only they know how close we are.”

“Last set!” The photographer announced. “This time around, I’d like to see some contact with each other. No looking like you’re two magnets repelling each other, but attracting each other instead.”

“Oh I can do that,” Ken said smugly as he followed the photographer’s instructions.

Funnily enough, he was the one looking like he had more experience in modelling as he followed the photographer’s instructions to a T, while you felt more like a deflated balloon guided by your boyfriend.

You promised you were a professional model, but with him, well, you faltered and posed like you’re a novice instead. Still, you managed to pull through the photo shoot as the photographer gave a thumbs up, fully satisfied with the session today.

You took some time to relax after the photo shoot alone in the dressing room. As you were leaning against the chair, your head turned to look at the door that just opened.

Ken’s head popped up through the space and he waved his hand. “Hey,” he whispered. He looked over his shoulder before slipping into the room, locking the door behind him.

“Ken Sato,” you said, more of a warning. “What if someone sees you coming in?”

“It’s fine,” he walked over to you, and lifted you up in a hug.

Naturally, your legs coiled around him as he firmly placed his arms around you.

“I wanted to say goodbye in person before I leave for my game this evening. You’ll watch the game live, right?”

“Of course, I’ll be there.”

You practically jumped away from him as a knock came on the door and panicked, you opened the closet door before shoving him inside. You shut the closet tight, catching his eyes trailing your movement through the bars before putting a finger over your lips to signal silence. Steadying your breath, you opened the door to find the photographer standing outside.

“Oh hey, uh…” you trailed off as you realised that you didn’t know the camera man’s name.

“I’m Yuichiro,” he extended his hand to offer a handshake, but you politely declined with a nod of your head. “It’s uh,” he nervously chuckled. “I thought that you looked great and I found out that we’re the same age. I was wondering if you would like to, you know, go have coffee sometime. As in, uh, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

“Oh, really?” You swore you could feel Kenji’s stare digging through the man’s skull as you stole a glance towards the closet behind you. “That’s too bad because I uh,” You silently prayed that Ken wouldn’t suddenly spring out of the closet. “I am too busy. I don’t even have time to drink coffee myself.” You gave a professional smile, hoping that the man would take the hint and walk away.

“Not even coffee?”

“Not even coffee.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I don’t drink coffee, actually.”

“Oh.” He looked surprised. “But I thought I saw you drinking coffee this morning at the set.”

You shook your head, pretending to be disappointed. “I’m afraid you are hallucinating, my friend. I don’t drink coffee. Anyway,” you clapped your hand, “I need to get ready to go to my next destination for another photo shoot, so if you could please leave?”

He looked disappointed as he nodded. “I mean, yeah. Please go on your way. Sorry to take your time.”

You smiled politely but as soon as you closed the door and locked it, you jumped over to the closet, the door creaking as you pried it open. You saw Ken sitting on the floor, elbows resting on his knees as his bangs curtained his eyes. You sat down in front of him, moving his bangs out of his vision.

“Kenji…?” you started, trying to gauge his emotions.

He stayed quiet for a few moments, and you poked his stomach when it seemed like he’s not budging.

“Are you okay?”

He breathed in and out, before looking up. His eyes caught yours, but still you couldn’t read his expressions. “I experienced this new emotion,” he finally said.

You inched forward.

“You’re doing great, baby.” The compliment came out of nowhere that you were slightly taken aback.

“Kenji,” the grin on your face grew wider, “were you jealous?”

He never broke off his stare to you, and you found it so attractive. “I was.” His eyes dropped to your lips. “I was stopping myself from jumping out of the closet and announcing that you’re mine.”

“I am,” you uttered, ruffling his hair. “You better get going. You have a game to win.”

“I sure do.” He stood up and you mirrored his actions. Before he turned to leave, he kissed you on the lips and whispered again as he peppered kisses on your neck. “With this jealousy, let’s just hope the bed won’t break again tonight.”

***

Of course you lied to the photographer to politely decline his advances. Your schedule was free this evening and you had promised Ken you would see his game live. You dressed as inconspicuously as possible, donning on the merchandise jersey they sold to the public.

Ken had offered you to wear his jersey, but that would practically mean announcing your relationship to the public. Tucking your hair under the cap, putting on fake glasses and looking at yourself in the mirror, you figured how Clark Kent had managed to turn people’s suspicions away from him being the superhero.

Now, you’re just one person among the thousands of show-goers filling up the stadium. You took up your seat, eager to witness the game Ken would be joining. Announcement blared throughout the stadium, signalling that the game was about to start. You heard your boyfriend’s name announced as he stepped onto the field.

Giants’ supporters cheered for him, and you joined in on the hype as you saw him giving his million-dollar smile to the crowd. You waited for the game to start, and truth be told, no matter how many times Ken had explained the rules of the game, anything barely stuck to your brain. Still, you tried your best to support him even though that meant cheering for him blindly whenever the others did.

The crowd went wild again as the Giants scored yet another point.

You got distracted by a notification coming to your phone. You wanted to ignore it, but as you saw Hina’s name as the sender, you had to sit down and open the message. She rarely texts you out of work, so there must have been something out of the ordinary. You felt your heart drop as you read the message, and a link towards a news website was sent together.

Your eyes caught her message first. Oh my God?! You’ve been dating Ken Sato?

You read the headline next. BREAKING NEWS: BASEBALL PLAYER KEN SATO AND SUPERMODEL Y/N IN A RELATIONSHIP?

You stood up together with the rest of the cheering crowd, but you had to wrestle your way through to make your way out of the stadium. You didn’t know what to do, Kenji was still in game and your feet almost gave way as your shaky hands opened the link to read the news.

Everything was summed up in one news article, and you felt your world getting smaller as you saw the pictures of the night Ken had piggybacked you after you hurt your leg, all obviously looking like they were taken in secret. You read through the whole article, your ears deafened by the sound of roaring cheers inside the stadium.

You were standing outside the stadium, and you looked back at the giant screen you could see displaying yet another shot of Ken doing his signature pose to the camera. You turned back to the news article in your hands, and read through the whole thing over and over again. Several lines caught your eyes, and you finally caught on who was behind this.

Photographer Yuichiro handed over the pictures of the two lovebirds having a secret date at the private beach, which was purportedly owned by Ken Sato. From the pictures taken, I’m sure everyone would come to one very obvious conclusion. The question is; do you find the relationship surprising, or are they a perfect match for each other?

You wondered if it was all planned by him; the photo shoot together with Ken. Was he testing to see whether you’d accept a date with him to assume whether you’d have a boyfriend or not?

You wanted to run away. But from what, exactly? Running away wouldn’t solve this problem.

Well, if it turned into a problem.

Cheers erupted again as you returned to the stadium, just in time to see the final score and then celebrating the Giants’ victory. Chanting swimmed through the crowd, and you gripped your phone tightly as you searched for Ken among the players.

You finally spotted him at the bench, and your mind was as equally noisy as the audience around you.

He looked in your direction, trying to search for you but before he could catch your eyes, his shoulder was tapped by a fellow teammate, showing him an article displayed on the screen.

Everything happened fast, you didn’t know that it was possible as your worst fear came to life in front of everyone. The giant screen in the stadium displayed the news article and the pictures of the both of you displayed in a slideshow. You could hear shouts of confusion and gasps among the crowd as all of them were looking at the same thing.

The noise of the crowd died down as Ken made his way to the edge of the field, where an interviewer was waiting to start the session. The topic of the interview was supposed to be about the win at first, but it had clearly turned into a different direction.

The camera focused on Ken, and you knew he was directly looking at you. He looked calm, the practised smile he had on whenever he appeared on screen.

“Ken Sato,” the interviewer started, as he looked into the camera, “The name that is no longer a stranger to every household. His return to Japan brought waves and hope to the Giants. But today,” she turned to him, “it seemed like you’re the focus on the interview for an entirely different topic. Who knew that this eligible bachelor was actually already taken? I have the man here with me, so, what would you like to say?”

The crowd was obediently silent as they waited for his answer. You felt your heart beating loud in your chest as you, too, anticipated what he would say.

For a split second your mind wondered whether he would vehemently deny the news, but you brushed that thought away. You trusted him.

“I do have a question for everyone here, first, though.” Ken swept his vision across the crowd. “Is it a sin for a celebrity, or at least someone who is quite well known by the public, I mean,” he shrugged, “I don’t wanna sound like I’m boasting or that I’m too full of myself thinking that I’m famous.”

There was a ripple of laughter through the whole crowd.

“Is it wrong for me to be in a relationship?”

Silence. A dread coming over you as you quietly anticipated that there might be protests coming from the crowd. No one spoke up until you heard a female shouting from the crowd, “No, it’s not a sin! Well, we would be slightly sad that our favourite bachelor is no longer available, but you’re still human!”

Your eyes travelled to the female shouting, and realised why the voice was so familiar. It was Hina. She saw you looking at her and she grinned, giving a thumbs-up.

“Thank you, random woman from the crowd,” Ken uttered. He turned back to the camera. “I think that answered the question. I’m still human,” he shrugged, his eyebrows lifting up as he announced, “and I fell in love with Y/N. We are happily in a relationship. I’m proud to say that she’s mine.” His eyes finally fall towards your direction. You could only discern his expressions and gestures from the big screen because he was too far from you. “I love you, Y/N.”

There was a momentary moment of silence that you could hear a pin dropping, and you feared that maybe, the public wouldn’t take it so nicely.

But soon, the whole stadium shook with cheers from the crowd. This time around, they were chanting both Ken's and your names.

Okay, so this was not the reaction that you had expected.

You saw Ken gesturing to you, asking to meet you privately after the game. You nodded, pointing to your phone to say that you would communicate through text.

He sent you a message for the meetup point, and you practically ran towards where he had wanted to meet you.

You saw him at the end of the empty hallway, the noise in the stadium a distant sound now that it was only the two of you. You ran into his arms and he caught you, laughing. You let your breath steady first before saying anything.

“Ken Sato… you…” you started. “You have this way of wording things. I never expected the whole crowd to just agree with you.”

“Hey, look at me.” He tilted your chin, and he gazed upon you. “Like I said, we’re still humans.” He kissed your lips. “And I fell in love with you.”

“Hmm…” You hummed, still feeling slightly worried.

Ken opened the article, scrolled down to the comments and showed them to you. “See, they’re all positive comments.” He cleared his throat, doing his best imitation while reading the comments. “Oh my God, they’re a perfect match for each other! I knew they were dating, it would be weird if they didn't date. Honestly, I don’t know how it happened, but I’m happy for them. Y/N, you’d be better off with me-” He stopped reading when he read one comment that irked him. “You know what, I’m going to report that last comment.”

You burst into laughter seeing how he was tapping furiously at the screen, blowing out an air of satisfaction as he finally reported the comment.

“There, problem solved,” he announced.

“You know that probably some time in the future that there will probably be people who won’t be satisfied.” You sniffed.

“Well that’s too bad.” He bumped his forehead against yours. “Because you’re already mine.”

#ken sato #kenji sato #ultraman #ultraman rising #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x you #kenji sato x you #x reader #ken sato x y/n #kenji sato x y/n #ultraman: rising #wr: mine

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ryin-silverfish · 4 months

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A Guide to the Chinese Underworld (and what it isn't)

As many FSYY and fox posts as there were on my blog, I am actually a huge fan of the Chinese Underworld mythos. Mostly because I was once a morbid little kid that loved reading about the excavations of ancient tombs, and found the statues depicting hellish torture in the Haw Par Villa "super cool".

Apart from the aesthetics, the history of its evolution is also fascinating. Most of us, Chinese or not, only know the most popular version of the Underworld——the "Ten Kings" system, yet that isn't always the case. So today, I'll start off with a short summary of that.

In pre-Qin era, there was already this generic idea of a "Realm of the Dead" called the Yellow Spring, Youdu, or Youming, but we know very little about it.

Then, in the Han dynasty, two ideas start to emerge: 1) the Underworld is a bureaucracy, 2) the God of Mt. Tai ruled over the dead.

This early bureaucracy might not function as an agent of punishment; the main focus was on keeping the dead segregated from the living so they wouldn't bring diseases and misfortune to the latter, as well as using those ghosts to enforce collective punishments upon people for their lineage's wrongdoings while they were still alive.

Post-Han, after Buddhism entered China and took root, its idea of karmic punishments and reincarnation and the figure of King Yama was merged with folk and Daoist ideas of the Underworld bureaucracy, and, came Tang dynasty, resulted in the "Ten Kings" system that first appeared in Dunhuang manuscripts.

It was very rudimentary and far from well-established, as seen in Tang legends, with some adopting the Ten Kings system, some sticking to the Lord of Mt. Tai and some favoring King Yama, and overall little agreements on who's in charge of the Underworld.

But the "Ten Kings" system would become the mainstream version from then onwards, used in Ming vernacular novels and made even more popular by folk religion scrolls like the Jade Records (Yuli Baochao).

As such, most points in the following sections will be based on the fully matured "Ten Kings" system of the Underworld, as seen in the Jade Records and JTTW.

What happens when you die?

(This is a fictionalized walkthrough of the posthumous fate of souls under the "Ten Kings" system. I try to stick to the very broad progression outlined in the Jade Records, but many creative liberties are taken on the details.)

Let's say there's a guy named Xiao Ming, and he had just died of a heart attack. Bummers. What now?

Well, the first thing he saw would be the ghost cops.

There isn't really an unanimous agreement on who these ghost cops are: they may be a pair of ghosts in white and black robes, wearing tall hats (Heibai Wuchang), they may have the heads of farm animals (Ox-Head and Horse-Face), or they can just be generic ghost bureaucrats. For convenience's sake, let's say it was the first scenario.

"Who are you guys and where are you taking me?"

"Glad you asked!" The taller ghost cop, being the cheerful one of the pair, replied. It wasn't very reassuring, considering that his tongue was dangling out of his mouth way further than it should. "I'm the White Impermanence, my sour-looking colleague here is the Black Impermanence, and we are taking you to the City God's office."

This City God, a.k.a. Chenghuang, is just like how it sounds: the divine guardian of a city, who also pulls double duty as the head of the local Dead People Customs Office. They are usually virtuous officials deified posthumously, and in JTTW, they fall under the category of "Ghostly immortals", together with the Earth Gods a.k.a. Tudi.

So Xiao Ming went with the two ghost cops——not like he had much of a choice, made his way through the long queue at the City God's office, and was now standing in front of a gruff old magistrate in traditional robes.

"Name?"

"Wang Xiao Ming."

"Age and birth dates?"

"21, April 16 2003…"

After he was done asking questions, the City God flipped through his ledger, then picked up a brush, ticked off Xiao Ming's name, and told him to go get his pass in the next room. More waiting in a queue. Wonderful.

"I never heard anything about needing a pass to get to the Underworld," the girl in front of Xiao Ming asked the ghost cops, who were standing guard nearby. "Is this a new policy or something?"

"Yeah. In the old days, we'd just drag y'all straight to the Ghost Gate." The ghost cop in black said, then muttered to himself, "Fuckin' paperworks and overpopulation, man…"

(This "Dead People Passport" thing was popularized in the middle-to-late Ming dynasty, as shown by the discovery of such documents inside tombs in southern China. )

(It might have evolved from similar passes to the Western Pure Land in lay Buddhism that recorded their acts of merits. Which, in turn, might be traced back to the "Dead People Belongings List" of Han dynasty, to be shown to Underworld bureaucrats so that no one would take away the dead's private property down there or something.)

Anyways, after he received his pass, Xiao Ming departed together with the rest of the bunch, to be led to the Ghost Gate. It was like the world's most depressing tourist group, where instead of tour guides, you got two ghost cops in funny hats, and the only scenery in sight was the desolation of the Yellow Spring Road.

They weren't the only travellers on the road, though. Xiao Ming noticed other groups moving in the far distance, behind the fog and the flickering ghostfire, led by similar figures in black and white.

It made a lot of sense; realistically, there was no way two ghost cops could fetch hundreds of thousands of dead people all by themselves.

(SEA Tang-ki mediums believed there were multiple Tua Di Ya Peks——Hokkien name for the Black and White Impermanences, working for different Underworld Courts.)

At last, the Ghost Gate stood in front of Xiao Ming, guarded by two towering figures. Normally, they'd be Ox-Head and Horse-Face, like what you see at Haw Par Villa's Underworld entrance.

However, older Han dynasty works like Wang Chong's 论衡·订鬼 also mentioned two gods, Shenshu and Yulei, as guardians of the Ghost Gate, who would use reed ropes to capture malicious ghosts and feed them to tigers, making them possibly the earliest incarnation of "Gate Gods".

So here, they were what Xiao Ming sees, standing side by side like proper doormen, silently watching herds of ghosts being funneled through the entrance.

The place was more crowded than a train station during the CNY Spring Rush; the ghost cops had already said their quick goodbye and left to fetch the next group of dead people, leaving the resident officials of the Underworld proper to maintain order and quell any would-be riots.

Now you started seeing the Ox-Head and Horse-Face guys, poking at unruly ghosts with their pitchforks and dragging away the violent ones in chains. Among their ranks were other monstrous beings, blue-faced yakshas and imps, but also regular dead humans who look 100% done with their jobs, like the lady who stamped Xiao Ming's pass when it was finally his turn.

After this point, Xiao Ming had entered the Underworld proper, and his next destination would be the First Court, led by King Qin'guang. Here, his fate should be decided by what is revealed in the King's magical mirror.

If Xiao Ming was a good guy, or someone who had done an equal amount of good and bad things in life, he'd be sent straight to the Tenth Court for reincarnation. However, if the mirror, while replaying his life events, had displayed more evil deeds than good ones, he'd be sent to one of the 2nd-9th Courts for judgment and then punished inside the Eighteen Hells.

Each of the Ten Kings was also assisted by ghostly judges. Many of them were righteous and just officials in life who had been recruited into the Ten Courts posthumously——Cui Jue from JTTW is one such example, while others were living people working part-time for the Underworld, like how Wei Zheng, Taizong's minister, works part-time for the Celestial Bureaucracy in JTTW.

We decide to be nice to Xiao Ming, so, after reliving some embarrassing childhood incidents and cringy teenage phases in front of a bunch of dead bureaucrats, he was found innocent and sent to the Tenth Court.

The queue here was almost as long as the First Court's, stretching on and on alongside of the banks of the Nai River. King of the Turning Wheel made his judgment without even lifting his head when it was Xiao Ming's turn:

"Path of Humans, male, healthy in body and mind, ordinary family. Next!"

Exiting the Tenth Court building, Xiao Ming saw the Terrace of Forgetfulness, standing tall before six bridges, made of gold, silver, jade, stone, wood, and…some unidentified material. Before he could get a good look at them and the little dots moving across those bridges, he was hurried into the Terrace by the ghostly officials.

Now, both JTTW and the Jade Records mention multiple bridges across the Nai River. In the former, there is 3, and the latter, 6. The bridges made of precious materials are for people who will reincarnate into better lives, as the wealthy, the fortunate, and the divine, while the Naihe Bridge is either the common option or the terribad shitty option.

However, the Naihe Bridge proved to be so iconic, it became THE bridge you walk across to reincarnate in popular legends.

Anyways, back to Xiao Ming. He found himself standing in a giant soup kitchen of sorts, with an old lady at the counter, scooping soup out of her steaming pot and into one cup after another.

This is Mengpo, the amnesia soup granny; according to the Jade Records, she was born in the Western Han era, and a pious cultivator who thought of neither the past nor the future, only knowing that her surname was Meng.

Made into an Underworld god by the Jade Emperor, she cooks a soup of five flavors that will wipe the memory of the dead, making sure they do not remember any of their past lives once they reincarnate.

It tastes awful. Like what you get after pouring corn syrup, coffee, chilli sauce, lemon juice and seawater into the same cup.

Such was Xiao Ming's last thought, as he gulped down the soup, and then he knew no more.

Things you should know about the Chinese Underworld:

1. It's not the Christian Hell.

Rather, the Chinese Underworld functions somewhat like the Purgatory, in that there are a lot of torment, but the torment's not eternal, however long the duration may be. Once you finish your sentence, you get reincarnated as something else, though that "something else" is not a guaranteed good birth.

Other people can also speed up the process via transferring of merits: hiring a priest/monk to chant sutras and perform rituals, for example, or performing good deeds in life in dedication to the dead, or they can pray to a Daoist/Buddhist deity to save their loved ones from a dreadful fate.

Interestingly enough, a thesis paper I read mentions that, whereas Buddhist salvation from the Hells was based on transference of merits——you give monks offerings and pay them to chant sutras, so they can cancel out the sinners' bad karma with good ones, Daoist ideas of salvation tend to involve the priest going down there, sorting it out with the Underworld officials, and taking the dead out of the Hells themselves.

(The paper also stops at the Northern-Southern and Tang dynasties, so the above is likely period-specific.)

2. Nor is it run by evil demons.

Underworld officials are not nice guys and look pretty monstrous and torture the sinful dead, but they are not the embodiment of evil. Rather, the faction as a whole is what I'd call Lawful Neutral, who function on this "An Eye for An Eye" logic, where every harm the sinner caused in life must be returned to them, in order for their karmic debts to be cleansed and move on to their next life.

They can absolutely be corrupt and incompetent and take bribes——Tang dynasty Zhiguai tales and Qing folklore compendiums featured plenty of such cases, but that's a very mundane and human kind of evil, not a cosmic/innate one.

This is just my personal opinion, but if you want to do an "evil" Chinese Underworld? It should be a very bureaucratic evil, whose leaders are bootlickers to the higher-ups, slavedrivers to their rank-and-file workers, and bullies who abuse their power over regular dead people.

Not, y'know, Satan and his infernal legions or conspiring Cthulu cultists.

3. The Ten Kings are not Hades.

Make no mistake, they still have a lot of power over your average dead mortal. But in the grand scheme of things? They are the backwater department of the pantheon, who only show up in JTTW to get pushed around and revive the occasional dead people.

When Taizong made his trip to the Underworld, the Ten Kings greeted him as equals——kings of ghosts to the king of the living. If they see themselves as equal in status to a mortal emperor, then, like any mortal emperors, they are subordinate to the Celestial Host, and the balance of power is not even remotely equal or in their favor.

Also, it isn't said outright, but under the Zhong-Lv classification of immortals JTTW is using, Underworld officials will likely be considered Ghostly immortals, the lowest and weakest of the five types, much like Tudis and Chenghuangs.

Essentially: they are ghosts that are powerful enough to not reincarnate and linger on and on, spirits of pure Yin as opposed to true immortals, who are beings of pure Yang.

It's pretty much the shittiest form of immortality, the result you get when you try to speedrun cultivation (the Zhong-Lv text also made a dig at Buddhist meditation here), and if they don't reincarnate or regain a physical body, there is no chance of progressing any further.

Oh, and fun fact? In the Song dynasty, commoners and literati elites alike believed that virtuous officials in life would get appointed as ghostly officials in death.

However, the latter viewed it as a punishment. Which was strange, considering how they still held the same position and the same amount of authority, just over dead people instead of living ones, so there should be no big losses, right?

Well...it was precisely the "dead people" part that made it a punishment. See, a lot of the power and prestige they had as officials came from the benefits they could bring to their families and kins and native places, as well as the potential wealth and reputation bonuses for themselves.

A job in the Dead People Supreme Court would give them the same workload, but with none of those benefits. Since all the dead people had to reincarnate eventually, they couldn't have a fixed group as their power base, or keep their old familial ties and connections. At most, they could help out an occasional dead relative or two.

Like, working for the Underworld Courts was the kind of deadend (no pun intended) job not even living officials wanted for themselves in the afterlife. That's how hilariously sad and pathetic they are.

4. In JTTW at least, they aren't even the highest authorities of the Underworld.

That would be Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha, who is technically their boss, though he seems to be more of a spiritual leader than someone who is actually involved in running the bureaucracy.

Which makes sense, since he has sworn an oath to not attain Buddhahood until all Hells are empty, and his role is to offer relief and salvation to the suffering souls, not judging and punishing them.

Now, historically...even though Ksitigarbha in early Tang legends was still the savior of the dead, he seemed to be unable to interfere with the judicial process of the Underworld, merely showing up to take people away before they were judged by King Yama.

However, in the mid-Tang apocryphal "Sutra of Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha" (地藏菩萨经), he had evolved into the equal of King Yama, with the power of supervision over his judgements. By the time the Scripture on the Ten Kings came out, in artistic depictions, the Ten Kings had become fully subservient to him.

5. Diyu usually refers to the prison-torture chamber part, not the courthouse, nor is it the entirety of the Underworld.

And for the majority of souls that haven't committed crimes, they'll only see the courthouse part before they are sent to reincarnation. That's why I personally don't like, or use the name Diyu for the Chinese Underworld: I prefer the term Difu ("Earth Mansions"), which encompasses the whole realm better.

Also: even though historical sources like the Scripture on the Ten Kings and Jade Records seem to suggest that the dead were just funneled through this Courthouse-Prison-Reincarnation pipeline with no breaks in between, in practice, that isn't the case.

According to popular folk beliefs, after the dead were done with their trials/sentences, they stayed in the Underworld for a period of time and led regular lives, while functioning as ancestor spirits and receiving offerings.

Which would imply that the Underworld had a civilian district of sorts, populated by regular ghosts, making the whole realm even less of a direct Hell/Purgatory equivalent.

6. It is located in a different realm, but still part of the Six Paths and doesn't exist outside of reality.

In Buddhist cosmology, like the Celestial Realm, the Underworld is part of the Realm of Desires and thus subject to all the woes of samsara.

The pain and misery of the Path of Hell may be the worst and most obvious, but becoming a celestial being isn't the goal of serious Buddhists either: despite all the pleasures and near-infinite lifespan they enjoy, they are not free from samsara and will eventually have to reincarnate.

So if, say, the world is being destroyed at the end of a kalpa, all beings of the Six Paths will perish alongside it, leaving behind a clean slate for the cycle to start anew. The dead won't all end up in the Underworld and face eternal damnation.

7. The Black and White Impermanences would not appear in the Underworld pantheon formally until the Qing dynasty.

The concept that when you die, you get fetched to the Underworld by petty ghost bureaucrats is already well-established in Tang legends, but these were just generic ghost bureaucrats in all sorts of colorful official robes, with yellow being the most common color.

The idea of there being two specific psychopomps in black and white would only become popular in the Qing dynasty. Mengpo is kinda similar: although she existed before the Ming-Qing era as a goddess of wind, venerated by boatmen, her "amnesia soup granny" incarnation came from the Jade Records.

#chinese mythology #chinese folklore #chinese underworld #diyu #chinese religion #cw: death #hell #underworld #journey to the west #I'm lazy so if you want a “work cited” list #just dm me

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artdnldsn · 2 months

Text

gestalt therapy

college professor!art donaldson x fem reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, swearing, student!reader, age gap, porn w/ a little plot, head (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight degradation (question mark?), one mention of "daddy"

synopsis: you're done with your senior year at college, and all you want is a parting gift.

a/n: my first full fic here wow my first ever smut WOW the only thing that's not a first here is english because it's my second language so be patient pookies. college prof au has been haunting me for days so i needed to get it out. even though i have no fucking idea how colleges work in the us ;) hope you like it! happy reading

The first thing he notices about you is how ridiculously smart you are.

It's not even a stretch or him trying to justify the instant attraction he feels towards you. No, you're genuinely, undeniably brilliant, especially for your age. You've got this way with words, and concepts come to you so easily. You pick up on all his lead-ups to lecture topics, knowing exactly what the main conversation will be about a good five minutes before the rest of the class. You smile smugly, crossing your arms and leaning back, your eyes seeking his because you want him to know that you know.

And honestly, he'd be mad at you for being so smug if you weren't so damn smart.

The way you walk up to him after class to discuss your latest essay, your stance confident and voice sure, as you argue over why you deserved a 100 and not a 98. He's looking at your essay, then at you, then back at his computer screen, squinting just to appear like he's thinking it over, but he knows you're right; of course you are. Your essay is perfect. He was just being a dick about it, nitpicking because he couldn't admit you're basically flawless.

He's getting self-conscious about his teaching. There's nothing he can teach you—you come so prepared for every class that he wonders if you even have a life outside his classroom. Maybe your brain just works like that, but a small, selfish part of him hopes you spend hours prepping for his classes. The thought that you do it for him and not the subject is a nice one, but he shoves it away.

At least that way, it wouldn't be as pathetic for him to spend nights rewriting his lectures, perfecting his presentations to the point where he's sitting in his bed at 3 AM, pondering whether Times New Roman or Arial would make his point come across better.

He's always been a perfectionist, living by the book, striving not for greatness but for the reserved maximum of his natural capabilities. He never really pushed himself. But you—oh, fuck, you. Fuck you. You make him want to lose sleep just to prove to you or himself that he's certainly smarter than some college senior.

He calls you a lot of things in his head. A know-it-all, an "excuse me" because you're always "excuse me"-ing him like he doesn't have a name, a smartass, a bitch—he hates when he's in a mood like this last one because it signals it's time to sleep. You're a lot of things, but you're not stupid.

In fact, he starts wondering if you're a once-in-a-lifetime talent. Because he's rather young for a professor, he hasn't seen as many students as his colleagues, who always crack up anecdotes about past students, someone who graduated 15, 30 years ago, but the older professors still remember them. He wonders if he's going to remember you like that. He's pretty sure he will.

He's never even thought about you as a woman and not just his student. He's just respectful like that. Sure, you were hot, which only added to your confident allure. He's not blind—hell, he'd admit it if he had to—but he's never thought about you like that.

But apparently, you have about him.

You appear at his office doorstep minutes before he's about to clock out for the night. You're looking pristine as always, and with your silhouette illuminated by the office's dim lights, he wonders for a second if you're even human with your endless drive, brilliant mind, and hair that always looks like it's animated because it's impossible for real human hair to flow that perfectly.

"Good evening," he greets you, eyebrows creasing slightly in confusion. You've never visited, your final grades are in, and you're graduating in a week. He's already said his goodbyes to your class, and when he did, you shot him a little smile that he read as everything being good between you. What are you doing here then? "Can I help—"

“Are you impotent?” you cut him off, arms crossed, a challenging look in your eyes.

He actually chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he mutters under his breath, his expression shocked, his voice strained. God, he’s ridiculed you for years in his head for addressing him like that, and here he is now.

You turn your back to him, lock the door, and make your way to his desk in confident steps. You sit on the edge of his desk, looking at him over your shoulder. "I asked if you're impotent," you shrug, arching your eyebrow.

“No,” he blurts out, his expression still one of pure horror as he doesn’t know where to keep his gaze, his eyes darting between the papers on his desk, and his computer screen, and his hands, anywhere but you. “God, no.”

“Why you never fucked me, then?” you ask, your tone still almost accusatory, but your voice soft. It’s almost like there is a hint of genuine regret in your words, and he doubts his sanity right now, wonders if he’s imagining things. He pinches his thigh under the desk, just to make sure.

“What do you mean, why?” he stutters, his cheeks flushed. “B-because.” Oh, God, it’s really bad. He’s really speechless, his mind unable to conjure up a full sentence. “Because you’re my student, and I respect you, and there are boundaries that shouldn’t be—“

“I’m not your student anymore. Not technically.” Your tone is matter-of-fact, one he’s too familiar with. One you’ve used to tell him about all the typos in his handouts, all the mistakes in his tests, all the times he’s fucked up grading someone’s papers. Only now you’re telling him… Fuck, he really can’t grasp what it is you’re telling him.

“I can’t argue with that, but I really don’t understand the point of this conversation. You’re completely out of—“

“Consider it gestalt therapy,” you shrug nonchalantly. He’s getting mad, really, with you cutting him off like that, like you’re getting back at him for years of having to listen to his lectures without having an opportunity to talk over him. It takes him a second to grasp what you’re implying. He clears his throat.

You sigh, letting your arms drop to your sides, sliding off the desk, walking up to him in these fucking deliberate strides, spinning him in his chair so he faces you, his hands lifted up in the air as if he is surrendering. He doesn’t know to what, exactly.

“Just really have to get this out of my system, Mr. Donaldson,” you sigh almost guilty, your gaze landing on his lap. He's hard, his cock straining the fabric of his trousers. Of course he is, what the fuck?

You cup him, eliciting a soft sigh from his lips, his eyes falling shut. You start stroking him through the fabric, confidently like everything you do. It makes his blood boil. You’re such a bitch. A know-it-all. A smart-ass. And so, so hot that he can’t bring himself not to kinda wish you’re intending to fuck his brains out.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe a weak protest to give you a final out, but you lean down, pressing your lips to his in a languid, deep kiss, a thorough exploratory one like every single one of your fucking essays has ever been.

You move to his lap, straddling him, the chair creaking under your combined weight. Only when his hands move to your hips does he understand you’re wearing a skirt. God, he hasn’t even noticed that. He lets his hands stay there, caressing your bare thighs as your skirt rides up, and you lean in for another kiss.

There's no raw hunger. If anything, he’s sure he’s incapable of it in this situation, his mind still trying to catch up, trying to relabel you as not forbidden. You’re grinding against his growing erection, tugging at his hair as you deepen the kiss, your curves so unexpectedly perfect against him.

He only realizes you’re working on his belt and zipper when he hears them. Instinctively, he moves his hands to your wrists to stop you, but you just shake them away like you’ve shrugged him off all these years. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his freed cock, stroking the length expertly, thoroughly, meticulously, as your lips never leave his. He actually relaxes into the chair, his hands gripping your waist, tugging your top up to reveal more bare skin.

No bra. Of course you didn’t wear any. You’ve come prepared as always.

You chuckle quietly, your lips continuing to move in unison with his, finding a lazy rhythm that drives you both insane. He reads this chuckle as you being amused at him taking any initiative. It makes his blood boil.

He breaks the kiss, one hand squeezing your breast firmly as he leans down, capturing your left nipple between his lips, sucking gently before biting. His other hand lands on your ass with a loud smack, making you gasp. Finally, some reaction.

He starts bucking into your hand, seeking more friction, moving his mouth to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, leaving a bite mark on the side, making you wince but moan. That moan—fuck, that beautiful sound. Now he’s angrier at himself than you are at him for not having fucked you sooner.

He understands you were expecting to ride him, like he’s some sexless creature, a toy to use, a dick attached to a fantasy that has nothing to do with the man he is, and it makes him even madder. He’s always admired your insightfulness, your capability to get right to the gist of things through walls of useless shit, but he’s feeling his respect for you slipping as he understands just how wrong you must’ve been about him in your head.

He peels himself off your chest, lips glistening with saliva, smacking your ass again, harder this time, groping both cheeks as he lifts you off his lap to sit you on his desk over the papers he’s grading. He’ll just tell everyone he spilled a drink. No one will miss them.

His lips find yours again in a searing hot kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to hurt you, but he’s not. Of course not. It’s just that something dormant is being woken up in him. You whimper as he cups your mound through your panties, making him chuckle. Well, look who’s laughing now.

"You've seriously dreamt about this?" he whispers against your jaw, his long fingers sliding into your underwear, finding your slickness. Fuck, you're so wet for him, it almost makes him black out. "Wanted me to fuck you on this desk? Or the one in the classroom? Or in the library? Or right in the fucking hall, huh? Why not? Let everyone watch." His tone is almost taunting, his every word accompanied by a painfully slow and teasing circle of his thumb over your swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," you mutter, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand, seeking friction. It’s not clear if you’re answering his questions or begging him to go faster. It doesn’t matter; his smirk is already in place, his eyes glistening with amusement as he looks down at you, breathing hard through his nose.

"Yes, what?" he chuckles, shrugging, his eyes scanning every reaction on your face. The way your head falls back, your lower lip caught between your teeth, your cheeks flushed. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, what?" he murmurs softly, his hand in your panties slowing down to the point of stopping.

A groan of disappointment escapes your lips as you snap your head back up, eyes darting open. He can see your pupils blown wide even in the dim light, the lamp on his desk illuminating you from behind like a renaissance painting. "Yes, fuck me," you say dryly, like it’s obvious, still seeing him as some pathetic, stupid nobody, but you’re slightly out of breath when you say it, so that’s a win in his book for now.

Just means he’s gotta try harder.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place. He’s standing between your legs, keeping them spread wide for him. He pulls his hand out of your panties to bring it to your face, shoving two fingers into your pretty smartass mouth. Your eyebrows crease, eyes falling shut at the action, a hum leaving your lips, vibrating through his skin, but you still suck on them obediently, tasting yourself on his fingers and coating them in your saliva.

He slips one finger right inside you when it makes its way back down. He starts thrusting it into you at a steady rhythm, his lips finding your neck, nibbling on it, his teeth grazing your delicate skin, tongue sliding over the little marks his teeth leave there, as he curls his finger inside you, thrusting deeper, deeper, almost aggressively.

"God, I really thought you were smart," he mutters under his breath, hot against your skin as he adds another finger and starts stretching you, eliciting a soft moan from you. He leans down, sucking on your tits again, noticing how hard your nipples are now, almost painfully so, matching the way his dick is rock hard, still standing at full attention against his clothed abdomen. "Thought you were different. Hard-working. Proper." He sinks onto his knees in front of you, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes you can’t quite read. "Turns out you’re just a slut."

He tugs your panties down, his tongue finding your cunt, one of his hands moving to throw your leg over his shoulder, keeping it there tightly as the fingers of his other hand re-enter your cunt, starting to finger it at the same urgent pace, his tongue moving feverishly over your clit, making you moan quietly because, yes, there are still people in the building, you have to keep quiet, but a part of him, the one you’ve awoken, wishes the circumstances were different, that he could hear you scream for him.

He’s getting high off the taste of your juices, off the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, his nose pressed into your pelvis as he fucks you with his fingers in a relentless rhythm, curling his fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench down onto him, searching for that sweet spot that’s going to make your toes curl.

“Tell me,” he rasps out, pulling away from your cunt just for enough time to say what he needs to say, peppering your inner thigh with kisses in the meantime. “Tell me exactly how long you’ve wanted this. And how you wanted me to fuck you. Leave no details out.”

You whimper when he delves back onto your clit, sucking on it, not caring to keep his teeth from grazing your sensitive skin here and there, but it’s a good feeling.

“S-since that lecture. Sophomore year,” you breathe out, you throat tight from holding back so many moans that are begging to be let out. Your mouth falls open in a silent ‘oh’ as he sucks your whole clit in, lapping at it with his tongue inside his wet hot mouth, your hand snapping instinctively onto his head, gripping his hair to pin yourself down to the reality. “You wore that slutty turtleneck, and of course I’ve thought you’re hot, but then you had one wrong date in your presentation, and I got so fucking mad at you. Thought you’re too careless to teach.”

He hums against your cunt, encouraging you to go on, or agreeing with your point, he can’t tell himself anymore. He’s completely gone at this point, drinking your juices like he’s drinking in your words. Amidst all this, he actually appreciates you not calling him stupid. You might’ve, but you didn’t.

“And you were always s-so passive, like I tried arguing with you, reading all that shit instead of going out just to get a rile out of you, and you never fucking bucked. I-I-I—“ you stutter, your mind going into overdrive for a second as he continues abusing your g-spot, his fingers moving at a frantic speed in and out, in and out. He smacks your thigh to get your attention back on the topic. “I just couldn’t fucking believe you. I was being a bitch, I was nagging you, just because. And you didn’t even care.”

He smiles into your cunt, a huff of air leaving his nose. At last, you admit it. He suddenly doesn’t feel bad at all for calling you a bitch in his head. He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers, your breathing irregular, you’re practically panting, your grip in his hair tightening as you guide him closer, rolling your hips against his tongue and fingers, seeking release. You’re close.

He pulls away, earning another cuss and another groan of disappointment off your lips. He smacks your thigh again, hard, the action leaving a red print of his big palm on your skin. “You didn’t answer,” he rasps out, delving back into you. Fucking students, he thinks to himself. Always so smart, thinking they know it all, and always forgetting to answer the second part of the question after they’re done answering the first.

Your mind is so hazy at this point, it takes you an effort to rewind the interaction in your head to understand what he means. “L-like this,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as he grips the one that’s not on his shoulder to stop it from shaking too much, keeping you in place. “I-I didn’t want you to be nice. You’re always so fucking nice, it’s not human, I knew it wasn’t true.”

He’s too set on making you cum to chuckle now, although it is pretty funny. He’s been doubting you’re human, too, but the way you gasp for air, trying desperately to hold back your moans as he feels you coming closer and closer to release, it tells him all that he needs to know. You’re just flesh and bones, not the perfect genius he’s painted you to be in his mind.

“Fuck!” you whimper, giving his hair one last tug before your hand springs up to cover your mouth, biting into your index finger to keep yourself quiet. It takes one slide of his fingers, one roll of his tongue, five seconds, and your muscles go taught as your hips buck off the desk, his pens in the glass standing on the edge of it clattering against each other, the keyboard of his computer flying up for a split second from impact of your ass slamming back down onto the desk. It’s like a mini-earthquake, that’s left your world erupt into white behind your closed eyelids.

He fingers you through it, lapping his tongue over your clit until you wince quietly from it hurting, and he pulls away reluctantly, standing up from the floor to stand in between your legs again. His neck and back hurt like hell from crouching down on the floor for so long, his muscles are not what they used to be, after all, and for a split second he considers actually giving up and letting you ride him, but it would be your win in his book, and he can’t allow that.

He spits on his hand before he leans down to kiss you, his tongue sliding back into your mouth, letting you taste yourself once again, as he brings his hand down to stroke himself, breathing softly out of his nose at the relief of some friction, finally. “You’re such a hypocrite,” he murmurs into your lips, softly, almost lovingly, the same fucking slightly condescending tone he’s always used in his classroom.

You open your mouth to ask what the fuck he means, but he pushes his tongue back into your mouth, all thoughts of a protest evaporating from your mind. You slide closer to the edge of the desk instinctively to accommodate him when he eventually pushes into you. You almost can’t wait.

He gropes your ass to position you like he wants you, his fingers digging into your plump skin maybe a little too hard. You don’t protest. He breathes heavily, like it’s physically paining him to hold back any second longer — it does,—and his brows are furrowed in concentration while he slides his tip over your clit, coating it with your slickness, the same way he frowns when he’s grading papers or goes over tomorrow’s lecture in his head.

He pushes inside in one determined thrust, piercing through you, a quiet grunt escaping his lips, a soft moan escaping yours. Before you have any time to adjust, he starts pounding his hips into yours, one of his arms hooked around your torso to keep you in place as his free hand flies to your chest, squeezing your right tit roughly, pinching your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, making it harden again.

“Careless?” he scoffs, an expression of pure disbelief on his face at the fact you’ve even dared to say that. He grunts again, his hand falling from your breast to your hip, gripping it firmly as he continues pounding into you, your breathing quickening again. He’s rather big, and it hurts a little from you still being sore from your orgasm, but you still moan softly under your nose, your wrists hurting from you leaning on the desk behind your back for so long.

“You call me careless for a typo in a presentation I made six years ago, and it’s not careless for you to come here, asking me if I’m impotent? Fuck you,” he grunts again, a grin pulling on his lips as he throws his head back, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. You’re squeezing his cock so tightly, there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to be asking him or yourself that question again.

He lets go of you, reaching behind your back to pull on your wrists, tugging them further to himself, which makes you fall back on the desk. “Fuck you,” he repeats, his words almost sounding like a moan now as he holds your wrists near your stomach, basically transfixing you. He moves one of his hands up to throw your leg over his shoulder again, another continuing holding your wrists down, as you both groan quietly at the change of the angle, the new one allowing for him to go so deep he’s touching parts of you you didn’t know existed.

“So, you wanted me to be a good teacher and a good dick all at the same time?” he muses, a smirk pulling on his lips again as he looks down onto your dishevelled form, your tits bouncing out of your tugged-down top, you skirt ridden up to your waist, your fucking face, so unbearably beautiful, flushed and your lips swollen from his kisses and from you biting on them so much. He can’t fucking get enough of how silent you are now after running your mouth at him for all these years. “Did you want me to be your boyfriend, too?” he chuckles, shaking his head, his expression faltering as he picks up the rhythm for a good minute, pounding into you so hard all the items on the desk are clattering, and you have to bite on your lips again not to scream from him practically tearing you apart, because you can’t cover your mouth anymore with your wrists held by him.

“Daddy never loved you, right?” He understands he’s probably taunting you too much, his words almost feeling cruel, but he’s too far gone at this point, he’s making a forceful effort to continue looking down at you to imprint the way you look right now into his memory to revisit later, even though his eyes are almost rolling back from just how good your cunt takes him. “That’s why you’ve been pining for my dick for fucking three years? Are you getting what you wanted?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper weakly. Yes to all that, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. He feels too good, filling you up to the brim, you can almost feel him in your guts, he’s making your toes curl. And he’s finally not acting nice. Just like you wanted him to.

“Good,” he growls, letting go of you for a second before his hands find the undersides of your knees, bringing them close to your chest, changing the angle again as he starts hammering down into you, the room filled with the sound of your shared ragged breaths, the desk creaking under you and the sound of his pelvis slapping against yours. “Fu-uck, you’re taking me so good, none of your schoolwork was ever that good,” he’s lying through his teeth. Not about the sex — you’re taking it like a champ—but about your schoolwork. It was, indeed, that good.

He basically has no power left over what words leave his mouth, he’s completely drunk on you, the taste of your cunt and your mouth still lingering on his tongue. “Are you gonna come again?” he pants out, slowing down, feeling your walls clenching down on him, squeezing him tight.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter, fluttering your eyes open to look at him from under your eyelashes, but you can pretty much only make out his silhouette with how hazy your vision has become with just how good he’s fucking you. “I knew,” you repeat, your throat feeling tight again, your head falling back on the desk as you bring your now free hands to your mouth, covering it to muffle out the scream you know is there, brewing, destined to roll of your lips when he drives you to release again.

“You—“ he starts in disbelief, but he’s getting closer, too, there’s no point in arguing now. He just can’t fucking believe the nerve on you. What do you mean, you knew? Knew he could fuck you like you wanted to? Knew you would be walking out of here with a limp? Such a know-it-all, always thinking she’s two steps ahead everybody else.

He sighs shakily, a broken, needy sound as he brings his hand in between your legs, finding your clit again, his other hand still holding your knees pressed to your chest. He rubs at you in sync with the thrusts of his hips, his pace picking up, up, and up, until he finally lets out a low grunt, stilling, slipping out of you as he watches you bite on your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as he feels your pussy convulsing under his fingers, another orgasm hitting you, and in a matter of seconds, after a few fast strokes, he comes, too, thick ropes of his seed landing all over your stomach and knees, and some of it lands on your chin.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, catching his breath, watching over you. He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a tissue pack, and wipes himself before doing the same for you. You're still lying there, face hidden in your hands, your outfit a mess. He's already caught you crying and knows you might feel awkward doing it in front of him, so he just makes sure you're clean for when you leave.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, fastens his belt, and walks to the other side of his office. You hear him rustling around while you try to get your breath back and keep your emotions in check. His soft footsteps approach the desk again, and you feel him gently patting your knee. You open your eyes to see him holding out a cup of water—a peace offering or an apology. But you know he doesn't owe you either. He just gave you everything you've wanted for the last three years. And he even brought you fucking water. Because he's disgustingly nice like that.

You nod in gratitude, sit up, and take the plastic cup from his hand, downing it in one gulp. It actually brings some life back to you. You breathe out shakily, fix your top, and tuck your tits back in before sliding off the desk. Your shoes land softly on the floor, your legs still trembling, your knees feeling like they'll give out any moment. You tug your skirt down and sheepishly meet his gaze, unsure where to go from here.

He steps closer and brings his hands up to your face to fix your hair. His eyebrows furrow in concentration again as he smooths it down, making sure you don't look disheveled when you walk out of here.

He sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides, and keeps looking at your face as if making sure you're not just looking okay but are okay too. “I didn’t mean that. The ‘fuck you’. And the ‘slut’ comment. Well, I kinda did,” he shrugs, averting his gaze with a humorless chuckle, “but I didn’t.”

You punch the air out of his lungs as you pounce on him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. It takes him a second to gather himself, but he hesitantly hugs you back, just letting his hands rest on your lower back as you nuzzle your nose into his chest.

You had to get it out of your system, but now that it's in, you feel like you’ll never get enough. He feels like a beacon, one he's always been for you. The guy you picked a rivalry with your first week of sophomore year just to push yourself harder, to strive for greatness. He wasn’t even aware there was a rivalry to begin with. He's an academic, though, they’re all fucked up in the head, he must understand a part of it, at least.

And he understands. Truly. He just hopes you won’t start crying again, because he doesn’t know how he'd handle that. He pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes, cupping your face in his hands, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says, his voice low, the small, friendly smile on his lips sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he looks down at you. “You’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt it.”

He had this whole speech prepared for the class about how adult life is going to treat them, the challenges they'll face, how scary it’ll be, but also insanely rewarding. It was long, sentimental, with a few jokes thrown in. Some girls cried, but it was all bullshit. What’s real is this. Him understanding your fears without you having to voice them. Him telling you you’ve got this.

“And until you do, you always know where to find me,” he nods to the side, obviously meaning his office, a lopsided smirk making him look a good decade younger. His gaze finds yours again, and he pulls you into another tight hug, one he initiates this time.

In his mind, he’s already thinking how long it would be appropriate to wait before he can invite you for a coffee.

#art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson fic #art donaldson angst #art donaldson fluff #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #challengers fic

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sebscore · 2 years

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Please write something with drivers praising female f1 driver during March because it’s womens history month. Anytime something bad happens to her on the grid she’s like someone hitting her car “how could they during womens history month 😞😧”

INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY

pairings: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader / lewis hamilton x driver!reader / sebastian vettel x driver!reader / small lando cameo

warnings: none?

author’s note: I know it’s not the entire month, but I saw lewis’ post for Stephanie and I couldn’t shake the thought of him making a special post for our gen z driver 🥺 I hope you like it, my darling!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

“Have you seen Daniel’s new post on Insta?” Her performance coach asked her, scrolling through his own phone while they took a break.

Y/N shook her head, not having been on the social media app that day. “No, why?”

“He talks about you.” He grinned, handing his phone over to her with the post ready on the screen.

Daniel had updated his Instagram with a clip of an interview he had done, where he’s asked about which women in his life inspire him.

He starts off by speaking about his grandmothers and their move from Italy to Australia. Daniel also mentions his mother and the support she has given him.

“From an athletic point of view, there’s 2 people that come to mind. My, uh, former colleague and friend, Y/N Y/L,” he laughed, “her entire story on how she came into Formula 1 is very inspiring and she has brought a lot of positive change into the sport,”

“But she’s also a great person and she always has something incredible to say,” Daniel teased his younger friend, “so, yeah, Y/N is definitely an inspiration to me.”

The woman had a soft smile on her face throughout watching the entire video, touched by Daniel’s words.

She gave her coach’s phone back and grabbed her own from her bag, deciding to leave a comment under Daniel’s post.

YourUsername I didn’t even have to force you to say this 😭 thank you, Dan! 💙

A mere hours later, she had seen multiple notifications of people tagging her in a post Lewis had made. She opened the app again and saw an entire post dedicated to her made by the World Champion himself.

lewishamilton Beside Stephanie, I also want to highlight the journey of @/yourusername. I’ve been privileged to watch her make history as the first female driver to stand on a F1 podium, to grab pole position and to win a Grand Prix. Y/N, thank you for all the work you do and continue to do. You use your platform well and I can’t thank you enough for standing by me in the causes that I feel passionate about. I’m excited to continue to follow your journey. Happy #InternationalWomensDay to you, thank you Y/N.

Y/N felt emotional reading Lewis’s message. She had idolized the driver ever since she was a little girl and to have him appreciate and acknowledge her hard work means the world to her.

YourUsername thank you so much, Lewis! 🖤 not you making me cry on international women’s day 😭 this should be illegal

— lewishamilton ❤️

The official F1 Instagram account had also made a post dedicated to the female driver which had been reposted by several drivers on their Instagram stories like George, Carlos, Valtteri, Esteban and even Lando.

The McLaren driver had called her “my goat 🐐” in his caption, something that had made her chuckle.

The best message she had gotten for the special day, came from none other than Sebastian Vettel.

It was a shock to her when the German send her a text message as she hadn’t heard from him in a while, she figured he wanted the time for himself and his loved ones.

SEB VETTEL

Happy International Women’s Day, Y/N! Congratulations on P2 in Bahrain, a great start to the season. I hope you’re doing well and that you had a good winter break!

Today I was reminded of the amazing journey you’ve had since your karting days. I am honored that I have been able to watch you grow as a woman from so close. I’m very proud of you and I’ll keep supporting you, even if I’m not there as much anymore.

I hope you have a great day and I wish you the very best!

Big kiss! X

She send him a message back, thanking him for his beautiful words and asking him how he’s been doing. They send a few texts back and forth, updating each other on their lives.

Y/N also decided to pay a tribute on social media, posting several pictures of herself with the caption:

YourUsername happy international women’s day to myself, cause I’m the best woman I know ❤️‍🔥

#f1 fic #f1 fics #f1 x reader #formula 1 fic #f1 x oc #lewis hamilton x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #sebastian vettel x reader

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tieronecrush · 9 months

Text

office party

javier peña x f!reader

summary: your friend with benefits, javier, is your plus one for your dreaded office holiday party. when a coworker gets a bit too comfortable, javier steps in and shows you exactly how he feels about you.

rating: M

wc: 2.3k

warnings: alcohol use, mentions of sex, inappropriate advances from coworker, fwb, probably missing some so lmk what!!

a/n: my contribution to @pedrostories secret santa event!! was a busy holiday season so i wish i could have done more but excited to participate nonetheless. i hope you enjoy @flightlessangelwings and happy holidays to you!!! and tysm my love @northernbluess for proofing

dividers by @saradika

“Christ, where is he? Gettin’ freezing out here…” you mumble to yourself, gritted through your teeth as you stand shivering in your party attire — a tasteful black velvet cocktail dress, hem stopping a couple of inches above your knees and long sleeves with a sweetheart neckline. Fidgeting with your charm necklace, you nervously scan the entrance stairs to the history museum for the familiar face.

It’s the night before your office lets out for the holidays, and it’s also the night they host their annual holiday party. Even though it was quite the affair and your large law firm spares no expense for the event, you never really looked forward to being confronted with colleagues in ways you didn’t need to see them, and there was usually one man who would hit on you. Open bar, catered food, always in a gorgeous venue, it was a recipe for a great time or a horrible time, depending on your found company for the night. This year was the history museum, one of your favorite spots in the city. The daydreams you’ve had about taking him here pop into your mind like a flash in the pan — fleeting, and simply something to stay as a daydream.

A tinge of reluctance tugs in your gut. Was it weird to ask him here? Is he going to stand you up?

But then, there was Javier. Looking sharp as ever in a suit, one you’ve seen him in once after he stopped by yours after a late night working. Black, with a crisp white shirt and a red tie to fit into the holiday spirit. A smirk plays on his lips when he spots you, taking the stone steps two at a time as he approaches. It had taken a bit of convincing — virtually bribing — to get him to agree to be your plus one for the night, and when he did confirm that he would come along with you, the prospect of the party actually being something more bearable skyrocketed instead of the excruciating evening you usually expect.

“Hey there, querida. Why’re you waiting out in the cold for me? Debe estar congelándose. (You must be freezing.)” Javier greets you with concern knit into his brow, his big brown eyes softened and sparkling in the low streetlight. His large palms find the sides of your arms, rubbing gently to warm you up.

“Didn’t want to get pulled into the abyss alone in there,” you jest, “I don’t know if you’d have been able to find me with all the hiding I have to do from weird coworkers.”

You laugh and Javier chuckles lightheartedly, shaking his head as he relaxes in front of you. Nodding his head toward the door, he follows behind you as you lead with a hand at your lower back.

“Is there anyone I should watch out for specifically tonight? Am I gonna have to act as a bodyguard? Should I tell any of the creeps I have a gun?” Javier’s lips graze your ear as he speaks, keeping close to you when you enter and the sounds of the party erupt. A jolt runs down your spine from the intimate contact. It’s your turn to shake your head, breathing out a laugh as you limply hit your hand against his chest.

Your excitement around seeing Javier and spending more time with him was getting much more frequent and much more intense. Bordering the point where you don’t know if you can keep up the arrangement with the feelings you’re developing for him.

Friends of a few years, there’s always been a flirty undertone between you and Javier. It built up to the point that when everyone had cleared out from a dinner party at your place, Javier stayed behind to help clean up — always a gentleman — and the two of you, admittedly a bit tipsy from the wine that was flowing all night, told each other one a whim that you were attracted to each other. Both free from any ties of old relationships, you fell into an agreement: sex, great sex at that, with no strings attached. You two would remain friends and get exactly what you wanted, which was each other, without the messiness of a relationship. Something you were both jaded from.

These days, however, the lines were starting to blur on your end. Everything he did seemed to tip you further into the deep end before you finally came to terms and accepted that you had completely cannonballed into it.

Javier is a good guy. Didn’t have that reputation around town when you first met, but getting to know him in the wee hours of the morning after a few rounds, you fell fast and hard. It wasn’t until recently that you came to terms with it.

“Nobody needs the interrogation tactics or intimidation tonight, Peña.”

“Okay, okay…Tengo que asegurarme de que te traten bien. (I have to make sure you’re treated right.) One of their best employees, shouldn’t have to put up with the shit, querida.”

The air in the grand entrance of the city’s museum crackles with holiday cheer as festive decorations adorn every corner. Garland hangs around the banisters of the grand staircase that leads further into the museum, but most of the activity is in the large, marble-lined room you both stand in. Nearly every employee seems to be in attendance, people milling about in cliques and others indulging in drinking or dancing.

As both of you saunter toward the bar, the atmosphere softens with each step, the clinking of glasses and the chatter of coworkers weaving together into a cacophony of merriment. Javier grabs you two drinks, a glass of champagne for you and whiskey neat for him, toasting to the night ahead. The clinking of glasses resonates with your unspoken agreement: tonight, like every other night, would end the same way. No strings.

Amidst the swirl of laughter and twinkling lights, and the loosening power of liquor, the boundary between friendship and something deeper becomes increasingly blurred. Flirty comments dance back and forth, charged with an unspoken tension that lingers beneath the surface.

“You look beautiful tonight, cariño. How come I haven’t seen this dress before?” Javier asks, the two of you standing at a cocktail table, alone and enjoying it.

“Guess you’d have to be my plus one more often, Javi. Then you could see all the dresses in my closet,” you counter, smirking playfully and biting back the desire to mention something akin to a real date for both of you.

“Guess so, querida. Might have to make this a regular thing.” Javier sends you a wink before clinking your glasses together in another smaller toast, a smirk painting his face as he lifts the tumbler to his mouth for a sip.

With every exchanged glance and teasing remark, it’s evident that you’re tiptoeing on the edge of uncharted territory, yearning to express feelings that had long been confined. It’s unclear if Javier feels the same, but soft touches and gentle words ply you open even further, teetering with falling completely.

Then, amidst the dance of emotions and flirtations, a coworker appears in the corner of your eye, sauntering toward the table and bursting the privacy bubble that you happily curated with Javier. His name’s Jake, a man around your age who is friendly with you in the office, sociable guy with one of those “winning” personalities the partners would compliment endlessly. A guy’s guy. But one that had no problem approaching the women in the office. With a warm smile, he extends a hand towards the man at your side, introducing himself with an easy charm that seemed almost too perfect — of course, referring to Javier already as his ‘buddy’. The hint of jealousy that flickers across Javier's face doesn’t escape your notice, and you can’t help but feel a tingle of endearment for his slightly soured mood from being interrupted.

As the night progresses, Jake's alcohol-infused attempt at camaraderie with you grows increasingly unwelcome. He’d been watching you like a hawk so far, cutting in whenever Javier left to grab more drinks or when another coworker pulled his attention away to try to pick his brain about all that’s happening in the government right now. Inching closer to you, Jake leans against the hightop table, making conversation with slurred words and uninhibited want behind his eyes.

When you shift slightly away, attempting to remain civil enough at a work event, you feel yourself bump into Javier.

At that moment, Javier turns to see if you tapped him to grab his attention, but is met with the clear look of discomfort on your face. Jake leaning in closer, eyes wandering as you responded in the conversation, clearly attempting to check you out. Frustration toward the man in front of you lit in his chest, holding himself back from confronting him and instead fully embracing his purpose for the night. If he was invited as your date, he could act like it, right?

His arm wraps around you possessively, his lips pressing kisses on your temple, and whispered words meant to keep you close. Surprised at first, but happy to feel closer to him and to relish in the protective boyfriend persona, even if it is only to keep a creep away from you.

Jake, seemingly oblivious to the change in dynamics, spoke up louder, laying a hand on your arm and squeezing, “So you ever wanna cut out of work early and get a drink? Maybe end up back at my place? You can wear that dress.”

The proposition sends a ripple of discomfort through the air. Other coworkers turn away, ignoring the advance that left you shocked and speechless. But, Javier, now fully immersed in his role, takes a stern tone, cutting in and gently maneuvering you behind him.

“Hey, cabrón, why don’t you apologize for speaking to her like that?” Javier instructs, nodding to you while your hands wrap around his arm closest to you. “Or am I going to have to find one of your supervisors and tell them all this shit myself? Don’t speak to her again, or even look at her. And I will know if you do — I’ve got eyes everywhere, buddy.”

The look on Jake’s face makes you laugh softly from behind Javier, shaking your head as he backs away and leaves with his tail between his legs. Javier turns to you, wrapping you up in one of his arms and brushing his fingers softly against your cheek.

Concern softens his eyes, the same look that he greeted you with when he found you waiting in the cold, “You alright, cariño? Fucking asshole. You shouldn’t have to deal with that, should report him or something.”

“I’m alright, Javi. Thank you…You didn’t have to—”

Javier shakes his head, smiling with one side of his mouth and kissing your forehead, “‘Course I did. Can’t let anyone talk to you like that.”

You lean into his chest and smile, lightening the mood with a playful comment, “Seemed pretty comfortable being threatening. Did it bring you back to the good ol’ days being a sheriff?”

Ever the master of evasion, Javier shrugs it off with a casual demeanor, attempting to maintain the façade of indifference with a nod, “Sure did. But they weren’t the good ol’ days.”

Hearing the smile in his voice causes a wave of affection for him that washes over you, coming to the realization that it’s either now or never. A surge of courage propels you to take the leap, confessing the fact that you see more with Javier, that you want more with him.

“I know we said no strings, and it was like that at first, but the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I’ve found that I love you. And you can absolutely walk away and nothing will be held against you, but I can’t keep up with this if I can’t tell you how I feel.”

The atmosphere between you shifts, and for a moment, the world seems to stop entirely.

Javier's eyes softened, and with a sincerity that catches you off guard, he shares a confession too, “Querida, I fell in love with you in the first moment I met you. The second I kissed you for the first time was when I realized it. I thought maybe I could keep it all in, ‘cause I didn’t want to lose you as a friend and just as a part of my life, but I love you, cariño. Have since I heard that laugh of yours and saw that gorgeous smile. And I haven’t felt the same way I feel about you for anyone else before.”

In that moment of vulnerability, the boundaries that confined your actions shatter, opening up a door, wide and clear, for you to walk through and never close.

Away from the crowded party, you find yourselves standing in a doorway adorned with sprigs of mistletoe, a symbol of serendipity. Under the soft glow of the festive lights, Javier takes a step closer, and his lips meet yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. His hand caresses your cheek, one arm wrapping around your waist while yours rest around his neck, pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

As you break apart, Javier looks into your eyes, a sincerity shining through that mirrored the twinkle of holiday lights.

"I love you," he confesses, the words hanging in the air like the melody of a cherished carol.

“I love you, too,” you return, a glowing smile and feeling giddy for the rest of the holiday season with Javier.

taglist: @northernbluess @atinylittlepain @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @kiwisbell @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @thereaperisabitch @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel @k-k0129 @cartoon-garbage04 @bianqueee04 @nostalxgic

#pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #writing #javier #javier peña fic #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfic #javier peña #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic

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hisunshiine · 1 year

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—college nights, diner fights | jjk

pairing: waiter!jungkook x waitress!reader au/genre: diner au, e2l, angst, smut, fluff rating: M wc: 9,664 warnings: POV switches (obvious, tho) mentions of domestic abuse and alluded infidelity (parents not pairing), JK's mom has terrible boyfriends and his dad is a petty "Disney" dad, Reader's parents are better but not around often, mentions of Jungkook having to protect his mom from the bad boyfriends, mean teachers, enemiesssssss, triggering middle school memories can be brought up upon reading the banter of middle school JK and reader LOL but also not LOL, swearing, vulgar statements, forced proximity, secret mutual pining, a drunken physical altercation/assault at work (mild), mentions of blood, minor cuts/scrapes, kissing, tattoo tracing SMUT warnings: oral (f receiving), praise an: shoutout to my beta readers @colormepurplex2 @downbad4yoongi @mrsparkjimin18 @peachiilovesot7 for helping me get this thing done in time despite me being on vacation and dragging my feet! thank you all so much for the motivation, for brainstorming, and just all around positive feedback! summary: If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen! You and Jungkook have been enemies for as long as you can remember—elementary school even—and when Seokjin hires him despite knowing this, you have to call a truce during working hours. When an incident at work leads Jungkook, and you, to put things into a different perspective, will the heated diner fights become a passionate college night? Or will it fizzle before it can start?

Bangtanstrology Writing Event hosted by ME of @bangtanwritershq

My Big 3 are: Sun (Member): Gemini- Jungkook, Moon (How They Met): Scorpio- Late Night Diner, Rising (Trope): Libra- Enemies to Lovers

Part 1: Elementary School

Elementary school is supposed to be fun. For you, 11 years old and in the fifth grade, elementary school is perhaps the best time of your life so far. Your dad signed up for career day, and you are excited beyond measure for him to come in and meet with your class to talk about his job.

It’s rare that you get to spend time with your dad, as his job keeps him pretty busy. The fact that he was able to show up today was a miracle in and of itself, but he negotiated presenting first so that he could leave first to get to work.

“Everyone, please welcome our first parent speaker, Mr. Cha.”

Your classmates applaud as your dad steps forward to the podium in the front center of the classroom and you beam from ear to ear. He looks all spiffy—hair styled well, suit pressed, and shoes shined.

“Good morning, boys and girls, I am Mr. Cha, and I am here to speak to you about my career. To be honest, I have two jobs,” he pauses as the kids, including you, look at him in both awe and confusion, “I am the father to that little girl right there,” he points to you and you giggle. “That is a full time job all on its own, but for the other time spent working, I am a plastic surgeon.”

You can’t help the pride you feel from your classmates clapping as your dad shares. He talks about the schooling needed to get to his position, shares study tips for the transition to middle and high school, which—while still some time away—will be good to begin practicing even now.

“You’re so handsome, Mr. Cha! Have you ever had any work done yourself?” one of the students asks during the question time.

“Ah, great question! I have tried some of the treatments that we offer at my clinic, because if I don’t believe in it, why should others have faith in me and the services I offer?” he explains. “I had a colleague of mine fix my deviated nose bridge, which I injured playing basketball in college, and I maintain my skin with various anti-aging treatments as well. It’s important to start taking care of your skin even at this age! Princess, come help me please.” Your dad gestures to you, and you rise from the chair, only a little embarrassed at him using your nickname. “Help me pass these out to your classmates.”

You begin walking around the room, placing the small cardstock printouts on each of your classmates’ desks as your dad continues speaking.

“These are coupons for my office. You can give these to a family member, or if your parents will allow you to come in, we offer a free consultation to check your skin, and a reduced rate for any skin care products or procedures for any of my princess’s classmates and their family.” He wraps up his presentation there, pulling you into him for a side hug as he smiles at your classmates and the other parents waiting in the wings to present. “Thank you for letting me present, I’ve got to run because I have a rhinoplasty scheduled today, and I need to prepare, but I had a lot of fun talking with you all today!” As your dad kisses your forehead, he whispers a quick goodbye as he leaves your classroom. You’ve never felt so proud.

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“Okay, everyone, let’s line up for P.E.,” Ms. Kim directs, and you jump in line with your peers to walk down to the field. Your classroom teacher disappears for his break as Ms. Kim takes over, and thus ensues a battle between your class as you play ‘Capture the Flag’.

“The rules are simple,” Ms. Kim explains, “a ball is placed on each side of the field in that box.” She points at the four cones creating a safe zone with a kickball inside of it. “Once the game begins, players have to cross the midline into ‘enemy’ territory to try and capture the ball and bring it back to their side. The other team has to stop you from stealing the ball by pulling the flags to remove your waistband—no tackling! Understand?”

“Yes, Ms. Kim!”

“Good. If your belt is pulled off, you stand off to the side at the cone here, okay? That’s the jail. To rescue your teammates from jail, you have to high five them. You must return to your side before attempting to go after the ball again. Once a player enters the box, they are safe, but they cannot stay in there forever…”

You tune out Ms. Kim because you already know how to play, and instead busy yourself with wrapping the tan belt around your waist, adjusting the position of the three blue flags hanging from it. The red team moves to their side of the midline, and you stretch your legs idly as you wait for the teacher to blow her whistle.

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Huffing, you pout as you walk to the jail cone, re-attaching the waistband that your classmate pulled off. He’s put you in jail several times now, almost as if he’s targeting only you during the game. It’s getting a little irritating, since Jeon Jungkook is the fastest boy in the fifth grade, but he’s spending all of his time chasing you instead of helping his team win. Even now, he’s guarding the jail so your best friend can’t come to save you again.

“Dang, JK, you pulled her flag again?” Kim Taehyung snickers loudly as he jogs over to where you’re held captive.

“Can’t let the princess get everything, now can we?” he taunts, a sarcastic tone to his words.

Kim Taehyung, unable to whisper to save his life, leans into Jungkook and asks, “Do you think her dad worked on her face? No way she’s that pretty on her own.”

Your feelings are split between irritated and pleased at the backhanded compliment.

“She’s not that pretty, it looks more like her dad messed up her face, ‘cause she’s so ugly,” Jungkook counters, and it’s hard to decipher if his cheeks are red from playing or from talking about your looks.

“But, you said last week that she was—”

Ms. Kim’s whistle blows to end the game, and you miss the end of Taehyung’s statement. Walking away from the two fools, you barely get a foot outside of the jail zone when a sharp tug at your waist stops you in your tracks. You look down and see your belt missing, and hear a soft thud a few moments later as it hits the grass in the opposite direction several yards away.

Taehyung is laughing, his large boxy grin behind his hand as Jungkook smirks at you.

“You lost.”

The two then take off towards where your teacher is collecting the game belts, leaving you to backtrack to get yours.

“What took you so long? Everyone else has already returned to the building. Taking your time to head back to class is not good sportsmanship.”

“But, Jungkook—”

“No excuses. Hurry up and get inside.”

Jogging back to the building, you get another scolding when you reach the classroom, with your teacher telling you that just because your dad is a surgeon and came for Career Day does not mean you get to behave this way. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Jungkook eats up every second of the scolding, seeming to enjoy the way you wilt as it continues. As you walk back to your seat, you don’t see Jungkook stick out his foot, and you trip loudly as the desks and chairs nearest you clatter and clang as you try to regain your footing.

As the boys snicker at your forced clumsiness, you vow to yourself that Jeon Jungkook is the worst person to exist, and you will hate him for as long as you live.

Part 2: Middle School

Jungkook’s had a hard week. Chuseok just ended, and he had to spend it with his dad’s family instead of with his mom this year, per their divorce agreement. He’s partially thankful because it allowed him a moment to rest. His hypervigilance with his mom’s new boyfriend is tiring, and his grades are suffering for it. But Jungkook is tired of these men sniffing around for a piece of the ‘supposed’ alimony his mom receives from his dad, because everyone was aware when the CEO of Jeon Industries divorced his wife and married his secretary. Jungkook begged to switch schools, but his parents refused, despite it being reported on several news outlets for a month in sixth grade.

Eighth grade hasn’t been so bad for him though, no one talks about the divorce anymore, and Jungkook is able to be just Jungkook, known for his athletic abilities and gaming. He was able to guilt his dad into a new gaming computer, since he forgot to take him back to school shopping, and Jungkook is able to help his mom pay the bills each month with the earnings he makes betting on Overwatch.

So when he returns back home, tired of hearing tales and seeing pictures of the trip to Cancun with the new baby that conveniently interrupted the planned shopping trip, to see his bed holding a Nike box with the shoes Jungkook begged his mom to get at the start of the year, he’s elated. He erupts into shouts and whoops of excitement, running to the kitchen to hug his mom.

“Ouch!” she can’t hide the wince as Jungkook pulls back from the embrace.

“I didn’t even squeeze you that tightly, Mom. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing, you know how clumsy I am, I ran into the dining room table the other night—”

Jungkook doesn’t even think as he reaches for the hem of her shirt, barely lifting it to see an ugly burgundy bruise spreading across her abdomen.

“Mom! Did he do this to you?” Jungkook demands, fury building in his body.

“N-no, honey, you know how I c-can be,” she stutters through the lie, but they both know the truth.

“Mom, if he did this because of money, just return the shoes, it’s fine.”

“No. I bought those for you. You deserve them.” His mom is resolute, turning away and adjusting her shirt as she goes back to cooking dinner. “Plus, we broke up. He won’t be back.”

Up in his room, Jungkook readies the shoes for school tomorrow. He has a few nice things, his dad is a CEO after all, but after the divorce, Jungkook chose his mom, and his dad took it personally. His dad didn’t understand, but the choice was clear to Jungkook. His dad had a new wife, but his mom had no one. Jungkook couldn't leave her too. But his dad became spiteful after that, and so Jungkook can’t take most things his dad buys him to his mom’s house, including certain clothes and shoes.

It’s why he’s so upset about his dad missing back-to-school shopping, because those were usually the only things he was allowed to take to his mom’s, but this year he has nothing new. Not until his mom bought him the Nike Dunks he’s been coveting. Jungkook is happy, proud of his mom for choosing him over the newest boyfriend, and lying in bed, he finally feels like maybe his life isn’t so bad. He hears a knock at the door, and his mom’s tired feet shuffling to answer it.

“Please, Jongyeon-ah, I promise, it won’t happen again.”

Jungkook rolls over, grabbing his headphones to drown out the sounds of the pleading, good for nothing, weaseling himself back into his mom’s life.

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“Yo, Jungkook, those dunks are fly!”

Jungkook props his shoes up on the desk next to his in class, showing off the brand-new kicks to Taehyung.

“Yeah, they're limited edition.” Jungkook knows his response is a little douchebag-esque, but he doesn’t care. He’s wanted these shoes for the longest time, and after all of the bullshit he dealt with during Chuseok and now waking up to see that greasy slimeball his mom said she was done with shirtless at the table for breakfast, he just wants to pretend for once that his life is perfect.

“Take your crusty shoes off my desk,” you scoff. Jungkook ignores you for a few seconds, leaving his feet where he has them propped on your desk. He hates that you called his shoes crusty, knowing that they’re not. They don’t even have a speck of dirt on them! He made sure of that upon his arrival, being overly cautious with each step and wiping away any blemish he perceived to be there.

“Awe, is the princess jealous she doesn’t have the limited edition dunks?” Jungkook can’t pinpoint when this rivalry started, he just knows that for as long as he can remember, the two of you have been enemies.

“There’s a reason the supply is limited. It’s because they’re ugly and they stopped making them once they realized someone would have to be an idiot to wear them. You sitting here with them just proves this point.” You push his crossed feet off your desk and he lets you, but Jungkook holds you in his glare.

“One day you’ll stop being a hater, drowning in all that Haterade you’ve been drinking,” Jungkook makes a play on words, and his friends ‘ooooh’ and high five at his middle school burn.

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At lunch, Jungkook precariously steps between the seats to avoid damaging his shoes. His shins are starting to hurt from how he’s walking to avoid creasing his sneakers, but it’s worth the pain to him. He’s successfully avoided getting any food on his shoes from the sloppy eaters, and as he makes the last stretch to the door, a loud yell catches him off guard.

“Watch it!”

Nayeon, one of your lackeys, warns everyone as she’s bumped by you and her red sports drink goes flying. Jungkook is stuck between tables, backpacks cluttering the aisle and Nayeon’s body flailing taking up all of the space. It all happens in seconds—a hip check, a flying drink, and the contents now strewn across the floor and Jungkook’s new sneakers and laces now stained a bright red, dripping across the leather and fabric of his brand new, limited edition Nike Dunks.

“Oh my god, Nayeon, you are so clumsy!”

Jungkook gawps at you, unbelieving, as your annoying voice fills the silence that took over the room only moments before.

“So sorry, Jungkook. Nayeon bumped into me and then she spilled her haterade—I mean Gatorade—all over your new shoes! I hope those weren’t hard to get or anything! I’m sure your CEO daddy can get you a new pair.”

Jungkook storms from the room, seething at your audacity. If you had any idea about his life, would you treat him this way? He wishes you could walk a day in his shoes, maybe you would realize that life outside your perfect, princess bubble is not always sweet, and would think twice before being a bitch to him, but it’s too late for him to change his view of you. You are the devil’s spawn and Jungkook has never hated someone as much as he hates you.

Part 3: High School

Getting into BTS-U should be easy for you, what with your dad being an alumnus, but you don’t want to rely on nepotism. You’ve been working your ass off for good grades all four years of high school, and the final determination of your competency is about to start. Only one student can represent your high school as the Youth of the Year, winning prestige and honor by being granted early admission into any four-year university in the country of their choice without needing CSAT scores.

The last of the trials, the oral interview, is scheduled for today and as you sit outside the room in the creaky, overly hard chair, your heart pounds. Of course, the final two students competing for this merit would be the two students who despise each other the most in the school, making the competition that much more important to you.

You cannot lose to fucking Jeon Jungkook.

“We’re ready for you!”

The chipper voice startles you from your thoughts as you steel yourself to go into the final challenge.

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“Thank you all for your participation in the Youth of the Year program. As you know, the contenders were all very high achieving and will have plenty of options available to you for your future. Do not let not being named deter you from the future awaiting you all. Now, today, we interviewed the two finalists from this wonderful school, and while both were outstanding, one student really opened up and shared a vulnerable side to him that inspired us. He has already begun an incredible journey in his young life, showcasing a will to succeed. Jeon Jungkook, please stand.”

The crowd in the auditorium bursts into applause as you burst into tears. The one good thing about this ceremony is that the finalists do not sit on stage, so in the chaos and celebration, you are able to sneak away to the bathroom. Jeon Jungkook looked so shocked to have been chosen, but you knew that he couldn’t actually be shocked. His mom stood up with him, hugging him with pride, and your parents couldn’t even be bothered to show up for such an important moment.

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal, that you have done well and will most likely have the same options for college as Jungkook does, but being a Youth of the Year finalist is not the same as being the Youth of the Year. What really hurts you the most is that if the roles were switched, Jungkook’s mom would be there to hug him and tell him he did great and fought hard. If you had been chosen, you still would’ve been alone, but at least the loneliness wouldn’t have hurt as much.

The judges who interviewed you must think you don’t need the help, that you have everything you could ever want, so why would they choose the spoiled little rich girl? Why would they choose the girl who eats dinner with the maids, who read bedtime stories to herself growing up, the girl who has everything—everything except a family that loves her more than their careers and supports her unfailingly?

Facing the mirror, you reach for your purse and pull out the small makeup pouch so that you can erase any evidence of the sadness you feel today, brimming with the unshed tears of yesterday, and prepare your battle face to go back out there and be cordial as the runner up. Another battle you��ll face alone.

Part 4: College at BTS-U

“Welcome to Jin’s Diner, have a seat wherever you’d—what the fuck are you doing here?”

The chiming of the door opening caught your ear, so you’d turned to greet the newest customer, except instead of an overly tired trucker or a group of post-clubbing college students, you’re faced with one Jeon Jungkook.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asks, eyebrow pitched and smirk full of snark.

“No, I kiss your father with this mouth. Now get out.” You go back to wiping down the counters, ignoring the stare of your arch-nemesis as you finish cleaning.

“Now, now, Baby Cakes, let your new coworker into the diner so you can finally get the help you've been asking for.”

You turn to the owner’s son, Kim Seokjin, mouth gaping open in confusion. “Coworker? I thought you read through the notes I made on all of the applicants?”

“Yes, I did, and they were very helpful. He’ll be working nights with you, so show him to the back while I grab a lock for his locker and a uniform.”

“Sir—”

“Now, Cakes.”

Seokjin disappears into the hallway towards his office, and you turn back to Jungkook, who’s standing smugly with his arms crossed watching you.

“Ugh, keep up, small fry.”

Jungkook’s black boots squeak along the freshly mopped floor as he hustles to catch up with you. The doorway behind the counter opens into the kitchen, where the two line cooks, Hoseok and Yoongi, work diligently. Hoseok is sitting next to the recently delivered products with a clipboard in hand as he counts the items, while Yoongi is wiping down his area before the rush begins. You clear your throat loudly to gather their attention.

“We have a new waiter, his name is Jeon Jungkook, but he shall go by Small Fry, I think.” The smile on your face is devilish, and the two men snicker as they take in the newbie rushing in behind you.

“Wait, why am I ‘Small Fry’?” he asks, only a little out of breath from having to round the counter and catch up to you.

“Because everyone who works here gets called a food nickname, helps with the creeps, especially on nights.”

“I’m Suga,” Yoongi greets, “and this here is Hobi-Honey, but we just call him Hobi for short.”

“And I’m Baby Cakes, as you heard bossman say.”

“What’s your real name again, Small Fry?” Yoongi asks, his platinum hair shining in the fluorescent kitchen lights.

“It’s Jungkook,” he answers, emphasizing his name as he glares at you.

“Hmm, Baby Cakes, I think he might be better suited to Cooky…”

“Isn’t that too close to his name?” you argue, hoping to keep Small Fry, but when you see Hobi shake his head, you know you’ve lost.

“Fine, Cooky it is then! Next new hire will be called Small Fry no matter what!” you concede, waving Jungkook to follow you towards the back of the kitchen.

He trails you quietly as you push a swinging wooden door with a circular window in it and lead him into the employee lounge. Seokjin is whistling to himself as you enter, twirling a metal lock around his finger. You look around the room, surprised at how quickly he had everything ready.

“Great, you met Suga and Hobi then?” he asks, nodding at the door you just entered.

“Yes, I figured it would be best to do that first on the way here.”

“So, Jungkook—”

“He’s Cooky,” you interrupt, but Seokjin just shakes your rudeness off.

“—Cooky, this here’s the lounge. The door you just entered is used while you’re on shift for breaks and such. When you arrive for your shift and leave for the night, it should always be through the door behind me.” He gestures to a purple-handled door. “To the left are the employee cubbies, and to the right, we have the laundry station, small kitchenette, and door to the staff bathroom.”

You nod at the TV mounted on the wall next to the swinging door. “The remote always stays on this table,” you tap the main table in the room that seats six, “and we typically keep the TV on ESPN, MTV, or my personal favorite, HGTV.”

“Thank you, Cakes. Now, your Jin’s Diner gear stays here, we’ll wash it for you after each shift you work.” Seokjin points to a stacked washer and dryer in the corner. “Just throw it in the wash after your shift each night. We’ll put it back in your cubby for you once dry.”

Jungkook nods, but he looks a bit overwhelmed from all of the information. You take the lead and sit down first hoping he’ll follow you. You know Seokjin talks fast and moves through the employee information even faster, and despite not liking Jeon Jungkook, you need the help on your shift since Mochi quit to focus on his last semester.

You grab a permanent marker and white label from the center of the table, tossing it across to Jungkook with a little more force than necessary.

“We each have a cubby, with a small locker inside. Use this to write your name and then claim an empty spot, and you can also write your name on the tags of your uniform.”

Seokjin grabs plastic-wrapped clothing articles from the cabinet next to the laundry station and approaches the table, too, tossing down the new clothing.

“Your gear. Shirt, apron, and a ballcap. If you want a visor instead, let me know. Black, khaki, or blue jeans, black non-slip shoes, keep the blingy jewelry at home.”

“Dammit, I was planning to choke him with his chain after the first shift.”

Seokjin levels his gaze at you, and you know you’re pushing your limits with him.

“I’ll have you follow Baby Cakes around to learn the drill for taking orders, but mostly you’ll be bussing tables tonight. I’ll work on the final processing of your paperwork in the meantime. Cakes, come with me while he changes.”

You follow Seokjin out of the lounge and back towards the office. He opens the door and steps back to allow you to enter first, shutting the door behind him as he follows you into the room.

“You need to tone it down. I know you said that you and he have some bad blood, but we need the help and he’s the best applicant we have.”

“It’s deeper than that, Jinnie, he’s literally been tormenting me since elementary school. We work with heavy-duty machinery and cutlery. You might come in one morning to find that one of us has stabbed the other to death.” You push out your bottom lip and give him your best, roundest, watery puppy eyes. “Is that what you really want?”

“What I want is to have a fully staffed evening shift so that my best girl can stop having bags under her eyes and complaining about her feet hurting every shift.” Seokjin smiles teasingly at you. “Plus, you need a good annual review to get a raise, and training new employees looks good to the owner.”

“Your dad is the owner! You can just tell him to give me a raise!”

“I could…but this is so much more fun. Who knows, he’s kinda hot…maybe you find out that the reason he’s picked on you your whole life is because he has a crush on you.”

“That fallacy is just a way for the patriarchy to continue to push abuse acceptance and the ‘boys will be boys’ agenda.” You cross your arms, but overall you know Seokjin is right. You’ve always prided yourself on being able to adapt well to situations, put a fake smile on when you need to deal with rude customers or your parents missing another monumental event in your life. “But fine. At work, it’ll be a ceasefire. That’s about all I can promise you.”

“I thought you said there would be a ceasefire!” Seokjin yells at you from where you sit in his office. Jungkook is seated next to you, slouching in the chair with his head turned away towards the wall. You can see his jaw clenching every few seconds as Seokjin continues berating you. “Instead, I got a call from a family friend that you two were so busy yelling at each other for not doing your jobs that you effectively stopped doing your job!”

You huff as you roll your eyes, turning away from Jungkook’s severely hot—no—aggravating jawline, (where did that thought even come from?) to respond to Seokjin.

“That’s not even what happened last night! This idiot decided to fuck with the seating and of course, since the big game is tomorrow, we had a lot of people stop in and it was noisy. I was trying to seat the guests who were being louder and rowdier on one side so that our regulars,” you glare at Jungkook, who’s still refusing to look at either you or Seokjin, “could dine in peace, but when I ran to the back to restock the napkins for the bar top, he seated people himself. He’s not the host. He’s still a newbie! It’s been, what? Three, four months?”

“...Four,” Jungkook mumbles, but you ignore it.

“And so then poor Mrs. Hana ended up dealing with the hooligans who disrupted her meal, and yes, it was when I was trying to explain to him how seating works—”

“I know how seating works, it’s not rocket science!”

“So then why would you mess with the flow of the diner and seat them there?!”

“Because you,” Jungkook finally breaks the stoic act and turns to face you abruptly, so much so you almost visibly jump, “kept seating the large groups in your sections, which meant that you were giving yourself the better tips and leaving me with the geriatrics who barely leave anything!”

“Are you serious? You think I was trying to take tips from you? I hate dealing with the sports crowd! I would have gladly traded with you if you had said something to me, but you were too busy ignoring me when I was trying to talk to you about dividing up the floor—”

“—you talk to me like I’m a child, so of course I was ignoring you, you dolt—”

“—really piss me off, you think I would stoop so low, probably because it’s what you would do—”

“Shut up, both of you!” Seokjin’s eyes have a hardness to them you are not used to seeing. He’s usually laid back, but the stress lines on his face speak to an underlying tension you aren’t aware of. “Look,” he takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his eyes briefly, “this can’t happen again. Mrs. Hana could’ve broken her hip slipping on the spilled soda, and her son is debating suing us. My dad is obviously handling this situation, but that means your jobs are on the table. If her son demands it in exchange to avoid a lawsuit, I can’t stop it.”

It settles on you at that moment, how severe this is. You know that the little, old lady regular slipped and fell, but both you and Jungkook rushed over to help her up, comping her meal and walking her outside to sit quietly and assess how she was feeling while waiting for her son to arrive. Not only that, but he didn’t seem mad when he picked her up—just worried about if she was in pain and if she needed to go see a doctor. Apparently, after the shock wore off, his anger set in.

“I’m sorry, Seokjin. It won’t happen again.”

“Get to your shift, I’m sure Nam—I mean Porkchop—is ready to go. Remember, Suga will be late today, the championship game is tonight. So no more ignoring the hooligans and Cooky,” Seokjin gives his leveled glare to Jungkook this time, “Baby Cakes is in charge. I know you’re eager to prove yourself, and you’ve done well so far, but she’s worked the aftermath of championship games before.”

Jungkook stares back at Seokjin, a low humming tension filling the room before he answers with a “Yes, sir.”

The diner is louder than Jungkook’s ever heard before as he goes around clearing tables now that the game is over. His coworker, Yoongi, did amazing from what he saw on the screen. BTS-U wore their white home jerseys with purple and black lettering, so it was easy to see when number 3 hit the game-winning three-pointer.

Now, as the same white jersey is stepping into the diner, all of the fans cheer and bang their cups and silverware to congratulate the MBC Cup National University Basketball Championship’s MVP for the win tonight.

Jungkook looks across the dining area, where he sees you kneeling on the countertop clapping your hands above your head. The uniform dress that you chose for tonight has risen higher up your thigh than normal—probably from the way you climbed up onto the counter—giving Jungkook a pretty good view of the skin leading up to what he’s sure are lace panties. He’s walked in on you changing one too many times to not know your preference.

He can’t look away from you; something about the sheer energy radiating off of you is magnetic, as if you’re lit from within, and before he knows it, he’s moving closer to you. Jungkook knows he can’t stand you personally, but physically? He’ll never admit this aloud—not since Taehyung almost told you the truth back in elementary school— but you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

He doesn’t have much time to ponder your looks as you bring two fingers to your lips and let out a loud wolf whistle, setting you off balance with the action. Luckily he’s already been pulled into your orbit, because he catches you with two strong hands on your waist before you can fall off the counter.

“Thanks, Cooky!” you say, eyes alight and voice pleasant, as if you’ve forgotten who Jungkook is to you, and who you are to him.

“No problem, Baby Cakes.” Jungkook helps you climb down, and when you bend forward to place your palms on the counter to dismount, he sees his hypothesis on your panties is right. His eyes remain on your ass as you extend a leg to the floor, and despite the trouble the two of you got into before your shift, Jungkook can’t seem to care to remember why he shouldn’t be enjoying the view.

“Congrats, Suga!” Jungkook watches as you launch yourself into Yoongi’s arms, giving him a loud smooch on the cheek.

“Thanks, Cakes, that last shot was for you.” He winks, and Jungkook doesn’t understand why he’s feeling so affected, but he wants to blame it on those panties you unknowingly flashed for the irritation he feels toward his friend for flirting with you. She’s your enemy, Kook, get it the fuck together.

Jungkook stalks away, grabbing his bussing bin and rag so he can clean up the table of the group in line to pay.

🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️

“Fuck you and your sorry-ass school!”

Jungkook turns his head to see you standing feet shoulder-width apart with your arms crossed, looking so much like the evil bitch he’s come to know. Only this time, it’s directed towards an EXO-U fan, by the looks of the silver and black shirt he’s sporting.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

You command the space well, and had the man been sober, he probably would have listened to you when you gave him the polite option to leave on his own two feet. As luck would have it, the man grew more belligerent with each passing moment, causing Jungkook to run and grab Yoongi from the back to help handle the situation. Jungkook doesn’t like what he’s hearing when he returns to the front.

“You dumb cunt, we don’t have to leave! Come over here, baby, suck my cock like you suck their players, bet that’s why they won, huh? Saw you all over their star player earlier, let me get a piece, bitch.”

Jungkook wants to lunge at the man, but Yoongi beats him to the table, effortlessly grabbing the man by his arm and neck to yank him from his booth seat.

Jungkook gets to his other side, helping the man walk towards the double glass doors as Yoongi mutters menacingly at the patron.

“Best not show your face around here again, if you know what’s good for you. Find another place to eat, and we won’t beat your ass.”

Yoongi lets go of the man once they clear the sidewalk into the parking lot, the man’s friends stumble out behind, but Jungkook shoves the man hard, and he falls to the ground. He feels no remorse for the man; he reminds him too much of the creeps his mom dealt with: stench of alcohol on their breath that grew with each vulgar word that rolled out of their mouths, animosity leeching from their greasy skin—Jungkook needs to wash his hands and splash his face.

Fleeing inside, he bypasses you cleaning up the mess the rowdy table left behind, unable to hear the words you say clearly enough to decipher them. He knows that it’s almost time to close up and he has a few tasks to do to help speed up the process, but he’ll get to them in a minute. He just needs a minute to shake off this feeling, and then he’ll be okay to do the final cleaning for the evening, and find out what you said.

You’ve always hated dealing with the championship game guests, but always loved being with the crowd because of the thrill and your love for the game. The shift wasn’t terrible work-wise, as Jungkook really pulled his weight throughout the shift, allowing you to be in charge as the hostess and main waitress, filling in where you needed and bussing tables as the guests rotated through the double doors.

And you can’t lie, when you almost lost your balance on the counter, it was kind of hot that he was there to catch you, and help you down safely. With his jawline that can cut glass and his warm hands sitting large on your hips, you were a little sad to have them drop away, but you hid your disappointment in congratulating Suga and then moved on with the shift.

Of course, such a perfectly good shift had to end with a douchebag. To your surprise, when you turn to look to Jungkook for help, he’s already approaching with Suga in tow. And damn your worst enemy if he doesn’t do the second hottest thing of the night, vanquishing the drunkard with the sailor’s mouth from your sight, his foul friends trailing behind.

You clear off the table, the half-eaten food discarded in the trash and you realize that it needs to be taken out now before the last of the tables are done. Jungkook speed walks past you, so you call out to him, “Cooky, take the trash out, please!”

You finish sweeping under the table, then wipe down the booth’s table as Suga also returns inside, pausing to check on you.

“Everything good, Cakes?”

You nod, placing a hand on your hip as you reflect on the incident. “Yeah, he was a real fuck boy, but you and Cooky saved me just in time.”

“Always…I’m surprised Cooky was so worked up when he called me from the kitchen. Usually you two are at each other’s throats, I would’ve thought he’d enjoy seeing you deal with a rude customer.”

“Well, we did get yelled at earlier by Jin for last night, so we promised to work together and drop whatever rivalry we have during working hours. So maybe that’s it.”

“Mmm…maybe. Well, let me go help Hobi, this last wave will keep us later if I don’t.” Yoongi takes a few steps to round the counter, then calls back out to you, “The trash is about to overflow, Cakes!”

Frowning, you notice that Jungkook has yet to return to take out the trash. Glancing around the room, you see most of the tables are in stages of eating or waiting for their food. They all seem well and distracted with clips from the post-game coverage, so you decide to take out the trash yourself. Maybe the truce between you and Jungkook isn’t as intact as you think.

Grumbling to yourself, you tie off the bag and lift it from the bin, foot angled to keep the wheels from sliding across the floor from the tug. You eye the replacement black bag, but decide to put it in once you return from the dumpster.

You hate taking out the trash; you love feminism but some tasks are just made for men. You refuse to use the loud trolley with the janky wheel, so you carry the bag gingerly, resting it down every few steps as you make your way across the sparsely lit back parking lot.

“Well, if it isn’t the bitch who didn’t let me finish my meal.”

You snap your head around, eyes roving for the source of the raspy words, finally landing on the douchebag discharged from the diner only 10 minutes ago.

“We didn’t charge you for it, so I suggest you leave before this turns into a real problem.” You keep your eyes on him, watching as he shifts around on his feet, inching closer to you. You hold your stance, refusing to look weak in case he decides you’d make a good target.

“Maybe if you come suck me off like a good girl, I won’t leave a bad review online about how much of a cunt you’re being. Matter of fact, throw in some pussy, let me fuck you properly and I bet all that attitude will drop. You just need someone to tame you.”

The man lunges for your left arm, his meaty fist closing around your wrist and you pull back to break the contact but he’s strong. You yell out, stumbling back away from the trash bag and he follows, heavy footfalls adding to the sounds of the evening.

“Let go, you freak!”

You jolt your arm, wrenching it in as many directions as you can to try and relax his grip but he pulls you closer to him until you can smell the ethanol on his breath as he places his other hand forcefully on your shoulder.

“I said I wanted you on your knees, stupid bitch,” he utters, and reflexively you punch him in his dick. He groans and releases you, hunching over in pain. You make out a figure stepping through the service door, and you call out for help. Attempting to step around the man, you only make it a few steps before you feel the weight of the man bearing down on you again.

“You stupid bitch!”

You try to run, but the man has the back of your dress in his grip so instead, your shoes scrape the asphalt in the same place repeatedly. A loud thwack of flesh on flesh sounds right before you’re released, dropping the short distance to the concrete. Your palms and knees feel the sting of the gravel but the relief of being out of the man’s hold overpowers any lingering pain as you scramble to your feet.

Behind you, Jungkook is pummeling the man in the face, and you pause for a moment in shock before you rush back to him, grabbing his bicep to stop him from swinging again.

“Cooky, stop, I’m okay! Jungkook!”

He freezes, turning to look at you as if to see if your statement is true, and seeing that you’re serious, he appears to deflate a bit, no longer an attacking watchdog but a protective knight, making sure his charge is unscathed.

“Let’s go.” He gestures for your hand and you place yours in his, letting him guide you away from the groaning sack of trash and the garbage bag on the ground.

The fluorescent lights of the break room are blinding after the darkness of outside. Vaguely you hear Jungkook yelling at the others working, followed by the clattering of kitchen items, but you’re so out of sorts you don’t even realize that Jungkook has maneuvered you into a chair and is gently checking your knees, palms, and arms. He brushes off the remaining dirt from your skin.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

His voice sounds pained, and this pulls you from your thoughts and back to the present with him.

“Um, I don’t think so.”

“Where all did he touch you? It might not hurt now, but once the adrenaline dies off, you might feel it.”

“Um, my arm, my shoulder, I can’t…I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, let me check your neck…he grabbed your dress and pulled you, so I wanna make sure it won’t bruise.”

He takes your face in his hands delicately, tilting your head to expose your neck to his view. The proximity has your head spinning, his cologne enveloping you as he leans closer, a hand leaving your cheek to allow a finger to trail across your neckline. You know he’s just checking to make sure that there’s no lingering marks, but you don’t think that the after effects of tonight will be anything anyone can see. He grabs a glass of water for you, and you sit quietly while he tends to the minor cuts on your palms from the jagged gravel in the parking lot.

Time seems to pass as you’re deep in thought, but you’re not sure how much until Seokjin appears, his purple and white painted face replacing the doe eyes and clenched jaw. He looks frazzled, as if he just left an after-party for the championship and was pulled into work. You realize after a moment that that’s actually what happened, and chuckle at yourself. He says your real name, pulling you out of your laughter.

“I’m so sorry this happened, luckily Jungkook was there. I don’t know what I would've done if something happened to you.” Seokjin pulls you into a hug, and you reciprocate, squeezing him tighter as the feeling of being held feels good. He pulls away sooner than you like, but he continues talking to you about what’s been going on since you’ve been sitting in the employee lounge.

“Look, don’t worry about staying and cleaning up tonight, okay? We’ve got everything under control. Hobi called the cops and Yoongi made sure the guy didn’t flee before they came. He’s in their custody now.”

“What about Jungkook?” you ask, uncharacteristically using his given name.

“He’s giving his statement to the police now. They’ll want to talk to you too, but I can put it off for tonight if you need,” Seokjin offers kindly, but you want to get it over with.

“It’s okay, I’ll speak to them now.”

“If you’re sure. I’ll grab one of the detectives now and they can take your statement, and then I’m sending you home. Jungkook will drive you, okay? You’re still a bit shaky.”

You look down at your hands, seeing the tremble Seokjin is referencing and nod. There’s no use in putting up a fight. All of the men you work with have now proven that you’re safe with them. Seokjin walks over to the door, popping his head out to call for an officer, and he paces quietly as you recount what happened, starting with the attacker growing belligerent in the dining area. Once finished, Seokjin grabs Jungkook from where he’s talking with Yoongi outside the door, ushering him to take your belongings and get you home.

You follow along, compliant, waving goodbye to the others as Jungkook pulls off into the main road back towards campus.

“You live by BTS-U, right?”

“Yeah, at Omelas, next to the train tracks.”

Neither of you speak again until he parks, turning off the engine to his jeep.

“Here, let me help you.” Jungkook grabs your backpack and climbs out of the SUV, coming around to the passenger side door to open it for you. You jump out and lead the way to your first -floor apartment. Unlocking the door, you flip on the lights as you toe off your non-slip work shoes.

“My roommate is out of town visiting her parents this weekend.”

Dumping your purse onto the kitchen counter, you walk further into your home, Jungkook trailing you slowly. He kicks off his shoes, socks shuffling quietly along the carpet as he enters your living room after closing and securing the front door lock. He places your backpack on the couch, and the two of you stand there awkwardly.

“Um, do you want some water or something? I have juice, milk, beer…” you trail off, uncertain.

“Water is fine, thanks.”

You grab a glass from the cupboard, filling it with ice water to return the favor from earlier as you bolster your courage to thank him. You hand him the glass and before you can think too hard, you just start speaking.

“Jungkook, I just wanted to thank you, for coming out there and, you know, saving me. I know we don’t get along much, but you really came through and I appreciate it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, blinking up at you from where he’s sitting on your couch. He takes a long sip from the glass, and he seems uncertain if he wants to speak but does so anyway.

“It was nothing, really.”

“Why, um, why did you help me, I mean—I’m just saying, oh this is coming out wrong—”

“Look, I’ve had a lot of practice dealing with creeps like him. I’ve had to do it plenty for my mom, and I just don’t like to see anyone getting hurt, not even my arch nemesis.” Jungkook tries to joke it off at the end, but his tone reveals so much more to you about what he’s not saying.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was like that for you back in high school.” You sit down next to him, closer than you normally would with your backpack taking up part of the seat, but you don’t mind it. You feel safer being closer to him.

“I mean, why would you know?” he asks, leaning back into the couch and taking another sip. “You have a perfect family, I’m sure nothing like this happened on the weekly at your place.”

“No, but like, my perfect family isn’t what everyone thinks it is, either. My parents didn’t pay attention to me, always busy working and what not. Honestly career day, back in like fifth grade was the only time one of my parents made it to something, and even then, it was so my dad could advertise his business. I felt so sheltered growing up, like I had no life skills. It’s why I work at the diner.”

Jungkook digests your words, understanding blooming through his chest.

“I get that. It’s funny, I remember that day so well, I was so jealous of you, because your dad showed up for you. I guess our dads are the same though…I think if I had grown up with my parents still together, I would’ve felt like you do. My dad kind of left me behind when he remarried, you know? In a way, that made me less sheltered, because when I was with my mom, I had to grow up fast. I couldn’t always have the nicest things because she couldn’t always afford them.”

“I didn’t realize that you had to split time between them. One of my friends, Jimin? He told me about how your dad wouldn’t let you take things back and forth between houses.”

“Why did he do that?” Jungkook looks a little scandalized, and you’re sure it’s because Jimin is one of his best friends. He’s the one who recommended that he apply to Jin’s Diner in the first place, and how you knew to warn Jin to not hire Jungkook, not that it worked. “I didn’t know you were close with Jimin!”

“We used to work together…you actually replaced him. It’s why we were hiring in the first place. But, he told me that because he was trying to get me to ease up on you one day. I was complaining about something and he was trying to make you more human, I guess.”

Jungkook just nods. You know he probably realizes there’s no reason to be mad, it was all in the past and Jimin was coming from a good place when he revealed that.

“Well, it’s true. My dad is kind of the worst. My mom saved up to get me some Dunks back in middle school because my dad couldn’t be bothered to take me back to school shopping. As if I didn’t grow a foot and 3 shoe sizes.”

“Oh fuck, you know, I’m sorry for making Nayeon spill her drink on your shoes. That was really evil of me.”

“We were like 13? 14? All middle school girls are evil.” Jungkook chuckles. You’re relieved at how gracious he’s being, but a little annoyed. You turn to him to say as much, but he continues to speak. “Honestly, I don’t even know why we went toe to toe like that. We probably would’ve been best friends if we had combined our smarts. You were really great during the Youth of the Year competition. I’m sorry that you didn’t win, I think you deserved to.”

Jungkook is looking back at you now, with his pretty doe eyes, sitting so close to you. You don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, instead focusing on his star-filled eyes and the way they’re staring into your own. His arm moves slowly, lifting to bring his hand to your face, curling a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“It’s getting pretty late now, I should get home,” he starts, but his eyes speak volumes and it doesn’t seem like he wants to leave just yet. “But there’s still one more thing I need to apologize for.”

Your eyebrows furrow, confused as to what incident it could be when his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, not too forceful but not shy either—just the right amount to let you know this isn’t a mistake. It takes you a few seconds to respond, but when you sense Jungkook about to move away you pull him in closer, keeping his lips where you can access them. It’s not enough though, so throwing caution to the wind, you straddle him as your tongue swipes for entry, pushing him further into the couch as you lean into his fit body. He groans at your boldness, large hands planted firmly on your ass as the kiss deepens. You feel dangerously high, lacking oxygen, but you can’t stop—you don’t want to stop. He’s intoxicating.

His fingers tighten imperceptibly, and you know he, too, is at the end of his air, so you break apart, chest heaving as you stare at his lips, red and plump from the kiss.

“That was your…apology for? Or you were…apologizing for…kissing me?” you pant, trying to catch your breath.

“Both?” he says with a cute, bunny-like smile, “one, for hating you all these years, and two, for kissing you out of the blue.”

“And if I want you to apologize to me more?” you half-question, half-goad, and Jungkook gives the right answer, leaning into you once more so he can kiss you hard, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away.

“That’s something I can do.” Jungkook uses his strength to flip you onto your back on the couch, knocking your backpack out of the way and onto the floor. “Is this okay?” He searches your eyes for your consent to his hands on your thighs, fingertips skimming the hem of your dress.

You nod, and he trails them higher until he’s grasping the band of your panties and sliding them down without haste. You enjoy the commanding presence he takes on, unlike the people you deal with on a daily at work, indecisive with what to order, he knows exactly what he wants, and when Jungkook pushes up your dress and buries his face between your thighs, it takes everything in you not to climax right then. His tongue flits around your clit, teasing you as his hands massage your thighs while keeping them wide for him.

“Jungkook,” his name is a breathy whisper in the air as your fingers curl around his locks, tightening your grip when he flicks closer to where you need him. “Please.”

You wiggle your hips, searching for more friction from his tongue but he just pulls away, tutting his tongue at you for being bad. You sit up slightly to glare at him.

“Patience, baby.”

Whining, you lay back on the couch with a huff. “This is why we hated each other bac—oh, fuck me,” you finish with a moan as he flattens his tongue across your pussy and stimulates every nerve he can cover. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he begins to suck, gently flicking his tongue every few seconds as he positions two fingers at your dripping center. Delving inside of you, the plunge of his fingers reaches the ache inside of you, causing your legs to tremble as he fine-tunes your body like an instrument.

“Feels so good, mmph, fuck,” is all you can manage to say as he continues to pump his fingers, the squelching of your walls suctioning them back in with every tug out only making you wetter. Jungkook hums, and the thrumming sensation curls your toes. Arching your back, you tug his hair hard as you mewl loudly from the impending orgasm.

“You can do it, baby, cum for me,” Jungkook praises, “you’re doing so well, squeezing my fingers so tight, watch me.”

When his mouth once again finds its rhythm on your core, it takes just a few seconds of making eye contact with Jungkook, doe-eyes wide as he watches you enjoy his tongue, before you shiver and melt into the euphoria he’s bringing to your body.

“That’s it, fuck—you look so pretty, baby.”Body spent, you stare up at the ceiling blinking as you come back to earth. Jungkook tucks himself behind you, holding you in his arms. You look down at the arm over your waist, your fingers lightly tracing the tattoos on his exposed full sleeve. You can feel his bulge, know that there’s so much more…apologizing you both need to do after years of being enemies, but you have all night for that. And in the morning, you don’t know what will happen, if there will be more to come after tonight, but what you do know is that at this moment you don’t hate Jungkook; not even a little bit, not even at all.

🍽️🍽️🍽️

thank you for reading!!!

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herejusttosufferalong · 2 months

Note

Why am I even in this restaurant? It’s not exactly serving the good stuff and lately I am feasting on moldy bread and stale water.

I’ll tell you why: What speaks so loud in this whole L N thing is everything that does not happen, everything that is not being said.

This whole thing could have been shut down like fucking months ago. Things that could have been said and done, but DID NOT:

Introduce A as Ls gf right before the tour, so that’s a fact to the fandom. N follows A on the socials, A follows N, showing we’re all good here. Bit of an outrage, weeks later everybody has forgotten it. LN go on tour, act like platonic besties. And by platonic besties I mean, do not act like either one of you is starting to catch fire any minute now because you have the hottest hots for the other.

Do the press tour, keep the flirt flame alive but when the first Lukola madness sets in, go out there and say “that’s so sweet, we get it, we love each other but really, we are just friends and nothing more”.

Brazil, Italy, Ireland, what can I say: they could have just not done most of the unhinged shit there and gone about their press tour like professionals do.

N could have not introduced L as her future husband very good friend / colleague to her family.

A during the tour could have just not acted like a jealous, insecure, desperate teenager on SM to make it abundantly clear to everyone girl is not okay.

On the famous pap walk L could have launched A hard by just acknowledging her in a bf way, kissing, smiling, holding her etc. and by not running for his life.

L could have posted A on his ig after pap walk, dealt with the fandom outrage for a couple of days and everybody could have moved on.

N could have not posted the TT, deleted it, frantically supported her man bestie on ig, he could have not mentioned her on Jimmy Fallon, N could have not posted like the most couple-vibe pics from bts, L could have not posted the one scene, where it says “I won’t let her ruin our night…” the more I write, the more creases appear in my forehead.

And again: at any point in time both could have come out and said “we are really just friends”.

At any point could N A have followed each other to send a message. N is such a girl’s girl, it is in fact highly unusual for her to not do that if it’s all fine with her.

Both are professionals with a whole ass team behind them, at any point in time could they have shut this mess down with the help of their teams and clear statements.

All of that what has not been said and has not been done and that what has been done in a forced there’s-a-gun-to-my-head way (hello lifeguard duty), really speaks the whole truth her, doesn’t it? DOESN'T IT???

💜🥃

#this is all opinion #merely speculating #lukola

164 notes · View notes

cheriladycl01 · 10 months

Text

You're a dick Stroll! - Lance Stroll x Engineer! Reader

Plot: You created the best car for the 2024 season however after some harsh comments from Lawrence Stroll about a female engineer having been the reason his son crashed out in Bahrain turns out after investigations from the FIA people owe you an apology!

A/N: Obviously this is fanfic so its dramatized so in no way does this portray anyone in a realistic light and is just for the drama and the vibes.

"You innovations have been amazing this year Y/N all thanks to that brain of yours!" Mike Krack the team Principle for Aston Martin tells you, holding either one of your shoulders shaking them in delight at the new car in front of him.

You had been at Silverstone working as the lead mechanic/ designer on the new car throughout the last half of the 2023 season.

"Thank you, but you know it was a team effort right?" you smiled back, it really was a team effort.

"Well, we actually wanted to offer you a promotions of sorts!" he exclaimed a look of shock crossing your face.

"Excuse me?"

"We figured that you know the car the best and we want you travelling with us to make adjustments as and when needed. Last year was a struggle when we didn't have you here, you are the quickest we've seen and having you on the road with the team would really help.

"This is amazing, yes I'll do it!" you exclaimed happy that you were finally able to travel around the world with Aston Martin.

A month later and you were in Bahrain for pre-season testing of the 2024 year, everything was looking good on both the car, they were running well and the data figures looked good to you and your team.

You'd stayed late with a few other team members making sure everything was ready for the most important Sunday of the year, this race was the one that usually set the drivers mentality for the year. Nobody wanted to crash in the first race and no-one wants to not make it into the points.

You left, once you'd finished your checks on both cars, some people still working around.

"Okay, I'm off guys and ill see you for the big day tomorrow!" you smiled at them before heading back to the hotel that Aston Martin had placed you in. It wasn't a long ride, and you splurged on an Uber considering how much overtime you'd just done in the garage.

You did share a hotel with the drivers, as one of the lead engineers in Aston Martin you got the privilege of the nicer hotel compared to some of your colleagues.

As you entered, you could see some of the drivers sat in the bar, Lando Daniel, Max and his girlfriend Kelly were all sat together taking pictures, obviously for the .jpg accounts.

Charles, Pierre, Carlos and Lewis were also there sat at the bar, drinks in hand. However, with your attention directed elsewhere you felt yourself bump into something.

"Oh my gosh I am so sorry" you exclaimed looking towards the person you had bumped into that was now holding your forearm as if to steady you so you didn't fall back.

"It's er okay, you seemed distracted are you... okay?" you hear the person ask and look up to see your teams youngest driver.

"Oh Lance I'm so so sorry!" you say noticing it was him.

"It's okay" he says awkwardly before shuffling off. You watch as he walks up to Alex and George who were also sat with one another. You continue up to your floor before showering and passing out in your bed.

The next day your alarm was set extremely early, you came straight to the track having gotten ready in a record speed time. Your hair was whipped up in a ponytail and you'd nearly put your green Aston Martin team top on back to front.

You got to the track for when Mike told you to meet him there, he wanted you the radio engineers and the strategists to all talk before the race. Considering it was only 7.30 in the morning there were already loads of people in the paddock, from all different teams.

Where it was your first time you didn't know the protocol or anything for greeting other teams, so you just stayed your typical friendly self sending a smile and wave to everyone that you passed and made eye contact with.

Once you'd got into hospitality Ben Mitchell, Chris Conin and Peter Hall were all there, Peter held a coffee out to you with a small smile.

"Thanks" you smiled before you all started to talk about the race ahead, you guys checked the weather patterns and the track temp before trying to plan the race for both drivers.

By the time you'd done your final checks it was time for the race. Lance had placed P7 the day before and Fernando had placed P10 which was an amazing start to the year for Aston Martin.

"How's the car looking?" the social media girl asked, she was looking at the screen of data rolling in from the car but not understanding what the figures actually meant.

"It's performing phenomenally. Its definitely better than last year. Its also original and completely initiative, I've heard Horner and Vasser talking about it!" you explain having heard them interviewing about the grid and a little season preview.

She nods, and you talk a little before she leaves to go and try and film some social media stuff while there isn't too much excitement on the track.

However only 2 laps later Lance was reporting his breaks being stiff, which from the figures looked to be impossible. Before his race engineer could even ask for your advice, Lance went into a turn too quick skidding off the side taking Gasly with him. You looked up at the screen in shock, a hand covering your mouth.

Lance's car had gone sideways before flipping over Gasly's car. Lance and Gasly were both out of the race.

"What the hell happened!" Lawrence screaming coming over to you, all the pit crew who had just pulled Fernando's car in stopped what they were doing and came over to you.

"Sorry?" you asked pulling the headphones off genuinely not having heard him.

"What happened! Your the engineer who was here late last night. What did you do to my sons car, he's an impeccable driver and he has DNFed because YOU cant do your job" he screamed and you flinched taking a wide step back.

"Look i didn't do anything, I wasn't even the final engineer here last night. I think he was just unlucky sir" you tried to explain, but his face like thunder had you a stuttering and stumbling mess.

"Yes you did! Just admit you either sabotaged the car on purpose or your so damn incompetent at your job that you didn't build the car right! You know you should be fired for this, its completely unacceptable and I'll be speaking to Mike about having you removed because you clearly" he starts but one of the crew members behind decided enough was enough and stepped in front of you.

"Hey, sir with all dew respect there are camera's everywhere in here recording so just think about your image" he directs and Fernando having finally got out of his car and having seen what happened to you.

"Lawrence, i think its best that you take a step back" Fernando advises seeing how close he had gotten to you.

Instead he just storms out of the paddock, you release a breath you didn't even realize you had been holding in everyone swarming round you take make sure you were okay.

BREAKING NEWS: FIA LAUNCH INVESTIGATION INTO HEAD OF ENGINEERING AT ASTON MARTIN AFTER STROLL CRASH VIDEO OF LAWRENCE STROLL RIPPING INTO Y/N Y/LN HEAD OF ENGINEERING AT ASTON MARTIN INTERVIEW WITH LAWRENCE STROLL AND MIKE KRACK GETS HEATED AFTER INVESTIGATION LAUNCHED

It only took 4 hours for the public to find out who you were and your social media handles as you had a few people following you. One of which was McLaren who you had worked for under an apprenticeship scheme.

The only thing you really wanted right now was have a drink, so the hotel bar where you were certain would be safe from the public eye. You came down from your hotel room, you weren't in anything fancy and felt out of place the minute you sat down at the bar. Most of the drivers were there celebrating wins, or drinking away the loss.

It was like you had this beeper on you, as when you entered the room and walked to the bar all the drivers seemed to notice you. I mean it wasn't hard, your hair was thrown up in a ratty bun and your eyes were red from having read all the hate messages sent to your inbox.

"She's the one they're investigating because of Stroll's crash! His dad went in on her after the race"

The whispers all around you from people in the bar had you shrinking in your seat.

"So your the one that made me crash!" Lance exclaims from behind you, you turn round seeing his face, angry and upset and expression nobody liked.

"Look, I didn't do anything to the -" you start but are slowly interrupted.

"No you did, you know nothing and you shouldn't be in this job! Everything they are saying about you online is true, you could have killed me and Pierre because of that accident. So careless!" he shouts, which shocked the other drivers as Lance wasn't really one to raise his voice.

"Please Lance, I've already had enough..."

"No, you haven't had enough! You shouldn't be in this sport if you cant build a car properly, it's shit! It's not powerful and you clearly cant build a car like Andre last year!" he says, you could tell he was getting frustrated and it made you take a step of your seat.

"You're a dick Stroll! Andre didn't build the car. I did that's why i took the position this year as he wasn't performing as Head Mechanic so yeah. I didn't do anything to the car, the data was fine maybe you just are as good as a driver as you seem to think you are" you say before storming out of the bar.

Two weeks later, where you'd lazed around all day at home was when you'd got that expected call. You were currently on suspended leave where you were still under investigation. Mike had been facetiming you on and off asking for help to try and speed up the pace of fixing the car before Saudi Arabia GP.

It was in fact Mike calling again, however this time he was telling you to open up any socials and see what the FIA had posted.

CHECKS HAVE BEEN CONDUCTED INTO THE ASTON MARTIN CRASH SHOWING HEAD ENGINEER IS NOT LIABLE AND HAS SERIOULSY BEEN MISSTREATED - FIA FIA COME OUT WITH EVIDENCE THAT ASTON MARTIN HEAD ENGINEER IS NOT TO BLAME FOR STROLL'S SAKHIR CRASH - SKYSPORTS CLEARED FOR DUTY Y/N Y/L/N TO MAKE RETURN AT JEDDAH - F1

"Are you serious?" you say, the first piece of enjoyment in your life in the last few weeks has just occurred.

"Yes, we need you on the first flight out to Saudi, someone's waiting for you at Heathrow to bring you" he exclaims, you jump up cutting the call short and start to rush, packing a bag by slinging clothes in it not bothering to fold. You make sure your uniform is all packed as well as the essentials before running out the door and running to the train station.

You came into the terminal, shooting a text to Mike, not knowing who to be looking for. You look around to see if you can see one of the other mechanics or maybe Mike's personal assistant but you come short.

"Come on Mike" you whisper to yourself looking at your phone.

"Y/N?" you hear from behind you. You knew that Canadian voice all to well.

"Lance?" you ask with a slight sneer to your tone, you were still angry and upset with him and his father for jumping to such outrageous conclusions.

"Mike wants you there asap, so I suggested you come with me" he says guiding you down a secure back path to where it leads out to the jets.

"Your kidding me right?" you ask as he walks you out onto the den where his dad's private jet is waiting.

"We needed you there as soon as possible the car is in literal pieces without you there!" he exclaims, having heard from his father than things had been slow in the garage.

"Well, do you now trust me to build you an effective car?" you ask halting your steps, you didn't want to work with him anymore if you didnt have his trust. Throughout your suspension you had both McLaren and Mercedes reach out to you offering you a job with them once it all blew over.

"I do trust you, I just got angry when i crashed the car in the first race of the season, my dad blamed it on you and to me that seemed the most logical. I am sorry for what its worth" he says awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"For what its worth... you're still a dick. But i think i can put up with that" you smile, before following him over to the pane ahead.

Taglist:

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#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll fanfic

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personasintro · 1 year

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Mutual Help | #51

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.6k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢

Never in a million years would you think you and Jungkook will go to work together. To the same workplace as if you were colleagues. In some way, you kind of are colleagues at the moment, even though you won't be exactly working together.

It definitely has some perks.

For example – you don't have to drive since Jungkook suggested you should go together in one car which makes sense and it is something you were planning to offer anyway. Jungkook's car is more comfortable of course, how can it not be for the money he spent on it, right?

You enjoy the freedom of not having to drive through busy Seoul to get to work. However, you still offer to drive once you see Jungkook yawning as soon as he sits down on the driver seat.

He even has the audacity to snort at your offer. "You driving my car? Nah, I'll pass."

You do feel offended, though you would never purposely try to drive his expensive ass car – too scared to get into an accident or scratch the perfect shiny exterior.

"Asshole," you grumble, "Didn't you offer your car when I got into the accident?" you point out, noticing Jungkook's grin which slightly falters at the mention of your accident. You know he's just teasing you, despite his morning tired state.

"It was a matter of life and death," he remarks, causing you to flick him off. "Sorry, angel. Hate to break it to you but you're not that good of a driver."

Angel... that's new. Even if it's his way of teasing you again, you can't help but feel the little fluttering in the pit of your stomach. It doesn't help that Jungkook has cleaned and dressed up nicely. His outfit is quite simple but knocked the breath out of you as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, fully ready despite his tired puffy eyes. White button-up with black casual slacks – a total threat to your sanity.

"I am a good driver!" you argue.

Okay, maybe you're not a complete Michael Knight when it comes to driving but you're pretty decent. It took you a while to improve but experience helped a lot.

"You can't compare me to you!"

"I know, I know. I'm just teasing you." Jungkook adds teasingly, met with your annoyed huff as your back meets the car seat frustratedly.

For the rest of the drive, Jungkook takes it as his mission to make you laugh and he blasts old Justin Bieber songs, dramatically singing as you try to keep your laugh at bay.

"You're who I'm thinking of, girl you ain't my runner-up,"

He quickly shoots you a playful wink as you roll your eyes, nudging gently his shoulder as he keeps his eyes on the road.

"Just shut up and drive."

"Oh, that's a good song!"

"Oh god..." you mutter, staring from the window as your facade finally cracks.

Though as Jungkook glances at you, he sees your grin in the reflection and he knows his job is done.

Junho snatches Jungkook from you as soon as the elevator door opens, his nervous figure pacing around the place. His usual self nervous and on the edge now seems to be under control and you think it has something to do with Jungkook. Only because once he spots you and Jungkook, his eyes widening slightly before a welcoming smile stretches on his thin lips as he gives your friend a warm welcome. Not just you, but half of the staff witnessing this moment just gape at him.

Junho likes to kiss ass to everyone who works above him, especially any partners but you would never expect him to be so warm towards a photographer. It only proves he really loves Jungkook's work and is more than happy to have him on this project. So much, that he trusted Jungkook's offer of involving someone whose work he hasn't seen at all. Which reminds you Ester should be here soon, so she and Jungkook can get to work.

You assume once Junho is done kissing Jungkook's ass, he is leading him to the studio where they should go over the work once again before the models are prepared to have photoshoots.

There are many people, strangers who work for other companies, most of them make-up artists, agents. You've been here for three minutes and it's already looking hectic.

"Well, fuck me."

Turning sideways, you spot Yoongi glancing at retrieving figures of your boss and your best friend, similarly looking taken aback.

"Yeah, I know." you mutter, seeing him holding a stack of papers, wearing a gray suit.

"Asshole, we work for him for years and do most of the job and he never treats us like that."

You snort, not surprised by Yoongi's annoyance and irritation showing because in a way, you understand him. Junho can be very hard on all of you and he doesn't exactly treat you friendly, but he's not a bad boss. You're sure there are far worse bosses out there than just a simple man who's too greedy and ambitious for his own good.

"Shh, somebody is going to hear you." you scold him, mouth opening as soon as he thrusts the papers into your arms causing you to almost drop them. You glare at him but he's not even looking at you, sighing as Junho's figure disappears before he glances back at you.

"Like I give a fuck. Junho needs me, he's not gonna do a shit."

"You're too confident. Junho might need all of us," Yoongi rolls his eyes, "But he's got a temper."

"It would be his loss."

He's right about that but you don't tell him that.

"Why did you give me these papers?"

"Wake up, sunshine. You're at your work right now, chop chop."

And he simply walks away with no looking back which leaves your mouth hanging open, and you choke on the fit of curses that want to leave your mouth but you already hear your name being called, one of your colleagues rushing to you as they need your help.

Great. You haven't even got the chance to put your bag away. Fucking Min Yoongi and fucking Mondays.

Ester arrives a few minutes after Jungkook. He had to laugh at her petrified face when he politely excused himself to Junho, so he can help her get into the building since she doesn't know her way. It's enough she has to be nervous which only confirms once Junho so eagerly excuses him, leaving a few coworkers that are around completely speechless.

"Am I late? You said eight, right?" she asks him as soon as Jungkook holds the door for her to come in, chuckling at her anxious state.

"No, you're good and I did. I came a little early," he assures her and sees the sigh of relief she lets out, "Besides everything is just getting ready, well the final preparations but Junho, the boss I was talking you about," he says, momentarily stopping to make a space for people leaving the elevator before they both make their way in.

He pushes the button, turning to her as he gives her a comforting smile which she tries to return.

"He is gonna go over the things again with us and then we should get to work. We have a long day ahead of us."

She nods, not giving any sort of other reaction – her nerves getting the best of her.

Meanwhile you spot Ester and Jungkook coming in, getting to work right after – you're already swallowed by your own responsibilities and not having time for anything else.

Despite the day's business, it feels as if it's dragging painfully slowly. You don't get to see Jungkook in action, somehow he's always just a blur in the background and you're not phased even in the slightest when you catch a glimpse of him, doing a great work with models. He's a true leader, involved just as much as he can be as he naturally communicates with the models and Ester on the side, who seems to be in her natural habitat.

You don't know any other photographer besides your best friend but seeing how two of them work well together, both of them understanding each other right away makes you think they have a lot in common when it comes to photography. They joke a little, Jungkook helps her with her camera once it seems as if there's a little problem in the setting as he sorts it out for her – all of this you experience in a span of five minutes watching from the distance, some of your coworkers beside you as you wait for the shoot to end. Well, a part of the shoot anyway.

"He's doing a great job, isn't he?"

You almost flinch at the sudden presence of another body next to you, looking at Benjamin who hands you a cup of coffee. You see Lauren holding one of those as well, shooting him a last appreciative smile before she focuses on the tablet in her hands.

"Thank you,"

You thank him, not having the heart to decline his attentive gesture. You don't like to get through the day drinking coffee, it bites you back in the night as it follows with the hassle of not being able to fall asleep. But it's soon lunchtime and you haven't had the time to just sit down, even if it's for five minutes so you gladly take the cup from the coffee machine and take a cautious sip.

"You're like the fifth person who told that in a span of ten minutes." you chuckle causing him to do the same as he lightly shrugs.

"It's true, I had to be there for a few minutes and seriously, he's amazing. You must be proud of him."

There's nothing but sweetness and tenderness in his raspy voice and soft expression and you have to look away to try and shoo away the approaching guilt, still feeling like an idiot for lying to him. To be fair, he hasn't tried anything since then but still remained sweet and friendly. Jungkook is not your real boyfriend but he doesn't know that and ever since he heard the revelation, it's obvious he backed away. You're glad he's still the sweet guy you met – unfortunately, it makes it even worse for your guilt and the little white lie.

"I am," you respond, cutting your thoughts off before you can feel like a total loser.

No lies need to be told, not when it comes to Jungkook's talent and you being proud of him. You remember the beginning of his photography career. He has always been doing good, but it took a lot of courage to get a freelancer career right after college, praying he will have enough clients to pay his bills. In the end, it wasn't the smoothest start but he's nifty and ambitious which helped a lot in this journey.

Despite his parents voicing out their concern for his son, not that they didn't believe in him but their concerns weren't helping him to smooth his own concerns of the future, he has managed to pull it off.

"Photography is his passion." you add softly, not really sure why you just shared that because you're not sure if Benjamin even cares but he responds with one of his charming smiles.

You continue to watch the scene happening in the distance, noticing the tall model you remember from the company's party standing now alone, exposing her skin and legs to everyone's eyes. She's not phased about it, how can she? This is her job and she's used to it, having done a good amount of photoshoots in her lifetime. You know you couldn't just stand there in a bikini, revealing the curve of your ass and most of your ass-cheeks exposed to dozens of men. Nobody in your company is disrespectful and just as she's used to the eyes, you all are used to seeing models. It doesn't matter what gender.

Her blond hair is curled into big beachy waves, breasts pushed up in the bikini bra as she professionally poses for Jungkook's camera. He chats with her throughout it, both of them trying to figure out the new positions and concepts together as they share a laugh together before returning back to work.

There are other models watching them, both female and male as the women seem equally attracted to Jungkook, despite there being male models right next to them.

All the men models are handsome, looking almost unreal even from the distance where you are standing. All of them are captivating and interesting looking in their own way, which makes them special and you know your company has done a good job at picking them up. You're not sure you've seen so many abs in your life like you're experiencing right now – even though most of them have thin robes draped over their shoulders.

Despite it all, you stare back at Jungkook and it's like no one competes with him. It's not even about him having an equally amazing body than the male models here. It's just him and for a split second you panic. You know you're attracted to him, that much is clear because you wouldn't be able to let your new deal keep going on for this long. But you're scared. So you hide your distress behind the plastic cup as you take a few sips of the coffee, letting more caffeine into your body.

"Don't do that."

Turning to Benjamin, you're met with his soft gaze once again and for a moment you think you see an amused grin spreading on his plump lips.

"Do what?"

"Well, at least I hope you're not comparing yourself to them." he says, pointing his head towards the models direction as you glance at them, met with the perfect skinny bodies and shiny skin while his eyes stay on your face, watching you attentively.

"I--no, I'm not." you assure him, but it comes out unsurely and way less honest than you intended.

Working here, you think almost every woman gets through the whole insecurity process at least once. Especially if you're met with gorgeous women on a daily basis but it comes out of inner insecurities in the first place. Eventually, if you're in a happy place with yourself, embracing your own beauty, it's not something you beat yourself over or getting on a radical diet, so you can even come close to them.

You're not envious and jealous, not at all. There are times when a woman can get insecure, or compare herself with literal models and by "a woman" you include yourself too. You think it's only natural in an environment like this but you're happy with yourself and you hope every single coworker of yours is too.

"Good, because you're pretty," he says, a serious tone laced with softness as you stare at him with wide eyes, not expecting the compliment but honesty too. "Ah, sorry have I crossed a line? I didn't mean it--I wasn't meant to be disrespectful towards your boyfriend. I just saw you looking at them and I thought--Ahhh, I'm sorry." he rambles as you watch him with your mouth agape before you let out a chuckle and shake your head.

"You aren't disrespectful," you assure him, still seeing the panic in his light eyes. "Thanks for the compliment."

He lets out a breathy laugh, "I hope I didn't come off as if I'm coming onto you or something. I know you're in a relationship,"

Your features turn guilt for a second and you know he catches the change, though he most likely mistakes it for sadness rather than guilt.

"I'm not like that!" he quickly adds and you laugh, shaking your head.

"Benjamin, please breathe," you continue to laugh silently, "I know. You're very sweet, thank you."

"Good, I don't want to be on bad terms with your boyfriend. He seems like he can throw a punch or two." he jokes, but there's a little fear and seriousness in his voice which makes you giggle.

"He can," you muse but quickly add, "But don't worry about him. He wouldn't punch you for calling me pretty, not that he has to know."

You give him an assurance that you won't snitch on him to "your boyfriend", even though it's not a big deal at all. Even if you had a boyfriend and someone else called you pretty, it doesn't mean they're coming onto you. And you appreciate Benjamin's concern, knowing he really didn't mean to come off as pushy or invading in any way.

"Good, good..." Benjamin sighs in relief, giving you a grin. "Who's the other photographer? Is she from our company?" He changes the topic.

"No, actually. She is Jungkook's friend."

Benjamin opens his mouth, an audible "Oh" leaving his mouth before another voice reaches your ears.

"Admiring your boyfriend, I see?"

And just like that, your own grin drops and you turn around finding Yoongi making his way to you. Can he be any more suspicious? He looks amused as fuck, finding his little joke (which is unknown to Benjamin) a little bit too funny and your expression of annoyance even more.

"No. I'm doing my job which can't be said about you." you remark back, watching his grin stretch even more which annoys you to the core while Benjamin stares confusingly at you and him, sensing the tension.

It's not like he is new to it but he's probably confused why you still bicker at almost every chance.

"Oh, admiring your boyfriend is your job?" he teases, or more like annoys the shit out of you as you bite your tongue. "Besides, I've been doing my and your job."

"What do you mean?"

"They're looking for you in the office. You're supposed to sort out finances with the team."

"No, I am not. I'm supposed to be here for a while until--"

"Doesn't matter," You're rudely cut off by him as he waves you off. "Get your ass there. You're lucky Junho isn't there and is busy admiring your boyfriend."

"Careful, you sound jealous, Min." you sing out, gulping down the rest of the cold coffee now before you bin it.

Brushing past Yoongi, you pat his shoulder just for the right measure to piss him off and seeing him narrowing his eyes at you annoyingly, you know you've succeeded. Throwing a wave to Benjamin, you leave the two of them there as you're on your way to find the fuck out what you have to do with finances.

The next time you see Jungkook is after lunchtime, he's joined with Junho and a few other people including Natalie, the main star of today's project and Ester. You heard Junho invited some of them to lunch outside, which threw you off a little considering he's been a nervous wreck about this project and you pictured him showing his usual temper. But at the same time, it makes sense he's suddenly a different man, trying to impress everyone he invited to lunch.

He never did that with any of his employees – not that most of you would go anyway, maybe strictly out of politeness and a fear of possibly pissing him off.

You've around five minutes to get back to work, meeting Jungkook's gaze across the room as he makes his way over to you, leaving the partners and agents alone as everyone is going their own way.

There has been barely any time to chat with him, or just make sure everything's good even though you know Jungkook can take care of himself and everyone is swooning over him. So once you're met with a gentle smile of his, you reciprocate it.

"Hey, where were you? I thought you'd join us for lunch." he says, stopping right in front of you.

"I couldn't, besides Junho didn't invite us and we still had some work to do." you explain.

By work you don't mean anything too important, just to make sure everything's ready on the next set so you can go home on time.

Jungkook's eyes narrow for a moment, an unpleasant look making its way on his face as he licks his lips. "Have you eaten?"

"Uhh, yeah. There is a buffet prepared for all of you but Benjamin actually ordered us a delivery."

You'd be completely fine eating toast or something light for lunch, as long as you get to eat something and won't stay hungry. Luckily Benjamin was kind enough to take it upon himself to prepare food for all of you, the people that were left behind in the company. Though, to be completely fair you were free to go eat out too, it's not like you have forbidden to do so, but all of you know it wouldn't be convenient today.

"You could've just told me." Jungkook says, sound tilting close to the actual scolding which makes you let out a breathy chuckle.

"Told you what?"

"Well, I could've taken you for lunch. I thought you guys would join us, I didn't know.... If I knew you weren't invited I'd just eat with you."

You smile at his concern, shaking your head lightly while Jungkook frowns even more. "It's fine," you laugh a little, "You can't exactly decline their invitation. It's only polite for you to go. It's no big deal."

"No, it's not... If I just knew..." he mumbles, "I'd decline them anyway."

Now that makes you laugh and Jungkook's lips twitch as he tries to hide a grin.

"What? I don't care if I'm invited or not, or what's polite or not."

"You're lucky Junho seems to like you a lot."

Jungkook shrugs, a cocky expression taking over his handsome face. "What can I say..."

"Don't say anything," you joke, "How's Ester doing?"

"She's actually very good. I knew she'd do a good job." he answers.

Nothing else can be said because Junho ushers everyone to get back to work. Jungkook sighs and gives you one last dreadful look which makes you giggle as he walks away.

The rest of the week goes exactly the same. You and Jungkook go to work together but you separate as soon as you enter the building, this time around Jungkook makes sure to take you out for lunch and Ester joins you, since she doesn't know many people and you wouldn't want her to be left alone when Jungkook is the only person who she knows the most. She actually comes out of her shell and gushes over this opportunity, thanking your friend a few times.

She's sweet, kind and friendly. In a way she reminds you of someone, she's very much similar to her – personality wise and you wonder if Jungkook sees it the same way.

After lunch, you both go doing your job and don't interact with each other (besides the soft smiles whenever your eyes meet) until it's time to go home. You catch up on the way to Jungkook's apartment, get ready to go to bed before you repeat the same process every day.

It's Friday now and you successfully finished this week with a great outcome that's seen for now. After working ten hours of being constantly on your feet and handling stuff, you miss the softness of your bed and Jungkook's huge expensive shower and you have to control yourself not to look grumpy in this nice bar Junho invited some of you to. Just the close circle of his employees and agents from the other company, to apparently celebrate this week.

You weren't as lucky as Yoongi who slipped away through the doors before another word could be uttered. The idiot is probably at home by now, or doing whatever you want while you're stuck in this bar, listening to Junho bragging about useless things.

Most people that were invited you don't know personally, nor you've a close relationship with or any at this point. Excluding Jungkook who couldn't say no because your boss insisted. Even Natalie has been invited, which doesn't surprise you as she charms everyone with her own charms around the table.

She's taking most of Jungkook's attention, the man having a casual conversation with her while you sit next to him like a grumpy cat, swirling your drink. Non-alcoholic drink to be precise and you already regret your decision not to drink tonight.

It's boring and not even when Jungkook tries to keep you entertained whenever he can, it doesn't help much.

You spend the time going through the entire week, lucky there was no drama happening regarding Yoongi or Benjamin. The last time Yoongi and Jungkook interacted with each other, your friend was ready to punch your coworker. Luckily, they never bumped into each other. And Benjamin? He has never questioned you about your relationship with Jungkook, probably thinking you're keeping it professional in the work which you would do either way – with or without a boyfriend. It ultimately made it easier with Ester as well, since she knows you and Jungkook are friends and you're glad it hasn't reached her eyes that you're "dating" Jungkook all of a sudden.

"You wanna go home?" Jungkook asks once he leans in your direction, close to almost brushing his lips against your ear as his scent fills your nostrils.

You've been here for only an hour but if anyone even talks to you, it's just boring conversation that leads nowhere. Damn, you really feel antisocial right now.

"Not if you don't want to," you tell him, knowing you both came here by his car. "I can just take a cab." You change your mind as Jungkook gives you a look.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs gently, "I'll finish the drink and we can go. It's boring anyway." he says the last sentence with a whisper, so nobody else can hear him which makes you bite back a laugh.

Is he lying? He looked like he's having a good time. He talked the most amongst the group which can't be said about you.

"Junho has offered me a job in the company."

Your brows lift up in surprise, Jungkook driving you both home as he lowers the volume of the music that's been pleasantly playing in the background.

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

You had a photographer that used to be employed in the company, but Junho decided to fire him because he "wasn't good enough". Of course you're no professional but you think he had the job done, so him getting fired surprised everyone at that time. That's why your boss stuck to finding a different photographer for each project, instead of employing someone.

"What did you tell him?" you ask.

"That I'd think about it."

"And will you?"

"I don't know," Jungkook chuckles, "It'd be less work for me. It's simpler than being a freelancer and having to sort everything out by myself. But I don't think it'd be a good idea regardless."

"Why not?" you frown.

As much as you complain sometimes about your job, you do like it and you'd be bummed out if you were fired for some reason.

"First of all, I like the fact I'm my own boss. I choose what I want to work on. Besides, I don't think it'd be a good idea if we worked together," he explains, briefly glancing at you to notice your curious gaze but before you can open your mouth, he jumps to explain further. "Friends working together is never a good idea."

"Well, technically we wouldn't work together. I don't really interact with photographers a lot, somebody else does."

"Well yeah, but I wouldn't want to come into your own workplace. That's your place."

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't work like that," you chuckle, "But I understand what you mean."

You find it sweet that he puts you first, even though you don't see a problem with him working at your company. If that's what he wants.

"Me and Jimin worked together."

"Yeah but you met there. You weren't already best friends. That's different. And you only did an internship there."

"Hm, I guess you're right." you hum.

"Anyway, I don't think I'm gonna take it. I didn't want to tell him straight away to look impolite or inappreciative."

"Just so you know, I wouldn't mind whatever you decide on." you assure him and the corner of his lips lifts up.

A minute of silence follows until Jungkook stops at the red light, drumming his tattooed fingers against the steering wheel.

"I'm gonna meet up with Hoseok."

Jungkook manages to shock you a second time within the past ten minutes but this time, your head snaps to his direction as he glances at you, a serious expression on his face.

You know he mentioned talking to him recently, but to be honest you completely forgot about that conversation and you'd never thought of bringing it up to him. That's completely his decision if he wants to talk to Hoseok. You know Jungkook deals with a lot of stuff that's eating him alive, no matter how better he seems to be and assures you he is fine. The betrayal he still feels from Hoseok's action is very fresh but there's at least the slightest amount of understanding, at least you hope so judging from your last conversation you had with him about this topic.

"That's great, Kook," you say, not really sure what to say – due to your shock and wondering what's the right thing to say. You don't want him to doubt his decision and you're glad he is at least moving on. "Did you wait the entire evening to drop all this information on me?" you joke and actually make him laugh as he drives off once the light turns green.

"Wanted to have you all to myself before I do," he jokes and you ignore the set of butterflies his words cause you. "I was thinking about it a lot... I can't promise how our conversation will turn out because I'm still hurt, and I don't think it's gonna go away any time soon... but, I'm willing to talk to him. So I texted him today before I could chicken out because I know I would."

"It's not gonna be easy to hear him out, you're still hurt. But just try to see his perspective a little," you advise him carefully while he stays silent, "However your conversation goes, remember you tried your best."

"Yeah." he exhales a sigh, nibbling on his bottom lip as he brushes his thumb across it.

He knows he has to talk to Hoseok either way before it's too late. He needs to deal with this while it's fresh.

The place they agreed to meet is Hoseok's apartment. At first, Jungkook was thinking about meeting him in a public place because the last time Hoseok was in his apartment, it didn't end well. So many things were left shattered that day. He is more calm now but regardless of that, a public place is not suitable for such a conversation they're about to have.

When Hoseok offered to meet at his place, he agreed. The conversation simple and blunt, straight to the point and it's ridiculous how awkward and tense it seemed even through the stupid texts.

For fuck sake, he even woke up early to have a morning jog just to come back and find you already preparing for your day with Maya. He has barely eaten, too distracted to properly function and with each mile he gets to the final destination, he feels his stomach in knots.

However, he walks to his door with utter confidence knowing he has an upper hand in this. And meeting Hoseok's brown soft eyes full of sadness and regret makes him actually soften. But then he is reminded of what he has done to him and if it weren't enough, the pictures that fill his apartment – pictures of his friends and among them Kiko – he is reminded he is in this position because of her.

Not only she ruined their relationship and possible future, she has also managed to ruin his friendship with Hoseok. A friend he has had for years.

But is he selfish to put all the blame onto her? Clearly, it wasn't his fault what happened. It does feel bitter to know she got involved with more people and he wants to be so mad at her. A part of him still is. But then he looks at her wide smile he fell in love with and tries to think what pain she went through alone. Even though she has done it voluntarily, it still doesn't feel better to know she was in pain. Still is.

"Do you want something to drink? Water, juice or I can make you a drink?" Hoseok asks once the awkward greeting is over, motioning Jungkook to sit down on his couch as he listens and peels away his eyes from the memories in a form of framed pictures.

"Water is fine."

He drove here and even though he could easily drink and call a cab, it's better to stay away from alcohol. Not that he is scared to flip out or something because Jungkook isn't the type to turn aggressive if drinking, but it tends to strengthen emotions. He needs to have a clear mind for this.

"Sure, let me get that for you and then we can talk." he offers him a crooked smile and Jungkook knows it's just a mask to hide his own nervosity.

Hoseok has always been collected, the fun one in the group alongside Taehyung but he could still be stern and serious – definitely more than Taehyung. But he has never seen him like this but it only makes sense. Hoseok has never ruined a friendship with anyone. He is friends with anyone. Well, if he doesn't count the awkward interactions you had with him.

He comes back within a minute, placing the glass in front of Jungkook as he thanks him but doesn't reach for it just yet. Though his throat starts to feel dry, he feels it tightening as he's not sure how to start.

"I'm sorry," Hoseok blurts out suddenly, "I know I said it so many times by now but I can't look you in the eyes without saying it again. It feels awful to feel this tension and awkwardness between us, I know it's my fault..."

"No, it's not..." Jungkook mutters, ignoring the subtle surprise on Hoseok's face as he nervously brushes through his dark hair, staring at the younger. "At least not entirely,"

Hoseok's face drops but he nods in understatement.

"I was so mad at you. I felt betrayed by my own friend and having to come to terms with what happened--it's still hard and it's not easy but I think I'm getting better at understanding you and... her,"

Hoseok's features turn soft, not daring to say a word. Not yet at least.

"It sucks because I'm still mad, a part of me is and I don't think it's gonna go away any time soon," he repeats the words he said to you in his car yesterday, "But Y/N made me think about you more... well at least to try and see things from your perspective as she would say. She actually made us an example,"

He chuckles at the memory.

"And I understood if Y/N came up to me and asked me--asked me what Kiko asked you as her best friend. I would do it in a heartbeat. I would be there for her and keep it a secret because I respect her that much. I think it would be so fucking hard to keep such a heartbreaking secret, but I would do it for her. I guess I was selfish to see things from only my perspective. I was too consumed by the anger and heartbreak."

He hates how Hoseok gives him a pitiful look. He hates when people pity him and that's when he usually chooses not to be vulnerable in front of anyone. He deals with his stuff alone

"And it's totally understandable, Kook," Hoseok says slowly and softly, "I can't imagine what you had to go through and I hate myself for not telling you anything since I knew the truth from day one."

"I know it wasn't easy for you either," Jungkook tells him, finally having the courage to look back into his brown eyes. "I think it would be worse if you actually didn't feel bad." he tries to joke and it helps to soothe out the tension in the room, as Hoseok chuckles but it comes out dryly.

"Ever since I've known," Hoseok says hesitantly, eyes glancing at Jungkook as the younger slowly nods at him to silently tell him it's fine to be honest and open. Even if it might hurt him. "I told her to tell you. She even told me she regrets telling me and dragging me into this. But I'm glad she did, only because she was alone. I know she chose it and I know you're the best thing that happened to her, I encouraged her to tell you before it's too late. To talk to you before she–"

He sets his lips into a tight line as Jungkook gives him a saddened nod, knowing what he is referring to.

"I told her you'd take care of them. I told her even if she decided she doesn't--whatever she decided, you would be there for her every step of the way. But she was so stubborn, she wouldn't listen to me and she panicked. Before she knew, it was too late. When she broke up with you--I scolded her for not telling you the truth but she told me it will hurt you even more than the lie,"

He knows, she told him and it's still hurtful to hear this thing all over again.

"But she put your well-being first. And then you guys got together again and I still told her to tell you because one way or another, you will find out and then she will lose you. I think that intimidated her the most and she caught herself into this web of lies. She loved you so much that the thought of losing you again scared the shit out of her. She regretted her decision and--I know you probably don't want to hear about her or hear her side because what she did–-it was her decision and she had the right to do so. But she still hurt you... a lot."

"No, it's fine. I think I need to hear all of it to be able to fully move on." Jungkook swallows, hearing his heart cracking but something tells him he really needs to hear all of it.

"She started going to therapy shortly after..." he motions with his hands, still not able to say it out loud because it is too painful. For him as well. "She wasn't doing well, Kook. I know you probably don't care–"

"I do," he cuts him off gently, "I don't like the thought of her suffering, despite all."

"Because you have the biggest heart," Hoseok says immediately, cringing at his words which makes both men chuckle a little. "You really do."

"I just don't get it... we were doing so fine. We talked about our future. So what if it happened way sooner than we planned? She wasn't planning to break up with me. Does she think we couldn't be a family? Does she think we couldn't raise a child together? As a father of the child, I had the right to at least know that she is pregnant. Fuck, we had sex just a few days before she broke up with me. Knowing she was pregnant at that time--"

"Nobody would change her mind. Not even you, Jungkook," Hoseok reminds him softly, "I know you think you would... but she was too stubborn. She was depressed and sure of her decision. It backfired and she is gonna live it for the rest of her life. She lost you for good."

Jungkook swallows, wanting to reach for the stupid glass of water but he doesn't want to look weaker than he already is.

"How--How is she?" he asks carefully. Tone perfectly slow and wary, he's not sure if he wants to hear about her but a part of him wants to know.

He hasn't seen her and nobody talked to her in front of him, which is understandable and he knows it was better that way.

"She's in Japan at the moment," Hoseok smiles sadly, "She is with her family and needs to heal. It fucked her up a lot. I think even more because she blames herself knowing it's all on her."

"I...I'm sorry to hear that."

He really is. No matter what happened between them, it's not easy to hear how much she is suffering. He doesn't want her to suffer for the rest of her life. He's not that bitter and bad to actually wish that.

"She will be better," Hoseok says, though Jungkook is not sure if he means it or tries to persuade himself, or both of them. "At first she tried to hide her true emotions, she thought I couldn't see she's faking it... it always ended up with her losing it. It would take hours to calm her down."

"I'm... I'm glad she had you." he says, knowing he wouldn't be able to be that person to her.

Or maybe he could but he's not sure if he was capable, considering his own heartbreak and demons.

"You were the one she wanted," Hoseok admits softly, "But nobody would ask you of that. She really hates herself for hurting you."

"I know," Jungkook sighs, "I don't want her to hate herself."

"Maybe you could tell her that? Maybe in the future? I know it's a lot to ask and I don't want to make it seem as if I'm pressuring you. You've got every right not to see her anymore because I know how much that must hurt. I think you both aren't ready to see each other and most importantly, talk. But maybe the right way to heal is to heal each other?" he asks unsurely.

He definitely doesn't want to push Jungkook's buttons, he already appreciates him being here and this conversation going smoothly, even though it's sad and heartbreaking all over again.

"Maybe," he mumbles, "I'm healing slowly but I guess you're right. I'm not ready though. It still hurts. I can't help but think what if... and all that. I imagine what my life would look like if she didn't... but I guess it happened for a reason?"

"Yeah," he nods slowly and gives him a saddened smile, "Maybe you just weren't meant to be for each other."

"I'm not sure if I believe that," Jungkook frowns, "We loved each other. If she said the truth, things could be different. I wouldn't leave her no matter what."

"Of course, I don't doubt your love," Hoseok reminds him, "I'm sure if things were different, you'd still be together. But I'm glad you're healing. I'm really sorry for what you had to go through. I wish I could change it."

"Maybe it happened for a reason," Jungkook shrugs, though he is still not sure if this is his fate. "I'll have to live either way."

"You look well." Hoseok tells him, searching Jungkook's face. He doesn't look as broken as he once did.

The memory of Jungkook's indescribable face when they last talked together still haunts him to this day. It made his guilt even bigger each time he thought about it.

"Y/N helped me a lot. So did Taehyung and Jimin..." he explains silently. "She made me see things that would take me way longer to realize."

Hoseok smiles and a few moments of silence follows as Jungkook stares at his intertwined fingers.

"Hobi," Jungkook calls out softly to his friend, Hoseok's eyes sparkling at the nickname as a relief washes through him. "I'm sorry for almost punching you."

"No, please, it's alright. I get it."

"No, I was aggressive. If Y/N didn't get between us, I would have punched you. I really wanted to."

"Do you want to punch me now?" He jokes and makes Jungkook's mouth twitch as a playful gaze washes over his eyes before he slowly shakes his head.

"No."

"Good, it would definitely hurt like hell," he chuckles, "But yeah. It was crazy of her to get between us. I told her she shouldn't have done that when I was leaving."

"God, if I punched her accidentally I would've never forgiven myself,"

If that happened, he knows it would be technically your fault because who the fuck gets between two men that are about to fight? Well, between a man who's about to punch the other one.

"She saved the day, though. Didn't she?" Jungkook cracks a smile as Hoseok laughs.

"Yeah, and my face too. Remind me to thank her later."

"I will." he laughs and the air suddenly feels lighter than before. It's still a little awkward but as he stares at Hoseok's joyful face, or at least way more relaxed than he looked in the beginning, he feels relief.

"We are good, yeah?" Hoseok asks unsurely, suddenly turning nervous again as Jungkook stares at him for a second.

And then his lips stretch into the slightest smile, unspoken forgiveness lingering in Jungkook's big and dark eyes. "Yes. We will be."

Once Hoseok stretches his hand to him, Jungkook takes it and is surprised when Hoseok gives him a crushing hug.

"Don't overdo it." Jungkook jokes, slapping Hoseok on his back as he pulls away with no regrets.

Maya looks beautiful in every dress she tries. It does make you emotional to see her in her possible wedding dress, and you have a hard time not to tear up. It's definitely the champagne's fault the woman that works in the shop gives you.

You've lost count how many dresses she has tried so far, each of them unique and beautiful in their own pretty way. Maya has no idea what style to go for, so she picked various styles and has managed to look good in each of them.

You're enjoying this, not only the champagne with a strawberry in it, but it's something new and it's safe to say you've never been in a wedding salon to be a part of the process of picking a wedding dress with your friend. It does distract you from the thoughts of how Jungkook is doing. You do check your phone whenever Maya is in the fitting room.

You don't know what you expect. A message of Jungkook losing it again? A message that everything went well? You know meeting Hoseok is a big deal for him, regardless of how he tried to hide it this morning.

"Crap, there's not enough time. Can you try the dress for me?" Maya pulls you out of your thoughts, your eyes directed on the wedding dress she's wearing at the moment once the woman informs you there's another client coming soon.

It's the last piece Maya has to try, the sleek dress hanging on the hanger for her to try. Just getting out of each dress is taking a lot of time and you think you've got enough time. Apparently you don't and you can already see the stress on Maya's face. This is a big deal for her and this process does make her feel nervous, because she wants everything to be perfect. Even though she tries to look carefree and relaxed.

"Me?"

"Yeah, there's not enough time for me to try it." she whines, sending a glare to the door where the woman working in this salon disappeared. Well, it's not her fault Maya chose too many dresses to try in a span of two hours.

"But our bodies are different," you remind her, "It's gonna look different on me than on you."

"I just need to see how they look on the body. I don't really care whose body it is."

"Oh, okay." There's not enough time to think this through and you stand up, wiping your palms against your jeans as you walk towards the white dress.

The woman comes back from the door, seeing you grabbing the dress as she rushes to you and takes it from your hands to help you. "Let me help you," she smiles kindly, "Are you trying it for your friend?"

"Uhh, yes." you smile nervously and let her lead you to the fitting room.

She helps you to put them on and surprisingly, they fit amazingly. You'd still need a pair of heels because the dress is too long. You walk out of the fitting room, chuckling at yourself.

"Yah, I'm not sure."

Maya looks in your direction, hopping off the circled stair which is placed for brides to stand to see the dress more clearly, since the mirrors surround one side.

"Wow," she lets out, grinning ear to ear. "Don't do this to me girl. You'd be a prettier bride than me."

"Oh, please." you roll your eyes at Maya as she helps you to step on her previous spot.

It's the moment when you turn around to fully look at your reflection under the bright lights that your mouth falls open. Your hair is down, the soft waves you made yourself in the morning actually make you look less casual with this dress on. It's got blouson sleeves, the skirt thin but flowy. It looks like a dress for a princess. You feel like a princess and you can't stop looking at yourself.

"God, you're so beautiful," Maya whines next to you, "I love the dress. How you feelin'?"

"Weird?" you chuckle, "I've never tried a wedding dress before. Obviously." you snort at yourself.

"The dress suits you," the woman joins your conversation, complimenting you as well as your cheeks heat up at their compliments and eyes widened in awe. "You look like a princess."

"I want to look like a queen at my wedding." you joke as both of them giggle with you.

"Let me take a picture," Maya says and hands you your phone to unlock it for her since you've been taking her pictures on your phone, so she can decide on her choice later.

She said like ten times on each dress that "It's the one" and all of them are beautiful, so deciding will be hard for her.

You hand her the phone back and pose for her, even throwing a peace sign as a joke as you laugh together. The owner of the salon, whose name you unfortunately forgot when she introduced you, takes a picture of you two before you have to rush to get out of the dresses so the other client doesn't have to wait once she gets here.

Just as you thank the owner, grabbing your stuff, the other client arrives just in time as you get out of the salon.

"Fuck, it's gonna be so hard to choose." Maya complains but the happiness on her face is clear as the day. "This was so fun. Thank you for coming with me."

"Don't mention it, it was so much fun," you tell her, letting her intertwine your arms together. "Here, let's get an ice-cream and look at the pictures!"

She doesn't refuse, both of you stuffing your face. The entire dress is trying to make both of you hungry.

Once Maya goes to the bathroom later on, you check your phone to see no notifications. You open the chat with Jungkook and jokingly send him a picture of you trying on the dress. You'd show him later anyway but you do want to ask him how's it going.

You're about to lock your phone, thinking he's not going to respond right away and there's a chance he is still talking to Hoseok. Surprisingly, he replies right after you lock your phone.

Kook: 😳

You snort at the emoji, thumb hovering over the screen before another message pops up.

Kook: are you trying to tell me something?

"🙄 what?? No compliments?"

Kook: are you getting secretly married?

"Lol yes"

Kook: who's the lucky guy?

"Not you 😜"

Kook: ouch and here I thought we said we'll get married together if we are not married by the age of 40

"I guess you aren't that lucky then"

"They told me I look like a princess 😎"

Kook: you do

You unawarely bite your lower lip as you stare at his text, wondering what the tone of it is. Deciding that you're not sure what to reply next, because all of this is just a joke, you start typing.

"How's it going with Hoseok?"

Kook: great actually

Kook: I'll tell you at home

Kook: see you until then princess ;)

You send him an emoji of rolling eyes, knowing he must be cackling behind the screen. Putting away your phone, you smile at approaching Maya as you fall into another friendly conversation as soon as she sits down.

Jungkook is in the shower when you come back, the day with Maya dragging longer since you decided to go for a walk and then have a late lunch together before you parted ways. She still hasn't decided on her dress but she still has some time, a few weeks or months. Nobody expects her to choose one on the first day.

You change into more comfortable clothes, grabbing yourself a glass of lemonade when Jungkook joins you in the kitchen.

"What's up, princess?" he teases, greeting you once you turn around to spot him wearing his sweatpants only, hair wet from the shower. He is doing this on purpose, doesn't he?

Not letting yourself to look too affected for various reasons, you roll your eyes at his teasing. "Keep teasing."

"Or what?" he presses, a scent of shower gel and shaving cream filling the kitchen as he leans against the kitchen island, smirking at you.

You clench your jaw, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants. "How did it go with Hoseok? Show me your hands."

He rolls his eyes, chuckling a little. "Good, actually," he responds, shaking himself out of the amused mood as he turns serious. "We talked a lot. I'm able to understand him more but... yeah, I think it's going in the right direction."

"That sounds great, I'm glad." you smile and Jungkook returns it.

"We hung out for a little longer and then I went to work out to process it. I feel... surprisingly lighter and more relaxed."

"He is your friend, I can imagine you want to have him in your life."

"Yeah..." he mumbles in thought before he glances up just as you drink the lemonade. "How was your day with Maya? What's with the wedding dress?"

You laugh, "We were running out of time, so Maya asked me to try the dress for her. All the dresses were so beautiful, Kook. So many various styles and materials."

"You had fun, I see."

"I did."

"Did she pick one?"

"No, there were too many and she still has time to decide. We took a picture of each dress, so she has the pictures to choose from. But the prices, oof."

"Isn't she renting the dress?"

"She is, but it's still expensive. We talked about her wedding plans and the money they're about to put in it, fuck. I mean I know organizing a wedding is expensive but the prices she told me--I'm not sure if I'll ever get married." you laugh and Jungkook amusingly rolls his eyes.

"You will." he assures you.

You know you will. You're just joking but the money you need for a single wedding is still a lot. Mind blowing.

"Oh," you suddenly remember, reaching for your phone on the counter as you unlock it. "I wanna show you something."

"What? Another wedding dress?" He jokes as you thrust your phone into his hands, eyes trailing your face amusingly for a moment before he looks at the screen and his features freeze before a slight frown makes it on his face. "What's this?"

"I found this on the internet." you explain, standing next to him as you peek at the screen, a familiar image and text on it.

"Are you moving out?" he asks, surprised.

"I told you I'm searching for apartments and I found this. Look at the pictures, the apartment is so cozy and the rent is actually very good. It's even closer than the building I lived in before. Look, look," you tell him as you swipe the pictures to show him how the building looks from the outside. "Doesn't it look western? It brings me back home. It even has a balcony!"

Jungkook looks at the pictures, reading the information that comes with the ad.

"I didn't contact the person yet, I wanted to show you first. But I think I'm gonna try it and have a look. What do you think?"

He hands you back the phone as he looks a little taken back, which you do notice and it makes your excited features fall down a little. He meets your gaze and suddenly relaxes as he gives you a smile.

"You should try at least."

"Would you come with me? I mean... if you're free that day."

"Yeah, sure. We can check it out together." he assures you and you sigh in relief.

"What's wrong?"

He frowns, shrugging. "What?"

"You look weird. Do you not want me to move out?"

"Do you think I want to?" he asks dumbfoundedly. "I told you you can stay as long as you want." he reminds you.

"No, no that's not what I meant. I know I can stay. But we both know I can't stay here forever."

"Why not?" Jungkook's lips curl as he sits down on the chair and pulls you between his spreaded legs. "I got used to having you here,"

And his hands roam down your lower back as you shiver, looking down at him and how soft his skin looks.

"It's gonna be sad not having you around."

You snort, "You make it seem as if I'm moving to another country," you joke, "I will still be around. Have you grown attached to me, hm?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes, "You know I enjoy your company."

"Mhm, company," you tease as he grins at you, eyes sparkling. "Or something else, don't you?"

"It's not just about sex." he frowns a little as you snort.

"Okay," you nod, knowing that's not what he meant. "But it does make things easier, doesn't it?"

"It does," he agrees, "How will I fuck you? Will we have to make sex apppoitments or something?" he whines and it causes a bubbly laugh rip out of your throat as your hands play with his hair at the back of his head.

"Oh, how awful." you tease and he groans, hiding his face into your stomach as you keep laughing.

He pinches your ass and you yelp, scolding him right after as you're interrupted by Jungkook's ringtone. He reaches for the device, staring at the screen as a low "Fuck" makes it out.

He groans and you look at the screen, seeing "Mom" written on it.

"I was supposed to call her but I forgot." he explains before he accepts the call.

"Yah, Jeon Jungkook! You don't know your mother's number?" Mrs. Jeon scolds him as soon as she realizes Jungkook has accepted her call, even before he can utter a single word.

You hold back a laugh, watching Jungkook pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm so sorry, mom. This week has been busy and--"

"So busy you can't contact your parents?" Mrs. Jeon continues to scold him as Jungkook shoots you a glare, ready to slap your ass as you dodge it just in time. "Jungwon told me you'll call me and I've been waiting."

"Ah, I know. I'm sorry, mom," Jungkook sighs disappointedly at himself, "I'll make it up to you."

"You will!" she agrees, "I want you to come visit. The last time you were here was for Christmas. It's spring already, spring Jungkook!"

You can't hold it back and you laugh out loud, slapping your hand over your mouth as Jungkook's mouth twitches and he tries to hide a grin. His mom says something as Jungkook sighs.

"It's Y/N. She's here with me."

You hear something muffled, now that her voice isn't as loud as Jungkook sighs. "Wait a second,"

And then he turns on the speaker and places his phone on the counter.

"Okay, she hears you now."

"Y/N, my sweetest girl! Is my son annoying you? Is he cleaning after himself? I heard you live with him, I hope he takes care of you."

You giggle, Jungkook pursing his lips as he looks annoyed at his own mother.

"Hi, Mrs. Jeon!" you greet her cheerfully, stepping closer to the phone so she hears you more clearly. "Don't worry, Jungkook is the nicest roommate."

"I'm happy to hear that. I raised him well!" she praises herself and Jungkook snorts, causing you to elbow him as he shrugs.

"You did." you agree with her, smiling as she asks you how you are and how's your work. Simple and friendly questions you gladly answer.

In the middle of your conversation, Jungkook sneakily starts to caress your ass down your thighs, shooting you a grin as you turn around to glare at him.

"--you need to come to Busan too! Jungkook-ah, take her with you. We need more girls in this household."

Jungkook snorts, "I don't know if Y/N wants to, mom."

Mrs. Jeon stays silent, waiting for your answer. "I mean... if I'm free I'd love to see you and Mr. Jeon again." you reply politely.

"See, Jungkook? Even Y/N wants to see us."

"Mom," Jungkook groans, hand between your thighs as he caresses your inner thigh.

You hate to admit how wet you already are from his touches and he is not even touching your clothed heat.

"I said I'm sorry. You really gonna torture me?"

Mrs. Jeon snorts, "Yes."

"You women are something else."

"Y/N dear, slap him for me."

"Mom!"

You start laughing, Jungkook dropping his hand off your leg.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Jeon. I will punish him." you joke, not realizing how your words sound until it's too late but Mrs. Jeon doesn't put any thought to it as she laughs and supports you.

Jungkook glares at your amused expression that you give him, something flickering in his eyes. "Keep talking," he warns you with a low tone, so his mother doesn't hear him.

You stick your tongue out at him.

"Mom, I will try and come this weekend. I'm sorry for not calling sooner. Say hi to dad from me, okay?"

"You better come this weekend. We miss you and it's been a while. Haru has been talking about her uncle, I'm sure she will be happy to see you again."

"I was just babysitting her, mom." Jungkook reminds her dumbfoundedly.

"And? That's why she can't stop talking about you. Why do you sound so annoyed, Jeon Jungkook? I hope you're not because she is your niece, just wait–"

"Alright, mom. I love you and I will see you next weekend. Bye, love you." And he hangs up before she can say anything else.

He leaves you speechless and you laugh, slapping his shoulder. "That was mean!"

"She was mean too!"

"Genes." you shrug simply and walk away from him.

"Yah!" You hear behind you.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook scenario #personasintro

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messylustt · 1 year

Text

red lips — rafe cameron + reader ( outer banks ) : your cold ceo asks you to accompany him on his business trip

contents : fingering, rafe bites readers lip and there’s a bit of blood, slightly jealous rafe. wc 2.2k.

“miss y/n/l, come to my office, please.” the ceo called from behind his closed office door.

“ah, good luck with that.” whispered your colleague, who runs her hand through her hair in relief that it’s not her getting called in. “he does not sound happy.”

“does he ever?” timmy asks, leaning on your desk.

“good point.” jana mutters, as you get up from your seat.

dread has befallen your face, as you straighten out your skirt.

mr. cameron was as typically cold as most ceo’s one would read about. he got straight to business, demanding things such as overtime and redoes. it’s safe to say the entire company is somewhat scared of the man. either of his powerful position or him in general.

you give your colleagues a look as they chuckle at your impending doom. making your way to the glazed door you take a breath. you were sure you had completed everything you were assigned for, having done those extra hours. you remember one night when it ended up just being you and mr. cameron…

;;

“enjoy yourself, y/n,” timmy mockingly pouted as you attempted to hit him over the head with the stack of papers you were currently marking. mr. cameron had asked you to stay back and complete these pages before tomorrow. in all honesty it was an impossible task to begin with, but you had to agree.

timmy grins and taps under your chin. “aw, your like a cute angry frog.”

you blanch at him. “a frog?”

timmy’s grin widens as he then pokes your cheek.

“if you’ve completed everything mr. west, you may go.” mr. cameron’s voice makes both your heads snap in his direction.

he’s stood in a tailored suit, the jacket gone throughout the day, as his button up stays rolled by his elbows. his arms are crossed as he eyes the two of you.

you swiftly lower your stack of papers and place them on the desk as if you hadn’t just been about to use them as a weapon.

“ah, of course, mr. cameron, i’ll be leaving. have a good night.” timmy directs this at you both as he turns to leave.

you want to drag him back feeling taught and tense standing in the same room as mr. cameron. the intense man shifts his gaze to you as he walks over.

“i’ve just completed a quarter, but I’ll be done by tonight.” you say, fiddling with the edges of the pages, as you spare him a smile.

mr. cameron tilts his head in inspection as he reaches for the completed pages. you tense as he brushes past you, leaning extremely close. the office had emptied. it was a friday night, and you actually had plans to meet with this blind date your friend set you up with. but clearly you had to cancel because of work.

“may i ask you something mr. cameron?” you ask turning a little more to face him.

he raised his gaze from the papers, nodding.

you coughed, standing straighter. “why did you need these done tonight?”

“so that they would be completed by tomorrow.” mr. cameron responds. and you have to hold back a groan at his answer.

“you do realise it’s a friday, sir?”

mr. cameron stands straighter, seeming to readjust himself. “i am aware of the days of the week, miss y/l/n.”

“then why do you need these completed for a saturday?”

mr. cameron pauses, placing the papers back down on your desk. you shuffle slightly back to give him room, but mr. cameron steps closer.

“i actually need these next week thursday.” mr. cameron says, making your brows furrow.

“then why..?” you question as he re-rolls his sleeves over his biceps.

“because i needed you in the office, miss y/l/n.”

“but why?” you then remember manners. “sir?”

he eyes you, darting his tongue out to brush his bottom lip. “where did you need to be tonight, miss y/l/n?”

“i had dinner plans.” you say.

“with a partner i assume.”

you slowly shake your head. “it was just a blind date.”

you catch mr. cameron’s gaze, who seems to be staring very intently. “i apologise if i ruined that for you.”

you shake your head out of politeness. “that’s alright, mr. cameron.”

mr. cameron stares at you, narrowing his eyes a fraction. you shuffle uncomfortably, confused as to why he hasn’t left yet. everything he did was swift and sufficient. so why was he hanging around you?

then he turns, heading back to his office. “i like that lipstick colour, by the way.”

you gape at his back as he disappears. he what?

;;

you opened mr. cameron’s door to his office as your palms began to sweat. god, he was scary.

he looks up immediately when you enter. “thank you, miss y/l/n. take a seat.”

you obey, hiking your skirt further down. mr. cameron doesn’t look away from you as his eyes dart down to your lips briefly before he glances back to his laptop.

“i need you to schedule some time away for the next three days.” mr. cameron says.

“but you have your business trip this week—”

“i mean for you, miss y/l/n.”

you pause, as mr. cameron leans back in his chair. you ignore the way his muscles tensed against his black button up.

“oh, of course sir.”

“we have a scheduled private jet to arrive tonight, that you must be on.”

wow, you think to yourself. you’d never gone on one of his business trips before. he always brought one his employees to help in general, but it’s never been you.

“uh, thank you, mr. cameron.” you smile, feeling genuinely proud.

rafe meets your gaze, surprised to see that you honestly looked pleased at the news. part of him hated that he felt good because of it.

he hated a lot of things about you. he hated the way you smiled. the way you talked. the way you dressed. and the way he liked you close.

rafe carefully eyes you, and the colour staining your lips. you had worn a dark red the other night. but now you chose a muted pink. why did it bother him that you picked a different colour than the one he complimented you on?

his hands dig into his thighs, covered by his large desk as he eyes your outfit choice. a nice blouse, that was modest enough, and a skirt that you seemed to be continuously hiking down. your legs were smooth and your heels made them appear longer. he didn’t dare look anywhere for too long, an annoying strain beginning to grow in his pants.

“it will just be us for the ride there, but on the way back a few clients will be joining.” rafe said, as you nod.

;;

you walk into the private jet, taking deep breathes. alone. mr. cameron said you’d be alone for the ride there, save for the pilot of course.

you spot mr. cameron already seated going through work, you assume.

hearing your heels clicking, rafe looks up. the dim lighting of the private jet, made your features seem almost…sensual.

you find a seat by a window, on the opposite side of your ceo. you spare him a nod and a smile before your busying yourself with work you downloaded on your laptop.

the plane takes off and it’s a little while before mr. cameron calls you over.

“miss y/l/n, please come here.”

you glance to your left catching sight of mr. cameron leant back in his seat. the most relaxed you’d seen him. his shirt is slightly creased and his hair has begun to hang like curtains over his eyes. you sucked in a breath at the sight. you carefully stand, walking over.

rafe looks up at you, ditching his laptop to the small table in front of him. he offers his hand to the side, silently asking for you to take the seat beside him.

you sit, pulling your skirt down, and rafe’s eyes immediately dart toward your legs before looking back to your eyes. he had grown distracted the entire flight. you were a decent distance away but for some reason he could still hear your breathing. the way it hitched when the plane would hit a heavy gust of wind.

rafe could tell you were nervous. was it because this was your first time travelling on a business trip, or was because you sat alone with him?

either way rafe couldn’t help but pick some lint of the bottom of your skirt, awaiting what reaction you might give him.

your eyes slightly widen at the action, as you self consciously press your thighs together.

rafe catches this as he holds back a smirk. so, he did have an effect on you.

“sir?” you asked, raising your gaze to meet his. but mr. cameron is still staring at your legs, as his hand hand hovers over the arm rest between you. “mr. cameron?”

he finally meets your gaze and your shocked to see something other than drawn coldness.

“did you end up going on your little date?” mr. cameron asks.

you suck in a breath. “um, no sir, but why—”

mr. cameron doesn’t let you finish, cutting in. “so, your not anyone’s?”

his question has you confused. anyone’s? “i’m sorry, i don’t know what you mean, sir.”

the professional aura is slowly slipping the more rafe stares at you.

“are you interested in anyone, miss y/l/n?”

you blanch, eyes wide and breath caught. “what?”

“you seem close to some of my employees. mr. west, was it?”

you have no idea where mr. cameron is going with this.

“uh, he was one of my first friends when i joined the company…” you drift off, shuffling a little in your seat.

“i see.”

your brows stay furrowed. “mr. cameron why are you asking me this?”

“it’s never good to date someone you work with.” mr. cameron says, as he adjusts himself to see you better.

“i’ve heard some stories where it’s worked out.”

“well, i don’t particularly like when my employees are getting distracted at work.”

you shake your head. “if that’s what your worried about, then please, i only see mr. west as a friend. no distractions, sir.”

rafe nods. good.

you think he’s going to ask you to sit back in your previous seat when his hand grazes across your knee. you freeze, tension filling the air.

“s-sir?” you hate that you stuttered. christ, what was wrong with you?

mr. cameron continues to draw a slow, tantalising circle on your knee. “what are you—”

“i was gonna ask why you changed your lipstick.” mr. cameron finally speaks.

“my…lipstick?”

“before it was a lovely red.” he darts his eyes up to your lips, his finger drawing higher up your leg. “now, it’s pink.”

“i didn’t realise there was a makeup code.” you say, keeping down the shake in your voice.

“not normally, no. but i like the red on you more.” his voice has dropped to a whisper. and your thighs are clenched tight. shit.

you go to speak, but mr. cameron’s hand is now by your lips. he runs his thumb along your bottom lip, before doing the same on the top. your utterly frozen.

rafe is so close to you, that he can smell the flowery scent wafting off your hair. he had wiped your lips free of the pink, growing a little more satisfied.

but when he catches your gaze a new sense of hunger fills him.

“sir?”

he holds back a groan as you whisper formalities. he hasn’t moved back, your back plastered to your seat, as rafe nearly looms over you.

“mr. cameron—”

“rafe.” he says. “we’re alone, you can call me rafe.”

“i’m not sure if thats appropriate…mr. cameron.”

“and this is?” in response rafe runs his finger up to your thigh, veering slightly under your skirt.

you breath hitches. “none of this is really…professional, sir.”

“no, i don’t suppose it is.” rafe has grown even more distracted as he shifts in his seat, his hand sliding higher up your thigh and under your skirt.

“mr. cameron—”

“rafe.” he corrects.

“we shouldn’t…” you suck in a breath, as he tilts his head. “you said one shouldn’t date someone they work with.”

rafe smiles. “i did, but i said nothing on dating someone you work for.”

rafe’s hand is now dangerously close to your throbbing pussy. his other hand reaches up to grab your chin, making you meet his dark gaze. “you smell delicious, y/n.”

this was the first time your first name had fell from his lips, and god did it turn you on.

“we really shouldn’t…rafe.”

rafe’s eyes gleam at the fact that you said his first name, making the situation feel all the more intimate.

he then runs up and down your clothed pussy earning a whimper from you. “no one else is on this plane. it’s just us, y/n. no need to be so tense.”

your breathing stutters as he by passes your panties and runs his finger through your wetness. “oh, god—”

“mm, all wet for your boss.” rafe taunts. “i always thought you were so…innocent.”

he sinks a finger inside you, pumping in and out. “mr. c—”

rafe juts his fingers into you harshly, coping your mistake.

“rafe.” you moan as he smirks in approval, watching the way your collarbone and neck increased with sweat. he leans forward, capturing your lips in an intense kiss. built up from rafe’s holding back.

you moaned into his mouth, shameful and turned on. he then bites your lip, hard. and you yelp, as rafe watches a small trickle of blood fall over your lips. he grins. “now thats the colour i prefer.”

#. ( psychos )#the rafe effect #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #obx fanfiction #outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe x oc #rafe fanfiction #rafe angst #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe smut #rafe imagine #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #drew starkey x reader

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